Front Cover
 In the early summer dawn
 With stick and thread
 Six years in the wilds of central...
 My lost jokes
 By the roadside
 Bat, ball and diamond
 If I were you
 Lady Jane
 A divided duty
 Through the back ages
 Marjorie and her papa
 Crowded out o' crofield
 Practicing song
 A living chain from Adam to Abraham...
 Editorial notes
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00228
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00228
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
    In the early summer dawn
        Page 635
    With stick and thread
        Page 636
        Page 637
        Page 638
        Page 639
        Page 640
        Page 641
        Page 642
        Page 643
        Page 644
        Page 645
        Page 646
        Page 647
    Six years in the wilds of central Africa
        Page 648
        Page 649
        Page 650
        Page 651
        Page 652
        Page 653
        Page 654
        Page 655
        Page 656
        Page 657
        Page 658
        Page 659
    My lost jokes
        Page 660
    By the roadside
        Page 661
        Page 662
        Page 663
        Page 664
        Page 665
        Page 666
    Bat, ball and diamond
        Page 667
        Page 668
        Page 669
        Page 670
        Page 671
        Page 672
    If I were you
        Page 673
        Page 674
        Page 675
    Lady Jane
        Page 676
        Page 677
        Page 678
        Page 679
        Page 680
        Page 681
        Page 682
        Page 683
    A divided duty
        Page 684
        Page 685
        Page 686
        Page 687
        Page 688
        Page 689
        Page 690
        Page 691
    Through the back ages
        Page 692
        Page 693
        Page 694
    Marjorie and her papa
        Page 695
        Page 696
        Page 697
        Page 698
        Page 699
        Page 700
        Page 701
    Crowded out o' crofield
        Page 702
        Page 703
        Page 704
        Page 705
        Page 706
        Page 707
        Page 708
        Page 709
        Page 710
        Page 711
    Practicing song
        Page 712
    A living chain from Adam to Abraham Lincoln
        Page 713
        Page 714
        Page 715
        Page 716
    Editorial notes
        Page 717
        Page 718
        Page 719
    The letter-box
        Page 717
    The riddle-box
        Page 720
    Back Cover
        Page 721
        Page 722
        Page 723
Full Text



The Baldwin Librarv

- -~ .. ~ ~ -~ ]IIJiiI~iiiI77TJiZ~a.ini~.'


i;: .I1I II,

11111 1
I' I




JUNE, 1890.

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



WHEN the summer morning broke,
Faintly flushing all the sky,
Happy little Lisel woke,
Rose to greet it joyfully.

In the dewy hush she heard
Far and near a music sweet
From the throat of many a bird;
Heard her little kid's low bleat;

Hastened forth and sought his shed,
Loosed him frisking in his mirth,
While the glory overhead
Bathed in beauty heaven and earth.

Heavy lay the morning dew,
Cool and soft the morning mist,
High above them in the blue
Roses all the cloud flocks kissed.

Little kid so lightly pranced!
Little maid so patiently
Led him while he leaped and danced!
"Wait," she said, "now quiet be,

"While the stake into the ground
Firm I push, to hold you, dear;
Don't go skipping round and round -
Wait, my pretty, don't you hear ?"

Happy, happy summer dawn !
Happy pet and happy child!
Far from the world's din withdrawn,
In the mountain pasture wild!

Freedom, innocence, and health,
Simple duties, quiet bliss,-
In their lowly life such wealth!
Kings might envy peace like this.

No. 8.



FTEIR breakfast Dick
S'- .ri.niders arose slowly
Ir.. nl the table, went
Si!a. the hall, took
S ...m the stand his
,. hat and books, and
then--sat down on
tthe stairs; which,
considering that
S...... his objective point was the
Penn Charter School, and that it
was full time he was on his way, might appear
to be the most inconsequent thing he could
have done.
His father, looking up from his newspaper,
saw Dick sitting there, his eyes half closed, his
hand pressing his forehead, his complexion sal-
low, his face peaked and pained.
What is the matter, my boy ? he asked,
"Don't know, Father," Dick answered. I
feel awfully rattled. I don't want to stand, and
I don't want to sit. I want to lie down and
stretch myself out full length on the floor-on
the pavement anywhere I happen to be.
Besides, my head throbs and aches, and I 'm
afraid, Father, I 'm about knocked out."
Whereupon his father, with anxious face, or-
dered Master Dick to go to the library, and
there indulge his inclination to lie down, till the
doctor came. Of course he protested. Oh,
hang the doctor! he said; I 'd rather stand
out and go to school than be dosed." But he
put away his books, and made himself com-
fortable on the lounge until the doctor, who
had been hurriedly summoned, arrived.
The day was damp and chill, with a pene-
trating northeast wind blowing sharply. Though
Doctor Thompson and Dick were old friends, the

doctor walked past his patient to the fire, scruti-
nizing him closely from that ground of vantage.
"Sick-eh, Dick? "
"Not very sick, Doctor; only a bit rattled;
here 's my pulse and here's my tongue; are n't
you going to examine them?" the lad asked
No, Dick; not this time. Your trouble is
plain enough without that. There is a gymna-
sium at the Penn Charter School as well as a
curriculum, I think ? "
"Yes, Doctor, there is; but I 'm lazy when it
comes to gymnastics. I cut 'em."
Of course you do," said the doctor; "simi-
larly of course, you get your liver out of order
with all books and slate and no horizontal-bar;
and the consequence is, here you are-as you
say-' awfully rattled.' What you need is more
exercise and less study. Now I 'm going to give
you the choice of two prescriptions: you shall
decide whether you will give a half hour, twice
a day, to the horizontal-bar, or -"
Go a-fishing!" Dick broke in suddenly. "I
decide at once for the fishing." He laughed as
he said it, and looked up longingly and lovingly
at his rods lying in their rack, where they had
been resting in inglorious ease since September
of the preceding year.
The good old doctor did not answer at once,
being disposed to feel that his professional dig-
nity had been offended, but looking into the
boy's laughing, pleading face, in which there
was no sign of disrespect, he turned his eyes
from Dick's to the blazing logs upon the hearth,
and slowly answered, as if considering a case of
life and death: "Well, my lad, then my pre-
scription is, Fishing, quantum sfficit.' "
"When, Doctor?" Dick asked, fairly gasping
with surprise and delight.


"When? Why, right away; the sooner the
better," the doctor said.
Dick was on his feet in an instant, shaking
the hand of his dear old friend, who was, the
boy said over and over again, the best and
dearest friend he ever had, and -then appealed
to his father to know if he was not; but Mr.
Saunders said only: I know he helps you to
play pranks upon us."
But the lad did n't care what was said, so long
as he could fish. He mounted a chair, had his
rods down in almost no time, and was tearing at
the strings of their bags to get at them. Hisfather
looked on, a smile coming into his eyes, for he
too was a fisherman, sympathizing with the lad's
enthusiasm, which the mere prospect of the sport
had evoked.
Dick looked rather grave as he drew from the
bags one rod after another. Soon he said:
"But they 're in an awful condition. See
how that tip is bent; it never got the better of
the bout it had with that shark in Squan Inlet,
last summer. Just look at this joint, now, all
out of kilter. You could n't cure a bad joint
of this kind, could you, Doctor ? No, of course
you could n't; nor could any one else, and
that 's the worst of it. The only good thing
you can do with a bad rod-joint is to pitch the
whole thing into the fire. Hello, this one 's all
right! It needs a coat of varnish, but it can go
for a while without that, and is n't it a beauty ?
Look at the spring of it, Father. Doctor, catch
the tip there, and see the beautiful curve of it!
Is n't it a grand rod? Why, I could catch a
whale on it, Father. There it is,- lancewood
from butt to tip, nine feet long, and weighs
twelve ounces."
"Is it any better, Dick, for being lancewood
than Bethabara-wood, for instance, and is it not
worse for not being split-bamboo ? his father
asked, teasingly, knowing very well what the boy's
answer would be.
Now, see here, Father," Dick vehemently
said, "what is the use of our talking about
rods? You know what a good rod is when you
see it, and so do I."
Dick was sixteen, his father forty-five, and all
that he knew about fishing his father had taught
him; giving always, when asked what he was
teaching his son, the reply which the great

Scotchman made long ago in answer to a similar
question, To fish and to tell the truth."
You know, Father," Dick impetuously ran
on, that we have tried all sorts of rods, of all
kinds of wood, of all sizes and all weights, and
that for any fish that swims, from a ten-ounce
kingfish to a fifty-pound striped-bass, there is
nothing so good as one of well-chosen lance-
wood. Did n't we give the Bethabara-wood a
fair trial in the Inlet, last year, and did n't three
wretched barbs break as many of our tips in a
single day? Did n't we break two more by
merely casting with three-ounce sinkers? As
for split-bamboo, why, everybody knows that
it is far and away the best rod made for fresh-
water, for catching bass, trout, salmon, or the
like, but for steady sea-fishing it 's no good.
The air by the sea is too damp for bamboo
rods; it softens the varnish first, and then it
attacks the glue which makes the pieces as one.
After awhile they lose their elasticity, and become
as limp as willow switches from the second joint
out. No, this lancewood is the ideal rod for
sea, tide, and lead fishing, and I'm going to take
this and the other one, with the bent tip. You
will come along, won't you, Father ? "
"No, Dick," his father said, "one of us must
work if the other is to play, in May. It is
not quite holiday time yet. But where do you
mean to go ? "
"To go? Why, I '11 go to our island, of
course. I got a letter, and a jolly one it was,
too, from Old Matt, who said the sea-trout would
be along by the tenth,- this is the sixth,-
and that the snipe were already there. So, you
see, Doctor, I 'm just in time. I '11 start to-night,
and get to the island to-morrow morning. I '11
telegraph Matt to meet me at the landing, with
his boat, bait, and luncheon all ready."
"Do you think, Dick," the doctor asked,
with peculiar slowness and gravity of speech,
"that Matt's jolly letter had any ill effects upon
your health ? "
"No,-honor bright, Doctor! No, honor
bright, it had n't. It was only a coincidence."
It seems a peculiar one," the doctor added
drily. But," he asked, where is this famous
island where birds and fish do so abound? "
Have you never heard of our island, Doc-
tor ?" Mr. Saunders asked. "Not," he con-



scientiously explained, that it is ours, of course,
though we do own a little wooded corner of it.
It was discovered and bought by our mutual
friend, Farley. It is part of Northampton
County, Virginia, twenty-two miles north of

J -. ._. ,

Cape Charles. It lies ten miles from the main,
between Broadwater Bay, which is ten miles
wide, and the sea. At either end there is an
inlet, separating it north and south from other
islands. On the map it is still called Hog Island,
though Farley has rechristened it Broadwater;
on the earlier surveys it is set down as Teach
Island, in honor of the late Edward Teach,
mariner, better known as Blackbeard the Pirate,
who, it is said, made it his headquarters when
not engaged in scuttling ships and cutting
throats. It is an old man's tale that he buried
his booty in its sand-dunes, but the natives deny
that he did so, as they have probed and dug to
find them over every inch of likely ground."
I 've never fished there," Dick interrupted;
"but last fall I shot over it with Matt, and we
had grand sport. We got forty-two sedge-hens,
on a high tide. It's a queer place, Doctor;
the cattle, horses, sheep, and pigs all run wild
there winter and summer, and there are only
sixty-five people living on it. And there never
was another such place for game-birds and fish."
"What kind of fish do you expect to get at
this season, Dick ? asked the doctor.

Matt says in his letter that the sea-trout are
nearly due."
Dick's impatience to reach the island made
him less careful regarding his tackle than he
should have been. He knew that he should

have thoroughly overhauled it, and assured him-
self that it was all in good order; that he had
all the variety of lines, leaders, snoods, hooks,
and sinkers likely to be needed. Matt had told
him that the trout often weighed as much as six
pounds, and consequently he was aware that
everything should be strong and in order. His
lines were last year's, and he feared that their
strength had been impaired by the salt water,
and he found when he took up his reels that
they were disposed to be jerky, and required to
be taken apart and thoroughly cleaned and
oiled. But he determined he would go on that
night, and, as there would not be time to do all
that was desirable, he contented himselfby saying
it would be all right when he got to the island.
Both Dick and his father had all they could
carry as they climbed up the steps of the
sleeping-car that night at the railway station.
The travel was light at the time, and Dick, hav-
ing an entire section to himself, piled his valises,
rod and gun cases, wraps, and rubber boots in
the upper berth, and, after saying good-bye to
his father in his hearty, effusive fashion, crept
into the lower one and soon went to sleep.




He arrived at Exmore early in the morning.
The sun was shining gloriously out of a clear
blue sky, and the wind had shifted around to
the south. He had two miles to ride in a buggy
to Willis's Landing, and then ten miles to sail
to the island. But when he got down to the
wharf, which was made of a few unhewn logs
thrown roughly together, there was Matt, who
had come over to the main the night before, to
meet him in answer to his telegram; the leg-of-
mutton sails were set forward and aft on his
broad-bottomed boat, and a welcoming smile
lighted up his rugged, bronzed face as he
put out his hand to the lad to help him aboard.
"Are they biting yet, Matt?" Dick eagerly
asked, as he sprang into the boat. Matt told
him that the trout began biting on Saturday.
And this is Tuesday. Why, Matt, they should
bite savagely with this southerly wind. Where
are you going to try for 'em to-day ? "
In the main channel, just below here," the
skipper replied.
After a brisk run down along the main, of less
than an hour, Matt let go his anchor and furled
his sails. When he had made everything fast
and snug, he went aft, and noticed that Dick
took his fishing-rod from its bag and began to
put it together.
"What are you going to do with it ?" Matt
inquired, the smile broadening to a grin, and
not one of assuring confidence in Dick's skill
as a fisherman.
"'It'? queried Dick. "What do you mean
by 'it'?"
"I mean that stick, Mister Dick," the skipper
"Oh, you do? Now, see here, Matt, I 'm
going to civilize you. That is not a' stick'; that
is a rod, and I'm going to put this reel and line
on it. Then I 'm going to tie the line to one
end of a double-swivel sinker-a four-ounce
one, if the tide is swift and the water deep; to
the other end of the sinker I 'm going to fasten, by
a running noose, this treble-gut leader, on which
you see there are two hooks, No. 13 Carlisle."
Which," said Matt, in the tone of one who
was not to be put down by sixteen-year-old
civilization, "are n't half big enough. Master
Dick, them hooks would n't hang a 'spot,' to say
nothing of a six-pound trout."

Pardon me, Matt," Dick went on with good-
humored irony. I was going to say, when you
interrupted me, that to the leader are attached
two hooks on treble-twisted gut, which hooks
are placed, say, a foot apart, the upper one
being about eighteen inches from the lead. The
sea-trout, as you very well know, Matt, swim
well above the bottom, upon which the sinker lies,
while the force of the tide carries the hooks out
straight in about the depth of water the fish best
like. Now, Matt, having jointed my rod and
rigged it all right, I 'm going to make a cast, as
soon as you drop the anchor and give me some
ofthat bait-which, by the way, would be a great
deal more tempting to the trout if it were a
'shedder' or 'buster'instead ofa hard-shell crab."
Matt laughed at all this, as one who is assur-
edly learned laughs at the folly of too-confident
"You won't catch trout with that rig, Mis-
ter Dick." Then he grew grave, and became in
turn the teacher. I tell you that a trout is n't
a fish that comes right aboard as if he wanted
to make your acquaintance and could n't wait to
be introduced,- like a flounder or a plaice. He
does n't lie on the bottom like a mean, sneaking
skate, waiting for the bait to drift or drop into
his mouth. He does n't nibble at your bait, nor
toy with it, nor walk off with it while he makes
up his mind whether he '11 swallow it or not.
He strikes, and he goes; that's what a trout
does; and if one of them should strike that rig
o' yours and go, he would n't leave you so much
as the handle of it,-not to mention that bit
o' thread."
"What do you mean by 'that bit o' thread,'
Matt ? Dick asked, not at all alarmed by the
skipper's predictions.
"Why, I mean that line, of course. That is
not a line for trout. That's a line for little 'spots,'
that is. Now, this," said Matt, leaning forward
and drawing from under the seat a great coil of
cord nearly as thick as a lead pencil, to which
were attached huge hooks and a tremendous
weight of lead, "now, this is a trout-line, and
these is trout-hooks."
Dick looked at it wonderingly. I thought,"
he said, in pretended surprise, "it was a clothes-
line, and those things pot-hangers. You don't
really fish with that, Matt ?"


To be sure we do; and it's what you ought
to use, and what you '11 have to use, if you want
to get a trout over the side."
How do you fish with a thing like that,
Matt ? Dick asked, in apparent sincerity of
ignorance, and with the manner of one really
seeking information.

Why," said Matt, surprised at the lad's dull-
ness, we just haul him in hand over hand till
we get him to the top of the water; then we
jerk him in."
"And you call that fishing, Matt? "
"To be sure I do, Mister Dick."
Dick was silent for a moment, looking gravely

A- 2'i



How ? Why, we just throw it over the side
of the boat, and let it sink to the bottom; the
fish grabs it, we 'hang' him, and then-we
land him."
"You mean, Matt, if you don't lose him ?"
"Yes," the skipper slowly replied. "Yes, of
course; if we don't lose him."
"And, Matt, you do lose about as'many as
you land, eh ? "
"Well, yes, just about," Matt rather ungra-
ciously admitted.
"But you have n't told me how you get the
fish in the boat after you have hung him."

reflective. Matt," he said, "I think you could
improve upon that way of fishing."
The skipper was unsophisticated, and not used
to the beguiling chaff of the Penn Charter boys.
"How? he innocently asked.
"By setting up a good, stanch capstan in the
bow there. You could bend the line carefully
around it, and you could let it run by the lead
until it reached bottom; then wait for a bite,
and, when you get one, just 'turn the capstan
round,' and so haul the trout aboard. You
could, or you should, in that way be able to
land a whale if you only hung him." Dick




laughed pleasantly in his turn, like one who in
superior wisdom laughs at folly.
Matt slowly returned the coil of cord, the big
hooks, the heavy weight of lead, to their place
under the seat. Mister Dick," he asked, were
you making game? "
I 'm afraid I was, Matt, though no offense
was intended. I only meant to say that I don't
believe in your rope and pot-hangers any more
than you believe in my thread and small hooks.
But here we are among the boats, and if you '11
let go the anchor we '11 see which is best, your
hand-over-hand line, or my rod, reel, and fifteen-
strand Irish linen bass-line."
Apparently Matt was in no hurry to begin
the test. He was a long time getting the cable
coiled away, the sails furled, and the boat made
snug. Having done all that with a slowness which
was distressing to Dick, he lingered over the
choice of crabs for bait, furtively watching Dick
as he made one long sweeping cast after another
against the swift-running tide. He fairly leaped
into the stern when he heard for the first time
in his life the sharp whirl of the reel and whiz
of the fast-disappearing line as the trout that
Dick had hung made a dash for liberty, gain-
ing fifty yards or more. The moment the fish
struck, which it did as if it meant to shatter
the entire tackle,-and it would have done so,
too, had not the lad given it all the line it
wanted,-it dashed ahead with the tide at such
a great pace as to bum Dick's thumbs, which
were without protecting stalls, as they pressed
hard down on the reel after putting on the
"Well," Matt said, recovering from his as-
tonishment, "you've hung him, sure enough.
But it 's easier to let him run with a seven-knot
tide than to haul him ag'in it, with that thing,
especially as he does n't seem to want to come
Dick was what he would have called "rat-
tled when the trout first struck. He had often
with that same rod and line caught weakfish
weighing from three to five pounds, and though
they were good fighters, as wary and as strong,
he soon found that their brother or sister, the
sea-trout,-for they are of the same family, Cy-
noscion regalis, the first being known as the
squeteague and the latter as the spotted sque-
VOL. XVII.-78.

teague,-was a much more determined aid vig-
orous antagonist. But, as he recovered from
the surprise of the first quick, strong rush of the
fish, his head was as cool and his hand as steady
as if he were at his book and slate at home. He
knew the tricks and manners" of the trout,
and, by experience, he knew that if it got an inch
or a half inch of slack line, it could, and
probably would, "throw" the hook and go about
its business. He knew, too, from fishermen's
stories, that there are few fish more tricky,
or fuller of devices for defeating the angler,
than the sea-trout. But he had soon grown
so cool and confident as to feel that, though both
his line and leader were the worse for age and
wear, and his reel was inclined to be jerky, he
would in good time land his fish, which had
already begun to slacken its speed southward.
The moment it showed signs of fatigue, Dick
began slowly to wind in the line. The motion
was at first so slow and steady that the trout
seemed more disposed to follow than to lead;
and though during the next few minutes, with
the skipper looking on in a puzzled fashion, the
fish again and again made a dash for liberty,
and got plenty of line, it never once got the
slack which it needed, and, after a further brief
trial of its strength against the boy's skill, Dick
slowly drew it to the boat's side and raised
its head out of the water.
Matt said, as he deftly netted the prize:
Well, you got him, and with that thing, too,
though he is a good six-pounder."
Yet it was plain that Matt's admiration and
respect for the rod and reel had not been per-
ceptibly increased by what he had witnessed.
Broadwater prejudices lie deep, and are hard to
remove. Dick said to himself, as he watched the
skipper unhooking the fish, "He thinks it was a
fluke." And Dick was right; for that was pre-
cisely what Matt did think as he felt the weight
of the trout.
It was not a good time for fishing; it was
nearly slack-water when they had cast anchor,
and now it was close upon the ebb. Dick got
no more fish that showed fight, those he hung
being small and inactive. Matt said that they
might as well hoist sail and go home, as the
trout would not bite, on the ebb. As he went
forward to raise the anchor, a boat from the


main pulled alongside, the fishermen wanting'
to borrow hooks. In the bottom of their sloop
lay a magnificent fish, beautiful in form and
color, the upper half of its body from head to
tail being of all shades of gold or of burnished
copper, and the lower half of the most exquisite
tints of silver. Its weight, Dick saw, could not
be less than twenty-five pounds.
"What kind of a fish is that you have
there ? he asked.
A drum -a red drum," the fisherman
Are there different kinds of them ? "
"Yes, there's the black drum and the red
drum. They 're both good, but the red is the
best. He 's best to catch and best to eat. Be-
sides, he 's prettier to look at; he's long and
slender, while the black one is short and thick."
"Why best to catch ? asked Dick.
"Because he 's a fighter, is the red 'un. You
don't get him into a boat unless he can't help
it. Most times he can help it. He '11 break
your hook seven times in ten if he can't break
your line, and he 's pretty sure to do one or the
How about the black drum ? Is he a fight-
er ? Dick asked.
Well, yes; he '11 fight, too, but not like the
red 'un. He 's sluggish, logy-like, generally,
and drowns sooner and easier. The red's spryer
and travels. He can get away with forty or fifty
fathoms of line before you quite know he 's hung,
and he can get rid of a hook or break a line with
any fish as swims." The skipper of the sloop
looked at Dick, at his tapering rod and thin
line, and then said, suggestively, It takes a
fisherman to land a red drum."
You landed that one ? "
"Yes- I did; and he looked first at the
fish and then at the water, as if still wondering
how he happened to do it.
"Where?" Dick asked.
Up in the mouth of the North Inlet, off
"Hodge's Narrows."
Flood or ebb ? queried the lad.
"Flood; you can't depend on 'em on the ebb,
nohow. No offense," the man said apologeti-
cally, "but are you going to try for one ?"
"Yes," Dick slowly and thoughtfully replied.
"Yes; I think I shall."

With that thing? pointing with his long
bony finger to the rod.
Dick saw that Matt was looking at him, and
that his face was a fine study just then for a picture
of "Knowledge pitying Ignorance." In his
reply he took in the captains of both the boats.
"Yes, with this thing"; and the lad's hand ran
along the polished slender rod and rested half
caressingly on the reel.
The skippers did not mean to be impolite,
but they laughed derisively -not at the boy,
but at his rod. Both of them had known a
pretty stoutish man to be jerked half out of his
boat by holding on too tightly to a line when
the red drum that he had hooked made its first
sudden rush; and it was only the other day,
as they recollected, that young Baker, a lad as
big and stout as Dick, having hung one, was'
obliged to pass the line to a man, the boy being
unable to handle the fish.
"Why, Mister Dick," Matt said, "you could n't
do it. Why, you would have no hook, no sinker,
no line, no pole, no nothing, if you unfortunately
happened to hang a drum, red or black. Look
at that fish. He's as strong as a bull-calf when
he 's in twelve or fifteen fathoms of water, and
with a rushing tide to run with. Yet he does n't
weigh more than twenty-five pounds, and I 've
seen one that weighed eighty pounds."
Dick looked at his rod, gave the reel a twirl,
fingered his line, and seemed to gain confidence
from doing it.
"I '11 try it," he said; then he added, Matt,
we will not come here to-morrow for trout, as
we agreed to do. We will go up to Hodge's
Narrows and try for a drum."
"All right, Mister Dick," Matt said in the
tone of one who was tired of arguing with ob-
stinacy. "You 're boss, you know! "
The boats parted company. Matt hoisted
sail, and after a sharp run of an hour or so
they were at the island landing. Dick did not
leap ashore very alertly. They had been be-
calmed for a while, and he had insisted upon
taking the oars to help the heavy boat along.
Every long-unused muscle of his body which
he had forced into unaccustomed service that
day in casting, rowing, and sailing made its pres-
ence felt by its own particular ache or soreness.
Wind and sun had burned his face and hands to




a fiery red, and the pain of them was all that he
could bear without complaining. How tired,
hungry, and sleepy the boy was! But he had no
headache, no languor. He ate a hearty sup-
per at the club-house, where a room was pre-
pared for him, went early to bed, and slept
soundly, as a weary child sleeps after a day of
wholesome play.
"To-morrow," he said, before closing his
eyes, "to-morrow, a drum."
He was up before five o'clock the next morn-
ing, having promised Matt he would be at the
landing shortly after that hour. The flood-tide
began to flow early that day, and the best fish-
ing would be during the last two-thirds of it.
They had ten miles of water to cover to get to
Hodge's Narrows.
When Dick arrived at the wharf, he found all
the able-bodied men and boys of the island
already there, preparing to go off to their oyster-
beds, some to plant and some to dredge. The
business of every stranger who visits Broadwater
is the business of every islander. Matt, who had
come down before Dick, to put his boat in order,
had told the bystanders that Dick was going
to fish for drum, and with that "pine stick and
linen thread of his "; for so did it please Matt to
designate the lad's tackle.
As Dick came among them, cheery and con-
fident of bearing, with his rod already jointed,
with reel, line, leader, hooks, and sinker all in
trim for service, one after another of the men
good-naturedly shot their little arrows of con-
temptuous doubt at his tackle, the like of which
few of them had ever before seen. They all
liked Dick, whose acquaintance they had made
the previous fall, when he had been there shoot-
ing sedge-hens and snipe with them, for they
had found him a hearty, breezy sort of fellow,
kindly, simple, and sympathetic, and disposed
to make friends with everybody. But they
could not conquer their prejudices in a moment;
they and their fathers and grandfathers before
them had fished with good, stout hand-lines
and big, thick-wired hooks, most of which lat-
ter they had themselves hammered, tempered,
and filed into shape and sharpness, and they
were naturally intolerant of Dick's new-fangled
gear. Besides, they did not fish for sport,
but for the pot; and that made them sincere

fishermen. To them Dick's dainty tackle seemed
When Dick jumped aboard, and Matt was
ready, two or three islanders waded into the
water to shove off the clumsy boat on which the
lad and his fortunes were embarked, and as it
shot out into deep water they one and all begged
him to bring them a mess of the drum he caught.
Dick's buoyant spirits were momentarily brought
to the ground by this universal expression of
unbelief in his rod and line, for he remembered
then that both were all the worse for their last
summer's service. He had a horrible fear come
over him that snoods, leader, and line were not
so strong as they should be; but he took heart
of grace, set his jaws hard, kept silent, and
quietly resolved, as the storm of sarcastic re-
quests swept over him, to return that day with
a drum.
The weather was magnificent, the wind strong
and fair, the sky blue, the air sweet, as, scaring
from their nests the belated curlew and the
sedge-hens, they swept through the water by
the sedges, both sails set, the sheets drawn taut
and the spray dashing over the bow. Full
ninety minutes must pass, Dick knew, before
they could make the narrows; so he lay down
on the forecastle, and, drawing the broad brim
of his hat over his eyes, went fast asleep, dream-
ing of nothing, until he was awakened by the
noise and jar of the cable as the anchor dragged
it through the cleat.
Matt furled the sails snugly about the masts
and made his bait ready. But when he went to
put equal parts of clam and crab on the hooks
he stopped resolutely. Mister Dick," he said,
" there is n't any use to put these things into the
water. You can't catch drum with them hooks."
Why not, Matt ? the lad asked quietly.
"Why, because they're too small. Here's

the sort of hook you want."
Thereupon Matt held up one which from the
point of the barb to the shank opposite was not
less than an inch and a quarter in diameter, and
the wire of which was scarcely less than an
eighth of an inch thick.
Dick looked perplexed. He thought that
Matt should know better than he; Matt had
caught drum often, he never. But he was dis-
posed withal to be obstinate, in spite of reason-



ing wisely regarding the skipper's knowledge
and experience.
"Matt," he said doggedly, "I won't use that
hook; it is big enough to land a ten-foot shark;
but I '11 try this one "; and he substituted for one
of his own small ones a hook half the size of
that which Matt had offered him.
The hooks were baited and a cast made, but
the sinker was too light, and the swift-running
tide caught the outgoing line and carried it along
on the surface of the water until it was nearly
all spent. The lad saw that he must have more
lead, and he added three or four more sinkers.
Even with their aggregate weight, which was all
the strain he was willing to put upon his rod,
the line did not lie upon the bottom, where
the fish lie, until but a few fathoms remained
on the reel. For the first time, Dick recognized
the folly of doing any serious thing unprepared.
In his eagerness to go fishing he had left home
poorly equipped for the sport he had in view,
and he knew that if a drum were to strike and
run there would be too little line left to give it
play. But he was at the mercy of his own rash
haste and his rod, which had never failed him.
The boy was somewhat chagrined, but he said
quietly, I '11 risk it on the rod."
He did not have long to wait. He was fish-
ing in fifteen fathoms of water; the tide ran like
a mill-race, at a rate of not less than seven or
eight miles an hour; and on the end of his line
there was a pound or more of lead, on which the
current kept a heavy, steady drag. He felt the
line quiver between his fingers; it was softly
pulled forward, then it dropped back.
Matt," he asked, guarding his line with look
and touch, every nerve in his body on a sharp
strain-" Matt, do the red drum always seize the
bait sharply and run, or do they sometimes
pick it up and drop it again, as if they were not
quite sure but that it might have a hook con-
cealed somewhere under it ?"
"Well," Matt said, without looking up, and
giving his attention to the bait he was preparing,
"they generally grab it and run with it, but
sometimes they fool with it. If you feel any-
thing fooling with your bait it 's most likely a
thieving crab, which steals bait as fast as you
can put it on -a crab or a 'drum-nurse.'"
What's that, Matt ?" Dick asked, slowly get-

ting up from his seat, setting both feet securely,
tightening his left hand about the rod, and plac-
ing the thumb of his right hand softly on the
"A drum-nurse," said the skipper, "is a fish
that is the chum of the drum, and follows it
wherever it goes. It looks so like a shark that
you would say it was one, but it is n't a shark at
all; it justt a drum-nurse, and it bites in the way
you say."
Dick had not heard the end of Matt's descrip-
tion. As Matt was concluding, Dick steadied
himself from his toes to the top of his head, shut
his lips tightly, raised his rod to an angle of
seventy-five degrees without moving the line an
inch, pressed his thumb hard down on the reel,
then gave to the rod a quick, vicious jerk back-
ward, until everything rattled again. He was
as quiet and self-possessed as if he were at home
doing nothing in particular, as he said, Matt,
I 've hung it, whether it's drum or drum-nurse! "
Matt became immediately and intensely inter-
ested, but humorous too. He dropped the clam
he was opening, stood up, and said: If you've
got either on that thing, you 're a good deal like
the man who was so lucky as to catch a bear.
But maybe he '11 leave you the boat."
The fish, meanwhile, was tugging savagely at
the line to get away, having all the force of the
deep water and the swift-running tide to help it,
and poor Dick had but twenty or thirty yards of
line to give it. But he saw from the frequently
repeated sharp rushes that the fish made and its
subsequent retreats that the yielding of the rod
to its movements puzzled it. To strike a hard,
effective blow, the boy had learned, there must
be something solid, unyielding, to strike at.
When the fish made a sudden, mad dash, which
was its blow, the rod bent in a magnificent
curve from butt to tip. The fish did not once get a
chance to put its great strength against the lesser
strength of the line; it could only exert it against
the rod, which, as the fish struck, gave way be-
fore it. Not daring to trust wholly to the flexi-
bility and stanchness of the rod, Dick was obliged
to play off more and more of his line, until
he had but a yard or two left unreeled. The
fish had stopped making its wild rushes for a
moment to consider this new sort of fishing-
gear, with which it and all its kind in those



waters were unfamiliar. Having considered the
matter, the fish resolved that it was necessary in
order to gain its freedom to make a long, steady,
continuous pull, and that is what it proceeded
to do.
Dick was quick to understand the newly
adopted tactics of the fish. He saw and felt the
danger of them; saw that he would be beaten,
that his line would be made a useless string,
his rod reduced to splinters; saw and heard the
derisive shrugs and sneers with which he would
be greeted when he returned defeated to the
island. Whatever was to be done must be
done quickly. His rod was now at the safest
angle of eighty-five or ninety degrees, but he
could feel as well as see that it was so far bent
by the strain as to almost reach the limitations of
its flexibility, and, these being once reached, the
tension would be transferred to the line, against
which the entire strength of the fish would be
brought. If that occurred the line would be
snapped as if it were indeed a thread.
Dick looked at the skipper, who sat watching
him with anxious eyes. Then there came to
him an inspiration. "Quick! Matt," he said.
"Up with your anchor, and pull with the tide
after the fish!"
The lad saw that Matt could not be too
quick; the pliant rod bent closer and closer to
that point beyond which it could bend no more
without putting the strain on the line. The
skipper had long ago become concerned,
deeply anxious, even, that the boy should suc-
ceed. He leaped to the bow, seized the cable
and jerked the anchor loose, dragged it on
deck, and, picking up the sculls, put the boat
head on to the tide.
"All right, now; thanks, old fellow. I '11
land it yet!" Dick said.
As the boat was swept along by the tide and
sculls in the wake of the fish, the tension on
the line decreased, though Dick held it taut in
order to keep the fish's mouth open, that he
might the sooner drown it. As the strain les-
sened, Dick ventured for the first time to use
the reel. His touch was light and firm, and the
movement cautiously slow, but the handle had
not made a half dozen revolutions when the
fish made a dash ahead, and more line was lost
than had been gained.

