• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Six years in the wilds of central...
 The ballad of king Henry of...
 A visit to John's camp
 The Chinese giant
 Through the back ages
 Lady Jane
 A packet of letters
 A precious tool-chest
 A starfish
 Crowded out o' crofield
 The ovenbird
 A poem postponed
 Marjorie and her papa
 The king of the elephants
 The bunny stories
 How to use a pair of chopstick...
 A prairie prelude
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 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/UF00065513/00225
 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: VID00225
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    Six years in the wilds of central Africa
        Page 459
        Page 460
        Page 461
        Page 462
        Page 463
        Page 464
        Page 465
        Page 466
        Page 467
        Page 468
        Page 469
        Page 470
        Page 471
        Page 472
    The ballad of king Henry of Castile
        Page 473
        Page 474
        Page 475
        Page 476
        Page 477
        Page 478
    A visit to John's camp
        Page 479
        Page 480
        Page 481
        Page 482
        Page 483
    The Chinese giant
        Page 484
        Page 485
        Page 486
        Page 487
        Page 488
        Page 489
    Through the back ages
        Page 490
        Page 491
    Lady Jane
        Page 492
        Page 493
        Page 494
        Page 495
        Page 496
        Page 497
        Page 498
        Page 499
        Page 500
        Page 501
    A packet of letters
        Page 502
        Page 503
        Page 504
    A precious tool-chest
        Page 505
        Page 506
        Page 507
        Page 508
    A starfish
        Page 509
    Crowded out o' crofield
        Page 510
        Page 511
        Page 512
        Page 513
        Page 514
        Page 515
        Page 516
        Page 517
        Page 518
        Page 519
    The ovenbird
        Page 520
    A poem postponed
        Page 521
    Marjorie and her papa
        Page 522
        Page 523
        Page 524
        Page 525
        Page 526
    The king of the elephants
        Page 527
        Page 528
        Page 529
    The bunny stories
        Page 530
        Page 531
        Page 532
        Page 533
        Page 534
    How to use a pair of chopsticks
        Page 535
        Page 536
    A prairie prelude
        Page 537
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 538
        Page 539
    The letter-box
        Page 540
        Page 541
        Page 542
    The riddle-box
        Page 543
        Page 544
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text



















































A NIGHT ON THE CONGO.-STANLEY TELLING THE STORY OF HIS FIGHT WITH THE BANGALA.
(SEE PAGE 470 )














ST. NICHOLAS.


VOL. XVII.


APRIL, I890.


SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.

BY ONE OF STANLEY'S PIONEER OFFICERS.


VERY early in life, I made up my mind that I
would some day see for myself the wonderful
countries that I read of in the books of travel and
adventure that formed the whole of my school-
boy library. I lived in imagination in strange
countries and among wild tribes my heroes
were all pioneers, trappers, and hunters of big
game; and after I had eagerly turned over the
pages of Stanley's search for Livingstone, and
followed with breathless attention the narrative
of his thrilling journey, "Through the Dark
Continent," I would close the book and won-
der whether it would ever be my good fortune
to cross the seas or live under the tropical sun.
I decided within myself that I would make my
own way in the world, away from the beaten
tracks of civilization.
I was quite prepared to go anywhere, and, if
there had been any demand for my services,
would have volunteered with equal alacrity to
join expeditions to the North Pole or the South
Seas.
But I remember that, even at school, Africa
had a peculiar fascination for me. A great
map of the "Dark Continent" hung on the
walls of my class-room; the tentative way in
which the geographers of that day had marked
down localities in the almost unknown equato-


rial regions seemed to me delightful and mys-
terious.
There were rivers with great estuaries, which
after flowing for a few miles into the interior
dribbled away in lines of hesitating dots; lakes
with one border firmly inked in and the other left
in vaguest outline; mountain ranges to whose
very name was appended a doubtful query; and
territories of whose extent and characteristics
ignorance was openly confessed by vast un-
named blank spaces.
This idea of travel was always present to me,
but very soon after I left school and had to suf-
fer the, to me, distasteful experience of office
work, the realization of it seemed to grow more
and more improbable. Many dreary months
passed on. I hated the foggy London streets
and the ways of city life, and longed only for
the time of my deliverance, without knowing
who could help me.
I had no friends in any way connected with
exploring expeditions in any part of the globe.
Still, here was I in this great city of London,
whence expeditions were constantly dispatched
to the remotest parts of the earth; and I reasoned
that members must frequently be wanted, and
sometimes at a moment's notice, to join some
perilous enterprise. If I could only get myname


Copyright, 1890, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.
459


No. 6.






SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


noted by the proper authorities, I might by
chance be sent in an emergency.
At that time several influential and philan-
thropic gentlemen, earnestly interested in Stan-
ley's wonderful explorations in Central Africa,
and recognizing the mutual benefit that would
accrue from the opening up, by civilization, of
the heart of Africa, had formed themselves,
under the royal patronage of King Leopold II.
of Belgium, into a society entitled L'Associa-
tion Internationale Africaine."
Stanley having taken a few months' rest to
recuperate his health, enfeebled by illness and
hardships during his great journey through
Africa, was now again on the Congo River, in
command of a large expedition under the aus-
pices of this new society, and was engaged in
founding a line of stations along the course of
the river which should form the nucleus of a
government destined, ultimately, to rule these
vast territories.
I found out that this association had its offices
in Brussels, and so I sat down and patiently
laid siege to these gentlemen-I bombarded
them with letters and applications; for a long
time there was no result, but one day, to my in-
tense delight, I received a communication from
the long-suffering secretary. It was very brief-
a bare acknowledgment of the receipt of my
applications, coupled with the intimation that
there were "no vacancies." This might have
disheartened some, but it had the contrary effect
on me. The mere fact of the secretary taking
any notice of my letters was enough. A small
ray of hope had fallen on my path, and the fu-
ture appeared less dark after the receipt of this
letter which seemed ominous of success some
day. A breach had been made in the dead
walls of indifference that barred the way to the
realization of my ambition, and I applied myself
again with renewed vigor to my task of letter-
writing.
At last, one memorable day, I received another
letter, this time to the effect that the president
of the society, Colonel Strauch, would be at the
Burlington Hotel, Cork Street, London, at nine
o'clock the following morning and requested me
to meet him there.
I had finally gained my point. How well I
remember pacing up and down Cork Street for


hours before the time appointed for the moment-
ous interview! The hour arrived. I was at once
shown into the rooms occupied by the colonel,
who received me in the kindest manner.
He conversed with me for some time upon
the nature of this African enterprise, and de-
scribed, with the utmost candor, all the worst
features of a pioneer's life in such a country- the
hundred ills to be contended with, the fevers and
other sicknesses to be guarded against, the inces-
sant watchfulness the white officer has to exer-
cise when surrounded by savage and superstitious
natives, and lastly the small reward to be gained
after years of hard work and anxiety. But if
the colonel had painted the prospect in even
darker colors, he would have been unable to dis-
suade me from following out my plan. I told
him that I was determined to go, and was pre-
pared for anything. When I left him, however,
my chances did not seem to have advanced
much, as the colonel could not definitely promise
me any appointment, and would commit himself
only to a pledge that he would bear me in mind
if any opportunity offered.
A few days after this interview, I again com-
menced writing letters, so that my name might
not be forgotten. I received, one Saturday
morning, a letter bearing the Brussels postmark.
It was from Colonel Strauch, asking me if I was
prepared to enter the service of the African In-
ternational Association and to start from Liver-
pool on the following Tuesday morning. Yes, I
answered without hesitation. Of course I could!
It was awkward, certainly, that, the intervening
day being Sunday, little time was left for saying
good-bye to my friends or getting together any
sort of a well-selected outfit.
On the other hand, my friends had long since
regarded me as a harmless eccentric, and would
be satisfied with the briefest adieus. Monday
was indeed a busy day. I was convinced, from
what I had read, that the elaborate kits furnished
by enterprising outfitters in London were of lit-
tle service in the tropics, and that an accumula-
tion of unnecessary baggage was the thing to be
avoided. So I confined myself to the purchase
of a very moderate kit; but, being compelled to
rush from one store to another to get the differ-
ent articles,-here to purchase gun and rifle and
cartridges; at another place, boots, and then to


460


[APRIL,






SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


THE FLEET OF KROO-MEN ON ITS WAY TO THE "VOLTA."
some clothing outfitter's,-what with this and On
the numerous friends whom I was compelled to strit
bid good-bye, I found my time fully occupied skul
until I left by the midnight train for Liverpool. Gui
On Tuesday morning, I was steaming down squ
the Mersey on board the good ship Volta," coal
bound for the lort of Banana at the mouth of the shoi
Congo. beir
I found among my fellow-passengers others T
whose destination was the same as mine,-there that
were some Swedish and Belgian officers engaged retu
by the association, and, to my great delight, three han
Englishmen, Milne, Edwards, and Connelly,
seafaring men who had traveled all over the
world. We four fellow-countrymen naturally
became very intimate on the voyage, and hoped
our fortunes would not be separate when we
reached our destination.
Seven days' steaming brought us to the pic-
turesque island of Madeira, where we anchored
only a few hours, and then made for the African
shores; and in another six days we drew in
toward the low-lying coast, whose tall palm-
trees we had plainly seen for some time on the
horizon, and cast anchor opposite the town of
Sierra Leone. Finding that there was nothing
to detain him at this port, after a few hours the
captain weighed anchor, and we dropped down
along the shore until we reached moorings
abreast of one of the villages of the Kroo-men.
Here the ship's cannon was fired to announce
to the natives our arrival and the report, as it
boomed over the placid sea, was the signal
for great activity on shore. Hundreds of black


T---~~/-~;~'~-~-~-~-~~-~~-~~-- -


" KROO-BOYS IN FULL DRESS.


461


figures rushed to the water's edge,
launched their dug-out canoes, and,
in a few minutes after our signal had
been fired, were speeding over the
surf toward us, filling the air with
their excited jargon and laughter.
As soon as a rope-ladder could be
thrown over the ship's side they
scrambled on board. Never were
human beings more fantastically
attired. Fashion here seems to in-
S sist on variety, and no two men wore
clothes of the same cut or color.
Among the crowd I noticed a few
whose elegant taste was evidently
much admired by their fellows.
e, whose sole garment was a pair of brightly
)ed bathing-drawers, had covered his woolly
.1 with the brass helmet of an English Life-
irdsman; while another dusky Hercules had
eezed his massive frame into a drummer-boy's
t, the tails of which dangled just below his
ulder-blades, the grotesqueness of the costume
ig heightened by his wearing a red plush
am o' Shanter" bonnet. It seemed to me
:these extraordinary people must have just
rned from looting some gigantic second-
d-clothes store.






SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


BAKONGO GIRL.


These "Kroo-boys," as they
are called on the west coast
of Africa, are the laborers
always employed by the
trading-houses on the coast,
and by the steamers.
Captains of ships are com-
missioned by the traders to
engage men for them, on
the outward-bound voyage.
Sometimes a boat will ship
as many as four hundred
Kroo-men destined for the
traders down the coast in
need of labor; and the Afri-
can coasters which leave
Liverpool short of hands,
make up their full crews by
the addition of Kroo-boys
to each department.
The men hired by the
Traders are shipped in
batches of twenty or thirty,
each gang being in charge
of a head man who brings
them back at the expiration
of their term of service,
which is usually one year.
They have a curious fashion


of selecting for themselves
European names, and in
order to prevent any mistake
arising from the inability of
most Europeans to tell, off-
hand, one negro from an-
other, they wear these names
cut into metal badges slung
round their necks like large
baggage-checks.
This excellent plan en-
abled me to discover that
our passenger-list was en-
riched by such distinguished
names as Pea-soup," Bot-
tle of- Beer," "Lee-Scup-
per," Poor-Man-have-no-
Friend," and. several other
aristocratic cognomens. An-
other peculiarity interested
me greatly. The ordinary
passenger starts with well-
filled trunks, whose contents
have more tendency to waste
away, the longer the voyage
lasts, but I noticed that our
new acquaintances brought
with them each an empty
box, which when carried


CONGO WEAPONS.


CONGO SPEARS.


462


[APRIL,






SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


down the gangway-plank on the head of Mr.
Bottle-of-Beer or Lee-Scupper, bulged open with
a hundred unconsidered trifles gleaned by indus-
trious fingers from decks and cabins. A few
days after we had shipped our new hands, we
were lying in the mouth of the Niger. The
" Volta was to remain at Bonny three days, to
discharge and take in cargo, and here our small
band of embryo explorers first placed foot on
the shores of the great continent which was to
be the scene of our future experiences. We
wandered about the small settlement of Euro-
pean traders and then passed on to the natives'
quarters on the outskirts. What a miserable
first glimpse we had of Africa and the Africans !
These wretched, filthy huts, rudely thatched
with grass and bamboo, with their still more
wretched inhabitants, the half-intoxicated groups
of listless natives, who watched our progress
through the village, with bleared and swimming
eyes, told with painful eloquence the demoraliz-
ing effect on the savage of some of the products
of our civilization. As the white men's settlement
itself is bright and prosperous, with its solid
white houses, the contrast with the degradation
and squalor of the natives is rendered all the
more saddening. We saw the same scenes all
along the coast, as we went in and out of a
number of small ports whose names were once


',; ,. .

IN A NATIVE VILLAGE.
famous or infamous in connection with the
slave-trade.
We now were making our way south, hugging
the shore and anchoring only when trade offered.
The long voyage was in this way relieved
from monotony, and every day's incidents formed
a fresh budget of news to be discussed in the
cabin at nightfall. What stories were told!
What extraordinary adventures the most ordinary
of us met with in our brief trips ashore! We
had two enthusiastic hunters in our party who
were exceptionally well posted in all matters ap-
pertaining to sport, especially the slaying of
big game. But heretofore their lives had been
where such knowledge availeth nothing.
None knew so well as they the habits of the
wildest beasts; how, if opportunity offered, to


NATIVE SUSPENSION-BRIDGE.





SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


`--
ST^T
81L _


t S


10











ON THE CARAVAN ROAD.

track them to their secret lairs; when and where
to catch them; and, when caught, how to cook
them. They had with them shot of all sizes
and guns by the best makers, with all the most
recent improvements.
As yet they had not fired a shot, but if a
chance occurred, we should see! Parbleu! !!
It was at Bonny that an opportunity occurred.
Rumors reached us as we lay in the stream, that
there was excellent shooting in the surrounding
country. Away started our friends, early one
morn, fully equipped, everything new, guns,
game-bags and costumes, pistols and knives.
All day long we missed them from the ship and
it was only late in the afternoon that we saw
them putting off from the shore. Expectation
ran high on board. Every one speculated on
the result of the day's sport, and when they
marched up the gangway, broiled red as lobsters
by the tropical sun, and holding up in triumph
the body of a small kingfisher, we felt that in-


telligence and skill could
do no more. For myself,
I was most interested in
studying the curiously di-
verse types of natives met
with in the different ports
we touched. At old Cala-
bar, a visit to one of the
chiefs in that district made
a great impression on me
by its fantastic quaintness.
This old fellow was living
in a fine, large, plank house
which had been originally
made in Europe and sent
here to be put together. I
found .him seated in a
large room profusely dec-
orated with cheap mir-
rors, china ornaments, and
large, gaudy oleographs.
Numerous clocks chimed
and struck the hours from
each of the four walls.
"Duke Henshaw" (the
name by which the chief
was known), indifferent to

7---

r>i, i


/"


WHITE PEPPER AS SNUFF. (SEE PAGE 468.)


[APRIL,


-


1" 7.





SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


all this grandeur, was seated on the floor smoking
a long clay pipe, and at the time of my visit was
attired in a bath-towel. While I was gazing
about me, hardly able to realize the full absurd-
ity of the picture, I heard myself addressed in
the choicest phrases by the old Duke, and, in
tones which would not have sounded amiss from
a Piccadilly "dude," he urged me to accept his
hospitality.
He then told me, when he noticed my sur-
prise, that he had received the advantages of a
European education and that although he
once wore broadcloth and stiff collars, he now
preferred his costume light and airy and with no
starch in it. Our stays at most of the trading-sta-
tions were so brief that I rarely attempted to go
ashore, but, while .we took in cargo, would lean
lazily over the bulwarks and watch the swarm of
dug-out canoes which crowded around the vessel,
laden with monkeys and parrots, cocoa-nuts,
pine-apples, bananas, and a hundred varieties of
vegetables whose names were then unknown
to me.
We had been forty-five days at sea when the
captain drew our attention to the color of
the water through which the vessel was moving.
" That is the water of the Congo," said he, and
far out into the blue Atlantic we could see the
turbid, muddy stream thrusting its way and re-
fusing to mingle with the waters of the ocean.
We steamed slowly in toward shore, the waters
growing tawnier and darker, and at last when
within a few miles of land we were able to
perceive our destination at the mouth of the
Congo. For there in the distance glistened
the low-lying, white-roofed little settlement of
Banana Point. Banana was at this time the
general depot of all supplies for the interior.
The large steamers loaded with merchandise
from Europe, discharged their cargoes here to be
transshipped to smaller vessels and conveyed up
the Congo. Here we disembarked with all our
belongings, and were hospitably entertained at
the French trading-house, where we had to wait
for the small steamer which was to take us up-
river. A very uninteresting place, Banana,--a
narrow tongue of. sand stretching into the sea
and a few plank-built houses and stores of the
European traders, the well-whitened roofs of
which glisten in the sun; the utter absence of
VOL. XVII.- 56.


vegetation, the glare of the sand and white-
washed houses dazzle and hurt the eyes. And
it was a relief the next morning to find ourselves
steaming up the dark river toward Boma.
At Boma we found a busy settlement of trad-
ers over whose stores floated the flags of Eng-
land, France, Holland, and Portugal. Gangs
of negroes were discharging the cargoes of the
small river-steamers which lay along the wharfs.
Here I experienced the unpleasant intro-
duction to that pest- the mosquito. Sleep was
utterly impossible. As Boma was not equal to
the sudden demand made on its hospitality, our
party had to sleep on the floor, each rolled in a
blanket. We hardly recognized each other the
next morning, so swollen and altered were our
features. Word reached us at Boma that Stan-
ley was anxiously waiting for new men up-river,
so we had to embark and continue our journey
at daybreak next morning. The growth on the
banks of the river between the mouth of the
Congo and Boma, is generally low-lying man-
grove swamp or sere grass, the land gradually
trending away in the distance in ranges of
green hills. From Boma to Vivi these hills ap-
proach nearer and nearer the river, untilfinally
they ien the waters in a gorge varying from
one-half to one and a half miles in breadth. The
current becoming swifter and stronger, our
little steamer had to battle her way, at points,
through stretches of wild and broken water.
The busy little white-roofed settlement on the
crown of Vivi Hill, contrasted pleasantly with
the grim and weather-beaten appearance of the
surrounding uplands, as toward evening we
steamed around a point within view of the station.
This station had been Stanley's base of opera-
tions during the passage of his expedition through
the lower reaches of the river, and was now the
down-country depot. The strongly built maga-
zines, well stocked with all kinds of stores, pro-
visions, merchandise for barter, boat-gear, arms,
and ammunition, bore evidence of how thorough
had been the foresight of Stanley in equipping
his expedition. It is at this point that the river
becomes unnavigable--being broken up for
many miles by innumerable small whirlpools and
rapids. At Vivi our stay was short; after one day's
delay we received our stores for the march over-
land to Isanghela, which consisted of a few tins





SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


of preserved meats, some medicines, a little
cloth to buy fresh provisions from the natives on
the road, and a spoon and a knife for each
man. Thus equipped, we were to set out for
Isanghela, and go thence to Stanley Pool. Before
daybreak, on the day of our departure, we were
up and impatient for the start. For the first time
I donned the traditional dress of the explorer,
and felt proud indeed of the helmet, leggins,
and revolver belt. All our belongings had to be
carried by native porters, and it was a tedious
business getting the negroes into marching or-
der -hours were wasted in their absurd disputes
before we could get fairly away from the station.
Each carrier had some complaint to make
about the load which was given to him. It was
either "too big," or too heavy," or else was awk-
wardly shaped. However, they managed after
a time to settle it among themselves, and after
much gesticulation and grumbling differences
were adjusted. But I was grieved to see when
our caravan at last moved off, that the smallest
and weakest-looking men invariably carried the
heaviest loads.
Hill after hill we had to climb and descend;
and many a weary mile we tramped through the
long grass over the numerous stretches of plains.
At times our path would lead along a curve of
the river-bank and give us glimpses of wild and
magnificent scenery. Now a forest of tropical
trees grew thickly down to the water's edge;
while, but a few miles further, bare perpendic-
ular cliffs rose abruptly on both sides, down
whose sides great bowlders seemed to have rolled
into the river. The stream, broken up by rough
and jagged rocks of fantastic shapes, some of
colossal size, standing out boldly in the general
disorder, bidding defiance to the eddying cur-
rent, swept along with a hissing sound as if
angered at the stern resistance of the rocks.
The order of the day during the march was
as follows: At the first streaks of dawn, after a
light breakfast of a cup of tea, unflavored by
milk or sugar, and a ship's biscuit,- during
which time our caravan of porters made their
loads ready,- we would move off, and be well
on the road by half-past six, and continue march-
ing until noon, when we would rest for the day.
At night we would sleep sometimes on the floor
of some native hut; or, if crossing an open


plain, would lie down just as contentedly with
no covering but a blanket and the starlit sky.
During the march I was anxiously watching
for wild game, always carrying my old Snider
ready loaded in case a buffalo should happen to
cross my path. It was fortunate that no wild
animal offered itself to be fired at; for, at that
time, had I pitched my skill against the instinct
of the buffalo, the result, I am afraid, would have
been unfortunate for me. At Isanghela our
party was divided- half of the men being told
off for service on the lower river, while we four
Englishmen and one Swedish officer were to
make our way up-river. Our division started
early on the morning after our arrival, in a whale-
boat manned by Zanzibaris, for Manyanga,
eighty-eight miles distant; this stretch of water
is navigable only with the greatest care-its
surface is agitated by countless small whirlpools
which, in places, increase in violence to such a
degree, that the most powerful steamer could
not stem the current in midstream; and the up-
ward passage at these points is effected only by
hugging the shore and hauling with ropes around
the rocky corners. The surrounding scenery is
as wild as the water it incloses, changing with
every turn of the river; at times the banks ap-
peared thickly covered with luxuriant foliage;
then, rounding another bend, tall, rocky cliffs
stood on either side, bare and jagged, with bases
torn and eaten away by the fierce flood.
We saw but little life during the long nine
days we struggled up-stream.
Sometimes at early morn an antelope, startled
from its morning drink by the plash of oars or
the songs of our rowers, would spring gracefully
into cover; or we would disturb a troop of
monkeys playing at the water's edge, who scram-
bled away in frantic haste to hide themselves in
the tree-tops, screaming and chattering at us as
we passed.
The feathered tribe seemed very poorly repre-
sented; we saw only a few fish-eagles, perched on
overhanging branches in meditative attitudes-
heads on one side, watching and waiting, pre-
pared to dart on their prey at the first scaly
glimpse of the leaping fish. Once or twice we
heard the snorts of hippopotami around our
boat when we moored for the night. As we
slept, each wrapped in his blanket, lying athwart-


466


(APRIL,





SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


ship on bales and boxes, it was not pleasant
to be waked near midnight by these unaccus-
tomed sounds, and to hear the wash of the
water along the gunwale, caused by these
monsters.
We were not a little thankful that they con-
fined themselves to grunts of defiance and for-
bore any actual attack,- for by this time we
were all suffering from African fever, and a good
night's sleep was very precious to us. Our boat
was small and overcrowded, and we were all
good-sized fellows on board; so, when the fever
was on us, it required considerable ingenuity
and much crossing and recrossing of legs be-
fore spaces could be found in which to lie
down at all, in the ster-sheets of our craft.
Poor Milne, a strong, stout-built man, who had
served twenty-one years in the British navy, suf-
fered more than any of us; and by the time we
reached Manyanga the fever had taken so strong
a hold of him that his case became hopeless.
We did all we could for him, but our small know-
ledge was of little avail. We hoped that he
would rally when we got ashore again, but five
days after we had landed he succumbed after a
few hours of delirium. This was indeed a great
blow to me, for although there was a great differ-
ence in our ages, Milne and I had been fastfriends
on the voyage out. He had been very good to
me in many ways, instead of ridiculing my in-
experience, and on several occasions had helped
me out of difficulties into which I had been led
through ignorance. He never lost an opportunity
of giving me such information as he thought
would be of use to me when I should be away
in the interior and alone. It was Milne who first
showed me how to handle a rifle, how to use a
sail-needle, and, even more important, how to
cook the few dishes that have for years figured
with such monotonous repetition in my simple
bills of fare.
In return, I would amuse him and the others
on the way, by drawing rough portraits which they
sent home to their friends; or, at night, I would
sing a few comic songs to the accompaniment of
my banjo. And here, at the commencement of
our new career, the man who to all appearance
was the strongest of our party was snatched
away by death, while I, a not particularly robust
lad, was left to wonder who would be the next


victim to the dreadful fever that was burning in
every vein and racking every bone.
I felt then that it was necessary for me to
"brace up," keep a stiff upper lip, and fight every
advance of the enemy. To my surprise I found
myself day by day growing stronger, while my
companions weakened and failed; at last, one
day I was able to announce myself as prepared to
continue the march. The Swedish officer was
to accompany me to Stanley Pool. The day that
we left Manyanga, Edwards and Connelly stag-
gered out of their hut to bid me Godspeed on
my journey. Poor fellows!- they both were in
sad condition, wasted and hollow-eyed, without
sufficient strength to throw off the fever. I never
saw these, my early companions, again. One
of them, Edwards, lies buried near Manyanga,
only a few miles separating the little wooden
crosses which mark the last resting-places of
poor Milne and Edwards, while Connelly re-
turned home, broken in health, before the com-
pletion of his term of service.
We now were obliged to cross the river, as
our road to Stanley Pool lay along the south
bank.
All the boxes containing our provisions and
outfits were placed in the native dug-out canoes
which were to carry them across the stream.
When all was ready, my companions and I em-
barked, and the canoes pushed off from the shore.
It was the first time either my friend or I had
traveled in this fashion, and our first experience of
the dug-out canoe was a very uncomfortable one;
our paddlers and passengers had to crouch down
as low as possible to steady the crank craft, and
maintain this cramped position during the hour
occupied in fighting a passage across the strong
and eddying river.
Right glad were we to leap ashore and stretch
our limbs when the canoes grated on the beach,
and with light hearts we commenced our march
of a hundred miles. Everything was fresh and
delightful to me. Each mile that separated me
from the fever-stricken camp we had just escaped
brought renewed health and strength with it,
and in spite of the sad thoughts which traveled
back to those left behind, the future, with
all its new experiences, presented itself to
me in the brightest colors. I suppose I must
have boasted to my companion of my recently


467


1890.]





SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


acquired culinary knowledge, for it was decided
that I should act as cook during the march.
We would procure eggs and fowls, etc., from the
villages we passed through, and I had to make
the most of what materials we could obtain. I
soon found that my knowledge was entirely theo-
retical, and my companion regretted his easy
credulity, when compelled to partake each even-
ing of a stew which, for want of a better name, I
called "Irish." Fruit we had in plenty. The
pine-apples were particularly good, and if, as is
currently believed through Africa, the eating of
this fruit is a certain cause of fever, my life must
have been preserved by a miracle, for I ate
them with undiminished appetite at all times
of the day.
The natives along our line of route were in-
variably friendly and willing to supply us with
necessaries in exchange for our cloth and beads.
The one feature common to the people we met
on the march was their snuffy condition. They
were all inveterate snuff-takers; they bake the
tobacco leaf perfectly dry and mix wood ashes
with it; this, when ground to a fine powder, they
carry in cloth pouches, and, when a pinch is re-
quired, they empty a thimbleful or so in the palm
of their left hand and stir it with the blade of a
long knife to insure its being of the requisite fine-
ness. Then the required amount is conveyed
on the blade of the knife to the nose, but so
clumsily that mouth, chin, cheek, and nose are
all smeared with the brown powder.
This snuff must be rather powerful, judging
from the prodigious sneezes it causes and the
watery blood-shot eyes of those addicted to
its use.
At one village a native importuned me to
sell him snuff; and finding it was no use trying
to persuade him that I had none concealed in
my boxes, I ventured to substitute a liberal
allowance of white pepper, which he accepted,
and retired to test its qualities without delay. I
could hear him sneezing violently in his retreat,
and before we left he presented himself in an
exhausted condition, with a bewildered expres-
sion of countenance, evidently surprised at the
strength of the white man's mixture.
Our journey led through long stretches of
grass plateau, and plunged us into the heart of
tropical forests. Streams had to be waded over;


or, where the waters were swollen, crossed in
small canoes.
We were never long without sight of human
dwellings; and would every few miles discover
a small village nestling in its, plantations of
banana and palm trees.
Eight days soon passed away; and when, at
the end of the march, I reported myself to the
doctor in charge of the station at Leopoldville,
just below Stanley Pool, I felt that I had safely
accomplished the first stage of my new experi-
ence of African travel; and was now fairly.
launched, sound in body and limb, on what I
hoped might prove a successful career on the
dark waters of the Great Congo and its tribu-
taries, and amid the strange scenes of Central
African life.
After breakfast the doctor introduced us to Mr.
Stanley, whom we found walking up and down
under the veranda of his grass-thatched, clay-
walled house. He shook hands cordially with
each of us; and, during the few minutes I was
in his presence, I was impressed with the power
which every word he said seemed to carry with
it. His manner struck me at once, and made
me feel from that moment that Mr. Stanley was
a masterly leader. I felt, from the first moment
I saw him, such confidence in his judgment that
I never, even in thought, should have criticized
anything that he did. I experienced then an
emotion which subsequent acquaintance only
intensified,-which would lead me then, as
now, to follow wherever he led. He told us to
appear next morning at parade and receive our
instructions. During my stay here, I was some-
times employed writing or drawing for Mr.
Stanley; at other times I would have charge of
a gang of blacks employed in some station
work.
Leopoldville, just below Stanley Pool, was the
principal depot of the "African International
Association"; for here Mr. Stanley had made
his headquarters, and was living in a one-story,
grass-roofed clay house, built on a terrace cut
and leveled in the hill-side. In a line with his
own house were the large, rough, but strong,
clay-walled magazines for stores; and on another
small terrace, a little higher up the hill, were the
white officers' quarters.
At the foot of the hill, to the right, were rows


468


[APRIL,





SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


of grass huts forming the encampment of the
black employees; and on the left were the station
gardens and plantations, while, running from
the terrace to the water's edge, a well-kept grove
of broad-leafed, banana-trees afforded in the
heat of the day a cool and friendly shelter from
the withering rays of the tropical sun.
Down by the water's edge were workshops, in
which the ringing of the blacksmith's anvil and
blowing of the wheezy bellows mingled with the
mournful but melodious singing of the gangs of
Zanzibaris.
The little fleet of boats at that time consisted
of the "En Avant," "Royal," and "A. I. A.,"
the first a small paddle-steamer, the two latter
propeller boats; all light draught and under forty
feet long. One of these was hauled high and
dry on the beach, and a busy crowd surrounded
it engaged in painting and repairing the hull,
while the others, moored alongside of two small,
steel lighters, lazily rocked on the river.
A walk over the rocks just below the station
amply repaid the rough traveling and afforded
a fine view of the rapids, as the Congo, once
more hemmed in a narrow gorge between moun-
tainous banks, races along with a terrific current,
flinging itself madly against the huge bowlders
which rise abruptly in its path, and throwing
great clouds of spray a hundred feet into the
air. The rocky bed of this part of the river
splits up this swift torrent into a wild confusion
of waters, whose incessant roar can be heard
for miles. From the brow of the hill on which
Leopoldville Station is built, a bird's-eye view
of Stanley Pool offered a picture in utter con-
trast to the one just described; we saw laid out
before us a vast lake-like expanse of placid
water dotted with numerous wooded islands and
grass-covered sand-banks, the whole, walled in
and encircled by hills, resembling the crater of a
huge volcano.
When I had been here about a month, Mr.
Stanley sent word for me to call at his house.
He then told me that within a few days he in-
tended making a four months' trip on the upper
river and was contemplating the construction of
a few new stations, conveying at the same time
the joyful news that he intended to appoint me
to the command of one of them. I will give
you the choice of two stations," said he. One


has been occupied by a European officer. There
are comfortable houses already built, there is a
fine flock of goats, plenty of fowls, well-stocked
gardens, and the natives of the surrounding
villages are good-natured and peaceful. Now
the other situation is entirely different. No
white man has ever lived there before; in fact,
the place I wish to occupy is a dense forest, ag
yet untouched by human hand; it is four hun-
dred miles from Stanley Pool in the district of
Lukolela. It will require a lot of hard work
to make a settlement there, as you will have to
commence right at the beginning. Now, Glave",
said Mr. Stanley, "make your choice."
I had no intention of accepting the comfort
resulting from another's toil. I had spirit enough
to wish to raise my own goats and fowls, to build
my own house. So I answered, without hesita-
tion, "I prefer the latter, sir." "All right,
Glave, you are appointed chief of Lukolela,"
answered Mr. Stanley. I felt proud of being
selected as one of his pioneer officers, and was
perfectly satisfied with the progress I had made
during my short term in Africa. Unfortunately
I was continually suffering from slight attacks of
the African fever. I was, indeed, "becoming
cadaverous," as Mr. Stanley remarked in "The
Congo and the Founding of its Free State," but
I was simply running the gauntlet through the
climatic influences as all new-comers to tropical
countries must expect to do, feeling all the time
that my enfeebled and debilitated condition was
only a temporary one, which in a few months I
should overcome, and step out of the ranks of
the inexperienced and be classed amongst the
able and acclimatized.
The 22d of August, '83, was marked by a
morning of great excitement. Stanley was leav-
ing that day for a long and perilous voyage
on the upper waters of the Congo. He was
again about to visit those savages of the far
interior who had in '77 so persistently attacked
him -tribes who warned Stanley and his wea-
ried band by their cannibal war-cry of "Nyama,
nyama! (" Meat, meat! ") of the fate that would
befall any who might fall into their clutches.
The little steamers, the A. I. A. and Royal, had
started a day or two before. I was to travel in
the En Avant. As we steamed away from the
picturesque bay, Stanley in his tiny boat was


469





SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


cheered by the whole garrison, both white and
black, who turned out and lined the beach to
bid us good-bye.
Even in my wildest dreams -and at times
they were wild indeed I had never imagined
that I should ever make a voyage up the Congo
under such favorable auspices. It was indeed
an honor to be traveling in the little steamer
En Avant, with the greatest explorer of the age,
whose determined pluck and indomitable reso-
lution enabled him to give to the world a map
of Central Africa, with the course of one of
the mightiest rivers of the world marked from
source to mouth,-a map on which the shores
of the great lakes of Tanganyika and Nyanza
were clearly defined, a map where personal
knowledge and experience took the place of
hypothesis and mere conjecture. Four days'
steaming brought us to Kwamonth, at which
place the white officer in charge of this station
had but recently met a sad end. He, together
with a French priest and several blacks, was
drowned, their canoes being overtaken and
swamped, whilst in midstream, by a tornado.
This officer had evidently been greatly be-
loved by the villagers, as they evinced most
earnest sympathy at the untimely death of
" Nsusu Mpembe" (White Chicken), the nick-
name they had given him.
After leaving Kwamonth the river broadens
out to a great width, and its course becomes
more and more broken up by forest-clad islands.
In the evenings when we put in shore for
the night to cut wood, my chief, Stanley, would
often narrate some of the stirring events which
occurred during his memorable expedition to
relieve Dr. Livingstone, or his still more thrill-
ing voyage through the Dark Continent. I
remember one particular occasion--when the
rising moon threw long, silver ripples across
the purple waters of the Congo, and the soft
evening airs fanned the smoldering patches
of grass on the surrounding hills into flame,
which cast in fantastic relief the weird shapes
of the rocky uplands and the wondrous variety
of the tropical vegetation.
Stanley, dressed in his campaigning costume
of brown jacket and knickerbockers, with his
broad-crowned peak cap pushed off his forehead,
seated on a log, smoking his briar pipe by the


camp-fire, whose ruddy glow fell on his sunburnt
features and lighted up the characteristic lines
of that manly face, his eyes fired with the
reminiscences of the glorious past, held me spell-
bound as I listened to his thrilling narrative of
the attack in '77 on his enfeebled but ever ready
little band, by those barbarous cannibals, the
Bangala. How this veritable armada of war-
canoes bore down upon his small craft; how
he ran the gauntlet of these intrepid warriors to
the safe reaches beyond, through an atmosphere
darkened by the flight of arrows and quivering
spears,-thinning their ranks as he passed with
a deadly hail from his rifles. Mr. Stanley was
always busy whether ashore or afloat. The
top of his little cabin in the after-part of the
En Avant formed his table, and I have no
doubt a great deal of the interesting material
which he embodied in his book, "The Congo
and the Founding of its Free State," was penned
on the cabin of the En Avant. Occasionally, he
would leave off writing, put down his pencil, and
take a careful survey of the surroundings; some-
times an old crocodile, disturbed by the paddle-
wheels in his slumbers on a sand-bank, would
waddle down to the water's edge, and perhaps
swimming toward us, as if to get a closer view
of the intruders, would offer an inviting shot
of which Mr. Stanley generally took advantage.
We passed on, creeping slowly up-stream,
landing here and there to cut dry wood for fuel
or obtain provisions from the native villages
which we sighted on the river-banks. Our re-
ception by the natives was. generally friendly;
but the large, thickly populated villages of Bo-
lobo evinced a keen desire for war, and dem-
onstrated their aggressiveness by firing their
old flint-lock guns at our little fleet as it passed.
Stanley had previously made a station here, and
a white officer was at present in charge of it.
The history of this post had been an unhappy
one. Only recently all the station-houses had
been burned to the ground, and a great quantity
of stores intended for the new up-river stations,
and other valuable property, destroyed. The
relations between the villages and station became
very strained, and it was only after two weeks
that Stanley's characteristic tact triumphed over
the suspicions of these natives and convinced
them of our friendly intentions, and also suc-


470


[APRIL,





SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


ceeded in making them pay an indemnity for
their unprovoked attack. Stanley having called
Ibaka and the other Bolobo chiefs to a friendly
council, presents were exchanged, and the natives
promised in future to maintain peace with the
white men.
Our little flotilla again started up-stream. We
were, however, delayed a little on the way, in
order that our engineer might repair the damage
caused to the A. I. A. by an old hippopotamus
who had imagined this little steamer to be an
enemy of his, and had made four large holes
through the iron plates of her hull with his tusks
before his pugnacity was appeased. Fortunately,
the boat was close in shore at the time, so they
were able to get her to the banks before she
filled with water.
Early in September, '83, the blue smoke
curling up over the tall tree-tops, announced to
us that we were approaching a native settle-
ment; and, on drawing near, we could every
now and then catch glimpses of little native
huts in the verge of a dense forest. This was
Lukolela, and in the neighborhood of our land-
ing-place the new station was to be built. A
crowd of natives was gathered on the beach
awaiting our arrival, and as soon as Stanley
landed, a slave was sent through the village to
beat the old chief's iron gong and summon all
the head men to a palaver.
I was hardly flattered to find that my advent
among them was not looked upon with much
favor by the majority. All sorts of stories had
been spread about the country concerning the
white man, and if one tithe of them were true
I should, indeed, have been an acquisition of
doubtful value to any community. It was only
after a prolonged discussion, that the bargain
for the necessary land was concluded. After a
night's rest, we set out again to take formal pos-
session of the ground. The site fixed on was
a mile or so from the village at which we first
touched. Everything was now settled in an
orderly fashion, the lay of the land ascertained,
and the boundaries of my territory defined by
their proximity to certain small brooks which
were well-known local landmarks.
Stanley then roughly drafted a treaty be-
tween the chiefs of Lukolela and himself,
which stated that, in consideration of moneys


received, the assembled chiefs gave us full rights
to a territory, the boundaries of which had
been definitely fixed. The contents of this pa-
per were clearly interpreted and agreed upon.
When all had been satisfactorily arranged,
Iuka and Mungaba, the principal chiefs of the
district, and the other head men, received in pay-
ment for the land, brass wire, Manchester cloth,
beads, anklets, knives, forks, spoons, mirrors,
bells, and other trinkets; and while the natives
returned to their village to excite the envy of the
less fortunate with their newly acquired wealth,
and to show to their friends the brilliant cloths
and bright metal-work of "Bula Maladi"
("Stone-breaker," Stanley's native name), I set
seriously to work to make a clearing for the site of
the new station-Stanley placing at my disposal
to assist me the crews of the three steamers.
There was much rough undergrowth to be cleared
away and a few giant trees to be felled before
a place could be made on which to erect the
three native huts we had purchased and brought
along with us from Lukolela. Indeed, when
the morning arrived on which the boats were to
proceed on their journey and leave me to enjoy
in solitude all the pleasures of my new estate,
little more had been effected than the erection
of the huts and the clearing of a small path
leading down to the river.
On the morning of the 25th of September,
Stanley with his three boats moved slowly up-
stream. I followed their course with straining
eyes, and did not leave the beach until a turn in
the river hid the flotilla from my sight. For
the first time a feeling of momentary sadness
and depression came over me as, returning to-
ward my hut, I realized my complete isolation.
Where, now, was the little band of comrades
who only a few weeks ago had joined their for-
tunes with mine? One by one my companions
had dropped away from me, and in place of
their familiar faces I now saw only the wild
countenances of a strange people who spoke a
tongue the simplest words of which were unintel-
ligible to me.
With every mile I had penetrated into the
interior I had left behind something that bound
me to home and my own countrymen, and now
the last glimpse I caught of the departing boats
meant that I was separated from all that could re-





SIX YEARS IN THE WILDS OF CENTRAL AFRICA.


mind me of home and friends for many months
to come. Stanley, with his never-failing foresight,
had anticipated most of the difficulties I should
have to contend with in forming my settlement,
and had done everything in his power to make my
path smooth as possible, leaving me full instruc-
tions as to the conduct of the work. He also en-
deavored to establish me in the good-will of the
natives, by arranging that Mungaba, one of the
most powerful chiefs in the district, should be-
come my blood-brother. This custom of blood-
brotherhood prevails throughout Central Africa,
and its observance is the surest way of gaining the
confidence of the native chiefs. It has with them a
religious significance. Those natives who have
entered into relations prescribed by this rite
invariably respect them, and both Livingstone
and Stanley have owed much to the sacredness
of the pledges given by chiefs whose favor and
protection they gained in this manner. The
ceremony took place in Stanley's presence.
Mungaba and I took our places side by side.
Our left arms being bared, a small incision was
made with a native razor in Mungaba's arm,
just below the elbow, by one of my men. Then
one of the natives performed a similar operation
on me, and held my arm, so that the blood
which flowed from the wound might mingle
with that of Mungaba's. While they rubbed
our punctured arms together they declared that
Mungaba and myself were now of one blood,
and enumerated the different duties which the
one owed to the other. If one was sick, the
other had to attend him; if at war, to help
him; and if one had cloth and trinkets, his
blood-brother, if in want, was entitled to share;
and Mungaba's. relations were now declared to
be my relations.
The circle of natives repeated in a chanting
chorus the words used by the wielders of the
razor, and declared themselves, as witnesses of the
solemn compact, bound to respect the wishes of
their chief that I and my retainers should be for-


ever unmolested by them, and that there should
be unbroken peace between the settlement and
their villages. The majority of these people had
never seen a white man, and I became an object
of attraction to crowds of astonished natives.
They came from miles in the interior to see the
white novelty on view. The old women seemed to
be more affected than any by their first look at
the new-comer. What they had expected to see
I can not say; but they would approach stealthily
and, peeping into the hut, would announce their
first shock at seeing me by an hysterical scream
which I heard die away in the distance as they
bolted off to narrate to their friends their opinion
of the mand616 (white man). Every action of
mine was strange to them and afforded them a
great deal of amusement.
My chief effort, now, was to get well and
strong, for I was really in a bad state, the
fever being succeeded by a severe attack of
dysentery. My own men, I knew, among
themselves doubted whether I would recover, for
they perceived that the departure of the boats
had thrown me into a relapse, that the excite-
ment of the last few days acting as a stimulant
was all that kept me on my feet. I afterward
learned that Stanley himself feared that my con-
stitution might prove too weak to withstand the
successive attacks of weakening sickness, and
had left instructions with my head man how to
act in event of my death. For fully a month,
I was unable to do more than superintend the
work of my Zanzibaris from the couch on which
I lay in the shelter of my hut; but there was
much to entertain me, while lying sick, in the
conduct of my new neighbors. I never shared
in the anxiety I saw depicted on the faces of my
followers. Entirely occupied with thoughts of
my new enterprise and plans for future work,
I had little time to dwell on my present con-
dition, and I determined within myself that,
Providence aiding me, the flag should not soon
float at half-mast over the new station.


(To be continued.)


E. J. Glave.


472

















04 J N7- qOW TAL GRANDEIS GATAEnRD 4
) ITO ALTLN LLAE 111 W LL


BY TUDOR JENKS.
Into an old Castilian town ''"
There strayed a minstrel clad in brown. '.1
He halted in the market-place, ,
Attuned his lute with smiling face, -:
Picked a prelude from the strings.
The people gather. Thus he sings..
ACK from hunting came the King;
With him rode no courtiers gay,
Rode no huntsmen, squires nor pages,
Alone he walked at close of day.
Up the crumbling steps he climbs,
Forces back the creaking gate;
No retainers haste to greet him,
In the court no guards await.
SHROUGH the empty halls he treads; .
Entering a cheerless room. '
Faintly shines on rusty armor
One small rushlight lost in gloom.
Ho, there!" cries the weary huntsman, :
" Has my last retainer fled ?
All day fasting have I hunted; -
Bring me meat, red wine, and bread! i
Ferdinand! "- the King calls sharply-
"Ferdinand!" The steward came,
Groping slowly through the darkness,
While his head hangs low in shame. ';
Said the monarch: For six arrows,-- -: -
See, I bring but two small birds. }"~ -z" -- ;. ~ ""


This story, or legend, is quoted in Callcott's History of Spain," and there credited to the Spanish
historian, Juan de Mariana.
VOL. XVII.-57-58. 473





THE BALLAD OF KING HENRY OF CASTILE.


Quickly, Ferdinand, serve supper,
Give me food, and spare me words! "

ADLY spoke the shamefaced steward:
Dear young master, I must dare
Simple truth to bluntly tell you,
There is naught. The larder 's bare!
We have neither gold nor silver;
Meat is lacking flour, too.
Mice have starved within our cupboards.
What can faithful steward do ?"
For a moment stared the monarch
In amazement. Then a smile
Curved his lips, but through his lashes
Gleamed a dancing fire the while.
" Do ? "he answered. Roast the birdlings!
One for you and one for me.
We '11 not starve, though it be fast-day !
I For to-morrow -we shall see! "


", [ -EAR young prince," his steward an-
swered,
" There 's no famine in the land: -
Flocks uncounted, waving harvests
Fill the vales on every hand."
" Do the peasants fail in tribute -
Do our subjects dare refuse
Payment of their rents and taxes,
Wronging us of rightful dues ? "
" No, my liege. Your loyal people
Cruel imposts promptly pay;
Every tax the Regents levied,
Good or bad, remains to-day."
" Read me, then, your vexing riddle:
Through these realms full harvests shine;
Peasants toil to fill my coffers,
But no revenues are mine! "
Then the steward, sorely troubled,
Mumbles, Sire, 't were hard to tell.
Thou art weary from thy hunting -


IN the tiny quail they feasted. Weak from fasting. It were well
Sh Then, before the scanty fire, First to sup; then, after sleeping,
Henry called the loyal steward, Fully rested and at ease,
Of the famine to inquire. Thou canst wisely sift this matter,
"How came penury so sudden Feast, then, with thy rich grandees! "
To the realm of proud Castile? Shrewdly counseled! laughed the mon- -
S Kings should know their subjects' trouble, arch;
SThat from woe they may bring weal" Since grandees so richly fare,
oete may brin wea." ;, ^^ .


[APRIL,





THE BALLAD OF KING HENRY OF CASTILE.


It were best to share their fortunes.
I will go. But tell me where ?"
" Near Toledo the Archbishop
Holds a feast this very night,
None can miss his royal palace
All aglow with rosy light."

SN a hunting-cloak all muffled
Went the King; but rode no steed.
Floundered he o'er roads half broken,
With his staff for friend in need.
When he reached the Bishop's palace,
Far around shone flaring lights -
Torches borne above the thronging
Lords and ladies, priests and knights.
Up the stairway, all unnoted,
Passed their King, and found a seat
Near the door among the rabble -
By huge trenchers piled with meat.


HEN the wine-cup oft had circled,
Loud did the Archbishop boast
Of broad acres and long rent-rolls.
And the prelate gave a toast:
"Bumpers to the high-born Regents
Who so long have ruled the land,
Scattering rank and royal riches
Forth with free and lavish hand!"
Loudly cheered the portly henchmen,
Then a nobleman arose,
And 'mid shouts of mocking laughter,
Said: "The King's health I propose.
Hail our boyish king Long may he
S Let the Regents rule Castile!
King Do-nothing '-ne'er another
Did so much for nobles' weal! "
S Grandees boasted of their riches,
S Filched from coffers of the Crown.
Silent sat their King and listened,
Moved to neither smile nor frown,
Though the nobles named their manors
Held by Regents' wrongful grant,
And the clergy counted tithings,
Mingling jeers with mocking cant.
So they babbled till the morning
Turned the thousand candles pale,


475





THE BALLAD OF KING HENRY OF CASTILE.


Then the drowsy guests departed
In gray hoods, or coats of mail.

The minstrel paused. Then a livelier air
Danced from his lute and filled the square.

EXT day arose the youthful King,
And wrote a parchment scroll;
He sealed it with his signet-ring.
"Take, Ferdinand, this roll.
Go, with what show of finery
Thou canst, unto the town,
And summon here all men-at-arms
Who vet do love the Crown.


See that thou hast the words aright,
Then hasten back to me;
Do but my errand skillfully -
The sequel thou shalt see."
The steward did the King's behest,
And soon the warriors brown,
Came clanking through the mountain
roads,
And thronged the little town.
The King received them in the court,
Proud of the loyal bands,
And to each captain secretly,
He gave his strict commands.


A hundred, at the least, must come
To keep their King from harm.
Next, the Archbishop seek with speed
And say, with due alarm:
' The King 's in such extremity
As baffles all my skill,
He summons all his noblemen
To hearken to his will.'


B : 1-.* .:- ,: .'.., '.,*:.:- .: ':-,;;:, ., .,, i ./ 7l..





The hard-earned wage she 'd thought ;
to save ;
And here a youngster on toe-tip,
Threw in his penny for a whip;
Until the pieces of the poor,
Ended the minstrel's begging tour.
The crowd was smaller now, 't is true,
But better loved the bard those few
Than all the rich and tuneless throng, i


[APRIL,





THE BALLAD OF KING HENRY OF CASTILE.


477


Who grudged a copper for a song.
Once more resound the trembling strings,
Once more with song the market rings.:

HE Bishop sped, with greedy haste,
Along the mountain road;
Too oft the ambling sumpter-mule
Jumped at the pricking goad.
In throngs the priests and nobles came,
Like birds to quarry flying.
" The King is ill! He's made his Will!"
" They say King Henry 's dying!"
The rumor in swift whispers
Has passed from lips to ears;
But long they sit in audience
Before a soul appears.
SARK There comes a martial tread.
The arras opens wide,
In full mail clad, with gleaming sword,
A warrior forth does stride.
It is the King!
Then marvel all,
And some among the crowd
Murmur, It is a boyish jest
To trick the grandees proud!"
v" f lords, we pray you bear with us,"
l The King said. "All is true;
Your King is in extremity,
And hath sore need of you.
But ere he may make known his will,
He first doth here command,
That one of you shall straight declare,
What Kings in this our land
Have reigned within the memory
Of all who here attend.
Let then the eldest of you speak,
The rest attention lend."
The Bishop raised his tonsured head,
And spoke: Good Sire, but five
Have sat on Castile's royal throne
In my time. None alive
Can well recall the Spanish king
Whom I have not known too:
Alfonso, Pedro, John the First,
Another Henry true.


V

), '1





'T is more than eighty years, indeed,
Since other King we had -
And may your Majesty as long
Make loyal Castile glad! "
"Then none has seen, whatever his age,"
The King said, is it true ?-
More Kings than five rule in Castile
SAnd take her revenue?"
The puzzled nobles answer, None."
Then frowned he on the throng.
(" His Majesty has lost his wits! "
. The whisper passed along.)
Out spake the King: We 're not so old
As any one of you,
Yet in our days these eyes have seen
Of Kings some score or two!
For while your rightful, sovereign lord
Hath neither bread nor wine,
Some forty kings at his expense
Do waste, carouse, and dine.
We 've heard you tell your revenues,
Filched from a needy throne,





478 THE BALLAD OF KING HENRY OF CASTILE.

These traitors to the state!
Restore our lands and gold, ye thieves !
Or know the felon's fate !"
In Restore our lands aend gold, lye thie v
Then how the nobles trembled
Before his threatening face.
They promised restitution,
And craved the royal grace.
SThe King forgave. The King forgot,
And, And richly fared thereafter;
But how the grandees "heard his will"
Was often told with laughter.

The minstrel ended thus his song,
-- Slowly dispersed the little throng,
Save some few children of the street,
Who followed him with weaiy feet.
But nowhere did the minstrel wait,
Until he 'd reached the old town gate,
Then, as he passed, with longing eyes
The children waved their sad good-byes.
While brave with ill-got silk and lace,
You spent them as your own.
In truth, you 've left our larders bare,
Like some great swarm of rats, i', ...._
And now, your King has summoned here ii
His loyal, sharp-clawed cats i i _-- i
A trumpet sounds. The men-at-arms -
Come marching in bright steel,
And heavy doors swung open wide .
The arm6d ranks reveal.
Then laughed the young King merrily :
You see, my lords, 't is true: .
Your monarch, in extremity,
Makes known his will to you.
Seize them, my guards, and bind them!

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







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I


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Ulyp


- I


IAEVr .,


BY MARY HALLOCK FOOTE.


JOHN BROWN had concluded to quit work
and go to mining." Not that mining is not
work; but a man does n't get so tired working
for himself, choosing his own hours and resting
when he pleases, as he does working in another
man's time. It is like picking tame blackberries
inside the garden fence for the family table, and
picking wild blackberries in the fields and hedge-
rows, and eating as one goes. Every boy knows
how that is; and some of these good-natured,
wandering, Western men are very like big boys.
John Brown, and little Jack Gilmore, who was
now nearly twelve years old, were great cronies.
John was still the teamster at the engineers'
camp in the cation. He had been a sailor in
his native Northern seas. He had been a fisher-
man of the Skager Rack; and more than once,
by his own story, he had been driven out to sea,
when drifting from his trawls, and picked up by
one of the numerous vessels of the fishing-fleet
that is always lying off or on the entrance to the
strait. He had been a teamster on the plains,
where the Indians were "bad." Once, when
crossing the great Snake River plains, he picked
up a curious stone shaped by the Indians, which


he recognized as a sinker," such as he himself
had made and used on the fishing-grounds of
the far North. John had a little ranch of his
own; and he owned half a house. The other
half of the house was on the land of the adjoin-
ing settler. The two men had taken up preemp-
tion claims, side by side, and to save expense
had built a joint-dwelling on the boundary line
between the two claims. Each man lived in his
own side of the house-the half that rested on
his land. John had lived six months on his
claim, as the law requires before a settler can
secure a title to his land. He was now working
to get the money to improve it into a farm. He
was a bit of a carpenter; and in many odd ways
he was clever with his hands, as fishermen and
sailors almost always are. Jack Gilmore pos-
sessed a riding-whip, such as the cowboys call
a quirtt," which John had braided for him, with
skill and economy, out of leather thongs cut
from scraps of waste leather, old boot-legs, or
saddle-straps, discarded by the camps.
Such a companion as this, so experienced and
variously gifted, and so uniformly gentle, was
sure to be missed. Jack found the canon a





A VISIT TO JOHN'S CAMP.


much duller place without his friend. He and
Charley Moy, the Chinese cook, used to dis-
course about John, and recount his virtues,
much as we linger over praises of the dead -
although John's camp was but five miles away,
and he himself in good health, for all any one
knew to the contrary.
After a while, Jack got permission to ride up
the river to John's camp and pay him a visit;
and he was to be allowed to make the trip alone.
Jack had been promoted, since his fishing ex-
pedition of two summers before, from a donkey
and one spur to a pony of his own, a proper
boy's saddle, and two spurs, all in consequence
of his advancing years and the increasing length
of his legs. The pony was called "Lollo "; for
just when he came the children had been reading
" Jackanapes," and the new pony, like the pony
in the story, was "red-haired." He had be-
longed, not to the gypsies, but to the Indians,
who had broken and branded him. One of his


Three white feet, deny him;
Four white feet and a white nose,
Take off his hide and give him to the crows !
But Lollo shook the dust of the trail from his
four white feet, in defiance of the crows; nor
was he ever known to hide the light of his white
nose under a bushel, except when there were
oats in the bottom of it.
Jack's mother advised him to make sure of
his lunch by taking it with him, in case John
might be absent from the camp in the hills. But
for some reason (it is very difficult to know a
boy's real reasons) Jack preferred to take the
chances of the trip without provisions.
His father told him that when he had ridden
as far as John Turner's, by the river trail, he
must take the upper trail which runs along the
bluffs.
As it turned out, this was mistaken advice.
The upper trail was not a good one, as Jack soon
discovered; and in certain places, where it was


St


ears was clipped, and the brand on his flank
was a.circle with a bar through the center. He
had the usual thick mane and tail of a "cayuse,"
a white nose, and four white feet.
Now, there is an ancient rhyme which says:
One white foot, buy him;
Two white feet, try him ;


highest and steepest above the river, it had been
nearly rubbed out by the passage of herds of
stock, crowding and climbing past one another,
and sliding over the dry and gritty slope.
In one spot it disappeared, as a footing, alto-
gether, and here Jack was obliged to dismount
and creep along on all fours, Lollo following as


480


[APRIL,


---





A VISIT TO JOHN'S CAMP.


he could. A horse, it is said, can go wherever
a man can go without using his hands. As Jack
used his hands it was hardly fair to expect Lollo
to follow; but the pony did so. These Western
horses seem as ready as the men to risk them-
selves on dangerous trails, and quite as sure of
what they are about.
What with all these ups and downs, the breeze
on the bluffs, and the natural state of a boy's ap-
petite about midday, Jack was hoping that lunch
would be ready at John's camp by the time he
reached it; and it is possible that he wished
he had not been so proud, and had taken a
"bite in his pocket, as his mother advised him.
John's camp was in a gulch where a cool
stream came down from the hills. There were
shade and grass, and flowers, in the season of
flowers. The prospect-holes were higher up, be-
neath the basalt bluffs, which rise like palisades
along the river. Earlier prospectors had driven
tunnels, such as prisoners dig under the foun-
dations of a wall, some extending a few feet, some
farther, under the base of the bluffs. John was
pushing these burrows further still, and "pan-
ning out the dirt he obtained in his progress.
Jack soon found the sluice-boxes which John
had built, and the "head" he had made by
damming the little stream, but he could not find
John nor John's camp.
He argued with himself that John would not
be likely to "make camp" below the pool of
water;- it was clear and cold, much better for
drinking than the murky river water. His search-
ing, therefore, was all up the gulch instead of
down toward the river; but nowhere could he
discover a sign of John nor of his belongings.
Jack's mother asked him afterwards, when he
told his story, why he did not call or make a noise
of some kind. He said that he did whistle, but
the place was "so still and lonesome" that he
"did not like the sound of it."
His hope now was that John might be at
work in one of the tunnels under the bluffs. So
he climbed up there (and by this time he was
quite empty and weak-hearted with hunger).
He had a fine view of the river and its shores,
rising or sinking as the bluffs came to the front,
or gave place to slopes of dry summer pastures.
There was a strong wind blowing up there, and
the black lava rocks in the sun were like heated


ovens. The wind and the river's faint ripple, so
far below, were the only sounds he could hear.
There were no living sounds of labor, or of any-
thing that was human or home-like.
At the entrance to one of the tunnels he saw
John's canvas -overalls, his pick and shovel, a
gold-pan, and a wheelbarrow of home construc-
tion. Jack examined the latter and saw that
the only shop-made part of it was the wheel, an
old one which John must have found, and that
John by his own ingenuity had added the other
parts out of such materials as he could find.
The sight of these things, lying unused and
unclaimed by their owner, made Jack feel more
dismal than ever. The overalls, in particular,
were like a picture of John himself. The whole
place began to seem strange and awesome.
Jack crept into the short tunnels, where it was
light even at the far end; and he saw nothing
there, either to explain or to add to his fears.
But the long tunnel was black as night. Into
that he dared not go.
He looked once more at the dreary little heap
of tools and clothing, and with an ache that was
partly in his heart, partly, no doubt, in the empty
region of his stomach, he climbed down again
into the gulch, mounted Lollo, and rode away.
When he came to the bad place on the trail,
he slid down, keeping ahead of Lollo, who shuf-
fled along cautiously behind him. Lollo would
not have stepped on Jack, but he might have
slipped and fallen on him. However, a cayuse
on a bad trail attends strictly to business, and is
quite safe if he can keep but two of his feet on
firm ground.
If Jack's father had known about that place
on the trail, he never would have sent Jack by
that way; and it was well that his mother had
no notion of it. As it was, they were merely
surprised, to see the boy returning about the
middle of the hottest part of the afternoon, and
were not a little sorry for his disappointment,
when they heard the story of the trip.
Mrs. Gilmore shared the boy's anxieties about
John; and Charley Moy, while he was giving
Jack his dinner, told some very painful stories
of miners done away with on their solitary claims
for the sake of their supposed earnings. Mr.
Gilmore said there might be a dozen explana-
tions of John's absence; and, moreover, that





A VISIT TO JOHN'S CAMP.


r(> I



2=-'


Jack had n't found the camp at all, and the
camp should be there, or some sign of its having
been there must remain to indicate the spot.
Still the boy could not dismiss his fears, un-
til two or three days later John himself stopped
at the cation, on his way to town, not only alive
but in excellent health and spirits.
He told Jack that he had been at his camp
all the time the boy was searching for him; but
the camp was at the mouth of the gulch, close
to the river, where he had found a spring of pure,
,cold water. Very near the spring was a miner's
:shanty, deserted, but still quite habitable. The
advantages of house and spring together had
decided John to camp there, instead of higher
up and nearer to his ditches. He urged Jack
to make the trip again, and in a week or so the
boy repeated his visit.
This time he did not take the upper trail.
John said that that trail was only used at high
water in the spring, when the river rose above
the lower trail.
The lower trail along the river bank was safe
and pleasant, and not so hot as the upper one;
and this time there were no adventures. Ad-
ventures do very well to tell of afterward, but
do not always make a happy journey.


