Front Cover
 Tha baby a prisoner-of-war
 Vacation days
 Then and now
 Lady Jane
 The armorer's errand
 Bat, ball, and diamond
 Six years in the wilds of central...
 Marjorie and her papa
 A memorable day
 The fairies' concert
 How to sail a boat
 Two Dorothys
 Crowded out o' crofield
 Hawks, and their uses
 Three little birds
 How Hugh went to the party
 Summer costumes
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00229
 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: VID00229
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
        Page 722
    Tha baby a prisoner-of-war
        Page 723
        Page 724
        Page 725
        Page 726
        Page 727
        Page 728
        Page 729
    Vacation days
        Page 730
        Page 731
        Page 732
        Page 733
        Page 734
        Page 735
        Page 736
        Page 737
        Page 738
        Page 739
    Then and now
        Page 740
    Lady Jane
        Page 741
        Page 742
        Page 743
        Page 744
        Page 745
        Page 746
        Page 747
        Page 748
    The armorer's errand
        Page 749
        Page 750
        Page 751
    Bat, ball, and diamond
        Page 752
        Page 753
        Page 754
        Page 755
        Page 756
        Page 757
        Page 758
    Six years in the wilds of central Africa
        Page 759
        Page 760
        Page 761
        Page 762
        Page 763
        Page 764
        Page 765
        Page 766
    Marjorie and her papa
        Page 767
        Page 768
    A memorable day
        Page 769
    The fairies' concert
        Page 770
        Page 771
    How to sail a boat
        Page 772
        Page 773
        Page 774
        Page 775
        Page 776
        Page 777
        Page 778
        Page 779
    Two Dorothys
        Page 780
    Crowded out o' crofield
        Page 781
        Page 782
        Page 783
        Page 784
        Page 785
        Page 786
        Page 787
        Page 788
        Page 789
        Page 790
    Hawks, and their uses
        Page 791
        Page 792
        Page 793
        Page 794
        Page 795
        Page 796
        Page 797
        Page 798
        Page 799
    Three little birds
        Page 800
    How Hugh went to the party
        Page 801
    Summer costumes
        Page 802
        Page 803
    The letter-box
        Page 804
        Page 805
        Page 806
    The riddle-box
        Page 807
        Page 808
    Back Cover
        Page 809
        Page 810
        Page 811
Full Text



The Baldwin Librarv

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


(SEE PAGE 730.)






JULY, 1890.

-^ -1 i1'T above the
l" .: mouth of the
Potomac, where, by a
curve of the Virginia shore, a natural harbor
is formed, stood a modest frame house, with
close-cut lawn sloping to the water's edge, and
a stately, old-fashioned garden in the rear, di-
vided from the forest by a flourishing hedge of
One afternoon, in the year 1813, the blue waters
of the tiny bay danced in the May sunshine;
the robins twittered in the lilac-bushes; the yel-
low, downy chickens distracted their mothers by
frequent incursions into the box-bordered gar-
den and rapid retreat before the energetic

No. 9.


"shooing" of the bow-legged little darky, posted
in a shady angle of the wall to guard Mistress
Prue Hungerford's tulips and hyacinths. With-
out, were peace and plenty; within, homelike
serenity and contentment, as Mistress Prue sat
in her straight-backed chair in the pleasant,
many-windowed sitting-room, busily sewing, and
occasionally touching with her silver-buckled
shoe the cradle wherein peacefully slumbered
a flaxen-haired baby about three months old.
Now and then a happy little smile would break
over the young mother's face, and seemed to be
reflected in the dimples that chased each other
across the sleeping baby's soft pink cheeks. In
truth, Mistress Prue had every reason to be

Copyright, 189o, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.


thankful. Two years of happiness had just passed
over her shapely little head. Married to the man
of her choice, an upright, brave Virginian gentle-
man, everything in life seemed to favor them.
Their child was thriving and beautiful; their
farm yielded a sufficient income; their few
slaves were devoted to their young master and
mistress; and indeed until the War of 1812 with
England, which had begun some months before,
there had been absolutely nothing to mar the
perfect quiet and happiness of their lives.
On this very day Mistress Prue had received
news that lifted a weight from her heart. The
British, having just sustained a naval repulse,
had abandoned their daring project of bringing
a fleet up the Potomac to bombard the capital.
Consequently she supposed that the militia, of
which her husband was a very active member,
would not be called out.
But here 's John, earlier than usual, and in
a hurry," she thought, as she saw his tall figure
leap the low fence that divided the garden, and
come by the shortest way to the side door open-
ing from the sitting-room. Quickly as he moved,
Prue had the door open for him, and was wait-
ing with her gentle smile of welcome. But before
he spoke, she knew he brought serious news.
Oh, John, what is it? she cried. "Some-
thing has happened? "
Yes, Prue," he sternly answered; something
has happened: the British are coming up the bay.
They have been re-enforced, and the Governor
has called for coast defenders. We start im-
mediately for the Point, hoping to head them
off. You, the baby, and the servants must go
inland. Take swift Bob and the carryall, and
see whether you can reach Colonel Carroll's by
dark. Stay you there for the night, and then
push on to your father's, where you can wait
until I come for you."
Even while speaking, Mr. Hungerford had
been donning the dark-green uniform of his
corps, the Westmoreland Guards; and now,
taking his long rifle from the wall, he stooped
for a moment over the sleeping baby. Then,
embracing the little woman, who had been fol-
lowing him in dumb, white-faced misery, he held
her tightly for an instant, and saying, Be
brave, my darling. God bless and keep you!"
he hurried away to the Point, where, if it was

within the power of brave men, the British were
to be met and driven back.
Left alone, except for a few colored servants,
and under the grave responsibility of saving
both them and her child, Mistress Prue quickly
showed what blood flowed in her veins.
STo get to her father's, as John directed, was
her first thought; but before she could collect
her scattered ideas, a terrified colored boy burst
in upon her with the startling intelligence that a
British man-of-war was coming down the river.
As it proved, one man-of-war had slipped by the
homestead the night before, and meeting with
some resistance above was now retreating, the
men landing at intervals, and pillaging and de-
stroying everything they could lay hands on.
Almost stunned by this latest news,- the
boy's earnest manner forbidding doubt,- Mis-
tress Prue's courage wavered for one moment,
but then returned with increased strength. She
tried to decide upon the quickest and safest way
of escape.
Glancing around the pretty home, which an
hour before had seemed a very haven of peace
and security, she shuddered at abandoning her
cherished idols to the vandal hands of the hated
Her mother's silver! the famous old china
emblazoned with the crest and the W "- no,
she must save some of these household gods!
Calling a young negro woman who had lately
been installed as baby's nurse, she hastily
wrapped up the sleeping infant, and placing it
in the woman's arms told her to get into the
waiting carryall; to drive across the county to
Colonel Carroll's; to warn them to arm and
prepare themselves for possible attack; and
to wait there for a few hours until she and old
Betsy should come.
Then together, she and the old colored
woman hid, in holes hastily dug, all the silver,
and such pieces of china as Mistress Hungerford
could not bear to part with.
They had buried all but one piece, and had
covered with leaves the freshly turned earth, when
the same boy,- whose curiosity had caused him
to linger to see what Miss Prue was gwan to
do,"- came tearing into the yard with the cry,
" Dey is coming Dey is coming Dey 's here
Run, Miss Prue run, for the land's sake !"



None too soon was the warning given, for
there, preparing to anchor in the peaceful little
bay, was the British vessel. Already a boat-
load of sailors and soldiers was making for the
Grasping poor, terrified old Betsy by the
arm, Mistress Hungerford literally dragged her
through the garden into a tangle of hazel-bushes,
screened in front by the dense boxwood hedge.
There the two frightened women hid, scarce
daring to breathe, while the invaders landed
and began the ascent across the lawn to
the house,- a lawless, undisciplin,:..l -ie it
seemed, who celebrated the i.ln Li ,
firing a volley of bullets straiL!I ,t ,i il-
house, crashing through the sn- I 11 i -
dow-panes, tearing to shred ii. '
pretty dimity curtains, mutilat ,-
the pictures on the walls, an. .iI
changing in a moment the '.
beautiful little home into a ,-
scene of havoc and desola-
tion. '
It was only by physical .
force and dire threats that
Mistress Prue kept the
frightened negress from be- /
trying their hiding-place, L1 .
for the worst was yet to ''ir
come. While tramping
through the house, drinking,
stealing, breaking furniture,
feasting on the contents of
the well-filled pantry, firing -
pistols at a stray chicken or -i
pet dog, coming sometimes so
close to the women that they could ---
have touched them through the hedge,
the marauders were suddenly recalled
by a bugle-call from the ship.
By preconcerted action, it seemed, each man
brought from the barn an armful of straw.
Some piled the straw inside the house, some
outside-on the porch, by the doors and win-
dows, and even on the roof, and then it was
fired. The creeping lines of fire burst into
flames, leaped around the gabled corners, crept
along the dry oak wainscoting, danced and
crackled on the well-seasoned weather-board-
ing, curled round the columns supporting the

porch built in imitation of that at Mount Vernon,
and, in less time than it takes to tell, reduced to
ruins the happy home.
Indignation almost had the better of Mistress
Prue's prudence; with difficulty she restrained
herself from rushing out to denounce such
shameful destruction-
but alas! she knew of
what avail such an out-
burst would be; then,
there was her baby,-- /'
-1 -

she must protect herself for the sake
of her child and her husband.
With a final volley the pirates (they were
surely nothing more) boarded their ship and
sailed away down the river.
Mistress Prue came out from her hiding-place,
and through blinding tears surveyed the ruin a
few short hours had wrought.
Deep and fierce were Mammy Betsy's de-
nunciations of the marauders; and now that
they were gone her courage rose, and she was
equal to any emergency.
The stable-doors had been thrown open, and



the horses had wandered far afield. Every
man on the place had long ago fled in terror, so
there was nothing for it but to walk the weary
miles across the county to Colonel Carroll's.
"And 'deed, Miss Prue, we must jes' start,
for it 's a mighty long pull, and you ain't used
to walking Wish I could tote you," declared
the faithful old soul.
Oh, Betsy, I think I can stand anything
after living through this! The sooner I get there,
the sooner I shall have my baby to comfort
Wish we had her right here; I nebber did
like dat Diana, no how."
"Ah, Betsy, you are jealous! said Mistress
Prue, smiling through her tears, for Betsy had
been her Mammy" and the baby's, but now
failing strength and eyesight had made it nec-
essary that a younger woman should take actual
charge of the active child.
Over the rough country road stumbled the
tired women. Darkness came, and more than
half their journey still lay before them. On, on
they pushed, resting at more and more frequent
intervals, until the welcome bark of the Car-
rolls' watch-dog announced their arrival. The
animal knew Prue's soft voice, having come
from her father's kennels, and was speedily lick-
ing her hand with every sign of welcome.
But nothing betokened any expectation, on
the Carrolls' part, of receiving belated travelers.
The house was strangely dark and silent. With
a sinking heart, Mistress Hungerford pounded
loudly the brass dragon-head knocker. No an-
swer The silence of the seven sleepers envel-
oped the house. Louder and louder the now
almost despairing woman rapped. At length,
with a bang, a second-story window was thrown
open, and Colonel Carroll's ruddy face, framed
in his silk knitted night-cap, peered forth like a
full moon from a white cloud.
"What-what the deuce is the matter?"
blustered the old gentleman, roused from pleas-
ant dreams of successful law-suits and exciting
fox-hunts to answer so unseasonable a call.
At this inhospitable greeting, poor little Prue,
weary, homesick, and forlorn, broke down com-
"It 's-it's--me!" she ungrammatically
sobbed. "And I want my baby! I walkedall

the way from home, and it's burned! she pit-
eously added.
"Your baby 's burned ? exclaimed the
Colonel, trying to recognize the shadowy forms
in the darkness. Suddenly, recognizing her
voice, he cried out:
Goodness! Prue Hungerford, is that you?
What brings you here at this hour,- and what
was that you said about your baby ? "
I want my baby, I want my baby wailed
the now thoroughly bewildered Prue. "And
you 've got her!"
At this astounding declaration, Colonel Car-
roll retreated, lighted a candle, donned his
clothes, called Mistress Carroll, and hurried
downstairs to find Prue in a dead faint in
Betsy's arms.
Tenderly raising the little woman, whom he
loved as one of his own daughters, he assisted
her to a sofa in the hall; and when Mistress Car-
roll appeared to administer restoratives, the
old Colonel gathered from Betsy the story of
their hardships.
"But what about the baby?" asked the
Dat Diana had her," answered Betsy. She
started in de carryall fur dis yere place. Ain't
she come ?"
No," helplessly answered the Colonel's wife.
"This is the first I 've heard of it."
"Thunder and lightning stormed the testy
old gentleman. Here 's a pretty mess the
British in the county, every man defending his
home, and I never knowing a thing about it!
Where can that girl and baby be? Who was
driving? Could she have lost her way ?"
"Naw," disdainfully answered old Betsy.
"Diana nebber lose her way. Jake done de
driving, and he do anything Diana tell him.
My opinion is, dat Diana hab joined the Brit-
ish! "
Thereupon Betsy fell to chafing her mistress's
hand and wondering how they were to break
the news to Mistress Prue when she came to.
The problem at once presented itself to the
aroused household; some one had to tell Prue
the baby was not there, for Mistress Carroll's
cordials were taking effect, and Prue's blue eyes
were soon gazing intelligently at the little group
surrounding her.



Where is Diana?" she demanded, sitting
up. "Is my baby asleep ? "
For a moment dead silence reigned; then,
throwing her arm around Prue's waist and
drawing her close, Mistress Carroll said gently:
We think Diana must have lost her way
or thought, perhaps, you meant her to go on to
Mr. Fordyce's, because she has not been here;
but Colonel Carroll will start out immediately,
and of course he will find the baby by
Poor little Prue! At this terrible intelligence,
not the calmness, but the numbness of despair
settled over her. Could fate have anything
worse in store? Yes--John's death! That
would come next. There was no use in crying
out; there was no use in doing anything!
Alarmed at her silence and the stony rigidity of
her face, Mistress Carroll deemed it best to talk
of the baby. The men on the place were being
divided off into search-parties, and Mistress Car-
roll bustled around feigning a cheerfulness she
did not feel.
Poor little dear! she cried. I fancy her
peacefully sleeping, so unconscious of all the
anxiety she is giving, and that stupid Diana
complacently wondering why you don't come,
never dreaming she has made a mistake. The
Fordyces are probably as worried about you as
we are about the baby. How did you happen
to send her on ahead?-why did n't you come
with her ? she asked, determined Prue should
speak, even if violent hysterics would be the
result, for anything would be better than that
dreadful silence. Prue remembered it was her
own avarice, as she sternly called it, that had
caused the separation. For the love of a few
paltry pieces of silver she had sacrificed her
child. If she had followed John's directions,-
had taken her baby and sought shelter in this
hospitable home,--how happy she might have
been! But now, for the love of gain she had
willfully disobeyed him. She had forgotten her
duty to John's child. What would be his feel-
ings when he returned from fighting for his
country to find his home destroyed, his child
gone, and only she with her few contemptible
treasures saved!
Mistress Carroll, being herself a Virginia house-
wife, thoroughly sympathized with Prue's desire

to save her household gods, and did not take
such an exaggerated view of her desertion of the
baby, although she acknowledged Prue had been
in fault, and that it would have been better to
have kept the baby with her than have con-
fided it to such untrustworthy hands.
But, poor dear, you are nothing but a baby
yourself; and you have shown yourself a brave
woman in many respects this day. Cheer up,
honey; we '11 find the baby, and John will be
prouder of you than ever "
But Prue was not to be comforted; this in-
activity was maddening. She must do some-
thing to help. She must go with the men. This,
however, Colonel Carroll forbade. He had
sent out several parties already; he himself would
drive over to Colonel Fordyce's, and if they had
heard nothing, he would then act on Betsy's
suggestion. He would stop for Prue, and they
would go back to the river and try to find out
whether the British had taken any captives dur-
ing the day.
While this plan was under discussion, the first
search-party returned, much excited, bringing
with them Jake, the driver, whom they had
found hiding in the woods. Jake was evidently
badly scared and loath to believe, until he saw
" Miss Prue herself, that he was in the hands
of friends.
In his own peculiar fashion Jake gave his
version of the day's adventures, which in plain
English was as follows:
He had started on the right road for Colonel
Carroll's, determined to obey to the letter young
Miss's orders; but Diana had, from the very
first, determined to drive down the river road.
She was sure they could strike across the country
lower down. It was n't often she could
drive in such a fine carriage, and she wanted
to go by Mammy Lewis's to show herself.. And,
as Jake sheepishly if remorsefully said,, Diana
was a mighty likely gal." She had evidently,
by wiles and blandishments, won over Jake's
susceptible heart until he was ready to do as
she asked.
They had driven down the river road, and
Jake had gone much farther thanhe had intended
when, to his horror, he suddenly saw in front
of him three "redcoats." The enemy quietly
took possession of the horse and vehicle, re-


marking that it was much easier to ride than to short Jake's rather voluble explanation of how
walk, and ordered him,--"at the pistol's p'int," he came across the search-party and of what
averred Jake, turning gray at the memory of his they said to him and he to them; having had
the floor so long, Jake felt
himself to be something of a
S\hero), "there is one point
S. gained. We know who has
a.*-'W 'i *the baby!"
.- I"i Small comfort this, to half-
"' '' "'. /. frantic Prue, as she fancied
S' 'her child a prisoner in the
_--- hands of the British, with no
'' I 'i care but that of wicked, faith-
'. ; 1 Il / less Diana. "What can we
I do ?" she piteously inquired.
,; _-, ''i "Shall I ever see my baby
again ?"
"See her again? Well, I
_' -- .i should say so!" roared the
SI ,Colonel. "The spirit of '76 is
i not quite dead in this country;
'-*^- -and I reckon that there's
enough of us to keep a few
-- blarsted Britishers from carry-
ing off your uncle's grand-
3I.. niece!"
-" Goodness cried Prue,

fright,- to drive them several miles farther on,
to where they expected to join their ship. The
worst of it was that Diana, base, perfidious
Diana, smilingly made room for one of the sol-
diers beside her, and listened in pleased wonder
to his tales of the old country where she
could be a lady, and never do any work, and
dress as fine as any one. And Diana had de-
clared she had fine clothes now, a black silk
and a gold chain, but that she could not go to
England, for here was young Missus's baby.
"You can take the baby too; we won't
mind the child," insisted the engaging warrior,
who saw in Diana a candidate for the post of
ship's cook, now vacant, and a good servant at
home, perhaps, later on. So it came about. Di-
ana, refusing to give up the child, had boarded
the British ship; the soldiers had taken the
horse, and were discussing the advisability of let-
ting Jake go or of putting him in irons, when
Jake ended that argument by taking to his heels.
"Well," exclaimed Colonel Carroll (cutting

thrown into greater con-
sternation by these words, suppose Diana tells
Poof! sniffed the Colonel, I don't believe
she knows enough!"
No," said Mistress Prue, I don't believe
she does. Come, are n't you going to do some-
thing ? she impatiently cried,- and remem-
ber, Colonel, you don't leave this place without
me. I am going for my baby, to get her if I
have to fight for her !" and Mistress Prue looked
as if she could easily rout the entire British
fleet. Colonel Carroll helplessly yielded, as all
good men must when women assert themselves.
"I suppose we shall have to approach those
fellows with a flag of truce," he disconsolately
remarked. I wish we had a battery to bring
to bear on them! "
But then you might hurt my baby inter-
posed Mistress Prue, rapidly preparing for de-
Oh,-hm! -yes, yes, the baby,-of course,"
ejaculated the hasty Colonel. "Ah, my dear,"

1890.] THE BABY A PR

he blandly added, "are you quite ready ? Come,
Jake, call the men and guide us to the rascals'
This invitation Jake positively, if tremblingly,
declined, until Colonel Carroll, waxing calmer
and more dignified, as his wrath increased, in-
formed him, that if he would not walk, he
should ride strapped to a mule's back, and for
the second time that day he should have the
pleasure of being driven, not only at the
"pistol's p'int," but with the cold steel on his
forehead; whereupon Jake agreed to guide them
without further persuasion.
So they started, four or five plantation hands,
old Betsy, Mistress Prue, and the Colonel.
The sun was now well up, and a second per-
fect May day beamed upon the world, which in
twenty-four hours had so changed for Mistress
Prue. At this same hour, but one short day
ago, she had been in her own house, her child
in her arms, her husband by her side, a happy,
prosperous, loved and loving woman. To-day,
her home in ruins, her husband-she knew not


where !-her child a prisoner, and she, foot-sore
and so weary she could hardly hold up her
head, starting on a forlorn quest to sue the
enemy of her country to return her child: she,
the first of her name to humble herself to British
Jake well knew the road, and before noon
they came in sight of the British man-of-war,
the same one whose crew had so devastated
Mistress Prue's home.
There was some excitement on board; they
were getting ready to sail. There was no time
to be lost. Fastening a large white handker-
chief to his cane, Colonel Carroll ran rapidly
down the bank, followed by Prue, whose quick
eye discerned, standing on the white deck,
Diana, arrayed in her Mistress Prue's best
black silk gown and gold chain, and holding in
her arms the darling,- the baby, about to be
forever carried from its mother's sight!
But, no! The flag is seen, the captain of
the ship, although his crew is lawless, is an of-
ficer of the British Navy and respects the laws

M. r ,

-. A i .