Whatever it is, we have had it at least five
minutes," said Dick to the skipper. "See what
is the time now."
"He 's a drum, sure, Master Dick," Matt
replied. "I know him by his play. It is just
half-past ten."
Dick had been convinced from the first that
his strike was a drum, but he was glad to
have this confirmation; and he had a great
deal of pleasure, besides, in perceiving, from
Matt's anxious face and the admirable manner
in which the boat was being handled, that the
skipper was as anxious as himself that the rod
and reel should not be beaten.
"It 's a drum, and a red drum, too," said
Matt again, after carefully watching the fish's
jerks and runs.
But how do you know, Matt ? Dick asked.
"Why, don't you hear it drumming? And
see the way it rushes. A black drum is too
sluggish to do that."
Dick was delighted with this assurance of his
good fortune, but it seemed as if an hour had
passed since the strike. It had really been ten
minutes. He stood up in the bow, trying always
to gain a little line on his opponent, and was
grateful and pleased if he gained but a single
foot. Sometimes he recovered yards, and again
lost twice as many. But he kept the drag on,
kept well up the tip of the rod, which curved
beautifully and so relieved the strain on the
Presently the tension was wholly relaxed.
The line lay slack upon the water. Both thought
they knew what that meant. Dick looked aghast
and Matt sorrowful. I 've lost it, old fellow! "
said Dick.
I think if Dick, stout-hearted as he was, had
been where nobody could have seen him at that
moment, he would have let the big tears come,
instead of forcing them back. He had wished,
with the natural desire'of a fisherman, to land a
large, powerful, and gamey fish on his slender rod
and line, to prove that his skill was greater than
the brute force of his antagonist; but what for
the instant made his defeat so bitter was the
foretaste he had of the half-malicious sympathy
which he would be certain to have meted out
to him by the islanders on his return. We told
you so," he knew would be the burden of their




welcoming song. So thinking, he began me-
chanically to reel in his line, and continued until
there were but a few fathoms of it left, when
suddenly, with a mighty rush and swirl, the fish
that both he and Matt had thought lost carried
the line from the reel till it grew so hot under
his thumb as to render further pressure almost
unbearable. But the lad would have let it burn
the flesh from the bone now, rather than have
lost a single chance by letting go. In an instant
his excitement was gone, and he was as cool and
wary as the oldest fisherman of them all could
be. The fish had tricked him by merely doub-
ling on him, seeking in that way to throw the
hook, but Dick felt very confident that the drum
could not play the trick again.
From that point the battle began all over
again, for when the fish doubled back upon the
boat, slacking the line, it had the opportunity
it needed to close its mouth, and so get rid of
the perilous water which pressed upon its respira-
tory organs and was suffocating it. It had an
opportunity to breathe again. Dick saw his
blunder 'in not promptly detecting so com-
mon a trick, but he went to work once more to
tire the fish out or to drown it, as if nothing had
happened to interrupt. It was a long, hard
fight the drum made. Dick's wrist began to
grow strained and sore. The muscles stood out
on his forearm like whipcords, and pained in-
tensely. But after a while he felt that the fish,
too, was growing tired, and was evidently suffer-
ing. He could hear it make its peculiar drum-
ming sound whenever the strain on the rod was
greatest and the fish was brought nearer to the
As the contest went on, Dick perceived that
the drum became disposed to content itself with
less frequent tugs and rushes, and to be willing
to lie quite still for moments together on the
bottom, not, however, to sulk, as the salmon
does, but to rest itself. I think the fish is not
so tired as I am," Dick said to Matt, as he again
asked to be told the time.
It is just 10: 54 now, Master Dick; and he
must be pretty nearly done for, judging from
the way he is acting. Keep up your steady
play, and you '11 beat him yet," Matt said.
I have no doubt that the boy would have kept
on as long as he could have stood or held the

rod, but in a few minutes more he had the delight
of feeling the fish yield readily to the revolu-
tions of the reel, and then, after more turns, to
see at the boat's side, its head out of the water,
a magnificent drum, its scales flashing like gold
and silver as its tail lashed the spray over them.
Now, then, look sharp, Matt! Drop your
oars, and give it the gaff- and don't miss it!"
Dick cried.
Matt threw the sculls aside, seized the gaff,
and, standing by the side, midway from stem to
stem, struck a hurried, left-handed blow at the
head of the fish. He struck too quickly; he
was too far off; his aim was bad; and the gaff fell,
with a glancing blow, broadside on the body of
the drum, which, stung to fury, made a lightning-
like rush directly under the boat, and was reel-
ing off fathom after fathom of line before Dick
could recover his lost control of the reel; and
when he did get it in hand again, the tip of the
rod was within three feet of the water, and so
close to the boat as to render it impossible to
raise the rod farther from the surface.
Let him run!" Matt shouted, not seeing, in
his excitement, that Dick could not prevent the
fish running where and as fast as it pleased it
to run. But in an incredibly short time the
skipper had reshipped his oars and thrown the
boat's head around, thus freeing the rapidly
vanishing line, and allowing Dick to get a safe
elevation for his rod. At this moment both
noticed that the overstrained rod had yielded
at the second joint.
The boy looked ruefully at it. "I made a
mistake after all, in my stupid hurry to get
away. I brought the rod with the bad joint."
And so he had. His line was almost reeled
out as Dick made this discovery, there being
but four or five fathoms left. I must risk it
again, though, bad as it is," he said, almost de-
spairing, as he pressed his thumb hard down
on the reel, determined not to lose another yard
of line if it was possible to save it. But would
the rod bear the strain in its crippled condi-
tion? It had wholly lost its noble curve; its
form was no longer that of a part of a perfect
circle; it more nearly resembled the two sides at
the apex of a triangle. He looked at it, and as
the fish tugged, he waited breathlessly for the
crash he felt was coming; but at the moment



of his greatest fear the rod shot straight out
from butt to tip, the strain on the line was re-
laxed, and the drum rested quietly on the bot-
tom again.
Matt had kept silent while Dick's anxiety
lasted. He knew that he had struck at the
fish from a bad position, and too hastily. The
truth was that he had grown so interested in
the boy's hard fight against such great odds--
the fish's vast strength of body and staying
power and Dick's frail rod and slender thread
of line-as to cause him to lose his head at
the very instant when he should have been the
coolest, for the lad's work was done, and all
that remained to secure the victory was that
he should drive the gaff surely home and pull
the fish aboard. He knew that he had not
chosen the best place and time to strike, and
that, after he had chosen the worst, he had
struck wildly and with unsteady hand. But
now, perceiving that the line had lost its ten-
sion, he came to Dick's help with cheering
words, for he noticed that the boy's lips were
white, his hands trembling, his whole body
shaken by the long-continued excitement of the
fierce struggle.
"He 's as good as done for, Mister Dick.
Only hold him at that, and when you see a
chance, reel up on him," Matt said.
Dick thought he saw the desired chance, and
began to slowly reel in the line. The rod bent
to its new triangular form, but did not break.
The fish made a feeble dash, but for a few yards
only. Then Dick tried the reel again. "It 's
coming, Matt. Get ready;-not there, in the
bow. And don't get rattled again, old man !"

Slowly, but surely, though with occasional
weak sallies and spurts, the fish was drawn
closer to the boat and nearer to the surface of
the water, until its golden and silvery scales
flashed beautiful in the sun.
"Now then, Matt!" Dick drew a long
breath and shut his eyes as he heard the gaff
swish through the air. When he opened them,
an instant after, the red drum, a noble thirty-
pounder, lay panting in the bottom of the boat.
Matt stood opposite, a broad grin on his face.
Without a word being spoken, Dick put out
his hand to the skipper; and the man took the
boy's trembling hand and pressed it warmly.
Dick had to say it, and did say it: But you
were rattled, Matt, you know, that time you
missed him."
"So I was, Mister Dick, but on your ac-
count, not on mine. Are you going to cast
again ? "
"No, Matt. My father says that no true
sportsman ever kills more than one salmon a
day -'One is sport, but more is murder.' I 'm
going to count this drum as equal to a salmon;
and if you 're willing, we 'll go home. How
long did I have it hung, Matt ?"
Matt looked at his watch. "Just sixty-five
minutes; and a good hour and five minutes
work it was!"
So Dick thought, then; and he thought so
again when they landed, and, after consider-
able trouble in the way of removing obstinate
doubts, succeeded in convincing the entire
population of the island that Dick had really
caught a red drum with a polished stick and
a linen thread.





MY presence and the work I was doing at-
tracted visitors from villages for miles around
Lukolela. The station was crowded all day
with strangers who came to investigate every-
thing, ask innumerable questions, and impede
the work in progress by examining tools and
workmanship until their curiosity regarding
them was satisfied. To avoid the wearying task
of incessantly answering the simple yet puzzling
questions of childlike ignorance, and to escape
from all the noise and tumult of strange voices
round my house, I would plunge into the forest
which covered all the country to the south of my
station. My little servant Mabruki was my only
companion on these occasions; he would fol-
low close at my heels, carrying my cartridge-
belt slung across his shoulder.
I always carried a gun with me on these ex-
cursions, as birds and small game were very
plentiful, and a brace or two of pigeons or guinea-
fowl would often repay my forest tramp.
But the great forest itself, with its undisturbed
solitudes and its dim green recesses, always
brought such relief and quiet restfulness to me,
when wearied and fagged in mind and body, that
I needed-no excuse for my aimless wanderings.
All sounds of voices or work died away, and we
left all traces of human life on the verge of the
woods. We had to make our way as best we
could, pushing aside or cutting away the tan-
gled mass of brushwood undergrowth that spread
thickly round the roots of the lofty trees of teak
and mahogany; and overhead luxuriant creep-
ers trailed from branch to branch, or hung in
great bunches from the topmost boughs, almost
shutting out the light of day and the blue noon-
day sky.
As we forced our way still deeper into the
heart of the forest, the gloom and stillness in-
creased, and we crossed many a hidden glade

known only to the hunter, where the deathlike
silence was unbroken save for the cry of savage
beast or call of passing bird.
These woods abounded in all kinds of game.
Here the elephant had made a path for himself,
uprooting and flinging to the ground the tree
that barred his way, plowing through matted
undergrowth, snapping vine and twig, and crush-
ing down the slender spear-grass beneath his
ponderous foot, leaving behind him a broad trail
of wrecked tree and shrub. Numberless herds
of buffalo, filing down to the river for their morn-
ing drink, had worn deeply furrowed tracks in
the loamy soil; and the broken ground beneath
the spreading wild-plum tree told of the frequent
visits of the bush-pig in search of fallen fruits.
Here and there we could discover faint imprints
made by the stealthy leopard, or the delicate
impression of the antelope's hoof.
Troops of monkeys of all sizes set the tree-
tops swinging as they scrambled from bough to
bough, searching through the wood for the acid
"litobd" (fruit of the india-rubber vine).
The African deems roast monkey a delicacy,
and keen observation of the habits of animals
has taught the native hunter many curious de-
vices in traps and lures. A hole in a tree near
some spot frequented by these animals is found,
and a noose is cunningly concealed with
small branches so as to encircle the mouth of
the cavity; a cord attached to this noose leads
down to the place that the hunter has selected as
a hiding-place; some palm-nuts or other fruits
are then placed in the hole; and when the mon-
key, in order to obtain them, thrusts in an arm,
the cord is pulled, and the animal is held firmly
by the noose until dispatched by spear or arrow.
The monkey is gifted with a degree of intelli-
gence which the word instinct hardly expresses.
The trap into which he is enticed must be very
artfully constructed, and the bait of the most
inviting kind, before he is successfully deceived.


Another favorite mode of hunting monkeys is
this: A crowd of natives surrounds a troop of
these animals on three sides, and then, with
sticks and stones, drives them until they arrive at
the edge of the forest, when
the poor, frightened crea-
tures, in endeavoring to
escape from their pursuers,
jump to the ground, where
they are stabbed before
they can get away.
The buffalo, hippopota-
mus, and elephant are not
safe from the snare of the
African hunter. Pitfalls are
dug, twenty feet deep, and
covered so cunningly with
small sticks and leaves that
the rogue-elephant, or
wandering buffalo, roam-
ing through the forest,
breaks through the fragile
covering, and falls headlong lplo:n e :Ih :rl. i"-ed
stakes driven into the bottom of thI pit; ,:,r.
when the trap is without the cr..-i i.llin..'r ot
spikes, he is speared to death by the huntcrs.
who must, if such spikes are i]:.'t L,-d.. orn-
tinually visit their pitfalls; for, if n.'.t kilted
and if left any length of time, the :caitu.red
animals will tear down the 4-: l-; of th- pi,.
and fill up the hole sufficiently to anill\ them
to escape.
These pitfalls are so skillfull i.cre,-il, that
the hunter has to be continm lli, -.i !n i.i _' ur.J.
as unless'their whereabouts is icli kr:~ui n n t: him
he may possibly fall a victim to the tr -:l fI'or
the game he is stalking.
I myself, when alone, ha-,: moirel th:in :'
stumbled into these holes; Lbin ir, th,: i-initi
of a settlement spikes are s.-:lm I.n '.i-cA, an:I
when venturing far afield, I -,. is .I1.. i m-
panied by a local hunter .; !,-.~ie Iniu ki.Jg-
enabled us to steer clear c:'f Ii- ,..-ii cr.
Big game are in even gre.-aicr :l.i acr I'r-.m
the deadly "dlikongo" or spear-trap. A mas-
sive barbed spear-head is let into a heavy beam
of wood, and this weapon is suspended thirty or
forty feet from the ground over some well-worn
animal trail. Tied between two trees, its deadly
blade pointing directly to the trail, it is kept in
VOL. XVII.-79-8o.

position by a cord which is carried to the base
of the tree, and then, concealed among branches
of trees, is drawn across the path. The unwary
elephant, buffalo, or hippopotamus severs the


frail string and releases the ponderous weapon,
which falls crashing into the poor brute's back.
As a rule an animal wounded in this way is
unable to move far, as the distance through



which the heavily weighted spear falls, drives
the barb deep into the body.
When an animal is killed, the meat is cut up,
placed over fires, and smoked until it is dry, in
which condition it will keep for several months,
so long as it is not allowed to become damp.


The natives' ordinary list of food is very lim-
ited, the staple being boiled manioc root and fish.
Manioc is a vegetable resembling the potato in
substance, but coarse and stringy. The African
prepares it by soaking it in water for five days,
during which it ferments, becoming soft and
pulpy; the fibrous threads are then extracted,
and it is kneaded into a dough-like paste, which
is boiled before use. In the Congo household,
this is called binguele, or chiquanga, and is a very
nutritious food.

Some dishes, though appreciated by the native,
are obtained with so much difficulty that they
must be considered as luxuries. It is not every
day that even the greatest chiefs can partake of
boiled hippopotamus-leg, roast elephant-trunk,
or grilled buffalo-steak. The dishes I have
named will not, perhaps, seem very palatable;
but it would be easy to name others much less
appetizing to the taste of Europeans. The Afri-
can eats three times a day: at nine o'clock,
lightly, and at noon and six in the evening as
largely as the state of his larder will permit.
Vegetables are invariably boiled, but meat is
roasted on spits, over a wood fire.
Knives, forks, spoons, napkins, and plates are
not necessaries at a Congo dinner." In fact,
any native who has been fortunate enough to
obtain those luxuries, a fork and spoon, punches
a hole in the handle of each, and hangs them
by a string from the roof-tree of his house,
as proofs of his importance, and of the ad-
vance of civilization. Manioc, fish, and meat,
when cooked, are cut up and placed in large
earthen jars by the women, who cook and pre-
pare all food. Then groups of ten and twelve
squat down round a jar and eat with their fin-
gers from the common dish, sopping up the pep-
pered palm-oil gravy with their chiquanga, or
manioc bread.
The civilized wielder of a fork and spoon
would be sadly handicapped at a Central African
The Congo man does not always limit him-
self to three meals a day; he is a glutton by
nature. When he has a quantity of meat he
gorges while the savory morsels last. Even if
the meat is tainted and the odor of it is so strong
as almost to overpower the passer-by, it is not
rejected on that account; and any disgust I ever
expressed on seeing the natives eat hippopota-
mus-meat, the odor of which would have been
intolerable to a European, was met by the
retort: "Bisu ku-ola niama, t-kuiola nc/ ol tte!"
(We eat the meat, but we don't eat the smell!)-
a subtle distinction.
My rather monotonous routine of life was
repeatedly relieved by some unusual activity in
the villages.
One day, amid the heavy booming of drums
and the hubbub of a hundred excited voices all




talking at a time, and each one trying to make
itself heard above the general tumult, a large fleet
of war-canoes started away, manned by natives
of Lukolela and the district. They were about
to punish the common enemy, a tribe on the
other side of the river, for some cause real or
imaginary. As the flotilla passed my Station
beach, they struck up their boastful war-songs,
rattled their drums and bells, and exhibited, for
my edification, all the accomplishments which
they intended to bring to bear on the enemy.
Their faces smeared with charcoal gave the
natives a truly formidable appearance, as they
flourished their bright-bladed knives and keen,

The body, round which lengths of cloth were
wrapped, resembled a colossal chrysalis. Since
the return of the canoes, guns had been repeat-
edly discharged to announce the death; but
at the moment when the body of the young
chief was lowered into the grave dug for its
reception in the chief's own house, the reports
of the old flint-locks culminated in a veritable
salvo of musketry.
The usual accompaniment to such ceremo-
nies, in the Lukolela district, is a strange mixture
of mirth and sorrow, for little clusters of merry
dancers mingle with the groups of mourners
whose energetic lamentation is shown by stream-


glistening spears, in fierce anticipation of the
planned attack.
Three days afterward, the flotilla returned.
As they paddled slowly past my station, their
dejected and crestfallen demeanor plainly
showed that their common enemy still remained
unpunished. The blackened faces and glisten-
ing weapons had failed to frighten the enemy.
The arrival of the canoes at the village land-
ing was the signal for a general wailing, as
one of the young Lukolela chiefs had been
killed. The next day I witnessed the burial.

ing eyes and the tear-stained cheeks. But little
real grief is felt, however; the tear is a tribute
demanded by native custom, which sorrow, un-
aided, can seldom produce. A woman will sud-
denly cease her weeping, throwing aside all signs
of woe, to enjoy a pipe or perhaps to sell a bunch
of bananas or a fowl; but upon the completion
of the bargain she will again step back into the
circle of mourners and abruptly resume her
moans and tears, and, with complete command
of the emotions, will weep or laugh at will.
Sometimes, at the death of an important chief,



all the women will be engaged for days in shed-
ding tears over the departed. During the time
of mourning, native custom denies them the
privilege of washing, and the continual streams
from their eyes wear deep ruts on their begrimed
faces and bodies. When the body has been
placed in the grave, the friends of the dead chief
dry their tears and resume their ordinary habits
of dress and demeanor; but the slaves and rela-
tives of the dead man must for three months after
the interment still maintain an appearance of
great dejection, and refrain from smearing the
body with the customary red powder, or even
from removing the objectionable eyelashes or
trimming the nails. They must also wear very
old cloth, and leave their woolly heads unplaited
and uncared-for. At the expiration of the three
months, the ngula (red wood-powder) again
colors their bodies, new costumes are produced,
and the unkempt wool is neatly plaited in wisps
and tails. Too often the cessation of mourning
is signalized by the execution of a slave. In
this instance the brother of the young chief had
bought a slave for that purpose. But I forbade
the ceremony, and in order to protect the poor,
unfortunate fellow from all harm, I redeemed
him by paying to the captor the price of his
purchase. The poor emaciated creature, whose
name was Mpasa, had for six days been bound
hand and foot by cords, with barely enough
food to allow him to exist. It was a great disap-
pointment to the expectant villagers that I
would not allow the sacrifice to be carried out,
as they had invited a troupe of Ekuala musicians,
an inland tribe on the opposite bank of the river,
to take part in their festivities. Having heard
a great deal about the ability of the dusky or-
chestra, I invited them to visit my Station, and
I was greatly struck with the harmony of sound
produced from unpromising material. Some of
the troupe rattled on their drums; others fingered
rough string-instruments; and round pieces of
flat iron, pierced and strung loosely together,
formed excellent castanets. The music was
wild, but performed in such excellent time that
the result was decidedly pleasing. To the ac-
companiment of this Central African musical
band, the Ekuala dancers, wearing wild-cat skins
around their waists, gave an exhibition of their
skill, which consisted in successions of rapid and

graceful movements of the body. The majority
of the villagers were slaves; their varied tattoo
marks plainly proclaimed the widespread raids
of the slaver. The Lolo, from the banks of
the Ikelemba, Lulungu, and Malinga rivers;
the Ngomb6, from the far interior; and the na-
tives of the Ubangi, were all represented in the
ranks of the Lukolela households women as
wives, and the men as recruits to the number
of warriors. The slave, having survived misery,
starvation, and the many murderous phases of
the slave-trade, finds himself at a village like
Lukolela in a position of comparative security,
until some horrible native custom, or the super-
stitious edict of the Fetishman, demands his
The tastes of Congo tribes vary considerably.
Here at Lukolela the general ambition of the
headmen was to own as many slaves as possi-
ble, so that they might insult their neighbors
with impunity and destroy those who resented it.
Besides this ambitious desire, they have a great
love of metal ornaments. The Lukolela chief
points with a great deal of pride to his brass
anklets, and will boast of the massive molua
(woman's large brass neck-ring) round his wife's
neck. The Ba-Teke, of Stanley Pool, engage
largely in the ivory trade, buying from the up-
river native trad-
ers, and exchange
their tusks with the
white merchants
on the coast for
cloth, guns, and
The merchant,
becoming a man
of property, will
wear a little of the .
cloth, from the .-
store he has accu- ,. -
mulated during his
lifetime, tied round '
his waist, with one
end dragging in AN AFRICAN TRUNK.
the mud three yards behind him, to exemplify
to his admiring neighbors his intense contempt
for such paltry wealth. The bulk of his cloth
is stored to satisfy his craving for a pompous
funeral, and at his death it will be bound around



him preparatory to his being smoked before
burial, and the powder and guns of the departed
will be used in firing salutes suitable to such an
important occasion.
My own favorite recreation was the chase,

worked through the different well-known hunt-
ing patches, when, passing through a little stretch
of long grass, a small black-and-white bird, which
always accompanies buffalo herds, flew up just
in front of me. Instinctively arresting my foot-


which always delighted me; but we were now
in the midst of the season of winds, when the
river is very dangerous, as tornadoes were con-
stantly sweeping across the stream, lashing into
fury the quiet waters of a few minutes before,
rendering the crossing of the Congo in a native
canoe a hazardous undertaking.
As one of the steel lighters, which could face
any weather, had arrived at my place on its
way up-river with fresh supplies, I borrowed
the use of this boat in order to cross the river
and have a day's hunting. Upon arriving on
the other side, we passed through a small chan-
nel and entered a large lake-like lagoon in the
midst of an extensive plain. We had a favora-
ble wind, and had not put out an oar. The
rough square-sail bellied out before us as we
tore through the water. Upon a little tongue
of sand, two buffaloes were taking their morning
drink, and so noiselessly had our bark sped on
its way, that the animals were evidently uncon-
scious of our presence until the report of my
long Martini rifle brought one to the ground and
warned the other of his danger. When I ran
my boat in-shore, I found the one I had shot to
be quite dead, the ball having passed behind
the shoulder through to the heart. Leaving
some of the crew in charge of the boat, I struck
into the grass in search of other game. We had

steps, I strained forward and, peering in the
direction whence the bird arose, saw at my feet
a big bull-buffalo lying in the grass, with his
head toward me. Quick as thought, I raised my
rifle and fired a snap shot; fortunately for myself
and trackers, the bullet took instant effect, and
after two or three spasmodic efforts to scramble
to his feet, the buffalo sank back dead on the
grass. I shudder to think what the result
might have been had I only wounded him. I
could never understand the bull's presence
there, for it is not often that buffaloes are caught
napping in that way. Having skinned the ani-
mal, my men carried the meat to the boat.
They were walking just ahead of me, when
suddenly I saw each man throw down his
load and start back with a terrible fright. The
cry of" Mos inm! Moseme/n" (Snake! Snake!) ex-
plained the situation. Approaching, I saw
coiled around a small tree, with head defiantly
erect, a large python. The reptile had gorged
itself, and did not seem to be capable of any
great activity. I shot it through the head, and
my men carried it to the boat. Its skin subse-
quently made a handsome trophy.
The report of my rifle, when I fired at the
snake, had started a small herd of buffalo. I
heard them galloping through the swamp ahead
of us. Taking my hunter, Bongo Nsanda, with


me, I got within shot, fired and hit one of the
herd; and, not bringing the animal down, I had
to follow the tracks through swamp and plain,
and push my way through tangled grass and
into the depths of the boggy forest, before I came
up to my game. The poor wounded brute was
standing in a pool of water, and he allowed me
to approach unobserved and bowl him over.
In all my hunts I was accompanied by Bongo
Nsanda, who stood ready at hand, and often with
his heavy spear, which he preferred to a rifle,
he gave the coup-de-grdce, and ended the dying
struggle of the animal that I had shot.
Hippopotami, when guarding their young,
are excessively spiteful, and attack the natives'

hippo, with his great bony jaws, seized the stern
of the frail canoe with a terrible crunch. Fortu-
nately, the fisherman kept his balance, and was
shot out of his canoe a distance of several feet
and landed high and dry on the bank. The hip-
po, baffled in his attempt to overtake the native,
smashed and trampled to pieces the little dug-
out, as if to show the trembling native, who had
sought shelter in a tree-top, the kind of treat-
ment he would have received if good fortune
had not befriended him. This piece of infor-
mation was held out to me as an inducement to
rid mankind of so formidable a foe.
Yo ku-buma ye le, Makula ? (Won't you
kill him, Makula?) asked Bongo Nsanda,


canoes, very often upsetting them and killing
the occupants. "Ngubu mbi akijala hsi na"
(There is a very bad hippopotamus on the other
side of the river), said Bongo Nsanda to me.
Then he told me that early that morning a fish-
erman, while in his canoe attending to his nets,
was chased by this animal. The frightened fish-
erman paddled with all his might to avoid his
fierce pursuer, and had just touched the bank
with the nose of his canoe when the furious old

using my native name. I felt now, with my
experience, I could safely pit my Martini rifle
against any hippo on the river, no matter how
terrible his reputation might be. So I crossed
the river in my large canoe, fearing to use my
small one, lest the ill-conditioned old fellow
might pitch me in the air, and perhaps select
a locality which had not the advantage of
presenting soft sand or grass on which to break
my fall. Besides, in case he should charge, I




felt sure that my present canoe would stand
sound and steady.
When I reached the other side, there was our
enemy on guard over a little bay. I put my
canoe in-shore, just below the creek where he
was swimming with his head hardly above water;
then, creeping silently along the edge of the grass,
arrived in a position where I could get a good
shot at him. I fired, and struck him in the
head; my ball hit the skull where the bone was
thickest, and only maddened the brute. He
charged about in the shallow water near the
bank, snorting, and churning up the muddy
stream. Bongo Nsanda stood ready with his
heavy, loaded spear, and as the hippo came for-
ward endeavoring to find the hiding-place of the
enemy who had wounded him, Bongo Nsanda
hurled his spear in behind the brute's shoulder,
the keen blade piercing the body to the heart.
The fishermen, attracted by the gunshot, were
delighted to see their old enemy killed, and a
deep-drawn sigh of relief escaped from the fisher-
man who but the day before had been com-
pelled by the hippopotamus to make such an
undignified landing from his canoe.
Bongo Nsanda was a renowned hunter and
trapper. He had caught a great many hip-
popotami in his pitfall-traps, and many a

"tusker" and buffalo had become victims to his
weighted spear, cunningly suspended from the
branches of the towering forest trees. Passing
through a wood one day, following up the new
track of a buffalo, Bongo Nsanda called my
attention to an old and unused pitfall which
he had made, a few yards from the river bank,
in the trail of a hippopotamus. Having left
it unwatched for several days while he was on
a trading trip, one morning, upon paying it a
visit, he was much astonished to see that it was
full. During his absence, a hippo had fallen
in and died, and a crocodile, attracted by the
scent, had climbed up the bank and got into
the pit, where he gorged himself upon the hippo,
and was unable to get out again, but was still
alive. As a large trading-canoe was passing at
the time, Bongo Nsanda thought it best to sell
the contents of his trap as it stood, thereby sav-
ing himself the bother of killing the reptile.
So he hailed the canoe, and, having made a
satisfactory bargain, the purchasers proceeded
to kill the crocodile by spearing it. One man,
however, losing his footing, fell in, and was
caught by the crocodile. Fortunately he was
rescued alive, though severely wounded.
Bongo Nsanda, like all natives, was very
superstitious, and thought this trap, which had




been the cause of so much bloodshed, had bet-
ter be left alone. He had a foreboding that he
himself might in some way be the next victim if
he used it again.
Rivalries and fights are by no means con-
fined to human beings; the cries of the savage
animals of African jungles engaged in deadly
combat often break the silence of those wild
regions. The unwieldy hippopotamus, strolling

proof that the fight had been fierce and pro-
tracted. The ground was broken and torn up
in every direction; saplings, grass, and bushes
were crushed and stamped into the muddy
In the upper reaches of the Congo, when the
wet season, or ".Mpila," is prolonged, the river
rises to a great height, flooding huge tracts of
bush and plain, and compelling the different


along a buffalo path, is charged unawares by one
of those ill-tempered animals. The dispute cul-
minates in a duel between the hippo's keen,
gleaming tusks and the sharp-pointed horns of the
buffalo bull.
The result of such an encounter depends
usually upon the advantage given by the lay of
the land to one of the combatants; as, should the
buffalo have an unimpeded rush at his enemy,
the hippo would receive such a blow as would
render his ultimate dispatch a very easy matter.
But should the slower moving but heavier hip-
popotamus have any opportunity to use his formi-
dable tusks, the buffalo would have no chance at
all. I remember hearing such an encounter; I
did not actually witness the fray, but a visit to
the scene of it after the battle was a sufficient

wild animals to assume for the time an amphib-
ious nature, as they must swim from place to place
in search of food.
During the continuance of such a season the
natives are enabled to kill off a great many buf-
faloes. They will surround a small herd that
happens to be swimming together. Then they
throw long wooden poles in the water all around
the animals to prevent their progress and ex-
haust them. A buffalo, under these conditions,
is a very harmless creature, and easily approached
and killed by the natives with their spears.
It is not unusual to see an elephant swimming
across the river; and this monster is as helpless
as any when away from terra firma. He has
very little power when in deep water, as, to
breathe, he must keep his trunk raised above




the surface of the water, and is thus deprived
of a formidable weapon.