John was at home, and seemed very glad to
see the boy. He took him up on the bluffs to
show him his workings, and Jack found it very
different, up there by the tunnels;-not at all
strange and anxious. He did not mind the
dark tunnel a bit, with John's company, and a
candle to guide him.
John showed him the under surface of the
bluffs, exposed where he had undermined them
and scraped away the dirt. These lava bluffs
were once a boiling flood of melted rock. The
ground it flowed over and rested upon after it
cooled, had been the bed of a river. In its
soft state, the lava had taken the impression of
the surface of the river-bed, and after it cooled
the forms remained the same; so that the under
surface of these ancient bluffs was like a plaster
cast of the ancient river-bed. The print could be
seen of stones smoothed by water, and some of
the stones were still embedded in the lava crust.
Now this river came down from the moun-
tains, where every prospector in Idaho knows
there is plenty of gold for those who can dis-
cover it. John argued that the old river-bed
must have had, mixed with its sand, fine gold
for which no one had ever prospected. The
new bed which the river had worn for itself at


482


[APRIL,





A VISIT TO JOHN'S CAMP.


the foot of the bluffs, probably contained quite i
as much gold, sunk between stones or lodged in r
pot-holes in the rocks (as it lodges against the
riffles in a sluice-box), but no one could hope to
get that gold, for the water which covered it. t
The old river-bed was covered only with rock,
which "stays put," while you dig beneath it.
So, on the strength of this ingenious theory,
John was digging where the other theorists had I
dug before him. He was not getting rich, but 1
he was making wages," and enjoying himself
in the pleasant camp in the gulch; and as yet t
he had not found any of the rich holes. t
He made a great feast in the boy's honor.
The chief dish was stewed grouse, rolled up in I
paste and boiled like dumplings. Jack said
those grouse-dumplings were about the best
eating he had ever "struck." They had also
potatoes, baked in the ashes, and canned vege-
tables, and stewed apples, and baking-powder
biscuits, and honey; and to crown the feast,
John made a pot of strong black coffee and e
sweetened it very sweet.
But here the guest was in a quandary. He
refused the coffee, because he was not allowed
to drink coffee at home; but he could see that
his refusal made John uncomfortable, for there
was no milk; there was nothing else that he
could offer the boy to drink but water, and I
water seemed very plain at a feast.
Jack wondered which was worse -for a boy 1
to break a rule without permission, or to seem I
to cast reproach upon a friend's entertainment
by refusing what was set before him. He really I
did not care for the coffee; it looked very black
and bitter; but he cared so much for John that s











'N~-c
-r f l lsI ,'


t was hard to keep on refusing. Still, he did
*efuse, but he did not tell John his reason.
Somehow he did n't think that it would sound
nanly, for a big boy, nearly twelve years old,
:o say he was forbidden to drink coffee.
Afterward he told his mother about it, and
isked her if he had done right. His mother's
opinion was that he did right, but that he might
iave done it in a better way, by telling John
his reason for refusing the coffee. Then there
would have been no danger of John's supposing
hat the boy refused because he did not like
hat kind of coffee.
Jack's little problem set his mother thinking
low often we do what is right, at some cost to
ourselves, perhaps, but do it in such an awk-
ward, proud way, that we give pain to others,
and so undo the value of our honest effort to be
good. And how, in the matter of feasts, it is
much easier in our time for a guest to decline
anything that does not suit him in the way of
ating and drinking than it used to be long ago
- when a gentleman was thought not to have
'dined" unless he had both eaten and drunk
nore than was good for him. And how, in the
natter of rules, it is only little silly boys who are
ashamed to confess that they are not their own
masters. The bravest and wisest men have
een keepers of simple rules in simple matters,
mnd in greater ones respecters of a loving Intel-
igence above their own, whose laws they were
proud to obey.
The courage that displays itself in excesses is
happily no longer the fashion; rather the cour-
ige that keeps modestly within bounds, and can
;ay "no" without offense to others.


1890.]


483











THE CHINESE GIANT.


BY RUTH DANA DRAPER.

,'
/


- -.


a-
* 2* :


,6 L" LICKETY-SPLIT, PELL-MELL,
ONCE upon a time I was traveling in a strange
country, and I stopped at an inn by the road-
side, and asked for a cup of tea.
A crooked little landlady, who had but one
eye, brought some tea in a tiny cup, and I
drank it, paid for it, and proceeded on my jour-
ney. It did not put me to sleep, nor make me
dream, nor see a vision, but it was a kind of tea
that made me know all about it, and I am going
to tell you what it made me know.
Far away in the heart of the Chinese empire,
beyond the waters of the river Kish-kash, stretch
the green tea-fields of Fan-tin. There are miles
and miles of tea-fields, as far as the eye can
reach, and in the middle stands the city of
Yankoo.


THEY RUSHED FOR HOME."
Of course all Chinese cities are surrounded by
high walls to keep the people from getting out,
and to prevent the other people from getting
in. For this reason, the careful and industrious
townsfolk of Yankoo had made the most beauti-
ful high white wall.
It was so high that even from the top of the
tallest insurance building one could not see over
it with a magnifying-glass, and so broad that
six horses could prance abreast on its top, and
so white that its shining dazzled the enemies of
the Yankoons so that they never had been able
to find the gate. This was the reason that the
prosperity of the city had not been interrupted
by thieves or robbers or fierce tribes, and for
hundreds of years the people were quiet and






THE CHINESE GIANT.


peaceful, working in the fields, and cultivating
the strongest tea in the world.
Every morning, when they had taken breakfast,
the men assembled at the city gate, the keeper
unlocked it, and a procession of Chinamen, with
flopping sleeves, and waggling pigtails, and pat-
tering shoes, filed out to the plantations; then
the keeper locked the gate again to protect the
women and children.
At dinner-time the Chinese boys came out to-
gether, with queer, short little shirts, and bare
legs and feet, and shaved heads, and blue Can-
ton ginger-jars, in which they carried dinner for
their fathers.
The keeper let them out, and fastened the
locks after them. They were old enough to do
half a day's work, so they stayed in the fields
till evening, and all came home together.
The city council had made this plan in order
to give the gateman time to polish the big brass
handles. If he were always locking in and
locking out, he would have no shine-time, and
the beautiful handles would have become dull;
so they decided that one unlocking would do
for the whole company, and the boys must stay
out till the fathers came in.
The women never went outside; they were
busy making bird's-nest soup.
Now, the city of Yankoo was built on two
hills, and between them, stretching quite across
from top to top, was the giant's house. His bed
was made in the valley, so that he might have
room enough to lie down. He was a very lazy
giant, and he lived in a fine house. It had a
flat roof, so that he could sit on it and, softly
leaning his head against a tall chimney, dangle
his feet into the street below.
He was always thinking, but nobody could
guess what he was thinking about. He was
always trying to remember something his grand-
father had told him, but he had forgotten it.
The giant's name was Torl-Hie, and he was
so big that he could taste the storm-clouds and
tell the people whether it was going to rain or
snow or thunder, and in this way he was often
very useful to them. Indeed, this was the only
work that Torl-Hie did, he was so very lazy.
In his house he had wonderful treasures.
There was a room full of gold from the Ural
Mountains, where the miners had dug and


washed it grain by grain out of the dust; and a
room full of diamonds from Golconda, to polish
which had required years of labor; and a room
full of pearls that had come from the bottom of
the sea, where the thin, dark natives of Malay
dive deep down and can hold their breath till
they find a fat oyster with its treasure of pearls.
And he had a room full of bowls and figures
in green jade, which is the hardest stuff in the
world, and needs most patience to cut it. And
he had a room full of wonderful jars and vases,
that it had taken faith and fancy to make; and
all these things were precious, not only because
they were rare and beautiful, but because time
and labor, art and patience, had all been mixed
together to produce them.
Torl-Hie was a pleasant fellow, and was never
vexed when the Yankoons laughed at him and
made fun of his lazy ways.
"Come out, Torl-Hie," they said, "and help
to cultivate the tea Oolong and Souchong and
Bohea. Sitting there in the sun all day, you
deserve nothing but gruel to drink."
I '11 come some day," he replied, "when I
can remember something that I have forgotten;
meanwhile I shall continue to sit on top of my
roof and think."
So there he sat and thought, till one day, just
after the food-messengers had carried the dinner-
jars to the fathers, and the gateman had fastened
the locks and gone away, Torl-Hie looked out
over the fields, and far away he saw was it a
cloud? No, not a cloud. Was it mist? No,
not mist. Was it dust? No, not dust. Was it
a picnic ? No, not a picnic. It was a proces-
sion, a crowd advancing with flashing spears, an
army of horsemen galloping toward the tea-
fields.
Then Torl-Hie stopped thinking, and remem-
bered! This was what he had heard from his
grandfather; this was why he had so long been
watching from his house-top; and, springing
up, he waved his arms wildly in the air, and
cried:
"The Tartars are upon us! Come in, men
of Yankoo, and defend your homes!"
Yes, the Tartars were coming-the fierce,
warlike tribe. They had heard of the prosperity
of the Yankoons and Torl- Hie's wealth, and they
had summoned their mightiest army and their






THE CHINESE GIANT.


own big giant, Cream of Tartar, and here they
were, coming to capture the riches, and spoil the
tea-fields, and break up the city of Yankoo.
Presently the fathers and the food-messenger-
boys heard the tramp of horses, and saw the
gleam of swords and spears. When they looked
toward the city they could see Torl-Hie's arms
waving in the air; then they knew that some
danger was near, and, lickety-split, pell-mell,
they rushed for home. But when they came to
the gate, oh dear! it was locked! They called


My friends and fellow-citizens, we can't
open the gate," he said, "but come into my
arms, and I will lift you over."
But you are too lazy," they said. You have
never done anything but think; you can carry
nothing but ideas; you will certainly drop us."
"No," he replied. "I have finished thinking;
now I shall begin to work. Now I remember
that the Tartars have always been coming,-
and here they are. I will lift you carefully;
then I must prepare for battle. Come."


i|


U -- .- "- ,-

'ONE,-TWO,-THREE!' SAID THE DRUM-MAJOR, AND THE ARMY SHOUTED, 'COME OUT
AND FIGHT OUR HERD, CREAM OF TARTAR! "


and knocked and whistled, but nobody came to
open it. They could hear the women inside
screaming for the gate-keeper, Torl-Hie shout-
ing for him to hurry up, but it was of no use;
he had either fallen asleep, or was playing chess,
and did not come. And all the time the army
was advancing with banners and tom-toms and
squeekaboos, and the Tartar giant rode in front
on an elephant's back.
The frightened Yankoons huddled trembling
before the gate that would not open. Then
suddenly a wonderful thing happened; Torl-
Hie, the lazy giant, stepped over the wall and
stood among them.


He gathered the fathers and the food-messen-
ger-boys by dozens in his big hands, and put
them over the fence.
When the Tartars came up and halted before
the gates, not a Yankoon was visible, and even
the giant himself had disappeared, for a time,
to change his dress.
"One,-two,-three! "said their drum-major,
and the army in chorus cried:
Open- the -- gates! "
The Tartar chief stood forth and blew a
salute on the French horn.
"Open the gates, Yankoons. Yield your city.
The Tartars would rather conquer you politely,


486


[APRIL,


r R





THE CHINESE GIANT.


without bloodshed. If you hesitate, we shall
fight to the end."
Three times the heralds proclaimed this, and
received no answer. Then the general directed
his engineers to fetch the bang-whangs and roll
them into position to break open the gates.
Just then Torl-Hie popped up, like a jack-in-
the-box, all clothed in armor.
"You little Tartars, go away, or I will break
your funny little crackly bones," he said, laugh-
ing.
One,- two,--three! said the drum-major,
and all the army shouted at once:
Open the gates, Torl-Hie. Come out and
fight our hero, Cream of Tartar!"
Do you mean that cunning little chap on the
white elephant? I don't like to hurt him," said
Torl-Hie.
One,- two,- three! said the drum-major.
"You-are-afraid," roared the army.
Then Torl-Hie began to get angry. He
stepped right over the wall and stood in front
of Cream of Tartar. His eyes flashed furiously,
and he shook his head so that his golden hel-
met rattled, and the long braid of hair that he
always wore wagged back and forth with such
force that the end of it knocked down ten Tartar
horsemen at every wag.
Come, Tartar giant, come on to combat. I
am ready to destroy you!"


"THE WAR-ELEPHANT FINALLY RAN AWAY, THROWING CREA


HE GATHERED THEM BY DOZENS IN HIS HANDS."

He wound the pigtail three times around his
neck to keep it from tripping him, raised his
sword and shield high aloft, and with a shout
of war rushed forward.
The white elephant was a well-trained circus
animal, who quickly dodged the blow that the
great Yankoon directed toward his rider, so that
its force was spent upon the earth, and the
sword's point stuck deep into the ground.
Torl-Hie tugged
-it out, and dealt
another smashing
blow, but again the
clever war-elephant
dodged aside and
saved his rider.
One,- two,-
three! said the
S'-'I drum-major, and the
Tartar army burst
'' into a loud laugh of
S scorn. Within the
city the Yankoons
heard this, and were
.. frightened, for they
could see nothing,
and so imagined the
very worst. Then a
M OF TARTAR OVER HIS HEAD." little boy said:


487






THE CHINESE GIANT.


[APRIL,


*I1


"CREAM OF TARTAR ROLLED UP HIS SHIRT-SLEEVES, AND SHOUTED, 'COME ON, THOU GREAT BIG MAN !


Why not take all the fire-ladders and mount
up on the wall ?"
This was simple enough, and soon the citizens


"HE GATHERED UP HIS CONQUERED FOE."


were gathered where they could see the whole
array. The women were not permitted to
climb up, but the men very kindly told them
the news from time to time, as they stood in
the street below to hear it.
Now Torl-Hie made up his mind that for a
foot-soldier to fight an elephant-soldier was a
poor plan, so, with great presence of mind, he un-
wound his long braid of hair, and with it dealt
a whacking blow to the great animal. The war-
elephant bellowed and pranced and finally ran
away, throwing Cream of Tartar over his head.
This brought a round of applause from the
Yankoons on the wall, but the Tartars groaned
with dismay.
The little giant picked himself up, and tried
to look as mighty as he could. In truth, he was
much more imposing when mounted than when
standing on the ground, for his legs were short;
but he had a valiant heart, a long sword, and
a hopeful spirit; and if he could not reach
Torl-Hie's head, he could perhaps cut off his
feet, which would do quite as well.


488


A


:7- -


I

---- ---e


- ..o






THE CHINESE GIANT.


Slashing his sword from side to side, he ran
forward toward the foe, but the giant Chinaman
perceived his purpose, and skipped over the
blade as it passed, as a little girl jumps a rope.
No, Tartar, I am not a child to be played
with; do your best, or die," he cried.
Then the two clashed together with their
swords, so that both blades broke with the equal
force of the shock.
Thus the terrible warriors were without weap-
ons; only their shields remained. Twice they
brandished these on high and met together with
a sound that made the wall shake, and twice
they sprang back, panting.
At the third encounter the shields shivered
into atoms, and the giants stood face to face,
unprotected, but unconquered.
Then Cream of Tartar gazed fiercely at the
other, as they paused for breath, and to the stir-
prise of all the Yankoons and all the Tartar
army, he rolled up his shirt-sleeves with tremen-
dous strength, and shouted, Come on, thou
great big man, let us try what power is in thy
fists. Defend thyself like a gentleman!"
Thus defied, Torl-Hie prepared himself, and
stood waiting the attack. Five blows he par-
ried, making no return; the Tartar could not
hit him once. But only after these five blows
did Torl-Hie let out the full power of his arm;
then, with the most terrible blow that was ever
dealt, he knocked the Tartar giant to the ground
and placed his foot upon his breast.
"Yield; you are my prisoner," said Torl-Hie.
"I yield," groaned Cream of Tartar; "but
the army will avenge my capture."
Oh, no, they will not," replied Torl-Hie.
"I am going to take you home with me, and
then the war will be over."
With these words he gathered up his con-
quered foe from the ground, and, holding him
tight, stepped back across the city wall, amid
the cheers of the populace.
The Tartar ariny was in a terrible state of
panic when they beheld their champion cap-
tured and separated from them by that great
fence. In vain the General tried to rally his
troops. The horsemen only dashed wildly
about, and finally, in one way or another, they


had all turned about, and were swiftly riding
toward their own land, whence they never came
back to trouble the peaceful tea-men and the
food-messenger-boys.
The Yankoons welcomed their hero with
music and fireworks and five-o'clock-tea; and
they held a mass-meeting on the Yankoon Com-
mon to decide what should be done with the
prisoner of war.
He now lay on the ground, bound hand and
foot, in front of Torl-Hie's house.
Then the noble, victorious giant sat down on
his roof, and said:


All
friends! !_






My friends! Cream of Tartar has been con-
quered and badly frightened, but I do not wish
to hurt him, and I would like to let him live
here peacefully with us, if you have no objec-
tion. He can have a room in my house, and he
can black my boots every day as I sit on the
roof. He can also polish the great handles of
the gates. His legs are so short that it will be
impossible for him to get over the wall."
They all agreed to this with pleasure; the
ropes were untied, and the Tartar giant lived
quietly with the Yankoons forever after.
But his name they changed to Cream Soda.
As for the great and good Torl-Hie, he was
busy enough for the rest of his days, for the
gates were never opened again! The official
gateman was never found, and the keys had
gone with him; but it made no difference, for,
morn and noon and night, Torl-Hie was ready
to lift the workers back and forth from the tea-
fields.


VOL. XVII.-59.


1890.]









THROUGH THE BACK AGES.

By TERESA C. CROFTON.


FIRST PAPER.
"To begin at the beginning-."

F you ever have an
> opportunity, my
'( / young reader, to look
through a telescope
.. on a clear, starry
night, ask some wise
friend to point it for
you toward the con-
stellation Orion; and
right at the place where the giant hunter's
sword-handle rests, you will notice a wavy,
tremulous mass of soft greenish light. Astrono-
mers call it a nebula, which is the Latin for
cloud. But their investigations have proven that
it is something more than a cloud-it is a mass
of glowing gas. Take a good look at it, for
you are gazing on a picture of what this earth
once was. All this firm, solid land under our
feet was at first a cloudy, burning mass, waving
and trembling like Orion's nebula.
Gases are interesting subjects; although boys
and girls usually think of them as ghostly,
fleeting things, which can not be seen, but
which sometimes have a very disagreeable odor.
They are airy substances, and yet all the hard
things we know, all the dense minerals this earth
holds, have been made from these same airy
substances. It is a well-known fact that every
solid can be changed into a gas, if only enough
heat be applied to it.
There is one solid we can readily change to a
gas if we wish. A piece of ice is a solid. Apply
heat, and it becomes a liquid. Apply more
heat, and the liquid will disappear in the air
in the shape of what we call steam, which is
really the vapor or gas of water. Here is a gas,
then, formed from the solid ice. Now, let us
take the gas and see if we can trace it back
and reach the solid from it. Imagine a cloud,


heavily loaded with the vapor, or gas of water,
coming in contact with a cold wind or with the
cold peak of a lofty mountain. What would
happen? In the first place, the vapor would
become condensed; that is, it would form into
drops, and these drops, being heavy, would fall
upon the earth as rain. If the cold were intense
enough, this rain would freeze and become ice.
So here is the solid again, made this time from
a gas by the action of cold. This process is
familiar to all of us. We have seen it time and
again; but we must remember that any other
gas could go through this same change just as
well as the gas of water.
In the burning mass that composed our earth
at first, there existed copper, sulphur, and all
the other substances that are on and in our
earth now, only all were in a gaseous state.
The cold had not yet hardened them into solids.
They tell us that this collection of burning ma-
terial belonged originally to the sun, and was
thrown off from it in consequence of a natural
law, and sent "whirling in space." Do you
understand what that word "space" means?
This globe of ours is wrapped up in a huge
cloak, some forty miles thick, called the atmos-
phere. Beyond this thick envelop stretches
far away that unknown region called "space."
What are its boundaries, no one can tell us.
Whether it holds other worlds than ours, we can
only guess. But one thing about it is known for
certain, which is, that it is very cold. Its tem-
perature is two hundred degrees below zero; so
we have need of our thick, warm atmosphere.
What effect did this intense cold have upon
the mass of fiery gas, sent spinning out through
its depths ? Just the same effect that the cold
mountain-peaks have upon the vapor of water.
It cooled the gases upon the outside, hardened
them, and in the course of time formed a thin
crust. This was God's first day of creation, and
some men think it was equal to thousands and





THROUGH THE BACK AGES.


thousands of our years-maybe millions-be-
cause this forming of the crust must have been
slow work. First, little patches of gas became
solid. Then these floated together and per-
haps succeeded in making one crust joined all
over-- and a hot, rumpled crust it was! Then
the boiling, seething mass inside broke through,
and the work had to be done all over again.
When the vapor of water was condensed, rain
began to fall.
Then came another struggle. As quickly as
the rain fell on the hot crust, it was changed
into vapor again, and sent up into the air to
repeat its work. What a boiling, steaming, hot
ball this world must have been!
During all this time there were terrific peals
of thunder and flashes of lightning. Whenever
any liquid is changing into a vapor, electricity
is produced; and when so vast a quantity of
water was changing into steam, the intensity
and frequency of the lightning must have been
immeasurably beyond anything we can imagine.
If only we could have been at a safe distance
above this steaming world and looked down
upon it, what a sight we should have seen, and
what deafening peals of thunder we should have
heard!
Even though the rain was almost immediately
changed into vapor, it must have cooled the
earth's crust a little, coming directly from the
icy realms of space. And at last came a day
when the cold conquered the heat, and the crust


became cool enough for the water to stay down.
It filled up all the cracks and crannies, and there
was so much of it that only a little bit of the
earth's crust could peep above its surface. Of
our own continent, only a narrow strip of land,
extending from what is now Nova Scotia to
where the Great Lakes were to be, and thence
westward to the region now called Alaska,
remained above the waters. In the place now
occupied by Europe, there were many little
patches, but no land so extensive as the strip
in the western hemisphere.
Thick, dark vapors brooded over the earth
and shut out the light of the sun. And these
gloomy vapors, the little pieces of dry, hot crust,
and the surging, boiling waters, were the begin-
nings out of which God was to make our beau-
tiful world, with its pure air, its blue sky, and
snowy clouds, its dense woods and fertile fields,
its hills and valleys, its lakes and rivers.
there could have been no life in those days-
neither plant life nor animal life. In the first
place, the crust was too hot; neither animal nor
plant could live on it, nor in the waters that
touched it. In the second place, animals and
plants can not live without sunlight; and no
sunlight could pierce those masses of heavy
vapor.
A dark outlook, was it not? Yet all was
clear in the mind of the great Architect, and in
His own way He was laying the foundations of
our grand and beautiful home.


491










LADY JANE.


BY MRS. C. V. JAMISON.


CHAPTER I.

THE BLUE HERON.

IT was in the beautiful Teche country, on a
train of the Louisiana and Texas Railroad, that
"Lady Jane" first saw the blue heron.
The month was July, the weather was in-
tensely hot, and the dusty, ill-ventilated car was
closely packed with a motley crowd.
Of all the passengers, there were, perhaps,
none who noticed or cared for the strange and
beautiful scenery, constantly changing as the
train sped on, except the quiet occupants of
one seat, who were so unlike those around them
as to attract no little attention and curiosity.
They were a woman and a child; the lady,
young, elegant, and pretty, was dressed in deep
mourning; the little girl, who was about five
years of age, wore a white cambric frock, plain,
but exquisitely fine, a broad black sash, and a
wide straw hat; she had long black silk stock-
ings, and her neat shoes were tied with tiny bows.
Her skin was delicately fair and rosy; her eyes,
of deep blue, were shaded by long, dark lashes,
and her hair, of a pure golden yellow, hung in a
thick, wavy mass down to the loops of her black
sash.
The mother had thrown back her heavy crape
veil, and a little ripple of hair, as bright as the
child's, showed beneath the widow's cap. She
looked very weary and 11; her eyes were heavy
and swollen with weeping; her face, thin and
worn, in spite of her youth, was flushed with
fever, and her lips were parched and drawn as if
she suffered intense pain. Now and then, the lit-
tle girl would lean back her rosy face, and press
it to her mother's flushed cheeks, saying softly:
"Does your dear head ache now, Mamma ? "
"A little, darling," the mother would answer,
as she smoothed the child's golden hair where
it lay upon her black gown.


Then the child would turn back to the window.
Once she turned with eyes full of delight, and
said to her mother, whose head had drooped
into her open palms:
"Look, Mamma,- oh, look at the lovely
river! See what big trees, and pretty houses.
Oh, I wish we could stop here, and walk about
a little. Can't we, Mamma? "
No, my dear; there 's no time for that,"
replied the mother, raising her head and looking
out wearily. Be patient, darling, we shall soon
be in New Orleans, and there you shall have
everything you wish."
The train had stopped at a small station on
the Teche, and a passenger got on, who entered
with a brisk step and slipped into a seat just
vacated opposite the mother and child. He
was a handsome lad of about sixteen years; his
merry, brown eyes looked out frankly from un-
der his dark brows. He had merry eyes, and
the manly self-reliant air of one accustomed to
travel alone.
In one hand he carried a traveling-bag, and
in the other a small basket, over which a piece
of thin cloth was tightly tied. He sat down,
glancing around him with a bright look, and,
placing the basket beside him, tapped on the
thin cover with his forefinger, and chirruped
softly to the occupant. Presently an answer-
ing peep-peep came from the depths of the
basket, at which he laughed heartily.
From the first moment that the new passen-
ger entered the car, the little yellow head of the
child was turned in his direction, and the deep
blue eyes were fixed on him with an expression
of serious interest.
The boy had noticed the lovely little creature
and the sorrowful young mother, and his gen-
erous heart went out to them at once; there-
fore, when the child raised her tearful eyes and
looked at him so earnestly, he looked back
responsively and invitingly.
92






LADY JANE.


Again the little head went shyly down to
the mother's shoulder, and the child whispered:
Mamma, I think there 's some kind of pet
in that basket. How I wish I could see it!"
My dear, he's a stranger. I can't ask him
to show it to you; he might not be willing."
"Oh, I think he would, Mamma. He smiled
at me when I looked at him. Can't lask him?
Please,--please let me."
The mother turned a side glance in the direc-
tion of the boy. Their eyes met, and he smiled
good-naturedly, while he nodded and pointed to
the basket. "I thought she would like to see it,"
he said, as he began untying the string which
fastened the cover.
"It is very kind to gratify her curiosity,"
said the mother in a gentle voice; she's sure
that there 's something alive in your basket."
There is," answered the boy. "Something
very much alive; so much so that I 'm almost
afraid to take off the cover."
"Go, my darling, and see what it is," said
the mother, as the child slipped past her and
stood before the boy, looking at him from under
the shadow of her black hat with eager, inquir-
ing eyes.
"I don't think you've ever seen anything
like him before. They 're not common, and
he's a funny little beggar. I thought you'd
like to see him, when I saw you looking at the
basket. He's very tame, but we must be care-
ful he does n't get out. With all these windows
open, he'd be gone before we knew it. Now,
I '11 lift the cover and hold my hand so that you
can peep in."
The child's head was bent over the basket,
intense curiosity in her wide eyes, and a little,
anxious smile on her parted lips. Oh, oh, how
pretty! What is it ?" she asked, catching a
glimpse of a strange-looking bird with a very
long bill and little, bright eyes, huddled up at
the bottom of the basket. "I never saw one
like it. What is it ?" she repeated, her spark-
ling eyes full of delight and surprise.
"It's a blue heron, and they're very rare
about here."
"He's not blue -not very blue; but he's
pretty. I wish I could just touch his feathers."
"You can. You can put your hand in the
basket; he won't bite."


I 'm not afraid," she said with confidence,
as she stroked the soft feathers.
"If these windows were closed,I 'd take him
out and let you see him walk. He's very funny
when he walks; and he 's so intelligent. Why,
he comes to me when I call him."
"What do you call him? What is his name?"
I call him Tony, because when he was very
small he made a noise like, Tone-tone.' "
"' Tony,' she repeated, "that 's a pretty
name; and it's funny, too," she added, dimpling
with smiles.
Now, won't you tell me your name ? asked
the boy. "I don't mean to be rude, but I 'd
like to know your name."
"Why, yes, I '11 tell you," she replied, with
charming frankness; "I 'm called' Lady Jane.' "
"'Lady Jane,'" repeated the boy. "Why,
that 's a very odd name."
Papa always called me Lady Jane, and now
every one does."
The mother looked at the child sadly, while
tears dimmed her eyes.
"Perhaps, you would like to see the little
fellow, too," said the boy, rising and holding
the basket so that the lady could look into it.
"White herons are not at all uncommon, but
a blue heron is something of a curiosity."
"Thank you. It is, indeed, very odd. Did
you find it yourself?" she asked with some
interest.
"Yes, I came upon it quite unexpectedly. I
was hunting on my uncle's plantation, just be-
yond the station where I got on. It was almost
dark, and I was getting out of the swamp, as
fast as I could, when right under my feet I heard
'tone- tone,' and there was this little beggar,
so young that he could n't fly, looking up at me
with his bright eyes. I took him home and
tamed him, and now he knows my voice the
moment I speak. He 's very amusing."
The boy was standing, resting the basket on
the arm of the seat, and the child was caressing
the bird with both dimpled hands.
She likes him very much," he said, smiling
brightly.
"Yes, she is very fond of pets; she has left
her own and she misses them," and again the
mother's eyes filled.,
"I wish,-I wish you 'd let me give her








Tony,-if-that is, if you 'd be willing she
should have him."
Oh, thank you. No, no, I could n't allow
you to deprive yourself."
I would be very willing, I assure you. I
must give him away. I 'm going to give him
to some one when I reach the city. I can't
take him to college with me,, and there 's no
one in particular I care to give him to. I wish
you'd let me give him to this little lady," urged
the handsome fellow, smiling into the child's
upturned eyes as he spoke.
Oh, Mamma! dear, sweet Mamma! let me
have him!--do, do let me have him!" cried
Lady Jane, clasping her dimpled hands in
entreaty.
My dear, it would be so selfish to take it.
You must not, indeed you must not," said the
mother, looking in great perplexity from the
child to the boy.
But if I wish it,- if it would be a pleasure
to me?" insisted the boy, flushing with eager
generosity.
Well, I '11 think of it. You are really very
kind," she replied wearily. We still have some
time to decide about it. I find it very hard to
refuse the child, especially when you are so gen-
erous, but I think she ought not to take it."
The boy took the basket with a disappointed
air, and turned toward the seat opposite. "I
hope you '11 decide to let her have it," he replied
respectfully.
Mamma," whispered Lady Jane with her
face pressed close to her mother's, "if you can,
if you think it 's right, please let me have the
blue heron. You know, I had to leave my kit-
ten, and Carlo, and the lambs, and- and--I 'm
so sorry, and- I 'm lonesome, Mamma."
"My darling, my darling,-if you want the
bird so much, I '11 try to let you have him. I '11
think about it."
"And, Mamma, may I go and sit by the
basket and put my hand on his feathers ? "
Let her come and sit with me," said the boy;
"she seems tired, and I may be able to amuse
her."
"Thank you. Yes, she is very tired. We
have come a long way,- from San Antonio,-
and she has been very good and patient."
The boy made room for his charming little


companion next the window, and after lowering
the blind, so that the bird could not escape, he
took the pet from the basket and placed him in
Lady Jane's arms.
"See here," he said, "I 've sewed this band
of leather around his leg, and you can fasten a
strong string to it. If your mamma allows you
to have him, you can always tie him to some-
thing when you go out and leave him alone, and
he will be quite safe when you come back."
"I should never leave him alone. I should
keep him with me always," said the child.
But, if you should lose him," continued the
boy, spreading one of the pretty wings over
Lady Jane's plump little arm, "I '11 tell you
how you can always know him. He 's marked.
It's as good as a brand. See those three black
crosses on his wing feathers. Ashe grows larger
they will grow too, and no matter how long a
time should pass without your seeing him, you 'd
always know him by these three little crosses."
If Mamma says I can have him, I may take
him with me, may n't I ? "
Certainly. This basket is very light. You
can carry it yourself."
"You know," she whispered, glancing at her
mother, who had leaned her head on the back
of the seat in front of her and appeared to be
sleeping, I want to see Carlo and kitty and
the ranch and all the lambs; but I must n't let
Mamma know, because it '11 make her cry."
"You 're a good little girl to think of your
mother," said the boy. He was glad of her con-
fidence, but too well-bred to question her.
She has no one, now, but me to love her,"
she continued, lowering her voice. Papa has
gone away from us, and Mamma says he will
not come back for a long time. My Papa is dead.
That is the -reason why we had to leave our
home. Now we 're traveling to New York."
"Have you ever been in New York? he
asked, looking tenderly at the little head nestled
against his arm.
Oh, no; I 've never been anywhere only on
the ranch. That 's where Carlo, and kitty, and
the lambs were, and my pony, Sunflower; he
was named Sunflower because he was yellow."
Now, let me tell you about my home. I live
in New Orleans, and I have plenty of pets." And
the boy went on to describe so many delightful


LADY JANE.