THE, CAPTO." R T"- -.V W'AR FA'R, N' ; :RX
-_-- +!, --

-Z-. -:-,7'- ^ "

.,. f -- ,--- -: -.- -- : ... _:- -c _


of civilized warfare. The truce is answered, a
boat is lowered, and soon the situation is ex-
plained to the English lieutenant. He is
deeply touched by Prue's pleading face and ill-
concealed impatience to receive her child.
"No," he answers, civilly enough; we
hardly regard it as a capture. The girl is en-
gaged to cook for us while we are in these
waters, but I will return the child immedi-
With which he pushed back to the ship, his
every movement watched with trembling anx-
iety by Prue.
In the mean time, a small body of men in
dark-green uniforms, who had been hiding be-
hind the river-banks (and a knowledge of whose
approach had perhaps accelerated the depart-

ure of the ship), might now be seen, marching
down in open view, also headed by a white
flag, making directly for the little party waiting
on the shore.
Meanwhile, the latter were too intent upon
watching the baby's transfer to the small boat
to notice the new arrivals; but as the lieutenant
hands the child to its mother, a strong arm is
thrown around her,-she and baby are gathered
into a sure, protective embrace, and John's
hearty voice announces: "That 's all right,
Lieutenant; the truce lasts one hour."
Colonel Carroll's jovial tones are now heard
telling the lieutenant to inform his Captain that
he has had the honor of holding as prisoner, for
the last few hours, the grand-niece of General
George Washington.




it V, -~

Hi m-li I, : r 1 rI r', '

D). it Tii I

\\ t I f-val L ~it 1n i





\r -'1


- -;,~L~C -~itg

Soon, over the country far and wide,
There are ripples of happy laughter;
For the children know
Where the berries grow,
Where the purling streams thro' the
meadows flow,
And the hurrying brooks speed after.

They know where the mountains lift their heads,
By the great sky-curtain bounded;
And their voices leap
To the craggy steep,
And wake the echoes from out their
With shouts that are thrice resounded.

They know where the sea lies blue and calm
In the bright midsummer weather;
And they love to stand

On the shining sand,
Where the tide rolls up,-and then,
hand in hand,
To plunge in the wave together.

They love to loiter in leafy woods,
And list to the squirrel's scolding,
As they climb to a seat
Near his safe retreat,
Or fall on a opuch, all spicy sweet,
Of feathery ferns unfolding.

But, by and by, in the autumn days,
Ere the bee has deserted the clover,
When the sound of the bell
Shall rise and swell,
Will the little folk laugh--now who
can tell--
To hear that vacation is over ?


I -


~I~ (I:




IT may be that if you saw a cycler winding
his way through the crowded streets of a great
town, you would think merely of the discomfort
and danger of being astride a light wheel in the
midst of heavy carts and impatient horses. But
somehow, when I meet one, even in the main
thoroughfares of London, surrounded by han-
soms and omnibuses and wagons, to me he sug-
gests the quiet and loneliness of green lanes and
shady roads. For my own rides on a cycle have
always taken me far from the city rush and traf-
fic, into the peaceful country that lies beyond.
This really is the charm of cycling as a sport,
the charm that has made it grow in little more
than ten years into one of the most popular pas-
times of the day. Who that sees the thousands
of cyclers on American and English roads, who
that knows anything of the hundreds of cycling
clubs (one at least 20,000 strong) would believe
that at the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, bi-
cycles were curiosities, and the men who rode
them were stared at as if they had just escaped
from the circus ring ?
Every kind of sport, of course, takes you into
the open air and gives you good, honest physical
exercise. But, after all, for foot-ball, about which
Mr. Camp has been writing such interesting ar-
ticles in ST. NICHOLAS, and for cricket and ten-
nis, you must always go to just the same places;
you must have your special field or court, just
as you must have special bat or racket and ball;
and in that field or court you stay until your
game is over. It is different with boating, I
know: in a canoe, or skiff, or punt, you can go
on many a voyage of exploration that is, if you
are near'a river or a stream of fair width. But,
unfortunately, rivers do not flow by every town
or village. There is none, for example, near the
famous Harrow school, so that among Harro-
vians are no "wet bobs," or boating teams, as
there are among Eton boys.

Wherever you may be, however, you can
always count upon finding roads, bad enough
sometimes, it is true; but still, you must live
in a very new settlement, indeed, if there is not
at least one road over which a wheel can be
driven. And on your cycle you can jump, in
the late afternoons after school-hours, and off
you can go, slowly and carefully at first, where
street-cars and wagons block the way; but before
very long you will have ridden past the rows of
houses, past the shops, past the factories; and
paved streets will have become country roads;
and you will breathe pure, sweet air; and on all
sides you will see, instead of bricks and mortar,
the fresh green of trees and pastures; and you
will carry yourself along at a speed that will be
a pleasure in itself. For in cycling, if you are
a good rider, there is as much excitement and
exhilaration as in coasting and tobogganing,
skating or sleighing.
And then, when the summer-time brings
with it long holidays, who that has not tried can
even imagine the delight of going off for a tour
on a cycle?- of the long days spent in the open
air; of the pleasant rests under the shade by the
wayside; of the midday halt for luncheon in some
little, unknown inn; of the arrival at night in a
new town or village; of the dinner eaten with
such hearty appetite; of the healthy sleepiness
that sends one almost at once to bed.
And there is no way in which you can see a
country in all its beauty so thoroughly and
pleasantly as from a cycle. I often think how
little I would have known about Italy, had I
gone by trains from one town to another, in-
stead of riding on my tricycle over the good,
white Italian roads, that now wind with the
reeded rivers or run straight between the wide
vineyards; now mount the hillsides where cy-
presses, and the slim trees the old Italian artists
loved to paint, rise in groups or lead in long



avenues to villa or monastery, while at the top is
the walled town, with its towers and palaces and
And in France, who, from a railway train,
can see the lovely long stretches of poplar-
lined roads; the little, quiet rivers; the wild for-
est-paths like those of St. Germain and Fon-
tainebleau; the tiny white and gray villages
where the thatched cottages cluster about a
beautiful church rich in carving and the work
of the old days And in England, what a pity
not to travel along the hedged-in lanes and
highways, under the great elms! What a pity
to lose the beauty of the quaint wayside inns,
of the great parks, of the out-of-the-way towns
and villages, in every one of which is something
well worth seeing! And at home, do you think

you know your own country because you have
been whirled along in an express-train from New
York to Philadelphia, from Boston to Rich-
mond, or even to San Francisco?
I do not forget that boys and girls can not ride
away on these machines whenever and as far as
they wish. But I am sure many often find an
older companion for a summer outing. I know
one good English father who took with him on
a fortnight's journey his two little girls, then quite
too little to do any work at all; one was
strapped on the front seat (for he rode a tandem),
the other was comfortably stowed away in a
basket fastened behind. Often I meet tiny
boys and girls riding through country lanes on
their own tiny machines. There is a very famous
cycler in London, Major Knox-Holmes, who is


_N_ -^^
-__77 _-

more than eighty years old. He rides as
regularly as any boy, and he usually takes with
him his little granddaughter. She sits on the
back seat of his tandem, or often on a tricycle
of her own, and works away with a will. As
for older boys and girls, the better they learn to
ride now that they can take short runs by
themselves, and the more thoroughly they keep
in training, the readier they will be if the day
comes when, like Mr. Thomas Stevens, they start
to ride round the world.
If in other sports there is much you have
to know about the rules of the games before
you can play them, so in cycling you must
understand your machine and know how to
work it before you can really ride. A great
many people think that all they have to do is
to mount a bicycle or tricycle, even if they
have never seen one, and ride away as easily
and comfortably as if they were going for a
walk. But just let them try! Perhaps the
reason there are so many poor riders is be-

cause so many never master the first principles
of cycling.
Of all cycles, the most delightful is the ordi-
nary tall bicycle. If I were a boy I would ride
nothing else. There is a certain swing or life
about it, a certain sympathy between it and the
rider, not to be had in any other machine. The
height, too, of the big wheel, above which the
rider sits, makes it seem almost as if he were fly-
ing through the air; and in countries where
hedges and walls are high, much more of the
landscape can be seen from its high perch than
from the low seat of a "safety" or a tricycle.
But, then, on the tall bicycle you must always
take the risk of "headers." The smallest stone
or stick may send you headlong into the dust
or mud. I do not think I ever realized the
treachery of the ordinary," until one day when
a rider I know came back from a ride to the little
towns near Rome with his nose patched up with
postage-stamps. A tiny twig had pitched him
over on the hard road and cut his nose badly. In

-' ik,

- .1E'


-, ..*



\' -





* *** ':*


the next village he came to, there was no court-
plaster nor doctor to be had, and the villagers
recommended the post-office as the most likely
place to have his wounds attended to. Now, if
that twig had been on the streets of Rome, or
within immediate reach of court-plaster, you
may make up your mind he would have ridden
over it as easily as you please;-the bicycle
waits until it has you all to itself, to break your
bones and cover you with cuts. For long
tours there is another objection to it: it will
not carry comfortably even the very small
amount of baggage you will need. And yet
Mr. Stevens rode one on his journey round
the world; and there are many men and boys
who would not give it up for any safer cycle
that could be invented.
Still the ordinary is not so much ridden as it
was a few years ago. Nowadays, in England, you
will see ten safeties to one ordinary." The
" safety is the little, low bicycle with the two
wheels of almost the same size; and for the last
year or two, one kind has been made for girls to
ride. If you have been on a three-wheeled
machine only, and then try the safety," as I did
last summer, you will wonder how you ever were
willing to work such a dead weight as a tricycle

over good or indifferent roads. The safety" is
so light; it is a single-track machine, so that on
the worst roads you can usually manage to find
a path; it is so low that if you do tumble you will
not hurt yourself (how often did I roll over in the
dust, just outside of Dieppe, on my first trip,
and jump up none the worse for it!) and it will
carry a respectably large bag. All these things,
you will see, are greatly in its favor.
I fancy I can hear some girl ask, But how
can we ever mount it?" That was the ques-
tion I asked last summer when I made my first
trial. But, fortunately for me, my machine was
a tandem, and there was some one to hold it
steady while I got on. By practice, however,
girls can learn -indeed, many have learned al-
ready to mount by standing between the
wheels, putting one foot over the frame on to
the descending pedal, standing on this, which of
course starts the machine, and then sitting on
the saddle and riding away. There is always
more or less difficulty about this a girl's skirts
are so in her way, and are likely to catch; and yet,
as soon as she is seated, she must keep on going.
Lately two or three manufacturers in England
have invented what they call a safety attach-
ment, a contrivance by which the machine can






be steadied and kept at a standstill while the
rider mounts as easily as if it were a tricycle.
I have experimented only on a tandem-safety
with a rider behind me tq steer it and put on
the brake; but I have never enjoyed riding so
much. Once you have started, the machine
seems to carry you along with no effort on your
part; it is not rigid, like a tricycle, but swings
and sways with your every motion.
But for all that, the tricycle has many good
points; it is safer than a "safety "; I have charged
a flock of sheep on one, and the machine did
not even upset; it needs no attachment to
make it easy to mount; in a crowded street you
can be brought to a standstill without having to
jump off, as you must from a safety or an "or-
dinary,"-and as I had to last summer, coming
down the crowded Rue de Rivoli, in Paris, when
all the omnibuses and carriages in front came to
a sudden halt. In a country lane, if you wish to
rest for a while in a pretty, shady spot, you can
sit there quietly on your tricycle. Nowadays,
the tricycle is made so light and compact that
you can ride almost as fast on it as on a
"safety." Indeed some people say that on a
tricycle you make better time, in the end, simply
because you never have to dismount.
There are so many cycle manufacturers in
England and America that hundreds of machines
are made which differ only in certain small
details. In making your choice from among
their number, you must be guided chiefly by
your own special wants, for if you go to a good
maker you will secure a good machine; it is
merely a question of deciding which one suits
you best.
After you have your machine, the next thing
you must do is to learn to mount it properly. Do
be sure to learn this in the beginning. If you
acquire the habit of mounting awkwardly you
will never be rid of it. Have you not some-
times wondered to see a rider of experience
climb into his saddle as if he were attempt-
ing it for the first time ? In America, riders pay
more attention to this than they do in England.
Americans, as a rule, though they may not ride
faster than Englishmen, ride better.
Does any boy need to be told how to mount
an "ordinary ? A boy seems to learn all these
things for himself. Of course I have never
VOL. XVII.-90.

ING. 737
tried to mount one, but these are the instructions
usually given by those who have: stand with
one foot on either side of the little wheel; grasp
the handle-bars firmly, pushing the machine;
put the left foot, throwing almost all your weight
upon it, on the left step; kick or hop with the
right foot; and then, when the machine is going
at a sufficient pace, raise yourself on the step, and
learn to steer the machine while standing there,
before you ever try to do anything else. It is best
to try this on a slight down-grade, where the
machine will run much farther. If it begins to
run away with you, put on the brake. Don't
jam it on, but put it on lightly. The first thing
the machine will do is to attempt to upset; at
once turn the wheel slightly in the direction in
which it is falling. This is the whole art of
steering a bicycle.
When you can steer standing on the step, put
your other foot on the right pedal and push the
machine with your right foot. After you have
learned to do this for about a hundred yards,
you should get some one to help you. Start
the machine in the
same way; put your
right leg over the
\ back of the saddle;
get the friend to
stand beside you so
Sas to catch you if
you tumble; then
pull yourself slowly
(don't jump, or you
S". will go right over
posI6N OF THE FOOT IN PEDALING. the machine) into
the saddle; and, having learned to steer, try
to keep your feet on the pedals. They will
probably slip off at first, and your friend can
make himself useful by catching you. As each
pedal reaches the top, put your heel down and
press forward with your toe, then press down
heavily and steadily; when the pedal reaches the
lowest point, put your toe down almost in a
straight line with your leg, and pull backward
and then upward with your toes, as I show in
the sketch. This is the way to pedal on all sorts
of machines. But it will take you weeks, or
months, to learn to do it properly.
To dismount from an "ordinary" or "safety,"
throw your body backward, as you would in

beginning to skate backward, with your legs
very far apart (or else you will hurt yourself
severely), and you will alight on your feet. Find
out first, by standing behind the machine and
holding on to the handle-bars, whether you
can clear the backbone without sitting on it,
for if you cannot, especially on a safety," you
will probably kill yourself. This is the surest
way of dismounting. The most graceful is this:
wait until one of the pedals is beginning to rise;
stand on it, turning the handles in the opposite
direction; then bring the other leg around back
of the saddle (or, if the learner be a girl, around in
front of the saddle), behind the pedal on to the
ground, and you will find yourself free of the
machine. Brace yourself backward or you will
You may also mount in the same way: run
along beside the machine; turn the handles
away; the pedal carries youup; and when you get
to the top you find yourself sitting in the saddle.
This takes practice, and until expert you may
break your machine by sitting or standing in the
middle of the wheel. There are dozens of other
ways which you can learn, but these are the best.'
There are no special directions to be given for
the tricycle, it is so easy. The simplest way to
mount is to stand to the left of your machine;
put your left foot on the foot-rest; then, if a
girl, stand a minute to arrange your skirts; seat
yourself on the saddle, and let both feet drop on
the pedals. And of course you can begin to
work at once, or can wait as long as you choose.
In fact, slide into a tricycle very much in the
same way as you would mount a horse.
From the first, learn to sit erect. Do not
bend far over the handle-bars, as if you were
always riding uphill, for this will give you
what is fast coming to be known as the cycler'ss
stoop." See that the seat is so adjusted that
when your body is erect your arms are nearly
straight, and that you have a good purchase on
the handle-bars. A reason for much awkward-
ness and bad riding is, that riders never stop to
think about seat and handle-bars. Much of the
work in cycling is done with the arms.
Be as careful with your pedals. If they are
too short you will have to work twice as hard,
and you will present anything but a graceful ap-
pearance. If they are too long, you will strain

the muscles of your legs. They should be so ad-
justed that when at the lowest point you may
be able to put your foot under them while the
leg is perfectly straight.
In pedaling you should make your ankle do
the greatest part of the work. You will find in
all handbooks of cycling the longest and most
careful instructions for this use of the ankle-joint.
You may say: Why should a boy learn to ride
any more than a duck need learn to swim, a bird
to fly? If a boy would like to be as graceful,
as free on his wheel, as a duck is on the water,
a bird in the air, he cannot rely, as they do, on
instinct. Instinct may teach him to throw a ball,
but it takes something more to make him the
captain of a base-ball team. And it is just the
same way in cycling; he may not wish to have
any one to show him how to make the wheel
go, but he will have to take many lessons before
he becomes a good rider.
Here are a few other things to be remembered:
Learn all you can about the construction of
the machine. Understand it so thoroughly
that if a bolt or a nut were to come loose you
could adjust it. Study the mechanical principles
on which it is made. Find out what gearing
means, what "ball-bearings are.
Never trust yourself on a down-grade until
you have mastered the brake; and, even after you
have mastered it, never let your machine go, at
the top of a hill; keep it well under control from
the very start; many of the serious cycling ac-
cidents have been the result of a rider's letting the
machine get away with him when coasting."
Even if you can see to the bottom of the hill and
the road is clear, risk nothing; you never know
when a stray dog or child may run out in front
of you. When I charged the sheep, it was at
the foot of a long hill in Italy, where suddenly,
from a by-path, a shepherd drove his flock across
the road. Indeed, until you feel that on level
ground and on hillsides you are the master of
the machine, you should not trust yourself on
city streets or country highroads. You must be
able to turn corners, to stop suddenly, to steer
from one side to the other at a moment's notice,
before you can ride abroad in safety or even in
Don't ride like a stick. Don't sit fast, as if you
were glued to the saddle. Rise easily over ob-




structions. When you are going round a corner,
lean inward. In a word, ride a machine as you
would ride a horse. Otherwise you will prob-
ably break your neck, and ruin the cycle.
Before starting on a ride, always see that your
cycle is well oiled; half the hard work some-
times comes from the want of a little oil, and the
squeaking of rusty wheels is an ugly sound to
break the sweet stillness of the country. See
that every nut and bolt is tight.
Keep your cycle clean. Do not let it remain
coated with mud; be ashamed to show the
nickel-plated parts tarnished and dirty. If
you truly enjoy riding, however, you will not
need to be reminded of these little duties. For
by and by you will care for your machine al-
most as if it were a horse or a dog. I re-
member we sold our tandem when we were in
Rome, because, unfortunately, we had to do
the rest of our traveling by rail. It was bought
by an English clergyman in Naples; and a few
months afterward, when we were there, the first
thing we did was to go-and have a look at the
tricycle that had carried us so well and so far.
Be sure, no matter how much you are enjoy-
ing yourself, not to ride until you are over-tired.
The healthiest exercise can be thus turned into
an evil, worse almost than none at all. Am-
bition a desire to excel is good in its way.
But if it leads you into working to break every
other boy's record, to out-distance every one on
the road, you will in the end pay severely for
success. Be ambitious rather to ride well, to
see and know and love the country through
which you wheel. The real pleasure of cycling
is not racing. If you are a boy, and really care
for racing, you should not begin, if you mean
to be prudent, until you are eighteen or twenty;
and then you should consult a doctor, and put
yourself in the hands of a competent trainer.
Boys know well enough what to wear when
riding. For all their out-of-door sports they
put on flannels; and flannel or wool is what
every one ought to have on under a cycling-suit.
Girls dress more sensibly than they once did, and
their mothers now realize that unless a severe
cold from a sudden chill is to be risked, wool
must be worn next the skin for all out-of-door
exercise. A girl's riding-dress ought to be
made of some good sound cloth or serge that

will stand rain and mud and dust. Gray is the
best color.
These are just a few hints to help you to have
as much enjoyment as possible out of your
rides. I myself believe that there is no more
healthful or more stimulating form of exercise;
there is no physical pleasure greater than that of
being borne along, at a good pace, over a hard,
smooth road, by your own exertions; and if you
keep your eyes open you can learn so much by
the way. You can watch, day by day, the buds
of spring opening into the blossoms of summer;
the rich green of June meadows ripening into
the yellowing wheat of August; the golden and
scarlet glory of October fading into the dull
grays and browns of winter. You can make
yourself familiar with the beauty of tree foliage,
whether of the pines of the north or the palms
of the south; you can get to know all the sweet
wild flowers that bloom by the wayside, until
in their seasons you look for their coming as
for that of so many old friends. Each hour of the
day, when the sun is hot at noontide as when
it burns low on the horizon, will have for you
its charm. You will value the beauty of dis-
tance, the serenity of a clear blue sky, the
grandeur of the great cloud masses. In a word,
you will, before you have taken many rides, be-
gin to love Nature as Izaak Walton, as Tho-
reau, as all those who have spent many hours in
the open air, have loved her.
And you will also find that your journeys,
long or short, will teach you much of the his-
tory and romance of other days. For, at home
or abroad, you cannot go far without passing
over ground or coming to places rich in mem-
ories of the past. And when the country is beau-
tiful and towns are picturesque, you cannot'help
wanting to know what these memories are;
what men thought and did who lived there long
before you were born; how they lived and
loved. The world is one great book of beauty
and romance; and on your cycle you can grad-
ually master it, chapter by chapter, volume by
.It is for these reasons-for the pleasure of
motion, the beauty to be found in every land,
the many associations by the way-that I love
cycling, and should be glad if every boy and girl
loved it with me.