Great strides had been made on the Congo
since I first arrived, in '83. The natives of the
wild regions of the Congo Basin, who had never
seen a white man until '77, when Stanley passed
through their country on his marvelous jour-
ney "Through the Dark Continent," having
placed themselves under the protection of Stan-
ley's expedition, L'Association Internationale
Africaine," had by treaties ceded their terri-
tory to this society. In 1885, this territory
was recognized by all the civilized powers as
L'_4at Inde endant du Congo (The Congo Free
In 1885 the Berlin Conference distinctly de-
fined the limits of this new State, and this part
of equatorial Africa was then exempt from Eu-
ropean disputes. Better transport on the lower
river was being organized, and constantly new
steamers were being built and launched on
the Upper Congo. The State had added Le
Stanley," a stern-wheeler seventy feet long, to
their fleet, the Livingstone Inland Mission had
built and floated their steamer the "Henry
Reed," and, besides these, the Baptist Mission
twin-screw steamer Peace" was already navi-
gating the river.
This increased service of boats greatly im-
proved the means of communication between
the Stations. Letters were now received every
three or four months. Only those who have
traveled far away from home and dear friends
can understand the pleasure a letter gives to one
surrounded by wild and ignorant people, with
whom, no matter how friendly, he has no thought
or feeling in common.
At times when one feels indeed isolated and
cut off, the arrival of home letters puts him again
in touch with the dear ones at home. If disap-
pointed in receiving a mail, we try to account for
the failure by gloomy suggestions, or think, Why
have I not received a letter ? perhaps because
of severe illness or even death! A steamer will
sometimes arrive without letters. Intense is the
suspense of a disappointed man, until the next
arrival of a steamer. Friends are utterly unable
to imagine the amount of pleasure they convey
to the wanderer in distant climes, by a thought-

ful little note of kindness from home. The
postal service, in wild, far-away countries, is
erratic and unreliable. Sometimes six months
will elapse without an opportunity of sending
letters up into the interior. But the little packet
of letters is all the more heartily welcomed after
months of anxious waiting.
For my own part I shall ever remember how,
when I was deep in the heart of Africa, away
from friends and countrymen, and with none of
my own color within hundreds of miles of me,
the home letter, with its messages of affectionate
remembrance, refreshed me, and how the arrival
of the tattered envelope, well worn and covered
with strange postmarks, with its assurance that
I was not forgotten, formed a bright event in
my lonely travels.

My Station at Lukolela had been founded in
order to secure rights to a certain territory by
occupation of it, but now the limits of the
Congo Free State and of French and Portuguese
possessions in this part of Africa had been
definitely settled, several posts founded for simi-
lar reasons were to be abandoned. It was a
great blow for me to know that Lukolela was
among the doomed. I received orders from
headquarters that I was to proceed one hundred
miles down-river to Bolobo, with my garrison
and all its belongings. It was further intimated
that a small steel boat would be placed at my
disposal for the transportation. The natives of
Lukolela and the surrounding country, with all
of whom I was on the best of terms, gathered
together and protested most strongly against
my leaving them; they offered me all kinds of
inducements to stay. Ivory, goats, sheep, fowls,
bananas, were to be mine, ad libitum, if only I
would remain. But although I regretted leaving
a people who showed so many proofs of affection
for me, the orders were imperative and there-
fore had to be obeyed.
We exchanged parting gifts. luka, Mungaba,
Mpuk6, Manjimba, all brought their goats and
sheep, and Bongo Nsanda, the childish but cour-
ageous and faithful old hunter, who had many a
time occupied a dangerous corner with me in the
tangled grass or the dark jungles of the neigh-
boring forest, gave me his long cherished spear
as a keepsake.




Our departure from Lukolela was as grotesque
as it was sad. The natives crowded along the
river bank, all with sorrowful countenances, and
exchanged parting words with us as we dropped
down-stream. The means I had at my disposal
for the removal of my garrison were one steel
whale-boat, twenty-five feet long, and one large
dug-out canoe; and in these were to be con-
veyed twenty men, goats, sheep, fowls, ducks,
furniture, my own belongings, and those of my
men. We looked like an itinerant menagerie
or troupe of tumblers. Men, tables, chairs, goats,
ducks, boxes, mats, etc., were all mixed up so
indescribably that the superstitious natives along
the banks of the river above Bolobo fled in dis-
may as the tangled mass of men, animals, and
freight piled into two small boats floated past
their villages.
It required most careful management on the
part of the men to get in and out among the
animals and furniture. The flotilla was not one
likely to command respect, but I was most
heartily welcomed, when at last I arrived at
my destination, by my old friend Lieutenant
Liebrechts, a Belgian artillery officer, who was
in command of Bolobo Station. I was right
glad again to shake hands with Liebrechts; we
were very old friends, having occupied the same
quarters together at Leopoldville in 1883. What
a change in this Station at Bolobo since I first
saw it in 1883! There had been much trouble
between whites and natives then, and the Station
houses had been burned to the ground; even
now the grounds were encircled by a high, stout
palisade. Nice, well-kept houses and stores
had been built. There were also flocks of goats
and sheep, good poultry-yards full of fowls and
ducks, and immense plantations of sweet pota-
toes, maize, and peanuts, and gardens of vege-
tables. What was more important still, the
relations with the formerly unfriendly and hostile
natives were now of a most satisfactory nature
in every way.
The villagers of all the surrounding country
were constantly visiting the Station and ex-
changing presents.
Markets had been re-established for the sale
of food, pottery, and native produce, and long-
standing feuds between the different tribes were
amicably settled by the happy intervention of

Liebrechts. It is such as he who are required
to gain the confidence of the African savage,
men with a keen sense of justice, and the will
to enforce it. My life at Bolobo was a happy
one. Liebrechts and I spent our time in visit-
ing the different chiefs, superintending Station
matters, and making little excursions into the in-
terior in search of guinea-fowl, partridges, ducks,
or the more formidable buffalo of the plain. I
shall always remember with the greatest pleas-
ure our strolls amidst the banana and palm-
groves of these Central African villages, our
more extended tramps through swamp and
forest in search of the buffalo, and the pleasant
chats we had over the sentry-fires of the Station.
At Bolobo, in former days, the buffalo used
to come even into the Station. On one occa-
sion there were three white men living there,
and news was brought in that a herd of buffalo
were just outside. They immediately equipped
themselves for the chase and started out, follow-
ing the tracker. They had gone about twenty
yards only, when they could see the herd two
hundred yards off. Before catching sight of the
brutes they had been eager for the sport; but
the nearer they approached their game the more
did their stock of valor decrease; so much so,
that when they got well within shot, and saw an
old buffalo turn his head in their direction, prick
up his ears, and assume a very inquiring attitude,
one of these hunters discovered that he had not
got the right boots on for hunting. His com-
panions most generously offered to escort him
back to the Station and assist him in making the
necessary alterations. They started to walk
back, but with every step the matter appeared
more urgent. They broke from a jog-trot into
a regular racing pace. Arrived at the Station,
breath recovered, and boots found, it was de-
cided not to renew the chase, as the delay caused
by this unfortunate oversight had put them com-
pletely out of the vein for shooting!
Formerly, Ibaka was the most powerful chief
of Bolobo district. His name was mentioned
by the natives of the surrounding villages with
a great deal of reverential awe. But his vil-
lage had become disunited; each of his sons
was at enmity with him, and Manga, Gatula,
Lingenji, Nko6, Ngai Utsaka, the chiefs of the
neighboring territory, being keen traders, had



obtained numbers of fighting men, and Ibaka's
word, which at one time commanded instant
obedience, was now but little regarded. His
title of chief of Bolobo was of small value; he
had lost all influence. During my stay at Bo-
lobo many a time he applied to us for assistance
against his neighbors, and on several occasions
he arrived at our gates in full flight, chased by
his own sons, armed with heavy sticks, who
sought by this method
of persuasion, to make
their father agree to an
immediate and com-
plete division of the
little wealth he still
possessed, or to gain
his consent to any
other extortionate de- .
mand that might have
suggested itself to
their inventive minds.
Poor old Ibaka was
a well-meaning fellow,
and was very favor-
ably disposed toward
the white men. He
was, indeed, anxious
to be on a friendly
footing with his white
neighbors, but the
other villagers were
jealous of him, and KING IB
talked him into some trifling but irritating
acts of arrogance toward the Station, which re-
sulted, a few months before my arrival, in a little
war between Ibaka and Liebrechts, who was in
command of the Station. As a punishment for
his aggressiveness, Ibaka's town was burned to
the ground.
There is an institution among these peoplewhich
cannot be more correctly described than by term-
ing it the Order of the Tall Hat." There is in
each district a chief who has proved by his war-
like success that he, of all the chiefs, is the most
powerful. A public acknowledgment is made
of this fact, and the elected individual is carried
around on men's shoulders through the different
villages, the bearers proclaiming to all that he
is the Mokunj6 Mon6n6 (Big Chief), and that
in future all tribal disputes are to be submitted

to his judgment. Upon his return to the vil-
lage, amidst dancing and singing and general
feasting and joy, the Fetishman, or charm
doctor, places on the chief's head a tall hat, re-
sembling the "stovepipe" of civilized countries,
but which is built with a brim at the crown, and
not at the base. This hat is hereafter worn on
all great occasions, and the wearer retains it until
his death, when a new candidate is elected. In

times gone by Ibaka had received the honor of
election to this proud order, but, unfortunately,
during the trouble with Liebrechts the tower-
ing emblem of peculiar distinction was burned.
A sympathizing white man, traveling through
the country, heard of the old chief's hatless con-
dition, and presented him with a red opera-hat
of exaggerated construction, which had proba-
bly in years past formed a prominent feature in a
pantomime or burlesque, or had been used with
great effect by some comic singer or wandering
The possession of this truly wonderful cre-
ation of the theatrical costumer made Ibaka a
proud and happy man. His delight in his new
decoration would have been unalloyed were it
not for a haunting fear that some one might
steal it. He kept it, when not in use, in our Sta-



tion house, and called for it only on state occa-
sions and big public drinking-bouts. I insisted
on his continual care of this valuable acquisi-
tion, and would place it on the side of his head
for him, and impress upon him the necessity of
wearing it in that position, as we white men
were very particular about such details. Old
Ibaka was intensely superstitious, and was con-
stantly with the Fetishman, who was kept busy
manufacturing new charms to protect him against
imaginary evils. The poor old chief was easily
gulled, and would accept from anybody anything
that had the semblance of a charm.
One day Ibaka arrived back from some pro-

longed native festival. The old fellow bore evi-
dence of having taken more than his share of
the strong wine. He had worn the red opera-
hat on this occasion, and he now brought it to
the Station to see it returned to its place of safe-
keeping. Upon closing it up I noticed a mys-
terious little package, and was informed that it
was a monkanda monganga (fetish letter). It
was, in fact, a Mohammedan prayer, given to
him by one of our boat's crew, as a safeguard
against all forms of death. It struck me that
a red opera-hat with a Mohammedan prayer
pinned in it was, indeed, a strange "find" in
the wilds of Central Africa.

* rQ~
~ ~ 4" F e- fd&",


ALONG the turnpike, white and broad,
That through the toll-gate leads to town,
From field and orchard round about,
Three pretty maids come blooming out
To greet the traveler riding down.
Comes Bouncing Betty, flushed and fair,
And Black-eyed Sue, with saucy stare,
And breezy flaunt of yellow hair,
And at their feet,
White Marguerite,
Still smiling from her morning prayer.

The warm wind blows across the road,
And lifts the dust in sudden swirls;
Now here, now there, to left, to right,

They gleam upon the traveler's sight,
As on through shade and sun he whirls.
Gay Betty gives him joyous chase,
All glowing with the noiseless race,
And Susan nods with jaunty grace,
And at their feet,
Still Marguerite
Smiles purely up into his face.

They will not leave him till he turns
Into the staid and quiet town.
Then, looking backward, from between
Trim cottages and gardens green,
He sees the dusty distance brown;
Sees Bouncing Betty, flushed and fair,
Pause by the bars with wistful air,
And Susan's eyes shine through her hair,
And at their feet,
White Marguerite
Droop softly to her evening prayer.



WHEN our dear bird died, last winter, he had
lived in our family nearly sixteen years. How
did we catch him at first ? We did not catch
him. He came to us as freely as if he had
known us always, and wished us to adopt him.
It happened in this way. It was in the fall,
when ordinary birds were scurrying south as
fast as their wings could carry them; but as our
farmer walked away
from the kitchen
i :,r. l re. .: I ,

,- T rrl
I i ,,, i

--- .-. --~- -- .--

by the walk, he saw this bird looking for break-
fast as calmly as if he had just stepped out of the
house for a breath of fresh air.
Surprised at the sight of the stranger, the
man in passing the tree put up his hand by
the bird, when, instead of flying off in affright,
he quietly hopped down on the proffered perch.
He saw nothing alarming in being asked into
the house on a cold morning, and so held on

tightly and rode in state to the kitchen. There
he seemed equally at home. The whole family
assembled to look at him, and when the mother
took him on her finger he did not offer to fly
off--not even when she danced him to the
rollicking ballad Rory O'Moore."
Indeed, he enjoyed this welcome so much he
was quite willing to hop into the cage we brought
him, and take it for his house and home.
He was a droll little waif, looking as unlike
j:, .!.:.. nr bird we knew, as a baby in long
i.!.:ithi: i..-.s unlike his future self arrayed in
-.:II.-.- rail and white tie.
Bi.u. th.:'ugh we guessed at his name with the
u,_ I i 1.i nce of ignorance, we expended most
of our wonder over his friendli-
ness,-for who ever heard of

a bird who knew no better than
to trust himself with people ?
-and over his presence in the
country at that time of year.
-Whatever the reason that he
was left behind, the grudge he
Sowed his kin lasted him all his
life; for spring after spring
when the orioles came back
they tried to make friends, but
even when they flew to the
cage, he scorned them. Per-
haps this feud made him more

friendly with us.
1But I, e, like the orioles, had planned to go
away for the winter, and could not stay even on
his account. We left him at the farmhouse,
where he was sure of kind care, and read with
great interest the bulletins sent about his health
and growing accomplishments, together with
the neighbors' suggestions about his name.
Some one announced that he was a golden
robin, and when the family man of science set
eyes on him, the next spring, we found that it
was true; for is not Golden Robin a name for the
Baltimore oriole ? Iceruls Baltimore. our sci-

- .


entific man gravely termed him. We were glad
to know who he was, in good set terms; but with
all respect to his Icterus ancestors, and to
Lord Baltimore, to the colors of whose shield
orioles are said to owe their family title, our lazy
tongues preferred the nickname Orie." So,
for years Orie was a dear family name, and now
it brings up many a pretty picture to recall happy
memories of former years, and is linked with
other dear names and family happenings.
The second year he was with us, we stayed at
home in the country. Such a season! Snow
lay in the woods, where it did not drift, at a
depth of six feet. Our summer driveways were
both hopelessly blockaded, and the road across
the open fields, by which alone we could reach
the main road, though plowed every morning,
was often blown so full by noon that no trace
of a road was left. We rarely went off the
piazza except on snowshoes, and in our depen-
dence upon indoor amusement let Orie fly about
the house most of the time, and found him an
entertaining member of the family.
One morning we heard a mysterious whistle,
and were greatly perplexed to know where it
could come from; but traced it at last to the
family sitting-room. Whenever any one walked
down the hall to the door, however, the whist-
ling would abruptly cease, and a long silence
would follow the intrusion. We suspected Orie,
and tried to surprise him by creeping down the
hall stairs and stealing a look into the room
in that way; but he was too wary. We caught
him at last only by tiptoeing along the hall and
peeking through the door. He was learning to
sing, and, unlike some beginners, was too modest
to face an audience. It was amusing to hear his
attempts, such queer little broken notes and qua-
vers. He kept practicing, though, when we were
out of sight, till he felt confident enough to sing
a few notes before us. After that he improved
rapidly, until he was ready to "talk" to us when-
ever he had anything to say, and soon took to the
pretty way of calling out good-night to us as we
filed up the stairs with our flickering candles.
We usually let him out of his cage in time
for breakfast, and he would fly across the hall
into the dining-room as eagerly as if we were
depending on him to carve the steak or pour
the coffee. We gave him a butter-plate, putting

it at one side of the table with whatever we
thought good for his breakfast; but he had no
idea of being limited in any way.
When very hungry, he would fly down to the
table and run across the cloth, making out his

_ =0

I .,


bill-of-fare as he went. The butter-dish and
syrup-pitcher attracted him most strongly. He
plunged his bill into the butter as if the Eskimos
had taught him the proper food for a cold winter.
The syrup-pitcher was too high for him, but by
standing tiptoe on the saucer and stretching his
neck he could take the drop in the spout.
One day the children very nearly lost him,
by taking him into the woods for a bath. It
was the prettiest spot in all the brook. Just a.
tiny pool with mossy banks, and ferns arching
over the water. They could not rest till their
dear Orie had bathed there At home, he had
a pleasant, roomy house, for the grandmother's
garret had been ransacked, and he had been
advanced from the small hanging brass cage to a.
spacious four-story mansion mounted on a high
rolling standard that made it an easy matter to
move the cage out of the wind or into the sun,

and raised it above the jump of a cat-the door
being barely within reach of the mischievous
three-year-old. This brought the top of the cage
so high we could just reach up to hang a shawl
over it. For Orie was well cared for. In cold
weather he was kept in the hall or dining-room;
in the milder days he was taken out on the piazza
for the warm hours, and brought in at night; and
l^ "s~-i' .-.-_.- 2_- '.7.":;.*^ ,**:.- .- y .-* "-'--. c:-. .- -- ,-f- ..,----."_ o

He had few fears, inside the house, though
a pair of snowshoes always scared him, even
when he saw us strap them on before starting
for our walks; and he did not like big dogs to
come too near the cage. People never alarmed
him. In fact, if a stranger came to the cage
and teasingly put his finger between the wires,
Orie scolded indignantly, and often pecked so


in summer he lived on the piazza, but shawls were
carefully pinned over the cage every evening.
When we cleaned the cage, he often flew down
and pecked at our hands; and when the slide was
taken out, he plagued us by trying to creep through
the crack into the room. When he got out, and we
tried to catch him, he led us a chase, flying from
the top of one picture-frame to another and then
out fromroomtoroom; for he missed the freedom
of the house, even in his big cage. At times he
would fly from one end of the cage to the other
from mere restlessness, but at others he would
dash against the wires in terror at sight of some-
thing outside the window--probably a hawk.

hard at the taunting member that he drew
blood from it.
He was as set in his likes and dislikes as any
other old bachelor, from brown bread and oat-
meal--both of which he detested--to the
people he saw. In the family, he cared more for
the mother than for any one else. After a
long course of practice, he attained great finish
as a musician, keeping the love-song of the wild
orioles throughout the year. He never sang
this to a gentleman, and it was a mark of pecul-
iar favor if a lady admirer heard it. But the
mother had only to speak to him in her loving,
gentle tones, for him to begin bowing and sing-



ing in his sweetest way the tender, exquisite song
we hear from the trees in spring.
Every morning when she came downstairs
he sang to her-unless she passed through the
room too hurriedly to speak to him, when he
would scold in an aggrieved way. Whenever
he spent the days in the house, if he heard her
singing upstairs, he would break out in loud,
ringing, joyous tones; and when the house was
still, if he called and she answered him from up-
stairs, he would hold long conversations with her.
But, conciliate him as I might, I could never
get him to sing to me. I had to act as house-
maid, valet, and surgeon for him. He had to
be kept in the cage when he wished to be
out, and be put back when he got out; when he
moulted--being a caged bird of sedentary
habits- the long wing and tail feathers came
out very hard, and I had to catch him, hold him
no matter how he wriggled and writhed, and
pull them out one by one. Worst of all, he once
broke off one tip of his bill, and the other tip
had to be cut to match before he could eat
with his usual ease.
Such personal indignities he could not for-
give. Whenever I came near the cage he be-
gan to scold, and if I offered him my finger for
a perch I paid for the affront with my blood.
But, one morning before breakfast I came
downstairs and through the hall to the piazza
with a step so unusually light that he took me
for the mother, and began singing the song re-
served for her morning greeting. I was so
surprised and delighted, I hurried to the cage;
but the instant he saw who it was he stopped
singing and scolded furiously--he had been
cheated into singing to me! As he grew older,
he became less chary of his music, and as he
outgrew the need of the more humiliating atten-
tions, he gradually forgave me, and now and
then treated me to one of his sweet songs.
When any of the family had been out for a
walk or drive, and he saw them coming up the
road, he would call out, as if heartily glad to see
them back. And when we came home after an
absence of months, even if we came at night,
when he was fluffed out into a round ball with
his head tucked down in his feathers, the mo-
ment we went and spoke to him, he would wake
up and sing out a hearty how-do-you-do to us.
VOL. XVII.- 8.

But though Orie showed so much affection
for us, he cared no more for the birds that shared
the cage with him than he did for his oriole
visitors. A weak, lame little nonpareil who was
with him for a year or two was treated in a
shameful way. The big autocrat would start
off the perch, aiming straight for the spot where
he sat, so that the poor nonpareil had to choose
between being flown into or scrambling meekly
out of the way. The result was that he wore a
crushed, apologetic air, and always kept an eye
on Orie, sometimes hiding in a dark comer of
the bottom of the cage to escape being knocked
off his perch in the old fellow's restless moods.
It must be confessed that our dear boy was
selfish. There was a pine-grosbeak with him,
who was the most peaceable, dignified of birds;
but, though Orie had his foot on a favorite mor-
sel, if we held something out to Pinicola, Orie
would drop his food and fly up to take possession
of Pinicola's, for fear it was better than his own.
At different times, a catbird, bluebird, pine-
finch, and some orioles and goldfinches were
with Orie, but the canaries were the only birds
that ever dared to treat him to more than a
taste of his own arrogance. One of them, little
mite that he was, used to open his bill and
raise his wings threateningly when on the perch
beside Orie, and drove him all over the cage,
hovering over the big fellow's head, in the king-
bird and hawk style, and when out in the room
the little fellow gave him no rest for the sole of
his foot altogether furnishing the old tyrant
food for reflection.
But,.in his long life, Orie survived all the
other birds, and for several years before his
death had the cage all to himself.
As with other caged birds, his plumage never
reached the richness of coloring that the wild
birds attain; but his pale orange was very pretty
against his black head and back, we thought,
and we loved him just as well.
He had the strong legs and claws and useful
bill that mark his family. He was so fond of his
swing, though it had a stiff, jerky motion that
would have taxed weaker legs, and creaked on
its wires alarmingly, that he often slept on it up
in the warm top of his house.
If there was stiff, rattling paper on the bot-
tom of the cage, or if for any other reason Orie



did not want to fly down, he would drop to the
lowest perch, swing himself over till his body
hung vertically, and, holding on tight with his
claws, stretch out to his full length, snatch a
billful of food from the saucer, and then swing
himself back to an upright position.
He used his bill as a crowbar. His door
swung out from the side of the cage, and, cling-
ing to it, he would try to pry it away from the
cage--he could open the door a little, why
not enough to let himself out?
It was interesting to see the different ways in
which Orie and Pinicola ate. Pinicola preferred
to have his food in the saucer or between the
wires, where he nibbled daintily at it. If forced
to take it in his bill, he held it out "at arm's
length," showing great skill in balancing it and
eating at the same time. But the grasping, im-
petuous Orie insisted on taking the whole black-
berry, or whatever it was, right into his long bill,
and then, unable to hold it and eat at the same
time, would put it under his foot, and, if it was
a juicy fruit, thrust his bill deep into the center
and drink up the juice.
Fruits of every kind, from strawberries and
apples to bananas and raisins, he thought espe-
cially delectable. Beefsteak, cake, pies, sugar,
ice-cream, he could enjoy. He preferred his
potatoes mashed, but liked baked ones if they
were buttered for him.
At meals we took him whatever we had, and
when in the dining-room he flew round the cage
anxiously till we brought him something. If he
was in the hall, and heard us at the table, he
would scold loudly till we gave him his meal.
For his natural food he kept a taste, too, eat-
ing flies if we caught them for him, and even
chasing after a miller occasionally, if one strayed
between the bars. Ants had a fascination for
him. The way they affected him was amusing.
The instant he got one firmly under his claw and
saw its legs squirm, he was seized with the ner-
vous feeling that it was crawling over his body,
and while he stood on it would turn and hur-
riedly stroke first one wing and then the other, as
if to brush it off. It always took him a long time
to eat an ant, he had so much brushing to do.
He was as fond of chickweed as a canary, and

enjoyed picking locust-blossoms, violets, or other
flowers, and eating the tender petals.
With all this variety of diet he never had dys-
pepsia the more's the wonder At times he
was a little ailing, had a slight cold or something
of the kind, but a few red bird-peppers were al-
most sure to restore him. He was so fond of
peppers that if he saw the bottle, he would fly
against the wires for it as eagerly as he did for
the syrup-pitcher.
When he felt ill, he acted quite like some other
sick people. He was unusually gentle, and
rather glad to be petted. At such times he
fluffed his feathers about him and answered us
in very mild, weak tones, and if we offered him
a finger would sometimes alight on it and sit for
several moments, pecking us gently the while.
But, however ill he was, he would never sub-
mit to being stroked or taken in the hand he
liked his own free will too well for that.
We were away during the last year of his life.
He was very friendly with the family where
we left him, and would take food from the
chubby hand of the baby when she was held
up to the cage.
The very day before he died, he was out among
the plants, sang to the family as sweetly as ever,
and seemed as well as usual when he went to
bed; but the next morning they found him dead
in his cage.
We never realized how dear our little pet was
to us until we lost him. When we came into the
house there was no sweet voice to sing out a
welcome to us, the rooms seemed strangely empty
without his cage, and we sadly missed his merry
For a long time we could not sit down to a
meal without thinking of him, for there was a
little plate that should be filled, and a leaf of
tender lettuce or celery, a nut, or taste of jelly
- some favorite morsel of his to be taken to him.
If we went out in the fields, there was the sweet
clover to bring back to him; if into the woods,
it was a bit of bark or a lichen-covered twig
that would please him--always something to
remind us of the dear bird that for sixteen years
had been a loved and loving member of our
home circle.