[APRIL,





LADY JANE.


things, that the child forgot her grief in listening,
and soon, very soon, the weary little head
drooped, and for a long, long time she slept,
with her rosy cheek pressed against his shoulder,
and Tony clasped close in her arms.
When the end of the journey was near, the
drowsy, dusty passengers began to bestir them-
selves and collect their baggage.
Lady Jane did not open her eyes until her
companion gently tried to disengage Tony from
her clasp in order to consign him to his basket;
then she looked up with a smile of surprise at
her mother, who was bending over her. Why,
Mamma," she said brightly, "I have been
asleep, and I had such a lovely dream. I
was at the ranch, and the blue heron was there
too. Oh, I 'm sorry it was only a dream!"
My dear, you must thank this kind young
gentleman for his care of you. We are near
New Orleans now, and the bird must go back
to the basket. Come, let me smooth your hair
and put on your hat."
But, Mamma, am I to have Tony ?"
The boy was tying the cover over the basket,
and, at the child's question, he looked at the
mother entreatingly. "It will amuse her," he
said, and it will be no trouble. May she have
it ?"
"I suppose, since you must give the bird
away, I ought to consent; besides, she has set
her heart on it," said the mother.
The boy held out the little basket, and Lady
Jane grasped it rapturously.
Oh, how good you are," she cried. "I '11
never, never forget you, and I '11 love Tony
always."
At that moment, the young fellow, although
he was smiling brightly, was smothering a pang
of regret, not at parting with the blue heron,
though he really prized the bird, but because
his heart had gone out to the child, and she
was about to leave him, without any probability
of their ever again meeting. While this thought
was vaguely passing through his mind, the lady
turned and said to him:
"I am going to Jackson Street, which I be-
lieve is up-town. Is there not a station nearer
for that part of the city, than the lower one ?"
Certainly, you can stop at Gretna. The
train will be there in a few minutes. You cross


the river there, and the ferry-landing is at the
foot of Jackson Street, where you will find car-
riages and horse-cars to take you wherever you
wish to go, and you will save an hour."
"I 'm very glad of that. My friends are not
expecting me, and I should like to reach them
before dark. Is it far to the ferry ?"
Only a few blocks; you '11 have no trouble
finding it," and he was about to add, Can't I
go with you and show you the way?" when the
conductor flung open the door and bawled,
" Grate-na, Grate-na, passengers for Grate-na!"
Before he could give expression to the request,
the conductor had seized the lady's satchel and
was hurrying toward the door. When the boy
reached the platform, the train had stopped, and
his friends were gone. For a moment more
he saw them standing on the dusty road, the
river and the setting sun behind them-the
black-robed, graceful figure of the woman, and
the fair-haired child with her eyes raised to his
while she clasped the little basket and smiled.
He touched his hat and waved his hand in
farewell, the mother lifted her veil and sent him
a sad good-bye smile, the child pressed her rosy
fingers to her lips, and gracefully and gravely
threw him a kiss. Then the train moved on,
and the last he saw of them, they were walking
hand in hand toward the river.

As the boy went back to his seat, he was re-
proaching himself for negligence and stupidity.
" Why did n't I find out her name ? or the
name of the people to whom she was going ? or
why did n't I go with her ? It was too bad to
leave her to cross alone, and she a stranger and
looking so ill. She seemed hardly able to walk
and carry the bag. I don't see how I could
have been so stupid. It would n't have been
much out of my way, and, if I 'd crossed with
them, I should have found out who they were.
I did n't wish to seem too presuming, and es-
pecially after I gave the child the heron;- but
I wish I 'd gone with them. Oh, she 's left
something," and in an instant he was reaching
under the seat lately occupied by the passengers
of whom he was thinking.
"It 's a book; Daily Devotions,' bound in
russia, silver clasp, monogram 'J. C.'," he said,
as he opened it. "And here 's a name."






On the fly-leaf was written.
JANE CHETWYND.
FROM PAPA,
NEW YORK, Christmas, 18-
"' Jane Chetwynd,' that must be the mother.
It can't be the child, because the date is ten
years ago. 'New York.' They 're from the
North, then; I thought they were. Why !-
here's a photograph."
It was a group, a family group the father,
the mother, and the child; the father's a bright,
handsome, and manly face, the mother's not
pale and tear-stained, but fresh and winsome,
with smiling lips and merry eyes, and the child,
the little Lady Jane," clinging to her father's
neck, two years younger, perhaps, but the same
lovely, golden-haired child.
The boy's heart bounded with pleasure as he
looked at the sweet little face that had such
fascination for him.
I wish I could keep this," he thought; but
it 's not mine, and I must try to return it to the
owner. Poor woman! she will be miserable
when she misses it. I '11 advertise it to-morrow,
and in that way I 'm likely to find out all about
them."
Next morning, some of the readers of the prin-
cipal New Orleans journal noticed an odd little
advertisement under Lost and Found ":
Found. "Daily Devotions," bound in red russia-
leather, silver clasp, with monogram, "J. C."
Address Blue Heron, P. O. Box 112z.

For more than a week this advertisement re-
mained in the columns of the paper, but it was
never answered, nor was the book claimed.


CHAPTER II.

MADAME JOZAIN.

MADAME JOZAIN was a creole of mixed French
and Spanish ancestry. She was an angular woman
with great, soft black eyes, a nose of the hawk-
bill type, and lips that made a narrow line
when closed. In spite of her forbidding fea-
tures, the upper part of her face was rather
pleasing, her mild eyes had a gentle, appealing
expression when she lifted them upward, as she
often did; and no one would have believed that


the owner of those innocent, candid eyes could
have a sordid, avaricious nature, unless he had
glanced at the lower part of her face, which was
decidedly mean and disagreeable.
With a strange and complex character, she
had but two passions in life. One was love for
her worthless son Adraste, and the other was a
keen desire for the good opinion of those who
knew her.
And perhaps it is not to be wondered at, that
she felt a desire to compensate herself by du-
plicity for what fate had honestly deprived her
of, for no one living had greater cause to com-
plain of a cruel destiny than had Madame
Jozain. Early in life she had great expecta-
tions. An only child of a well-to-do baker, she
inherited quite a little fortune, and when she
married Andr6 Jozain, she intended, by virtue
of his renown and her competency, to live like a
lady. He was a politician, a power in his ward,
which might eventually have led him to some
little prominence; but, by dark and devious
ways, he had fallen and been condemned to life-
long detention in the penitentiary. He had
lamed his wife for life by pushing her down-
stairs in a quarrel. She had been obliged to
adopt the occupation of blanckisseuse de fin,
when she found herself deprived of her husband's
support.
It was not her husband's disgrace, her poverty,
her lameness, her undutiful son, her illusions,
over which she mourned, as much as it was the
utter futility of trying to make things seem better
than they were. In spite of all her painting and
varnishing and idealizing, the truth remained
horribly apparent. She was the wife of a convict,
she was plain, no longer young, and lame; she
was poor, miserably poor, and she was but an
indifferent blanchisseuse de fin; while Adraste,
or, Raste," as he was always called, was one of
the worst boys in the State. He had inherited
his father's bad qualities in greater degree.
On account of Raste's unsavory reputation,
and her own incompetency, she was constantly
moving from one neighborhood to another; and,
by a natural descent in the scale of misfortune,
at this time found herself in a narrow little street,
in the village of Gretna, one of the most un-
lovely suburbs of New Orleans.
The small, one-story house she occupied,


496


[APRIL,


LADY JANE.






LADY JANE.


497


contained but two rooms, and a shed which straightened up, while her face took on an air
served as a kitchen. It stood close to the nar- of expectancy.
row sidewalk, and its green door was reached Not many passengers to-night," she said to
by two high steps. Ma-
dame Jozain, dressed in
a black skirt and a white _..-
sacque, sat upon these steps -
in the evening and gossiped -. "' U ...
with her neighbors. The .' i
house was on the corner of
the street that led to the 'i 7
ferry, and her greatest I,
amusement (for,on account x
of her lameness, she could
not go with the others to

sit on her doorstep and I.
watch the passengers walk- t!o
ing by on their way to the ..;
river.


On this particular hot
July evening, she felt very '.
tired and very cross. Her i
affairs had gone badly all ', 7
day. She had not suc-
ceeded with some lace she
had been doing for Ma-
dame Joubert, the wife of
the grocer on the levee; -
and Madame Joubert had
treated her crossly- in ;',
fact, had condemned her I
work and refused to take
it, untilmadeupagain; and
Madame Jozain needed
the money sorely. She
would get even with that
proud little fool; she would punish her in some
way. Yes, she would do the lace over, but she
would do it without any care -she did n't mind
if it dropped to pieces the next time it was worn.
Meantime she was tired and hungry, and she
had nothing in the house but some coffee and
cold rice.
So, as she sat there alone, she looked around
her with an expression of great dissatisfaction,
yawning wearily, and wishing that she was not
so lame, so that she could run out to the station
and see what was going on.
Then the arriving train whistled, and she
VOL. XVII.- 60.


MADAME JOZAIN.
herself, as a few men hurried by with bags and
bundles. "They nearly all go to the lower
ferry, now."
In a moment they had all passed and the
event of the evening was over. But, no and
she leaned forward and peered up the street
with fresh curiosity. "Why, here come a lady
and a little girl, and they 're not hurrying at all.
She '11 lose the boat, if she does n't mind."
Presently the two reached her corner, a lady
in mourning, and a little, yellow-haired girl care-
fully holding a small basket in one hand, while
she clung to her mother's gown with the other.







Madame Jozain noticed, before the lady
reached her, that she seemed dizzy and con-
fused, and was passing on by the corner, when
the child said entreatingly, Stop here a min-
ute, Mamma, and rest." Then the woman
lifted her veil and saw Madame Jozain looking
up at her, her soft eyes full of compassion.
Will you allow me to rest here a moment ?
I 'm ill and a little faint perhaps you will give
me a glass of water ? "
"Why, certainly, my dear," said Madame,
getting up alertly in spite of her lameness.
" Come in and sit down in my rocking-chair.
You're too late for the ferry."
The exhausted woman entered willingly.
The room was quiet and cool, and the large,
white bed (which was beautifully clean, for
Madame prided herself upon her neat room)
looked very inviting.
The mother sank into a chair and dropped her
head on the bed, the child set down the basket
and clung to her mother caressingly, while she
looked around with timid, anxious eyes.
Madame Jozain hobbled away for a glass of
water and a bottle of ammonia, which she kept
for her laces; then, with gentle, deft hands, she
removed the bonnet and heavy veil, and bathed
the poor woman's hot forehead and burning
hands, while the child clung to her mother, mur-
muring, "Mamma, dear Mamma, does your
head ache now ?"
"I 'm better now, darling," the mother re-
plied after a few moments; then, turning to
Madame, she said in her sweet, soft tones,
"Thank you so much. I feel quite refreshed."
Have you traveled far ?" asked Madame,
gently sympathetic.
From San Antonio, and I was ill when I
started," and again she closed her eyes and leaned
her head against the back of the chair.
At the first glance, Madame understood the
situation. She saw, from the appearance of
mother and child, that they were not poor. In
this accidental encounter was a possible oppor-
tunity, but how far she could use it she could
not yet determine, so she said only, "That's a
long way to come alone "; adding, in a casual
way, especially when one 's ill."
The lady did not reply, and Madame went on
tentatively, Perhaps some one 's waiting for


you on the other side, and will come back on the
ferry to see what 's become of you."
No. No one expects me; I 'm on my way
to New York. I have a friend living on Jack-
son Street. I thought I would go there and rest
for a day or so; but I did wrong to get off the
train here. I was not able to walk to the ferry."
"Well, don't mind now, dear," returned
Madame, soothingly. "Just rest a little, and
when it's time for the boat to be back, I '11 go on
down to the ferry with you. It's only a few
steps, and I can hobble that far. I '11 see you
safe on board, and when you get across you '11
find a carriage."
Thank you, you 're very good," and again
the weary eyes closed, and the heavy head fell
back against the chair.
Madame Jozain looked at her for a moment
seriously and silently; then she turned, smiling
sweetly on the child. "Come here, my dear,
and let me take off your hat and cool your head,
while you 're waiting."
"No, thank you; I 'm going with Mamma."
Oh, yes, certainly; but won't you tell me
your name ? "
"My name is Lady Jane," she replied gravely.
Lady Jane Well, I declare, that just suits
you, for you are a little lady, and no mistake.
Are n't you tired and warm? "
I 'm very hungry; I want my supper," said
the child frankly.
Madame winced, remembering her empty cup-
board, but went on chatting cheerfully to pass
away the time.
Presently the whistle of the approaching ferry-
boat sounded, the mother put on her bonnet,
and the child took the bag in one hand and the
basket in the other. Come, Mamma, let us
go," she cried eagerly.
Dear, dear," said Madame solicitously, but
you look so white and sick! I 'm afraid you
can't get to the ferry even with me to help you.
I wish my boy Raste was here; he 's so strong
he could carry you if you gave out."
I think I can walk; I '1 try,"-and the poor
woman staggered to her feet, only to fall back
in a dead faint into Madame Jozain's arms.

For a moment, Madame debated what was
best to be done; then she laid the unconscious


498


LADY JANE.


[APRIL,






LADY JANE.


499


woman on the bed, unfastened her dress, and
slowly and softly removed her clothing. Al-
though Madame was lame, she was very strong,
and in a few moments the sufferer was resting
between the clean, cool sheets, while the child
clung to her cold hands and sobbed piteously.
Don't cry, my little dear, don't cry. Help
me to bathe your Mamma's face; help me like
a good child, and she'll be better soon. Now
she 's comfortable and can rest."
With the thought that she could be of some
assistance, Lady Jane struggled bravely to
smother her sobs, took off her hat with
womanly gravity, and prepared herself to assist
as nurse.
"Here's smelling-salts, and cologne-water,"
she said, opening her mother's bag. Mamma
likes this. Let me wet her handkerchief."
Madame Jozain, watching the child's move-
ments, caught a glimpse of the silver fittings of
the bag and of a bulging pocket-book within it,
and, while the little girl was hanging over her
mother, she quietly removed the valuables to
the drawer of her armoire, which she locked.
She hid the key in the bosom of her dress.
I must keep these things away from Raste,"
she said to herself; he's so thoughtless and
impulsive he might take them without consid'er-
ing the consequences."
For some time Madame bent over the stran-
ger, using every remedy she knew to restore her
to consciousness, while the child assisted her
with a thoughtfulness and a self-control really
surprising in one of her age.
At length, with a shiver and a convulsive
groan, the mother partly opened her eyes, but
there was no recognition in their dull gaze.
Mamma dear, dear Mamma, are you bet-
ter ? implored the child, as she hung over her
and kissed her passionately.
"You see she's opened her eyes, so she must
be better; but she's sleepy," said Madame
gently. Now, my little dear, all she needs is
rest, and you must n't disturb her. You must
be very quiet and let her sleep. Here's some
nice, fresh milk the milkman has just brought.
Won't you eat some rice and milk, and then let
me take off your clothes and afterward you
can slip on the little night-dress that 's in your
mother's bag; and then you can lie down beside


her and sleep till morning, and in the morning
you'll both be well and nicely rested."
Lady Jane agreed to Madame's arrangements
with perfect docility, but she would not leave her
mother, who had fallen into a heavy stupor and
appeared to be resting comfortably.
"If you'll please to let me sit by the bed
close to Mamma and eat the rice and milk I'11
take it, for I'm very hungry."
Certainly, my dear, you can sit there and
hold her hand all the time. I'll put your sup-
per on this little table close by you."
And Madame bustled about, apparently over-
flowing with kindly attentions. She watched
the child eat the rice and milk, smiling benevo-
lently the while; then she bathed her and put
on the fine little night-dress, braided the thick,
silken hair, and was about to lift her up beside
her mother, when Lady Jane exclaimed in a
shocked voice:
You mustn't put me to bed yet; I have n't
said my prayers." Her large eyes were full of
solemn reproach as she slipped from Madame's
arms down to the side of the bed. "Mamma
can't hear them, because she's asleep; but God
can, for He never sleeps." Then she repeated the
touching little formula that all pious mothers
teach their children, adding fervently several
times, and please make dear Mamma well, so
that we can leave here early to-morrow."
As the child rose from her knees, her eyes fell
on the basket containing the blue heron, which
stood, quite neglected, just where she had put it
at the time her mother fainted.
"Oh, oh!" she cried, springing toward it.
"Why, I forgot it! My Tony, my dear Tony! "
What is it ? asked Madame, starting back
in surprise at the rustling sound within the bas-
ket. "Why, it 's something alive! "
Yes, it 's alive," said Lady Jane, with a
faint smile. "It 's a bird, a blue heron. Such a
nice boy on the cars gave it to me."
Ah," ejaculated Madame, a boy gave it to
you,- some one you knew ? "
"No, I never saw him before."
"Don't you know his name ? "
"That 's funny," and the child laughed softly
to herself. "No, I don't know his name. I
never thought to ask; beside, he was a stranger,
and it would n't have been polite, you know."





LADY JANE.


No, it would n't have been polite," repeated
Madame. But what are you going to do with
this long-legged thing ? "
"It 's not a thing. It 's a blue heron, and
they 're very rare," returned the child stoutly.
She had untied the cover and taken the bird
out of the basket, and now stood in her night-
dress and little bare feet, holding it in her arms
and stroking the feathers softly, while she glanced
every moment toward the bed.
I 'm sure I don't know what to do with him
to-night. I know he's hungry and thirsty, and
I 'm afraid to let him out for fear he '11. get
away"; and she raised her anxious little face
to Madame inquiringly, for she felt over-
burdened with her great responsibilities.
Oh, I know what we '11 do with him," said
Madame, alertly,-she was prepared for every
emergency. "I 've a fine large cage. It was
my parrot's cage; he was too clever to live, so
he died a while ago, and his empty cage is
hanging in the kitchen. I '11 bring it."
"Thank you very much," said Lady Jane,
with more politeness than warmth. My
Mamma will thank you too when she wakes."
After seeing Tony safely put in the cage,
with a saucer of rice for his supper, and a cup
of water to wash it down, Lady Jane climbed
up on the high bed, and not daring to kiss her
Mother good-night lest she might disturb her,
she nestled close to her. Worn out with fatigue,
she was soon sleeping soundly and peacefully.
For some time, Madame Jozain sat by the
bed watching the sick stranger, and wondering
who she was, and whether her sudden illness
was likely to be long and serious. "If I could
keep her here, and nurse her," she thought, no
doubt she would pay me well. I 'd rather
nurse than do lace; and if she 's very ill, she 'd
better not be moved. I 'd take good care
of her and make her comfortable; and if she 's
no friends about here to look after her, she 'd
be better off with me than in the hospital. Yes,
it would be cruel to send her to the hospital.
Ladies don't like to go there. It looks to me
as if she is going to have a fever. I doubt if she '11
come to her senses again. If she does n't, no
one will ever know who she is, and I may as
well have the benefit of nursing her as any one
else. But I must be careful; I must n't let her lie


here and die without a doctor. That would never
do. If she 's not better to-morrow, I '11 send for
Doctor Debrot. I know he '11 be glad to come,
for he never has any practice to speak of, now
he's so old and stupid; but he 's a good doctor,
and I 'd feel safer to have him."
After a while she got up and went out on the
doorstep to wait for Raste. She was thinking.
A sudden excitement thrilled her through and
through. She was-about to engage in a project
that might compensate for all her misfortunes.
The glimpse she had of money, of valuables, of
possible gain awakened all her cupidity. The
only thing she now cared for, was money. She
hated work, she hated to be at the beck and call
of those she considered beneath her. What a
gratification it would be to her to refuse to do
Madame Joubert's lace,-to fling it at her, and
tell her to take it elsewhere! With a little ready
money, she could be so independent and so com-
fortable. Raste had a knack of getting together
money in one way or another. He was very
lucky; if he had a little to begin with he could
perhaps make a fortune. Then she started, and
looked around as one might who suddenly found
himself'on the brink of an awful chasm. From
within, she heard the sick stranger moan and
togs restlessly; then, in a moment, all was quiet
again. Presently, she began to debate in her
mind how far she should admit Raste to her
confidence. Should she let him know about
the money and valuables she had hidden?
While taking the child's night-dress from the
bag, she had discovered the railroad-tickets,
two baggage-checks, and a roll of notes and
loose change in a little compartment of the
bag. He would think that was all; and she
would never tell him of the pocket-book.
At that moment, she heard him coming down
the street, singing a boisterous song. So she got
up and hobbled toward him, for she feared he
might wake the sleepers. He was a great
overgrown, red-faced, black-eyed fellow, coarse
and strong, with a loud, dashing kind of beauty;
and he was very observing, and very clever.
She often said he had all his father's cunning
and shrewdness, and she therefore felt that she
must disguise her plans carefully.
"Hallo, Mum," he said, as he saw her limp-
ing toward him, her manner eager, her face


500


[APRIL,





LADY JANE.


rather pale and excited; "what 's up now? "
It was unusual for her to meet him in that way.
"Hush, hush, Raste. Don't make a noise.
Such a strange thing has happened since you
went out," said Madame in a low voice. "Sit
down here on the steps, and I '11 tell you."
Then briefly, and without much show of in-
terest, she told him of the arrival of the strangers,
and of the young woman's sudden illness.


RAST,.





"'RASTE."


"And they're in there now, asleep," he said,
pointing with his thumb in the direction of the
room. That 's a fine thing for you to do-to
saddle yourself with a sick woman and a child!"
What could I do ?" asked Madame Jozain
indignantly. "You would n't have me turn a
fainting woman into the street ? It won't cost
anything for her to sleep in my bed to-night."
"What is she like ? Is she one of the poor
sort ? Did you look over her traps ? Has she
got any money ? he asked eagerly.
"Oh, Raste, Raste; as if I searched her
pockets! She is beautifully dressed, and so is
the child. She 's got a fine watch and chain, and
when I opened her bag, I saw that it was fitted
up with silver."
"What luck!" exclaimed Raste brightly.
"Then she's a swell; and to-morrow, when she
goes away, she '11 give you as much as a fiver.'"


"I don't believe she '11 be able to go to-mor-
row. I think she's down for a long sickness. If
she 's no better in the morning, I want you to
cross and find Dr. Debrot."
"But what for?" asked Raste. "You can't
keep the woman here, if she 's sick. You '11
have to send her to the hospital--you did n't
find out her name, nor where she belongs?
Suppose she dies on your hands. What then ? "
If I take care of her and she dies, I can't
help it; and I may as well have her things as
any one else."
"But has she got anything worth having ?
Enough to pay you for your trouble and ex-
pense?" he asked. Then he whistled softly,
and added, Oh, Mum, you 're a deep one,
but I see through you."
"I don't know what you mean, boy," said
Madame, indignantly. "Of course, if I nurse the
woman, and give her my bed, I shall expect
to be paid. I hate to send her to the hospital,
and I don't know her name, nor the name of
her friends. So what can I do ?"
Do just what you 've planned to do, Mum.
Of course I pity the poor woman as much as
you do! Raste smiled knowingly.
Madame made no reply to this disinterested
piece of advice, but sat silently thinking for
some time. At last, she said in a persuasive
tone:
Did n't you bring some money from the
levee? I 've had no supper, and I intend to sit
up all night with that poor woman. Can't you
go to Joubert's and buy me some bread and
cheese ? "
Money, money look here and the
young scapegrace pulled out a handful of sil-
ver. "That's what I 've brought."
An hour later Madame and Raste sat in the
little kitchen chatting over their supper in the
most friendly way; while the sick woman and
the child still slept profoundly in the small front
room.


(To be continued.)
























BY OLIVER HERFORD.


I.

FROM MR. RUFUS FOX TO MISS BLANCHE GOOSE.

THE FERNWOODS, Friday.
Dear Miss Goose:
(" ( Accept apologies profuse,
For the abrupt and hasty
way,
In which I left you yester-
day.
I quite forgot myself, it 's
true,
SAnd Mrs. Fox's message,
too.
She said, "Be sure if you
should see
Miss Goose, to bring her home to tea";
And when I came home minus you,
She made a terrible to-do !
I don't know how I came to be
So very rude, but then you see,
I was just offering my arm,


,--\


When stupid Rover from the farm,
Appeared so suddenly, and so -
Well, two is company, you know,
While three-! Besides, 't was getting late,
So I decided not to wait.
Yet, after all, another day
Will do as well. What do you say ?
Can you, to-morrow,- say, at three,
Dine with dear Mrs. Fox and me ?
Pray do, and by the hollyhocks
Meet yours, sincerely, RUFUS Fox.

II.
FROM MISS BLANCHE GOOSE TO MR. FOX.

THE FARMYARD, Friday afternoon.
Dear Mr. Fox, it seems so soon,
You almost take my breath away!
To-morrow? Three ?--what shall I say?
Nothing could charm me more but, no -
Alas! I fear I can not go.
Don't think that I resent, I pray,
Your hastiness of yesterday.
It is not that. But if I went,
Without my dear Mamma's consent,
And she should somehow chance to hear,
She would be dreadfully severe;
And so, oh, dear! it is no use!
Believe me,
Sadly yours, BLANCHE GOOSE.

P. S.- On second thoughts, dear Fox,
I '11 meet you by the hollyhocks,
For if Mamma but knew how kind





A PACKET
You are, I 'm sure she would not mind.
To-morrow, then--we '11 meet at three;
Don't fail to be there. Yours, B. G.

III.
FROM MR. RUFUS FOX TO HIS COUSIN
REYNARD.

















FRIDAY.
Dear Cousin, just a line
To ask if you will come to dine
(Informally, you know) with me
To-morrow afternoon at three.
Now don't refuse, whatever you do, .
I have a treat in store for you:
A charming goose (and geese, you know,
Do not on all the bushes grow !)
A dream of tenderness in white,
A case of "hunger at first sight."
I know, old boy, you'll not be deaf
To this inducement.


Yours,
P. S.-Miss Goose agrees to be
Beside the hollyhocks at three!


R. F.


IV.
EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF
ROVER, THE DOG.
SATURDAY NIGHT.
Well, I must say,
I quite renewed my
youth to-day !
How lucky that I
chanced to go,
Just when I did, be-
side that row


OF LETTERS.


Of hollyhocks beyond the gate !
Lucky for her at any rate;
For suddenly I heard Miss Goose
Struggling and crying, "Let me loose !"
And, from behind the hollyhocks,
Who should jump out but Mr. Fox!
(The very same one, by the way,
I almost caught the other day.)
Soon as I nabbed him, in his fright,
He dropped Miss Goose and took to flight.

Then after him like mad I flew,
But-what could poor old Rover do ?
I am not what I used to be,
So I let go, and ran
to see
At once how poor r.J
Miss Goose had .
fared, i /
I. '
-^ s !"


s- -'~""- -. --



And found her much less hurt than scared
From having come so near the noose:-
A sadder and a wiser goose.

v.
NOTE FROM MR. RUFUS FOX TO HIS
COUSIN REYNARD.


DEAR COUSIN:
This is just to say





A PACKET OF LETTERS.


Why dinner was postponed to-day,-
The goose had failed us, that was all;
Excuse, I beg, this hurried scrawl.
Will write to-morrow to explain-
Just now my paw is in such pain
That when I try to write it shocks


















0i


My nerves.
Yours truly, RuFus Fox.
P. S.- I 'd thank you if you sent
A bottle of that liniment
You spoke of several days ago -
The kind for dog bites," don't you know.


.vW'-----


"THE IDEA OF CALLING THIS 'SPRING'!"


;,r
c-.
~';:
.


.










A PRECIOUS TOOL-CHEST.

By ERNEST INGERSOLL.