(A Disquisition on the Use of Gunpowder, by Master Jack.)


WHEN they first invented gunpowder,
They did most dreadful things with it,
They blew up popes and parliaments,
And emperors and kings with it.

They put on funny hats and boots,
And skulked about in cellars, oh !
With shaking shoes they laid a fuse,
And blew it with the bellows, oh!

They wore great ruffs, the stupid muffs!
(At least that 's my opinion), then;
And said, "What, ho! and "Sooth, 't is
so! "
And called each other "Minion!" then.

But now, the world has turned about
Five hundred years, and more, you see;

And folks have learned a thing or two
They did not know before, you see.

So nowadays the powder serves
To give the boys a jolly day,
And try their Aunt Louisa's nerves,
And make a general holiday.

In open day we blaze away
With popguns and with crackers, oh!
With rockets bright we crown the night,
(And some of them are whackers, oh !).

And "pop!" and" fizz!" and "bang!" and
whizz !"
Sounds louder still and louder, oh!
And that 's the way we use to-day
The funny gunny-powder, oh !





PAICHOUX," said Tante Modeste to her
husband, that same night, before the tired dairy-
man went to bed. "I 've been thinking of
something all the evening."
Vraiment! I 'm surprised," returned Pai-
choux, facetiously. "I did n't know you ever
wasted time."
"I don't usually," went on Tante Modeste,
ignoring her husband's little attempt at pleas-
antry; "but really, Papa, this idea is running
through my head constantly. It 's about that
little girl of Madame Jozain's; there 's something
wrong about the menage there. That child is
no more a Jozain than I am-a Jozain, in-
deed! -she's a little aristocrat, if ever there was
one, a little born lady "
Perhaps she 's a Bergeron," suggested Pai-
choux, with a quizzical smile. Madame prides
herself on being a Bergeron, and the Bergerons
are fairly decent people. Old Bergeron, the
baker, was an honest tradesman at all events."
That may be; but she is n't a Bergeron,
though.. That child is different; you can see it.
Look at her beside our young ones. Why,
she 's a swan among geese."
"Well, that happens naturally sometimes,"
said the philosophic Paichoux.
"Nonsense, Paichoux," said Tante Modeste
sharply. "There'sno'naturally'aboutit; there's
a mystery; and Madame Jozain does n't tell
the truth when she talks about the child. I
can feel it, even when she does n't contradict
herself. The other day I stepped in there to
buy Marie a ribbon, and I spoke about the child.
In fact, I asked which side she came from, and
Madame answered very curtly that she belonged
to the Jozains. But this is what set me to think-
ing: To-day, when Pepsie was putting a clean

frock on the child, I noticed that her under-
clothing was marked 'J. C.' Remember, J. C.
Well, one day that I was in Madame's shop, she
said to me, in her smooth way, that she 'd heard
of Marie's intended marriage, and that she had
something superior, exquisite, that she 'd like to
show me. Then she took a box out of her ar-
moire, and in it were a number of the most beau-
tiful sets of linen I ever saw, batiste as fine as
cobweb, and real lace. 'They 're just what
you need for Mademoiselle,' said she in her
wheedling tone; 'since she's going to marry into
such a distinguished family, you '11 want to give
her the best.'
They 're too fine for my daughter,' I an-
swered, as I turned them over and examined
them carefully. They were the handsomest
things !-and on every piece was a pretty little
embroidered monogram, J. C. Mind you, the
same as the letters on the child's clothes. Then
I asked her right out, for there 's no use in min-
cing matters with such a woman, where in the
world she got such lovely linen.
"' They belonged to her mother,' she said, with
a hypocritical sigh, and I 'd like to sell them.
They 're no good to the child; before she 's
grown up, they '11 be spoiled with damp and
mildew. I 'd rather have the money to educate
"'But the monogram. It 's a pity they 're
marked J. C.' I repeated the letters over to
see what she would say, and, as I live, she was
ready for me.
"'Ah, Madame, but C. J.-it stands for
Claire Jozain,-you're looking at it wrongly;
but really it does n't matter much how the letters
are placed, for they 're always misleading, you
never know which comes first; and, dear Madame
Paichoux,'- she deared me, and that made me
still more suspicious,-' don't you see that the C
might easily be mistaken for G ? and no one
will notice the J, it looks so much like a part


of the vine around it. I '11 make them a bar-
gain, if you '11 take them.'
"I told her no, that they were too fine for
my girl. Par example! as if I 'd let Marie
wear stolen clothes!"
Hush, hush, Modeste," exclaimed Paichoux.
"You might get in the courts for that."
Or get her there, which would be more to
the purpose. I 'd like to know when and where
the mother died, and who was with her; besides,
the child now and then says such strange things
that they set one to thinking. To-day, when
I was taking her home, she began to talk about
the ranch, and her parents; sometimes I think
they've stolen her."
Oh, Modeste! The woman is n't as bad as
that; I 've never heard anything against her,"
interrupted the peaceable Paichoux. She has
a bad son, it 's true. That boy, Raste, is his
father over again. Why, I hear he 's already been
in the courts; but she's all right so far as I know."
Well, we '11 see," said Tante Modeste, orac-
ularly; "but I 'm not satisfied about that mono-
gram. It was J. C., as sure as I live, and not
C. J."
"I '11 tell you what we '11 do, Mamma," said
Paichoux after some deliberate thought; he was
slow, but he was sure. "We '11 keep an eye
on the little one, and if anything happens, I '11
stand by her. You tell sister Madelon to let
me know if anything happens, and I '11 see her
through all right."
"Then I believe she 's safe," said Tante Mo-
deste proudly; for every one knows that when
Paichoux says a thing, he means it."
If Madame Jozain had only known how un-
favorable were the comments of her supposed
friends, she would not have felt as comfortable
as she did. Although she was riding on the top-
most wave of prosperity, so far as her business
was concerned, she was not entirely happy; and
for some reason, probably because of a guilty con-
science, she fancied that people looked askance
at her. In spite of her polite advances, she had
not succeeded in making friends of her neighbors.
They came to her shop to chat and look, and
sometimes to buy, and she was as civil to them as
it was possible to be; she gave them her most
comfortable chairs, and pulled down everything
for them to examine, and unfolded, untied, and

unpacked, only to have the trouble of putting
things away again. It was true they bought a
good deal at times, and she had got rid of many
of "those things" in a quiet way and at fair
prices; but still, the neighbors kept her at a dis-
tance: they were polite enough, but they were
not cordial, and it was cordiality, warmth,
admiration, flattery, for which she hungered.
She believed she had much to be proud of,
for she thought that Raste was growing hand-
somer and more of a gentleman every day. He
was the best looking fellow in the quarter, and
he dressed so well,-like his father, he was large
and showy,- and wore the finest jewelry, among
which was the beautiful watch of Lady Jane's
mother. This watch he was fond of showing to
his friends, and pointing out the monogram, C. J.,
in diamonds; for, like his mother, he found it
easy to transpose the letters to suit himself.
And then, besides her satisfaction in Raste,
there was the little Lady Jane, to whom every
door in the neighborhood was open. She was
the most beautiful and the most stylish child
that ever was seen in Good Children Street,
and she attracted more attention than all the
others put together. Madame never went out
but what she heard something flattering about
the little darling, and she knew that a great
many people came to the shop just to get a
glimpse of her.
All this satisfied her ambition, but not her
vanity. She knew that Lady Jane cared more
for Pepsie, Madelon, or even for little Gex, than
for her Tante Pauline." The child was always
dutiful, but never affectionate. Sometimes a
feeling of bitterness would rise within her, and,
thinking she had cause to complain, she would
accuse the child of ingratitude.
She is a little ingrate, a little viper that stings
me after I have warmed her. And to think of
what I 've done for her, and the worry and
anxiety I 've suffered! After all, I 'm poorly
paid, and get but little for all my studying and
planning. She 's a little upstart, a little aristo-
crat, who will trample on me some day. Well,
it's what one gets in this world for doing a
good deed If I 'd turned her and her mother
out to die in the street, I 'd been thought more
of than I am now, and perhaps after all I 'd
have been quite as well off."

[ ULY,




ON the next block above little Gex's fruit-
stall, was a small cottage set close to the side-
walk, with two narrow windows covered with
batten shutters that no one remembered to have
ever seen opened. On one side was a high
green fence, in which was a small door, and
above this fence some flowering trees were
visible. A pink crape-myrtle shed its trans-
parent petals on the sidewalk below. A white
oleander and a Cape jasmine made the air
fragrant, while a Gold of Ophir" rose, entwined
with a beautiful Reine Henriette," crept along
the top of the fence, and hung in riotous pro-
fusion above the heads of the passers.
Every day, in rain or shine, when Lady Jane
visited little Gex, she continued her walk to the
green fence, and stood looking wistfully at the
clustering roses that bloomed securely beyond
the reach of pilfering fingers, vainly wishing that
some of them would fall at her feet, or that the
gate might open so that she could peep within.
And Lady Jane was not more curious than
most of the older residents of Good Children
Street. For many years it had been the desire
of the neighborhood to see what was going on
behind that impenetrable green fence. Those
who were lucky enough to get a glimpse, when
the gate was opened for a moment, to take the
"nickel" of milk or loaf of bread, saw a beautiful
little garden carefully tended and filled with ex-
quisite flowers, but Lady Jane was never fortu-
nate enough to be present on one of those rare
occasions, as the gate always opened very early,
when her little yellow head was still resting on
its pillow. But sometimes, while she lingered on
the sidewalk, near the gate, or under the tightly
closed shutters, she would hear the melodious
song of a bird, or the tinkling, liquid sound of
an ancient piano, thin and clear as a trickling
rivulet; and with it she sometimes would hear
a high, sweet, tremulous voice singing an aria
from some old-fashioned opera. Lady Jane
did n't know that it was an old-fashioned opera,
but she thought it very odd and beautiful, all
the same. And she loved to linger and listen
to the correct, but feeble, rendering of certain

passages that touched her deeply; for the child
had an inborn love of music and one of the
most exquisite little voices ever heard.
Pepsie used to close her eyes in silent ecstasy
when Lady Jane sang the few simple airs and*
lullabies she had learned from her mother, and
when her tender little voice warbled

Sleep, baby, sleep!
The white moon is the shepherdess,
The little stars the sheep,"

Pepsie would cover her face, and cry silently.
No one ever heard her sing but Pepsie. She
was very shy about it, and if even Tite Souris
came into the room, she would instantly stop.
Therefore, little Gex was very much surprised
one day, when he went out on the banquette, to
see his small favorite before the closed shutters
with Tony in her arms, his long legs almost
touching the sidewalk, so carelessly was he held,
while his enraptured little mistress was standing
with her serious eyes fixed steadily on the win-
dow, her face pale and illumined with a sort of
spiritual light, her lips parted, and a ripple of
the purest, sweetest, most liquid melody issuing
from between them that Gex had ever heard,
even in those old days when he used to go to
the French opera.
He softly drew near to listen. She was keeping
perfect time with the tinkling piano and the faded
voice of the singer within, who, with many a
quaver and break, was singing a beautiful old
French song; and the bird-like voice went up
and down, in and out through the difficult pas-
sages, with wonderful feeling and precision.
Gex slipped away silently, and stole into his
little den.
Ma fi !" he thought, wiping away a fugi-
tive tear, for the music had awakened slum-
bering memories. Some one ought to know of
that voice. I wish Mam'selle d'Hautreve was n't
so unapproachable; I 'd speak to her, and per-
haps she 'd teach the child."
Presently Lady Jane entered languidly, carry-
ing Tony; she said Good-morning as politely
as usual, but seemed preoccupied and unus-
ually serious. At length she said, in an intensely
earnest voice, "Oh, Mr. Gex, I wish I could
get inside that gate. I wish I could see who
it is that sings."


"Why, my little lady, it 's Mam'selle Diane one remembers them, I do believe, for it is
vhat sings so fine." ten year I 've been right in this Rue des Bons
"Who is Mam'selle Diane? Enfants; and I naiver have seen no one entair
"Mam'selle Diane is the daughter of Madame that gate, and no one comes out of it vairy
d'Hautreve vhat live all alone in the leetle shut- often. Mam'selle Diane must clean her ban-
up house. Madame and Mam'selle Diane, they quette in the dark of the night, for I 've naiver
are noblesse of the nobility. Veil, you don't seen her do it. I 've watched, but I have seen
know vhat is that? Altendez, I vill try to make her naiver. Sometime, when it is vairy early,
you understand." Mam'selle Diane comes to my leetle shop for
"Is it rich ? asked Lady Jane, anxious to one dime of orange for Madame d'Hautreve;
help simplify the situation. she is vairy old and so poor. Ah, but she is
"Oh, no, no, they are vairy, vairy poor. No- one of the noblesse, the genuine French no-
blesse is vhat you 're born vith." blesse, and Mam'selle Diane is so polite vhen
"Like the spine in the back? suggested Lady she come to my leetle shop."
Jane eagerly. "Pepsie says you 're born with If I should go there early, very early,"
that." asked Lady Jane with increasing interest, and
No, it 's not that," and Gex smiled a grim, wait there all day, don't you think I might see
puzzled smile, and, pushing his spectacles on her come out ? "
the top of his head, he wiped his forehead "You might, my leetle lady, and you might
thoughtfully. "You've heard of kings, my not. About once in the month, Mam'selle Diane
leetle lady, now have n't you ? comes out, all in the black dress and veil, and
Oh, yes, yes," returned Lady Jane brightly. one leetle black basket on her arm; and she
"They wear crowns and sit on thrones, and goes up toward Rue Royale. Vhen she goes out
Pepsie says there is a King of the Carnival, King the basket it is heavy; vhen she comes back it
Rex." is light."
"Yes, that's it," said Gex, rubbing his hands "What does she carry in it, Mr. Gex?"
with satisfaction; and the king is vay up high asked Lady Jane, her eyes large and her voice
over everybody, and all the peoples must awe-stricken over the mysterious contents of the
honor the king. Vell, the noblesse is something basket.
like the king, my leetle lady, only not quite so "Ah, I know not, my leetle lady. It is one
high up. Vell, Mam'selle's grand}pre vas a mystery," returned Gex solemnly. Mam'selle
noble, one of the French noblesse. Does my Diane is so proud and so shut up that no one
leetle lady understand ? can 't find out any thing. Poor lady! and vhen
I think I do," returned Lady Jane doubt- does she do her market, and vhat do they eat ?
fully. Does she sit on a throne and wear a for all I evair see her buy is one nickel of bread
crown ? and one nickel of milk."
Oh, no, no, they are poor, vairy poor," said "But she 's got flowers and birds, and she
Gex humbly; and then, my leetle lady must plays on the piano and sings," said Lady Jane
know that the Comte is naiver so high up as the reflectively;. "perhaps she is n't hungry, and
King; and then they have lost all their money, does n't want anything to eat."
and are poor, vairy poor. Once, long ago, "That may be so, my leetle lady," replied
they vas rich, oh, vairy rich; and they had one Gex with smiling approval. I naiver thought
big, grand house, and the carriage, and the fine of it, but it may be so-it may be so. Perhaps
horses, and many, many servant. Now, there's the noblesse does n't have the big appetite, and
only them two vhat lives all alone in the leetle does n't want so much to eat as the common
house. The grandpere and the pfre all are people."
dead long ago, and Madame d'Hautreve and "Oh, I nearly forgot, Mr. Gex,-Pepsie wants
Mam'selle Diane only are left to live in the a nickel of cabbage," and Lady Jane suddenly
leetle house, shut up behind that high fence, returned to earth and earthly things, did her
alone, alvay alone. And, my leetle lady, no errand, took her lagniappe and went away.
(To be continued.)



1890.] LADY

ONE morning Lady Jane was rewarded for
her patient waiting; she was lingering, as usual,
on the sidewalk near the green fence, when she
heard the key turn in the lock, and suddenly

.r. "J.

I .ll ,I ''
FQ _.:- ,,'

t, 1 ~,' ,. I '



the door opened, and an elderly lady, very tall
and thin, with a mild, pale face, appeared, and
beckoned her to approach.
For a moment Lady Jane felt shy, and drew
back, fearing that she had been a little rude in
VOL. XVII.-91.

JANE. 745
haunting the place so persistently; besides, to her
knowledge, she had never before stood in the
presence of genuine French nobility "; and the
pale, solemn-looking woman, who in spite of
her rusty gown had an air of distinction, rather
awed her. However, Lady Jane's good breed-
ing soon got the better of her timidity, and
she went forward with
a smile.
"Would you like to
come in, my dear, and
look at my flowers ?"
4. said the lady, opening
g W the gate a little wider,
->K.A? ---:' for Lady Jane to enter.
..' 'i "Yes, thank you,"
/ '\ c: and Lady Jane sighed
S and flushed with pleas-
ure when she caught a
glimpse ofthe charming
vista beyond the dark
figure. "May I bring
Tony in, too?"
S"Certainly, I want
Ito see him very much,
but I want to see you
i more," and she laid her
hand caressingly on the
beautiful head of the
child. "I have been
watching you for some
S time."
"Have you? Why,
how did you see me ? "
and Lady Jane dimpled
with smiles.
1" Oh, through a little
chink in my fence. I
iilllljJJlii/I( see more than any one
would think," replied
the lady, again smiling.
S"And you saw me
waiting and waiting!-
Oh, why did n't you
STHE GREEN FENCE." ask me in before?" said
Lady lane, plaintively. "I 've wished to come

in so much; and di
singing with you ? "
"No; I did n't k
"Are you Mam'se

d you know I 'd been here

low that."
lle Diane ? she went on.


"Yes; I am Mam'selle Diane. And what is
your name ? "
I 'm called Lady Jane."
"Lady Jane,-Lady ? Why, do you know
that you have a title of nobility ?"
But I 'm not one of the nobility. It's my
name, just Lady Jane. Papa always called me
Lady Jane. I did n't know what nobility was,
till Mr. Gex told me that you were one. Now
I '11 never forget what it is, but I 'm not one."
"You 're a very sweet little girl, all the
same," said Mam'selle Diane, a smile breaking
over her grave face. Come in; I want to
show you and your bird to Mamma."
Lady Jane followed her guide across a small,
spotless side gallery into a tiny room of immac-
ulate cleanliness. There, sitting in a great easy-
chair near a high bed, was an old, old lady, the
oldest person Lady Jane had ever seen, with
hair as white as snow, combed back from a
delicate face, and covered with a little black
silk cap.
"Mamma, this is the little girl with the bird,
of whom I 've been telling you," said Mam'selle
Diane, leading her forward. And, Lady Jane,
this is my mother, Madame d'Hautreve."
The old lady shook hands with the child and
patted her head caressingly; then she asked, in
a weak, quavering voice, if the bird was n't too
heavy for the little girl to carry.
Oh, no, Madame," replied Lady Jane,
brightly. "Tony's large, he grows very fast;
but he is n't heavy. He 's all feathers, and he's
very light. Would you like to take him? "
Oh, no, no, my dear! Oh, no," said the old
lady, drawing back timidly. I should n't
like to touch it, but I should like to see it walk.
I suppose it 's a crane, is n't it ? "
He 's a blue heron, and he 's not a com-
mon bird," replied Lady Jane, repeating her
little formula, readily and politely.
I see that it 's different from a crane," said
Mam'selle Diane, looking at Tony critically.
Tony, now that his mistress had put him
down, stood upon one leg very much humped
up, and making, altogether, rather an ungainly
Tony always will do that before strangers,"
observed Lady Jane, apologetically. "When I
want him to walk about and show his feathers,

he always just draws himself up and stands on
one leg."
"However, he is very pretty and very odd.
Don't you think I might succeed in copying
him ? And Mam'selle Diane turned an anxious
glance toward her mother.
I don't know, my dear," quavered the old
lady; "his legs are so long that they would
break very easily if they were made of sealing-
"I think I could use a wire with the seal-
ing wax," said Mam'selle Diane, thoughtfully
regarding Tony's visible leg. "You see, there
need be only one."
I know, my dear,- But the wool. You've
no wool the color of his feathers."
"Madame Jourdain would send for it."
"But, Diane, think of the risk. If you
should n't succeed, you 'd waste the wool; and
you do the ducks so well-really, my dear, I
think you 'd better be satisfied with the ducks
and the canaries!"
Mamma, it would be something new,
something original. I 'm tired of ducks and
Well, my dear, I sha' n't oppose you, if you
think you can succeed; but it's a great risk to
start out with an entirely new model, and you
can't use the wool for the ducks if you should
fail; you must think of that, dear,-whether
you can afford to lose the wool if you fail."
While this conversation was going on be-
tween Mam'selle Diane and her mother, Lady
Jane's bright eyes were taking in the contents
of the little room. It was very simply furnished,
the floor was bare, and the walls were destitute
of adornment, save over the small fireplace,
where hung a fine portrait of a very handsome
man, dressed in a rich court dress of the time
of Louis XIV. This elegant courtier was Mam'-
selle Diane's grandfather, the Count dHautreve;
and under this really fine work of art, on the
small mantelpiece, was some of the handicraft
of his impoverished granddaughter, which fasci-
nated Lady Jane to such a degree that she had
neither eyes nor ears for anything else.
The center of the small shelf was ornamented
with a tree made of a variety of shades of green
wool wound over a wire frame; and apparently
hopping about among the foliage, on little seal-



1890.] LADY

ing-wax legs, with black-bead eyes and sealing-
wax bills, were a number of little birds made of
wool of every color under the sun, while at each
end of the mantel were similar little trees, one
loaded with soft yellow canaries, the other with
little fluffy white things of a species to puzzle an

JANE. 747

Madame d'Hautreve and Mam'selle Diane
witnessed her delight with much satisfaction.
It seemed a tardy but genuine recognition of
"There, you see, my dear, that I was right.
I 've always said it," quavered the old lady.