CANDIDATES for in-field positions are usually
too numerous to admit of their all practicing to-
gether, as would-be out-fielders may do. On
this account it is customary for them to take
turns, in parties of perhaps four at a time.
The others, who are obliged to wait their turn,
make themselves useful as batsmen to the rest;
or they may stand about half way between the
out-fielders and the man batting to them, and
thereby get an occasional ball, besides returning
the ball to the batter for the out-fielders. To
those who take the bases balls are sent in turn,
or occasionally at random, which they field over
to the first-base man. He usually practices
throwing to third base. The batsman contrives
to give each man a variety of balls, mostly
grounders, such as each would be called upon
to take in a game. An occasional short high fly
is knocked, and once in a while a sharp liner.
While the ball is sometimes batted directly at the
fielder, the best practice for him is to have it sent
frequently upon one side or the other of the place
upon which he stands. Thus, in the dase of the
third-base man, whose position is a few feet inside
the line to the home-plate and a little behind the
line from second to.third, balls should be batted
not only along the front line occasionally, but
very often several feet toward the short-stop.
One of the best arrangements between a short-
stop and a third-base man, is for the latter to
take all slow hits coming where he can run in
and handle them, while the short-stop plays what
is known as a "deep field," that is considerably
back of the base line, and takes whatever balls the
third-base man cannot reach on account of their
speed or direction. In this way much more
ground can be satisfactorily covered by these two
men. When men are practicing these plays, the
batter should send some slow, bounding balls

directed toward the short-stop, and the third-
base man should run in on them and handle
them. Then a sharp drive should be sent,
which the short-stop will receive, as the other
could not reach it in time. It is not a diffi-
cult matter for two men to acquire this style of
play, and when once it is learned it makes a very
strong fielding combination.
The second-base man plays about on a line
with his base, but away from it toward first some
twenty feet or so. The batter should send the
balls on both sides of him, extending his field as
much as possible. In batting over the second-
base bag, however, the batter should not drive
the ball too fast, or it will be practically a base-
hit, and too many such drives tend to discourage
the player who zealously tries for each. A
slow hit is one of the most difficult for a
second-base man to handle, particularly if he
plays well back in order to cover ground. It
is not so much that he can not run up rapidly
on it, but that it usually comes to him just about
the spot most cut up by the base line, and where
an irregular bound puts it out of the question
for him to field it cleanly. On this account the
batter should give the second-base man plenty
of this very kind to take, in order that he may
acquire.the habit of rapid judgment as to how
far in he should meet the ball. A fly should be
occasionally batted almost over the first-base
man's head, just a little too high for that player
to reach. The second-base man can take many
of these, and practice soon shows him that he
dan cover a deal of ground there.
In batting to the first-base man, balls should be
knocked that force him to use good judgment as
to whether he should go after them or let the
second-base man take them. These and slow
grounders along the base-line are the ones upon
which he will need the most practice.
While the in-field and out-field are thus getting
their general practice, the batteries are usually
"limbering up," although the pitcher should be


- c>;N
'` z-;-~:$ ,-~ 6-<

careful not to indulge in a severe ..
delivery until he faces a batsman,
as it is too great a strain upon him
for nothing. He should strive merely
to get the muscles of his arm working easily and
freely, while the catcher also warms himself up
gradually to the work.
Batting practice can be had in two ways: first,
by placing the batter at the plate and stopping
the ordinary practice in the in-field; second, by
stationing him out to one side, where he will
not materially interfere with the practice. The
latter is preferable, as accomplishing more work
in the same time.
The regular pitchers ought not to be obliged
to do all the pitching for this batting practice.
In fact, it is best to have them do only as much
of it as they can do without getting at all tired or
listless. Two or three men who throw well and
have a moderate control of the curves should
be brought out to do a greater part of this rather
tedious work. Nothing is more demoralizing to
a good pitcher than to keep him pitching for
batting practice, until he becomes tired and
careless. Each man should be given a certain
number of hits, until all have had a turn. After
this it is wise to select the most promising nine
men, and, arranging them in their positions,
to place a tenth man at the bat and one or two
substitutes on the bases. Then let the playing
be as if it were a regular game. This gives a
new and added interest just at the time when
the men are perhaps becoming a little tired.
After fifteen minutes of this work, the captain,
or (if he be not a successful batter for the prac-
tice) some other player, takes the bat and ball
and, standing on the home-plate, knocks the ball
to the in-field or out-field, as he chooses, calling
out at the same time what play to make with the
ball. In this he should give every man some
difficult play to execute; such, for instance,

as stationing a runner on third with instructions
to try to come in on a fly after the ball is caught,
and then knocking a fly to the out-fielder and
having him send the ball in to the plate to
intercept the man. A few double plays in the
in-field, some practice in catching a runner
between bases, a little throwing to second by
the catcher, and some fielding home by the
in-field should complete the work of the day.
Now, a few words regarding the objects to be
aimed at in this general practice. First, as re-
gards throwing. Every one has what may be
called a natural way of throwing the ball, but
this so-called "natural way usually means a per-
verted method acquired through carelessness, or
attempts to throw too hard before the arm is
sufficiently accustomed to the work. As a result
of this, there are few boys or college men who
may not learn a great deal in the matter of throw-
ing by careful attention for a few weeks to one
or two points. The first man to whom attention
should be called is the man who takes a hop,
skip, and jump before he lets the ball go. No
man can run fast enough to beat a thrown ball,
and consequently it takes longer to carry the
ball part way and throw it the rest, than it does
to throw it all the way. Therefore the first thing
for the man who has acquired this trick to do, is
to stand still when he gets the ball, and then
throw it. The opposite fault to this, is that of





leaning away when throwing. A man gets a
sharp grounder, and throws the ball before he
has recovered his balance, and the force of his
throw is thereby greatly diminished. While this
is not nearly so common as the other fault, it is
quite as difficult to correct. The happy medium
between the two is the man who receives the
ball and, quickly straightening himself, drives it
while leaning forward; and, as it leaves his hand,
takes his single step in the direction of his throw.
So much for the feet and body, now for the
arm, hand, and wrist.
The best and most accurate throwers are those
who continually practice what is called a "short-
arm" throw. To get an idea of the first steps
toward the acquisition of this method, let the
player take the ball in his hand, and bringing it
back just level with his ear, planting both feet
firmly, attempt to throw the ball without using
the legs or body. At first the throw is awkward
and feeble, but constant practice speedily results
in moderate speed and peculiar accuracy. After
Steady practice at this
until quite a pace is ac-
,:-' quired, the man may
,1.- be allowed to use his
i i legs and body to in-
,l c crease the s speed, still,
S' however, sticking to

^*^ I,/ 9'
the straight, / A I
forward mo- .-...
tion of the /
hand, wrist, -
and the arm.
of the throw
is, of course, keeping the hand in a line with the

arm and not swinging it out to the side and away
from the head, where much of the accuracy and
some of the quickness is lost. Certain catchers
have brought this style of throw to such a pitch


,- ,\

-- -

of perfection as to get the ball away toward second
almost on the instant it strikes the hands. They
aid the throwing by a slight twist of the body.
The quickness of this method of throwing
is, of course, due to the fact that there is no
delay caused by drawing back the arm past the
head or by turning the body around, which lose
so much valuable time. Its accuracy is due to the
fact that it is easier to aim at an object with a
hand in front of the eyes than when it is out
beyond the shoulder. One can easily ascertain
this by comparing the ease of pointing the index
finger at any object when the hand is in front
of the face, with the difficulty of doing so
when the arm is extended out sideways from the
body. Still further, in the almost round-arm
throwing, which many players use, the hand
describes an arc, and the ball must be let go
at the proper point to go true. If let go at
any other point in the swing, the throw is cer-
tain to be wild. In the other method, that of
straight-arm throwing, any variation is far more
likely to be a variation in height only, and in
that respect the variation may be greater without
serious error. A straight-arm throw sends a ball
much easier to handle than the side-arm style.
The latter is likely to curve, bound irregularly,
and be more inconvenient for the baseman.



In-field throwing should be on a line, as much
as possible, and there are few distances to be
covered there that require any up and over "
throwing. In getting a ball in from a deep
out-field, the distance is sometimes so great that
none but professionals or exceptionally strong
throwers can drive the ball in except by giving
it quite an upward direction; even then, how-
ever, one should be careful to keep the ball
fairly well down, as it is far better to have it
reach the catcher on the bound than to go sail-
ing over his head. Keep it down is a cardi-
nal rule when fielding to the home-plate from
the field. If a low ball be thrown, it is easier for
the catcher to touch the runner, who in a tight
place will invariably slide as close to the ground
as possible. A high throw gives the catcher al-
most no chance to recover and put the ball on
the man, whereas a low throw brings his hands
in the most advantageous position for touching
the runner. The same is, of course, true in the
case of the catcher's throws to the second or the
other bases, to put out the runner.
The position of the fingers when throwing a
ball is a point upon which there are individual
differences of opinion; but the majority of the
best throwers in the country use principally
the fore-finger and middle-finger in giving direc-
tion to the ball. Further particulars regarding
special throwing will be noted in a later article
upon the individual positions.
Handling the ball well is quite as important an
element in the game as throwing. By the non-
playing spectator there is little difference noted
between the various ways of catching a fly or
picking up a grounder. Muffs and fumbles are the
only errors of this kind which excite their adverse
comment; but, in point of fact, there are errors
almost as serious which entirely escape their
observation. A player may hang back from a
slow hit so long that even though he pick it up
well and throw it accurately the runner will.
nevertheless reach his base. Indeed, the scorer
may give it as a base-hit, and the fielder escape
a deserved error. Again, a fielder may, by not
starting quickly enough, be obliged to turn and
run with a fly so that he catches it while facing
away from the plate, and is thus unable to field
the ball in, in time to intercept a runner who starts
from third after the catch. Sometimes it is

necessary to catch the ball in this way, but it
should be the last resort; not only because it is
very difficult, but also because this method
makes it impossible to get a quick return of
the ball when required. An in-fielder should
always take the ball while coming forward if
possible. This does not mean that he should
dash madly into the ball, but that his weight
should be moving in an advantageous direction
when he takes it. It is best to bring the
heels together just as the player stoops for the
ball, if it be a low one, and hug the ground
closely. The knees should bend, and the
hands and arms, as they go down, will make,
with the legs, an almost impassable barrier, so
that even should the player fail to get the
ball cleanly in his hands, he will stop it, and
perhaps still have time to field it. The end to
be aimed at is, of course, to always take the
ball on a good bound; but no one can rely upon
doing this invariably, as irregularities of the
ground and the peculiarities of batting render
exact results impossible. The fielder must also
bear in mind the fact that he should take the ball


on the earliest good bound, and not, by waiting
or backing away, make his throw necessarily a
hurried one. There are times when good judg-





ment leads a player to take the ba:
as, for instance, when he has ai
for a double-play with the ball cc
at the base he wishes to cover.
backward he can take the ball wl
touching the bag, and then insta
the other base; whereas by mee
early, he would have to run back
to touch the base before throwing
Rapidity of judgment is mor
base-ball than in almost any oth
it is only this quick thinking which
a player to take every advantage
Wherever it is practicable, a field
deavor to take the ball in the mc
position for immediate throwing
where the ball is most needed.
a right-handed player should, as f
avoid taking the ball while turn
when, by a little extra effort, he c
self squarely in front of it. The o
profit by the same advice as has bee
in-fielders, and in addition they si
ber that they have far more disti
When a ball is pitched, every out
be ready for an instant start, an

"F----L "' -- \.----


batted, each should be off toward the spot where
Sit will probably fall. Of course, if the ball is
Falling in left-field, the right-fielder after a step
or two may stop; but the center-fielder should
go on, not to take the fly, but to be ready to
---, assist if the ball goes through the left-fielder's
hands. An out-fielder should bear in mind one
cardinal principle, namely, that he should run
as fast as possible until he nears the spot where
the ball is coming. Then he can slow up, but
1 a little late; his fast running should begin as he starts, and
n opportunity not after he has gone half way and finds that
)ming directly he is likely to be late. A moderate runner who
By a step starts instantly for the right spot makes a far bet-
iile his foot is ter fielder than a more speedy man who gets off
ntly throw to slowly, and whose judgment of the spot where
eting the ball the ball will probably land is not so good.
a step or two A fly should always be handled in front of a
man if possible, as he is then in a better posi-
e valuable in tion to throw it if caught, as well as to stop it
Ler sport, and and return it if a muff be made. In taking a
ch will enable grounder, an out-fielder should sacrifice rapidity
ge that offers. of handling to security. A ground hit which goes
.er should en- by an out-fielder is so disastrous that no chance
)st convenient of missing it should be taken. He must stop it,
to the quarter even though, as the expression has it, he must" lie
For instance, down before it." The out-field is usually rougher
ar as possible, and more irregular than the in-field, and hence
ed to the left, the player must be more careful to put himself
an bring him- directly in the pathway of the ball. In catch-
ut-fielders will ing a fly, the hands should be used cup-fashion,
n given for the the thumbs up and the lower edges of the hands
should remem- brought close together. Line hits can not, of
dance to cover, course, be handled in this way, but must be
-fielder should taken like thrown balls, with the little fingers in
Id if a fly be front and the thumbs forming the back of the


cup; a low ball, with the thumbs forward and
the edges of the hands forming the back. It is
occasionally necessary to take a ball directly over
the head, owing to a sudden change in its direc-
tion due to the wind carrying it over the player.
Such balls must be taken with the little fingers up
and the thumbs making the bottom of the cup.

showing him how often it is that the ball beats
the runner by the merest fraction of a second,
he will appreciate the advantage to be gained,
and will himself use all his energies toward the
acquisition of this quick start.
Such points of play must be made habitual
to the player by constant practice, because, no


'E' v/ 4


The base-running practice of a nine consists
for the most part of quick starting and bold slid-
ing. The gymnasium work will have added
greatly to the abilities of the men in these di-
rections, but they must be re-enforced by daily
work on the field. The point most neglected, and
yet the most vital to success, is a quick start for
first after hitting the ball. Many a slow hit is
turned into a base-hit by the speed and quick-
ness of the runner. Many an error is saved an
in-fielder by the slowness of the batter in getting
under way. Every man should be made to prac-
tice this start until he springs toward first the
instant the ball leaves his bat. If a player can
be impressed with the importance of this, by

matter how much he may desire to make them
at certain times, as, for instance, in the ninth in-
ning with perhaps his single run required to win,
he is not capable of doing so unless his former
work has been directed toward acquiring them.
The next practice is in "stealing second."
The battery should be placed in their places,
and the runner on first-base. The pitcher should
hold the runner as close to the base as he can
by motions and an occasional throw, exactly
as he would in a game, and the runner should
be sent down when a good opportunity offers.
He should be coached to take as great a lead
as he can with security, always bearing in mind,
however, that he should not lead off so far as to



,----- --T-




make it necessary for him to be off his balance
in the wrong direction, for a good start is worth
two or three feet of lead. In taking his lead he
should be willing to go far enough at times to
make it necessary for him to go back for first
with his hands if the pitcher throws to the bag,
for by getting back in that way he is enabled to
take a little longer lead. When he starts for
second, it should be with his whole heart and as
if his life depended upon it. Here again, if
necessary, he must slide for it, going head
first at the base, and taking it with his hand.


There are two cautions to be remembered in
this play. One is to slide as far behind the
base-man as it is possible to do, and yet catch
the bag; the other, not to begin to slide so early
as'to lose the advantage of the last step or two
of the run. This last caution is by no means a
needless one, as men who are expert at sliding
are very likely to fall into the habit of sliding
up to the bag "; beginning the slide so early as
to lose headway and valuable speed, and thus be
so slow as to be touched by the base-man before
the hand reaches the bag.



Ir I were you, I often say
To those who seem to need advice,
I 'd always look before I leaped;
I 'd always think it over twice.
And then I heave a troubled sigh -
For, after all, I 'm only I.
I 'd ne'er discuss, if I were you,
The failings of my fellow-men;
I 'd think of all their virtues first,
And scan my own shortcomings then.
But though all this is good and true,
I am but I; I am not you.
If I were you and half so vain,
Amidst my folly I would pause
To see how dull and light a fool
I was myself. I don't, because -
(And here I heave a pitying sigh)
I am not you; I 'm only I.
VOL. XVII.-82.

If I were you, no selfish care
Should chase my cheery smile away;
I 'd scatter round me love and hope;
I 'd do a kindness every day.
But here again I find it true
That I am I, and you are you.

I would not be so very quick
To take offense, if I were you;
I would respect myself, at least,
Whatever others say or do.
Alas! can no one tell me why
I am not you, instead of I ?

In short, if I were only you,
And could forget that I was 1;
I think that little cherub wings
Would sprout upon me, by and by.




HIGHER, higher, farther away,
Swing me swing me swing me!
Up to the tree-top, up to the sky,
So that none other hath swung so high!
I will outfly the bees and the birds and the winds.
I will outsoar the song of the lark.
I will reach to the clouds. I will shout in blue space.
I will laugh in the shadowy, silver face
Of the moon as she sits in the dark!
Oh, higher, oh, higher, oh, farther away,
Swing me swing me swing me !

See how I cleave the dim air in my flight,
Like a dart from an unseen bow.
See how I leap through the gloom of the night,
Like a vision of sudden and sweetest delight
Shot through a lifetime of woe!
Upward, upward, upward always,
Like a spirit set free from its prison of clay,
That speeds through the ether, away and away,
To a world that none else of us know !
Oh, higher, oh, higher, oh, farther away,
Swing me- swing me swing me!

No higher? No higher? No higher?
Oh, swing me- swing me-- swing me!
Can I stop so far short of my nearest desire ?
Is it so childish, so vain to aspire ?
Oh, swing me, and swing me, and swing me!
I would soar far above me. Oh, help, if you love me!
Oh, lend me the charm of love's powerful arm!
Nay, faster and faster! Oh, farther, I pray!
Can the dream end so soon? I was more than half way.
Oh, swing me! oh, swing me! oh, swing me!

jh'I MWri)t--

V.P. "I %r~l r.

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S HEN Pepsie first looked
fat Lady Jane, standing
before her and holding
Sup the bird, with the
light of the sunset on
her yellow hair, and her
lips parted in a smile
that made even the
solemn eyes bright,
she felt as if she saw
a visitor from another
world. For a moment
she could only look at her; then she found voice
to say:
"I was afraid you would n't come. Tite said
you would n't. I 've looked for you all day."
"I came to show Tony to you before I go
to bed. I'll hold him so you can see him,"
and Lady Jane stretched up on the tips of her
little white toes to raise the bird above the
Wait a moment; I '11 have Tite open the
door for you. Won't you come in?"
Tite, who heard Pepsie talking, was peeping
through the kitchen door. In an instant she
had pushed the bolt aside, and Lady Jane stood
in the little room, and was looking around her
with pleased surprise.

Why, how nice she said, with a little sigh
of content. "I 'm glad I came. Have you
got a kitty?"
"A kitty ? You mean a little cat ? asked
Pepsie, her face one broad smile over the child
and bird. No, I have n't one, and I 'm sorry."
Lady Jane had dropped Tony on the floor,
and she held him with a long string fastened to
the leather band on his leg, while she looked
over Pepsie's distorted little figure with mingled
curiosity and pity.
In the mean time, Pepsie and Tite were
watching the bird with the closest attention,
while he hopped about, not very gracefully,
picking grains of brick-dust from the cracks of
the floor.
At last Tite, unable to control her wonder and
admiration, broke forth:
"Miss Pep', jes look at he! Ain't he the
cur'ousest bird y' ever seed ?-an' he ain't no
goslin', shore nuff-jes look at he tail-feaders,
jes lak dem feaders on Mam'selle Marie's hat."
"And he knows when I speak to him," said
Lady Jane, lifting her lovely eyes to Pepsie.
"Now I '11 call him, and you'll see him come."
Then she chirruped softly, and called, Tony,
Tony!" The bird turned his bright eyes on
her, and, with a fluttering run, he hurried to her.
Oh! oh! cried Pepsie, quite overcome with
surprise. Is n't he knowing ? I never saw such
a bird. Is he a wild bird ? "
No, he 's very tame, or he 'd fly away,"


replied Lady Jane, looking at him fondly. "He's
a blue heron; no one has a bird like him."
"A blue heron," repeated Pepsie, wonderingly.
I never heard of such a bird."
Did n't I done tole yer dem children say he
a herrin', an' he ain't no herrin'?" interrupted
Tite, determined to support her assertion as to
her knowledge of the difference between fish and
fowl. I tole yer, Miss Peps', how herrin' 's fish,
an' he a bird, shore nuff," and, unable to repress
her mirth at the absurdity of the name, she burst
into a loud laugh of derision.
Lady Jane looked hurt and surprised, and
stooping for Tony, she gathered him up, and
turned toward the door.
Oh, don't go; please don't," pleaded Pepsie.
"Tite, stop laughing, and put a chair for the
little girl; and then go to your work."
Tite obeyed reluctantly, with many a grin and
backward look; and Lady Jane, after lingering
a moment at the door, shy and undecided, put
Tony down again, and climbed into the chair
on the opposite side of the table.
Now that darky 's gone," said Pepsie, with
a gaiety that was reassuring, we can talk sense.
Do you understand me, everything I say ? You
know I don't speak English very well."
Oh, yes! answered Lady Jane. I know
what you say, and I like you."
I 'm glad of that," said Pepsie brightly,
"because I've been just crazy to have you come
over here. Now, tell me, is Madame Jozain
your aunt or your grandma ?"
Why, she 's my Tante Pauline, that 's all,"
replied the child indifferently.
"Do you love her dearly?" asked Pepsie,
who was something of a little diplomat.
"No, I don't love her," said Lady Jane
Oh, my Why ?- is n't she good to you ?"
Lady Jane made no reply, but looked wist-
fully at Pepsie, as if she would rather not
express her opinion on the subject.
Well, never mind. I guess she's kind to you,
only perhaps you miss your ma. Has she gone
away ? and Pepsie lowered her voice and spoke
very softly; she felt that she was treading on
delicate ground, but she wanted to know all
about the dear little thing--not so much from
curiosity as from the interest she felt in her.

Lady Jane did not reply, and Pepsie again
asked, very gently:
Has your mamma gone away ? "
"Tante Pauline says so," replied the child, as
the woe-begone expression settled on her little
face. "She says Mamma 's gone away, and
that she '11 come back. I think she 's gone to
heaven to see Papa. You know Papa went to
heaven before we left the ranch, and Mamma
was tired waiting for him to come back, and so
she's gone to see him; but I wish she 'd taken
me with her. I want to see Papa, too; and I
don't like to wait so long."
The soft, serious little voice fell to a sigh, and
Lady Jane looked solemnly out of the window at
the strip of sunset sky over Madame Jozain's
house. Pepsie's great eyes filled with tears, and
she turned away her head to hide them.
Heaven 's up there, is n't it ? Lady Jane
continued, pointing upward. Every night
when the stars come out, I watch to see if Papa
and Mamma are looking at me. I think they
like to stay up there, and don't want to come
back. Perhaps they 've forgotten all about
Lady Jane."
"'Lady Jane'? Is that your name? Why,
how pretty," said Pepsie, trying to speak
brightly; "and what a little darling you are!
I don't think any one would ever forget you -
surely not your papa and mamma. You need n't
to be so lonesome--sitting there on the gal-
lery every day alone. While your aunt's busy
with her customers you can come over here
with your bird, and sit with me. I '11 show you
how to shell pecans, and sugar them, and I '11
read some pretty stories to you. Now, tell me
about your bird. Where did you get him ? "
"A boy gave him to me--a nice boy. It was
on the cars, and Mamma said I could have him;
that was before Mamma's dear head ached so.
It ached so she could not speak afterward."
"And have n't you a doll?" interrupted
Pepsie, seeing that the child was approaching
the dangerous topic.
A doll? Oh, yes, I have ever so many at
the ranch, but I have n't any here; Tante Paul-
ine promised me one, but she has n't got it yet."
"Well, never mind, I '11 make you one. I
make lovely dolls for my little cousins, the Pai-
choux. I must tell you about the Paichoux.


There is Uncle Paichoux, and Tante Modeste,
and Marie, the eldest,- she has taken her first
communion, and goes to balls,- and then there
is Tiburce, a big boy, and Sophie, and Nanette,
and a lot of little ones all good, pleasant chil-
dren, so healthy and so happy. Uncle Paichoux
is a dairyman. They live on Frenchman Street,
way, way down where it is like the country; and
they have a big house, a great deal larger than
any house in this neighborhood, with a garden,
and figs and peaches, and lovely pomegranates
that burst open when they are ripe; and Marie
has roses, and crape-myrtle, and jasmine. It is
lovely there just lovely! I went there once,
long ago, before my back hurt me so much."
Does your back hurt you now ? interrupted
Lady Jane, diverted from the charming descrip-
tion of the Paichoux home by sudden sympathy
for the speaker.
Yes, sometimes. You see how crooked it is.
It's all grown out, and I can't bear to be jolted.
That's why I never go anywhere; besides, I can't
walk," added Pepsie, feeling a secret satisfaction
in enumerating her ills; but it's my back-my
back 's the worst."
"What ails it?" said Lady Jane, with the
deepest sympathy in her grave little voice.
I 've got a spine in my back, and the doctor
says I '11 never get over it. It 's something
when you once get it that you can't be cured
of, and it 's mighty bad; but I 've got used to it
now," and she smiled at Lady Jane, a smile full
of patience and resignation. I was n't always
so, though," she went on cheerfully, "before Papa
died. You see Papa was a fireman, and he was
killed in a fire when I was very small; but be-
fore that he used to take me out in his arms;
and sometimes I used to go out in Tante Mo-
deste's milk-cart--such a pretty cart! painted
red, and set upon two high wheels, and in front
there are two great cans, as tall as you. They
shine like silver, and little measures hang on
the spouts where the milk comes out, and over
the seat is a top just like a buggy-top, which
they put up when the sun is too hot, or it rains.
Oh, it's just beautiful to sit up on that high seat,
and go like the wind! I remember how it felt
on my face," Pepsie leaned back and closed
her eyes in ecstasy; and then the milk! When
I was thirsty, Tante Modeste would give me a

cup of milk out of the big can, and it was so
sweet and fresh! Some day, I 'm sure, she '11
take you, and then you 'll know how it all was."
I used to ride on my pony with Papa," began
Lady Jane, her memory of the past awakened
by the description of Pepsie's drive. My pony
was named Sunflower, now I remember," and
her little face grew radiant, and her eyes sparkled
with joy; Papa used to put me on Sunflower,
and Mamma was afraid I 'd fall." Then the
brief glow faded from her face, for she heard
Madame Jozain call across the street: "Lady !
Lady Come, child, come; it's nearly dark, and
time you were in bed."
With touching docility, and without the least
hesitation, she gathered up Tony, who was
standing on one leg under her chair, and, hold-
ing up her face for Pepsie to kiss, she said
"And you '11 come again in the morning,"
cried Pepsie, hugging her fondly, "you 'll be
sure to come in the morning? "
And Lady Jane said, "Yes."


THus Lady Jane's new life, in the quaint
old Rue des Bons Enfants, began under quite
pleasant auspices. From the moment that Pep-
sie, with a silent but not unrecorded vow, con-
stituted herself the champion and guardian angel
of the lonely little stranger, she was surrounded
by friends, and hedged in with the most loyal
Because Pepsie loved the .child, the good
Madelon loved her also; and although Madelon
saw her but seldom, being obliged to leave home
early and return late, she usually left for Lady
Jane some substantial token of good-will, either
cakes or pralines, or some odd little toy which
she picked up on Bourbon Street, on her way
to and from her stand.
Madelon was a pleasant-faced, handsome
woman, always neat and always cheery. No
matter how hard for her the day had been,
whether hot or cold, rainy or dusty, she returned
home at night as fresh and cheerful as when
she went out in the morning. Pepsie adored
her mother, and no two human beings were ever



happier than they when the day's work was over,
and they sat down together to their little supper.
Then Pepsie recounted to her mother every-
thing that had happened during the day, or,
at least, everything that had come within her
line of vision as she sat at her window; and
Madelon, in turn, would tell her of all she had

home early, she always found Lady Jane with
Pepsie, and the loving way in which the child
would spring to meet her showed how grate-
fully she received the maternal affection lavished
upon her.
At first Madame Jozain affected to be a lit-
tle averse to such a close intimacy, and even
went so far as to say to
Madame Fernandez, the
tobacconist's wife, that
she did not like her niece
to be so much with the
Sl lame girl opposite, whose
S' mother was called Bonne
Praline." Perhaps they
Were honest people, and
would do the child no
harm; but a woman who
Swas never called "Ma-
dame," and who sat all
day on the Rue Bourbon,
was likely to have the
manners of the streets;
and Lady Jane had never
been thrown with such
people, Madame Jozain
Madame Fernandez
agreed that Madelon was
not over-refined, and that
Pepsie lacked the accom-
1 plishments of a young
lady. But they are very
honest," she said; "and
I1b the girl has a generous
heart, and is so patient
and cheerful! Besides,
Madelon has a sister who
is rich. Monsieur Pai-
choux, her sister's hus-
PAGE 681.) band, is very well off, a
solid man, with a large dairy business; and their
daughter Marie, who is just graduated at the
' Sacred Heart,' is very pretty, and is fiance to
a young man of superior family, a son of Judge
Guiot- and you know who the Guiots are?"
Yes, Madame knew. Her father, Pierre Ber-
geron, and Judge Guiot had always been friends,
and the families had visited in other days. If
such was the case, the Paichoux must be very

heard out in her world, the world of the Rue
Bourbon. After the advent of Lady Jane the
child was a constant theme of conversation
between them. Her beauty, her intelligence,
her pretty manners, her charming little ways,
were a continual wonder to the simple woman
and girl, who had seen little beyond their own
sphere of life.
If Madelon was fortunate enough to come




respectable; and if "Bonne Praline" was the
sister-in-law of a Paichoux, and prospective
aunt-in-law to the son of the Judge, there was
no reason why she should keep the child away;
therefore she allowed her to go whenever she
wished, which was from the time she was out
of bed in the morning until it was quite dark
at night.
Lady Jane shared Pepsie's meals, and sat at
the table with her, learning to crack and shell
pecans with such wonderful facility that Pep-

.,;' ,W 'y *

sie's task was accomplished so soon that she
had plenty of time each day to devote to her
little friend. And it was very amusing to wit-
ness Pepsie's motherly care for the child: she
bathed her and brushed her long silken hair;
she trimmed her bang to the most becoming
length; she dressed her with the greatest
taste, and tied her sash with the chic of a
French milliner; she examined the little pink
nails and pearls of teeth to see if they were per-
fectly clean; and she joined with Lady Jane in
rebelling against Madame's decree that the child
should go barefoot while the weather was
warm-for, as Madame said, "all the little

Creoles did, and she was not going to buy
shoes for the child to knock out every day."
Therefore, when Lady Jane's shoes were worn
out, Madelon bought her a neat little pair on
the Rue Bourbon; and Pepsie darned her stock-
ings and sewed on buttons and strings with
the most exemplary patience. When Ma-
dame complained that, with all the business
she had to attend to, the white frocks were too
much trouble and expense to keep clean, Tite
Souris, who was a fair laundress, begged that
she might be al-
lowed to wash them,
which she did with
such good will that
Lady Jane was al-
ways neat and
i.' ..', Gradually, the
sorrowful, neglect-
S....ed look disappeared
.i i from her small face,
'and she became
', rosy and dimpled
Again, and as con-
'tented and l :.j'.y
a child as ever was
seen in Good Chil-
dren Street. Every
;:- 7 one in the neigh-
'' borhood knew her;
i. i '. I the gracious, beau-
tiful little creature
--7rt- with her blue heron
became one of the
MILK-WAGON. (SEE PAGE 683.) sights ofthe quarter.
She was a picture and a poem in one to the
simple, good-natured Creoles, and everywhere
she went she carried sunshine with her.
Little Gex, a tiny, shrunken, bent Frenchman,
who kept a small fruit and vegetable stall just
above Madelon's house, felt that the day had
been dark indeed when Lady Jane's radiant little
face did not illumine his dingy quarters. How
his old, dull eyes would brighten when he heard
her cheery voice! Good-morning, Mr. Gex,
Tante Pauline (or Pepsie, as the case might be)
would like a nickel of apples, or onions, or car-
rots"; and the orange that was always given her
for lagniappe* was received with a charming

* A gratuity given with each purchase, usually an orange, a few nuts, or a little candy.




smile, and a "Thank you," that went straight to
the old, withered heart.
Gex was a quiet, polite little man, who sel-
dom held any conversation with his customers
beyond the simple requirements of his business;
and children, as a general thing, he detested,
for the reason that some ill-bred little imps in the
neighborhood made him the butt of their mis-
chievous ridicule, for his appearance was droll
in the extreme: his small face was destitute of
beard and as wrinkled as a withered apple,
and he usually wore a red handkerchief tied
over his bald head with the ends hanging
under his chin; his dress consisted of rather
short and very wide trousers, a little jacket, and
an apron that reached nearly to his feet. There-
fore, it was very seldom that a child entered
his den; and such a thing as one receiving lag-
niappe was quite unheard of.
All day long, he sat on his small wooden
chair behind the shelf across his window, on
which were laid in neat piles, oranges, apples,
sweet potatoes, onions, cabbages, and even the
odorous garlic; his wares were always sound and
clean, and for that reason, even if he did not
give lagniappes to small customers, he had a fair
trade in the neighborhood, and he was very
neat and industrious. When he was not engaged
in preparing his vegetables, he was always tink-
ering at something of interest to himself: he
could mend china and glass, clocks and jewelry,
shoes and shirts; he washed and patched his
own wardrobe, and darned his own stockings.
Often, when a customer came in, he would
push his spectacles up on his forehead, lay down
his stocking and needle, and proceed to deal out
his cabbages and carrots as unconcernedly as
if he had been found engaged in a more manly
One day he delighted Lady Jane by asking her
to sit down and eat her orange while he mended
his jacket.
She declined to eat the orange, as she always
shared it with Pepsie, but accepted the invita-
tion to be seated. Placing Tony to forage on
a basket of refuse vegetables, she climbed into
a chair, placed her little heels on the topmost
rung, smoothed down her short skirt, and, rest-
ing her elbows on her knees, leaned her rosy
little cheeks on her palms, and set herself to
VOL. XVII.-83.

studying Gex seriously and critically. At length,
her curiosity overcoming her diffidence, she said
in a very polite tone, but with a little hesitation,
" Mr. Gex, are you a man or a woman ? "
Gex, for the moment, was fairly startled out
of himself, and, perhaps for the first time in
years, he threw back his head and laughed
"Bon! bon! 'T is good, 't is vairy good. Vhy,
my leetle lady, sometime I don't know myself;
'cause, you see, I have to be both the man and
the voman. But vhy in the vorld did you just
ask me such a funny question? "
Because, Mr. Gex," replied Lady Jane, very
gravely, I 've thought about it often. Because
men don't sew, and wear aprons--and--
women don't wear trousers; so, you see, I
could n't tell which you were."
Oh, ma foi," and again Gex roared with
I don't know why you laugh so," she said
loftily, straightening up in her chair, and regard-
ing Gex as if he had disappointed her. I think
it's very bad for you to have no one to mend
your clothes, and- and to have to sew like a
woman, if-if you 're a man."
Vhy, bless your leetle heart, so it is; but,
you see, I am just one poor lonely creature, and
it don't make much difference whether I 'm one
or t' other-nobody cares now."
I do," returned Lady Jane brightly; and
I 'm glad I know, because, when Pepsie teaches
me to sew, I'm going to mend your clothes,
Mr. Gex."
Vell, you are one leetle angel," exclaimed
Gex, quite overcome. "Here, take another
"Oh, no, thank you," said Lady Jane; "I
have only bought one thing, and I can't take
two lagniappes; that would be wrong. But I
must go now."
And, jumping down, she took Tony from his
comfortable nest among the cabbage-leaves, and
with a polite good-by she darted out, leaving
the dingy little shop darker for her going.
For a long time after she went Gex sat look-
ing thoughtfully at his needlework. Then he
sighed heavily, and muttered to himself: "If
Marie had lived! If she 'd lived, I 'd been
more of a man."