THE Widow Revere lived on the edge of the
village in a little house of her own.
Had it not been for this sure roof over her
head, perhaps she would have had even a harder
struggle than she did, when her husband died
and left to her, lame as she was, the care of three
children. For Mrs. Revere had been a cripple
for several years, and could move about the house
only by wheeling herself in a rolling-chair. She
could knit and sew, and before her oldest son,
Basil, was able to earn much, the family cer-
tainly had been very poor. But now Mary, the
daughter, had grown strong and skillful enough
to keep house, and Basil was thought one of the
brightest boys at the works, where he earned al-
most a man's wages. Little Johnny, therefore,
had begun to go to school instead of looking for-
ward to daily labor, as so many boys among
the laboring people are obliged to do, before
they are fairly ready for really hearty playing.
Another help to this family was the rent paid
for a room in the house by a model-maker,
named Carr, who had been an old friend of the
late Mr. Revere, and who, just at the time of
the little story I am going to tell, was confined
to his bed, while recovering from injuries caused
by a serious fall.
Carr was a good-natured, kindly man, to whom
Basil owed much instruction in the use of car-
penters' tools; but he was too generous to him-
self, as well as to others, ever to keep long any
of the money he made. He knew this weakness,
and used very gravely to warn the boys against it
Johnny," he would say, look out that when
your hair is gray you do not find all your riches
shut in one tool-chest, as mine are."
Of even this small wealth, Carr did not seem
to take great care; for, though he carried a won-
derfully complex key to his chest (which gener-
ally stood under the bench in Basil's corner at the
hardware factory), it seldom was closed. For
once, however, this tool-chest served several
VOL. XVII.--6. 5


people a very good turn, although, in accord-
ance with his usual fortune, Carr himself received
no great benefit from the incident.
One cold winter evening, when matters at the
Widow Revere's were about in the state I have
described, the cottage had become dark and
quiet by nine o'clock. Every one had gone to
bed early, because all were obliged to be up
betimes in the morning.
Perhaps, at first, slumber would have been too
heavy for even the sharp-eared mother to have
noticed any of the noise; but four hours of sleep
greatly rests the weariest frame. Napoleon used
to say that six hours was enough sleep for any
man; few of us, however, could follow Napo-
leon's rules in any respect-surely not in
this.
Certainly, when a little after midnight the
"startled air of the frosty night echoed through
the silent streets the hurried ringing of the deep-
toned church-bell, mingled with the clang of
the shrill court-house bell, and the angry voice
of the alarm-signal in the hose-tower of the
engine-house, even Johnny heard the peal at
once, and knew what it meant. He screamed,.
"Fire! Fire!" at the top of his voice, and
dashed toward the window of his bedroom.
You need n't make such a racket-you 're
not running with the machine! scolded Basil,
who, nevertheless, appeared atthe window beside
his brother, while Mary called from her room:
"I see it! I see the fire! "
Sure enough, there, nearly at the other end of
the village, the sky was growing flame-color and
throwing down a red flush upon the snowy roofs,
while the leafless tops of distant trees were seen
sharp against the brightness. It would have been
a beautiful picture, if it had not suggested so
much that was terrible.
I am going !" said Johnny, pulling on his
clothes in an excited way.
Not a bit of it," rejoined Basil, with decision.





A PRECIOUS TOOL-CHEST.


"That fire must be a mile away, and the weather
is frightfully cold. Probably it would be put out
by the time we reached there. And what good
could we do ? "
"Why we could- could- are n'tyou going?"
Johnny was so amazed at his brother's indif-
ference to a real fire," that he was unable to
utter another word.
Going ? No, of course not. It would take
all night, and I want to sleep."
Basil, Basil," Mary called again, I do be-
lieve it's the factory."
"Eh! The factory ? Je-whiminy! I hope
not."
Both the boys ran to their sister's window,
which gave them a better view; and as they saw
the blaze mount higher and higher, and a great
volume of smoke roll away to the westward,
tinted with the flame-light and starred with
sparks, all felt sure that Mary was right, for no
other building in that part of town would furnish
material for so big a fire.
This conviction made their hearts sick, for each
understood how great a disaster that would be
to them; as much, and perhaps more, of a disas-
ter to them than to the owner of the works; for it
would take away all their present means of liv-
ing, whereas his home would still be left, and his
insurance money was safe.
Well, if that is so, I must go, of course," Basil
said; then, seeing how blue the others seemed, he
added gaily, Or else I sha'n't be able to save
my new paper cap, you know which little jest
was enough to make them smile again. But,
Johnny, I can't let you go,- it is too long a run,
and Mother and Mary would be alone. Good-
bye," buttoning up his overcoat; "and, Mary,
if you sit up, you might make a cup of coffee
for me about daylight. Good-bye, Mother."
The hardware factory was the largest brick
building in town. Its lower story, fronting on
the street, was occupied by the counting-room
of the works, by two stores, and, in one corer,
by the office of a lawyer, who was also the
insurance agent for the village.
By the time Basil reached the scene, the whole
of one side of the great structure was in flames,
and the fire was rapidly eating its way into the
rest. The near wall fell just as he arrived, crush-
ing the lawyer's office (where the flames first


broke out) and one of the stores under a heap
of blazing timbers. A moment later there was
a rumor that the lawyer himself, who usually
slept in the back room, had been killed by the
falling wall and lay buried in the ruins.
At the other end, one floor above the street,
was the little room where Basil worked at fin-
ishing locks, and the other small wares made
in the factory. He had nothing of his own of
much account there, but suddenly he remem-
bered Carr's tool-chest.
"Some very valuable tools are in that chest,"
he thought to himself, "tools he uses in making
his beautiful models of new castings. I've heard
him say he paid nine dollars for one queer little
saw that came from Switzerland. I must try to
save that chest. Poor old Carr has n't anything
else in the wide world."
This thinking did not lessen his haste, and he
had made his way to the further end of the
building in a moment.
Here a narrow side-stairway opened near the
corer, but smoke was pouring down it and
could be seen curling in little wreaths from all
the windows, wherever a crack gave it a chance
to get out. But as yet no red firelight shone
through the glass. A little time remained, but
any one who proposed to enter the building
must go at once.
"Here, Patsy Gore, come with me!" Basil
shouted to a big Irish boy, whom he saw stand-
ing near him.
"Where ye goin' ?"
"Up to my room."
"In there? Why, ye're chrazy! "
"Patsy Gore, I 'm going to get Carr's chest
of tools out of there, if it can be done, and
you're the one to help me: We can easily run
upstairs, and if it 's too hot we can drop out
of a window. Come on!"
Not wan bit av it!"
"Patsy Gore--you 're coming as far as I
go! "
And with that Basil seized the half-resisting
lad by the back of the neck and trotted straight
through the crowd and into the entrance leading
to the smoky stairway.
Give me your cap was his next order; and
the obedient Patsy pulled it off, saying not a
word when he saw Basil dip it and his own


506


APRIL,




A PRECIOUS TOOL-CHEST.


handkerchief into a pool of water, that had
dripped from the roof.
The crowd shouted to them to come back,
and a fireman ran toward them; but Basil had
made up his mind to try to rescue that precious
chest for his friend Carr, and would n't hear.
Instead, he yelled in the ear of his companion,
Now, come ahead, and if you turn back I '11
thrash you to-morrow until you '11 think a wind-
mill has fallen on you! "
But Patsy, who was plucky when once his
grit was up, was in for it now and did not need
this terrible threat. He followed his leader
straight up the dark passage.
At the top the smoke was so hot and dense
that Basil dropped to the floor and pressed his
wet handkerchief to his mouth, while Patsy
did the same with his well-soaked cap; for
one can, as it were, strain out the smoke, and
obtain fairly pure air by breathing through a
dampened cloth, where otherwise he could not
live at all.
Near the door it was much better, and they
scrambled along on their hands and knees; yet,
though it was only a short distance from the
head of the stairs to the door of the work-room,
by the time they had crept there, each felt that
he could not have gone much farther. At the
other end of the hall, slender ribbons of flame
could be seen breaking through the hot par-
titions.
"Now, Patsy," Basil muttered through his
handkerchief, shut the door the minute we get
in, so as to keep out the smoke. Now for it."
With this warning, both boys rose to their
feet in the suffocating fumes, opened the door,
darted in, and slammed it shut.
This room they found nearly free from smoke,
but it was hot and close. Patsy was about to
open the window as the,first move, when Basil
seized his arm.
"Stop, man! You '11 make a draft that 'll
pull all the fire here in no time. Help me drag
out the chest."
It stood under the bench, and was heavy, but
in their excitement the two lads had the strength
of four, and without difficulty dragged it over
to the window.
Wull it go through ?" asked Patsy doubt-
fully, dancing about in a blue haze, which,


rapidly leaking in through numberless cracks,
filled their eyes with smarting tears.
"Keep cool, will you growled Basil, seiz-
ing his shoulder with the grasp of a young giant.
"We must measure, and -"
His words were silenced by an awful crash
which shook the walls and drowned all other
sounds. Patsy shrieked and dropped on his
knees, believing that the whole building had
fallen and that they would go to destruction with
it the next instant.
Basil was almost as much frightened, but did
not lose his head.
"Get up !" he cried, giving Patsy a sharp
shake to enforce his words. "The window is
wide enough. Open it."
Patsy shoved up the sash, and the appear-
ance of his blackened face caused the crowd to
make a great outcry.
Now lift "
Together, with a mighty effort, the lads raised
the heavy box to the low window-sill. Patsy
was going to slide it right out, but Basil stopped
him. Then both leaned from the window so
that they could breathe, for now the smoke had
become a dense cloud inside, and the room over
their heads was all afire.
"Come down! Come down! Jump for your
lives! yelled the people outside.
But, glancing up, Basil could see that the
corer walls were firm--there was at least a
minute to spare; even Patsy, under the gaze of
the crowd, had recovered his presence of mind
with the help of fresh air and the sight of an
opening for escape, though it was far to the
street, and the frozen ground was hard.
"Throw me a rope! called Basil, as loud as
he could, in order to be heard, and in half a
minute a man brought one beneath the window.
The man was in such nervous haste that the
first time he threw, nobody could have reached
it; but the second time he did better, and
Patsy caught the bight.
The rope was quickly knotted through one
of the handles at the end, and the box was
lowered to the ground, where two men picked
it up and bore it away.
Now, Patsy, we '11 tie this end of the rope
to one leg of the bench and slide down. You
go first."




A PRECIOUS TOOL-CHEST.


"Not wan bit av it,- it's yourself '11 go first! "
Patsy Gore, get out o' that window before
I throw you out! said Basil, decidedly.
Without more ado, Patsy slid down the rope.
Basil quickly followed. None too quickly,
for as he touched the ground he saw a fiery
beam of wood crash down through the frail ceil-
ing .of the room he had quitted, while a great
geyser of flame and sparks and black smoke
gushed out at the window through which he
had just climbed.
"What fools you were to risk your lives for
that old chest! exclaimed half a dozen chid-
ing voices at once.
But it was all Carr owned in the world,"
Basil replied; and maybe there 's more in it
than you know."
Nothing remained to be done now but to go
home. Basil soon hunted up a man with a
wagon, who was willing to take the chest up to
the cottage, and the lad started off with the
load at once.
Neither of the two children left behind had
felt like going to bed when Basil left them, so
they finished dressing and built a fire; every
minute or two running to the window to see
how the flame-color rose and fell in the sky and
shone in lurid, fitful flashes on the snow. Then
they both sat curled up in a big chair, with the
curtain drawn high up, and gazed at the sight,
talking in a low tone, until the banners of red
and yellow began to sink down, the stars to
come out again from their hiding under the
glare, and the rolling smoke to grow thin and
broken. Before many minutes had passed, both
fell asleep.
Thus Basil found them when, about four
o'clock in the morning, he came back, .wet,
weary, and disheartened, for after all had he not
lost his work ? His stamping the snow-clogs
from his boots at the door, roused the sleepers,
and they exclaimed together, as they ran to
meet him, Was it ? "
Yes," was the sad reply; it was the factory,
with all the stores besides; and Squire Purdy,
who had an office in the corer, you know, was
killed, they 're afraid. But I saved poor old
Carr's tool-chest for him-run and tell him it 's
all right, Johnny."
The little fellow did so; while Basil and the


cartman took the chest into the shed at the rear
of the cottage.
Have you made the coffee ?" Basil asked,
as he came in again.
Oh, Basil, I forgot it! I 'm so sorry! But
I was so excited. I 'll make it right away."
While this was doing, the weary lad went in
and told the story to his mother, saying as little
as possible about the courage and resolution he
had shown, but trying to make her believe how
great a loss it would have been to Carr, had the
tools been burned. Then Mary called him, and
he sat down, to get warm and dry, with coffee,
and bread and butter, while he related the inci-
dents of the fire a second time for the benefit of
the youngsters, and of Carr, who could listen
through the door of his room.
Did you see Mr. Porter? Mary asked at
last. Mr. Porter was the owner of the factory.
"No. I heard that he was away in the
country, but that somebody sent for him and
he arrived just as I came away. Now I am
tired out, and I am going to bed. No work
to-morrow,- or, rather, to-day,- I guess! and
with these words he went upstairs.
He thought he had not closed his eyes more
than a minute though in reality three hours
had passed- when he heard a rapping at his
Door, and Mary's voice.
"Basil, Basil, get up! Mr. Porter is here
and wants to see you at once. It's something
very important."
The lad at first could hardly recall what had
happened, but speedily gathered his sleepy wits,
and, springing up, began to dress. But Mr.
Porter could not wait. He ran upstairs and burst
into the bedroom before the astonished youth
was half-clothed, exclaiming:
"Did you save Carr's tool-chest? "
"Yes, it's down below."
"Is it still locked ?"
"I think it is I have n't any key. Try it."
Mr. Porter clattered downstairs again, and,
rushing out to the shed where the chest stood,
pried open the cover, and, opening one of the
small drawers, seized upon a large folded blue
paper. He hurriedly unfolded it, and found a
smaller white paper within.
"I 've got it! It's all right! Hooray!" he
shouted, and began to dance and caper like a


508


[APRIL,





A PRECIOUS TOOL-CHEST.


crazy man; while the children looked on with
amazement, and Basil came down in his shirt-
sleeves to see what the noise was.
When the factory-owner saw him, he seized
his hand, and shook it as if it were a bough
full of ripe nuts, making Basil grin, and caper
too, though he had no idea why.
"Now look here," said Mr. Porter, suddenly
becoming grave and spreading the blue paper
out before them, showing it to be a printed
"blank" filled in with writing and figures.
That, you see, is my insurance policy. This
little white paper the insurance agent gave me
to show that I had paid my premium and would
be entitled to $75,000 if my factory should be
burned. My last premium had to be paid yester-
day, and I paid it; but the only other written
evidence of payment was a book in the lawyer's
office, and that book has been burned. If this
paper had n't been saved, you see, I could n't
have shown anything to prove I had paid the
premium and was entitled to the insurance."
But," asked Basil, "could n't you have proved
it in some other way ? "
"Just possible, but unlikely, now that poor
Purdy is dead,-you knew it? Awful thing.
No, I had n't a witness. I think nobody saw me
pay him the money, for I ran in while the men
were at dinner and nobody was about. At any
rate, it would have cost half it was worth, and a
long time. So, you see, when you saved me
that chest you saved me the money to build a
new factory, and I 'm going to give you five
hundred dollars for it."
"Why I don't want anything,-I did n't-"


Maybe you did n't, but you shall have it-
you shall have it, I tell you, whether you want
it or not. And I '11 give that Gore boy two
hundred, too; though he does n't deserve it, for
he would n't have done anything at all, if you
had n't made him. I 've heard all about it
- don't contradict me, I 've heard all about it!
Good-bye. Good-bye, ma'am."
Mr. Porter left as abruptly as he had come,
clutching his precious paper.
And well might he value it. It meant not
only safety from ruin to him, but work again for
a hundred workmen, who might otherwise have
suffered greatly because of enforced idleness that
hard winter. Basil was not forgotten, and when
the new factory began running, half a year later,
he was put in a better place than before, with
the prospect of soon becoming a foreman.
One day, long after the fire, he asked Mr.
Porter how the insurance policy and receipt
came to be in the chest.
Why," said Mr. Porter, "I had had them
in my pocket, but forgot to give them to the
cashier before the safe was closed. Then I was
showing a friend over the factory, and, not
wishing to carry them any longer, I happened
to see Carr's chest; and so I put them into
one of the little drawers and snapped the
spring-lock. I meant to send to Carr for the
key the next day. I thought them safe enough
till morning. I never thought of fire--one
never expects to bum up to-night. Then I went
into the country. If it teaches you the lesson
it has taught me, you will never be careless
with a business document."


A STARFISH.

BY CAROLINE EVANS.

'T WAS twilight, and the placid lake reflected all around,
When little Ted upon a rock with fishing-rod was found.
"What are you doing, dear? I asked, and this was his reply:
"I 'm fishing for that little star that 's fallen from the sky."


509









CROWDED OUT O' CROFIELD.

BY WILLIAM 0. STODDARD.


CHAPTER VII.

THE bay team traveled well, but it was late
in the afternoon when Jack drove into the town.
Having been in Mertonville before, Jack knew
where to take Miss Glidden and Mrs. Potter.
Mertonville was a thriving place, calling it-
self a town, and ambitious of some day be-
coming a city.
Not long after entering the village, Miss
Glidden touched Jack's arm.
"Stop, please! exclaimed Miss Glidden.
"There are our friends. The very people we're
going to see. Mrs. Edwards and the Judge,
and all!"
The party on foot had also halted, and were
waiting to greet the visitors. After welcomes
had been exchanged, Mrs. Edwards, a tall, dig-
nified lady, with gray hair, turned to Mary and
offered her hand.
"I 'm delighted to see you, Miss Ogden,"
she exclaimed, and your brother John. I 've
heard so much about you both, from Elder
Holloway and the Murdochs. They are expect-
ing you."
We 're going to the Murdochs'," said Mary, a
little embarrassed by the warmth of the greeting.
"You will come to see me before you go
home? said Mrs. Edwards. I don't wonder
Miss Glidden is so fond of you and so proud
of you. Make her come, Miss Glidden."
I should be very happy," said Miss Glidden
benevolently, "-but Mary has so many friends."
Oh, she '11 come," said the Judge himself,
very heartily. If she does n't, I '11 come after
her."
Shall I drive to your house now, Judge Ed-
wards ? Jack said at last.
The party separated, and Jack started the
bay team again.
The house of Judge Edwards was only a short
distance farther, and that of Mrs. Potter was just
beyond.


Mary Ogden," said Miss Glidden in parting,
"you must surely accept Mrs. Edwards's invita-
tion. She is the kindest of women."
"Yes, Miss Glidden," said Mary demurely.
Jack broke in: Of course you will. You'll
have a real good time, too."
"And you 'll come and see me?" said Mrs.
Potter, and Mary promised. Then Jack and
the Judge's coachman lowered to the sidewalk
Miss Glidden's enormous trunk.
As Mrs. Potter alighted, a few minutes later,
she declared to Mary:
"I 'm confident, my dear, that you will ex-
perience enthusiastic hospitality."
"What shall I do?" asked Mary, as they
drove away. Miss Glidden did n't mean what
she said. She is not fond of me."
"The Judge meant it," said Jack. "They
liked you. None of them pressed me to come
visiting, I noticed. I 'll leave you at Murdoch's
and take the team to the stable, and then go to
the office of the Eagle and see the editor."
But when they reached the Murdochs', good
Mrs. Murdoch came to the door. She kissed
Mary, and then said:
"I 'm so glad to see you! So glad you 've
come! Poor Mr. Murdoch "
Jack 's going to the office to see him," said
Mary.
He need n't go there," said the editor's wife;
"Mr. Murdoch is ill at home. The storm and the
excitement and the exposure have broken him
down. Come right in, dear. Come back, Jack,
as soon as you have taken care of the horses."
"It's a pity," said Jack as he drove away.
"The Eagle will have a hard time of it without
any editor."
He was still considering that matter when he
reached the livery-stable, but he was abruptly
aroused from his thoughts by the owner of the
team, who cried excitedly:
"Hurrah! Here 's my team! I say, young
man, how did you cross Link's bridge ? A man





CROWDED OUT O' CROFIELD.


on horseback just came here and told us it was
down. I was afraid I 'd lost my team for a
week."
"Well, here they are," said Jack, smiling.
"They 're both good swimmers, and as for the
carriage, it floated like a boat."
Oh, it did ? laughed the stable-keeper, as
he examined his property. Livermore sent
you with them, I suppose. I was losing five dol-
lars a day by not having those horses here.
What 's your name ? Do you live in Crofield ?"
"Jack Ogden."
"Oh! you 're the blacksmith's son. Old
Murdoch told me about you. My name 's
Prodger. I know your father, and I 've known
him twenty years. How did you get over the
creek tell me about it ? "
Jack told him, and Mr. Prodger drew a long
breath at the end of the story.
You did n't know the risk you were running,"
he said; but you did first-rate, and if I needed
another driver I 'd be glad to hire you. What
did Livermore say I was to pay you? "
He did n't say," said Jack. I was n't
thinking about being paid."
"So much the better. I think the more of
you, my boy. But it was plucky to drive that
team over Link's bridge just before it went down.
I '11 tell you what I '11 do. I '11 pay you what
they '1l earn me to-night it will be about three
dollars -and we '11 call it square. How will
that do ?"
"It 's more than I 've earned," said Jack,
gratefully.
I 'm satisfied, if you are," said Mr. Prodger
as Jack jumped down. "Come and see me
again if you 're to be in town. You 're fond
of horses and have a knack with them."
"Three dollars! said Jack, after the money
had been paid him, and he was on his way back
to the Murdochs'. Mother let me have the
six dollars they gave me for the fish. And this
makes nine dollars. Why, it will take me the
rest of the way to the city -but I would n't
have a cent when I got there."
When he reached the editor's house, Jack
noticed that the house was on the same square
with the block of wooden buildings containing
the Eagle office, and that the editor could go to
his work through his own garden, if he chose,


instead of around by the street. He was again
welcomed by Mrs. Murdoch, and then led at
once into Mr. Murdoch's room, where the
editor was in bed, groaning and complaining
in a way that indicated much distress.
I 'm very sorry you 're sick, Mr. Murdoch,"
said Jack.
"Thank you, Jack. It's just my luck. It's
the very worst time for me to be on the sick-list.
Nobody to get out the Eagle. Lost my 'devil'
to-day, too !"
Lost your devil'? exclaimed Jack.
"Yes," said Mr. Murdoch in despair. "No
'devil'! No editor! Nobody but a wooden fore-
man and a pair of lead-headed type-stickers.
The man that does the mailing has more than
he can do, too. There won't be any Eagle
this week, and perhaps none next week. Plenty
of 'copy' nearly ready, too. It 's too bad!"
"You need n't feel so discouraged," said Jack,
deeply touched by the distress of the groaning
editor. "Molly and I know what to do. She can
manage the copy, just as she did for the Standard
once. So can I. We '11 go right to work."
"Oh, yes, I 'd forgotten," said Mr. Murdoch.
"You've worked awhile at printing. I 'm will-
ing you should see what you can do. I 'd like to
speak to Mary. I 'm sorry to say that you '11
have to sleep in the office, Jack, for we've only
one spare room in this nutshell of a house."
"I don't mind that," said Jack.
"I hope I '11 be out in a day or so," added
the editor. "But, Jack, the press is run by a
pony steam-engine, and that foreman could n't
run it to save his life," he added hopelessly.
"Why, it 's nothing to do," exclaimed Jack.
"I 've helped run an engine for a steam thresh-
ing-machine. Don't you be worried about the
engine."
Mr. Murdoch was able to be up a little while
in the evening, and Mary came in to see him.
From what he said to her, it seemed as if there
was really very little to do in editing the re-
mainder of the next number of the Eagle.
I 'm so glad you 're here," said Mrs. Mur-
doch, when Mary came out to supper. I
never read a newspaper myself, and I don't
know the first thing about putting one together.
It's too bad that you should be bothered with
it, though."





CROWDED OUT 0' CROFIELD.


"Why, Mrs. Murdoch," exclaimed Mary,
laughing, I shall be delighted. I 'd rather do
it than not."
The truth was that it was not easy for either
Mary or her brother to be very sorry that Mr.
Murdoch was not able to work. They did not
feel anxious about him, for his wife had told
them it was not a serious attack, and they en-
joyed the prospect of editing the newspaper.
After supper, Jack and Mary went through
the garden to the Eagle office. The pony-engine
was in a sort of woodshed, the press was in the
"kitchen," as Mary called it, and the front room
of the little old dwelling-house was the business
office. The editor's office and the type-setting
room were upstairs.
Jack took a look at the engine.
"Any one could run that," he said. "I
know just how to set it going. Come on,
Molly. This is going to be great fun."
The editor's room was only large enough for
a table and a chair and a few heaps of exchange
newspapers. The table was littered and piled
With scraps of writing and printing.
"See!" exclaimed Jack, picking up a sheet
of paper. "The last thing Mr. Murdoch did
was to finish an account of his visit to Crofield,
and the flood. We '11 put that in first thing to-
morrow. It's easy to edit a newspaper. Where
are the scissors ? "
"We need n't bother to write new edito-
rials," said Mary. "Here are all these papers
full of them."
"Of course," said Jack. But we must pick
out good ones."
Their tastes differed somewhat, and Mary
condemned a number of articles that seemed to
Jack excellent. However, she selected a story
and some poems and a bright letter from Europe,
and Jack found an account of an exciting horse-
race, a horrible railway accident, a base-ball
match, a fight with Indians, an explosion of
dynamite, and several long strips of jokes and
conundrums.
These are splendid editorials! said Mary,
looking up from her reading. "We can cut
them down to fit the Eagle, and nobody will
suspect that Mr. Murdoch has been away."
Oh, they '11 do," said Jack. "They 're all
lively. Mr. Murdoch is sure to be satisfied.


I don't think he can write better editorials
himself."
The young editors were much excited over
their work, and soon became so absorbed in
their duties that it was ten o'clock before they
knew it.
"Now, Molly," said Jack, we '11 go to the
house and tell him it 's all right. We '11 set the
Eagle a-going in the morning. I knew we could
edit it!"
Mary had very little to say; her fingers ached
from plying the scissors, her eyes burned from
.reading so much and so fast, and her head was
in a whirl.
At the house they met Mrs. Murdoch.
"Oh, my dear children!" exclaimed she to
Mary, "Mr. Murdoch is delirious. The doc-
tor 's been here, and says he won't be able to
think of work -not for days and days. Can
you,-can you run the Eagle You won't let
it stop ?"
No, indeed! said Mary. "There 's plenty
of' copy' ready, and Jack can run the engine."
I 'm so glad," said Mrs. Murdoch. I 'd
never dare to clip anything. I might make
serious mistakes. He 's so careful not to at-
tack anything nor to offend anybody. All sorts'
of people take the Eagle, and Mr. Murdoch
says he has to steer clear of almost everything."
We won't write anything," said Jack; we'11
just select the best there is and put it right in.
Those city editors on the big papers know what
to write."
The editor's wife was convinced; and, after
Mary had gone to her room, Jack returned to
a room prepared for him in the Eagle office.
I sha'n't wear my Sunday clothes to-mor-
row," said Jack; I '11 put on a hickory shirt
and old trousers; then I '11 be ready to work."
The last thing he remembered saying to him-
self was:
"Well, I 'm nine miles nearer to New York."

Morning came, and Jack was busy before
breakfast, but he went to the house early.
I must be there when the hands' come," he
said to Mrs. Murdoch. Molly ought to be in
the office, too "
"I 've told Mr. Murdoch," she said, "but he
has a severe headache. He can't bear to talk.',


[APRIL,





CROWDED OUT O' CROFIELD.


He need n't talk if he does n't feel able,"
replied Jack. "The Eagle will come out all
right! "
Mary could hardly wait to finish her cup of
coffee, but she tried hard to appear calm. She
was ready as soon as Jack, but she did not have
quite so much confidence in her ability to do
whatever might be necessary.
There was to be some press-work done that
forenoon, and the pony-engine had steam up


I I l' ''


-C~ -



"'THERE WON'T BE ANY "EAGLE" THIS WEEK' SAID MR.
when the foreman and the two type-setters
reached the office.
Good-morning, Mr. Black," said Jack, as
he came into the engine-room. It 's all right.
I 'm Jack Ogden, a friend of Mr. Murdoch's.
The new editor 's upstairs. There's some copy
ready. Mr. Murdoch will not be at the office
for a week."
VOL. XVII.-62.


"Bless me! said Mr. Black. "I reckoned
that we 'd have to strike work. What we need
most-is a devil'-"
"I can be 'devil,'" said Jack. "I used to
run the Standard."
Boys," said the foreman, without the change
of a muscle in his pasty-looking face, Mur-
doch 's hired a proxy. I '11 go up for copy."
He stumped upstairs to what he called the
"sanctum." The door stood open. Mr. Black's
eyes blinked rapidly when he saw
Mary at the editor's table; but he
did not utter a word.
S"Good-morning, Mr. Black,"
S said Mary, holding out Mr. Mur-
doch's manuscript and a number
of printed clippings. She rapidly
told him what they were, and how
each of them was to be printed.
Mr. Black heard her to the end,
and then he said:
Good-morning, ma'am. Is
/4 your name Murdoch, ma'am? "
"No, sir. Miss Ogden," said
Mary. "But nobody need be told
J that Mr. Murdoch is not here. I
do not care to see anybody, unless
it's necessary."
"Yes, ma'am," said Mr. Black.
"We '11 go right along, ma'am.
We 're glad the Eagle is to come
out on time, ma'am."
He was very respectful, as if the
idea of having a young girl as
editor awed him; and he backed
out of the office, with both hands
full of copy, to stump downstairs
and tell his two journeymen:
It's all right, boys. Bless me!
I never saw the like before."
He explained the state of affairs,
MURDOCH." and each in turn soon managed to
make an errand upstairs, and then to come down
again almost as awed as Mr. Black had been.
She 's a driver," said the foreman. "She
was made for a boss. She has it in her eye."
Even Jack, when he was sent up after copy,
was a little astonished.
"That 's the way father looks," he thought,
"whenever he begins to lose his temper. The




CROWDED OUT O' CROFIELD.


men mind him then, too; but he has to be
waked up first. I know how she feels. She 's
bound the Eagle shall come out on time 1i"
Even Jack did not appreciate how responsi-
bility was waking up Mary Ogden, or how
much older she felt than when she left Crofield;
but he had an idea that she was taller, and that
her eyes had become darker.
Mr. Bones, the man of all work in the front
office below, was of the opinion that she was very
tall, and that her eyes were very black, and that
he did not care to go upstairs again; for he had
blundered into the sanctum, supposing that Mr.
Murdoch was there, and remarking as he came:
Sa-ay, that there underdone gawk that helps
edit the Inquirer, he was jist in, looking' for-
yes, ma'am! Beg pardon, ma'am! I 'm only
Bones -"
What did the gentleman want, Mr. Bones ?"
asked Mary, with much dignity. Mr. Murdoch
is at home. He is ill. Is it anything I can
attend to ? "
"Oh, no, ma'am; nothing, ma'am. He 's
a blower. We don't mind him, ma'am. I '11
go down right away, ma'am. I '11 see Mr. Black,
ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."
He withdrew with many bows; and while
downstairs he saw Jack, and he not only saw,
but felt, that something very new and queer had
happened to the Mertonville Eagle.
Both Mary and Jack were aware that there
was a rival newspaper, but it had not occurred
to them that they were at all interested in the
Inquirer, or in its editors, beyond the fact that
both papers were published on Thursdays, and
that the Eagle was the larger.
The printers worked fast that day, as if some-
thing spurred them on, and Mr. Black was
almost bright when he reported to Mary how
much they had done during the day.
The new boy's the best' devil' we ever had,
ma'am," said he. Please say to Mr. Murdoch
we 'd better keep him."
Thank you, Mr. Black," said she. I hope
Mr. Murdoch will soon be well."
He stumped away, and it seemed to her as if
her dignity barely lasted until she and Jack found
themselves in Mr. Murdoch's garden, on their
way home. It broke completely down as they
were going between the sweet-corn and the


tomatoes, and there they both stopped and
laughed heartily.
But, Molly," Jack exclaimed, when he recov-
ered his breath, we '11 have to print the liveliest
kind of an Eagle, or the Inquirer will get ahead
of us. I 'm going out, after supper, all over
town, to pick up news. If I can only find some
boys I know here, they could tell me a lot of
good items. The boys know more of what's
going on than anybody."
"I 'd like to go with you," said Mary. "Stir
around and find out all you can."
I know what to do," said Jack, with energy,
and if he had really undertaken to do all he
proceeded to tell her, it would have kept him out
all night.
CHAPTER VIII.