,' \

IIIII Ill ^l ,^ ^ w *.- i
I 'I I' I I' '
I ; :, i. I ,*

r I \

ornithologist. Lady Jane thought they were
adorable, and her fingers almost ached to caress
Oh, how pretty they are! she sighed, at
length, quite overcome with admiration; "how
soft and yellow! Why, they are like real live
birds. And they 're ever so much prettier than
Tony," she added, glancing ruefully at her
homely pet; "but then they can't hop and
fly, or come when you call them."

"I 've always said that your birds were won-
derful, and the child sees it. Children tell the
truth; they are sincere in their praise, and when
they discover merit they acknowledge it simply
and truthfully. I 've always said that all you
needed to give you a reputation was recogni-
tion. I 've always said it, if you remember. But
show her the ducks, my dear, show her the
ducks. I think that they are more natural, if
possible, than the others."

ql~-9 ~WB~IIBI ~r I

~Cz~~--i::4 l'-~i~iI



Mam'selle Diane's sad, grave face lighted.up
a little as she led the child to a table near the
side window, which was covered with pieces
of colored flannel, sticks of sealing-wax, and
bunches of soft yellow wool; in this table was a
drawer which she drew out carefully, and there,
on little scalloped flannel mats of various colors,
sat a number of small, yellow, downy duck-
"Oh, oh! exclaimed Lady Jane, not able
to find other words at the moment to express
her wonder and delight.
Would you like to hold one?" asked Mam'-
selle Diane, taking one out.
Lady Jane held out her pink palm, and
rapturously smoothed down the duckling's little
woolly back with her soft fingers.
Oh, how pretty, how pretty! she repeated
in a half-suppressed tone.

"Yes, I think they are rather pretty," said
Mam'selle Diane modestly; "but then they are
so useful."
"What are they for ?" asked Lady Jane in
surprise; she could not think they were made
for any other purpose than for ornament.
"They are penwipers, my dear. You see
the pen is wiped with the little cloth mat they
are sitting on."
Yes, they were penwipers! Mademoiselle
Diane d'Hautreve, granddaughter of the Count
d'Hautreve, made little woolen ducklings for
penwipers, and sold them quite secretly to
Madame Jourdain, on the Rue Royale, in order
to earn bread for her aged mother and herself.
Lady Jane unknowingly had solved the finan-
cial mystery connected with the D'Hautreve
ladies, and, at the same time, she had made
another valuable friend for herself.

(To be continued.)

V ;'I- -

----- a

- i m dI d n !" in z': ih.: And, all about, what happy hover-
.:.rrm. ing things
I el i'lk drkarIe.;e cl:,.iri, ,:.'i Likeblossom-petalsthathad taken
Smy eve. flight!

All things fall from me with my
breaking leath.
Gc ..I.l- .. :l ... t I. a[ 0 dear

And fluttering, stretching on the air
he spread
Gri s ,-t-x L i;,nf +lh ai-lt f-the

t) aerre, : gauzy wl -n
,l i. : J-. sunshine through;
' Th,:i- rh, d- ll pn,-k Ihlr h;,-i in. Forc-t thltt he had e"er been q
~-'_ ci I -in k -.,
rill iJr r. h. .l ar l .ir, p .. i. ii i : i .- '

** If
I ..,.- : .

_p.-- .,. .. ., .. _, ,
f -< -" ,-,: -t. ,. ,.
.. ,.


fkLRL vD "


HERE the far skies
soared clear and bright
From mountain height
.,i to mountain height,
In the heart of a forest
old and gray,
Castleton slept one Sabbath
Slept and dreamed, on the
seventh of May,
Seventeen hundred and seventy-

But hark! a humming, like bees in a hive;
Hark to the shouts,-"They come! they
Hark to the sound of the fife and drum !
For up from the south two hundred men -
Two hundred and fifty-from mount and glen,
While the deep woods rang with their rallying
Of "Ticonderoga! Fort Ti! Fort Ti!"
Swept into the town with a martial tread,
Ethan Allen marching ahead !

Next day the village was all astir
With unwonted tumult and hurry. There were
Gatherings here and gatherings there,

A feverish heat in the very air,
The ominous sound of tramping feet,
And eager groups in the dusty street.
To Eben's forge strode Gershom Beach
(Idle it stood, and its master away);
Blacksmith and armorer stout was he,
First in the fight and first in the breach,
And first in work where a man should be.
"I '11 borrow your tools, my friend," he said,
"And temper these blades if I lose my head !"

So he wrought away till the sun went down,
And silence fell on the turbulent town;
And the flame of the forge through the dark-
ness glowed,
A square of light on the sandy road.
Then over the threshold a shadow fell,
And he heard a voice that he knew right well.
It was Ethan Allen's. He cried: "I knew
Where the forge-fire blazed I must look for you
But listen! more arduous work than this,
Lying in wait for some one is;
And sharpening blades is only play
To the task I set for him this day-
Or this night, rather." A grim smile played
O'er the armorer's face as his hand he stayed.
"Say on. I never have shirked," said he;
"What may this wonderful task-work be ?"


"To go by the light of the evening star
On an urgent errand, swift and far,-
From town to town and from farm to farm
To carry the warning and sound the alarm !
Wake Rutland and Pittsford! Rouse Ne-
shobe, too,
And all the fair valley the Otter runs through,-
For we need more men! Make no delay,
But hasten, hasten, upon your way "

He doffed his apron, he tightened his belt,
To fasten the straps of his leggings he knelt.
" Ere the clock strikes nine," said Gershom
" Friend Allen, I will be out of reach;
And I pledge you my word, ere dawn of day
Guns and men shall be under way.
But where shall I send these minute-men ? "
" Do you know Hand's Cove ?" said Allen then,
" On the shore of Champlain ? Let them meet
me there
By to-morrow night, be it foul or fair! "


" Good-bye, I 'm off! Then down the road
As if on seven-league boots he strode,
While Allen watched from the forge's door
Till the stalwart form he could see no more.
Into the woods passed Gershom Beach;
By nine of the clock he was out of readh.
But still, as his will his steps outran,
He said to himself, with a laugh, Old man,
Never a minute have you to lose,
Never a minute to pick or choose;
For sixty miles in twenty-four hours
Is surely enough to try your powers.
So square your shoulders and speed away
With never a halt by night or day."

'T was a moonless night; but over his head
The stars a tremulous luster shed,
And the breath of the woods grew strangely
As he crushed the wild ferns under his feet,
And trampled the shy arbutus blooms,
With their hoarded wealth of rare perfumes.
He sniffed as he went. It seems to me
There are May-flowers here, but I cannot see.
I 've read of the hush of the silent night';
Now hark there's a wolf on yonder height;
There 's a snarling catamount prowling round;
Every inch of the silence' is full of sound:
The night-birds cry; the whip-poor-wills
Call to each other from all the hills;
A scream comes down from the eagle's nest;
The bark of a fox from the cliff's tall crest;
The owls hoot; and the very trees
Have something to say to every breeze !"

The paths were few and the ways were rude
In the depths of that virgin solitude.
The Indian's trail and the hunter's tracks,
The trees scarred deep by the settler's axe,
Or a cow-path leading to the creek,-
These were the signs he had to seek;
Save where, it may be, he chanced to hit
The Crown Point road and could follow it-
The road by the British troops hewn out
Under General Amherst in fifty-nine,
Whenhedrove the French from theold redoubt,
Nor waited to give the countersign!
The streams were many and swift and clear;
But there was no bridge, or far or near.
'T was midnight as he clambered down


Near the waterfall by Rutland town,
And found a canoe by the river's edge,
In a tangled thicket of reeds and sedge.
With a shout and a cheer, on the rushing tide
He launched it and flew to the other side,
Then giving his message, on he sped,
By the light of the pale stars overhead;
Past the log church below Pine Hill,
And the graveyard opposite. All was still,
And the one lone sleeper lying there
Stirred not either for cry or prayer.
Only pausing to give the alarm
At rude log cabin and lonely farm,
From hamlet to hamlet he hurried along,
Borne on by a purpose deep and strong.
He startled the deer in the forest glade,
Stealing along like a silent shade;
He wakened the loon that cries and moans
With a living grief in its human tones.

At Pittsford the light begins to grow
In the wakening east; and drifting slow,
From valley and river and wildwood, rise,
Like the smoke of a morning sacrifice,
Clouds of translucent, silver mist,
Flushing to rose and amethyst;
While thrush and robin and bluebird sing
Till the woods with jubilant music ring!

It was day at last! He looked around,
With a firmer tread on the springing ground;
"Now the men will be all a-field," said he,
"And that will save many a step for me.
Each man will be ready to go; but still,
I must confess, if I 'd had my will,
I 'd have waited till after planting-time,
For now the season is in its prime.

The young green leaves of the oak-tree here
Are just the size of a squirrel's ear;
And I 've known no rule, since I was born,
Safer than that for planting corn "

He threaded the valleys, he climbed the hills,
He forded the rivers, he leaped the rills,
While still to his call, like minute-men
Booted and spurred, from mount and glen,
The settlers rallied. But on he went
Like an arrow shot from a bow, unspent,
Down the long vale of the Otter, where
The might of the waterfall thundered in air;
Then across to the lake, six leagues and more,
Where Hand's Cove lay in the bending shore.
The goal was reached. He dropped to the
In a deep ravine, without word or sound;
And Sleep, the restorer, bade him rest
Like a weary child, on the earth's brown breast.

At midnight he woke with a quick heart-beat,
And sprang with a will to his wayworn feet; -
For armed men swarmed in the dim ravine,
And Ethan Allen, as proud of mien
As a king on his throne, smiled down on him,
While he stretched and straightened each stiff-
ened limb.
"Nay, nay," said the Colonel, "take your rest,
As a knight who has done his chief's behest! "

"Not yet! cried the armorer. "Where 's my
A knight fights on till the field is won !"
Aid into Fort Ti, ere dawn of day,
He stormed with his comrades to share the
fray !




DURING all the general training involved in
the practice mentioned in the former articles,
there must also be particular coaching for each
individual position; and it is in this position-
work that the players improve most rapidly,
later in the season, when each has been assigned
to his own place.
The in-fielders are the first to exhibit the
good effects of practice, and the methods of
perfecting their play are most interesting. For
instance, the third-base man usually begins his
season by very slow playing. He finds that
from third base to first is a considerable dis-
tance, and that he has to make an effort in order
to get the ball over. As a result of this feeling,
it takes him longer to throw than it should, and
any ball batted sharply and rather close to his
base is a safe hit; because, even if he stop it, the
runner will reach the base before the baseman
can field it. The first coaching, then, for the
third-base man should be with the object of
acquiring a sharp, strong throw. He must
therefore practice steadily the short-arm throw
described in a previous article the hand
being brought back and close to the ear, and
nearly level with it, instead of swinging at
arm's length, away from the body. For some
time it will perhaps seem almost impossible
to get the ball over to first by means of this
throw, but in a week's practice that result is
achieved satisfactorily, and thenceforth the third-
base man will be little troubled about his throw-
ing. His speed and accuracy will be increased
by every day of his practice, and he will seldom
disgrace himself by anything like a wild throw.
Of all the in-fielders, it especiallybelongs to this
player to throw swiftly, and also to get the
ball away quickly. To acquire this latter skill
should not be nearly so difficult as most ama-

teurs find it. The reason for their difficulty lies
in the fact that the ordinary player does not
analyze the play sufficiently in his own mind
to discover in just what part of it he is deficient.
The result is, that the entire play becomes hur-
ried and inaccurate; and once careless, instead
of improving the player is likely to retrograde.
Just to illustrate this, let us analyze the play:
Suppose a ball to be batted parallel to the third-
base line two feet inside that line. The ordi-

, I
i ,

nary amateur third-base man, by failing to make
a sharp start, is obliged to take such a ball just
as it goes by the bag, and as a result he is
turned partially away from first base, and is
running from that point as well. This makes
it necessary for him first to stop his run and
then to turn about, so as to face the base before
throwing. All this preparation takes so much
time that there is seldom much use in his throw-
ing the ball over at all; but as he is too hurried
to realize this, over it goes,-not infrequently
with a wild throw, into the bargain.
Now let us watch a good professional, and
note the difference. I remember seeing Denny,
now of the New York nine, execute this play
once on a scorching drive" just inside the line.
The instant the bat hit the ball, I saw Denny
jump for the third-base line. So quick was the



spring and so clever the intuition by which, from
the direction of the stroke, he realized where
the ball was coming, that he and the ball met
in front of third base; and Denny was actually
throwing the ball to first before the runner had
taken a half-dozen steps. Of course, all third-
base men are not so quick and clever as Denny,
but every amateur who fills that position can by
an instant start, instead of a slow one, meet the
majority of batted balls before they can go so
far past him as to turn him away from first. To
turn away from first is the great fault, and to its
correction the coach must give his attention,
and the player must direct his labor. "Jump
in front of the ball," is the best coaching order
that can be given any in-fielder, but it is par-
ticularly good for the third-base man.
Picking up the ball is the next step of the
play. If possible it should be taken cleanly in
the hands, of course; but that is not of nearly
so much moment as to get in front of it early,
and thus stop it. If a third-base man gets a
sharp hit anywhere in front of the line from sec-
ond to third, and he is a swift thrower, he can
stop the ball by letting it strike him, and, pick-
ing it up, get it to first base before the runner.
But if the fielder takes the ball a few feet behind
that line and while running toward foul ground,
the best handling will seldom enable him to
catch the runner.
Finally comes the execution of the throw it-
self. He should use the short-arm throw and
lean toward first. This latter suggestion is an
important one, and should be continually in
the player's mind during his daily practice.
Whenever he gets the ball he should recover
speedily, and with what becomes almost a sec-
ond nature, should lean toward the point to
which he is to throw. The entire action in de-
tail, then, should be: instantly jump in front of
the ball; while picking it up, recover a steady
position, and leaning toward first, throw as
nearly on a line as possible. Of these, the par-
ticular part of the play which can be hurried to
least advantage, and yet the part which the in-
experienced fielder oftenest endeavors to hurry,
is picking up the ball. It is never good policy
to snatch at the ball instead of picking it up.
The tenor of this advice is applicable as well
to all the in-fielders, but the third-base man's
VOL. XVII.-92.

position is one in which the desirability of
thoroughly steady and sharp play is especially
marked. In handling balls which must be
fielded elsewhere than to first base, second and
home are usually the objective points for the
third-base man; and it may be laid down as a
rule particularly applicable to the amateur, that
he should take very few chances in these throws.
Unless the hit be a sharp one, and he receive
the ball without a fumble, there is little likeli-
hood of his getting the ball to second or home
in time to intercept a runner. When the runner
is forced," so that the catcher or the base-man
is not obliged to touch him in order to put him
out, there is a little better chance, and under
such circumstances the play is of course more
As illustrating the foolishness of ill-judged at-
tempts to catch the man at the home-plate, I
recall a championship game between Harvard
and Yale, in which, up to the ninth inning, Yale
had led. In fact, Yale was then three runs
Singularly enough, on the afternoon before
this game, there had occurred a discussion among
members of the Yale nine as to the advisability
of the practice (then common among all college
nines) of always fielding to the home-plate,
when there was but one man out and a runner
was on third. In order to make a fair test of
this question on its merits, a runner was placed
on third and the in-fielders came closer up, as
they were accustomed to do under such circum-
stances. The pitcher then would toss the ball,
and the batsman hit it sharply anywhere in the in-
field, the runner at the same time trying to come
home. Out of twenty trials the runner was put
out but five times- getting home safely the
other fifteen.
In spite of this experiment, however, when
Harvard was at the bat for the last inning, there
being one man out, a man on second, and one
on third, with three runs to tie and four to win,
the Yale in-fielders came further in and tried to
throw the man out at the plate. Three of these
attempts and one single hit gave Harvard four
runs and the game; whereas, had the Yale men
thrown to first they would almost to a certainty
have put out the side at the sacrifice of but one
run, and would have won by two runs.


It is not a difficult matter to see the reasons ceiving the ball, the third-base man will find
why a third-base man should seldom attempt that much depends upon the position of the
to field to the plate, unless the ball comes fast runner. If the runner be coming back from
and on a clean bound. If the hit be a very home, because the pitcher, having caught him
slow one, and the base-runner have anything leading off too far, has thrown to third, the
like the lead he should take, there is no chance third-base man should step almost into the
to run up on the ball and throw it to the plate in base-line as he receives the ball, and, swinging
season. The ball must be fielded to the catcher his right hand low, should bring the ball
in such a manner as to enable him to touch against the runner. The pitcher, if he under-
the runner; and to field the ball thus from third stands the play, will throw into the line rather
base is no easy matter, as it often involves throw- than at the base. If the runner be coming
ing the ball almost over the runner's shoulder. from second, and the first-base man be fielding
Under similar circumstances I have seen Hank- the ball over, there is little likelihood of the
inson, in attempting this throw, hit the runner throw being sufficiently accurate to allow the
squarely between the shoulders, and although play in the method just described, and the base-
fortunately the blow did not injure the runner man must therefore be prepared to use either
in the least, unfortunately it was impossible for hand, according to the position of the runner
the catcher to put him out. at the moment when the ball is received. Sup-
In fielding to first the ball may be thrown pose, for instance, that the ball be thrown five
quite wide, and yet, by leaning out, the first-base or six feet toward second: the base-man can
man will be able to catch it while one foot re- tell by sight or hearing just where the runner is,
mains on the base. If, however, the first-base and if the runner has not reached him he should
man were obliged to touch the runner, as the turn to the left with the ball in his left hand.
catcher must do, fully one-half the throws he If, however, the runner is just passing him, he
receives would not be sufficiently accurate to should swing to the right with the ball in the
enable him to execute the play. Moreover, a right hand. In either case, he need not swing
runner from third has an advantage of several so low as he does when the ball is thrown nearer
yards over a runner to first. If a player wishes the base. In the latter case he should always
to convince himself of this fact let him note the almost sweep the ground in his swing, as the
exact positions, under these circumstances, of the runner is sure to slide. Of course, catching the
batsman who starts for first base and a good ball on the man is the perfect method; but un-
base-runner who is trying to come
home. At the moment the ball
leaves the bat, he will find that
while the batsman is just starting,
the runner from third is nearly
half-way home, and besides has
a "flying start." ,N _
In practicing putting the ball -N
on a runner, the third-base man
should accustom himself to re- / -r.1
ceiving the ball from first, second,
short, home, and pitcher; and it is -- '
no easy matter to acquire the -
proper way to receive the ball
thrown from each of these posi-
tions. Any man who thinks the
same motion will answer for all these different fortunately the ball so seldom comes to the
cases makes a serious mistake. proper point that these other methods of touch-
In deciding upon the proper method of re- ing the runner must be practiced faithfully.