ONE bright morning in October, while Pepsie
and Lady Jane were very busy over their
pecans,, there was a sudden rattling of wheels
and jingling of cans, and Tante Modeste's
milk-cart, gay in a fresh coat of red paint, with
the shining cans, and smart little mule in a
bright harness, drew up before the door, and
Tante Modeste herself jumped briskly down
from the high seat, and entered like a fresh
breath of spring.
She and Madelon were twin sisters, and very
much alike: having the same large, fair face, the
same smooth, dark hair combed straight back
from the forehead, and twisted in a glossy knot
at the back. Like Madelon, she wore a stiffly
starched, light calico gown finished at the neck
with a muslin scarf tied in a large bow; her
head was bare, and in her ears she wore large
gold hoops, and around her neck was a heavy
chain of the same precious metal.
When Pepsie saw her, she held out her arms,
flushing with pleasure, and cried joyfully, Oh,
Tante Modeste, how glad I am! I thought you 'd
forgotten to come for Lady Jane."
Tante Modeste embraced her niece warmly,
and then caught Lady Jane to her heart just as
Madelon did. "Forgotten her? Oh, no; I've
thought of her all the time since I was here;
but I've been so busy."
What about, Tante Modeste ? asked Pep-
sie eagerly.
Oh, you can't think how your cousin Marie
is turning us topsy-turvy, since she decided to
be a lady." Here Tante Modeste made a little
grimace of disdain. She must have our house
changed, and her papa can't say no to her. I
like it best as it was, but Marie must have paint
and carpets think of it, carpets I but I draw
the line at the parlor, the salon," and again Tante
Modeste shrugged and laughed. She wants a
salon. Well, she shall have a salon just as she
likes it; and I will have the other part of the
house as I like it. Just imagine, your uncle has
gone on Rue Royale and bought a mirror, a con-
sole, a cabinet, a sofa, and a carpet."
Oh, oh, Tante Modeste, how lovely!" cried

Pepsie, clasping her hands in admiration. I
wish I could see the parlor just once."
You shall, my dear; you shall, if you have
to be brought on a bed. When there's a wed-
ding,"-and she nodded brightly, as much as to
say, "and there will be one soon," and went on-
you shall be brought there. I '11 arrange it so
you can come comfortably, my dear. Have
patience, you shall come."
"How good you are, Tante Modeste," cried
Pepsie, enraptured at the promise of such hap-
Now, che'rie," she said, turning to Lady
Jane, whose little face was expressing in panto-
mime her pleasure at Pepsie's delight, "I 've
come for you this morning to take you for a
ride in the cart, as I promised."
Tante Pauline does n't know," began Lady
Jane dutifully; "I must go home and ask her
whether I can."
"I '11 send Tite," cried Pepsie, eager to have
the child enjoy what seemed to her the greatest
pleasure on earth.
"Here, Tite," she said as the black visage
appeared at the door. Run quick across to
Madame Jozain, and ask if Miss Lady can go to
ride in the milk-cart with Madame Paichoux; and
bring me a clean frock and her hat and sash."
Tite flew like the wind, her black legs mak-
ing zigzag strokes across the street, while Pep-
sie brushed the child's beautiful hair until it
shone like gold.
Madame Jozain did not object. Of course, a
milk-cart was n't a carriage, but then Lady
Jane was only a child, and it did n't matter.
While Pepsie was putting the finishing touches
to Lady Jane's toilet, Tante Modeste and Tite
Souris were busy bringing various packages from
the milk-cart to the little room: butter, cream-
cheese, sausage, a piece of pig, and a fine capon.
When Tante Modeste came, she always left sub-
stantial tokens of her visit.
There was only one drawback to Lady Jane's
joy, and that was the necessity of leaving Tony
You might take him," said Tante Modeste,
good-naturedly, "but there are so many young
ones home they 'd about pester the bird to death,
and something might happen to him: he might
get away, and then you'd never forgive us."




"I know I must n't take him," said Lady
Jane, with sweet resignation. Dear Tony, be a
good bird while I 'm gone, and you shall have
some bugs to-morrow." Tony was something
of an epicure, and "bugs" (as Lady Jane called
them) extracted from cabbage-leaves were a de-
light to him. Then she embraced him fondly,
fastened him securely to Pepsie's chair, and went
away with many good-byes and kisses for her
friend, and not a few lingering glances for her pet.
It seemed a perfectly enchanting situation to
Lady Jane, when she was mounted up on the
high seat, close under Tante Modeste's shelter-
ing wing, with her little feet on the cream-cheese
box, and the two tall cans standing in front like
sturdy tin footmen waiting for orders. Then
Tante Modeste pulled the top up over their
heads, and shook her lines at the fat little mule,
and away they clattered down Good Children
Street, with all the children and all the dogs
running along behind.
It seemed a long and delightful drive to
Lady Jane before they got out of town to where
the cottages were scattered and set in broad
fields, with trees and pretty gardens. At length
they turned out of the beautiful esplanade, with
its shady rows of trees, into Frenchman Street,
and went along the river. They stopped before
a large double cottage that stood well back
from the street, surrounded by trees and flow-
ers; a good-natured, healthy looking boy threw
open the gate, and Tante Modeste clattered
into the yard, calling out:
Here, Tiburce, quick, my boy; unhitch the
mule, and turn him out." The little animal
understood perfectly well what she said, and,
shaking his long ears, he nickered approvingly.
Lady Jane was lifted down from her high
perch by Paichoux himself, who gave her a
right cordial welcome, and in a moment she
was surrounded by Tante Modeste's good-
natured brood. At first she felt a little shy,
(To be co

there were so many, and they were such noisy
children; but they were so kind and friendly
toward her that they soon won her confidence
and affection.
That day was a "red-letter day" to Lady
Jane; she was introduced to all the pets of
the farm-yard: the poultry, the dogs, the kittens,
the calves, the ponies and little colts, and the
great, soft, motherly looking cows that stood
quietly in rows to be milked; and afterward
they played under the trees in the grass, while
they gathered roses by the armful to carry to
Pepsie, and filled a basket with pecans for
At last, the milk-cart came around with its
evening load of fresh milk for waiting cus-
tomers, Lady Jane was lifted up. again beside
Tante Modeste, overloaded with presents, ca-
resses, and good wishes- the happiest child,
as well as the most tired one, that ever rode
in a milk-cart.
Long before they reached the noisy city
streets, Lady Jane became very silent, and
Tante Modeste peeped under the broad hat to
see whether she had fallen asleep. But no, the
blue eyes were wide and wistful, and the little
face had lost its glow of happiness.
"Are you tired, cherie asked Tante Mo-
deste kindly.
No, thank you," she replied with a soft
sigh. "I was thinking of Sunflower, and of
the ranch, and of Papa, and of dear Mamma.
Oh, I wonder if she '11 come back soon!"
Tante Modeste made no reply, but she too
fell to thinking. There was something strange
about it all that she could not understand.
The child's remarks and Madame Jozain's
stories did not agree. There was a mystery,
and Tante Modeste meant to get to the bot-
tom of it by some means.
And when Tante Modeste set out to accom-
plish a thing, she usually succeeded.

30 VJ2


(Founded on Fact.)


C HE Magill residence
was situated near
the highways con-
necting Knoxville
and Chattanooga.
Encamping armies
had burned every
splinter of fencing,
and so the cleared
space was thrown into one great field, en-
circled by a gigantic hedge of oak and pine.
Near the center of the cleared land, on a lit-
tle eminence, was a farm-house. It was a
long, one-story building, running back some
distance, its several additions having been con-
structed as the family required more room. A
little to the right, and extending the full length
of the house, was a row of negro cabins-there
being a passway between the two as wide as an
ordinary road. The yard sloped gently to the
roadway and railroad; near the latter, another
rise began, which extended back to the wood-
land and commanded an extensive view of the
surrounding country.

One afternoon, early in the autumn of 1864,
Mrs. Magill and her son Harry, a comely lad
of thirteen, sat on the front veranda, and talked
of what a happy reunion there would be when
their loved ones should return from the war. And
on this glorious autumnal afternoon the hearts of
the widow and her son were happyin anticipation.
Mrs. Magill had two sons in the war. One
wore the Blue, the other the Gray. John, the
eldest of three boys, had enlisted in Wheeler's
Confederate cavalry, in the second year of the
war; and, a year later, Thomas had joined the
Federal under General Burnside at Knoxville.
Both were known as brave and dashing soldiers,
and both had been promoted, for gallantry,
to captaincies. This family division was a source
of great grief to Mrs. Magill. Dearer to her than
Union or Confederacy were her children; and
from their youth she had trained them in the
ways of peace. And now, in their manhood,
two of them, under different flags, were arrayed
against each other in a deadly and unnatural
strife. She often heard from both her soldier
boys, and their inquiries after the welfare of each


other were full of tenderness. Harry, as is
usual with younger brothers, fairly worshiped
both of them. He was no less troubled than
his mother when they went away to fight on
opposite sides. Their contrary action left him
in doubt as to which side he should take.
Every boy of his acquaintance was ardent
in espousing one side or the other. But what
could he do, since he had a brother in each
army? Should he become a rebel, Thomas
might be displeased; and he loved Tom too well
to willfully incur his displeasure. Should he de-
cide to remain loyal to the Union, John might
resent it; and he could not think of offend-
ing one whom he held in such high esteem.
" What shall I do ?" he asked himself a great
many times a day. The war spirit in him was
becoming rampant, and must have scope. He
at length took the perplexing question to his
mother. She promptly advised him to remain
neutral. But somehow Harry got it into his head
that neutrality was something very different from
manliness. So he made up his mind to be one
thing or the other, or--happy thought!- why
not be both? And, after puzzling over the
question a long time, he settled on the novel
idea of making himself half Rebel" and half
"Yankee." In pursuance of this plan, he per-
suaded his mother to make him a uniform, half of
which should be blue, and the other half gray.
She made it of a Federal and a Confederate over-
coat; and Harry was a queer-looking little fellow
as he went about the country, clad in his blue-gray
uniform, the U. S. A. buttons on one side, and
the C. S. A. on the other. The boys called him
" a mongrel "; and neither the Federal nor Con-
federate commands of boy soldiery would allow
him in their ranks. This was a source of great
mortification to Harry; but he was seriously
in earnest, and fully resolved to carry out his
campaign of impartial affection. His being cut
by the other boys, who could afford to take
a decided stand because they did not have a
brother on each side, reduced him to the neces-
sity of playing war" (about the only game in-
dulged in by Southern boys at this time) alone.
When he put up his lines of corn-stalk soldiers,
to play battle, it was observed, by his mother,
that both sides always won an equal number of
victories. Harry was not sure that the war

could ever end at this even rate of fighting; but
arrayed as he was, in the colors of both armies,
his inclination was to be true to both. There
were generally tears in his mother's eyes, when
she saw that two of the corn-stalk soldiers, the
tallest and straightest of them all, representing
John and Thomas, were always left standing,
even after the most furious of contests, in which
all the others had fallen.
Harry had left off playing quite early, on the
afternoon of which I write, and had joined his
mother on the veranda. They had not been
long together when something unusual attracted
their attention.
A short distance down the railroad a body
of cavalrymen had dismounted, and soon they
were as busy as ants, tearing up the track. One
squad preceded the others and loosened the
rails by drawing the spikes; then came another
squad that placed the ties in great heaps; after
this came a third that kindled fires beneath
them. The ties were rotten and dry, and, in a
very few moments, there were scores of bright,
hot fires. Soon the rails were at a red heat
near the center, the ends being comparatively
cool. While in this state a number of men
would take the rails and bend them around
telegraph poles or any solid objects that were
near. The soldiers twisted the rails into fantastic
shapes; and when they were through with their
work of destruction, they seemed perfectly satis-
fied that none of the old material could be used
in reconstructing the road. Harry and his
mother had observed the operations of these
men. with much interest for some time, when
suddenly they saw one of them mount his horse,
and ride toward the house.
He is a rebel! exclaimed Harry, who stood
watching the approaching horseman.
"Surely you are mistaken, Harry. There
can be no Confederates here," said Mrs. Magill,
"the Federals are too near."
While yet the soldier was some distance from
the house, the boy's face lighted up with joy, as
he exclaimed:
"Oh, mother, I do believe it 's John "
"John ? Where is he ? asked his mother,
running to where the boy stood.
"Why, there, on the horse! He 's coming
home! He 's coming home!" And thus ex-


claiming, Harry danced around the veranda like
an Indian lad in a first war-dance. Then he ran
to meet his brother in gray. Mrs. Magill was
thrilled with sensations of joy and fear: joy, be-
cause she was about to see again her eldest son,
after a painful separation of two years; fear,
because of the nearness of the Federals. When
within a short distance of his brother, Harry
stopped and waited there, prepared to give the
military salute due one of his brother's rank.
But that salute was never given; for almost at
the same instant that Harry stopped, Captain
John Magill reined up his horse quite suddenly,
drew a pistol from its holster, and looked sus-
piciously toward a clump of trees on the hill-
top. Harry turned his eyes to learn what had
startled his brother. He beheld a score or more
of men in blue uniforms, partly concealed by the
clump of trees; and it was evident that these were
the vanguard of a larger body of Federals. Cap-
tain John Magill wheeled as suddenly as he had
halted, and galloped back to the Confederates
engaged in demolishing the railroad. As fast as
he could run, Harry followed. Mrs. Magill com-
prehended the situation; and, spell-bound, she
stood on the veranda, with arms outstretched,
a statue of anguish and expectancy.
When Captain John Magill reached his com-
rades, he gave the alarm, and "there was
mounting in hot haste." The two hundred
raiders had time only to form an irregular line
of battle, when twice as many Federals ap-
peared on the hill-top. It was evident that
there was going to be a lively skirmish. Harry
singled out John, who rode up and down the
line giving commands, and running to him, he
clasped him around a leg with both arms,
enthusiastically exclaiming:
"Howdy, John! Don't you know me ?"
The young captain looked down at the joy-
beaming face of his little brother, but, as he had
never seen the little fellow in his fantastic uni-
form, for a moment failed to recognize him.
A shade of disappointment flitted over Harry's
face as he said:
I 'm your little brother Harry; and I 'm
just as much Rebel as Yankee."
Captain John Magill laughed as he leaned
over and grasped Harry's hand.
"Why, Harry What on earth are you doing

here? Get. up behind me, and I will gallop
home with you before the firing begins," said
John, evidently alarmed for the boy's safety.
Placing his foot on that of his brother, Harry
clambered up behind. By this time the lines
were in range of each other, and a lively fusil-
lade at once began. Harry behaved manfully
under fire, and entreated his brother to allow him
to stay until the fight was over. But the elder
brother was intent on taking him to a place of
safety, so putting spurs to his horse he rode
swiftly toward the house. His plan was to return
the boy to his mother, and then rejoin his com-
rades. But the Confederates did not know his
intentions; and seeing their Captain making his
way rapidly to the rear, with this strangely-clad
boy behind him, they of course thought him re-
treating, and they followed, pell-mell.
Capt. John. Magill saw the effect of his
movement, and, halting, made an effort to rally
his men. But the Confederates were thor-
oughly stampeded, and they dashed madly
away. The shouting Federals were now at
close range, and the bee-like song of the bullets
could be heard on every side. Hastily placing
Harry in front of him, to shield him as much as
possible from the enemy's fire, he followed his
men, now some distance in advance. When
they reached the house, Mrs. Magill stood pale
and motionless, expecting every moment to see
her children fall. Glancing back, Captain John
Magill saw that a moment's delay would make
him a prisoner; so as he dashed past his mother
he cried out, Don't be uneasy. I '11 take care
of Harry"; and then he was gone like the
wind, his pursuers not a hundred yards behind
him. Then a complete change came over Mrs.
Magill. Impelled by the great love of a mother,
she ran into the yard, and stood calmly in the
way of the advancing Federals, whose course
lay between the cabins and the house as if to
stop, with her frail form, the impetuous charge.
On they came like a hurricane. The mother
did not move. Her eyes were closed and her
lips compressed. Very near her sounded the
hoof-beats. A moment more and she expected
to be trampled to death beneath those hurrying
feet; but she hoped-yea, and prayed-that
her death might somehow delay the Federals
until her sons should escape.




Halt! Halt! The command was in thun-
der tones, and was echoed and re-echoed along
the charging line. The soldiers pulled with all
their might on the bits, and many a horse was
thrown back on its haunches. Opening her
eyes Mrs. Magill saw that the Federal captain,
bending over her from his saddle, was her son
"Oh, Thomas!--would you kill John and
Harry! she exclaimed, and then fell fainting
in his arms. Laying her tenderly on the ve-
randa, he directed a surgeon to attend her, and
mounting his horse, rode rapidly in the direc-
tion taken by his brothers. Soon he saw them
a quarter of a mile ahead. Taking a white
handkerchief he held it aloft, and digging the
spurs deep into his horse's flanks, he rode with
increased speed, all the time hallooing at the top
of his strong voice. John heard;- but, thinking
it a summons to surrender, he urged his horse
forward, hoping to gain the sheltering wood.
But the horse, in attempting to jump across a
washout, stumbled and fell; and John found
himself rolling on the ground with Harry in his
arms. Rising, he placed Harry behind him, and
drew his sword, determined to sell their lives
dearly. Imagine his surprise when he beheld
but one pursuer, and that one holding on high
an emblem of peace. In a moment more, he
recognized his brother. Their meeting was
affectionate. Harry was beside himself with joy.
He had really been under fire, with sure-enough
bullets" singing about his ears! This was some-
thing of which none of the boys who had scorned
his blue-gray uniform could boast !
Our brother is a brave little fellow. He did

not once flinch when your bullets were singing
around us," he heard John say to Thomas, and
this praise elated the boy very much.
"Let us return to mother. She is very
anxious," said Thomas.
John gazed inquiringly at his brother in blue.
"You need have no fear," said Thomas.
" I will be responsible for your safety."
So the two soldier brothers, leading their
horses, and each holding one of Harry's hands,
walked up to the house.
I see you wear the gray, Harry; that's right,"
said John, with a mischievous glance at Thomas.
He is true blue on this side," said Thomas,
laughing heartily, as the ludicrousness of Harry's
uniform dawned upon him.
An affecting meeting was that between mother
and sons; and something on the cheeks of the
brave men who were present "washed off the
stains of powder."
When parting time came, the sun rested, like
a great ruby, above the circling wood of crim-
son and gold; and when the brother in blue
stood hand in hand with the brother in gray, all
nature seemed to smile in anticipation of the time
when a fraternal grasp should re-unite the North
and South.
This day was the turning-point in Harry's life.
Thenceforth all his inclinations were to become
a soldier. After the war, he was educated by
John and Thomas; and, passing his examination
triumphantly over three of the boys who had
derided him, he was appointed to West Point.
He is now Lieutenant Henry Magill, U. S. A.
His brothers still treasure the little blue-gray
uniform as the memento of a "divided duty."


I ->

iic _-i -

*jR Et' IX APS-

XCEPT among athletes and
college men, interest in the
S minor athletic sports is,
comparatively, confined to
\ "' so few people that it would
Snot be strange if many readers
of the ST. NICHOLAS had never seen, nor even
heard of, a hurdle race. Hence, perhaps, it is
advisable to begin by briefly describing one.
As the name implies, the race is run over
hurdles. The hurdle is of wood and consists
of two uprights and a cross-bar, which cross-bar
is either two feet six inches or three feet six
inches from the ground, according to the dis-
tance to be run. The longer of the two dis-
tances commonly run by hurdlers is 220 yards,
and for this the hurdles are two feet six inches
high; the shorter distance is 120 yards, with
the hurdles three feet six inches high. There
are generally ten hurdles, which are set across
a track, or path, made either of fine cinders or
of turf. When arranged for the race these
ten hurdles are technically known as a flight."
The contestants are drawn up in a line a few
yards from the first hurdle, and at a given signal
they run and jump each hurdle in succession,
the one who first reaches the finish-line being
the winner.
Now hurdling, being merely a combination of
running and jumping, might appear to require
no special ability. Some people foolishly be-
lieve that any boy who has long legs must be
a fast runner; and, more reasonably, those of
better judgment might be led to infer that a
good runner and jumper must necessarily be a
good hurdler. But experience has shown that
this is not the case. Not every good runner

and jumper makes a good hurdler, and, strangely
enough, some of the most celebrated hurdlers
have been neither very fast runners nor ex-
ceptionally good jumpers. For, besides skill in
running and jumping, other qualities are neces-
sary, and it is' in these that the true genius for
hurdling seems to lie. Without special skill,
which can come only after long practice, success
in hurdling is not to be attained.
It is difficult with few words to make clear in
just what this skill consists, or why so much
practice is necessary. Perhaps the best way to
explain matters is to indicate some of the difficul-
ties that appear before the new hurdler when he
begins his training. Suppose, for instance, he is
training for the shorter race, of 120 yards, where
the hurdles are three feet and six inches high,
and are set ten yards apart.
Like all other athletes, the hurdler must un-
dergo a regular course of training in order to
acquire strength and endurance; but from the
very beginning he concentrates his attention
more especially upon his style." The first par-
ticular to be considered is, naturally, the manner
of jumping over the hurdle. As the race is one
of speed, it is of great importance for him to learn
to clear the hurdles with as little room to spare
as possible. He must learn to take the hurdle
without changing his stride or stopping his speed,
-in such a way that jumping the hurdle comes
as near as possible to running over the hurdle.
With this end in view, he sets up a single hur-
dle and betakes himself to practicing the jump.
When in this he has succeeded to his satisfac-
tion, he sets up two hurdles and practices taking
them in succession. And here a new and very
important question arises.

The hurdles are ten yards apart, and after he
has jumped the first and run to the second, he
very often finds himself coming before it with
his wrong foot foremost. In order to jump he
must slacken his pace and change his stride.
Here is a difficulty. He must devise some way
of jumping the hurdles in succession without
hesitating between them. There are two or
three methods of doing this, though one method
has come to be regarded as the right one.

are so high as to prevent this method from being
successful. The low hurdles, two feet six inches
high, used for the longer race, have been
jumped from alternate feet with notable suc-
cess by A. F. Copeland, the present American
With the high hurdles there is but one good
method. A hurdler must either shorten his natu-
ral stride and learn to take five steps between
hurdles, or he must lengthen it considerably

, a. .

-.... r-. fl--q. -
.7S'i l1 r'

J'.__., R R


In the first place, he may practice jumping
from the wroag, or awkward, foot, and so be
prepared to jump in whichever way he may come
to the hurdle. But the hurdles are too high to
make this plan practicable, and it is generally
abandoned after a few days' trial. (It is, how-
ever, only in the shorter race that the hurdles
VOL. XVII.-84.

and take only three. In either case, he is brought
to the successive hurdles with the same foot.
But taking five steps makes the stride too short
to allow of fast running, and, although many of
the poorer hurdlers have used this method, it
can not be regarded as successful. So there is
nothing for the hurdler to do but continually



-__ ..


to practice taking three long strides, until this
becomes natural to him.
Even when the hurdler has learned to jump
low and fast, and to take three strides between
the hurdles, the development of style" is
hardly more than begun. There are a thousand
and one requirements in the turn and twist used
in the jump; and it is in the methods of taking
the hurdle that the marked differences between
advanced hurdlers are shown. Here the indi-
viduality of each hurdler asserts itself. After
he has attained a certain degree of proficiency,
his attention is confined almost wholly to per-
fecting his "turn," the aim always being to
clear the hurdle as closely as possible without
interfering with speed or stride.
This, as might be supposed, leads to frequent
accidents, and is the chief source of danger in
hurdling. In his anxiety to take the hurdle
closely, the hurdler sometimes jumps too low
and strikes the hurdle; the result in many cases
being a heavy fall on the cinder-path. But it
takes a strong knock to tumble, or even to
stagger, an experienced hurdler. Indeed, the
best hurdlers have been known to win races in
which they struck nearly every hurdle, and even
knocked down a number as they went along.


A. A. Jordan, the celebrated hurdler of the
New York Athletic Club, contracted the habit
of striking hurdles to an extreme degree. Yet
this did not seem to interfere in the least with
his success; nor did it mar the beauty of his
style, which was perhaps better than that of any
hurdler who has yet appeared in America. He
was the first exponent of the peculiar, finished
style that has been adopted by so many leading
hurdlers of to-day; and, indeed, he might per-
haps be called the "Father of American Hurd-
ling." He and Copeland of the Manhattan
Athletic Club are the most successful and the
best-known hurdlers in America, and their
struggles for supremacy have been hard-fought
and brilliant.
After a hurdler has perfected his style, and is




in the pink of condition, all ready for the
race, there is no prettier sight on the athletic
field than to see him taking a practice spin
over the whole flight of hurdles. True and
strong in his motions, running and jumping with
all his might, he yet rises and falls lightly as a
bird, handling himself so gracefully, withal, that,
to a mere observer, the sport appears to be
without difficulty.
The real question of supremacy each year
concerns only three or four hurdlers, who make
the great championship struggle. All the others
can expect only lesser honors, though always
there are many who have secret hopes of im-
proving sufficiently to enter the first rank. In
order to provide opportunity and incentive for
the mass of athletes of no special distinction,
numerous handicap races are held, in which the
different competitors are allowed starts according
to their supposed abilities. Of course there is
no great interest at stake in these games beyond
the individual desire to win. Even for the novice
the honor of victory is much diminished on
account of the handicap in his favor; and among
athletes the winning or losing in such cases is
considered of less importance than the merit of
the performances. But, for all that, there is
always a certain satisfaction in being victorious,
and the prizes given, in themselves, make suc-
cess worth striving for.
From this fact there is quite a large class of
athletes, called "mug-hunters," who have no
further ambition than to win as many of these

necessary. Fortunately, however, such athletes
are hardly more than tolerated, and the name
" mug-hunter" has come to be used as a term
of reproach.
A handicap hurdle-race, although there are
no great interests at stake, is a very pretty sight.
When the contestants take their positions for the
race, it looks like a hopeless struggle for the
"scratch" man (that is, the one who stands
furthest back of all the contestants, and who
allows starts to all the others. He is called
the "scratch" man because he toes the
"scratch," or line, at the beginning of the
course). Often he is small in stature, as is
Copeland, for instance, and when he stands
there with the other contestants, many of them
larger and stronger than he, and some of them ten
or fifteen yards in advance of him, the arrange-
ment appears altogether unfair, and the spectator,
who is likely to regard the "scratch man's
chance as hopeless, is filled with sympathy for
him. When all is ready, the starter calls out,
" On your marks! All stand upright in their
positions. "Settle." They all lean forward,
ready for the start. Bang! goes the pistol,
and they are off The leaders are almost to
the second hurdle before the "scratch" man
reaches the first; it seems impossible that he
should overtake them. But now see skill and
speed tell. While they rush and jump clumsily
and high, lumbering along with all their might,
truly and prettily he skims the hurdles and flies
over the ground. Yet the handicap seems too

handicap games as possible. As it is essential large, and they are three-quarters through the
to their success that they should have big handi- race before he has had time even to close up
caps, they use every means to conceal their true the gap between himself and the man nearest
ability, whatever it may be, and always take him. As they draw closer to the finish, his
pains to win a race by no more than is absolutely speed seems to increase, and he shoots by them


one by one, until, when the last hurdle is reached,
he is abreast of the leader. Then with a burst
of speed he rushes for the tape, and wins the
race !
Of course the "scratch man does not always

more exciting than the championships, because
college rivalries, as well as those of friends and
contestants, are concerned in the result. For
some five months each representative has been
faithfully training in preparation for the great race


win, but if he is in his best condition, he is
not likely to be beaten. At all events he is sure
to give a fine exhibition, because to be "scratch"
he must be a good hurdler, and often he is the
Far greater, however, in real interest than any
handicap event are the great scratch races of
the year, the amateur championships and the
intercollegiates, where only the best of amateur
and college hurdlers compete, and all start even..
The intercollegiate contests are, perhaps, even

that lasts only a few seconds. A single misstep,
and he feels that all the work goes for nothing,
his college may lose the cup, and there is a
year's disappointment before him.
It is no wonder that the boys are nervous as
they take their places and wait for the start.
But when once the signal is given and they are
off, all is forgotten, the race has begun, and every
one flies over the hurdles, conscious only that
the supreme moment has come, and that he is
rushing on for victory.