SUPPER was ready when Jack and Mary went
into the house, and Mrs. Murdoch was eager
that they should eat it at once. She seemed very
placidly to take it for granted that things were
going properly in the Eagle office. Her hus-
band had been ill before, and the paper had
somehow lived along, and she was not the kind
of woman to fret about it.
He 's been worrying," she said to Mary,
"principally about town news. He 's afraid the
Inquirer '11 get ahead of you. It might be good
to see him."
"I '11 see him," said Mary.
Mary! Mary came faintly in reply to her
kindly greeting. "Local items, Mary. Society
Notes the flood logs bridges dams -
fires. Brief Mention. Town Improvement
Society the Sociable anything! "
"Jack will be out after news as soon as he
eats his supper," said Mary. He '11 find all
there is to find. The printers did a splendid
day's work."
"The doctor says not to tell me about any-
thing," said the sick man, despondently. "You'll
fill the paper somehow. Do the best you can,
till I get well."
She did not linger, for Mrs. Murdoch was al.
ready pulling her sleeve. The three were soon
seated at the table, and hardly was a cup of tea
poured before Mrs. Murdoch remarked:
Mary," she said, Miss Glidden called here
to-day, with Mrs. Judge Edwards, in her car-


[APRIL,





CROWDED OUT CROFIELD.


riage. -They were sorry to find you out. So
did Mrs. Mason, and so did Mrs. Lansing, and
Mrs. Potter. They wanted you to go riding,
and there's a lawn-tennis party coming. I told
them all that Mr. Murdoch was sick, and you
were editing the Eagle, and Jack was, too. Miss
Glidden 's very fond of you, you know. So
is Mrs. Potter. Her husband wishes he knew
what to send Jack for saving his wife from
being drowned."
This was delivered steadily but not rapidly,
and Mary needed only to say she would have
been glad to see them all.
"I did n't save anybody," said Jack. If
the logs had hit the bridge while we were on it,
nothing could have saved us."
Mary was particularly glad that none of her
new friends were coming in to spend the evening,
for she felt she had done enough for one day.
Mrs. Murdoch, however, told her of a Union
Church Sociable," to be held at the house of
Mrs. Edwards, the next Thursday evening, and
said she had promised to bring Miss Ogden. Of
course Mary said she would go, but Jack declined.
After supper, Jack was eager to set out upon
his hunt after news-items.
I must n't let a soul know what I 'm doing,"
he said to Mary. "We '11 see whether I can't
find out as much as the Inquirer's man can."
He hurried away from the house, but soon
ceased to walk fast and began to peer sharply
about.
There 's a new building going up," he said,
as he turned a corer; "I '11 find out about it."
So he did, but it was only by the way "; he
really had a plan, and the next step took him
to Mr. Prodger's livery-stable.
Well, Ogden," said Prodger, when he came
in. That bay team has earned eight dollars and
fifty cents to-day. I 'm glad you brought them
over. How long are you going to be in town ? "
"I can't tell," said Jack. I 'm staying at
Murdoch's."
"The editor's ? He 's a good fellow, but the
Eagle is slow. All dry fodder. No vinegar.
No pickles. He needs waking up. Tell him
about Link's bridge "
That was a good beginning, and Jack soon
knew just how high the water had risen in the
creek at Mertonville; how high it had ever


risen before; how many logs had been saved;
how near Sam Hutchins and three other men
came to being carried over the dam; and what
people talked about doing to prevent another
flood, and other matters of interest. Then he
went among the stable-men, who had been
driving all day, and they gave him a number of
items. Jack relied mainly upon his memory,
but he soon gathered such a budget of facts
that he had to go to the public reading-room
and work awhile with pencil and paper, for
fear of forgetting his treasures.
Out he went again, and it was curious how
he managed to slip in among knots of idlers,
and set them to talking, and make them tell all
they knew.
I 'm getting the news," he said to himself;
"only there is n't much worth the time." After
a few moments he exclaimed, This is the dark-
est, meanest part of all Mertonville "
It was the oldest part of the village, near the
canal and the railway station, and many of the
houses were dilapidated. Jack was thinking
that Mary might write something about im-
proving such a neglected, squalid quarter, when
he heard a shriek from the door of a house
near by.
Robbers thieves -fire! murder! -
rob-bers !-vil-lains!"
It was the voice of a woman, and had a
crack in it that made it sound as if two voices
were trying to choke each other.
"Robbers! shouted Jack springing forward,
just as two very short men dashed through the
gate and disappeared in the darkness.
If they were robbers, they were likely to get
away, for they ran well.
Jack Ogden did not run very far. He heard
other footsteps. There were people coming from
the opposite direction, but he paid no attention
to them, until just as he was passing the gate.
Then he felt a hand on his left shoulder, and
another hand on his right shoulder, and sud-
denly he found himself lying flat on his back
upon the sidewalk.
"Hold him, boys !"
"We 've got him !"
"Hold him down !"
"Tie him! We need n't gag him. Tie him
tight! We've got him! "


515





CROWDED OUT 0' CROFIELD.


There were no less than four men, and two
held his legs while the other two pinioned his
arms, all the while threatening him with terrible
things if he resisted.
It was in vain to struggle, and every time he
tried to speak they silenced him. Besides, he
was too much astonished to talk easily, and
all the while an unceasing torrent of abuse was
poured upon him, over the gate, by the voice
that had given the alarm.
"We've got him, Mrs. McNamara! He
can't get away this time. The young villain!"
"They were goin' to brek into me house,
indade," said Mrs. McNamara. "The mur-
dherin' vagabones!"
What '11 we do with him now, boys ? asked
one of his captors. "I don't know where to
take him do you, Deacon Abrams ?"
"What 's your name, you young thief ? "
sternly demanded another.
Jack had begun to think. One of his first
thoughts was, that a gang of desperate robbers
had seized him. The next idea was, that he
never met four more stupid-looking men in
Mertonville, nor anywhere else. He resolved
that he would not tell his name, to have it
printed in the Inquirer, and so made no answer.
"That 's the way of thim," said Mrs. McNa-
mara. He's game, and he won't pache. The
joodge 'll have to mak him spake. Ye 'd bet-
ther lock him up, and kape him till day."
"That 's it, Deacon Abrams."
"That 's just it," said the man spoken to.
"We can lock him up in the back room of my
house, while we go and find the constable."
Away they went, guarding their prisoner on
the way as if they were afraid of him.
They soon came to the dwelling of Deacon
Abrams.
It was hard for Jack Ogden, but he bore it
like a young Mohawk Indian. It would have
been harder if it had not been so late, and if
more of the household had been there to see
him. As it was, doors opened, candles flared,
old voices and young voices asked questions, a
baby cried, and then Jack heard a very sharp
voice.
"Sakes alive, Deacon! You can't have that
ruffian here! We shall all be murdered! "
Only till I go and find the constable, Je-


rusha," said the deacon, pleadingly. "We '11
lock him in the back room, and Barney and
Pettigrew '11 stand guard at the gate, with clubs,
while Smith and I are gone."
There was another protest, and two more
children began to cry, but Jack was led on into
his prison-cell.
It was a comfortable room, containing a bed
and a chair. There was real ingenuity in the
way they secured Jack Ogden. They backed
a chair against a bedpost and made him sit
down, and then they tied the chair, and the
wicked young robber in it, to the post.
"There said Deacon Abrams. "He can't
get away now!" and in a moment more Jack
heard the key turn in the lock, and he was left
in the dark, alone and bound,- a prisoner under
a charge of burglary.
I never thought of this thing happening to
me," he said to himself, gritting his teeth and
squirming on his chair. "It 's pretty hard.
Maybe I can get away, though. They thought
they pulled the ropes tight, but then -"
The hempen fetters really hurt him a little,
but it was partly because of the chair.
Maybe I can kick it out from under me,"
he said to himself, and loosen the ropes."
Out it came, after a tug, and then Jack could
stand up.
"I might climb on the bed, now the ropes
are loose," he said, "and lift the loops over the
post. Then I could crawl out of 'em."
He was excited, and worked quickly. In a
moment he was standing in the middle of the
room, with only his hands tied behind him.
I can cut that cord," he thought, if I can
find a nail in the wall."
He easily found several, and one of them had
a rough edge on the head of it, and after a few
minutes of hard sawing, the cord was severed.
It 's easy to saw twine," said he. Now
for the next thing."
He went to the window and looked out into
the darkness.
I 'm over the roof of the kitchen," he said,
"and that tree 's close to it."
Up went the window slowly, carefully,
noiselessly-and out crept Jack upon that roof.
It was steep, but he stole along the ridge. Now
he could reach the tree.


516


[APRIL,






CROWDED OUT O' CROFIELD.


It 's an apple-tree," he said. I can reach
that longest branch, and swing off, and go down
it hand over hand."
At an ordinary time, few boys would have
thought it could be done, and Jack had to gather
all his courage to make the attempt; but he slid
down and reached for that small, frail limb, from
his perilous perch in the gutter of the roof.
Now said Jack to himself.
Off he went with a quick grasp, and then an-
other lower along the branch, before it had time
to break, but his third grip was on a larger
limb, below, and he believed he was safe.
I must be quick! he said. Somebody is
striking a light in that room! "
Hand over hand for a moment, and then he
was astride of a limb. Soon he was going
down the trunk; and then the window (which
he had closed behind him) went up, and he
heard Deacon Abrams exclaiming:
"He could n't have got out this way, could
he ? Stop thief! Stop thief! "
Let 'em chase muttered Jack, as his feet
reached the ground. This is the liveliest kind
of news-item!"
Jack vaulted over the nearest fence, ran
across a garden, climbed over another fence,
ran through a lot, and came out into a street on
the other side of the square.
"I 've got a good start, now," he thought,
"but I '11 keep right on. They don't expect
me at Murdoch's to-night. If I can only get
to the Eagle office! Nobody '11 hunt for me
there "
He heard the sound of feet, at that moment,
around the next corner. Open went the near-
est gate, and in went Jack, and before long he
was scaling more fences.
It 's just like playing Hare-and-Hounds,'"
remarked Jack, as he once more came out into
a street. Now for the Eagle, and it won't do
to run. I 'm safe."
He heard some running and shouting after
that, however, and he did not really feel secure
until he was on his bed, with the doors below
locked and barred.
Now they can hunt all night! he said to
himself, laughing. I 've made plenty of news
for Mary."
So she thought next morning; and the last


"news-item" brought out the color in her
cheeks and the brightness in her eyes.
"I '11 write it out," she said, "just as if you
were the real robber, and we '11 print it! "
Of course," said Jack; but I 'd better keep
shady for a day or so.--I wish I was on my
way to New York! "
"Seems to me as if you were," said Mary.
"They won't come here after you. The paper's
nearly full, now, and it '11 be out to-morrow!"
Mr. Murdoch would have been gratified to
see how Mary and Jack worked that day. Even
Mr. Black and the type-setters worked with
energy, and so did Mr. Bones, and there was no
longer any doubt that the Eagle would be
printed on time. Mr. Murdoch felt better the
moment he was told by Mary, at tea-time, that
she had found editing no trouble at all. He
was glad, he said, that all had been so quiet,
and that nobody had called at the editor's office,
and that people did not know he was sick. As
to that, however, Mr. Bones had not told Mary
how much he and Mr. Black had done to pro-
tect her from intrusion. They had been like a
pair of watch-dogs, and it was hardly possible
for any outsider to pass them. As for Jack, he
was not seen outside of the Eagle all that day.
If any of Deacon Abram's posse should
come in," he remarked to Mary, they would n't
know me with all the ink that 's on my face."
Mother would have to look twice," laughed
Mary. "Don't I wish I knew what people
will think of the paper!"
She did not find out at once, even on Thurs-
day. Jack had the engine going on time, and
as fast as papers were printed, the distribution
of them followed. It was a very creditable
Eagle, but Mary blushed when she read in
print the account Mr. Murdoch had written of
the doings in Crofield.
They '11 think Jack 's a hero," she said,
" and what will they think of me ? and what
will Miss Glidden say? But then he has com-
plimented her."
Jack, too, was much pleased to read the
vivid accounts she had written of the capture and
escape of the daring young burglar who had
broken into the house of Mrs. McNamara, and
of the falling of Link's bridge. Neither of them,
however, had an idea of how some articles in


517




CROWDED OUT O' CROFIELD.


the paper would affect other people. Before
noon, there was such a rush for Eagles, at the
front office, that Mr. Black got out another
ream of paper to print a second edition, and Mr.
Bones had almost to fight to keep the excited
crowd from going upstairs to see for themselves


whether the editor was
there. Before night,
poor Mrs. Murdoch
went to the door thirty
times to say to eager
inquirers that Mr. Murdoch was in bed, and
that Dr. Follet had forbidden him to see any-
body, or to talk one word, or to get himself
excited.
"What 's the matter with the people ?" she
said wearily. Can it be possible that any-
thing 's the matter with the Eagle? Mary
Ogden said she 'd taken the very best editorials
from the city papers."
The Inquirer was nowhere that Thursday, and
the excitement over the Eagle increased all the
afternoon.
It 's all right, Mrs. Murdoch," said Jack, at
supper. Bones says he has sold more than two
hundred extra copies."
I 'm glad of that," she said, and I '11 tell
Mr. Murdoch; but he must n't read it."
When she did so, he smiled faintly and with
an effort feebly responded:


"Thank Mary for me. I suppose they wanted
to read about the flood."
Mr. Bones had not seen fit to report to Mary
that a baker's dozen of old subscribers had or-
dered their paper stopped; nor that one angry
man with a big club in his hand had inquired
for the editor; nor that Deacon Abrams, and
the Town Constable, and three other men,
and a lawyer had called to see the editor
about the robbery at Mrs. McNamara's;
nor that the same worthy woman, with her
arms akimbo and her bonnet falling back,
had fiercely demanded of him:
Fwhat for did yez print all that about
me howlin' ? Wud n't ony woman spake,
was she bein' robbed and
murderedd"
Bones had pacified Mrs.
McNamara only by sitting
S still and hearing her out,
S, and he would not for any-
P: thing have mentioned it to
SMiss Ogden. She there-
fore had only good news
,i to tell at the house, and
Mr'- rs. Murdoch's replies
M\ related chiefly to the
Union Church Sociable
at Judge Edwards's.
"Mr. Murdoch is
quiet," she said, "and
he may sleep all the
time we 're gone."
"I '11 be on hand to
look out for him," said Jack, I 'm not going
anywhere."
That reassured them as to leaving home, and
Mrs. Murdoch and Mary departed without anx-
iety; but they had hardly entered the Edwards's
house before they found that many other people
were very much less placid.
The first person to come forward, after Mrs.
Edwards had welcomed them, was Miss Glidden.
"Oh, Mary Ogden!" she exclaimed, very
sweetly and benevolently. "My dear! Why did
you say so much about me in the Eagle ? "
That was Mr. Murdoch's work," said Mary.
"I had nothing to do with it."
"And that robbery and escape was really
shocking."


[APRIL,





CROWDED OUT 0' CROFIELD.


"Exactly!" They heard a sharp, decided
voice near them, and it came from a thin little
man in a white cravat. "You are right, Elder
Holloway! When a leading journal like the
Eagle finds it needful to denounce so sternly the
state of the public streets in Mertonville, it is
time for the people to act. We ministers must
hold a council right away."
Mary remembered a political editorial she had
taken from a New York paper and had cut
down to fit the Eagle;, but its effect was some-
thing unexpected.
A deeper voice on her left spoke next:
"There was serious talk among the hotel-
men and inn-keepers of mobbing the Eagle office
to day! "
"That," thought Mary, "must be the high-
license editorial from that Philadelphia weekly."
We must act, Judge Edwards! exclaimed
another voice. Nobody knows Murdoch's


politics, but his denunciation of the prevailing
corruption is terrible. There 's a storm rising.
The Republican Committee has called a special
meeting to. consider the matter, and we Demo-
crats must do the same. The Eagle is right
about it, too; but it was a daring step for him
to take."
That's the editorial from the Chicago daily,"
thought Mary; "the last part was from that Bos-
tonpaper! Oh, dear me! Whathave I done?"
She had to ask herself that question a dozen
times that evening, and she wished Jack had
been there to hear what was said.
The sociable went gaily on, nevertheless, and
all the while Jack sat in Mrs. Murdoch's dining-
room, his face fairly glowing red with the inter-
est he took in something spread out upon the
table before him. It was a large map of New
York City that he had found in the Eagle office
and brought to the house.


(To be continued.)


EUCHRED!
EUCHRED!











THE OVENBIRD.

BY ERNEST E. THOMPSON.


ONE of the most familiar of the truly forest-
songs of our country is the peculiar crescendo
chant of the ovenbird, or golden-crowned thrush.
It sounds like a repetition of the word teacher,"
eight or ten times in succession, begun in a
whisper, but with added emphasis at each
repetition, till the final bar is rung out with ex-
traordinary force and volume. This is the
characteristic song of the bird--uttered with
untiring zeal throughout the mating season, and
it is to be heard daily in every woodland of
eastern North America.
Until lately this was supposed to be its only
song; but, about fourteen years ago, two natu-
ralists announced independently the fact that


the teacher song is nothing more than a mere
call-note, and that at certain seasons the bird
rises into the air far above the tops of the
forest trees and there, as he floats on quivering
wing, pours forth a loud, sweet, lark-like song-
a song full of variety and tenderness, and so
prolonged and powerful that one wonders if
indeed so small a throat can really be the source
of that volume of sweet sound.
This song appears to be reserved for unusual
occasions. It is sung only at particular sea-
sons, as already mentioned, and though I have
heard it at all hours of the day and night, at
high noon and at the blackest hour of a storm-
threatening, midnight sky, the favorite time of


d ~"~i`
irz

.er.





THE OVENBIRD.


utterance is as the sun is reddening and sink-
ing below the horizon,- when all the forest is
in the gathering shade; but when by rising
above the trees the inspired singer can float for
a while in the last ruddy light of the sun, and,
after a few moments, sink again to the gloom
that has already enveloped the lower world.
The first time that I remember hearing the
song, was under just such circumstances. I had
often heard the "teacher" note of a pair of
ovenbirds in a wood where I daily walked.
Of course I knew they had a nest somewhere
near, but I failed to find it until early in June,
when the young should have been hatched. I
was walking along the path in this wood, one
afternoon, when suddenly at my feet appeared
an ovenbird, trailing her bright plumes in the dust
and crawling about me in silent agony. I stood
perfectly still, not a little surprised; for usually
this bird is noisy when its nest is approached.
In another instant I perceived the other parent-
bird, behaving in much the same way. But,
though his voice was hushed and his feathers
bristling with terror, he was yet making repeated
thrusts with his beak at something. A second
glance, and I made out a long, sinuous form
that was lying zigzag over the leaves--the glis-
tening form of a serpent; but its head was hid-
den under a dome-shaped mass of twigs that,
until now, had escaped my notice; and then
the crowning touch of horror was added, for
this was the nest, and the snake was about to


devour the young! I never saw a more pitiful
sight than these poor parent-birds in their com-
plete abandon of grief. Their strength seemed
entirely spent. They continued silent as before,
but again and again assailed the reptile. It
could easily have caught them, as they were
reduced to helplessness by their terror, but it
was intent on its younger prey, and paid no
heed to the feeble attack of the parent-birds.
I reached down and touched the loathsome
creature, but it did not move, so I took it by
the tail and dragged it out. The change in its
demeanor was wonderful, when it found that
it now had a foeman who could harm it. It
dropped a young ovenbird, and wriggled and
squirmed to free itself. It struck at me savagely,
but I held it so it could not reach me, and pres-
ently changed my hold to its neck, and so bore
it away. The ovenbirds seemed hardly to realize
their escape, being too deeply stricken to recover
at once. But, before long, they were caring for
their chilled and terrified brood.
Next evening I returned to the place, and as
I drew near I heard above the trees, in the quiet
purple of the twilight, the wild, ecstatic air-song
of the ovenbird-the weird, mysterious bird-
voice the origin of which was so long a puzzle
to naturalists. When this vesper-hymn was over
and the musician sailed downward, I knew that
I had heard the thanksgiving of the grateful bird
whose home my timely coming had saved from
the ravages of the serpent.


A POEM POSTPONED.

By HELEN C. WALDEN.

I WANT to tell you about my kitten -
The prettiest kitten that ever purred;
But I 've looked my speller through and through,
And I can't discover a single word
That rhymes with kitten,
Excepting mitten,-
And that is old, and too absurd.
So the only thing for me to do
Is just to send you what I 've written,
And wait till she grows to be a cat,-
There are ever so many to rhyme with that!


VOL. XVII.-63.


521






I a0


J-1fR


IPa


b EL
-C MSEi E S L S /E


CHAPTER I.
HOW THE STORY
WAS WRITTEN.
S9 A ARJORIE is three
years and six months old,
and I am her papa--
But you will have
to say how old you are,
-T ,'^ *6 too, Jack."
S 'i: "Now wait a mo-
ment, Marjorie, or we
I] /i shall have this all mixed
I up. You must let me
do the talking."
"Well, all right, go on.
Only I want to talk just sometimes, don't I ?
You are sixty-twenty years old, ain't you ?"
No, I am thirty years old."


Well, as I said, I am Marjorie's papa. Mar-
jorie always calls me Jack," and if the old lady
across the way does think it very strange that a
little girl should call her papa by his first name,
we do not. Because, you see, Marjorie has al-
ways heard her mamma call me "Jack," and
that was the first word she said when she was a
tiny baby. When she said it, her mamma picked
her up and kissed her again and again because
it sounded so cunning! "
Well, one day, not very long ago, Marjorie
and I were looking at one of her books which
was all about a little girl's tea-party.
"Why," says Marjorie, "I have a tea-party
'most every day."
"Yes," I said, I know that you do."
"Well," said Marjorie, her eyes filling with
tears, "nobody never made a book about my
tea-party! "


0


!rU





MARJORIE AND HER PAPA.


"I would not cry about it if they have not,"
said I.
"I ain't," said Marjorie, winking very hard.
You must not say, I ain't,' Marjorie," said
her mamma, "you must say, I am not.' "
"I am not," said Marjorie. Then after a
while, she said, "How do they make books,
Jack ? "
People write them," I replied.
"Do they?" said she. "With a pencil ?"
Well, yes," I said, "with a pencil, or pen
and ink."
"Oh-h-h I tell you!" cried Marjorie, clasp-
ing her hands and opening her eyes very wide.
"Well," I said, "what is it? "
"We have a pen and ink," said Marjorie, in a


from my lap and dashing away, I '11 go and
get my pencil right now!"
And that is how Marjorie and I came to
write this story.


CHAPTER II.


whisper. Let's, me and you, write a tea-party
book, Jack."
Very well," I said, we will do it, and send
it to ST. NICHOLAS."
"And and there will be some pictures
in it," said Marjorie, leaning back and looking
at me.
Of course," said I.
"Hey! shouted Marjorie, jumping down


THE TEA-PARTY.

"JACK," said Marjorie, "I am going to have
a tea-party. Will you come ?"
"I shall be delighted," I said. "Is this the
one that is to be put in the book? "
Oh! said Marjorie. Oh, I never thought
of that! Why, of course. MammaF we are
going to have a tea-party--mayI? And oh,
Mamma, we are going to put it in the book!"
"That will be nice," said Marjorie's mamma.
Have you got anything for a tea-party ?"
asked Marjorie, anxiously.
Well, I am afraid that I have not, Marjorie,
but I will see," said Mamma, going into the
next room. For you must know that just then
we were living in a hotel and had no pantry nor
kitchen to go to.
Here is only one piece of candy and an
apple," said Mamma.
"Is that all ? "said Marjorie. "But you have
got some sugar, ain'tyou ?- I mean, are n'tyou ?"
"' Have n't you,' said Mamma.
I meant, have n't you,'" said Marjorie.
Yes," said Mamma, I have some sugar, so
we can have tea, at any rate."
"Well, I '11 tell you what we will do," said
Marjorie. I will take some of my blocks and
play that they was cakes and things."
"Why, certainly," said Mamma; "that is
what we will do. And now get your little table."





MARJORIE AND HER PAPA.


All right," said Marjorie, dragging the table
out from the corner. Andnow the table-cloth."
There is a clean towel on the rack in the other
room," said Mamma.
There!" said Marjorie, spreading the towel
on the table. "Oh, my!" she cried. "The
table is too- too fat for this table-cloth."
I think there is a larger one in there," said
Mamma. "Now, Jack, what are you laughing
at?"
"This one will do," said Marjorie. Now
will you get me my tea-set? Thank you,
Mamma. Now we must wash them first.
There 's the cups. Jack, you must help, too.
There 's the saucers and the plates; and the
milk-pitcher; and the teapot. Let me fill them.
There, now it is all ready. Ding-a-ling-a-ling!
Oh, wait. I did n't ask Frankie."
Frankie is Marjorie's dearest friend. She is a
little girl, though her name is like a boy's name.
And not so very little, either, for she is fourteen
years old. Her mamma has rooms just across
the hall from us, and so it was not long before
Marjorie came back holding Frankie's hand.
"Now," she said,
"the tea-party is all
ready."
So we all sat down
to the tea-party.
"Now pour out the
tea," said Mamma.
.` "It does not look
very strong," said I.
"Well," cried Mar-
jorie, eagerly, "you
6 / Jknow it is only water,
Jack, but then you
must play that it is real tea."
"Why, of course," said Mamma. "Jack is
very stupid."
Well, but, Mamma," said Marjorie, "he
did n't know. Will you un-peel the apple, Jack ?"
"Certainly,'" I said.
"We will play that it is pudding," said Mar-
jorie.
"I think it is delicious," said Frankie. "And
this chicken-salad is very nice."
Is it not ? said Mamma. "And this ice-
cream, too. Marjorie, you must hand around
the ice-cream."


"Why, it is very rich," said I, as Mar-
jorie gave us each an alphabet block. "You
have a very good cook, Miss Lang-a-lang."
"My name is Miss Johnson," said Marjorie.
Oh, excuse me! I said. "Look out, Miss
Johnson, or you will upset the milk-pitcher."
For Marjorie was reaching across the table
for the plate with the one piece of candy on it.
"Oh, my.!" said Marjorie. And then, look-
ing at the candy and then at her mother, she
said, "Mamma, will you have some candy?
There is not very much here, I guess."
"No, thank you, dear," said Mamma, I don't
care to have any."
Frankie," said Marjorie, do you want
some ? "
Oh, no," said Frankie, "I have eaten so
much already. I could not possibly eat any
more."
"Jack," said Marjorie," will you have some ?"
"Thank you," I said," I believe I will. I am
very fond of candy."
So I took the only piece that there was.
Then Marjorie put the empty plate down very
bravely and looked at her mamma with her
eyes full of tears.
"Oh, Jack," said that lady, how can you ?"
"Why, I don't want it all, sweetheart," I said.
"You can have it all, if you want to," said
Marjorie, with her little back very straight.
Come now," I said, you are such a polite
little lady, I will have to make you a present."
And with that I took out of my pocket a big
box of candy.
"Oh, Mamma, just look what Jack's got !"
cried Marjorie, clapping her hands and laugh-
ing through her tears.
"Well, well!" said Mamma.
My gracious! said Frankie, "he is a regu-
lar fairy."
"No, Frankie," said Marjorie, shaking her
head, "fairies don't wear coats and trousers."
"Soldier fairies do," said Frankie.
"Do they, Jack? said Marjorie.
"Yes, soldier fairies do," I said.
"Now we all can have some candy," said
Mamma.
Yes," said Marjorie, opening the box, now
we all can have some candy."
And so we all had candy.


[APRIL,





MARJORIE AND HER PAPA.


Now, Miss Johnson," said I, "will you
please excuse me ? I have some writing to do."
I think I must go, too," said Frankie. "It
has been a lovely tea-party. I hope you will
have another one soon."
"I have enjoyed it ever so much," said
Mamma.
A little while afterward Marjorie, having fin-
ished what sugar there was left in the sugar-


bowl, brought her chair to my side, and sitting
down began to think.
What is it, little woman ?" said I.
Jack," she said, do you think that was a
nice enough tea-party to go in the book? "
Of course it was," I said.
"Well, but you know," said Marjorie, "they
had really truly cake and-and things, in that
.other one, and ours was only blocks."
Yes," I said, I know. But any one could
have a tea-party with real cakes. Ours was
much nicer because we made-believe."
Yes," said Marjorie. "And .then we did have
a whole box of candy."
"Yes," I replied, we did indeed."
"All right," said Marjorie, "then we will put
it in the book. Will there be a picture for it ?"
"Yes," I said, "there will."
And here is the picture on this very page.

CHAPTER III.

MARJORIE DRAWS A PICTURE.

ALL my books has got po'try in them, Jack,"
said Marjorie, a day or two after the tea-party.


" Has the book we are making got any po'try
in it? "
"Poultry ? I said. What, chickens ?"
No-o-o! said Marjorie, laughing. Po'try,
don't you know? Like 'I want to be an
angel.' "
"Oh," I said, "poetry."
"Yes," said Marjorie, "po'try. Will you
make some for my book ?"
Well," I said, I will try. Bring me a
pencil and a piece of paper. There;
now let me think."
"Have you thinked yet?" asked
Marjorie, after looking at me anxiously
for a little while.
No," I said, it takes a long time to
make poetry. You go and play, and I
will call you when it is ready."
I '11 make a picture for the book," said
S Marjorie. Shall I ? "
Yes," I said, you make a picture."
"All right," said Marjorie.
Marjorie made her picture before I
made my poetry.
Is it lovely ? she said as she showed
it to me.
"Yes," I said, "very. Now the poetry is all
ready. It is about:

THE LITTLE GIRL WHO
PLAYED SHE WAS
A FISH.
"ONE night a small girl
came down to the
rocks
By the side of the great,
big sea;
And she pulled off her
-A -: shoes, and she pulled
--off her socks,
And waded in up to her
knee.

"An old crab wondered
With all his might
What the little girl's
game could be,
And why she was out so late at night;
So he climbed up the rocks to see.

"Said the girl,' I 'm a fish in the big, salt sea,
I 'm a fish and I live in the water '
'That's odd,' thought the crab, as odd as can be!
I am sure it is Mrs. Brown's daughter!'





MARJORIE AND HER PAPA.


"Then the girl jumped around and tried to behave
Just as the fishes do,
When suddenly up came a great big wave
And soaked her through and through.








V..~.

















He laughed till he got a stitch in the side,
And it served him right, I say."
I,


Marjorie sat thinking for a little while, and
then she said, But the little girl was not really
a fish, was she, Jack ?"
Oh, no," I said, she only played she was
a fish."
I think she was a very silly little girl to play
she was a fish and get all wet." Then,. after
thinking about it a little longer, Marjorie said,
"Jack, won't you take me out to the beach to-
morrow ?"
"I will see about it," I said.
But, Jack, I think you might," said Marjorie.
" I want to go such lots."
I won't promise," I said, "because, maybe,
I can't keep my promise."
Do genelum always keep their promise ?"
said Marjorie.
"Yes," I said, "and ladies too."
And little girls ? said Marjorie.
"Yes," I replied, "if they are good little girls.
I once knew a little girl who promised her
mamma that she would not go in the street.
And she went in the street. I did not think she
was a good little girl, at all."
Yes, I know," said Marjorie; "but next
time I won't."


(To be continui'd.)


~


526






















THE KING OF THE ELEPHANTS.

By CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER.
I


ITH the earlier and
ruderhumantribes
it was often the cus-
tom that the per-
son who was the
strongest physi-
cally should be
H LueE considered the
king. If this rule
was applied to elephants, surely the subject of
our sketch, with its four straight, ivory tusks,
would be declared, without question, the Ele-
phant King, though all the elephants that have
roamed the earth since the creation should be
restored to life and gathered into one great
herd. What a wonderful spectacle that would
be Some idea of its magnitude can be gained
by collecting all the elephant pictures that have
been printed in ST. NICHOLAS and placing them
side by side. Even on paper they make a stu-
pendous array, and as I look from one to
another, it is difficult to decide which is the
most remarkable, ponderous, and awe-inspiring.
There is the great mammoth,* now extinct, with
its shaggy coat that protected it from the rigo-
rous extremes of the far North. Its huge tusks
seem like creations of the imagination, while
its enormous bulk, apparently equal to that of
several ordinary elephants, would seem to pre-
clude any active movements, and to have made
it the sure victim of any morass into which it
might have strayed.
ST. NICHOLAS, Vol. X, page 89.


Following the mammoth, we have the strange
dinotherium,t another animal only known by
its fossil remains, the tusks of which grew from
the lower jaw, and, as if with the intention of
being entirely different from all others, turned
downward instead of upward.
Then come existing elephants. Dwarfs,
giants, trick elephants, clowns; some ringing
bells, others fanning themselves; curious baby
elephants; some from Africa, with huge mat-
like ears; others from Asia, the land of the
White Elephant; some with long polished
tusks, ringed with brass, or blunted and knobbed
with huge balls--in all, a bewildering assort-
ment.
Perhaps this latest addition is more remark-
able than any of its predecessors in the ST.
NICHOLAS record, and certainly it is more inter-
esting to our readers in the West, as our huge
four-tiisked friend is from the State of Ohio
and other localities in the western country-
where it lived and roamed ages ago, when the
human inhabitants lived in caves and possessed
only the rudest stone implements with which to
attack the great game of the period. But how
do we know, it may be asked, that man lived
with the great elephants in America ? We have
no legend to that effect. No tradition has been
handed down from father to son, but yet there
is strong evidence to convince us that the early
Americans were mastodon hunters.
A number of years ago a party of laborers
t ST. NICHOLAS, Vol. XII, page 224.





THE KING OF THE ELEPHANTS.


were engaged in excavating the soil on the
banks of the river La Pomme de Terre, a branch
of the Osage River, in Burton County, Missouri,
when one of them thrust his pick into what was
at first supposed to be a buried tree trunk. By
the aid of crowbars, the supposed tree trunk was
lifted from its bed, and as the soil fell from it the
workers saw with astonishment that it was a
monster bone. The overseer was called, and,
under his direction, the work went carefully on,
bone after bone being dug out, until finally the
entire skeleton of a gigantic mastodon "was laid
safely on the grass. Among the observers who
watched this curious excavation, was a sharp-
eyed man of science, and, as they were lifting
out the great ribs, he shouted to the men
to stop, and, leaping into the excavation, he
took from the brown, sandy soil, a little stone,
worthless in itself, but of the greatest value to
the student. It was a flint arrow-head, like
thousands of others that have been found, to
throw a little light upon the story of early
man. The flint was taken from beneath the
skeleton, and showed that probably at one time
it had served as a spear or arrow-head, and
been hurled at the great elephant. Professor
Barber, the ethnologist, has in his collection
several ancient pipes with forms of elephants
cut upon them, showing that the early sculp-
tors were familiar with the appearance of the
animal.
This elephant was a mastodon; a representa-
tive of a group that in early times lived in India
as well as in the United States. They were of
gigantic size; some, according to geologists,
equaling, if not exceeding, the mammoth in
general bulk. In appearance they resembled
the elephants of to-day, but differed from them
in having simpler teeth, flatter heads, and smaller
air cells in the skull. It is probable that the
mastodons did not have so much intelligence as
existing forms. The body was longer, the legs
were stouter and stronger, and extremely mas-
sive. They likewise differed from the true ele-
phants, which also lived in America, in the
peculiar formation of their teeth. The most
marked peculiarity of this species of mastodons,
was the possession of two large tusks in the lower
jaw, making four in all, forming the most effec-
tive set of weapons in the entire animal king-


dom. The species is known as Mastodon pro,
ductus, and the finest specimens have been
found in Nebraska, while another (Mlastodon
Americanus), from Ohio, had also two pairs of
tusks the lower ones being smaller.
In all, there were over thirty different species,
each having certain peculiar characteristics in
form or organization.
In their habits, the mastodons resembled the
living elephants. They wandered about in
herds, perhaps associating with other large mam-
mals of the time, and this grouping together
often led to their destruction, as they would
wander into some soft morass, for food or water,
where their combined weight would cause them
to be mired.
A morass of this description can be visited in
the State of Kentucky, at what is called the Big
Bone Lick, about twenty-three miles froni Cin-
cinnati. There, embedded in the blue clay of the
ancient creek, have been found the entire skele-
tons and separate bones of over one hundred
allies of the mastodon shown in the illustration,
twenty specimens of the mammoth, besides bones
of the megalonyx and of other strange creatures
that have long since passed away. One masto-
don taken from this herd measured as follows:
Extreme length, twenty feet; height, about ten
feet; length of head, three and a half feet; height
of head, four feet; width at the hips, over five
feet; length of broken tusk, seven feet; cir-
cumference at base, twenty-seven inches; and,
judging by the imperfect bones of others found
in this and other localities, these were not the
measurements of a large specimen. While in
some species the tusks were perfectly straight, in
the mastodon of which measurements are given,
they were so fixed in -their sockets as to curve
outward on each side of the head. In others,
they seemed to have a tendency to meet at the
points.
The animals had an exceedingly wide range,
and have been found in New York, New Jer-
sey, and almost every Eastern State, but never
far to the north. They seem to have traversed
the entire world. We find them in India, and
readers of ST. NICHOLAS in the vicinity of Sus-
sex, England, are probably familiar with speci-
mens that have been taken from the crags there.
The pampas of South America once shook with


[APRIL,





THE KING OF THE ELEPHANTS.


after by the people of the i9th
century. The mastodons of the
old world ranged from the mid-
'. die of the miocene time to the
/'S end of the pliocene, when they
-: became extinct; but in America
,. they outlived this period by thou-























high up in
the Andes,
seven thou-
/ '





















the level of the sea.
Even in Australia, where
it was supposed no such ani-
mals existed, their traces and

Onthe of the most interesting dis-
coveries in this country, was on









made some time ago at WarrPn
County, New Jersey. There, while d.
doubtedly ventured into the reach
morass ages ago, perhaps through fear,
their bones an p 'r ;




















had huddled together, and became mired sands of years, evidently existing in what is
r remains have buried, to be discover d ages known as the late pleistocene period.
One of the most interesting dis- ,! ," b III,
coveries in this country, was on- '
made some time ago at Warr. -
County, New Jersey. There, while d ,- .'--,
going in an ancient swamp, some labor. -.
brought to light the skeletons of six ..=
these elephantine creatures that had ,I,-._
doubtedly ventured into the treachc .-,r..
morass ages ago, perhaps through fear,
had huddled together, and became mired sands of years, evidently existing in what is
and ultimately buried, to be discovered ages known as the late pleistocene period.


VOL. XVII.-64.








THE BUNNY STORIES.*
FOR LITTLE FOLKS.

RAB AT SCHOOL.

By JOHN H. JEWETT.


A t the way home from
e the chestnut-grove,
Sthe Bunnies talked
over Cousin Jack's
'" last story, and were
k / curious to know
'\ what became of
Rab and Hazel
.'' Fawn.
Cousin Jack well
knew how to keep a secret, but to satisfy them
he offered to tell them about Rab's school-days,
sometime.
That evening, when the Bunnies heard Dea-
con and Mother Bunny say they were going
out to make a few neighborly calls, they put
Cousin Jack's arm-chair in the cozy corner
again, and asked him to tell them the story
about Rab at school. So he began:
"When Rab left the Poor Farm and went to
live with Mother Deer and Hazel Fawn, he
carried few things with him; but he had a light
heart and a smiling face, and he found a hearty
welcome awaiting him at Deer Cottage.
Rab was eager to work and thus to repay
Mother Deer's kindness to him, and there were
many things a willing and active Bunny could
do to make himself useful, without always wait-
ing to be asked.
"When Rab had been there a few weeks,
and just before the fall term of school began,
Mother Deer told Hazel Fawn she might have
an afternoon party, and might invite her young
friends to meet Rab, so that he could become
acquainted with his new schoolmates.
"On the day of the party, Rab felt a little
strange and shy at first, among so many neatly
dressed and well-behaved playmates, but they
were so friendly and jolly that he soon made
friends with them all.


"After playing all the games they knew, and
having a happy time, they formed a procession,
by couples, and marched into the dining-room
for refreshments.
"Rab marched with Silva Fox, next behind
Hazel Fawn and Rey Fox who were the leaders.
Silva talked and smiled so pleasantly, that Rab
thought it was more like a fairyland than like
the world in which he had lived before coming
to Deer Cottage.
This is the way Rab's life began at Deer Cot-
tage, and for the next few years, until he was
about fifteen years old, he went to school sum-
mer and winter, studied hard, and tried his best
to please Mother Deer, and to show his grati-
tude for all her love and care for him.
"You must not think Rab was a little angel-
bunny, without faults," continued Cousin Jack,
"for he had both a quick temper and a strong
will of his own.
"Mother Deer knew this, and tried to help
him to be gentle and reasonable, by being very
patient and frank with him whenever he was
resentful or stubborn about the little outside
troubles that happened to him.
The first real trouble he had at school grew
out of a mischievous prank and a cowardly
denial of it by Rey Fox.
One winter, Schoolmaster Bear came to teach
the boys' school. Neither Rab nor his mates
liked the new master, for he rarely smiled, and
his manner was hard and stern.
They might have felt sorry for him had they
known about his unhappy life when young and
almost friendless,-how long he had struggled
to get an education, and how much harder life
was to him because he had never learned to be
cheerful and patient with himself or others.
"They did not know this, and did not seem to
care how much trouble they gave him.


* Copyright by John H. Jewett. All rights reserved.
530






THE BUNNY STORIES.


In the entry of the school-house there was a
locker where the master hung his coat and hat,
and one morning Rab went to the locker for a
broom to sweep off the newly-fallen snow from
the sliding-place.
Rey Fox, in passing, found that Rab had left
the door of the locker ajar, and, seeing the
master's tall silk hat, just for fun he filled the hat
with snowballs, shut the door, and said nothing
about it to any one.
"When the afternoon session began, School-
master Bear called the whole class in front of
his desk, and with a frown he asked, 'Which
one of you played that trick with my hat this
morning?' No one answered.
Who put the snowballs in my hat ?' he
fiercely asked again. Still no answer.
"' Very well,' said he; 'I will try another way
to find out.'
Turning to Rey Fox, who stood at the head
of the class, he asked him, 'Have you been to
my locker to-day ?'
Rey was frightened, but promptly answered,
'No, sir! '
Then he put the same question to Rab, who
blushed and answered, I went to the locker at
recess, to get the broom, but I did not touch
your hat.'
The master looked sharply at him, but passed
on and asked each one in the class the question,
and all the others answered, No, sir !'
Coming back to Rab the master said,' This
looks bad for you, Rab Bunny; are you sure
you are telling the truth ?'
Rab replied firmly but respectfully, 'I did
not do it.'
"' Some one of you did it,' growled the angry
master, and taking hold of Rab's shoulder, he
said in a harsh, unpleasant tone, 'So you are
trying to deceive me, are you ?'
"This was too much for Rab's temper, and
pushing the master's hand from his shoulder, he
answered hotly, I always tell the truth, and
you must not accuse me of dishonesty.'
"' You are very impudent,' said the master,
'but I will teach you not to play your tricks on
me, and also not to answer back to me when I
reprove you.'
With that he gave Rab a rough shaking and
sent him to his seat in disgrace.


"When school closed, as Rab left the room
the master said to him, I trust you will mind
your manners. Remember, there will be a day
of reckoning for you, when I find out for
certain that you are the guilty one,-as I think
you are.'
"When Rab told Hazel Fawn about the
trouble, she said,' I am sure you did not deserve
to be punished, and I will ask mother to go to
the master and tell him he was wrong in accus-
ing you.'
"Rab said, 'Thank you, Hazel, for taking my
part, but please do not trouble Mother Deer
about it, for it will all come out right, by and
by.'
"' Some one put the snowballs in the hat,'
said Rab, 'and whoever did it must be a coward
and a sneak, if he lets me bear the blame very
long, after what happened this afternoon.'
"That night the weather changed, and the
new snow melted and spoiled the coasting, but
the next day the weather suddenly turned very
cold and made the ice safe on the mill-pond.


"The ice was in fine condition, but Rab and
his mates were afraid a snow-storm would come
before Saturday to spoil the skating, and they
all signed a letter to the master, asking him to
give them a half-holiday on Wednesday after-





THE BUNNY STORIES.


noon, offering to make up the time by having
an extra session on Saturday morning.
The master had planned to go away on Fri-
day evening for his Saturday holiday, and as he
did not feel very pleasant about the hat trick,
he refused the request, saying it was not con-
venient to grant it.
"There was much grumbling about the re-
fusal, and some threatened to play truant.
They all went skating after school, on Tues-
day, and before going home to supper they
talked over several ways for getting out of school
the next day.
"Some one said a good way would be to
stuff the chimney with a bag of wet hay, which
would stop the draught and fill the room so full
of smoke that no one could stay there; and be-
sides, it would take the master a long time to
find out the trouble and to undo the mischief,
and they would have time for skating.
Rey Fox said,' Let us draw cuts to see who
shall stuff the chimney.'
"They all agreed; and when the straws were
drawn, Rab had the shortest one and must
stop up the chimney or back out," and, though
he had not favored the plan, he had agreed to
it and was not the one to back out.
"Before they separated, all promised that
when the master should question them about
the matter, each should answer, I do not wish
to tell,' sticking to it through thick and thin, and
sharing alike in whatever punishment followed.
Rab never felt so guilty in his life as he did
that evening, when he made some excuse to go
out for a while, leaving Mother Deer and Hazel
Fawn alone in the cozy library, without a
thought of the mischief their quiet Rab was
meaning to do.
The school-house stood in a lonely and
sheltered place, and Rab made short work of
his task. Wetting an armful of hay he filled an
old bag with it, and taking a light ladder from
the barn, he made a quick trip to the school-
house.
With the help of the ladder he climbed first
upon the shed, and then to the ridge-pole, and
pushed the bag into the open chimney-top.
"Then with a stout pole he pushed the bag
down the chimney, well out of sight, and the
silly trick was well done.


When he returned to the cottage, the library
seemed brighter and pleasanter than ever, but
when he said good-night to Hazel and her
mother, he felt as if he had, in some way, done
them a wrong, in doing the mischief which was
meant only to beat the master and have some fun.
The next morning, when Schoolmaster Bear
came, the school-room was full of smoke, and
he tried his best to find out why the smoke
poured into the room instead of going up the
chimney.
"At last he said there could be no school until
afternoon, and in less than five minutes the mill-
pond was fairly alive with skaters, while the
master spent half the forenoon in cleaning out
the stove-pipe and hunting for the cause of the
trouble.
One of the school committee came to see
what was the matter, and he sent for Mason
Beaver, who soon found out why the chimney
did not draw, and pulled up the bag of hay
with a long hook.
"When Rab and his mates heard the bell
for afternoon school, they went in and found the
master, and all the School Committee, waiting
to question them.
"Placing the class in a row, the master ques-
tioned each in his turn, and each answered, ac-
cording to the agreement, I do not wish to tell,'
and no reasoning nor threatening could bring any
more satisfactory reply.
"Just when Rab began to feel sure his mates
would all keep the secret, Mason Beaver came
in and said: Here is a wet mitten I found in
the hay-bag; perhaps the one who packed the
chimney knows where its mate is.'
The mitten was a fur-trimmed one, and its
mate was in Rab's pocket.
"The master knew the owner at once, for
he had often noticed Rab's handsome mittens,
which were unlike any others in the class.
"In less than a minute he had found and
compared with the wet one the mitten in Rab's
pocket, and the proof seemed complete.
"Seizing Rab by the collar of his jacket, he
said, 'So, so! Rab Bunny, I have caught you
at last. This is your work, is it? Take off your
jacket, and we will see how you will enjoy a dou-
ble flogging, one for this, and another which
I owe you for spoiling my hat!'


[APRIL,


532






THE BUNNY STORIES.


The master went to his desk and took out a
long, black strap, but before he could use it
little Honorbright Squirrel, the youngest and
smallest of the class, stepped to the front and
said
'If you please, sir, Rab is no more to blame
than the rest of us; every one of us is in the
scrape; we all planned it together and drew
cuts to see who should pack the chimney.'
"' Then I will flog him for spoiling my hat
and denying it, and punish the rest of you after-
ward,' said the angry master.
Rab had stood there without saying a word
in his own defense, but when the master again
accused him his eyes flashed angrily; but he
kept back his temper and said quietly, I may
have been saucy the other day, but I told the
truth; I did not spoil your hat.'
"' No more words to me, you young mischief-
maker; you deserve punishment and you shall
have it,' said the master, and he caught Rab by
the collar.
Rey Fox, who had kept silent through the
whole scene, though he knew a word from him
would set the matter right, still hesitated, but at
last he managed to say in a frightened manner,
Rab did not put the snowballs in your hat. I
put them there, sir, and I am sorry.'
"When Rey said this, Schoolmaster Bear turned
upon him fiercely, but one of the committee said
to the master, 'There seems to be some trouble
or misunderstanding in this school; perhaps it
would be well to dismiss the class for half an
hour, and talk the matter over with us.'
Then the committeeman turned to them and
reproved them for wasting their opportunities,
and said their conduct would be reported to
their parents for punishment.
Rab and his mates never knew what passed
between the master and the committee, but the
next day a notice was read before the class, say-
ing that the usual half-holiday on Wednesday
would not be given them for a month.
"This was a hard punishment, in addition to
that they received at home, and they owned to
each other they paid a big price for their fun,
and had but little fun after all."
Rab made a confession of the whole mat-
ter to Mother Deer, and he felt so ashamed and


miserable because it made her unhappy and
anxious about him for a long time, that he tried
his best never to grieve her again."
"What about Rey Fox? asked Bunnyboy.
"I never knew," said Cousin Jack. "But
you may be sure that lying and cowardice always
bring punishment, soon or late, and I know


RAB STUFFS THE CHIMNEY.


Rey Fox never held the confidence and respect
of his mates after that day."
I am glad he owned up and let Rab out of
the hat scrape," said Pinkeyes. We must give
him credit for that, must we not, Cousin Jack ?"
"Yes," replied Cousin Jack, "though 'Better
late than never' is cheap excuse for shirking, and
'Truth first, last, and always' is a better rule."
Then, suddenly pretending to be surprised,
Cousin Jack exclaimed, "Is that a yawn I see
before me, spreading over Browny's face ? "
Browny promptly said, "I 'm not yawning;
I 'm waiting for the rest; what comes next ?"
"Bedtime for the Bunnies comes next and
comes now!" replied Cousin Jack, "for here is
poor Cuddledown tired out and sound asleep
in my arms. So let us all say, 'Good-night,
and pleasant dreams!' "







DANIEL BOONE AND THE INDIAN: A TRUE STORY.


I j1 tt

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A-4


HOW TO USE A PAIR OF CHOPSTICKS.


By ELIZA RUHAMAH SCIDMORE.


SWHILE a pair of chopsticks
may seem to us to be the
clumsiest of substitutes
for the knife and fork, the
Chinese and Japanese
use them with such ease
and skill that they are
magic wands in their
THE JAPANESE CHARACTER fingers.
FOR CHOPSTICKS. fg
"They cut their food
with their daggers, and they eatwith pitchforks! "
cried the horrified Japanese who first saw Euro-
peans eating in such a barbaric and revolting
manner with the knife and folk.
Light-fingered, deft, and imitative as the
Japanese and Chinese are, it takes them as long
to learn the proper and graceful use of the knife
and fork as it requires for us to master the
evolutions and etiquette of the chopsticks.
It is a pretty sight, at the beginning of a Jap-
anese or Chinese feast, to see the host help his
guests to sweets, as then is displayed the best
and most graceful play of the chopsticks. One
can take a lesson, as the master of the feast dain-
tily lifts cakes or confections and places them on
the plate or paper before each guest. The Chi-
nese chopsticks are longer than the Japanese,
often metal-tipped and decorated, and are used
again and again. Mandarins carry their own
silver-tipped ivory chopsticks to a feast, wipe
them clean, and carry them home again when
it is over. In the common restaurants in Chi-
nese cities, the chopsticks constitute a lottery for
the patrons. All the sticks are kept together in
a deep, round box, and certain ones are marked
on the lower end with a Chinese character or
number. The ones who select those chopsticks
from the box, are entitled to an extra dish or por-
tion without charge. In the old city of Tien-


Tsin, particularly, one is half deafened when
he passes a restaurant by the rattling of the
boxes of chopsticks and the shrill voices of the
proprietors screeching the merits of their estab-
lishments at the top of their lungs, and appealing
to the universal passion for gaming.
In Japan, where exquisite neatness and dain-
tiness mark every part of household living, the
same chopsticks are used only once. At a feast,
or at an ordinary tea-house, a long paper en-
velope laid beside one's bowl contains a pair of
twelve-inch sticks no thicker than lead pencils,
whittled from clean white pine. To show that
they have never been used the two sticks are
whittled in one piece and split apart only half
their length.
When the first course of the meal is brought in,
one breaks apart his chopsticks, and placing one
in the angle of the right thumb, braces it firmly
against the tip of the third finger, as in Fig. i.
That chopstick is held rigid and immovable,
receiving no motion except as the whole hand
turns upon the wrist. The other chopstick is
held by the thumb, first, and second fingers
(Fig. 2), just as the pen is held in writing, and
is the working member of the pair, moving freely
up and down or in any direction. A little
practice will enable one to manage the chop-
sticks with ease, and to hold them lightly, but
so surely and firmly that they will not wobble
nor lose their hold of anything. At first one will
find his chopsticks making X's and crosses in
the air, flying out of his fingers and performing
strange and unexpected tricks in his helpless
right hand. A traveler enjoys his meals at a
Japanese tea-house, when he can pinch off a
morsel of fish with his chopsticks and dip it in
the cup of soy, hold up a bit of fowl and nibble
it, and do expert tricks with the convenient little





HOW TO USE A PAIR OF CHOPSTICKS.


sticks. Some small boys and girls whom I have
known, have become so infatuated with the
chopsticks that they grumbled when they were
made to use their knives and forks, and their
parents would be in despair when these young-
sters would suddenly be caught at the dinner-


FIG. I.
table chopsticking" away at the meat, potatoes,
or strawberries with the ease of natives.
The supreme proof of one's skill is to be able to
lift an egg with chopsticks, or to transfer eggs
from one basket to another. The smooth, round-
ing surface gives no good hold, and, after the
perfect balance is found, too firm a hold will
crush the egg or shoot it violently out from the
sticks. I have often seen the proprietors of
open-air tea-houses and wayside booths in a
flutter of alarm when some rash foreigner began
with his chopsticks to lift the eggs on their
counters. But if the stranger performed the feat
successfully, the Japanese would chuckle and
caper with delight, and with deep bows gravely
offer him a cake or a flower as a prize.
The Japanese rice is so glutinous that it is
easily lifted up on the chopsticks in balls or
lumps; but the loose, dry grains in a China-
man's rice-bowl require a different treatment.


FIG. 2.
He puts the edge of the bowl to his lips, and the
two sticks are used as a shovel or fan, and sweep
the rice into his mouth in a steady stream.
Then the Chinaman presses the last grains in
with the sticks, closes his lips, and sets down


the bowl. Two such plays" usually empty
the rice-bowl, and the Chinaman only stops
when his mouth is full and his cheeks stuffed
out like balls. All meats, fish, and vegetables
are boned or cut into small pieces in the kitchen
before they are cooked, and more than half of
the dishes at an Oriental feast are soups or stews,
rice accompanying every course as bread does
with us.
The use of the chopsticks is not confined to
the table alone. The Oriental cook will turn the
cakes, or the chops, or anything in the frying-
pan or on the gridiron with his chopsticks. The
spoon or paddle is seldom used, and in a Japa-
nese kitchen there is no pronged instrument
equivalent to our fork. The cook stirs and beats
with his chopsticks, and even spreads the icing
on a cake with them, and rubs flour smooth in a
cup of water. A Japanese cook will say "NVartu-
hodo! (wonderful), and a Chinese cook grunt


Vl


FIG. 3.

something unintelligible if you show them a
patent American egg-beater churning the white
of an egg to froth with its ingenious arrange-
ment of wheels, cranks, blades, and wires; but
they both will put the egg-beater away on the
pantry-shelf and go on beating eggs to a stiff
froth with chopsticks and do it so well and so
quickly that one loses respect for the inventive
genius of the age.
Two iron chopsticks fastened together with a
chain (as our fugitive shovel and tongs of the
fireplace might well be), always lie among the
ashes of the bronze hibachis of a Japanese house.
With them masters or servants daintily lift the
bits of charcoal and pile them in a compact
pyramid, keeping the fire always to the center.
The rag-pickers gather their stores and cull
over street refuse with chopsticks two and three
feet long. And at the public shops, where


536


[APRIL.,


A-.
,4 T.





HOW TO USE A PAIR OF CHOPSTICKS.


sweet potatoes are boiled and sold, a tubful
of potatoes are covered with water, and by some
sleight-of-hand stirring with these long chop-
sticks, are washed clean in the fewest minutes.
In raising silk-worms, the young worms that
are too delicate to be touched with the fingers,
are moved to fresh trays of mulberry leaves
twice a day by means of chopsticks. The tiny,
soft worms would be killed by rough hand-
ling with such clumsy things as fingers, but
little Japanese girls lift them with their chop-


sticks so surely and so lightly as to do them no
harm.
In the storehouse filled with the household
goods which one of the Emperors of the eighth
century bequeathed to a Nara temple, are several
pairs of chopsticks, showing that the Japanese
were feeding daintily at a time when the barons
of England were using fingers and hunting-
knives. The Chinese, of course, had the same
dainty tools in use long before they invented
gunpowder.


A PRAIRIE PRELUDE.

By KATE M. CLEARY.


I HEARD to-day
From over the way
A song serene and airy;
Oh, blithe and blest
It sprang from a nest,
And love, ahd promise, and peace expressed,
From a nest on the breast of a prairie.


You might come and go,
Pass to and fro,
Just as the wild wind passes -
And never see
Where the songsters be,
Lowly lying from you and me,
In the gloom of the greening grasses.


When to the blue
That song upflew
I knew that Spring, the fairy,
This very day
Was on the way,
And breaking into bloom like spray
The windy Western prairie.

Oh, meadow-lark!
From dawn to dark
Your carol quaint is ringing,
And ne'er did float,
From thrush's throat,
Song sweeter than your simple note,
Of sunny summer singing!


VOL. XVII.-65.


'-s~---=--~ c~--'-s~e~===--=--=~l~i


L-


ss==


--__-


:_ 7_





JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


ACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


GOOD-DAY to you, my dear April crowd, my
happy smilers and weepers, so to speak,--for what
more like a young heart than your April swiftnesses?
- Good-day to you, one and all!
That's the greeting. Nowto business, my maids
and masters First, there is

THE FRIGATE-BIRD.
YOUR Jack, as you know, not long ago sent
one of those fellows flying across country with a
question or two, and lo! he has come back bear-
ing as many answers from inky little fingers -
East, West, North, South -as his broadest of
wings could carry.
The best of these missives, according to my
fancy and the opinion of that precious Little
School-ma'am, have come from Elsie T. Du Bois,
Walter L. Peavey, A. L. C., Perry Churchill, Ralph
M. Fletcher, E. C. P.
Your Jack thanks all the patient workers, whether
specially mentioned or not; and surely the frigate-
bird himself must be tremendously flattered by
their attention. I should like to show you his pic-
ture to-day, but as that is not convenient, the dear
L. S. M. refers you to Vol. II. of ST. NICH-
OLAS, page 726. There you will-find, she says,
a perfect portrait of the bird in full flight, and an
interesting account of his powers and habits. Also
there can be found in the new Century Dictionary
a description of this seafaring piratical bird, and
his picture as he sits resting in port.
Now you shall hear these few extracts and points
from the letters that have come to this pulpit:

CINCINNATI, OHIO.
MY DEAR JACK: In the November ST. NICHOLAS
you ask about the frigate-bird, and as I am interested in
anything which concerns the sea, I have read up about it,
and this is what I have been able to find on the subject:
Frigate-bird is the name given to a large sea-bird by sail-


ors, on account of the swiftness of its flight, its habit of
cruising about near other species and daringly pursuing
them. Its classic name is Fregata aquila. Having a spread
of wing equal to a swan's and a comparatively small body,
the buoyancy of these birds is very great. It is a beau-
tiful sight to see one or more of them floating overhead
against the clear blue sky, the long forked tail alternately
opening and shutting like a pair of scissors, and the head,
which is of course kept to windward, inclined from side
to side, while the wings are, to all appearance, fixedly ex-
tended, though the breeze maybe constantly varying in
strength and direction. When robbing other birds of
their prey, the frigate-bird's speed of flight is seen to
advantage, and so is the suddenness with which he can
change his rapid course.
Frigate-birds choose high mangrove trees on which
to build their frail nests. A single egg is laid in each
nest. The little birds are covered with pure white
down so thickly as to resemble puff-balls. When fully
grown, the head, neck, beak, and breast are white, the
legs and feet bluish-white, but the body is dark above,
being a very deep chocolate, nearly black, with a dark,
metallic gloss. The feet of the female are pink. The
male has a bright scarlet pouch, perceptible when the
bird is on the wing. I can find nothing about the speed,
except that the frigate-bird's flight is faster than that of
any other known species.
Hoping, dear Jack, that this may prove satisfactory,
and thanking you for all your interesting stories and
information,
Yours sincerely, ELSIE T. Du BOIs.

MONTCLAIR, N. J.
MY DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: You ask us to tell
you something about the frigate-bird. .
My father used to live in the Fiji Islands where the
people eat a great, big plant-cousin of yours called taro,
and he says that the people think the frigate-bird is a god
who can manage the weather. So when the natives are
out in their canoes, and one of these birds flies over them,
the men raise their hands and pray, "Dou kila saka
mada gaa cagi vinaka." Papa knows how to talk Fijian,
and he says this means," Give us, Lord, only a fair wind."
Yours truly, PERRY CHURCHILL.

MY correspondents differ materially in regard to
the frigate-bird's flight and size. For instance,
A. L. C. says: All I could find was that its speed
greatly exceeded that of the falcon, which has been
known to travel one thousand miles a day" ; and
Jenny I. C., of South Carolina, writes that the bird
not only can remain for a day or more on the
wing, but it shoots through the air at the rate of
about twenty miles an hour!" This statement would
offend any good frigate-bird. Jenny, too, com-
pares its flight favorably with that of the falcon,
but she evidently does not know the triumphs of
that lordly bird. For example: The celebrated
falcon of Henry IV., of France, flew from Fon-
tainebleau to Malta-one thousand miles-in a
single day. Again, my Audubon crowd carefully
name eighty-six inches as the entire spread of a
frigate-bird's wings, while more than one of those
who have studied other authorities allow a range
of from ten to even fourteen feet from tip to tip of
its wings when extended.