1890.] BAT, BALL, AND DIAMOND. 755

In the matter of one player assisting another, ers. Many a short fly that the scorers were
the third-base man is more often to be "backed just putting down as a base-hit has found a
up," than he is called upon to perform that of- resting-place in his outstretched hands, simply
fice for some one else. because he has made a practice of starting in-
The shortstop needs the same coaching as the stantly, and of never believing any fly too far
third-base man, in the way of urging him to away for him to get.
jump in front of the ball, and to start quickly. Backing up" is a special feature of the
The combination method of play, which was shortstop's duties. Any ball fielded from the
mentioned in a previous article as an excellent other side of the diamond to the third-base
one to bring out all the possible advantages of or second-base man should find the shortstop
playing the two positions of shortstop and behind the man who is to take it. He should
third base, requires plenty of practice. Par- be particularly on the alert to back up the
ticularly must the two players thoroughly un- third-base man, when the ball is thrown to that
derstand each other. A very good way to point by the catcher, in order to put out an
begin practice upon this method is to station adventurous runner. This precaution is nec-
the third-base man where he can, by an effort, essary, because any wild throw of the catcher's
just cover the ground to his base, and to tell which the base-man fails to get will surely ad-
him to take everything he can get, out in the mit of the runner's going home unless the short-
diamond." The shortstop is then placed well stop secures the ball. Sometimes a very good
back of the base-line as far as he can be and trick is played upon the runner in this way:
yet be sure of throwing to first in time to catch The shortstop and third-base man are both ad-
the ordinary runner on a hard hit. He must be vised by a preconcerted signal from the catcher
instructed to "come in on" the ball as soon as that he will throw to third; and then the
it is hit and he knows its direction, shortstop springs out behind the base-man, and
Irwin was one of the first of the professionals the catcher sends the ball, but apparently throws
to develop this deep field "
play by a shortstop, and I O
remember how very strange
it appeared to the collegians
to see this little fellow sta-
tion himself almost half way
out to left field; but before
the game was ended he had
shown himself fully able to
cover all the space he had ---- --
A shortstop has to make
one peculiar class of plays "' -
in which he should endeavor ,-
to become thoroughly ex-.....
pert, and that is taking short
flies that go just outside the -"
infield but are too low for -
There are also occasional
flies near the foul-line,, ten or a dozen yards it too high- in fact, throws the ball over the
behind third base, which an agile shortstop head of the base-man to the shortstop, and thus
may take. No player has ever been more ex- deceives the runner into the belief that he can
pert in this line of play than John Ward, the run home, which, if the shortstop makes an or-
now noted champion of the rights of the play- dinarily accurate throw, is of course impossible.


t C^ ^9/0,

--.4'~ :~ '"""


A shortstop must also always back up third
when any of the outfielders are throwing to that
point. He should likewise make himself useful
whenever a man is caught between bases and is
being "run down."
It is occasionally the duty of this player to
cover second base when a left-handed batter is
at the plate and a runner is on first. This is in
order that the second-base man may be left freer
to run after balls toward right field, than he
would be if obliged to come back to the second
base when the ball is thrown there. In the
execution of this play, the shortstop stands a
few yards nearer second, and runs to that base
if the ball be thrown. In attempting to in-
tercept a runner at the home-plate, the same
remarks apply to the shortstop as to the third-
base man, except that, being away from the
base-line, he is not obliged to throw over or
by the runner, and so has a slightly better op-
portunity. This advantage, however, is partially
compensated for by the greater distance which
the ball has to travel. If the shortstop tries to
throw to the home-plate to intercept a runner,
he should come up sharply on the ball, taking it
at the earliest possible bound, and throwing hard.
Should he fumble the ball, let him instantly give
up his purpose of throwing to the plate, and

field to first instead, as the chance of catching
that runner is the better.
The second-base man has the shortest dis-
tances to throw of any of the in-fielders; but, on
that very account, he should be able to cover
more ground than any of the rest. He has
more time after a hit, for the distance from the
batsman to the position of the second-base man
is the greatest. The player in this position
should be impressed with these advantages in
order that he may develop great activity in the
way of covering ground. In no position is a
desire to make oneself useful so important: for a
sleepy shortstop or third-base man has so many
balls batted directly at him that he must "play
ball" whether inclined to be active or not;
whereas a second-base man may stand like a
post and escape being hit with the ball through
the entire nine innings. A man who means to
play second for all it is worth, must determine
that no ball shall go by him between the pitcher
and first-base man. It will, however, sometimes
happen that a ball will be driven past the pitcher
and nearly over the second base. The player at
the latter point may reach it, but cannot handle it
in time to put out the runner. This particular hit
he should regard as his limit, and anything inside
of that he should consider it his bounden duty



to take and field to first in time. Many ama-
teur second-base men, otherwise excellent, take
as their limit a much narrower field, and hence,
while they do not make many errors, their op-
ponents enjoy many little-deserved safe hits.
It is well for the second-base man occasionally
to practice underhand throwing to first, as it of-
ten happens in a game that he runs so far over
toward first to receive the ball that he has not
time to straighten up and throw the ball over-
hand, although a quick underhand throw will get
the ball into the first-base man's hands in time.
Throwing of every conceivable fashion is on this
account permissible for a second-base man, and
I have seen one of the best professional players
almost scoop the ball, with-one motion of his
harind, from the ground into the first-base man's
When a runner is coming down from first, the
second-base man in covering his own base should
not be so eager to start over to the bag as to put it
out of the question for him to handle a ball batted
in his immediate vicinity; for he should bear it in
mind that he cannot be of any service standing on
the second base if the ball is going along the
ground toward right field. When the runner from
first is fairly off, and the catcher is throwing the
ball to second, the base-man should endeavor to
take up such a position in receiving the throw as
to be just in front of the base-line and a little
toward first. Here he must follow the same in-
structions relative to touching the runner as
those given the third-base man. He must swing
low and quickly, taking every advantage of the
position of the runner, and making the attempt
cleanly and in but one motion. There is very
little use in running after a man and "jabbing"
at him with the ball, for even if the runner
were touched the first time, the umpire natur-
ally judges from the base-man's repeated efforts
that he must have failed in the first attempt,
and so declares the runner "safe."
It is sometimes possible for a good combina-
tion of catcher, pitcher, and second-base man to
put out a runner who takes a long lead from second
toward third when the ball is pitched, or who
comes back slowly or carelessly. Burdock used
to do this very cleverly. He had a signal (con-
sisting of extending his left arm out in a straight
line from his body, an action not noticeable to

the runner, but very evident to the catcher) by
which he instructed the catcher to perform the
play on the next ball pitched. The method was
as follows: The catcher, instantly upon receiving
the ball, returned it with as swift a throw as the
pitcher could well handle, and he in turn swung
around and sent the ball at second just a little
toward third. Burdock, who had started as
soon as the catcher had the ball, would have
reached this spot in the line, and it was a very
lively undertaking for any runner who was not
expecting the trick, to get back to the bag in time.
This play, as executed by these men, had little
in common with the ordinary attempt of ama-
teurs to execute it-where there is enough shout-
ing and calling to betray the plan long before
the ball comes. It must, of course, be done in
perfect silence, and the runner should have no
warning until the ball comes flying back.
The second-base man occasionally has an op-
portunity of backing up first base, although the
pitcher is able to do a large share of this work.
The first-base man's most regular work is
catching thrown balls; but he has other duties
by no means unimportant, chief among which
is handling ground-hits. Like the third-base
man, he stands as far from his base as he can
and yet be able to stop any ball sent between
him and the bag. Unlike the third-base man,
however, he cannot be allowed to take every-
thing he can get in the in-field; for, as a rule, he
must not go farther from his base than to a point
from which he can return to the bag in time to
intercept the runner. Occasionally a ball is
batted in such a manner that the play can be
made to greater advantage by the pitcher's cov-
ering the base, while the base-man himself gets
the ball.and throws it to the pitcher. This is
sufficiently unusual not to be counted on as a
regular play, and a first-base man should at-
tempt it only at a call from the pitcher. His
best general rule is to "cover the base." In
catching balls thrown to him, he should make a
point of acquiring the habit of stepping from
the base with either foot, keeping the other al-
ways on the bag. Many amateurs fall into the
trick of always keeping the same foot on the
base and twisting themselves about in corre-
spondingly awkward ways. More than this, the
man who plays first should never make the mis-

take of putting the cart before the horse," by low throw either on the pick up," or the long
keeping his foot on the bag when to do so he bound," and avoid that most disagreeable point
must miss the ball. This is the of a ball's progress known as a "short
commonest fault of bound." The best of players can not be sure
all first-base men. of taking a short bound,-there is always an
I remember hearing element of luck in it,- while taking a pick-
Joe Start, one of the /up, or a long bound, is far more a question
old pioneer base-ball of skill.
players, who has stood Another thing to be remembered by the
on first base until his first-base man in his practice, as well as in
hair is white, say con- games, is to help the thrower. For ex-
temptuously of many a ample, when the ball and the runner
man playing first base, seem about to reach the base at the
"Humph! -tied to the same time, the base-man, by leaning for-
bag!" It is the duty of ward into the diamond and toward
the first-base man to the thrower, can gain just that almost
Sinappreciable fraction of time that.will
put the runner out.
The "tied to the bag" fault is ap-
S -./ parent sometimes in the player who
seems unable to take a high ball. His
trouble is usually found to lie in the fact
o that, while he does reach up after the
ball, he feels that his foot must not leave
"'>, the bag. If the ball be going too high
'^ to be reached in that way, he must jump
for it. A good
illustration of
how a first-base
catch or stop the ball any way. If he can do it a high ball, is shown in
with his foot on the base, well and good; if he an instantaneous photo-
cannot, then he must leave the base for the pur- graph of McB.ride, a well-
pose. A moment's consideration of the length of known first-base man of
time a first-base man has in which to move, while Yale. The player should .-
the ball is traversing the entire distance from jump so as to alight on
third, or short, to his base, will give one some idea the bag, for, if in time, he r
of how wild any throw (except a high one) must will put out the man; but
be, to be out of his reach, provided he dare to he must sacrifice evely-
leave the base when necessary. thing to stopping the ball.
In the handling of a low throw, there is the In touching the runner '.

greatest opportunity for the exercise of judgment.
If a first-base man will keep one foot upon the
bag and step forward with the other, bending
Sthe knee, he will see how far he can reach out
with his hands into the diamond. Then if he
steps backward, and notes how far behind the
base he can take the ball, he will have an idea
of the field of choice he has on a low throw.
He should therefore always endeavor to take a

with a ball thrown from ,
the pitcher, the first-base
man, likewise, should fol-
low the instructions given A HIGH BALL.
the third-base man. All players, however, are
far more proficient--owing to greater practice
- in sliding back to first than to third. A
first-base man must therefore be even quicker
in putting the ball on the man.




I HAD been at Bolobo only a few months,
when instructions from headquarters deprived
me of my friend Liebrechts. He was directed
to proceed up-river to take command of another
Station. I was left in charge of Bolobo, where
I remained but a few months, for the State,
desirous of reducing expenses, directed me to
abandon the Station.
I returned to England in the middle of June
1886. A new expedition was being fitted out
for exploring work, and most of my time, dur-
ing a brief holiday of ten weeks, was spent in
superintending the building of a light-draught
steamer, and making other preparations in con-
nection with this new venture, wherein I had
elected to serve. On September 26, 1886, I
was again at the mouth of the Congo; and,
a few months afterward, I was on the upper
river for the purpose of visiting in a steam-
launch, of which I had command, the villages
on the Congo banks, and making excursions
into the little-known tributaries. The boat I
had contracted for in England arrived in sec-
tions; and while the various parts were being
fitted together I established myself at Equator
Station, several hundred miles. further in the
During my stay at this post, I had excellent
opportunities for studying the inhabitants of the
surrounding country. I found that I was in
the midst of the powerful tribes of the Ba-
Nkundu. The low-lying country round the Sta-
tion was frequently flooded during the wet
season, and the native settlements were built on
a strip of dry land along the river bank. Just
back of the huts this strip merged into a great
swamp which extended for several miles inland.
I was repeatedly hearing rumors in the vil-
lages of an expected attack from a large inland
tribe called Monzole. As no white man had
ever visited these people, I decided that I

would endeavor to make friends with them by
visiting their villages, and entering into blood
brotherhood with the chief, Euelu. I therefore
engaged a few friendly natives to accompany
me on this little expedition. Our way led us
for twenty miles through swamp and quagmire:
In some places the mud was several feet deep,
and at these dangerous spots trees had been
felled and thrown across to serve as bridges.
Upon my arrival I was received most cordially
by Euelu. He seemed delighted to think that
a white man had paid such a tribute to his im-
portance as to wade through twenty miles of
mud to visit him. He placed his own hut at
my disposal, rationed my men, gave me goats,
sheep, fowls, and eggs, and made me feel thor-
oughly at home. When I had removed the
coating of mud which covered me from head
to foot, I found time to take a good look at my
redoubtable host. He had heard of my com-
ing from some of his young hunters, who,
surprised at the sight of a band of strangers
crossing the swamp, had left their traps and
nets and had hurried back to the village with
the news.
In view of so important an event, Euelu
had donned the very best costume his wardrobe
contained. He wore a tall hat, on which was
fastened a circular plate of beaten brass, twelve
inches in diameter and covered with roughly
stamped designs. He clutched a handful of
spears and a cane shield; the ever-ready knife
hung over his right shoulder, while from his left
shoulder was suspended the capacious bukumbeW,
or sack. He was evidently a suspicious old
fellow. His restless eyes were sufficient proof
of that, and the persistent habit of carrying his
belongings in the bukumb6 was a further con-
firmation of the fact. His drinking-cup, medi-
cines, razors, hair-pins, colored chalks, adze,
monkey skins, copper rings,-all accompanied
him every step he took. I asked him the rea-
son for carrying his property in this manner,


and he told me that he had several sons who
were always seeking an opportunity to lay
their hands on his valuables, and it was there-
fore necessary for him to take them with him
wherever he went.
Euelu was a short man, but of wiry build,
with a determined-looking head. His face
and body bore many marks of war's ravages.
The questions he put to me showed him to be
possessed of great intelligence; and he was
much amused at my descriptions of the man-
ners and customs in Miputu (the white man's
country), and by some rough drawings I made
with a piece of chalk on the door of his hut.
My gun delighted him so much that he at once
proposed that we should form a strict alliance
and together wage war on the surrounding vil-
lages and reduce them to subjection.
"With such a gun as that," said he, "we
could fight the whole country!" If not be-
loved, Euelu was certainly much feared by his
neighbors. The other villages in the district
were jealous of his power; but whenever they
put forward a headman to contend with Euelu
for leadership in the country, the native se-
lected for that honor would receive a visit from
the old chief, and would in consequence retire
from the competition rather speedily.
From Euelu, whose warlike excursions had
penetrated far in all directions, I learned a great
deal about the land beyond. The village of
Monzol6 was built on a strip of dry land rising
from the swamp. The government of these
people was far more intelligent than any I had
ever met with among the Congo natives. Here,
there was always one responsible chief at the
head of affairs.
Euelu visited my station several times after
this little trip of mine. But early in '88 he at-
tempted to suppress a drunken squabble which
was going on in the village. Some of his ene-
mies, taking advantage of his unarmed con-
dition, treacherously speared him, leaving him
dead in his own village. Since that time the
name of Monzole, unaided by the great reputa-
tion of Euelu, fails to. create such fear among
the neighboring tribes.
Near the village of Euelu was an encamp-
ment of roving hunters, known as Barumbe.
These seemed a very peaceful tribe, and wished

to live at peace with their neighbors. They em-
ployed their time in hunting the small game in
the forests with bow and arrow, while .pitfalls
and other traps set for big game showed that
the larger animals also were objects of their ef-
forts. They were not cannibals, nor, greatly to
their credit, did they indulge in human sacrifices.
They were keen sportsmen and useful trackers,
being able to discern, by a careful scrutiny of the
trail, the exact time the animals had passed
through the swamps. They had never seen a
white man, and I had great difficulty in getting
my tracker to go ahead, as he preferred to walk
behind me in order to indulge his curiosity by
having a good look at me.
The natives around my Station were a light-
hearted, friendly people, and it required but a
little tact and patience to preserve at all times
friendly relations with them. I always engaged
a few of the villagers to work on the Station, and
found among them some men of sterling worth
and admirable character. One youth, named
Bienelo, was an exceptionally fine fellow, brave
in war and in the chase, and thoroughly trust-
worthy and devoted. He remained with me the
whole of my last three years in Africa, and
served me well. He was a slave, having been
caught when quite a baby by some raiders; but
his determined and fearless character soon raised
him from the abject condition of the majority
of slaves; and the support and encouragement
which I was bound to extend to him gave him.
a good position in this village. He was my
head man, ashore and afloat. Whether with me
on the track of a tusker, or exposed to the ar-
rows of the fierce Ruki, or laboring through the
swampy bog in search of fuel for the steamer,
he always remained the same devoted servant.
He was a perfect example of what can be made
of the African savage when properly handled.
With an army of such men, under resolute offi-
cers, the Arab slave-raiders and their Manyema
banditti would before long be driven from their
present man-hunting ground, and, if necessary,
could be utterly destroyed.
I was enabled to indulge my love of hunting
while at Equator Station, as herds of hippo-
potami could usually be found within a few
hours' journey. Occasionally, too, elephants
would make their way down to the river, when



a long dry season dried up their inland drinking-
Herds of elephants are to be found, with very
few exceptions, throughout the whole territory
of the Congo Free State. I suppose at the pres-
ent time they are to be found there in greater
numbers than in any other part of the world.
In the deadly swamps and impenetrable forests
of Central Africa, they are secure for many years

great animals. They seem to know that the
natives have no very powerful weapons of de-
fense, and it is really extraordinary how fearlessly
they take possession of a village. The natives
naturally are very anxious that a white man
should come to shoot these persecutors; and,
when a herd appears in a district, news is al-
ways brought in to the nearest camp or Station.
If the white man is a hunter, and decides to fol-

.., :., ."


to come. In South Africa, and other parts where
they have been almost exterminated, there is no
deadly climate to protect them from the pursuit
of the hunters of big game.
An elephant-hunt, although very exciting, is
attended by great hardship and risk to life.
These animals are not, as a rule, found in open
places. They prefer the forest, and seek the
shelter of the thick tropical foliage. They are
to be found in families of two and three, and in
herds of two and three hundred. Some dis-
tricts are rendered quite uninhabitable to the
natives by the depredations the elephants com-
mit on the plantations, and by the very danger-
ous nature of the midnight maraudings of these
VOL. XVII.-93.

low up the elephants, he takes with him one or
two natives of his own training, or men known
to be trustworthy, and then, accompanied
by the native who has seen the elephants and
brought the news, they proceed to follow up the
tracks. If it is about the middle of the day, the
party will not have much difficulty in coming up
to the game, as from about eleven o'clock till
about three o'clock the elephants rest. On the
other hand, if the time is early morning or
evening, it may mean a tramp of many miles be-
fore finding the herd.
But, even when you have reached a herd, you
have still serious obstacles in your path, as, more
often than not, a herd-say, of fifty-will be


scattered over a patch of two or three acres.
You have to move about around the outskirts
of this resting-place, and find out their posi-
tions, and to see which are, and which are not,
" tuskers." You must then watch and note in
what direction the animals are making, always
taking care, of course, to have the wind in your
favor-that is, blowing from them to you. It
happens sometimes, too, that they are almost
completely sheltered by the luxuriant growth of
the tropical underbrush. You have to allow for
this, and be ready to fire your shot when a little
more open ground is reached, and you are able
to distinguish some vital spot. It is not at all
unusual for an elephant-hunter to be within
thirty or forty yards of a herd of elephants for
five or six hours without an opportunity to
fire a shot. Of course you could hit one; but
unless an elephant is struck in some vital part, to
wound him is simply downright cruelty. The
best places at which to aim are : in the forehead,
four inches above the line of the eyes; and
between the eye and the ear, four inches above
a line drawn between those two points. Another
very good place is just behind the ear. Some
prefer to shoot at the heart, but to aim at the
head is safer, I think.
When you have fired your first shot, you
must be wary, as it is likely that you may find
elephants on all sides of you. Upon their being
startled by the report of your gun, they all close
together, preparatory to making their escape,
so that you have to be very careful to avoid
being trampled under foot. It requires a man
of cool temperament and strong and steady
nerves to carry on successfully an elephant
The noise made by a herd of elephants is sim-
ply indescribable. Every animal seems to wish to
outdo the others in the shrillness of its screech-
ing and trumpeting. This, combined with the
crashing down of trees as they plow their way
through the matted undergrowth of the forest,
once heard, will never be forgotten. An angry
elephant will very often charge at the hunter,
especially if the animal is a female protecting a
young one, so that a hunter seldom fires unless
he is close enough to be sure of his aim.
A native from a neighboring village arrived
one day at my Station excited and breathless.