A World of Fishes.

WHILE time passed on, the rock-making and
land-making continued. The water wore off
grains of sand, just as in the last age, and these
grains sank to the bottom of the sea, where the

heat from within and the pressure from above
made rock of them. The rock from which the
flagging stones are cut was formed in this
While this kind of rock was being made in some
places, elsewhere the tiny coral-animals were at
work, laying down limestone-beds, and weaving



'', I *


their little lives into chains, or stars, or cups, or
honeycombs of coral. In what is now Iowa,
Indiana, and the regions thereabout, the rocks
of this age are full of their remains, and those of
the lovely stone lilies." Many beautiful speci-
mens have been found there. Millions and
millions of the little stems that joined the stone
lilies to the rock still remain fastened in their
places. At some points on the Mississippi River,
when the water is low, pieces of coral of exqui-
sitely beautiful shapes can be seen jutting out
from the banks, making the banks appear pre-
cisely like coral reefs of our own day. So much
coral was made during this age that it is some-
times called "The Great Coral-reef Period" of
the early ages.
The water over the tracts of land where this
work was done must have been very deep and
warm, because coral-animals can live only in
deep, warm seas.
There was a gradual change in the color of the
new rock from that laid down before. The Silu-
rian rocks were gray, and the new ones were
yellow, olive, or red. So much was there of
the last color in the rocks of some places, that
the period is often called The Age of Old Red
Sandstone." In the County of Devon, in Eng-
land, the rocks of this age are extensively dis-
tributed over the surface, and can easily be
examined. Hence, the age in which they were
made is also called The Devonian Age."
When you grow older, and read more about
geology, you will find the name of Hugh Miller
closely associated with this age. He was the
tenderest, gentlest, most loving, and most lova-
ble of Scotchmen. Instead of writing, as our
other Scotch friend, Sir Walter Scott, did, of
the knights of the middle ages and their
tourneys and conquests, Hugh Miller wrote of
armored knights much more wonderful than
they. When he was a boy he was dreamy and
poetical, and very fond of examining the rocks.
Once he found a quantity of red stones in a
rock on the sea-shore, dug them out with his
knife, and carried them home. He found they
were like the garnets in his mother's breastpin.
After that, whenever he found a cluster of gar-
nets, he would throw himself down beside it, and
think of the heaps of gems in Aladdin's cave, or
of Sindbad's valley of diamonds. When the time

came for him to choose a business in life, he chose
that of a stone-mason, so that he need not be
separated from his beloved rocks. One day, as
he was working in a quarry on the northern shore
of a Scottish bay, he picked up a stone that
looked particularly knotty. He broke it open
with his hammer, and lo! before his delighted
eyes, lying right in the center, was a beautifully
shaped shell. He had found garnets and quartz
crystals and such things before, but never a
fossil. And this creamy beauty, with its grace-
ful curves and delicate traceries, delighted him.
He showed it to the workmen, who told him
where he could find plenty more. No more
quarrying for him! He traveled over the
country, digging into cliffs, breaking up rocks,
finding countless fossils, and opening the records
of ages long gone by.
He read many books, and learned about the
fossils found in other lands. Then he wrote of
what he had seen and learned. And the way he
wrote! Before his time, what little had been
written of Geology was as "dry as dust," and
filled with the hardest of hard names. But the
magical way in which Hugh Miller told his
story !-he really seemed to love the dead ages,
with their rocks and the strange company found
in them. All the wealth of beautiful language
which the poets lavish on their favorite flowers,
he lavished on his beloved old fossils.
In the preceding age, all the plants were water-
plants. In this, some appeared on the land.
They were very different from any we see now,
but still they bore a distant resemblance to a few
of our simpler plants. For instance, there was
a species that might be compared to the horse-
tail" that grows in waste places, but its stem was
tall and slender; there were others something like
mosses; and most abundant of all was a species
like our mushrooms. All these plants were so
soft, and decayed so easily, that only frag-
ments have come down to us, and we have to
guess what they looked like. The water plants,
sea weed, pond weed, and swamp weed, were
like what we have now, only more abundant.
You remember the trilobites of the last age,
that had the power of curling themselves into a
round ball when they wanted to escape from an
enemy ? Well, in this age, in place of hundreds
of species, there were only a dozen or two. The



"seraphim," those giant crabs with fins like
wings, now reached the length of four, five, or
six feet. It is supposed that they did the clean-
ing for the world at this time. They ate little
animals and dead ones, and any refuse that
floated about in the sea or lay upon the shores.
The worms were protected by hard shells,
and that is the only reason we have any record
of them. If they had been soft, they would
have been crushed.
But the emperors, kings, princes, and magnates
in general of this old world then were the fishes--
the wonderful, wonderful fishes Most of them
were incased in armor like the knights of old,
and these are the knights" of which Hugh
Miller has written so delightfully. The scales
which formed their coats of mail were heavily
crusted with enamel, and beautifully joined to-
gether with beveled edges. No artificial joining
has ever been done with half such skill and
beauty. Each scale was adorned with exquisite
carvings : stars, pyramids, crosses, crescents,
hexagons -all the designs that have ever been
produced in architecture, and many more, were
carried by these fishes on their backs. Hugh
Miller tells us that he once saw a king's suit of
armor which had been made in Italy when the
art of making armor was at its best, but its
adornings could not compare with the beautiful
carvings that fretted the scales of some of these
ancient fishes. This unbending armor generally
sheathed only the front part of the body, being
replaced toward the tail by more flexible scales.
There was one great fellow, however, whose coat
of mail, elegantly marked with berry-like promi-
nences, extended nearly the whole length of
his body. The buckler-head," something like
our fishes in shape, had a tremendous, unbend-
ing helmet on its head, all in one piece The
"wing-fish" had its entire body sheathed in
armor. It was the most curious fish that this
world ever saw. Its two strong arms, also cov-
ered with armor, looked like wings. Hence its
name, wing-fish." Its mail did not bend, on
the front part of its body, but it was flexible at
the tail. It resembled a human being, but where
there should be feet, its body tapered to a tail.
Except for the fact that this "wing-fish" tribe
died out at the end of this period, we might think
that they were the creatures which gave rise to the
sailors' stories of mermaids. We read of another

of these mail-clad fishes, whose armor was cov-
ered with stars. His helmet was large enough
to cover the skull of an elephant, and strong
enough to turn aside the point of the keenest
spear. According to the accounts, he was from
eighteen to twenty-three feet long.
There were other fishes which had no armor,
but were provided with strong, resisting scales.
Some had the power of moving their heads
around independently of their bodies, after the
manner of reptiles. All the fishes of the period
had one-lobed tails. We have now only one
family of fishes that has a one-lobed tail the
Shark family. During this age, the fishes must
have crowded the sea in enormous numbers, for
there is an amazing abundance of their remains.
There was a great increase in the extent of
land. All that is now the New England States,
and New York, a narrow strip along the north
of where the Ohio River now runs, a great part
of what was to be Indiana and Illinois, and all
of the region now named Michigan and Wiscon-
sin were above the water. Great banks of red-
dish mud, covered in many places with low,
mushroom-like forms of plants, stretched out
over darksome lagoons. No lofty forest trees
varied the scene. In fact, there were no trees
of any kind. Plants with long, soft, slender
stems were the nearest approach to them.
The waters teemed with waving weeds, and
the gigantic armored fishes swept through them
in pursuit of fleeing prey, and no doubt held
terrific tournaments in their green depths. Here
and there might be seen the giant scavenger-
crabs, ranging the seas and shores.
Immense hard-shelled animals, like our oys-
ters in shape, clung to the rocks. Others with
spirally twisted or whorled shells gave a pearly
gleam to the sea, as they cruised about on its
surface; while the little coral workers wrought
diligently far down in the deep, warm waters.
No high mountain peaks then rose to add to
the beauty of the landscape. All was one vast
sea, dotted with low, muddy islets.
Toward the close of this age, the seething
mass on the inside grew restless again, and in
its twistings and turnings very often raised and
lowered the Devonian Rock, but its writhing
did not disturb the rock enough to dislodge
the rich, muddy soil, made for the luxuriant
vegetation of the age to come.





HE night after we took
the Red Dolly's picture,
there was a party in the
hotel, and Marjorie's
mamma said that she
might go into the parlor
and look on, for a little
while. So Marjorie was
S-dressed in her prettiest
f[frock, and went with her
mamma, and watched the people dancing.
Then she said that she wished to dance, too.
I asked her if she would dance with me, but
she said no, she wished to dance with Lieuten-
ant Smith. Lieutenant Smith is an army officer
who knows Marjorie very well. So I told him
to ask her. But then Marjorie would not dance
with him because, she said, I had told him to
ask her, and that was not the way people did,
at all. Then Mr. Smith laughed, and said that
next time he would ask her without being told.
So he walked once round the room, and when
he came to Marjorie again, he said:
Miss Marjorie, may I have the pleasure of
this waltz with you ? "
And Marjorie said "Yes," and got up and
danced with him.
But when he brought her back to her seat,
Marjorie did not look at all pleased.
Then the Lieutenant said: "What is the mat-
ter, Miss Marjorie ? Have I done anything you
don't like ?"
"Yes," said Marjorie, pouting. "All the ladies
and genelum walk round after they dance. And
you did n't."
Oh, I beg pardon; I forgot," said the Lieuten-
ant, laughing once more. Won't you walk
around with me now ?"

So they walked around the room.
Now Marjorie was a little girl, and Mr. Smith
was quite tall, so that he had to lean over when
she took his arm. But being one of those young
gentlemen who like to make fun, he pretended
to have to lean over very far indeed, so that
people smiled. And once he made believe to
trip over a pin that was lying on the carpet,
which made some ladies laugh. Now Marjorie
does not like to be laughed at, and when she
came back to her seat I saw that there were
tears in her eyes.
Say 'Thank you' to Mr. Smith, Marjorie,"
said her mamma.
So Marjorie said "Thank you," but so low
that no one heard it.
I think, Mr. Smith," said Marjorie's mamma,
smiling, "that it is getting near my little girl's
sleepy time. Come, Marjorie, say 'Good-night,'
and let us go to bed."
Now I fancy that
Marjorie may have
believed that she was
being punished for 'I'
not behaving prettily,
while all the time /X -.
she thought it was
LieutenantSmith who ; :
had not acted nicely. -
Then she did not
wish to leave the (
party and go to bed. '--
And she really was
tired and sleepy, and, -ARJORIE WALTZES
although we did not WITH LIEUTENANT SMITH.
know it, she was not very well. At any rate,
Marjorie began to cry in good earnest.
So then I took the little girl up in my arms,
and said, I '11 tell you what we will do, dear.
You come with me, and I will take you home.
And then I will tell you what Sergeant Quick-
step found to-day, over at the lighthouse."
Marjorie did not stop crying until she was


all ready for the night. And she had to laugh
because I was so very awkward about putting
her to bed; but at last she was safely tucked
into her crib.
Then the tears came again, and she said,
"Jack, I don't like the way Mr. Smith did, a bit."
"But, Marjorie," I said, "was it worth while
to cry about it? Mr. Smith was only playing.
You are a little girl, and you must not expect
gentlemen to treat you as if you were a grown-
up lady."
But," said Marjorie, "you always say I must
be a lady."
"Yes, sweetheart, but while you are little I
want you to be a child lady. Then when you get
to be as big as Mamma and wear long dresses,
the gentlemen will behave toward you as they do
toward other ladies. So now," I said, what do
you think it was that Sergeant Quickstep found
to-day over at the lighthouse ? "
"I don't know," said Marjorie.
"Well," I said, "he found a lovely white sea-
bird. The lighthouse-keeper told him that it
flew so hard against the lantern last night, that
it was killed, poor thing! The sergeant gave
it to me. And I thought that its skin would
make a fine collar for my coat; then I thought
it would make a beautiful muff for a little girl.
Now, I will tell you what I will do. I will get
a pillow and lay my head down on it, here, and
you lay your head down on your pillow, and the
one who first goes to sleep gets the bird."
Marjorie laughed, and said, "All right."
So I brought the pillow, and we laid our heads
down and shut our eyes very tight. Pretty
soon I opened one eye and looked at Marjorie,
and I found that Marjorie had opened one eye
and was looking at me. So we both laughed
and shut our eyes again. Then, after a while, I
opened one eye and looked at Marjorie. But she
did not open her eye this time, because she was
And so Marjorie won the white sea-bird.


MARJORIE has been having the scarlet fever.
She wants that to go in Our Book, so there it is.
The day after the party, Marjorie was cross

and fretful. The old lady who lives next door
said that it was badness, and that she ought to
be punished. But grown people do not know
everything. So, instead of punishing her, Mar-
jorie's mamma held her in her arms and rocked
her and sang to her. After a while we found
that Marjorie was ill, and so we sent for the
doctor, and he said she had scarlet fever.
Well, then they would not let any one come
into the room lest some other little girl should
get it. And Marjorie's mamma and papa
nursed her for six weeks, and she had to take
a great deal of medicine. We always used to
taste it first, to see whether it was nice or not;
and if it was not nice, then Marjorie got a
present for taking it. One of the presents was
a cap for the Red Dolly, a cap which covered
her head, so that you could not see where it was
broken. Marjorie was afraid that the Red
Dolly would take the scarlet fever; but I think
she must have had it.
We played that the Lady Dolly took it. The
Lady Dolly wears fine clothes and moves her
eyes and cries. When the Doctor came,
SMarjorie consulted
4/ him about the Lady

1- '\

Dolly, and he said that a little medicine would
not hurt her. And so, every time that Marjorie
took medicine, the Lady Dolly had to take some,
too; and when it was horrid she rolled up her
eyes and cried. But she did not get any present.
When Marjorie grew better, I told her so
many stories and drew so many pictures, we
could not begin to get them all in Our Book.
"Yes, but, Jack," said Marjorie, "I think
you might put 'Strange Land' in, and- and
the Little Girl Who Lost Her Hat.'"
Well, I am sure I could not put in the story




of the hat, Marjorie, because I 'd have to make a
noise like the chickens, and the cows, and the
birds, and all
the other things
S that the little

S- cannot do that
With pen and
I'. ) ink, you know."
i ':'. ,'\ i *.

Now," said Marjorie, tell about the people
who lived in their hats."
"Well, when I was a little girl -"
"Why, Jack," said Marjorie, opening her eyes
very wide, you never was a little girl."
I mean when your mother was a little girl,"
I said, ever so many years ago -"
Now, Jack!" said Marjorie's mamma.
"They used to wear big straw hats, and they
called them flats.' And now the rooms that
people live in they call flats.' So that is where
the funny part of this poetry comes in:

Can't you draw the way they went, with a
pencil ?" suggested Marjorie.
No, I am afraid not," I said.
"But," said Marjorie, you can tell about the
little boy and the old chair with a break in the
seat, can't you ? "
Oh! yes," I replied:
Now listen to me well, and I will try to tell
Of a chair that was a sham,
Of a shelf that was tall, a boy that was small,
And a pot of blackberry jam.
Of course the boy with care climbed upon the chair,
His hand just reached to the shelf;
When suddenly his feet went right through the seat,
Then the boy fell through himself.
Then the shelf so tall came down with a fall
On the chair that was a sham;
And there they all lay, in a mixed-up way,
Spread over with blackberry jam.
"I am not sure," I said, "that I like that
word sham,' because I do not think that all the
little boys and girls who read ST. NICHOLAS will
know what it means. But then I cannot think
of any better word to rhyme with 'jam.'"
"Well," said Marjorie, I guess they can ask
their papas."
Yes," I said, of course. Or their mammas,
or somebody."
VOL. XVII.-85.

There was a lady lived in a flat.
Just think of that!
She laughed so much she grew quite fat.
Just think of that!
Though her husband was thin
He could not get in,
So he went and kept house in his hat.
Think of that! i

" Now, 'A, B, C,' said Marjorie.
"Very well," I said:

When little girls say their A, B, C's,
They must be careful not to sneeze,
For if they do, as sure as fate,
They '11 never be able to say them straight.

"And now," said Marjorie, leaning back in



her big chair, "just tell about' Strange Land,'
please, Jack; and that will be truly all."
So I told her this story:


ONCE upon a time a little girl found herself
walking along a road in the country. She did
not know where she came from, or where she
was going. It was just as if she had been asleep,
and had waked up in this Strange Land. But
she did not feel frightened or unhappy. She
walked along looking at the big trees and
bushes, and wondering what they were made
of, and how all the little leaves were fastened
on to them; and she pulled one off to see.
Then she saw the sky, and thought that it was
very pretty, and that she would like to look at it
closer. A long, long way off she saw where the
sky touched the earth, and she made up her
mind to walk there and put her hand on it, and
see if it was as soft and smooth as it looked.
But before she came much nearer to where
the sky touched the earth, the sun, that big,
bright ball which had been over her head all
day, began coming down to the same place.
The little girl thought that it was coming down
to meet her, and she hurried as fast as she could,
so as to be there in time. But while she was
still ever so far off, the sun got down very near
to the earth, and suddenly dropped out of sight.
Then the little girl stopped running, because
she saw that there must be a big hole between
the edge of the earth and where the sky was,
into which the sun had dropped; and she was
afraid that, as it was getting very dark, she might
fall into it, too, and tumble down on top of the
sun. Pretty soon the stars began to shine. The
child was very sorry to see the stars, because
she was sure that the sun must have fallen down
so hard as to break into little pieces which had
splashed all over the sky. She was very sorry
for the sun. At the same time she thought that
perhaps she would better not go any nearer the
end of the earth, just then. So she sat down to
see what would happen next.
While she was waiting, a woman came along,
and said, Why, here is a child. I was looking
for a little girl. Are you anybody's little girl ? "
The child said she did n't think so.

How lucky that is! said the woman. I will
call you Katie, and take you home with me."
So the child went home with her, and the
woman gave her a bowl of hot bread-and-milk,
and then undressed her and put her to bed.
While Katie was lying there, very happy, she
began thinking about all that she had seen that
day. And by and by she asked the woman if
that beautiful sun was really all broken into
little bits.
Why," said the woman, "what on earth is
the child talking about ? "
So Katie tried to tell her.
But the woman said, crossly, Goodness me I
Katie, you must not ask so many questions.
Little children should be seen, and not heard."
Now, Katie wanted to know very much
indeed about this sun, and the sky, and the
trees. She was sorry that in this Strange Land
children must not ask questions. But she was
a good little girl, and tried to do whatever this
woman, who seemed to know everything, bade
her. And so she asked no more questions, but
lay there thinking it all out for herself; but
before she could quite make up her mind about
it she fell asleep.
Katie must have taken cold during the day
while she was running to the end of the earth,
because in the night she began to cough. The
woman, by this time, had put out the light and
was in bed with her, fast asleep. Katie's cough-
ing woke her up, and that made her very cross
indeed, and she said:
Oh, dear me! If I had known how much
trouble this child was going to be, I don't think
I should have brought her home "
Katie was very sorry to hear the woman say
that, and she cried a little to think that she was
not wanted, and she wished she could go away.
But crying only made her cough more than ever.
Then the woman said: "If you don't stop
coughing I '11 shake you! Do you suppose
that I am going to have you keep me awake all
night with your coughing ? Stop it, I say "
"But I can't help it," said Katie.
Don't tell me you can't help it," said the
woman. I know better. You can if you try."
"I really don't believe I can," said Katie to
herself. But she says she knows." And re-
membering that the woman had told her only a




little while ago that children should be seen
and not heard, she made up her mind to try
very hard to stop the next cough. Pretty
soon she felt it coming, and she held her breath.
Then she began to get hot all over, and there
was a ringing in her ears, and her eyes started
out, until, at last, she thought she surely would
either have to cough and be punished, or burst.
Then, suddenly, it seemed to Katie as if
she had broken into ever so many little stars, as
the sun had done. The next moment the child
found herself walking along the road in the
country just as on the day before, only it was
morning now. The sky was soft and blue, and
the grass was soft and green, and the dewdrops
sparkled on the flowers, and pretty soon the
glorious sun itself came up in the sky the other
side from where it had gone down the night
before. The child was so glad to see the sun
and the flowers that she began to sing with
the birds.
While she was singing, there came by a lady,
dressed so prettily that she looked like a walking
Oh," cried the lady, stopping as she saw
the child, oo sweet littlee tootsey wootsey! Oo
must tum right home with me, and be my littlee
tweet dirl."
Now the child had never heard any one talk in
that way before, but she liked this pretty lady,
and took her hand; and together they walked
down the road to where there was a lovely
house. But before they came to the house, a
big red thing, with four legs and a tail and a
head with two sharp sticks on it, looked over a
fence and bellowed at them.
This frightened the child, so that she hid her
face in the lady's dress.
Why," said the lady, you silly littlee goosey
poosey! That is only a cow."
"Oh," said the child. But, nevertheless, she
kept on the other side of her friend until they
had passed the big thing with its mouth working
so, and with the sharp sticks on its head.
Then they walked on a little farther. Sud-
denly the lady gave such a shriek that the child
jumped nearly out of her shoes.
Oh, what is the matter ? she cried, clinging
once more to the lady's dress.
"There! there! Don't you see it?" said the

lady, pointing with her parasol to the road in
front of her.
For a long time the child could not see any-
thing. At last a tiny gray creature, about as big
as a spool of thread, came running along the
road. As it drew near them the little girl was
going to pick it up. But the lady gave another
scream and jumped up on a log, pulling the
child after her.
What is it ? whispered the child. She was
not scared, as she had been at the cow, but she
did not understand.
"S'h'h!" cried the lady; "it is a mouse "
"Oh," said the child, again.
Shoo! cried the lady, shaking her skirts at
the mouse.
Then the mouse sat up on its hind legs and
slowly winked one eye at the little girl. After
which it turned around and ran away as fast as
it could.
When they came to the house, the lady took
the child to her husband, who seemed very glad.
"Well, this is really a nice girl," he said.
"Now the first thing to be done," he continued
"is to begin her education. One cannot begin
a child's education too early. Tell me, little
girl, what is the meaning of pachyderm / "
I don't know," said the child.
"Ah," said the man, "I am sorry to hear



But no one ever told me," said the child.
"Then you should have asked," replied the
man. "What is your tongue for if it is not to
ask questions?"
But I was told-," said the little girl.


Don't interrupt me," said the man. Now,
here is a list of examination questions which I
have prepared for the Primary Grade, and here
are the text-books from which the information
can be derived. Get a pencil and paper, and go
to work. 'How doth the little busy bee!' Go
to work, little child, go to work."
So the child went to work. But just as she
got to "303. Define the analogy between meta-
carpus and habeas coirus," her head began to
feel very queer. Then everything whirled round
and round like tops. The next minute she found
herself on the road in the country once more.
Now the child was very glad to see the sky,
and the trees, and the birds again. She
thought that it would be very nice if the big
people in Strange Land would leave her alone
out there with the birds, and not take her to their
houses any more. But when the sun began to
go down, she grew very hungry, and was too
tired to run to the end of the earth to meet it.
And when at last she came to a house, she stood
at the front gate and looked in. At that mo-
ment a woman came hurrying out to her, and,
picking her up in her arms, hugged and kissed
her, and said:
"You precious thing, you! I knew you 'd
come to see me to-day. Come in "
The child was glad to hear that, and when
the woman took her into the house, and bathed
her, and gave her a nice warm supper, she was
very happy. After supper the woman took her
in her lap, and' sang to her, and told her stories.
There was an old lady in the room, who was the
woman's mother. And she kept saying all the
time to the woman, My dear, you are spoiling
that child."
But the woman only laughed, and went on
telling the child stories. Now, some of these
stories the little girl did not like, although she
was too polite to say so. They were about a
Rag-man who carried little children away in
his bag, and Ghosts who scared little children
in the dark, and Giants who ate little children
up. Now, of course, the grown people in
Strange Land only make-believe that there are
ghosts and giants. They know that there are
no such things, and that nobody hurts little
children. But the little girl had seen so many

curious things that she believed that what the
woman told her was all true. So when they put
her to bed, and took away the light, and left her
alone, she was very much frightened. Pretty
soon she heard a scratching noise at the foot of
her bed. This scared her so that she called out
very loud. Then the woman came in, and the
child told her what she had heard.
"Why," said the woman, it is only a mouse."
"Oh, make it go away," said the little girl.
"Afraid of a mouse!" said the woman,
laughing. A little, tiny mouse! Why, that
would never hurt you."
Then the little girl did not know what to think.
So she asked if she could not have a light in the
At this the old lady spoke up, and said, No,
no. Little girls must learn to sleep in the dark.
My mother made me sleep in the dark, and I
made my daughter do the same. There is
nothing to be afraid of."
But I want to see that there is nothing to
be afraid of," said the child.
No, no," said the old lady. Shut your
eyes tight, and go to sleep; then you won't
know whether it is light or dark."
Now, although the little girl shut her eyes very
tight, she could not go to sleep. So, when they
left her alone again and shut the door, she cov-
ered up her head in the bedclothes, and trembled
so hard that the bed shook and scared the little
mouse half out of his senses. The child kept
thinking of all the dreadful stories the woman
had told her, about the Rag-man, the Giant, and
the rest of them, until she was so frightened that
she cried. Then suddenly she heard a loud
voice, and then -
Why, then the little girl woke up. Woke up
truly; for she had been only dreaming about
the Strange Land all this time, while she was
really in her little crib at home. And the night-
lamp was burning low, and her own mamma
was leaning over her.
I think," said Marjorie's mamma, that the
little girl must have been eating too many nuts
and candies."
"Had she, Jack?" said Marjorie.
"I don't know," I said, "but I should n't

(To be concluded.)



The robins and blackbirds awoke me at dawn
Out in the wet orchard,beyond the green lawn,

For there they were holding a grand jubilee ,
And no. one had wakened to hear it but me .

The sweet honeysuckles were sprinkled with dew ;
There were hundreds of spider-webs wet with it too,

And pussy-cat,out by the lilacs,I saw
Was stopping and shaking the drops from her paw.

I dressed in the silence as still as a mouse ,
And groped down the stairway and out of the house.

There,dim in the dawning,the garden paths lay,
Where yesterday evening we shouted at play .

By the borders of box-wood,and under the trees
There was nothing astir but the birds and thebees.

And if all the world had been made just for me,
I thou gh't,what a wonderful thing it would be .





MARY OGDEN had three dresses, one quite
pretty, but none were of silk. Aunt Melinda
was always telling Mary what she ought not
to wear at her age, and with hair and eyes as
dark as hers. Mary felt very proud, therefore,
when she saw on the table in her room the par-
cel containing the black silk and trimmings.
"It must have been expensive," she said,
and she unfolded it as if afraid it would break.
"What will mother say ?" she thought. "And
Aunt Melinda! I'm too young for it I know
I am! "
The whole Murdoch family arose early, and
the editor, after looking at the black silk, said
that he felt pretty well.
So you ought," said his wife. "You had
more new subscribers yesterday than you ever
had before in your life in any one day."
That makes me think," said Mr. Murdoch.
"I owe Mary Ogden five dollars -there it is -
for getting out that number of the Eagle."
Oh, no !" exclaimed Mary. I did that,
and Jack did it, only because-"
He put the bank-note into her hand.
"I 'd rather you 'd take it," he said. "You '11
never be a good editor till you learn to work on
a business basis."
As he insisted, she put the bill into her pocket-
book, thanking him gratefully.
"I had two dollars when I came," she thought,
"and I have n't spent a cent; but I may need
something. Besides, I '11 have to pay for mak-
ing up my new dress."
But she was wrong. Mrs. Murdoch went out
to see a neighbor after breakfast, and before
noon it was certain that if seven old men of
Mertonville had paid for the silk, at least seven
elderly women could be found who were very
willing to make it up.