Now, my hearties, while the frigate-bird has been
skimming over Southern seas, seizing and devour-
ing nearly everything he has met, you have been
skimming over printed pages in search of infor-


[APRIL,







mation about him, and you have found a great deal,
too. You must have noticed during your researches
how often the name of one Audubon was men-
tioned. Now the Little School-ma'am and your Jack
advise you to learn all you can about that eminent
observer and student of birds. A great man, this
John James Audubon, one whose story should be
known to every boy and girl of this his native land.
We should like very much to hear from every boy
and girl who takes our advice in this matter.



DURING the past winter, two young women of
New York, I am told, starting in exactly opposite
directions, ran a race around the world,-by boat,
cars, and other conveyances. Both made the en-
tire circuit, and one of them, as was naturally to be
expected, made it in shorter time than the other.
Well, what of that? My youngsters--hosts of
them have been racing round the world of late,
starting from all directions, but soon settling upon
the line of the equator as their course of travel.
They were in search of cities, not fame cities
that were situated exactly on the line of the equa-
tor. Dear me! How wonderful boys and girls do
seem to a simple Jack-in-the-Pulpit I The excite-
ment was started by these few words uttered from
this pulpit in January last :

A CITY WANTED.

What city is on the line of the equator ? Your
Jack is told that the sun sets and rises there at six
o'clock, apparent time, all the year round. Geog-
rafiy class, please take notice.
WELL, well,- scores and scores and scores of
young folk, here, there, and everywhere, did take
notice, but they were off before one could say Jack
Robinson-each bound for the equator.
They have come back at last, all speaking at
once, and all nearly out of breath.
"Oh, Mr. Jack," cry a great many, we have
been around the globes and all through the
maps and atlases, and the city is Quito; in South
America! "
Oh, Mr. Jack," shout another crowd, "it is not
Quito at all; Quito is only near the line of the equa-
tor-it is not upon it, and Juba is."
"No, no," shout other crowds, "it's Gaboon!
It's Otabalo! It 's San Gabriel! It 's Macapa!
It 's Equator Station It 's San Joaquin "
"It 's Ajumba It's Calacal! shout crowds
more, and when you ask them to spell the names,
scarcely two spell them alike.
Then it is apparent that several have noted the
printed name on their maps and not the dot which
is intended to mark the exact locality. The Little
School-ma'am says many evidently have had only
very poor old maps to consult. But, taken alto-
gether, the search has been thorough and the
young explorers are entitled to hearty apprecia-
tion. The best letters are from H. L. Despard,
Frank C. L., GraceA. H., F. R. W., S. W. French,
Dean Miltimore, Katy H., R. R. B., Edward Dana
Sabine, May G. Martin, Richard A. Rice.


1890.]


JACK-IN-TI


HE-PULPIT. 539

I wish I could show you all of these letters, but
it is possible to give you only brief extracts from
a few of them:
..... WILL you please turn to the map of South
America ? There you will find San Gabriel just touch-
ing the equator, and then in Africa the equator goes
right through the city of Gaboon.
.... IN the January ST. NICHOLAS there was a
paragraph about a city wanted a city on the line of the
equator -a city, not a town.
If you look on the western coast of Africa, you will
see on the line of the equator a city by the name of
Ajumba. The largest city by the equator is the capital
of Ecuador, Quito.
..... IN answer to the question in January num-
ber, what city on the line of the equator, I find Quito,
the capital of Ecuador, S. A.
In my geography, it is exactly on the line. I don't
find any other city in any country so near the line as
Quito.
... As I am a geography student," I of course
looked up the city on the line of the equator: This is
what I found. In Africa, in the country of Guinea, there
is a city called Gaboon. The equator goes right through
the city.
. IN answer to your question, asking for a city
on the line of the equator, I will say that the only city
CROSSED by the equator, is Juba, on the eastern coast"
of Africa. Gaboon, on the western coast of Africa, Ota-
balo, in Ecuador, S. A., San Gabriel, in Brazil, S. A.,
and Macapa, are cities touched by the equator.
..... I READ in a book of mine that, "In Quito,
the only city in the world on the line of the equator, the
sun rises and sets at six o'clock every day in the year ";
but on examining the map of South America, I find that
Quito (in Ecuador) is not on the equator, but quite a dis-
tance south of it, its exact position being oO 13' 27". I
found three others that were better Calacal, in Ecua-
dor, nearly touches it; San Joaquin, in Colombia, is
directly on it; and Gaboon, in Guinea, is on it, too. So
I think that though they are not large cities, they are
better entitled to the distinction than Quito.
JUBA, in Juba, on the east coast of Africa, is
the city you want. Its longitude is 420 24' E. Several
other cities are close to the equator. Among them Quito,
the capital of Ecuador, is 13' S. There are two others, San
Joaquin, to the north and San Gabriel to the south, in
Brazil, whose exact distance from the equator I can not
find out. In Juba the sun always gets up at six o'clock
in the morning, and goes to bed at six o'clock in the
evening, apparent time, all the year round. This must
be handy to set clocks and watches by.
IN answer to your question, What city is on
the equator? I write to say that it is Equator Station,
on the Congo River, in the Congo Free State.
I HAVE found two cities on the equator-
Macapa in Brazil, and Juba in East Africa.
Now, the final question is: Which is right? The
great big globe in the editorial rooms of THE CEN-
TURY MAGAZINE shows Quito to be the only city
that maybe called "on the equator "; butasstations,
or, even towns, Pontinak, Borneo; Macapa, Brazil;
and Juba, Africa, are shown to be nearer the equa-
tor line. Quito and Juba have the most votes,
so far as my youngsters are concerned. And the
Little School-ma'am, bless her! says "Quito"
every time I ask her.












THE LETTER-BOX.


HARTFORD, CONN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS :'I would like to tell you about the
pretty little moss flowers I gathered on the top of Pike's
Peak, last August, growing like little round mats of pink,
blue, lavender, and yellow stars, with stems dotted all
over the moss, miles above where we stopped to snow-
ball to get warm, and I got a hard one in my neck, too,
that I did n't like very much, for it was hailing and I was
awfully cold, and when we got to the top, it snowed, and
there you could see nothing but rocks and stones, beside
the Signal Station, and that was all built of stone, except
when they let me look through the field-glass, and I saw
Colorado Springs, which looked like checker-board.
I climbed away out on the rocks, and put a stone on the
monument, to show that I had been there. There the
little flowers grew. I thought I would get some to show
to Papa, who was at the'sea-shore, in Connecticut. They
grew more than fourteen thousand feet above where he
was, but being only nine years old, I had not strength
enough to pull up the long, deep roots, so the driver dug
them for me, and they looked like flower parasols. I
carried them down to Manitou before they shut their
bright little eyes.
I could tell you about some other strange flowers that
grew farther down, and how funny the trees looked when
they could not grow up any more, and spread all around
on the ground; and the wonderful rocks that looked like
animals and people; and the magpies with their long,
bronze tails, and black and white wings; and how icy
cold the water was we drank from the spring half-way
down the mountain.
I send this to you, because we always take the ST.
NICHOLAS and like it very much.
Yours, F. C. B-- .


CARFIN, CROSSFORD, LANARK.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have enjoyed reading you for
upward of a year, and I feel I have been very ungrateful
not to have written before, to thank you for having
afforded me so much pleasure. I owe the pleasure ofyour
introduction to me to a kind friend in America (Colonel
De L. F. J.), whose acquaintance my parents made on
their tour round the world, three years ago. Before he
so kindly presented you to me, I had no idea of your
existence, and now very eagerly do I hail your arrival
every month; but perhaps I had better introduce myself.
I am one of five, the eldest daughter, and nearly twelve
years of age; I have a brother, a year older than myself,
at Eton College, and another brother younger, also at
school in England, after whom comes a sister, then the
youngest, another brother. We live in Scotland, in a
fruitful valley, close to the Falls of Clyde, about thirty
miles away from Glasgow, and the same distance from
Edinburgh; we seldom go to these towns, unless it be
to visit the dentist, or on rare occasions for a day's shop-
ping. Sir Walter Scott wrote a book, all about this
part of the country we are in, called "Old Mortality,"
and his famous Tillietudlem Castle is about a mile and
a half from our house. The castle is in ruins, very pret-
tily situated on a high hill, leading up to which is a deep,
wooded ravine; it is a favorite walk of ours.
Lee Castle is also close to us; it belongs to Sir Simon


Lockhart, who owns the famous "Lee Penny" (men-
tioned in another book of Sir W. Scott, called the "Tal-
isman ") brought over from the Holy Land, in the time
of Richard II., by one of the Crusaders; it is supposed
to possess a magic charm of curing every disease when
the water in which it has been dropped is taken by the
patient. People even now believe in this, and the penny
has to be put in a strong safe to guard it from covetous
hands.
There are very interesting walks to take, especially in
the summer.
My sister and I have a pony which we share, and
delight in riding, and just now we are looking forward
to some skating, which we enjoy almost as much as riding.
Our holidays begin soon, and then I shall have more
leisure to read your delightful Christmas number, which
has just arrived; it looks delicious. All your stories are
always so charming.
Good-bye, dear old ST. NICHOLAS. I remain, one of
your interested readers, BEATRIX E. G- .


SAN JOSE, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you for a num-
ber of years. I have always wanted to write to you, but
have never had the courage until now. I am very glad
that "Jack-in-the-Pulpit" corrected his mistake about
the pumpkins, so that the Easterners will see that we
Californians do not exaggerate when we speak about
our products. I knew from the first, that they were San
Jos6 pumpkins, as my big brother recognized the photo-
graph of Mr. Wakefield, whom he knows.
I am a little girl, eleven years old, and like the stories
of ST. NICHOLAS very much; also enjoy Jack-in-the-
Pulpit, and the puzzles. One of your constant readers,
A LITTLE GIRL FROM SAN JOSE.


HITCHIN, HERTS, ENGLAND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have not written to you
before, although we have read with great interest the let-
ters in the Letter-box from the other little girls; so, as
we think they might like to hear a little about our life
in England, we will write you a small letter.
The town in which we live is very old, and many of the
houses were used for religious purposes in old times.
The old parish church was sadly spoilt in the time of the
Commonwealth and used by the soldiers as a stable.
There is a big picture in it said to have been painted by
Rubens.
Hitchin is noted for its lavender fields. In the sum-
mer, when the lavender is flowering, the fields look most
beautiful and the scent is very sweet. A great many of
the poor women get their living by doing straw-plaiting.
Now, we must tell you how we amuse ourselves. In
the summer our little friends join us, and we go for pic-
nics to some chalk hills which are six miles from Hitchin.
When the weather is mild in the spring, we have paper
chases, which we find hard work if the fields are heavy.
We have a great many pets. Our dog knows many
tricks. We like your magazine so much, especially the
story of "Little Lord Fauntleroy."
AUGUSTA AND ANNETTE.






THE LETTER-BOX.


BROOKLYN, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you
before, but as I have read so many interesting letters by
little girls, I thought I would write to you.
I went to Germany and Paris this summer, and next
year I am going to Italy. I saw, when I was in Paris,
the Spanish bull-fights, which are very terrible when you
see them first; but the men and horses seldom (never,
I was going to say) get hurt when they fight in Paris;
but, in Spain, it is terrible: the poor horses are gored to
death sometimes, and the men are often killed. When
the matadors first come in, they wear coats of exquisite
colors, and they march up in pairs to the person of great-
est rank, and lift their three-cornered hats, and then fling
their coats to the prettiest lady they see in the audience,
and then other servants bring them cloaks of chamois
of a very brilliant red color; they throw these right near
the bull, and wait till he gets almost upon them, and in a
flash of time bound away as lightly as deer. While the
bull faces one man, the other toreadors" flirt their clothes
in his eyes to make him come to them; sometimes he
comes when they are not prepared, and, oh how they run,
and leap over the fence; and once a bull leaped over after
a man. The Plaza de Toros," or place where they fight,
is like a Roman amphitheater. ALIDO D- ,
Twelve years old last August.


SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking your maga-
zine ever since it was first published, and could not get
along without it, though I have ceased to be a child fully
two years ago.
This is a very queer country. One can go out and
scrape away the snow and pick sweet-scented violets,
which bloom the year round. Salt Lake is beautifully
laid out, the streets being unusually wide. And soon we
hope to have paved sidewalks and streets, as the mud
is now a sight to behold. In fact, we wear rubber boots,
for otherwise it would be over one's shoe-tops. The
Lake, in summer, is very delightful, and one can float
and swim with no fear of crabs, etc., as only a very tiny
animal lives in the briny water.
Very truly yours, LUCIA A. R-- .


A TRUE STORY ABOUT A DOG.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, and very
much interested in stories about animals, and, thinking
other children might be interested too, I thought I would
write and tell you what really happened at my home, and
if you think it would interest your readers you can pub-
lish it in the ST. NICHOLAS.
We have a little shaggy dog and we call him "Charlie."
My Aunt Sarah bought four dozens of eggs and packed
them in sawdust in a box and put them on the cellar
floor, thinking they would last over Christmas. One day
she went down and found that twenty-one of the eggs
were missing. It was a great mystery where the eggs
had gone, until Kate happened to go down cellar one
day and discovered Charlie carrying an egg behind the
furnace in his mouth. She looked behind the furnace
and found the shells of the missing eggs, and also a
paper bag with eight eggs in it that Kate had put on a
box a few days before, and which Charlie had stolen and
hidden away for his own use when he might be hungry.
MATTIE B. M--

ST. PAUL, MINN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : We have taken you for a num-
ber of years, and we like you better every year. I would
like to tell you about that little drama called "Waiting
for Santa Claus," in the December number, 1888. We


received the ST. NICHOLAS too late that year to learn it,
but we learned it for this last Christmas Eve. We had
it at the Sunday-school's Christmas tree. I was the third
girl in the drama. It was enjoyed by every one. We
had a splendid big Santa Claus and such a lovely time.
I go to school and I am in the fifth grade. I am just
nine years old to-day.
Your constant reader, EDNA A-


PITTSFIELD, MASS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I am an old friend of
yours (having taken you ever since November, 1882), I
have ventured to write you a friendly letter. I am a
pretty large boy, but I still take great interest in reading
many of the entertaining and instructive stories found
within your pages.
The series of papers on Intercollegiate Foot-ball in
America," which have appeared in the first three num-
bers of this volume, afford me much instruction about
our splendid game of foot-ball here in the United States.
Walter Camp, in one of these articles, alluded to "Timmy
Dawes as one of the two boys who did so much for
Yale in developing the "scrub side." The father of
"Timmy Dawes," who is the U. S. Senator for Massa-
chusetts, lives here in Pittsfield, and the son is now in
Chicago.
During the bright and pleasant part of last fall, we
boys here have had many a good game of foot-ball, and
from playing it so often I have become much interested
in it. In looking over the letters in The Letter-box,"
a large number of the writers name their favorite stories,
and so I think before I close I shall do the same. They
are "The Tinkham Brothers' Tide-Mill," and "The
Story of Viteau," while Stockton's stories have all of
them been most pleasing to me.
I remain, your old reader,
WALTON S. D-

OLYMPIA, WASH.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, ten years old,
who lives in Olympia, the Capital of Washington.
Olympia is a fine town, with grand scenery on all sides.
From my window I can see the waters of the sound, with
the Olympic range of mountains as a background. We
have plenty of fish, clams, and oysters from the bay.
I am very fond of clams, and like to go picnicking down
on the beach, where we often go in the summer to have
a clam-bake. I help dig the clams sometimes, and think
it great fun. There is a large clam that weighs eleven
pounds, that is very nice to eat fried like chicken. We
have not had snow enough to cover the ground. Mamma
has pansies, roses, mignonette, and sweet alyssum in
bloom in the garden. I think I have written enough,
so I will close.


Your little friend,


VERN. C-.


A GREAT AMERICAN INVENTION.
CHICAGO, ILL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:
I am a little girl living
in Chicago, and as we
expect the World's Fair
here, I thought I would
show you my plan,- I
mean my scheme for tak-
.ing people riding in the
This picture shows a
basket in which the peo-
ple get to ride. The man





THE LETTER-BOX.


down below is turning the crank, and when
the man on the ladder gets into the basket
the man on the ground turns the crank, and
away the basket and ladder will go like this:
Your devoted reader,
GERTRUDE F- .

ST. LOUIS, Mo.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy,
only eight and a half years old, too young to
do much for anybody, but I wanted so much
to give my mamma and papa something for
Christmas, that I thought I would write a
story for you and then give it to them.
We have been getting the magazine a year,
and I hope we will have it again, because it
has given us more pleasure than almost
anything we ever had. In the August
number, there was a pretty story, called
"Flower Ladies," written for you, which
made me think of one I might write about -

POTATO GENTLEMEN.
MY little sister and I take small Irish po-
tatoes and some wooden tooth-picks, which
we stick into the potatoes for arms, and two
on each side for legs, so they can stand up.
We make them look as if they were run-
ning, or fighting, or even make them play
battle, by the way we put in the sticks.
When we play battle, we use stiff paper to
cut or bend into forts, hospitals, or wagons,
and we crease paper in the middle and stand
it on edge for tents for our soldiers.
Sometimes our gentlemen are old and thin,
sometimes they are sick with bumps and
swellings; but most of the time they are
quite fat, and always awkward.
This game is not as pretty as Flower
Ladies," but it is funnier. It would make
you laugh and laugh!
Papa and Mamma andothers havewatched
us and seemed to enjoy our play as much as
we did.
We ourselves are satisfied to play for hours
with our "Potato Gentlemen," as we call
them, and we have so much fun that we do
not mind the unpleasant days that keep us
in the house.
Many little children live in the country, "
where they can play in gardens, in the green
grass, and with beautiful flowers, enough to
make them happy, while just as many must
be satisfied to live in a city, as we do, with
nothing but houses and streets all round,
so they have to find games for themselves.
Those children who can play with the
Ladies and Gentlemen together, can have
lots of fun, but can not be any happier than
the Gentlemen alone
make us.
I am sure everybody
would like to know
these Gentlemen, they
are so easy and nice.
Poor children can play -
our game when they can not often play the other.
We never heard of any others who played our game,
so that I feel very much pleased to tell of it.
I write this, hoping it will be received not only by you


and Papa and Mamma, but by many hundreds of children
who read you, wishing that they may very many times
have as much pleasure with Potato Gentlemen as
Your little friend, SAM'L BRECKINRIDGE L- .

ALBUQUERQUE, N. M.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you for a
long time and like you very much. I am a little boy
nine years old, and have lived out West six years. My
former home was in Pennsylvania. I have often thought
about writing you, but always put it off. I hope this let-
ter will be published as I want my papa to read it; he
does not know I am writing. I will begin by telling you
about some of my pets. The first one, who is known all
over the country and is a pet with every one, is our dog
" Sailor," who is a St. Bernard and English mastiff. He
is only three and a half years old, but a monster in size.
Harry, my only brother, and I never go anywhere unless
Sailor goes with us, and he thinks it his duty to take
care of us. He has just come in the room now with
a ball in his mouth and invites me to have a game with
him. He not only plays ball, but "hide-and-seek"
also, and can find us quicker than any of the "other
boys." Another 'cute thing he does is when he sees a
boy jump on the street-car, intending to steal a ride,
Sailor waits till he sees a good chance, then gently
pulls him off. If any of you boys ever come to Albu-
querque, I '1l be glad to introduce you to Mr. Sailor. I

know he will be pleased to meet you, as he has a fondness
for boys and thinks himself above noticing other dogs.
And now I will tell you about our parrot. They are
very hard to raise you know, and Polly died some time
ago. He was one of the 'cutest parrots I ever saw. He
would address every one, women and men alike, with
"Hello, Bob! He could sing "Mollie Darling" per-
fectly, and whistle "Sweet By and By." A trick of his
was to whistle for Sailor, and Sailor would come rushing
in, thinking it Harry or myself. Then Polly would laugh
at him. He also called the chickens and mimicked the
ducks. But finally Polly ceased laughing and his voice
was heard no more and he died. Harry buried him and
erected a tombstone over his resting-place.
J. EMMET L-.

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: H. S. C., Alice F.
H., Bertha M. P., Adela, Henrietta M. S., Daisy R.,
Mary P. J., Annie R. L., H. M. K., Janie C. S.,Mamie
S., B. C. K., Clara F. M., Edith P., Francis W. S.,
Stella B., Grace C., Bessie O'B., Howard P., Olive P.,
E. E. B., Agnes P., Nellie C., Dwight K., Stuart H.,
Inez L. M., T. Macune, Anna E. T., G. F. R., Clara C.,
Norman C. H., Marion H., Constance K. H., Nowell I.,
Roxalene O. H., Ione H., Kathie, Marion, Carrie, Kath-
erine M. R., Donald O.,,E. S. J., Carroll R., Miley F.,
W. T. M., Howard S.,Anna K. H., Osgood H. D., Mar-
garet P., Jenny Wren," Adelaide I. R., Eric S. S., Alice
D., Jennie M. Mc., Teresa A., Katharine T. W., Eva J.
B., Alice H. Jones, Gertrude W., Laura G., Helen M.
B., Boyd L. S., Emily L., Meg and Beth," Martha B.
F. G., Winnie G., Charlotte E. B., Lucy and Alice, Ethel
S., Mary Van R. F., Nettie B. H., J. A. S., Daisy B.
W., Zoe A. D., Malcolm H., M. S., Bertha. N., Claire L.
W., Pearl R. and Lizzie C., Helen H., May R. B.,J. B.
B., Jr., Elsie M. C., Kate M. C., Ethel G., Ethel M.,
Henry B. L., Metta B. R., Charles E. H., Leonora de
V. and Evangeline B., Harriette C., Marjorie K., Minnie
H. and Bessie G., Louis D., Catharine C. C., AmasaM.
R., Olivia L. and Sadie N., Frank N. C., Maud B.


542










THE RIDDLE-BOX.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER.


STAR PUZZLE.


V
0 IA


C








I j






N
I
r i


F9 0 r- 30
3 -






\ 4 -b^


3


CENTRALACROSTIC. Centrals, Caligula. Cross-words:
I. AginCourt. 2. ElizAbeth. 3. GaLba. 4. AgrIppa.
5. CarthaGinians. 6. LoUis. 7. WilLiam. 8. EleAnor.
HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Gladstone. Cross-words:
1. Struggles. 2. Garland. 3. Bland. 4. Ode. 5. S.
6. Ute. 7. Stone. 8. Corners. 9. Expressly.
CONNECTED WORD-SQUARES. From I to 4, Land-
seer. I. I. Leap. 2. Earl. 3. Arno. 4. Plod. II.
I. Shah. 2. Hero. 3. Area. 4. Hoar.
PREFIX PUZZLE. I. Dog-bee. 2. Dog-fish. 3. Dog-
watch. 4. Dog-chain. 5. Dog-star. 6. Dog-collar.
7. Dog-hook. 8. Dog-berry. 9. Dog-rose. o1. Dog-
fly. II. Dog-cart.
DOUBLE CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Fourth row, Charles
Sumner; fifth row, Horace Walpole. Cross-words:
1. Vouchers. 2. Catholic. 3. Imparted. 4. Couranto.
5. Chalcedony. 6. Agreeing. 7. Outswell. 8. Ran-
sacks. 9. Undulate. 10. Champion. II. Grenoble.
12. Appellee. 13. Corrects.
ANTONYMS. Scott. I. S-able. 2. C-rave. 3. O-pine.
4. T-rain. 5. T-rail.
PYRAMID. Across: I. M. 2. Hal. 3. Honed. 4. Ma-
sonry. 5. Destroyed.
CHARADE. Pen-man-ship.
CUBE. From I to 2, punster; 2 to 4, Rubicon; I to 3,
peeress; 3 to 4, striven; 5 to 6, wearing; 6 to 8, galiots;
5 to 7, waltzes; 7 to 8, suffers; I to 5, prow; 2 to 6,
ring; 4 to 8, naps; 3 to 7, sins.


To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the I5tb
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 JANUARY NUMBER were received, before January I5th, from Louise
Ingham Adams Maude E. Palmer -Mary L. Gerrish Pearl F. Stevens -Emma Sydney Josephine Sher-
wood-" Infantry,"-Jo and I -J. R. Davis -Paul Reese A. L. W. L.-Maud Huebener- O. G. and Bill-
M. D. and C. M.- Effie K. Talboys- Eryas-Wm. H. Beers-" Mamma, Aunt Martha, and Sharley"- Emily
and Annie Dembitz- Nellie and Reggie- Maxie and Jackspar- May Dunning- E. M. G.- Ida C. Thallon-
Fred G.-" Miss Flint" -Nellie L. Howes-Adele Walton-The Wise Five-"A Family Affair"-No Name,
Minneapolis -Jennie, Minnie, and Isabel.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JANUARY NUMBER were received, before January 15th, from E. Barton, 1-
E. Shirley, -" Anon," I Peter Williams, 8- D. M. B., I May Keepers, -" La Grippe," 4-Princess
Jacqueline, I Amy F., I J. Wilcox, I F. E. Bennet, I- M. Brinkley, I- H. M. C. and Co., 3 -J. Marks,
I G. L. Riley, I Rosalind, I C. K. Thacher, I Gwendolen, I Simah, I J. W. Beardslee, I M. Mar-
tin, I L. Anthony, I L. Pandely, I L. Eimburg, I S. Straus, I P. Straus, I Marie and Flo Foote, 2-
"Bob Stay, Jr.," I C. Webb, I No Name, N. Y., I-" Prince Fortunatus," I H. Bryan, I- Grace E. M. I -
J. N. Rosenberg, 1-" From San Jos6," I-" Boarding School," I-" Marjory Daw," 7-Pauline and Honora
S., 3- M. S. S., 2- Charles Beaufort, 8- H. W. Bikle, I- H. E. Williams, I-Jennie and John, 7- Gertrude
B. Ewen, 2 -" Budge and Toddle," I Blanche and Fred, 8- C. Gray, I Mamma and Jamie, 8- Clara and
Emma, 2 A. and E. Hartley, I L. A. Rhodes, I Bertha, I Chas. L. and Reta Sharp, 4 E. C. McClees, I -
Estelle H. Rossiter, 4- Wm. B. Tyler, I Anna W. and Astley P. C. Ashhurst, 7- Elizabeth A. Adams, 2 -
Arthur B. Lawrence, 2 -E. E. McGinnie, I-- H. M. Rochester, I-Katie Van Zandt, 3-Horace H. Fran-
cine, 6 Our Fred, 3-B. Myers, I H. Schussler, I -" K. and her Great-aunt," 3 -" E. de Stael," I John
W. Frothingham, Jr., 3 S. I. Myers, I -No Name, 7- M. J. Fiske, r Lisa D. Bloodgood, 3 -L. Nor-
wood, I John and Hal, I L. McCune, I No Name, Jenison, I Hubert Bingay, 7-James and Dellena, 5-
John and Bessie, 3-John A. Macy, 2 -" May and 79," 7-Alex. Armstrong, Jr., 6- Grace, Gladys, Victorine,
and Isabel Livingston, 7-M. H. V., 4-Pye, 4- G. Hodson, I-" Grandma," I-A. H. G., I-Mary and
Howard 2-Bessie Mitchell, 5--No Name, Lynn, I-Dan McG., 7-C. Ennis, I-" Mu Epsilon Pi," 7-W.
Keith, 3 Bessie Davis, 2 Alan S., 6 C. L. W., I C. P. Linville, I -"The Owls," 6 Agnes L. Carpen-
ter, 7 Edna McNary, 6- Maud T., 5 G. C., I.

A FRENCH ZIGZAG. very frequently heard on the first day of April. Each
cross-word contains five letters.
ALL of the cross-words are to be given in French. CROSS-WORDS: I. One who worships idols. 2. Not
When these are rightly set down, the zigzag; beginning long. 3. An ascetic. 4. Glossy. 5. Fresh. 6. A wooden
at the upper left-hand corner, will spell the French shoe. 7. To inconvenience. 8. Farewell. 9. Refuge.
equivalent for an exclamation of two words which is o1. Warming. II. Loss. 12. Network. 13. Threshold.
DYCIE.





THE RIDDLE-BOX.


will. 2. Inequality. 3. A very
short time. 4. A dogma. 5. Con-
taining life. 6. The act of keep-
ing awake. 7. To urge. 8. Waste
matter. 9. Relating to an hour.
Io. A Turkish commander. II.
In escutcheon. Centrals, read-
ing downward, the name of the
patron saint of England.
F. S. F.


I --- ^ Ism

WORD DWINDLE.
FIND a word of nine letters which will rightly describe
picture number one. Remove one letter, and transpose
the remaining letters, and a word maybe made which will
describe picture number two, and so on till only a single
letter remains.

TWO ESCUTCHEONS.


* *


I. CROSS-WORDS: I. Those parts of churches that
project at right angles to the body of the church. 2. Per-
haps. 3. A confused mass of matter. 4. A kind of fish.
5. An osier basket, such as anglers use. 6. Fretful. 7.
To drive back. 8. To stow, as cotton or wool in a ship's
hold. 9. A slight, hasty repast. Io. A globe. in. In
escutcheon. Centrals, reading downward, the name of
a great dramatist who was born in April.
II. CROSS-WORDS: I. Dying without having made a
THE DE VINNE PR


I ot I ALL of the words described
contain five letters. When these
have been rightly guessed and
placed one below another, in
f the order here given, the mid-
dle rowof letters, reading down-
ward, will spell the name by
which a celebrated violinist was
known. Her Christian name
was Wilhelmine, and she was
one of a distinguished family
of violinists.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A composition in which the first
strain is repeated at the end of each of the other strains.
2. A composer born in 1784, at Brunswick. 3. Slowly."
4. The scale. 5. Words recited to musical tones with-
out musical measure. 6. The soprano, or highest part.
7. A note, equal in duration to the half of a semibreve.
8. The key-tone, or first-tone of the scale. 9. The sub-
ject of a composition. Io. A celebrated Italian com-
poser born in 1814. II. An eminent German composer
born in 1714. 12. The part of a piano operated by the
foot. 13. A trill. I. M. P.
PI.
Thoghur gehde-wor slavee ni deftrid haspe,
Felt yb eht mystro stable,
Het tillet plofhue slombos sepep,
Dan slelt fo wertin pats;
A fwe sleave trultef form het swood
Hatt guhn eht sneaso huhgrot,
Gainvel threi lapce orf gwinells busd
Ot persad rithe veales waen. CLARE.
ABSENT VOWELS.
INSERT vowels in place of the stars, in each of the six
following sentences. When these words are rightly com-
pleted, select from each of the sentences a word of five
letters. When these six words have been selected, and
placed one below the other, the central letters, reading
downward, will spell a word often heard.
I. Th* m*r* h*st" th* l*ss sp**d.
2. B* *t *v*r s* h*mbl* th*r*s n* pl*c* 1*k* h*m*.
3. Th* gr**t*st str*k*s m*k* n*t th* sw**t*st ms s*c.
4. Wh* t**ch*s p*tch w*ll b* d*f*l'd.
5. H*lf l1'f *s b*tt*r th*n n* br**d.
6. Y'* m*y l"d h*rs* t* w*t*r, b*t y** c*nn't m*k
h*m dr*nk. EMMA.
ESS, NEW YORK.


x




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