He informed me in short gasps that he had
seen a large herd of elephants quietly feeding in
a forest swamp a few miles away. He volun-
teered to lead me up to these animals, so I took
my rifle, and, accompanied by Bienelo with a
spare Martini, I followed our guide to the woods.
We had not gone far before we heard the break-
ing down of branches and the peculiar champing
noise which these animals make in their throats
when resting. There were certainly a hundred
of the great creatures. We crept close up to
them, but they were in the midst of a thick
undergrowth, and we could discern their where-
abouts only by an occasional glimpse of their
great bodies through the foliage or the raising
of a trunk as one snapped off some young sap-
ling; but, all around us, the rustling among the
big leaves and the waving of the slender shrubs
denoted the presence of the elephants.
I had approached within a few yards of one
several times, but the dense thicket prevented
me from clearly distinguishing my game. At
last, however, from a patch of tangled bush and
creepers, a large elephant came striding along
right in my path. I fired, and fortunately
dropped the beast on her knees; and then, upon
another shot from my Martini, she rolled over
on her side, dead. I had been uncomfortably
close to this big animal, and after she had fallen
she lay just seven yards from where I stood
when I fired. Had I not succeeded in bringing
her down at the first shot, I am afraid she would
have taken such steps as would have been
exceedingly unpleasant for me.
A herd of elephants in full stampede create a
deafening uproar, as, angrily trumpeting their
alarm, they break through the tangled thicket
in their retreat.
Elephants live to a very great age, and so ac-
customed do the natives become to certain ones
that they know each by a special name. Some-
times the title is bestowed on account of some
well-known incident of the animal's life, and
sometimes the elephant is named after a de-
ceased chief. These old fellows are generally
bull elephants, and, more often than not, tuskers,
who prefer leading a solitary life to joining a herd.
I remember one wily old fellow often mentioned
among the natives by the name Miongo Moco
("one tusk "), so called from his having only one




tusk. I never saw him, although I have been
on his track. It seemed strange to hear these
people say, in speaking among themselves
after this elephant had visited their planta-
tions, "Miongo Moco paid another visit last
night," and then proceed to recount the dam-
age done by him and to abuse him in their quiet
way, just as if he were a human being.
On one trip up the Malinga, my sentry on the
boat awoke me and whispered, "Njoku, njoku"
(" Elephants, elephants.") Hurriedly dressing, I
got out and saw, about fifty yards from the bow of
my boat, a small herd of elephants. It was not


yet morning. I could hear their blowing and
could dimly perceive their great heads above
water, but it was really too dark to shoot with
any chance of success. We determined to try,
however; so Thompson, the engineer, and myself
got into the canoe with our crew, and pushed
off toward the animals. They were in shallow
water, and as we neared them they became con-
fused and huddled, and jostled each other until
one old bull, furiously trumpeting, led the way
to the shore. The whole herd stampeded through
the shallow water, splashing up the water all
around. We lost sight of the black mass as






they reached the bank and made off into the are a most murderous and piratical race, and to
woods, where we heard them breaking through their other evil distinctions is added that of can-
the forest in their retreat. We followed them nibalism. They are constantly lying in wait,
for several miles, but did not come up to them. concealed in their canoes amidst grass and
bush, near to some of their
neighbors' fishing grounds;
and upon the arrival of a,
small party offishermen, they
will steal out from their hid-
ing-places, give chase, spear
the fishermen, and devour
S-- the bodies of those who fall
S in the fray.
Generally speaking, the
land through which the
.. Oubangi flows is swampy,
and the banks of the river
are clothed with densest
- "tropical vegetation,--huge
trees, among which lovely
__.. .. ____ 'creepers trail from branch to
--- branch. Various orchids of
If they had arrived half an hour later, it would also cling to the branches of the trees, and
have been light enough to have seen the bead animals of all kinds roam through the woods.
of the rifle; as it was, although we were within The Balui have not penetrated far up the
fifteen feet of them, we could see only the black river. A hundred miles from the mouth one
mass of the bodies. meets another tribe, speaking an entirely differ-
During a two months' voyage which I made ent language, but with habits and tastes as hor-
on the Oubangi River, I had much experience rible as those of the Balui. These tribes are
in dealing with some of the wildest natives in most confirmed cannibals and freely advertise
the Congo Basin. The Oubangi has four hun- that fact, exhibiting the bones of their victims.
dred miles of navigable water before the Rap- The members of these tribes are constantly at
ids are reached. On the lower reaches of the war with one another; each village seems only
river the Balui, a section of the Bangala tribe, too anxious to pounce down upon some other.
have settled. These people, besides being keen This state of things has maintained a perpetual
traders, are skillful hunters. They trap the ele- state of alarm; nearly every village is surrounded
phant in the forests, and on foot pluckily hunt by a heavy stockade of sharpened posts, strapped
with spears the buffalo in the plains; nor is the to which are bundles of wooden spears, ready
hippopotamus in the river safe from their deadly to the hand of the warrior in case of a sud-
weapons. They attack him while he sleeps on den attack. One is constantly passing patches
a sand bank, hurling a heavy spear, to the han- of cleared ground, which show the charred
dle of which a float is attached by a cord, so stumps and general debris of destroyed villages.
that if they succeed in only wounding him, his These, I learned, were once populous villages,
whereabouts may be known by the float, that had been destroyed through the avarice
I ascended this river in the smaller boat, the and ferocity of their neighbors.
New York," and was accompanied by only fif- At one place I saw a canoe on its way to
teen men. Our small numerical strength was war. It was a huge dugout with large plat-
taken advantage of by the savages. They tried forms fore and aft, and was manned by thirty-
in every way to impose on me. These Balui five fine young warriors, who for symmetry of


limb and general physique would compare fa-
vorably with any band of fighters in the world,
In the center, seated on a chair, was the old
chief himself, who leaned gracefully, with his
arms folded, over his shield. In the bow was a
young fellow beating a war-drum. On the plat-
form at the back were two men with war-drums
and two men acting as steersmen. In the body
of the canoe were the warrior paddlers. Every
man had on the usual leather breastplate of
tanned buffalo-skin, colored in fantastic patterns
with yellow and white chalk. They wore also
caps of various colored feathers and skins.
The shields and spears were arranged along the
sides of the canoe so that, at a moment's notice,
every man could be armed.
The sun was shining brilliantly, and the bright
metal of the knives and spears flashed with
every movement, while the wild surrounding
scenery completed a striking and impressive
picture. These people are fierce, warlike, and
aggressive. I had only fifteen of the Ba-Nkun-
du men with me, and it required all my stock
of patience to put up with our pursuers' arro-
gant behavior. They would surround me in
their canoes, and tantalize me by throwing corn-
cobs, pieces of wood, and stones; and it was

--- ....
-- ..--

` NA-


with the greatest difficulty that I was able to
prevent them from smashing the machinery of
the steamer, as time after time they chased my
boat and tried to drive the prows of their ca-
noes into the wheel. These attacks I repelled
by placing some of the crew at the end of my
own canoe to guard our wheel with long sticks.
I make it my policy to use the rifle upon the
natives only as a last resort, when patience and
diplomacy have failed. To my peaceful over-
tures, these savages only yelled, and informed
me that they would eat me and all my crew !
I signed to them that it was very possible I
might dispute that. Upon my showing them a
rifle, they laughed, jeered at me, and said, "The
spear is the weapon to kill. The gun won't
kill!" They followed me up-river until we
came abreast of another long stretch of vil-
lages. Here the natives did not confine them-
selves to verbal insults, and I was compelled to
fight them. As I passed close in-shore, steam-
ing slowly past their villages, an ominous sul-
leness was noticeable on the features of all the
men who were sitting crouched along the bank
with their eyes fixed on me, and their weapons
lying ready just in front of them. At a given
signal they all rose and hurled their spears.







One of these stuck into the sun-deck of my
boat, just escaping my head by about four
This actual attack I was bound to punish.
I put the nose of my boat in-shore and steamed
ahead. The enemy huddled together to resist,
but we poured such a withering fire into them
that they began to throw their spears at random
and soon broke and fled for shelter behind the
huts and trees.
I was determined to give them a lesson that
they would remember -a lesson that would
cause them to think twice before they again
attacked a white man. I routed them out of
their own village; then they made a slight stand
behind their palisade, from which we cleared
them, and scattered them in full retreat before
us. I completed the punishment by burning
the houses and capturing their live stock, and
camped on an island opposite for the night, keep-
ing a careful watch till the morning. Then I
again steamed up-river.
It was surprising how such a lesson improved
these people. I came back to the same village
twelve days afterward, and although they were
dreadfully scared, I succeeded in pacifying them,
and, indeed, in making friends with them. They
admitted that they had been in the wrong; they
thought that I, with so small a party, could
be easily overcome, and so had commenced the
attack. They paid dearly for their mistake of
These natives, unlike those of Lukolela, do
not plait the hair, but prefer to shave it,
and then wait until the head is covered with

three or four days' growth, from which they
shave away some of the hair and leave the re-
mainder in half-moon squares and other designs.
When their design grows too long, they shave
all off again and start afresh. Their faces are
rendered exceedingly repulsive by their custom
of cutting off the two upper front teeth close
to the gum.
The news of my little fight spread far and
wide. The speed of my boat greatly increased
the awe which the natives felt for us; and at
no other village above did the natives dare
to receive us with hostility, nor did we again
become the recipients of their spare stock of
corn-cobs, old roots, and so on.
But, upon coming down-stream, near the
mouth of the. river, I one night shot a hippo.
Next morning, on proceeding to the place where
I had left it the night before, I found it sur-
rounded by a crowd of Balui. They jumped
into their canoes at my approach and paddled
off with all their might, but I followed them',
because they had taken all the meat. When
they arrived at their homes they jumped ashore
and bolted into the bush with the meat. Upon
my arrival at the village I found all the huts
deserted. A careful inspection proved that the
village was inhabited by fishermen, and the quan-
tity of dried fish in the village certainly pointed
to the fact that the season had been a very good
one. Exchange being no robbery, as they had
stolen my hippo, I helped myself to their fish,
and as my own men had been having rather too
much hippo meat for some time past, the change
of diet was welcome to them.


', Ii p; .,
I .. 1- '
1; I I '.'-
- -- --I ,, ,-S'.

Ii ': i .. -

S' *' ',

i .I --i -

i- .- l ,
.-' P J,- '

Sj il'.

/ 'ir i-

.J \\ .. .




and, seeing us lying there, should cover us with
leaves, as they did the Babes in the Woods."
"That did happen once," said I, "a long

-_.-' I N the day Marjorie got time ago. Tlhe robins found a little girl, name
S well, we all went t-. l ,
country and li-. I:! .
-- tent. That is, i'. li .l, I
a a tent for the bed- "- .. .
room, and another. .' .
tent for the dining-
room and kitchen, i
0 and all out-of-doors ', ,* -
for a parlor. When -- ,
we had dinner, Marjorie could spill .
the milk all over the grass if she ''.I
wanted to; and that was fun. And ,
she slept in a hammock, instead of
a bed; and that was fun. And one --
day she almost saw a snake, so she '
said. Then the birds would come, in -
the early morning, and sing to us until we
got up. Marjorie's mamma said that it would
be very funny if the robin-redbreasts should Amaryllis, asleep by a spring, and they thought
come into the tent some morning before we woke she was dead, and covered her up with leaves."




'- ... W^J v 'a 5

*- '" -~. ', ; n yorLir, 5 y
S rulrmur lg 5

.leepmr ththerjlew
K rya R obin-red-breast, whIo at vi '

\ot 5eelns her -ath all to ,tir- ,a
SO thro eight leaves ar\d mo ce hre
to cover her", ,.'' i

1\ -" -> i
-"--" .--i

c ~. I-.- *,I,' ,

"Then could n't she get up?" said Marjorie.
Oh, yes," I said. When she woke up, she
laughed at the robins. A friend of the birds,
named Robert Herrick, heard about it after-
ward; I don't know whether it was the robins
who told him, or whether it was the little girl.
At all events, he put it all in a book. I will
tell you about it to-night, if you like."
So that night, while Marjorie rocked herself
in the hammock, I told her Robert Herrick's
story of Amaryllis and the robins. And she
liked it so well that she said it must go into
our book, too.
And, Jack," said she, we must make some
pictures for it."
Sweet Amaryllis, by a spring's
Soft and soul-melting murmurings,
Slept; and thus sleeping thither flew
A robin-redbreast, who at view
Not seeing her at all to stir,
Brought leaves and moss to cover her.
But while he, perking, there did prie,
About the arch of either eye;
The lid began to let out day-
At which poor Robin flew away.
And seeing her not dead but all disleaved
He chirpt for joy to see himself deceiv'd."

i -I- e "'

"-" .-.il .- _w e he,
I' '' .- erking, there.

". '" '"' b tha

arch o either eye,
-. ~ ^ '.- ,e 7 ire. -& ,
S'.-w --b____ be an to let n

Sa kwhchk poor b i -(birn Wlew away.
heArm Seeinu her not )e&b bLd"alt l5.
leanveo sing

WHEN we beae c tired of living in a tent, we

went back to the city. We were all glad to
get home. Marjorie was so glad that, when
her mamma put her to bed in her own little
crib that night, she could not go to sleep, but
wanted to sing.
J -

WHEN we became tired of living in a tent, we
her mamma put her to bed in her own little

crib that night, she could not go to sleep, but

waconcertted to sing.celebrate our coming home, and we

would put that in to end The Book.



And this is what we sang:

A SERENADE.- To my little girl.
Good-night, Sweetheart,
The sun has gone to rest;
The evening star, the night-lamp of
the world,
Burns dimly in the west;
Tired day has closed its eyelids
On the blueness of its skies;
Do thou, Sweetheart, close thy lids
On the blueness of thy eyes.
The little birdies' heads have sought
their wings;
Each little flower has closed its
petals bright;
Do thou, Sweetheart, let thy dear
With all its little rings of golden hair, -
Sink down upon thy pillow white,
Whilst low I whisper in thy ear,
Good-night, Sweetheart, good-night.



THE trouble came just with the end of the racket,
One Fourth of July, as you '11 presently
'T was not a lopped finger, nor torn nor spoiled
I escaped from all harm-save a very slight

But Papa had provided a new silken banner,
Which swayed in the evening breeze, far out
of reach,
And our guests were discoursing in happiest
When, lo! some one called upon me for a

Oh, never did heart beat to time that was
Than mine, as I stood there, not daring to flee!
For I would far rather have faced grave disaster
Than make an oration quite extempore.
VOL. XVII.-- 94

How should I begin ? with my hands in my
My thoughts seemed to take a precipitous
I but knew that above me the arrowy rockets
Left beautiful arches of jewel-like light.

The words "Fellow-citizens" loomed up sug-
And somehow I managed the form to repeat;
And then from sheer fright at my voice I grew
And felt I must suffer the shame of defeat.

At last in the kitchen, I heard ice a-shaking,
And instantly roused from discomfiture's
To say, 'midst applause,--for the motion proved
taking -
"I move that the speeches come after the



IN a fairy forest, known
To the fairy-folk alone,
Where the grasses meet and spread
Like a green roof overhead,
Where the dandelion-tree
Towers tall as tall can be,
And the ferns lift up their high
Fairy ladders to the sky,
For the elves to climb upon -
Here are merry goings-on.

From the forest far and near
All the fairy-folk are here,
For to-day there is to be
Music neathh the daisy-tree.
And the creatures of the wood,
One and all, have been so good
And obliging as to say,
They will gladly come and play
For the elves a serenade,
In the fairy forest glade.

All the little birds have come;
And the bumblebees that hum;
And the gnats that twang the lute;
And the frogs that play the flute;
And the kind of frog whose toots
Seem to come from out his boots;
And the great big green and yellow
Frog that plays upon the 'cello;
And the katydid, in green,
Who is oftener heard than seen;
With the little ladybird
Who is oftener seen than heard;
And the cricket, never still
With his lively legs and trill.


And, in short, each forest thing
That can hum, or buzz, or sing,
Each and all have come to play
For the little elves to-day.

Now the crawfish takes the stand
To conduct the fairy band.
First there is a moment's pause,
Then the leader lifts his claws,
Waveshis wand, and- one --two- three!
All at once, from gnat and bee,
Frog, and katydid, and bird
Such a melody is heard
That the elves and fairies wee,
Clapping little hands with glee,
Make their mushroom seat to sway
In a very risky way.
And the creatures in delight

Play away with all their might,
Feeling very justly proud
That the elves applaud so loud.

Now'the sun is getting low,
And the elves to bed must go
Ere the sleepy flowers close
In whose petals they repose;
For if they were late they might
Have to stay outside all night.
So the last good-byes are said,
Every one goes home to bed;
And the creatures as they fly
Play a fairy lullaby,
Growing faint and fainter still,
Fainter and more faint, until
All is silent and the shade
Creeps upon the fairy glade.


~'d -~ _I



EVERY boy who spends his vacation at the
water-side wishes to sail a boat; and nearly every
boy who has been permitted to help some older
yachtsman in the navigation of his craft, thinks
that he knows all about it. But put him aboard
a sail-boat alone, and the chances are many that
he will come back (if he is not brought back)
a sadder and wiser "man" than he was when
he set forth, and with his bump of self-conceit
reduced to such a degree that one can scarcely
discern the ghost of it. Of course, a boy can
learn to sail a boat without assistance, but this is
a method which is very dangerous to life, and not
to be recommended. It is better that one should
know a little of the things necessary to the ac-
quirement of a good understanding of the sub-
ject, before he jumps into his yacht with an up
sail and away," than to begin with an experiment
which is almost certain to end in disaster. The
boy who desires to be a yachtsman should wish
to be an able yachtsman-one who will not have
cause to blush with mortification at some bung-
ling maneuver which he has made in the pres-
ence of his friends, or to regret all his life that he
has been an agent of death to some loved com-
panion. Therefore, boys, I say, learn to sail a
boat intelligently, to be a competent commander,
and to be at all times ready for emergencies
when they come. With this object in view, then,
let us proceed to board our boat, and, as the
sailors say, "see what she '11 do."
Now, to begin with, I will assume that you
know how to use a row-boat. A boy who can
not skillfully handle a pair of oars should not
attempt to manage a sail-boat. One must learn
to swim and to row before he graduates into the
ranks of the yachtsmen. I will also assume that
you are interested in yachts, and have examined
them enough to know their general appearance
and their chief characteristics; that you know a
mast from a boom, and the difference between a
rudder and an anchor in short, that you are al-

ready enthusiastic over a sail-boat, for a water-
loving boy generally picks up the names of the
parts of a boat long before he learns to sail. Let
us also confine our study to boats of one kind,
for the management of large yachts is not per-
tinent to our purpose. We will, then, take for
our experiments a cat-boat. The cat-boat is
used more than any other kind of yacht in
American waters, and it is in such a boat that
you will probably have to take your yachting
lessons, because nearly all rented boats, and
nine-tenths of all other small yachts, are cats."
The cat-boat has but one sail. This is set on a
mast, and stretched out upon a boom and a gaff,
as you know. There are three ropes in the rig
of such a boat, two to hoist the sail and one to
"trim it," that is, to fasten it where you want it.
Thehoisting-ropes are called "halyards," the one
which lifts that part of the sail next the mast be-
ing the throat-halyard, the other, which lifts the
end of the gaff, being named the peak-halyard.
The third rope is the mainsheet, and by means of
this you" work your boat. The yacht should also
have a topping-lift, which is a rope fastened to the
boom, run through a pulley in the masthead, and
thence to the deck. It is to lift the boom when the
sail is lowered, or when emergency requires. The
rig, as you will see, is simple; yet you will find
the catboat one of the liveliest contrivances that
you ever tried to ride. A bicycle and a skittish
horse are tame in comparison.
A boat, in sailing, never goes in but one
direction forward. Sailing vessels are not
designed to move backward. Remember this.
An old waterman once gave. me a piece of ad-
vice which I have never forgotten. My lad,"
said he, when you 're sailin' a boat, always do
one o' two things: keep 'er a-goin', or down with
your sail." There is good sense in that, for
nearly all the upsets that occur are caused by
not keeping' 'er a-goin'," or by leaving the sail
standing when it should be down. You see, a


boat under way is manageable, while a boat at
rest upon the water is not. If your boat does
not go, you can not steer her; and if you can
not steer a boat, she will capsize if struck by a
squall. Therefore, make it a point to always
keep your sail full, in order that your boat may
be under your control.
To sail a boat, you should understand that
her canvas must receive the pressure of the
wind either at an angle or directly from behind,
and that, except when sailing with the wind
"dead aft," your boat's bow must point farther
away from the wind than does her sail. A boat
can not sail if the wind blows directly at her bow
or upon the edge of her canvas. You can sail
a vessel close to the wind, but never directly
against it.
The following diagrams will explain this
to you: 1, 2, and 3 are positions in which a
boat will not sail, because the wind can not


exert any force upon the canvas; 4 and 5
show a boat upon two tacks, one to the left,
"port," called the starboard tack, because the
wind strikes on the starboard side; the other
to the right, starboard," and called the port
tack; 6, 7, and 8 show a boat going with the
wind behind, the position in 6 being dangerous,
because the wind may throw the sail over to
the other side, if you steer carelessly, causing
what is known as a "jibe," a perilous event at
all times, and, as a rule, one to be avoided
whenever possible.