About that time Jack was walking up to the
door of the Senate Chamber, in the Capitol, at
Albany, after having astonished himself by long
walks and gazings through the halls and side
"It's true enough," he said to himself. The
Governor 's right. Nd fellow could go through
this and come out just as he came in."
He understood about the twenty tons of
pure gold" in the building, but nevertheless he
could not keep from looking all around after
signs of it.
There's plenty of gilding," he said, but it's
very thin. It's all finished, too. I don't see
what more they could do, now the roof 's on and
it 's all painted. He must have been joking
when he said that."
Jack roamed all over the Capitol, for the
Legislature was not in session, and the building
was open to sightseers. There were many of
them, and from visitors, workmen, and some
boys whom he met, Jack managed to find out
many interesting things.
The Assembly Chamber seemed to him a
truly wonderful room, and upon the floor were
several groups of people admiring it.
He saw one visitor seat himself in the
Speaker's chair.
There 's room in that chair for two or three
small men," said Jack; I '11 try it by and by."
So he did.
"The Speaker was a boy once, too, and so
was the Governor," he said to himself aloud.
"Yes, my boy," said a lady, who was near
enough to hear him; so they were. So were
all the Presidents, and some went barefoot and
lived in log-cabins."
"Well, I 've often gone barefoot," said Jack,
Many boys go barefoot, but they can't all
become Governors," she said, pleasantly.
She looked at Jack for a moment, and then
said with a smile, "You look like a bright


young man, though. Do you suppose you
could ever be Governor?"
"Perhaps I could," he said. "It can't be
harder to learn than any other business."
The lady laughed, and her friends laughed,
and Jack arose from the Speaker's chair and
walked away.
He had seen enough of that vast State House.
It wearied him, there was so much of it, and it
was so fine.
"To build this house cost twenty tons of
gold!" he said, as he went out through the
lofty doorway. I wish I had some of it. I 've
kept my nine dollars yet, anyway. The Gov-
ernor 's right. I don't know what he meant,
but I '11 never be just the same fellow again."
It was so. But it was not merely seeing the
Capitol that had changed him. He was chang-
ing. from a boy who had never seen anything
outside of Crofield and Mertonville, into a boy
who was walking right out into the world to
learn what is in it.
I '11 go to the hotel and write to Father and
Mother," he said; "and I have something to
tell them."
It was the first real letter he had ever written,
and it seemed a great thing to do,- ten times
more important than writing a composition, and
almost equal to editing the Eagle.
"I '11 just put in everything," he thought, "just
as it came along, and they '11 know what I 've
been doing."
It took a long time to write the letter, but it
was done at last, and when he put down his
pen he exclaimed:
"Hard work always makes me hungry! I
wonder if it is n't dinner-time ? They said it
was always dinner-time here after twelve o'clock.
I'11 go see." It was long after twelve when he
went down to the office to stamp and mail his
Mr. Ogden," said the clerk, giving Jack an
envelope, here 's a note from Mr. Magruder.
He left "
Ogden," said a deep, full voice just behind
him, did n't you stay there too long ? I am
told you sat in the Speaker's chair."
Jack wheeled about, blushing crimson. The
Governor was not standing still, but was walking
steadily through the office, surrounded by a

group of dignified men. It was necessary to
walk with them in order to reply to the question,
and Jack did so.
"I sat there half a minute," he answered.
"I hope it did n't hurt me."
"I 'm glad you got out so soon, Jack," re-
plied the Governor approvingly.
"But I heard also that you think of learning
the Governor business," went on the great man.
"Now, don't you do it. It is not large pay,
and you 'd be out of work most of the time.
Be a blacksmith, or a carpenter, or a tailor, or a
Well, Governor," said Jack, I was brought
up a blacksmith; and I 've worked at carpenter-
ing, and printing too; and I 've edited a news-
paper; but-."
There he was cut short by the laughter from
those dignified men.
"Good-bye, Jack," said the Governor, shak-
ing hands with him. "I hope you '11 have a good
time in the city. You '11 be sent back to the
Capitol some day, perhaps."
Jack returned to the clerk's counter to mail
his letter, and found that gentleman looking at
him as if he wondered what sort of boy he
might be.
That young fellow knows all the politicians,"
said the clerk to one of the hotel proprietors.
"He can't be so countrified as he looks."
After dinner, Jack returned to his room for a-
long look at the guide-book. He went through
it rapidly to the last leaf, and then threw it
down, remarking:
"I never was so tired! I '11 take a walk
around and see Albany a little more; and I 'lI
not be sorry when the boat goes. I 'd like to
see Mary and the rest for an hour or two. I
think they 'd like to see me coming in, too."
Jack sauntered on through street after street,
getting a clearer idea of what a city was.
He walked so far that he had some difficulty
in returning to the hotel, but finally he found
it without asking directions.
Soon after, Jack brought down his satchel,
said good-bye to the very polite clerk, and
walked out.
He had learned the way to the steamboat-
wharf; and he had already taken one brief look
at the river and the railway bridge.



"There 's the' Columbia,'" he said, aloud, as
he turned a street corner and came in sight of
her. What a boat! Why, if her nose was at
the Main street corner, by the Washington
Hotel, her rudder would be half-way across the
Cocahutchie !"
He walked the wharf, staring at her from end
to end, before he went on board. He had put
Mr. Magruder's note into his pocket without
reading it.
"I won't open it here," he had said then.
"There 's nothing in it but a ticket."
He found, however, that he must show the
ticket at the gangway, and so he opened the
"Three tickets ?" he said. "And two are in
one piece. This one is for a stateroom. That's
the bunk I 'm to sleep in. Hullo! Supper
ticket! I have supper on board the steamer, do
I ? Well, I 'm not sorry. I 'll have to hurry,
too. It 's about time for her to start."
Jack went on board, and soon was hunting
for his stateroom, almost bewildered by the
rushing crowd in the great saloon.
He had his key, and knew the number, but it
seemed that there were about a thousand of the
little doors.
One hundred and seventy-six is mine," he
said; "and I 'm going to put away my satchel and
go on deck and see the river. Here it is at last.
Why, it's a kind of little bedroom! It's as
good as a floating hotel. Now I 'm all right."
Suddenly he was aware, with a great thrill of
pleasure, that the Columbia was in motion. He
left his satchel in a corner, locked the door of
the stateroom behind him, and set out to find
his way to the deck. He went downstairs and
upstairs, ran against people, and was run against
by them; and it occurred to him that all the
passengers were hunting for something they
could not find.
Looking for staterooms, I guess," he re-
marked aloud; but he himself should not have
been staring behind him, for at that moment
he felt the whack of a collision, and a pair of
heavy arms grasped him.
What you looks vor yourself, poy? You
knocks my breath out! You find somebody you
looks vor eh ? "
The tremendous man who held him was not

tall, but very heavy, and had a broad face and
long black beard and shaggy gray eyebrows.
"Beg pardon!" exclaimed Jack, with a
glance at a lady holding one of the man's long
arms, and at two other ladies following them.
"You vas got your stateroom?" asked his
round-faced captor good-humoredly.
"Oh, yes!" said Jack. "I 've got one."
"You haf luck. Dell you vot, poy, it ees a
beeg schvindle. Dey say passage feefty cent,'
und you comes aboard, und you find it is choost
so. Dot 's von passage. Den it ees von dollar
more to go in to supper, und von dollar to eat
sometings, und von dollar to come out of sup-
per, und some more dollars to go to sleep, und
maybe dey shares you more dollars to vake
up in de morning. Dot is not all. Dey haf no
more shtateroom left, und ve all got to zeet
up all night. Eh? How you like dot, poy?"
Jack replied, as politely as he knew how:
Oh, you will find a stateroom. They can't
be full."
Dey ees full. Dey ees more as full. Dere
vill be no room to sleep on de floor, und ve haf
to stand oop all night. How you likes dot, eh ?"
The ladies looked genuinely distressed, and
said a number of things to each other in some
tongue that Jack did not understand. He had
been proud enough of his stateroom up to that
moment, but he felt his heart melting. Besides,
he had intended to sit up a long while to see
the river.
I can fix it," he suddefily exclaimed. Let
the ladies take my stateroom. It's big enough."
"Poy! said the German solemnly, dot is
vot you run into my arms for. My name is
Guilderaufenberg. Dis lady ees Mrs. Guilder-
aufenberg. Dis ees Mees Hildebrand. She 's
Mees Poogmistchgski, and she is a Bolish lady
vis my wife."
Jack caught all the names but the last, but he
was not half sure about that. He bowed to
Come with me; I'11 show you the room,"
he said. Then I am going out on deck."
Ve comes," said the wide German; and the
three ladies all tried to express their thanks at
the same time, as Jack led the way. Jack was
proud of his success in actually finding his own
door again.



I puts um all een," said Mr. Guilderaufen-
berg; "den I valks mit you on deck. Dose
vommens belifs you vas a fine poy. So you vas,
ven I dells de troof."
They all talked a great deal, and Jack man-
aged to reduce the Polish lady's name to Miss
" Podgoomski," but he felt uneasily that he had
left out a part of it. Mrs. Guilderaufenberg
and the others were loaded up with more par-
cels and baggage than Jack had ever seen three
women carry.
Dey dakes care of dot shtateroom," said his
friend. "Ve goes on deck. I bitty anypoddy vot
dries to get dot shtateroom avay from Mrs. Guil-

P, I s

--- k--* --

deraufenberg and Meess Hildebrand and Meess
Pod- ski "; but again Jack had failed to hear
that Polish lady's name.


JACK already felt well acquainted with Mr.
The broad and bearded German knew all
about steamboats, and found his way out upon
the forward deck without any difficulty. Jack
had lost his way entirely in his first hunting for
that spot, and he was glad to find himself under
the awning and gazing down the river.
VOL. XVII.- 86.

Ve only shtays here a leetle vile," said his
friend. Den ve goes and takes de ladies down
to eat some supper. Vas you hongry ?"
Jack was not really hungry for anything but
the Hudson, but he said he would gladly
join the supper-party.
"I never saw the Hudson before," he said.
"I 'd rather sit up than not."
I seet up all de vay to New York and not
care," said his friend. I seet up a great deal.
My vife, dot ees Mrs. Guilderaufenberg, she
keep a beeg boarding-house in Vashington. Dot
ees de ceety to lif in! Vas you ever in Vashing-
ton? No ?"
Never was anywhere," said Jack. Never
was in New York-"
"You nefer vas dere ? Den you petter goes
mit me und Mrs. Guilderaufenberg. Dot ees
goot. So! You nefer vas in Vashington. You
nefer vas in New York. So! Den you nefer
vas in Lonton? I vas dere. You lose yourself
in Lonton so easy. I lose myself twice vile I
vas dere."
"You were n't lost long, I know," said Jack,
laughing at the droll shake of the German's
"No, I vas find. I vas shoost going to ad-
vertise myself ven I finds a street I remember.
Den I gets to my hotel. You nefer vas dere?
Und you nefer vas in Vashington. You come
some day. Dot ees de ceety, mit de Capitol und
de great men Und you vas nefer in Paris, nor in
Berlin, nor in Vienna, nor in Amsterdam ? No?
I haf all of dem seen, und dose oder cities. I
dravel, but dere ees doo much boleece, so I
comes to dis country, vere dere ees few boleece."
Jack was startled for a moment. The bland,
good-humored face of his German acquaintance
had suddenly changed. His white teeth showed
through his mustaches, and his beard seemed
to wave and curl as he spoke of the police.
For one moment Jack thought of Deacon Abram
and Mrs. McNamara, of the dark room and
the ropes and the window.
He may not have done anything," he said
to himself, aloud, any more than I did; and
they were after me."
"Dot ees not so!" Mr. Guilderaufenberg
growled. I dell dem de troof too mosh. Den
I vas a volf, a vild peest, dot mus' be hoonted,


und dey hoonted me; put I got avay. I vas
in St. Betersburg, vonce, vile dey hoont some-
vere else. Den I vas in Constantinople, mit de
Turks -"
Jack's brain was in a whirl. He had read
about all of those cities, and here was a man
who had really been in them. It was even more
wonderful than talking with the Governor or
looking at the Hudson.
But in a moment his new friend's face assumed
a quieter expression.
Come along," he said. De ladies ees
ready by dees time. Ve goes. Den I dells
you some dings you nefer hear."
He seemed to know all about the Columbia,
for he led Jack straight to the stateroom door,
through all the crowds of passengers.
I might not have found it in less than an
hour," said Jack to himself. "They're wait-
ing for us. I can't talk with them much."
But he found out that Mrs. Guilderaufenberg
spoke English with but little accent, Miss
Hildebrand only knocked over a letter here
and there, and the Polish lady's fluent English
astonished him so much that he complimented
her upon it.
"Dot ees so," remarked Mr. Guilderaufen-
berg. "She talks dem all so vell dey say she
vas born dere. Dell you vat, my poy, ven you
talks Bolish or Russian, den you vas exercise
your tongue so you speaks all de oder lank-
witches easy."
The ladies were in good humor, and disposed
to laugh at anything, especially after they
reached the supper-room; and Mrs. Guilder-
aufenberg at once took a strong interest in
Jack because he had never been anywhere.
For convenience, perhaps, the ladies fre-
quently spoke to one another in German, but
Jack, without understanding a word of it, listened
earnestly to what they were saying.
They often, however, talked in English, and
to him, and he learned that they had been mak-
ing a summer-vacation trip through Canada, and
were now on their way home. It was evident
that Mr. Guilderaufenberg was a man who did
not lack money, and that none of the others
was poor. Besides hearing them, Jack was busy
in looking around the long, glittering supper-
room of the Columbia, noticing how many dif-

ferent kinds of people there were in it. They
seemed to be of all nations, ages, colors, and
kinds, and Jack would not have missed the sight
for anything.
"I 'm beginning to see the world," he said
to himself, and then he had to reply to Mrs.
Guilderaufenberg for about the twentieth time:
Oh, not at all. You 're welcome to the
stateroom. I 'd rather sit up and look at the
river than go to bed."
Den, Mr. Ogden," she said, "you comes
to Vashington, and you comes to my house. I
can den repay your kindness. You vill see
senators, congressmen, generals, fine men -
great men, in Vashington."
After supper the party found seats under the
awning forward, and for a while Jack's eyes
were so busy with the beauties of the Hudson
that his ears heard little.
The moonlight was very bright and clear, and
showed the shores plainly. Jack found his
memory of the guide-book was excellent. The
villages and towns along the shores were so
many collections of twinkling, changing glim-
mers, and between them lay long reaches of
moonshine and shadow.
"I 'd like to write home about it," thought
Jack, "but I could n't begin to tell 'em how it
Jack was not sorry when the three ladies said
good-night. He had never before been so
long upon his careful good behavior in one
evening, and it made him feel constrained, till
he almost wished he was back in Crofield.
Mr. Guilderaufenberg," he said as soon as
they were alone, this is the first big river I
ever saw."
"So ? said the German. Den I beats
you. I see goot many rifers, ven I drafels. Dell
you vat, poy: verefer dere vas big rifers, any-
vere, dere vas mosh fighting. Some leetle rifer
do choost as vell, sometimes, but de beeg rifers
vas alvays battlefields."
Not the Hudson? said Jack inquiringly.
You ees American poy," said the German;
"you should know de heestory of your country.
Up to Vest Point, de Hudson vas full of fights.
All along shore, too. I vas on de Mississippi,
and it is fights all de vay down to his mout'.
So mit some oder American rifers. but de vorst




of all is the Potomac, by Vashington., Eet ees "
not so fine as de Hudson, but eet is battle- "
grounds all along shore. I vas on de Danube, the
and eet ees vorse for fights dan de Potomac. I see
see so many oder rifers, all ofer, eferyvere, but de leec
fighting rifer of de vorld is de Rhine. It is so mai
fine as de Hudson, and eet ees even better look- vas
ing by day.-Ve gets into de Caatskeel Moun- vas

. .. .
'p*" "

tains now. Look at dem by dis moonlight, and
you ees like on de Rhine. You see de Rhine
some day, and ven you comes to Vashington
you see de Potomac."
On, on, steamed the Columbia, with what
almost seemed a slow motion, it was so pon-
derous, dignified, and stately, while the moonlit
heights and hollows rolled by on either hand.
On, at the same time, went Mr. Guilderaufen-
berg with his stories of rivers and cities and
countries that he had seen, and of battles
fought along rivers and across them. Then,
suddenly, the gruff voice grew deep and savage,
like the growl of an angry bear, and he ex-
claimed :
I haf seen some men, too, of de kind I run
avay from "


Policemen ? said Jack.
Yah; dat is de name I gif dem," growled
angry German. De Tsar of Russia, I vas
him, and he vas noding but a chief of bo-
e. De old Kaiser of Germany, he vas a goot
n, but he vas too mosh chief of boleece. So
de Emperor of Austria; I vas see him. So
de Sultan of Turkey, but he vas more a hum-
pug dan anything else. Dere ees leetle
boleece in Turkey. I see de Emperor
Napoleon before he toomble down. He
vas noding but a boleeceman. I vas so
vild glad ven he comes down. De leetle
kings, I care not so mosh for. You comes
to Vashington, and I show you some leetle
kings -" and Mr. Guilderaufenberg grew
good-humored and began to laugh.
"What kind of kings ? asked Jack.
"Leetle congressman dot is choost come
de first time, und leetle beeg man choost
put into office. Dey got ofer it bretty
soon, und de fun is gone."
There was a long silence after that.
The broad German sat in an arm-chair,
and pretty soon he slipped forward a lit-
tie with his knees very near the network
below the rail of the Columbia. Then
Jack heard a snore, and knew that his
traveler friend was sound asleep.
"I wish I had a chair to sleep on,
instead of this camp-stool," thought Jack.
I '11 have a look all around the boat and
come back."
.t took a long while to see the boat, and the
t thing he discovered was that a great many
iple had failed to secure staterooms or berths.
ey sat in chairs, and they lounged on sofas,
I they were curled up on the floor; for the
lumbia had received a flood of tourists
o were going home, and a large part of the
sengers of another boat that had been de-
ied on account of an accident at Albany; so
steamer was decidedly overcrowded.
SThere are more people aboard," thought
:k, than would make two such villages as
)field, unless you should count in the farms
I farmers. I 'm glad I came, if it 's only to
)w what a steamboat is. I have n't spent a
.t of my nine dollars yet, either."
Here and there he wandered, until he came


out at the stern, and had a look at the foaming
wake of the boat, and at the river and the
heights behind, and at the grand spectacle of
another great steamboat, full of lights, on her
way up the river. He had seen any number of
smaller boats, and of white-sailed sloops and
schooners, and now, along the eastern bank, he
heard and saw the whizzing rush of several rail-
way trains.
I 'd rather be here," he thought. The
people there can't see half so much as I can."
Not one of them, moreover, had been travel-
ing all over the world with Mr. Guilderaufen-
berg, and hearing and thinking about kings and
their police."
Getting back to his old place was easier, now
that he began to understand the plan of the
Columbia; but, when Jack returned, his camp-
stool was gone, and he had to sit down on the
bare deck or to stand up. He did both, by
turns, and he was beginning to feel very weary
of sight-seeing, and to wish that he were sound
asleep, or that to-morrow had come.
"It 's a warm night," he said to himself,
" and it is n't so very dark, even now the moon
has gone down. Why--it 's getting lighter!
Is it morning? Can we be so near the city as
that ?"
There was a growing rose-tint upon a few
clouds in the western sky, as the sun began to
look at them from below the range of heights,
eastward, but the sun had not yet risen.
Jack was all but breathless. He walked as
far forward as he could go, and forgot all
about being sleepy or tired.
"There," he said, after a little, those must
be the Palisades."
Out came his guide-book, and he tried to fit
names to the places along shore.
More sailing-vessels," he said, and there
goes another train. We must be almost there."
He was right, and he was all one tingle of
excitement as the Columbia swept steadily on
down the widening river.
There came a pressure of a hand upon his
Goot-morning, my poy. De city ees com-
ing. How you feels? "

First-rate," said Jack. It won't be long,
now, will it ?"
"You wait a leetle. I sleep some. It vas
a goot varm night. De varmest night I efer
had vas in Egypt, and de coldest vas in Mos-
cow. De shtove it went out, and ve vas cold, I
dell you, dill dot shtove vas kindle up again!
Dere vas dwenty-two peoples in dot room, and
dot safe us. Ve keep von another varm. Dot
ees de trouble mit Russia. De finest vedder in all
de vorlt is een America,- and dere ees more
vedder of all kinds."
On, on, and now Jack's blood tingled more
sharply, to his very fingers and toes, for they
swept beyond Spuyten Duyvil Creek, which his
friend pointed out, and the city began to make
its appearance.
It 's on both sides," said Jack. No,
that 's New Jersey "- and he read the names
on that side from his guide-book.
Masts, wharves, buildings, and beyond them
spires, and-and Jack grew dizzy trying to
think of that endless wilderness of streets and
houses. He heard what Mr. Guilderaufenberg
said about the islands in the harbor, the forts,
the ferries, and yet he did not hear it plainly,
because it was too much to take in all at once.
"Now I brings de ladies," said Mr. Guilder-
aufenberg, an' ve eats breakfast, ven ve all gets
to de Hotel Dantzic. Come!"
Jack took one long, sweeping look at the city,
so grand and so beautiful under the newly
risen sun, and followed.

At that same hour a dark-haired girl sat by
an open window in the village of Mertonville.
She had arisen and dressed herself, early as it
was, and she held in her hand a postal-card,
which had arrived for her from Albany the night
By this time," she said, Jack is in the city.
Oh, how I wish I were with him! "
She was silent after that, but she had hardly
said it before one of two small boys, who had
been pounding one another with pillows in a
very small bedroom in Crofield, suddenly threw
his pillow at the other, and exclaimed:
I s'pose Jack's there by this time, Jimmy!"

(To be continued.)

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A K I N. I IN- I I I-'lLPI T.

ALL hail to you, my June roses and posers, or, in
other words, my girls and boys, all hail to you !
This is myfair-weather greeting, you understand.
I should not think of inflicting it upon you in
blustering seasons. So here, in this sweet June
warmth and sunshine, I repeat: Allhail to you !
And now on this auspicious occasion, let me call
your attention to some very interesting letters that
my birds have lately brought me. Indeed, one
missive greatly agitated the messengers themselves,
if I may judge by the crowding flutter of wings
when it was laid upon my pulpit. You shall have
it first. It tells about

DEAR JACK: I once witnessed a singular tragedy
in one of my rambles through the woods.
It was a cold March afternoon, and I stood on
the edge of a shaded pond, looking for some water-
loving bird that might happen along, when sud-
denly I was startled by a disturbance overhead.
On looking up I saw, on a willow-branch that
drooped gracefully over the water, a kingfisher -
one of the smaller species. The bird seemed to
be looking intently at something in the water un-
der a thin sheet of ice that had formed on the pre-
vious night, when suddenly down he shot, dashing
through the ice and sinking in the water beneath.
My astonishment was great. I could hardly be-
lieve that an old, experienced kingfisher would be
deceived by the clearness of the ice and mistake it
for the still surface of the water; so I watched
intently to see what would become of the careless
little bird.
It happened to be a shallow spot where he
plunged, and the disturbance at first made the
water muddy. Soon it cleared; but where was

Mr. Kingfisher? I looked at the hole, and saw
nothing there but the cold water and a broken
edge of thin ice.
Soon came a faint thump, thump, and there, a
few yards from the hole he had made in the ice,
was the bird, underneath the frozen surface, beat-
ing his wings feebly against the wall of his watery
prison. He died as I took him in my hand.
Will some of your ST. NICHOLAS readers offer
an explanation ?
Respectfully yours, PHILIP B. WHELPLEY.


IT may not'be known even to the good Deacon,
who lately has taken a spouse, nor to the Little
School-ma'am, who is not yet among the married,
that every wedded couple who live together twenty-
five years are allowed seven weddings Yet so it is.
Yes, and all who remain married for more than
seventy-five years may have ten weddings If you
do not believe it, listen to this letter, which an
astonished dove has within a week brought to my

DEAR JACK: I am a little girl living near New York
City, and yesterday my Papa and Mamma had a tin wed-
ding. It was lovely. They had a great many presents,
all made of tin; and even the plates, with cakes and mot-
toes on them, were of tin; and Grandpapa had a big tin-
headed cane.
So far, Mamma says, they have had four. First, the
real wedding; then, three years after, they had a leather
wedding; then, when it was five years, they had a
wooden wedding; and now they've had the tin wedding.
That's for ten years. Here is the list that Mamma wrote
out for me: At the end of third year, leather wedding;
fifth year, wooden wedding; tenth year, tin wedding;
fifteenth year, crystal wedding (that means glass, you
know); twentieth year, china wedding; twenty-fifth
year, silver wedding; thirtieth year, pearl wedding; fif-
tieth year, golden wedding; seventy-fifth year, diamond
Mamma and Papa are not going to keep all of these
weddings, because, Papa says, if a young couple have n't
learned to economize by the time they've been married
seventy-five years they 'd better begin to be taught it.
He 's so funny Your little friend, CLARA K. B.

DEAR JACK: As I have read a great deal in your
pages about roses, and other flowers, in blocks of ice, I
thought I would tell you about one here. There is a
brewery near by that makes its own ice. One day the
men presented to one of the directors a lump of ice
I Y feet square by I foot thick, in the center of which was
frozen a perfect bouquet of the choicest flowers. They
looked quite fresh and natural.
Your constant reader, DANNIE G--.


season has come when all sorts of creeping,
skipping, hopping, and flying creatures are at play
in the sunshine, and are eagerly studied by young



observers hereabouts, I should like to tell you and
them of a queer sport which small boys in parts of
Central America consider fine fun. It is spider-
There is one particularly venomous spider in
Nicaragua which bites men and animals about the
feet and ankles, causing great pain and lameness,
and then cleverly drops out of sight into a hole,
which it digs for itself in the ground. The boys
tie a ball of wax to the end of a fishing-line, and
drop the ball, teasingly, down into the hole, until
the angry insect takes so firm a hold of the wax
that it can be drawn out of the hole and triumph-
antly killed. J. E. R.

THROUGH the great college-window a bumblebee
And buzzed on the blackboard a moment or two.
It sailed at the tutor,-he ducked down his head;
It bowed to the students,--they drew back in
It looked over shoulders (which was not polite);
Then out of the doorway it flew in a fright.
It stayed some ten seconds, acquired no know-
But bragged to a friend about "going through
The friend smiled, and said (with a little wing-
"You arc now, I suppose, B. H. B.,- Big Hum

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: As you are always in-
terested in strange plants, I must tell you that I lately
saw one rare enough to be something of a curiosity. I
always had heard of the big-leaved water-lily called the
"Victoria regia," as being found in South America or
some other foreign place. But there is one in Massa-
chusetts, and it is alive, too. I asked the gardener about
it, and learned that it has been here (on Cape Cod) about
three years, and that it has never before flowered so far
north except under glass. He says, however, that it has
been grown also in Fairmount Park, Philadelphia; and

in New Jersey for about ten years. This beautiful plant
was first cultivated under glass in America, nearly forty
years ago, at Salem, Massachusetts.
I was also told by him (the gardener) that, as the flower
fades, it is gradually drawn to the bottom of the pond,
and stays there about fifty days to ripen its seeds. The
pods contain four or five hundred of the seeds, which are
about as large as peas.
I send you a photograph of the lily and leaves. The
little boy sitting upon the leaf is the gardener's son.
The flower is in bloom three days, and changes from
creamy white to pink. I believe the water is kept warm
by steam pipes.
Would n't the leaves be splendid for decorating a
giant's table? It seems to me the flower is a misfit to
the leaf- or perhaps it is the other way.
On second thoughts, I think this blossom is larger than
it appears. In the first place, the camera has a trick of
enlarging near objects and diminishing those at a dis-
tance; so you see the flower has not had full justice
done it. Then, again, when you reflect that the leaves
of the Victoria regia range from six to eight feet in di-
ameter, and its flower is generally about one foot in
diameter, you '11 see that the proportions are pretty
well carried out, after all.
Hoping, dear Jack, that I have not stated too many
facts, and that you will find the picture interesting enough
to publish, I am your admiring reader and friend,

DEAR JACK: There is a question which puzzles me
very much. It is: If horses do not think, how is it
that they understand the difference in languages ? For
instance, the horses in our country understand us when
we speak in our language; but if a foreigner tells them
in his language to "get up," they do not change or
quicken their pace at all. This fact is true of horses in
all countries. Please, dear Jack, give me the explanation
of this. Yours in doubt,


THE best letters concerning the origin of the
words tinker, almanac, and landlord came from
Margaret A. and Mr. T. B. ; but the Little School-
ma'am and your Jack thank all of you who have
answered the question.




Ri turn tiddy-iddy, ri turn turn !
Here I must sit for an hour and strum.
Practice is the thing for a good little
It makes her nose straight, and it makes her
hair curl.
Ri tumn liddy-iddy, ri turm ti
Bang on the low notes and twiddle on the
Whether it's a jig or the Dead March" in
I sometimes often feel as if I did n't care at

Ri turn tiddy-iddy, ri turn tee /
I don't mind the whole or the half note, you see.
It 's the sixteenth and the quarter that confuse
my mother's daughter,
And a thirty-second really is too dreadful to be
taught her.
Ri turn tiddy-iddy, ri turn to !
I shall never, never, never learn the minor scale,
I know.
It 's gloomier and awfuller than puppy dogs
And what 's the use of practicing such melan-
choly yowling?

But-ri tur tiddy-iddy, ri tum turn /
Still I work away with my drum, drum, drum.
For practicing is good for a good little girl;
It makes her nose straight, and it makes her hair curl.*
* This last line is not true, little girls; but it is so hard, you know, to find good reasons for practicing.


MOST of us would say, if asked, that we are de-
scended from Adam; but what an almost myth-
ical person that same Adam is to us !-as unreal
as Jupiter or Apollo, or any of those old names
of antiquity that we know were only names. It
seems impossible to realize that the ancient
world of "the beginning," as the Bible calls it,
is the same world we live in now; and its men
and times seem separated from us by an impas-
sable chasm -they on one side, in the dark-
ness, we on the other side, in the light -and
no links of connection between.
But if you should meet any one who had once
seen George Washington, with how much more
reality and distinctness those early days of our
country and all the Revolutionary times would
stand out to you! So let us see if we can not
make those old, old times of the past years seem
more real. I think we can do that if we connect
them with our own times by a list of people who
may reasonably be said to have seen each other
in all those long intervals of years--so, link by
link, forming a chain of connection between
the old, dreamlike, dark ages and this very day
when you turn the pages of your ST. NICHOLAS.
Let us try. According to the Biblical record,
which necessarily opens the list:
Adam must have been seen by Methusaleh,
who was 243 years old when Adam died.
Methusaleh must have been seen by his
grandson Noah, who was almost 500 years
old when Methusaleh died.
Noah must have been seen by his great-grand-
son Salah, who was 300 years old when Noah
Salah must have been seen by his grandson
Peleg, in whose days the earth was divided,
and whom he outlived.
Peleg must have been seen by his great grand-
son Nahor, who died about the same time
with Peleg.
Nahor was seen by his grandson Abraham, who
was about 30 years old when Nahor died.
VoL. XVII.-87. 7

Abraham was doubtless seen by his grandson
Jacob, who was more than 30 years old when
Abraham died.
Jacob was seen by his grandson Kohath, who
accompanied him on his journey into Egypt.
Kohath was undoubtedly seen by his grand-
son Aaron, as Kohath lived to the age of
133 years.
Aaron, who married the sister of Naashon,
prince of the tribe of Judah, was undoubtedly
seen by Salmon, the son of Naashon.
Salmon was of course seen by his son Boaz,
the husband of Ruth.
Boaz was of course seen by his son Obed.
Obed was of course seen by his son Jesse.
Jesse was of course seen by his son David,
David was of course seen by his son Solomon.
Solomon was seen by his son Rehoboam.
Rehoboam was seen, undoubtedly, by his
grandson Asa, who succeeded him after an
interval of three years.
Asa was seen by his son Jehoshaphat.
Jehoshaphat was seen by Elisha the Prophet,
in the war with Moab.
Elisha was seen by Jehoash, king of Israel, in
the last sickness of Elisha.
Jehoash was seen by Amaziah, king of Judah,
whom he took captive.
Amaziah was seen by his son Uzziah.
Uzziah was undoubtedly seen by Isaiah, who
began to prophesy in his reign.
Isaiah was seen by Hezekiah in his sickness-
Hezekiah was seen by his son Manasseh.
Manasseh had doubtless been seen by his
grandson Josiah, who, though a child of
eight, succeeded after an interval of two years.
Josiah was seen by his son Zedekiah.
Zedekiah was seen by Nebuchadnezzar, who
ordered his eyes to be put out.
Nebuchadnezzar was seen by the prophet
Daniel at his court.
Daniel was seen by Darius, whose prime-min-
ister he was.