Now, let us suppose that you have your
yacht, and are ready to try her. You have
hoisted your sail, coiled the halyards neatly on
both sides and the mainsheet upon the floor in
the stern, dropped the center-board (if the boat
has one), and cast off the "painter," or rope
which fastened her. You wish to lay your
course to windward, the land being on your
left. So trim in the mainsheet and guide the
boat with the rudder, until she points close to
the wind (see Fig. 5), and let her go. You will
at once perceive that she tries to "luff," that is,
she wants to turn her nose into the wind, as in
Fig. i. (This is because the pressure on the
after-part of the sail drives the boat's stern
around, and is what is known as carrying a
weather helm." Therein lies your safety, for it
is thus that a sail-boat rights herself if struck
by a squall.) To counteract this, hold the rud-
der over a little until the actions of sail and


rudder neutralize each other, and the yacht will
keep a straight course. How she bowls along!
What a sense of buoyancy and life there seems
to be in her, and how pleasant is the feel" of
the whole fabric as you guide it by the tiller in
your hand! Steady there! Aha! You got a
"knock down," and had the breeze been
stronger it would have been a capsize. Let
me show you. When a little squall comes at
you, as that one did, be ready for it. You can
see it ruffling the water before it strikes, and, as
soon as it reaches you, turn your boat gently



toward the wind, not too much nor too quickly;
and if it is very severe let her point directly at
the wind for a moment, until the gust shall have
passed. But take care not to let your boat lose
her headway, for then she will be helpless when
the next squall strikes. If a squall is very sud-
den and severe, you must cast off your main-
sheet, letting the sail flap in the wind, in order
to save yourself from an upset. But trim it in
so soon as the squall shall have passed. There!
you are all right again now, and flying along in
fine style.
But you have gone as far as you need on the
port tack, and wish to "go about," that is, to
sail up the wind on the other tack. So give
your yacht a good headway by steering her a
little to the right. This is called "keeping her
rap-full." Now steer to the left, firmly and
quickly, and the yacht will at once turn into the
wind and away from it in the direction shown
in Fig. 4, the sail will fill and swing to the other
side, and off you go once more. This is called
tacking, and you must sometimes do considerable
of it, particularly if you are sailing in a narrow
It is now time to go home, and you must
prepare for a run before the wind. So ease off
the mainsheet, turning your yacht at the same
time to the left, until the sail is in the position
shown in Fig. 6, and the breeze is dead astern.
Take up the center-board. Oh, how she goes
now! She seems literally to be running away
with you, and to be trying a race with the waves
which are following behind. Be careful now,
and look lively. Zip! Boom! Crack! What 's
the matter? Oh, yes; you 've let her jibe,
and may be thankful that you have not over-
turned the yacht or carried away her mast.
You see, in sailing before the wind, if you steer
a trifle away toward the side on which you are
carrying sail, or if the wind itself shifts a little,
that the wind will catch the canvas in front
and hurl the sail to the other side of the boat.
A jibe should never be a matter of accident.
A sailor who lets a vessel jibe stands a good
chance of getting the "rope's end" from his
officer, and a yachtsman who does it deserves to
be laughed at for being a lubber. The best way
to sail before the wind is to keep a little bit off
the straight course, as in Figs. 7 and 8. Some-

times, however, you must jibe, in order to put
the sail over to the other side of the boat. To
do this properly requires experience and care.
First, steer your boat toward the wind, and as
you do so trim in the mainsheet as quickly as
possible, keeping a firm hold. When the wind
throws the sail over, let it go gently and steer
the boat back to her course. Then let the sheet
run, and go on as you did before.
Well, you are now on the home-stretch, run-
ning free with the sail on the port side, and
wish to land. To do this, sail down near the
dock, keeping well clear of it, and run past it,
giving yourself plenty of sea-room. Then drop
the center-board, round up your boat, trim in
the sheet, and, by means of a long, swinging
sweep, bring the vessel's head to the wind, as
she nears the landing-place. This is a manceuver
that requires much practice, and you can ex-
periment at it when out in open water until you
are perfect. It is quite a feat to land a sail-boat
neatly, and if you do not do it deftly and in
good style everybody on shore will laugh at
you. Remember this: you can never land a


yacht head-on before the wind. To drive a
boat before the wind against a dock is almost
sure to wreck her. If there is no landing to
windward, you must anchor or go elsewhere
for a mooring. Never try to land a sail-boat
upon a lee-shore." Many a nice little yacht



has been wrecked by greenhorns
who have tried that experiment.
You have had an agreeable
fair-weather sail. But suppose
the weather is a little stormy,
or the breeze fickle and squally.
Then you must sail under reefs.
You have noticed those rows of
little cords sewed to the sail at
intervals parallel with the boom.
Those are the reef-points, and
are used to tie the sail down
when it is necessary to reduce
canvas. Never fasten them
around the boom; that's a land-
lubber's way, and- provokes
mirth among sailors and yachts-
men; but tie them under the
lower edge of the sail. You will
also perceive a rope fastened at
the outer edge of the sail and
leading through the end of the
boom. This is to "outhaul," or
stretch, the sail, and is the reef-
pennant. Now then, to reef
your boat for a hard blow, first
set the sail at the proper height,
tie the reef-points as directed,
outhauling the sail with the
reef-pennant, and then set up the
halyards. The easiest way to
reef a boat is when at anchor or
fast .to a mooring; but you will
often have to put in a reef under
less favorable circumstances. In
that case, slack down the peak-
halyard and lower the throat-
halyard until the sail is where
you want it; then reef as before,
and be lively about it, too, or
you may get into trouble. Reef-
ing a small yacht in squally
weather is dangerous at all times,
and a man alone in a boat finds
it all that he can do. Make it
a..point to know how to take a
reef before you venture out far
upon the water; for the task
of reefing requires both a prac-
ticed hand and a steady nerve.



:- 7 r ,




Should you be caught by bad weather in such
a fix that you cannot safely take a reef at once,
lower the peak of the sail. This will reduce the
canvas, and still leave your boat manageable.
It does not look pretty, but it is safe.
And now a few words of caution, and you
need not be ashamed to heed them, for old
yachtsmen do just what I am about to advise
you to do. It is only the foolhardy greenhorn
sailor who "takes chances" with a yacht. In
squally weather never fasten the sheet; always
reef before you start, and if the wind is very
strong take two reefs. It is easy to "shake
them out," but hard to put them in; so reef be-
fore you cast off. Never take ladies and chil-
dren with you in bad weather, and generally, if
you are taking out a party of that kind, keep

your boat under reefed canvas. Then, if emer-
gency arises, your sacred trust is safe; for re-
member that a capsize with ladies and children
means almost certain death to some, perhaps to
all. It is wise also to have a small row-boat in
tow on such occasions, for it is worth more than
a hundred life-preservers.
While sailing a yacht keep your attention
strictly upon your business. A sailor must have
eyes all around his head, and be ready for any-
thing that may happen. A moment of inatten-
tion may result in much trouble and turn your
pleasuring into a time of terror. Keep a cool
head at all times and never lose your nerve, and
you are not likely to meet with anything really
Of course, I assume that you will have to




Iis f ~ zi

-. _" ..................._. ,___ -i, ____;___T____ ____i___E___J-- -

Dimensions given by designer: length over all, 21 feet; length at water line, 18 feet; beam [moulded], 7 feet 3 inches; draught, 3 feet o1 inches; least
freeboard, I foot 6 inches; mast, deck to throat band, 20 feet 6 inches; mast-head, 3 feet 6 inches; boom, 22 feet 9 inches; gaff, 13 feet 3 inches;
hoist of mainsail, 17 feet 9 inches ; area of mainsail, 370 square feet. Lead keel, weighing 3000 pounds.


hire your boat, so a word upon this subject may ure-boat quite another. Yachts with huge rigs
be timely. At every water-side resort there are are not safe, excepting in the hands of experts,
boats to let, and many of them are unseaworthy. and none too safe even when well handled.
When you have de-
/ veloped into a first-rate,
S,7 all around yachting
man, a racing-boat will
be a very good thing
S .to have, but don't hire
i one for practice or
Spleasure-sailing. If
you can find no boat
F excepting one with a
.' big rig, put a reef in
her sail, and she will
.i -',. ~ then have all the canvas
she needs for good
i .,'. speed, safety, and com-
I' '-'.~vy of my readers

-~ -

Before you hire a sail-boat, examine her care-
fully; see that her rigging is not rotten, that
every rope runs freely in its pulleys, that her
rudder is secure, and her center-board free in its
trunk. Never go out in a yacht which is not
well ballasted, provided with a good anchor and
cable, and free from leaks. Most boats leak a
little, but a boat that is half full of water every
day is sure to be old, rotten, and unseaworthy.
See to it that the yacht has a pump, and that
the pump is in order. Any boy can determine
these matters for himself, if he will be observ-
ant and cautious. You must always remember
that almost any waterman will rent you a boat,
no matter how bad she may be; for the water-
man cares more for your money than for you.
There are exceptions, but they are few. In se-
lecting a cat-yacht, try to secure one that is
roomy and wide, and avoid boats with very large
sails. These latter go fast, but they also cap-
size quickly. A race-boat is one thing, a pleas-

may spend their sum-
mers at the sea-side, in
places where the waters
are very shallow, and
perhaps some of them
are expecting to build

boats suitable for shoal-
water sailing. In that
case a boat, like the
one shown in the plans, will be found very satis-
factory. Such a yacht is always a fast sailer, and
will carry you anywhere where you can find eigh-
teen inches of water. You will notice that I have
drawn the plans for two sizes of sails: one, the
larger, gives the yacht her full sail-carrying com-
plement of canvas, and will make her a winner
in a race; the other, and smaller sail, shown by
the dotted lines, is a suitable rig for general
cruising and pleasure-sailing. This yacht can
be rigged either as a cat or a sloop, being mod-
eled for both purposes, and is just as correct
for one rig as for the other.
Now, there may be some among you who
intend to have your boats built. Sometimes a
boy has money enough to do this, or his father
gives it to him, or Uncle John feels liberal, or
some other nice thing happens to make such an
event possible; and if this be your case, you
will do well to study the drawings which Mr.
Burgess, designer of the "Puritan," the "May-





flower," and the peerless "Volunteer," has pre-
pared especially for ST. NICHOLAS.
You will observe that the yacht, of which Mr.
Burgess gives full working plans, is a very roomy,
safe, and handsome little craft, eighteen feet long
on the water-line, and cat-rigged. She is high-
sided and deep, and will therefore be steady
and dry under sail, and, with her ballast placed
at the lowest possible point, uncapsizable. She
has, as you can see, a roomy cockpit aft, and
a nice little cabin forward in which two or
three boys can sleep overnight as cozily as
mice in a cupboard. Everything about her
rig is simple and strong, and her whole ap-
pearance is very graceful. In such a yacht as
this, one could cruise all summer long in safety
and comfort.
The lines of the boat, as shown in the draw-
ings, are what sailors call fine," which means
that she has a graceful shape, and that her model
is delicate and clean-cut. There is nothing of
the tub about this boat; she is a veritable
So, if you intend to build a yacht, and can

afford to do so, take these plans to a skillful
boat-maker, insist that he shall follow them
exactly, and you will then possess one of the
finest little cruisers that can be made, able to
carry you almost anywhere, and competent to
hold her own with the best of the yachts of her
class, for she is undoubtedly fast and seaworthy;
and then she '11 be a "Burgess boat," too, which
is always something to brag about.
There are, of course, a thousand other things
which I could tell you about yachting, but not
in this short article. You desire to begin at the
beginning, and to learn to sail a boat; and if
you will master the simple lesson which I have
given you in these pages, you can do it.
Remember that sailing, delightful sport as it
is, is not a business for careless people, for it re-
quires intelligence, quick perception, and calm
self-possession to be a good sailor. So, if you
would be a yachtsman, cultivate these qualities,
learn to be the master of your boat under all
conditions of wind and weather, and don't for-
get that you must either "keep 'er agoin', or
down with your sail."

-N<.i -

I '.----h .




A LITTLE maid with downcast eyes,
And folded hands and serious face,
Who walks sedately down the street,
Her dainty dress all smooth and neat,
Each curl and ribbon in its place;

A dove-like maid with brow demure,
Beneath her bonnet's shady brim,
Who quiet sits within the pew,
And gravely reads the service through,
And joins in every hymn;

The sweetest maid that could be found
From Cuba to the Bay of Fundy;
A flower, the loveliest that springs,
A saint, an angel without wings,-
That's Dorothy on Sunday.

A little maid, in breathless haste,
With glowing cheeks and tangled hair,
Who races up and down the street,
And with her skipping, tripping feet
Is here, and there, and everywhere;

A saucy maid, with cap askew
Upon her rumpled yellow curls,
With twinkling feet and chattering tongue,
And breezy skirts about her swung
In swift, ecstatic whirls;

The merriest maid that ever shocked
The servile slaves of Mrs. Grundy;
A bird, a spark of dawning light,
A romp, a rogue, a witch, a sprite,-
That's Dorothy on Monday.




JACK OGDEN stood like a boy in a dream,
as the "Columbia" swept gracefully into her
dock and was made fast. Her swing about was
helped by the outgoing tide, that foamed and
swirled around the projecting piers.
A hurrying crowd of people was thronging out
of the Columbia, but Jack's German friend did
not join them.
De ceety vill not roon avay," he said, calmly.
"You comes mit me."
They went to the cabin for the ladies, and Jack
noticed how much baggage the rest were carry-
ing. He took a satchel from Miss Hildebrand,
and then the Polish lady, with a grateful smile,
allowed him to take another.
Dose crowds ees gone," remarked Mr.
Guilderaufenberg. Ve haf our chances now."
Afterward, Jack had a confused memory of
walking over a wide gang-plank that led into a
babel. Miss Hildebrand held him by his left
arm while the two other ladies went with Mr.
Guilderaufenberg. They came out into a street,
between two files of men who shook their whips,
shouted, and pointed at a line of carriages.
Miss Hildebrand told Jack that they could reach
their hotel sooner by the elevated railway.
"He look pale," she thought, considerately.
"He did not sleep all night. He never before
travel on a steamboat! "
Jack meanwhile had a new sensation.
"This is the city he was saying to himself.
"I 'm really here. There are no crowds, be-
cause it 's Sunday,- but then "
After walking a few minutes they came to a
corner, where Mr. Guilderaufenberg turned and
said to Jack:
"Dees ees Proadvay. Dere ees no oder
street in de vorlt dat ees so long. Look dees
vay und den look dat vay So! Eh? Dot ees

Proadvay. Dere ees no oder city in de vorit vere
a beeg street keep Soonday! "
It was indeed a wonderful street to the boy
from Crofield, and he felt the wonder of it; and
he felt the wonder of the Sunday quiet and of
the closed places of business.
"There's a policeman," he remarked to Mr.
"So!" said the German, smiling; "but he
ees a people's boleeceman. Eef he vas a king's
boleeceman, I vas not here. I roon avay, or I
vas lock up. Jack, ven you haf dodge some
king's boleecemen, like me, you vish you vos
American, choost like me now, und vas safe!"
I believe I should," said Jack, politely; but
his head was not still for an instant. His eyes
and his thoughts were busily at work. He had
expected to see tall and splendid buildings, and
had even dreamed of them. How he had
longed and hoped and planned to get to this
very place He had seen pictures of the city,
but the reality was nevertheless a delightful
Miss Hildebrand pointed out Trinity Church,
and afterward St. Paul's.
S" Maybe I'11 go to one of those big churches,
to-day," said Jack.
Oh, no," said Miss Hildebrand. "You find
plenty churches up-town. Not come back so
I shall know where these are, any way,"
Jack replied.
After a short walk they came to City Hall
"There!" Jack exclaimed. I know this
place! It's just like the pictures in my guide-
book. There 's the Post-office, the City Hall,-
"Come," said Mr. Guilderaufenberg, begin-
ning to cross the street. Ve must go ofer und
take de elevated railvay."


Come along, Meester Jack Ogden," added
Mrs. Guilderaufenberg.
"There are enough people here now," said
Jack, as they walked along, "- Sunday or no
Of course," said Miss Hildebrand, pointing
with a hand that lifted a small satchel. "That's
the elevated railway station over there, across
both streets. There, too, is where you go to the

it hard to rid himself of the notion that possibly
the whole long-legged railway might tumble
down, or the train suddenly shoot off from the
track and drop into the street.
Dees ees bretty moch American," said Mr.
Guilderaufenberg, as Jack stared out at the third-
story windows of the buildings. "You nefer
vas here before ? So! Den you nefer feels again
choost like now. You ees fery moch a poy. I


.suspension bridge to Brooklyn, over the East
River. You see, when we go by. You see to-
morrow. Not much, now. I am so hungry!"
I want to see everything," said Jack; "but
I 'm hungry, too. Why, we're going upstairs!"
In a minute more Jack was sitting by an open
window of an elevated railway car. This was
another entirely new experience, and Jack found

dell you, dere is not soch railvays in Europe; I
vonce feel like you now. Dot vas ven I first
come here. It vas not Soonday; it vas a day
for de flags. I dell you vat it ees: ven dot
American feels goot, he hang out hees flag.
Shtars und shtripes-I like dot flag! I look
at some boleece, und den I like dot flag again,
for dey vas not hoont, hoont, hoont, for poor




Fritz von Guilderaufenberg, for dot he talk too
moch! "
"It 's pretty quiet all along. All the stores
seem to be closed," said Jack, looking down at
the street below.
Eet ees so still! remarked Mr. Guilderau-
fenberg. I drafel de vorlt ofer und I find not
dees Soonday. In Europe, it vas not dere to
keep. I dell you, ven dere ees no more Soon-
day, den dere ees no more America! So Choost
you remember dot, my poy, from a man dot vas
hoonted all ofer Europe "
Jack was quite ready to believe Mr. Guilder-
aufenberg. He had been used to even greater
quiet, in Crofield, for after all there seemed to
be a great deal going on.
The train they were in made frequent stops,
and it did not seem long to Jack before Mrs.
Guilderaufenberg and the other ladies got up
and began to gather their parcels and satchels.
Jack was ready when his friends led the way to
the door.
I '11 be glad to get off," he thought. I am
afraid Aunt Melinda would say I was traveling
on Sunday."
The conductor threw open the car door and
shouted, and Mr. Guilderaufenberg hurried for-
ward exclaiming: Come! Dees ees our station!"
Jack had taken even more than his share of
the luggage; and now his arm was once more
grasped by Miss Hildebrand.
I '11 take good care of her," he said to him-
self, as she pushed along out of the cars. All
I need to do is to follow the rest."
He did not understand what she said to the
others in German, but it was: "I '11 bring Mr.
Ogden. He will know how to look out for him-
self, very soon."
She meant to see him safely to the Hotel
Dantzic, that morning; and the next thing Jack
knew he was going down a long flight of
stairs, to the sidewalk, while Miss Hildebrand
was explaining that part of the city they were
in. Even while she was talking, and while he
was looking in all directions, she wheeled him
suddenly to the left and they came to a halt.
"Hotel Dantzic," read Jack aloud, from the
sign. It 's a tall building; but it 's very thin."
The ladies went into the waiting-room, while
Jack followed Mr. Guilderaufenberg into the

office. The German was welcomed by the pro-
prietor as if he were an old acquaintance.
A moment afterward, Mr. Guilderaufenberg
turned away from the desk and said to Jack:
"My poy, I haf a room for you. Eet ees
high oop, but eet ees goot; und you bays only
feefty cent a day. You bay for von veek, now.
You puys vot you eats vere you blease in de
The three dollars and a half paid for the
first week made the first break in Jack's capital
of nine dollars.
Any way," he thought, when he paid it, I
have found a place to sleep in. Money '11 go
fast in the city, and I must look out. I '11 put
my baggage in my room and then come down
to breakfast."
"You breakfast mit us dees time," said Mr.
Guilderaufenberg, kindly. Den you not see
us more, maybe, till you comes to Vashington."
Jack got his key and the number of his room
and was making his way to the foot of a stair-
way when a very polite man said to him:
"This way, sir. This way to the elevator.
Seventh floor, sir."
Jack had heard and read of elevators, but
it was startling to ride in one for the first time.
It was all but full when he got in, and after it
started, his first thought was :
"How it's loaded! What if the rope should
break! "
It stopped to let a man out, and started and
stopped again and again, but it seemed only a
few long, breathless moments before the man in
charge of it said: Seventh, sir "
The moment Jack was in his room he ex-
Is n't this grand, though ? It's only about
twice as big as that stateroom on the steam-
boat. I can feel at home here."
It was a pleasant little room, and Jack began
at once to make ready for breakfast.
He was brushing his hair when he went to
the window, and as he looked out he actually
dropped the brush in his surprise.
"Where 's my guide-book ?" he said. I
know where I am, though. That must be the
East River. Away off there is Long Island.
Looks as if it was all city. Maybe that is
Brooklyn,- I don't know. Is n't this a high


house? I can look down on all the other
roofs. Jingo! "
He hurried through his toilet, meanwhile tak-
ing swift glances out of the window. When he
went out to the elevator, he said to himself:
"I '11 go down by the stairs some day, just
to see how it seems. A storm would whistle
like anything, round the top of this building!"
When he got down, Mr. Guilderaufenberg
was waiting for him, and the party of ladies went
in to breakfast, in a restaurant which occupied
nearly all of the lower floor of the hotel.
"I understand," said Jack, good-humoredly,
in reply to an explanation from Miss Hilde-
brand. You pay for just what you order, and
no more, and they charge high for everything
but bread. I 'm beginning to learn something
of city ways."
During all that morning, anybody who knew
Jack Ogden would have had to look at him
twice, he had been so quiet and
sedate; but the old, self-confi-
dent look gradually returned dur- .'
ing breakfast.
Ve see you again at sup- .
per," said Mr. Guilderaufenberg,
as they arose. Den ve goes ,i
to Vashington. You valks out
und looks about. You easy finds ,
your vay back. Goot-bye till I'. 'i
den." ,
Jack shook hands with his .
friends, and walked out into the i '
"Well, here I am !" he thought. .
"This is the city. I 'm all alone I,
in it, too, and I must find my
own way. I can do it, though. j ; fl
I 'm glad it 's Sunday, so that I I !,-
need n't go straight to work."