Darius was seen by Cyrus the Great, his nephew.
Cyrus was seen by Atossa, his daughter, the
wife of Darius Hystaspes.
Atossa was seen by her son Xerxes.
Xerxes was seen by his son Artaxerxes.
Artaxerxes was seen by his son Darius Nothus.
Darius Nothus was seen by his son Cyrus
the Younger.
Cyrus the Younger was seen by Xenophon,
who was one of his generals in his fatal expe-
dition in the year 401 B. C.
Xenophon was seen by Plato, his companion
in the school of Socrates.
Plato was seen by Aristotle, who was his pupil,
365 B. C.
Arlistotle was seen by Alexander the Great,
who was his scholar.
Alexander the Great was seen by Antigonus,
who was one of his generals.
Antigonus was seen by his son Demetrius
Demetrius Poliorcetes was seen by An-
tiochus Soter, who married his daughter
Antiochus Soter was seen by his son Antio-
chus Theos.
Antiochus Theos was seen by his son Seleu-
cus Callinicus.
Seleucus Callinicus was seen by his son
Antiochus the Great.
Antiochus the Great was seen by his nephew
Antipater, whom he sent to desire peace of the
Romans, 190 B. C.
Antipater was seen by Scipio Africanus, who
was at Rome when he came.
Scipio Africanus, b. 234 B. C., was seen by
his son Scipio the Younger.
Scipio the Younger was seen by his adopted
son Scipio Emilianus, the destroyer of Car-
Scipio IEmilianus was seen by Caius Ma-
rius, b. 157 B. C., who served under him,
and whose greatness he predicted.
Marius was seen by Sylla, who served with
him, and was afterward his rival.
Sylla was seen by Cesar, who served with him,
and was his friend.
Caesar was seen by Mark Antony, his friend.
Mark Antony was seen by Herod the Great,
his friend.

Herod the Great was seen by his son, Herod
Herod Antipas was seen by John the Bap-
tist, by whom he was reproved.
John the Baptist was seen by Andrew the
Apostle, whom he directed to Christ.
Andrew was seen by John, his fellow Apostle.
John the Apostle was seen by Polycarp,
who mentioned to Irensus his recollections
of John.
Polycarp was seen by Anicetus, bishop of
Rome, when he went to visit him.
Anicetus was seen by Eleutherius, bishop of
Rome, who was a deacon there when Anice-
tus was bishop.
Eleutherius was seen by Victor, who suc-
ceeded him as bishop of Rome, 196 A. D.
Victor was seen by Zephyrinus, his immediate
successor, 202-219.
Zephyrinus was undoubtedly seen by Origen,
who came to Rome during his episcopate.
Origen, b. 186 A. D., was seen by Mammma.
Mammaea was seen by her son Alexander
Severus, b. 205.
Alexander Severus was certainly seen by
the Emperor Valerian, who was an emi-
nent senator at the time of the death of
Valerian was seen by the Emperor Claudius
II., who succeeded his son, and had been
highly promoted by Valerian.
Claudius II. was seen by his brother Crispus.
Crispus was seen by Eutropius, who married
his daughter.
Eutropius was seen by his son, the Emperor
Constantius was seen by his son Constantine
the Great, b. 272.
Constantine was seen by Athanasius, b. 296.
Athanasius was seen by Julius, bishop of
Rome, whom he visited.
Julius was seen by Damasus, bishop of Rome,
who was an officer of the Church of Rome
under Julius.
Damasus was seen by Paulinus of Antioch.
Paulinus was seen by Flavian, his competitor
at Antioch.
Flavian was seen by Chrysostom, his presbyter
and friend.
Chrysostom, born about 347, was seen by



Theophilus of Alexandria, who was instru-
mental in deposing him.
Theophilus was seen by Cyril of Alexandria,
his nephew.
Cyril was seen by Dioscorus, his immediate
Dioscorus was seen by Hilary, who was legate
of his predecessor Leo at the second Ephe-
sian council, where Dioscorus presided, 449
A. D.
Hilary was seen by the Emperor Anthemius,
from whom he obtained a promise in St.
Peter's Church.
Anthemius was seen by Epiphanius, bishop
of Pavia, who made intercession for him with
the Goths.
Epiphanius was seen by Theodoric the Great,
who often consulted him. \
Theodoric the Great, born 455, was seen by
his daughter Amalasuntha.
Amalasuntha was seen by her daughter Mal-
theamentha, wife of Vitiges, king of the
Maltheamentha was seen by Justinian, to
whom Belisarius carried her and her husband
captive, 539.
Justinian I. was seen by his nephew and suc-
cessor Justin.
Justin was seen by Tiberius II., his adopted
Tiberius II. was seen by Pope Gregory the
Great, who was legate at his court from Pela-
gius, his predecessor.
Gregory was seen by Austin, whom he sent
to England.
Austin was seen by Ethelbert, king of Kent,
whom he converted.
Ethelbert was seen by his daughter Ethel-
berga, queen of Northumberland.
Ethelberga was seen by Paulinus, the first
archbishop of York, who accompanied her
to the north.
Paulinus was seen by Honorius, archbishop
of Canterbury, whom he consecrated.
Honorius was seen by Wilfred, archbishop
of York, at Canterbury.
Wilfred was seen by Pope Agatho, whom he
visited at Rome.
Agatho was seen by Pope Sergius I., who
was an ecclesiastic at Rome under him.

Sergius was seen by Willebrod, whom he or-
Willebrod was seen by Boniface, the apostle
of Germany, who at one time labored with
Boniface was seen by King Pepin, whom he
anointed king.
Pepin was seen by Charlemagne, his son.
Charlemagne was seen by his son Louis le
Louis le Debonnaire was seen by his son
Charles the Bald.
Charles the Bald was seen by his daughter
Judith, queen of England.
Judith was seen by her stepson, Alfred the
Alfred was seen by his son Edward the
Edward was seen by his son Edmund.
Edmund was seen by his son Edgar.
Edgar was seen by his son Ethelred.
Ethelred II. was seen by his son Edward the
Edward the Confessor was seen by his
cousin William the Conqueror.
William the Conqueror was seen by Lan-
franc, whom he made archbishop of Canter-
Lanfranc was seen by Anselm, who was his
Anselm was seen by Matilda, Queen of Henry
I., whom he crowned.
Matilda was seen by her daughter, the Em-
Empress Matilda was seen by Pope Alex-
ander the Third.
Pope Alexander III. was seen by Thomas a
Thomas A Becket was seen by his friend,
John of Salisbury.
John of Salisbury was seen by his scholar,
Peter of Blois.
Peter of Blois was seen by Count Raymond
VI., of Toulouse.
Raymond of Toulouse was seen, undoubt-
edly, by the great opponent against whom he
fought, Simon, Count of Montfort.
Simon de Montfort was seen by his son
Simon, Earl of Leicester.
Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester,


was seen by Edward the First, whom he took
Edward the First was seen by Robert Bruce
the Elder, his companion in Palestine.
Robert Bruce the Elder was seen by his son
King Robert Bruce.
King Robert Bruce was seen by his son
David the Second.
David the Second was seen by Philippa of
Hainault, whose captive he became.
Philippa of Hainault was seen by her son
John of Gaunt.
John of Gaunt was seen by Wycliffe, whom
he befriended.
Wycliffe was seen by Sir Simon Burley.
Sir Simon Burley, who went to Bohemia,
was seen by Wenceslaus, king of Bohemia.
Wenceslaus was seen by John Huss.
John Huss was seen by Jerome of Prague.
Jerome of Prague was seen by Poggio Brac-
ciolini, who witnessed his martyrdom.
Poggio Bracciolini was seen by Cardinal
Beaufort, with whom he resided in England.
Cardinal Beaufort was seen by Margaret of
Margaret of Anjou was seen by Sir William
Stanley, who took her prisoner after the bat-
tle of Tewkesbury.
Sir William Stanley was seen by King
Henry the Seventh, whose life he saved at
Bosworth Field.
Henry the Seventh was seen by Cardinal
Wolsey, who was his chaplain.

Cardinal Wolsey was seen by Francis the
Francis the First was seen by Catherine de'
Catherine de' Medici was seen by Mary,
Queen of Scots, her daughter-in-law.
Mary, Queen of Scots, was seen by Bishop
Fletcher, who was present at her death.
Bishop Fletcher was seen by his son John
Fletcher, the dramatic poet.
John Fletcher was seen by Beaumont, his
associate in writing.
Beaumont was seen by Shakspere, his friend.
Shakspere was seen by Sir William Dave-
Sir William Davenant was seen by Thomas
Betterton, the tragedian.
Thomas Betterton was seen by Nicholas
Rowe, the poet.
Nicholas Rowe was seen by the poet Alex-
ander Pope.
Alexander Pope was seen by Lord Mansfield.
Lord Mansfield was seen by George the
George the Third was seen by John Adams.
John Adams was seen by John Quincy
John Quincy Adams was seen by Daniel
Daniel Webster was seen by Charles Sum-
Charles Sumner was seen by
Abraham Lincoln.

tOur contributor, Miss M. Storrs, in sending the foregoing list to ST. NICHOLAS, explained that it was prepared
some years ago by a certain learned bishop. It is very difficult to avoid errors in a list of this sort, and our readers
are invited to point out any mistakes which they may discover. It would be well if this "living chain should
prompt young students of history to attempt shorter lists of their own; say, from Socrates to Ralph Waldo
Emerson, or from Julius Casar to Napoleon Bonaparte.-ED. ST. NICHOLAS.]



WE gladly call the attention of our readers to the offer
made by the Vassar Students' Aid Society of a Scholar-
ship at Vassar College.
A Scholarship of two hundred dollars is offered by the
Society to that applicant who passes the best examination
for admission to the Freshman Class of Vassar College,
in June, 1890. The conditions are as follows :
All the entrance requirements of the college must be
fully satisfied. The applicant must be in good health.
The Scholarship must be accepted as a loan (without
interest and without definite time of repayment). Appli-
cation for the Scholarship must be made before May 31,
to the Secretary, Miss A. Hayes, 6 Acacia Street, Cam-
bridge, Mass., from whom further information may be
Examinations will be held in Poughkeepsie, June 5th
and 6th. Catalogues may be had on application to the
Treasurer of Vassar College.

A WRITER in the issue of the Mail and Times," of Des
Moines, Iowa, of March 15, 1890, corrects the date of the
Grinnell cyclone as given in the article Fifteen Minutes
with a Cyclone," by M. Louise Ford, in ST. NICHOLAS
for March. Mrs. Ford sends the following letter in
regard to the mistake:
April 5, 1890.
Since the appearance of the story Fifteen Minutes
with a Cyclone in your magazine, I have learned from
the gentleman whose experience is related, that the date
should have been the I7th of June, 1882, instead of the
27th. As I wrote you previously, the facts were given
me by the gentleman's brother, and I took the date from
him. It seems there was a mistake.
I am very sorry the error should have occurred; please
correct it for your readers.
Yours respectfully,


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am just nine years old, and
we have had you in our family long before I was born,
ever since Rob was a little boy, and he is pretty old
now,-he is I8,-and I have just found out you never
had a letter from our family, and I thought it was about
time you heard from us.
There are five of us, and we have jolly times among
ourselves. We have a horse we drive all around the
country when the roads are good.
We had a Rocky Mountain goat, but Papa and Mamma
said they would have to draw the line on goats, and Mr.
Billy had to go.
With love, one of your very best little friends,
If you print this it will be a surprise to Rob, and I do
like to surprise him.

THE following recipe, laboriously written by a young
housekeeper aged seven, was faithfully transcribed by
her father, who sends it to the Letter-box:

A pound of sugar brown, a cup full of molasas, half a
teaspoonfool of salt, a coffie spoonfool of soda, an ounce
of Lemberger's [a local druggist] black powder to
yellows of the egg; after these things are well stirred
put then in a hot uvven lined with butter to boil. After

they are boiled put them in the frigeter to cool over night.
When they are cooled in the morning stir them well up
again, and there 's your spiced oriole.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live on top of the Rocky
Mountains, at a railroad station, which stands alone,
there being no settlement here. I am ten years old, and
the oldest of seven.
We look forward with great pleasure each month to
your coming, and enjoy your interesting stories more
than others on account of our being hemmed in by these
mountains and away from all the rest of the world.
P. S.- I would not be without ST. NICHOLAS for

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I and my two brothers live on
the Mojavd desert, fifty miles from a city. I think none
of your readers can enjoy you more than we do.
There are rattlesnakes, tarantulas, and many Jack-
rabbits here.
I have been much interested in a colony ofants near by.
Once we gave them a large, live scorpion; they attacked it
fiercely; some of them held down its long, six-jointed tail,
which has the poisonous sting in it; others held its legs
to keep it from running away; others bit it to death.


Then they carried parts of it into their home, and the
rest they cleared away.
It is very warm here in the summer; the thermometer
is I20' in the shade. We go to the sea-side then.
My aunt gave me a box of water-colors, and I painted
the picture of the slipper Mark Twain made for Elsie
Leslie, just the colors with which he worked it. It looks
very odd.
I am ten years old, and have taken you three years.
Your loving reader, HELEN K. N- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live on Brattle street. Our
house is more than one hundred years old. Its timbers
bear the marks of the axe, showing that it was built
before saws were used for making boards. In front of the
house stands a grove of trees, frequented by hosts of
squirrels, which are always to be seen running up and
down and along the branches, though in the heart of a
city of seventy thousand people.
The next house beyond the grove is over two hundred
years old. It is a very quaint building, with a large chim-
ney in the middle, and small panes of glass in the windows.
It contains an iron fire-place, said to have been the first
one cast from a pattern made by Benjamin Franklin, and
called by his name.
On the other side is another large dwelling that was
used as a hospital during the Revolution. Upon its front
door is the brass knocker taken from the door of Gov-
ernor Hancock's house in Boston, which the State
strangely permitted to be torn down a few years ago.
These houses I have mentioned, including our own,
are situated on what is called Tory Row, because their
first owners were Tories and had to flee to Halifax when
the war broke out.
On the opposite side of the street, within sight, is Elm-
wood, the residence of the great poet, and the first man of
letters in this country, Mr. James Russell Lowell. His
daughter is now keeping house for him, as his wife, a
most charming and cultivated lady, died while he was
Minister to England.
A little way off in the other direction, but on the same
street, is the Craigie house, perhaps the best known of
any private mansion in New England, for it was Wash-
ington's headquarters during the siege of Boston in
1775, and was afterwards made prominent in the literary
world by Mr. Longfellow, who owned and occupied it for
many years. It is still in the possession of his family.
Midway between my home and the Craigie house
stands another colonial building, where Count Riedesel
was kept prisoner, with his accomplished wife, after the
surrender of Burgoyne. The countess wrote her name
with a diamond ring on one of the window-panes. The
glass has yielded to the caprice of fashion, but it is care-
fully preserved by its present owner as a souvenir of
those old times. This house is memorable, also, for the
"Open Window," which has so sad an interest for the
lovers of Longfellow's poetry.
I advise any of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS, coming
to Boston, to visit this historic street.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I think that, perhaps, some of
your readers may like to hear about some little chip-
munks that I tamed at Lake George, where I spent last
As I was playing one day, I saw a chipmunk run into
a hole in a tree, and, after watching him awhile, thought
that perhaps I might tame him; so I told a little girl there
about it, and pretty soon we found some more holes.
We commenced by putting nuts as a bait and standing

near. Up comes his little head, and he looks around to
see if all is safe; if all is right, he comes out, takes a nut,
sitting up on his hind legs, turns it around and around
in his dear little paws, and bites off the sharp ends before
he puts it into what seems to be a pouch in the side of
his mouth, and then he is gone in a second. Sometimes
he carries two or three at once, and occasionally four.
My especial pet I called "Spry," and he would eat out
of my hand. At first he tried to bite me; but he soon
knew that I would not hurt him, and grew so tame that
just before I left, he would go into my pocket after his
One we called Greedy," because when others came
he would drive them away, and take everything himself.
We used to get the nuts under some big hickory trees
not far away. I think we must have given them about
one hundred a day, and I think they have had enough to
last them through the winter.
Yours sincerely, MARGARET W- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I am a boy of ten, and
enjoy all boyish sports, I like the stories about foot-ball
and base-ball best. I go to public school, and I have
just been promoted to the seventh grade without an
examination, because I was on the roll of honor three
times during the last term. Hoping that you will have
some more stories about game players.
Your little friend, SIDNEY M. C- .

EDITOR ST. NICHOLAS. My Dear Madam: In the
January number of ST. NICHOLAS, on page 262, Anna
Eichberg King says -" nor is the ostrich ever used for
riding, as he has an exceptionally weak back." The lady
must certainly be wrong, for I remember well riding
ostriches in the circus when a boy. Yes, two of us boys
sometimes rode an ostrich at once, when we were, I
should think, twelve or fourteen years old. I would
also call the lady's attention to an article in the Popu-
lar Monthly" for March. The writer, Marius A. Gouy,
says: The bird is both swift and strong, and can carry
a man on its neck and shoulders at a very rapid pace."
Yours, a constant subscriber and reader,

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them:
Abbie S. M., Phyllis S. C., James L. T., Dallas D. L.
McG., Eleanor S. G., Coeur de Lion," Josie Van L.,
John B. H., Jr., S. M. B., Wm. C. DeM., Mary Clark,
Ella and Agnes S., Hattie A. P.,Florrie L.,Viola, Marion,
Margaret and Ella, Susie A., Maud A., Jennie D., Ollie
R., Male H. F., E. Alice B., Walter O., Alice V. and
Alonzo C., Madge A., F. D. B., Mary E. H., B. R. S.,
Edith W., Reginald B., Joe I., Ethel S., Isabel van S.,
Jennie M. L. S., Laura J., Josephine W., Lowell C. F.,
Mary R. C., Florence W., Madge D., Mina S. L., Char-
lie C. D., Charlie V. G., Rigby V., Fanny C., C. A. S.,
Seotah B., Mabel A. E., H. Clare W., Marie S., Hattie
S., Hannah J. C., George C. T., Edith P. T., Elsie E.,
Charles E., Robert E. G., Sandford H. C., Ellen S. H.,
Dora E. T., Sedgwick P., Maggie W., Josie C., Grace
A. H.,Bessie, Helen, and Walter, "Pixie," Leonard P. D.,
Daniel W. I., F. L. B., H. M. B., Nellie W. D., Conrad
and Russell C., Rebecca G., Ethel B., Dorothea, Virginia
R. C., Fannie A. R., Ethel S., B. H. H., Palmilla L.
M. K., Effie W. F., Maud M., Helen M., Elmer B. L.,
Warren F. T., Mac C. S., Charles P., Grace O.,W. H.,
Charlotte C., Robert P. H., Sybil F. C., and Bernard B.



A DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Initials, Napoleon; finals, St. Helena. A WHEEL PUZZLE. Perimeter, Transubstantiation. Spokes, trance,
Cross-words: I. Nests. 2. Ament. 3. Pouch. 4. Ounce. 5. Level. arcade, square, bubble, tumble, native, impale, tussle, oriole.
6. Eagle. 7. Onion. 8. Noria.
STEP PUZZLE. From I to it, Memorial Day; 12 to 22, Decora- PI. Come, with the weapons at your call,
tions; I to 12, M. D. From 2 to 13, Ere; 3 to 14, Marc; 4 to 15, With musket, pike, or knife;
Outgo; 5 to 16, Ranter; 6 to 17, Inertia ; 7 to 18, Abstract; 8 to 19, He wields the deadliest blade of all
Lithodomi; 9 to 2o, Diminuendo; no to 2x, Aerostation; In to 22, Who lightest holds his life.
Youthfulness.- ANAGRAM. John Greenleaf Whittier. The arm that drives its unbought blows
DIAGONAL PUZZLE. Diagonals, Quilp. Cross-words: i. Query. With all a patriot's scorn,
2. Purse. 3. Glide. 4. Spill. 5. Scrip. Might brain a tyrant with a rose,
A TRIPLE ACROSTIC. From I to 37, Dr. Livingstone; 2 to 38, Or stab him with a thorn. HENRY TIMROD.
Dark Continent; 3 to 39, Henry M. Stanley. From i to 2, Druid;
2 to 3, Dutch; 4 to 5, Rhoda; 5 to 6, Agave; 7 to 8, Lemur; 8 to OMITTED CONSONANTS. I. Maypoles. 2. Averted. 3. Yenite.
9, Rowen; 1o to ix, Izaak; In to 12, Kedar; 13 to 14, Vomic; 14 4. Primo. 5. Otto. 6. Lee. 7. Ed. 8. S.
to x5, Candy; 16 to 17, Idaho; 17 to 18, Opium; 19 to 20, Nisan; RHYMED WORD-SQUARE. I. Peter. 2. Enure. 3. Tubes. 4. Erect.
20 to 21, Nests; 22 to 23, Grant; 23 to 24, Trent; 25 to 26, Sinai; 5. Rests.
26 to 27, India; 28 to 29, Turin; 29 to 3o, Noyon; 31 to 32, Olive; WORD-BUILDING. I. A, an, ran, near, anger, danger, grenade,
32 to 33, Easel 34to 35, Nicon; 35 to 36, Niece; 37 to 38, Eclat; regained, endearing, meandering, II. I, in, gin, rng, groin, ongen,
38 to 39, Testy. foreign, offering.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the x5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, before February i5th, from Maude E. Palmer Paul
Reese- William H. Beers Pearl F. Stevens -A. A. W. L.- Hubert L. Bingay- Gertrude L.- E. M. G.- Maxie and Jackspar"-
Jamie and Mamma Odie Oliphant Nellie and Reggie Ida C. Thallon Jo and I Adele Watton G. W. T.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, before February o5th, from L. S. Vail, I--D. Branch, I -J. R.
Combs, Jr., I -Charles Beaufort, 7 T. T. Titus, 4- Mary Elizabeth W., 2-B. F. E., H. Swartz, -J. C. O'Brien, i Louis
M. W., Jr., i J. H. Webster, E. Shirley, I Grace Morris, 6 N. Gray, I Edith Woodward, 3- Clara and Emma, 4 Clara B.
Orwig, 7- W. E. Eckert, I--J. Post, i Arthqr B. Lawrence, 4 Effie K. Talboys, 5-German Gem, I--J. B. Swann, The Lan-
cer, i- R. Anselm Jowitt, 2-John H. Decker, Jr., 5 -" Infantry," 9- E. A. Adams, I -J. M. Taylor, I-John W. Frothingham,
Jr., 2 -"May and 79," 8 -" Pears," 7- Charlie Dignan, 9- M. A. Kirkbride, i M. P. and L. B., 5 -"The Students," 6--John
Hackstaff, 4- Nellie L. Howes, 7 Ethel Harwood, 7- M. A. C., 6-X. X., 4- Ida E. Taylor, 4 -J. B. and A. C. Hartich, 4--F.
Gerhard, 3-S. A. M. T., 6.


I. AVISION. 2. Niceperception. 3. Brandishes. 4.
To discolor. 5. Winged insects.
Diagonals, from the upper left-hand letter to the lower
right-hand letter, the surname of an American statesman
and military leader who was born in 1808. A. W. A.

IN each of the seven following sentences a word is
concealed. When these are rightly selected and placed
one below another, the diagonals, from the upper left-
hand corner to the lower right-hand corner, will spell the
name of a president of the United States who died in
June; the diagonals, from the upper right-hand corner
to the lower left-hand corner, will spell the name of a
famous English writer who died in June.
I. I saw Jo in Teddy's field playing at ball.
2. I found a mass of shellac on Ichabod's new desk.
3. Tell Bob icy clefts are often found in far Greenland.
4. Were you not slack in getting your lesson so very
5. "What plagues sessions are! said a member of
the council.
6. Sometimes we don't understand irony at all.
7. Is Silas affronted that you did not call upon him
sooner? G. F.


ACROss: I. In quandary. 2. A pronoun. 3. Part
of the face. 4. To affirm with confidence. 5. A rude
picture used by Indians. 6. Exalted. 7. Extended.

DOWNWARD: I. Extended. 2. A town in Italy,
eighteen miles from Rome. 3. Part of a flower. 4. A
feminine name. 5. Encountered. 6. A prefix. 7. In
quandary. "BETH AND AMY."

THE second row of letters, reading downward, spells
the name of a flower; the last row spells the name of
certain fragrant flowers.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length): I. A scent. 2. A
glory. 3. Morsels. 4. An island. 5. Watches closely.
K. M. T.


- *
* 0 *
* *

2. A fruit. 3. A flower. 4. An end. 5. In practice.
2. A kind of ribbed cloth. 3. The lapwing or green
plover. 4. An article of diet. 5. In practice.
III. CENTRAL DIAMOND: I. In practice. 2. The
seed of an apple or orange. 3. Guide. 4. A mug. 5. In
2. Pitch. 3. A turning-point. 4. A seed-case. 5. In
2. A game. 3. An animal. 4. A machine. 5. In practice.


WE gladly call the attention of our readers to the offer
made by the Vassar Students' Aid Society of a Scholar-
ship at Vassar College.
A Scholarship of two hundred dollars is offered by the
Society to that applicant who passes the best examination
for admission to the Freshman Class of Vassar College,
in June, 1890. The conditions are as follows :
All the entrance requirements of the college must be
fully satisfied. The applicant must be in good health.
The Scholarship must be accepted as a loan (without
interest and without definite time of repayment). Appli-
cation for the Scholarship must be made before May 31,
to the Secretary, Miss A. Hayes, 6 Acacia Street, Cam-
bridge, Mass., from whom further information may be
Examinations will be held in Poughkeepsie, June 5th
and 6th. Catalogues may be had on application to the
Treasurer of Vassar College.

A WRITER in the issue of the Mail and Times," of Des
Moines, Iowa, of March 15, 1890, corrects the date of the
Grinnell cyclone as given in the article Fifteen Minutes
with a Cyclone," by M. Louise Ford, in ST. NICHOLAS
for March. Mrs. Ford sends the following letter in
regard to the mistake:
April 5, 1890.
Since the appearance of the story Fifteen Minutes
with a Cyclone in your magazine, I have learned from
the gentleman whose experience is related, that the date
should have been the I7th of June, 1882, instead of the
27th. As I wrote you previously, the facts were given
me by the gentleman's brother, and I took the date from
him. It seems there was a mistake.
I am very sorry the error should have occurred; please
correct it for your readers.
Yours respectfully,


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am just nine years old, and
we have had you in our family long before I was born,
ever since Rob was a little boy, and he is pretty old
now,-he is I8,-and I have just found out you never
had a letter from our family, and I thought it was about
time you heard from us.
There are five of us, and we have jolly times among
ourselves. We have a horse we drive all around the
country when the roads are good.
We had a Rocky Mountain goat, but Papa and Mamma
said they would have to draw the line on goats, and Mr.
Billy had to go.
With love, one of your very best little friends,
If you print this it will be a surprise to Rob, and I do
like to surprise him.

THE following recipe, laboriously written by a young
housekeeper aged seven, was faithfully transcribed by
her father, who sends it to the Letter-box:

A pound of sugar brown, a cup full of molasas, half a
teaspoonfool of salt, a coffie spoonfool of soda, an ounce
of Lemberger's [a local druggist] black powder to
yellows of the egg; after these things are well stirred
put then in a hot uvven lined with butter to boil. After

they are boiled put them in the frigeter to cool over night.
When they are cooled in the morning stir them well up
again, and there 's your spiced oriole.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live on top of the Rocky
Mountains, at a railroad station, which stands alone,
there being no settlement here. I am ten years old, and
the oldest of seven.
We look forward with great pleasure each month to
your coming, and enjoy your interesting stories more
than others on account of our being hemmed in by these
mountains and away from all the rest of the world.
P. S.- I would not be without ST. NICHOLAS for

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I and my two brothers live on
the Mojavd desert, fifty miles from a city. I think none
of your readers can enjoy you more than we do.
There are rattlesnakes, tarantulas, and many Jack-
rabbits here.
I have been much interested in a colony ofants near by.
Once we gave them a large, live scorpion; they attacked it
fiercely; some of them held down its long, six-jointed tail,
which has the poisonous sting in it; others held its legs
to keep it from running away; others bit it to death.


WORD BUILDING. a little branch. My 52-68-46-o1-98 is the name of a man
full of ferocity and cunning, figuring in the "Old Curi-
BEGIN with a single osity Shop." My 74-48-102-20-14-33-58 is one who
letter, and, by adding manages the affairs of another. My 15-97-62-4-8ois to
one letter at a time, and scatter. My 86-29-23-83 is to notice. My 36-27-78-
perhaps transposingthe 39-75-53-44 is a large flat sea-fish. My Io4-1I-64-o18-
letters,makeanewword 50-93-2-57 is a kind of spice. My 101-18-77-82 is
at each move. withered. My 24-96-51-37 is a square of glass. My
EXAMPLE: A vowel; I3-7-49-63-107-40 is to filter. My 3-43-28-94-67-5-34-
a verb; a texture of are conquerors. My16-69-54-59-26-9 is athingof small
straw or other material; value. My 89-73-99-91-19 is commotion. My 71-65-
horses or oxen har- 85-87-103 56-22-47-32-79-30 is the name of the writer
nessed together; water of the lines on which this enigma is based. c. B.

&I U", u'""I ..\.%uruta I director. Answer, a,
am, mat, team, steam, master.
1. A vowel. 2. A conjunction. 3. A body of water.
4. A point of the compass. 5. To purloin. 6. Princi-
pal. 7. To cover with a sticky substance. 8. A square
column set within a wall and projecting only a fourth or
fifth of its diameter. 9. Atoms. CHARLES P. W.


I. UPPER Square: I. To spill. 2. A term of endear-
ment. 3. Elliptical. 4. To belabor with missiles.
II. Left-hand Square: I. To pant violently. 2. Sur-
face. 3. A prophet. 4. In some measure.
III. Right-hand Square: I. A sharp sound. 2. A
notion. 3. The tongue or pole of a wagon. 4. Holes.
IV. Lower Square: I. The catch of a buckle. 2. A
mixture. 3. A young hawk. 4. A kind of low furze.


I AM composed of one hundred and eight letters, and
form four lines by a famous poet.
My 84-45-31-21 is a covering for the foot. My 8-105-
42 is to chop. My 12-100-25-66-17 is a fruit. My
6-81-92-38 is a corner. My 90-55-72-1 is to whip.
My 88-95-76-60-35 is to defraud. My 70-o16-61-4I is

SHIESNUN rove het weadsom wied
Hewre eht sebe hudmem ni het crevol,
Dan nisehuns ilfling eth ylil scup
Ltil ryvee noe bemdrim veor.
Ninehuss rove hte hyza shill,
Nad vero eth mildping revri,
Dan I wedish eht nus nad eht mumres yad
Migth snehi nad stal revrofe.


MY primals form a name given to the 21st of June;
my finals, a name given to a certain part of June and
immortalized by Shakspere in one of his plays.
CROSS-WORDS: I. An Eastern salutation. 2. A name
mentioned in I. Chronicles, 9:4. 3. A name given to an
atom, and to one of the simplest kind of minute animal-
cules. 4. The throstle. 5. A name mentioned in
II. Samuel, I:I. 6. A kingdom. 7. An ancient wind
instrument of music. 8. The weight of twelve grains.
9. A measure of capacity. o1. The third month of the
Jewish ecclesiastical year. 1. A musical term meaning
that all are to perform together. 12. Frosting. 13. A
marine shell. 14. A French word meaning approbation..

I. A festival. 2. Pitchers. 3. Dogmas. 4. A hermit.
5. A Dutch coin of the value of two cents. 6. To direct
one's course. 7. Rambles. F. s. F.


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