At that moment, the nine
o'clock bells were ringing in two
wooden steeples in the village
of Crofield; but the bell of the
third steeple was silent, down
among the splinters of what had A FELLOW
been the pulpit of its own meet-
ing-house. The village was very still, but there
was something peculiar in the quiet in the

Ogden homestead. Even the children went
about as if they missed something or were
listening for somebody they expected.
There were nine o'clock bells, also, in Mer-
tonville, and there was a ring at the door-bell
of the house of Mr. Murdoch, the editor.
"Why, Elder Holloway! exclaimed Mrs.
Murdoch, when she opened the door. Please
to walk in."
"Thank you, Mrs. Murdoch, but I can't,"
he said, speaking as if hurried. Please tell
Miss Ogden there 's a class of sixteen girls in
our Sunday-school, and the teacher 's gone; and
I 've taken the liberty of promising for her that
she '11 take charge of it."
"I '11 call her," said Mrs. Murdoch.
"No, no," replied the elder. "Just tell her
it 's a nice class, and that the girls expect her
to come, and we '11 be ever so much obliged to
her. Good-morning! "-and he was gone.

"Oh, Mrs. Murdoch!" exclaimed Mary,
when the elder's message was given. I can't 1




I don't know them! I suppose I ought; but
I 'd have said no, if I had seen him."
The elder had thought of that, perhaps, and
had provided against any refusal by retreating.
As he went away he said to himself:
She can do it, I know; if she does, it '11 help
me carry out my plan."
He looked, just then, as if it were a very
good plan, but he did not reveal it.
Mary Ogden persuaded Mrs. Murdoch to
take her to another church that morning, so
that she need not meet any of her new class.
"I hope Jack will go to church in the city,"
she said; and her mother said the same thing to
Aunt Melinda, over in Crofield.

Jack could not have given any reason why
his feet turned westward, but he went slowly
along for several blocks, while he stared at the
rows of buildings, at the sidewalks, at the pave-
ments, and at everything else, great and small.
He was actually leaving the world in which he
had been brought up-the Crofield world-and
taking a first stroll around in a world of quite
another sort. He met some people on the
streets, but not many.
"They 're all getting ready for church," he
thought, and his next thought was expressed
"Whew What street 's this, I wonder ?"
He had passed row after row of fine build-
ings, but suddenly he had turned into a wide
avenue which seemed a street of palaces. For-
ward he went, faster and faster, staring eagerly
at one after another of those elegant mansions
of stone, of marble, or of brick.
See here, Johnny," he suddenly heard in a
sharp voice close to him, what number do you
want? "
"Hallo," said Jack, halting and turning.
What street 's this ?"
He was looking up into the good-natured
face of a tall man in a neat blue uniform.
"What are you looking for ? began the
policeman again. But, without waiting for
Jack's answer, he went on, Oh, I see! You're
a green looking' at Fifth Avenue. Mind where
you 're going, or you '11 run into somebody!"
Is this Fifth Avenue ? Jack asked. I wish
I knew who owned these houses."
VOL. XVII.-96.


"You do, do you?" laughed the man in
blue. "Well, I can tell you some of them.
That house belongs to-" and the policeman
went on giving name after name, and pointing
out the finest houses.
Some of the names were familiar to Jack. He
had read about these men in newspapers, and it
was pleasant to see where they lived.
See that house? asked the policeman, point-
ing at one of the finest residences. "Well, the
man that owns it came to New York as poor as
you, maybe poorer. Not quite so green, of
course! But you '11 soon get over that. See
that big house yonder, on the corner? Well,
the cash for that was gathered by a chap who
began as a deck-hand. Most of the big guns
came up from nearly nothing. Now you walk
along and look out; but mind you don't run
over anybody."
Much obliged," said Jack, and as he walked
on, he kept his eyes open, but his thoughts
were busy with what the policeman had told
That was the very idea he had while he was
in Crofield. That was what had made him
long to break away from the village and find
his way to the city. His imagination had
busied itself with stories of poor boys,-as
poor and as green as he, scores of them,-born
and brought up in country homes, who, refusing
to stay at home and be nobodies, had become
successful men. All the great buildings he saw
seemed to tell the same story. Still he did say
to himself once:
"'Some of their fathers must have been
rich enough to give them a good start. Some
were born rich, too. I don't care for that,
though. I don't know as I want so big a
house. I am going to get along somehow.
My chances are as good as some of these fel-
lows had."
Just then he came to a halt, for right ahead
of him were open grounds, and beyond were
grass and trees. To the right and left were
"I know what this is!" exclaimed Jack.
"It must be Central Park. Some day I 'm
going there, all over it. But I '11 turn around
now, and find a place to go to church. I 've
passed a dozen churches on the way."



WHEN Jack turned away from the entrance
to Central Park, he found much of the Sunday
quiet gone. It was nearly half-past ten o'clock;
the sidewalks were covered with people, and the
street resounded with the rattle of carriage-
There was some uneasiness in the mind of the
boy from Crofield. The policeman had im-
pressed upon Jack the idea that he was not at
home in the city, and that he did not seem at
home there. He did not know one church
from another, and part of his uneasiness was
about how city people managed their churches.
Perhaps they sold tickets, he thought; or per-
haps you paid at the door; or possibly it did n't
cost anything, as in Crofield.
"I '11 ask," he decided, as he paused in front
of what seemed to him a very imposing church.
He stood still, for a moment, as the steady pro-
cession passed him, part of it going by, but much
of it turning into the church.
"Mister--," he said bashfully to four well-
dressed men in quick succession; but not one of
them paused to answer him. Two did not so
much as look at him, and the glances given him
by the other two made his cheeks burn-he
hardly knew why.
"There 's a man I '11 try," thought Jack.
I 'm getting mad! The man of whom Jack
spoke came up the street. He seemed an un-
likely subject. He was so straight he almost
leaned backward; he was rather slender than
thin; and was uncommonly well dressed. In
fact, Jack said to himself: He looks as if he
had bought the meeting-house, and was not
pleased with his bargain."
Proud, even haughty, as was the manner of
the stranger, Jack stepped boldly forward and
again said:
Mister ?"
"Well, my boy, what is it?"
The response came with a halt and almost a
"If a fellow wished to go to this church,
how would he get in ?" asked Jack.
"Do you live in the city?" There was a
frown of stern inquiry on the broad forehead;
but the head was bending farther forward.

* [JUY,

"No," said Jack; I live in Crofield." -
"Where 's that ? "
"Away up on the Cocahutchie River. I came
here early this morning."
What's your name ? "
"John Ogden."
"Come with me, John Ogden. You may
have a seat in my pew. Come."
Into the church and up'the middle aisle Jack
followed his leader, with a sense of awe almost
stifling him; then, too, he felt drowned in the
thunderous flood of music from the organ. He
saw the man stop, open a pew-door, step back,
smile and bow, and then wait.until the boy from
Crofield had passed in and taken his seat.
"He 's a gentleman! thoughtgt Jack, hardly
aware that he himself had bqwed low as he went
in, and that a smile of grim approval had fol-
lowed him.
In the pew behind them saftanother man, as
haughty looking, but just now wearing the same
kind of smile as he leaned forward and asked
in an audible whisper:
General, who's your friend? "
Mr. John Ogden, of Crofield, away up on
the Cookyhutchie River. I netted him at the
door," was the reply, in the same tone.
Good catch ? asked the other.
"Just as good as I was, Judge, forty years
ago. I '11 tell you how that was some day."
Decidedly raw material, I should say."
"Well, so was I. I was no more knowing than
he is. I remember what it is to be far away from
The hoarse, subdued whispers ceased; the
two gentlemen looked grim and severe again.
Then there was a grand burst of music from the
organ, the vast congregation stood up, and Jack
rose with them.
He felt solemn enough, there was no doubt
of that; but what he said to himself uncon-
sciously took this shape:
"Jingo! If this is n't the greatest going to
church ever did! Hear that voice! The organ
too -what music! Don't I wish Molly % as.'
here! I wish all the family were here!"
The service went on and Jack listened atten-
tively, in spite of a strong tendency in his eyes
to wander among the pillars to the galleries, up
into the lofty vault above him, or around among


1890.] : CROWDED OUT

the pews full of people. He'knew it was a good
sermon and that the music was good, singing
and 'all especially when the congregation
joined in ',Old Hundred" and another old
hymn that he knew. Still he had an increasing
sE-ce ir'bc' rn, a very small fellow in a very large
pljic. W\h!rn he raised his head, after the bene-
Sdiction, he saw the owner of the pew turn to-
ward him, bowi low, and hold out his hand.
Jack shook'hands, of course.
Good-morning, Mr. Ogden," said the gen-
tleman-gravely, with almost a frown on his face,
but very politely, and then he turned and walked
out of the pew. Jack also bowed as he shook
hands, and said, -" Good-morning. Thank you,
sir. I hope you enjoyed the sermon."
SGeneral," said the gentleman in the pew
behind them, "pretty good for raw material.
Keep an eye on him."
No, I won't,' said the general. I 've
spoiled four or five in that very way."
"Well, I believe you 're right," said the
-' judge, after a moment. It's best for that kind
of boy to fight his own battles. I had to."
"So did I," said the general, "and I was
well pounded for a while."
Jack did not hear all of the conversation,
but he had a clear idea that they were talking
about him; and as he walked slowly out of the
church, packed in among the crowd in the aisle,
he had a very rosy face indeed.
Jack had in mind a thought that had often
come to him in the church at Crofield, near the
end of the sermon:-he was conscious that it
was dinner-time.
Of course'he thought, with a little homesick-
ness, of the home dinner-table.
I wish I could sit right down with them,"
he thought, "and tell them what Sunday is in
the city. Then my dinner would n't cost me a
cent there, either. No matter, I 'm here, and now
I can begin to make more money right away.
I have five dollars and fifty cents left, anyway."
Then he thought of the bill of fare at the
Hotel Dantzic, and many of the prices on it, and
remembered Mr. Guilderaufenberg's instructions
about going to some cheaper place for his meals.
I did n't tell him that I had only nine dol-
lars," he said to himself, "but I '11 follow his
advice. He 's a traveler."


Jack had been too proud to explain how
little money he had, but his German friend had
really done well by him in making him take the
little room at the top of the Hotel Dantzic. He
had said to his wife:
Dot poy Vell, I see him again some day.
He got a place to shleep, anyhow, vile he looks
around und see de ceety. No oder poy I efer
meets know at de same time so moch and so
With every step from the church-door Jack
felt hungrier, but he did not turn his steps
toward the Hotel Dantzic. He walked on
down to the lower part of the city, on the look-
out for hotels and restaurants. It was not long
before he came to a hotel, and then he passed
another, and another; and he passed a number
of places where the signs told him of dinners to.
be had within, but all looked too fine.
"They 're for rich people," he said, shaking
his head, like the people in that church. What
stacks of money they must have! That organ
maybe cost more than all the meeting-houses
in Crofield!"
After going a little further Jack exclaimed:
I don't care! I 've just got to eat! "
He was getting farther and farther from the
Hotel Dantzic, and suddenly his eyes were
caught by a very taking sign, at the top of
some neat steps leading down into a basement:
"That '11 do," said Jack eagerly. "I can
stand that. Roast beef alone is forty cents at
the Dantzic."
Down he went and found himself in a wide,
comfortable room, containing two long din-
ing-tables, and a number of small oblong
tables, and some round tables, all as neat as
wax. It was a very pleasant place, and a
great many other hungry people were there
Jack sat down at one of the small tables, and
a waiter came to him at once.
"Dinner, sir? Yessir. Roast beef, sir? Yes-
sir. Vegetables ? Potatoes ? Lima-beans ? Sweet
corn ? "
Yes, please," said Jack. "Beef, potatoes,
beans, and corn! and the waiter was gone.
It seemed to be a long time before the beef


and vegetables came, but they were not long in
disappearing after they were on the table.
The waiter had other people to serve, but he
was an attentive fellow.
Pie, sir ? he said, naming five kinds with-
out a pause.
Custard-pie," said Jack.
"Coffee, sir? Yessir," and he darted away
This beats the Hotel Dantzic all to pieces,"
remarked Jack, as he went on with his pie and
coffee; but the waiter was scribbling something
upon a slip of paper, and when it was done he
put it down by Jack's plate.
Jingo said Jack in a horrified tone, a mo-
ment later. "What's this? Roast beef, 2 5;
potatoes, lo; Lima-beans, 10; corn, o1; bread,
5; coffee, io; pie, io : $0.80.' Eightycents!
Jingo! How like smoke it does cost to live in
New York This can't be one of the cheap
places Mr. Guilderaufenberg meant."
Jack felt much chagrined, but he finished his
pie and coffee bravely. "It's a sell," he said,
"-but then it was a good dinner "
He went to the cashier with an effort to act
as if it was an old story to him. He gave the
cashier a dollar, received his change, and turned
away, as the man behind the counter remarked
to a friend at his elbow:
I knew it. He had the cash. His face
was all right."
Clothes will fool anybody," said the other
Jack heard it, and he looked at the men sit-
ting at the tables.
"They 're all wearing Sunday clothes," he
thought, "but some are no better than mine. But
there 's a difference. I 've noticed it all along."
So had others, for Jack had not seen one in
that restaurant who had on at all such a suit of
clothes as had been made for him by the Cro-
field tailor.
Four dollars and seventy cents left," said
Jack thoughtfully, as he went up into the
street; and then he turned to go down-town,
without any reason f6r choosing that direction.
An hour later, Mr. Guilderaufenberg and his
wife and their friends were standing near
the front door of the Hotel Dantzic, talking
with the proprietor.. Around them lay their

baggage, and in front of the door was a car-
riage. Evidently they were going away earlier
than they had intended.
Dot poy! exclaimed the broad and bearded
German. He find us not here ven he come.
You pe goot to dot poy, Mr. Keifelheimer."
"So!" said the hotel proprietor, and at once
three other voices chimed in-with good-bye
messages to Jack Ogden. Mr. Keifelheimer
responded :
I see to him. He will come to Vashington
to see you. So!"
Then they entered the carriage, and away
they went.

After walking for a few blocks, Jack found
that he did not -know exactly where he was.
But suddenly he exclaimed:
Why, if there is n't City Hall Square I 've
come all the way down Broadway."
He had stared at building after building for
a time without thinking much about them, and
then he had begun to read the signs.
I '11 come down this way again to-morrow,"
he said. "It's good there are so many places
to work in. I wish I knew exactly what I
would like to do, and which of them it is best
to go to. I know! I can do as I did in Cro-
field. I can try one for a while, and then, if I
don't like it, I can try another. It is lucky
that I know how to do 'most anything."
The confident smile had come back. He
had entirely recovered from the shock of his
eighty-cent expenditure. He had not met
many people, all the way down, and the stores
were shut; but for that very reasonhe had had
more time to study the signs.
Very nearly every kind of business is done
on Broadway," he said, "except groceries and
hardware,--but they sell more clothing than any-
thing else. I '11 look round everywhere before
I settle down; but I must look out not to spend
too much money till I begin to make some."
It's not far now," he said, a little while after,
"to the lower end of the city and to the Battery.
I '11 take a look at the Battery before I go back
to the Hotel Dantzic."
Taller and more majestic grew the buildings
as he went on, but he was not now so dazed
and confused as he had been in the morning.

1 [JULY,


"Here is Trinity Church, again," he said.
"I remember about that. And that 's Wall
Street. I '11 see that as I come back; but now
I '11 go'right along and see the Battery. Of
course there is n't any battery there, but Mr.
Guilderaufenberg said that from it I could see
the fort on Governor's Island."
Jack did not see much of the Battery, for he
followed the left-hand sidewalk at the Bowling
Green, where Broadway turns into Whitehall
Street. He had so long been staring at great
buildings whose very height made him dizzy,
that he was glad to see beside them some which
looked small and old.'
I '11 find my way without asking," he re-
marked to himself. I 'm pretty near the end
now. There are some gates, and one of them
is open. I '11 walk right in behind that carriage.
That must be the gate to the Battery."
The place he was really looking for was at
some distance to the right, and the carriage he
was following so confidently had a very different
The wide gateway was guarded by watchful
men, not to mention two policemen, and they
would have caught and stopped any boy who
had knowingly tried to do what Jack did so inno-
cently. Their backs must have been turned,
for the carriage passed in, and so did Jack,
without any one's trying to stop him. He was
as bold as a lion about it, because he did not
know any better. A number of people were
at the same time crowding through a nar-
rower gateway at one side, and they may have
distracted the attention of the gatemen.
"I 'd just as lief go in at the wagon-gate,"
said Jack, and he did not notice that each one
stopped and paid something before going through.
Jack went on behind the carriage. The car-
riage crossed what seemed to Jack a kind of
bridge housed over. Nobody but a boy straight
from Crofield could have gone so far as that
without suspecting something; but the carriage
stopped behind a line of other vehicles, and
Jack walked unconcernedly past them.
Jingo! he suddenly exclaimed. What's
this? I do believe the end of this street is
moving !"

He bounded forward, much startled by a
thing so strange and unaccountable, and in a mo-
ment more he was looking out upon a great
expanse of water, dotted here and there with
canal-boats, ships, and steamers.
Mister," he asked excitedly of a little man
leaning against a post, "what 's this ? "
Have ye missed your way and got onto the
wrong ferry-boat ? replied the little man glee-
fully. "I did it once myself. All right, my
boy. You 've got to go to Staten Island this
time. Take it coolly."
"Ferry-boat ?" said Jack. "Staten Island ?
I thought it was the end of the street, going
into the Battery!"
Oh, you 're a greenhorn! laughed the little
man. Well, it won't hurt ye; only there 's no
boat back from the island, on Sunday, till after
supper. I '11 tell ye all about it. Where 'd you
come from? "
From Crofield," said Jack, and I got here
only this morning."
The little man eyed him half-suspiciously for
a moment, and then led him to the rail of the
"Look back there," he said. "Yonder's the
Battery. You ought to have kept on. It's
too much for me how you ever got aboard of
this 'ere boat without knowing it!" And he
went on with a long string of explanations, of
which Jack understood about half, with the
help of what he recalled from his guide-book.
All the while, however, they were having a sail
across the beautiful bay, and little by little Jack
made up his mind not to care.
I 've made a mistake and slipped right out
of the city," he said to himself, "about as soon
as I got in! But maybe I can slip back again
this evening."
About the greenest bumpkin I've seen for
an age," thought the little man, as he stood and
looked at Jack. It '11 take all sorts of blun-
ders to teach him. He is younger than he looks,
too. Anyway, this sail won't hurt him a bit."
That was precisely Jack's conclusion long
before the swift voyage ended and he walked
off the ferry-boat upon the solid ground of
Staten Island.

(To be continued.)




\ I J
/( \ Ke.


Past the meadows,parched and brown,
We drove across the hills to town
To see the big parade ;
The sunny pavements burned our feet.
It was so noisy in the street;
That Tommy felt afraid.

Through the crowds,with fife and drum
And flags,we saw the soldiers come,
And boys marched either side,
And one big fat man rode ahead
Who had a sword, and Billy said,
They're captains when they ride .

They carried flags,red ,white and blue.
I wished I was a soldier too;
Then when the big drum beat
The people all would run to see ,
And little boys would stare at me
As we marched up the street






DARN all hawks I once heard a farmer's
boy say; and this highly objectionable but pithy
exclamation very tersely expresses the general
estimation in which birds of prey are held, the
whole country over. Too often the dislike of
the farmer-boy takes a more deadly form than
a foolish remark, and the ever-ready gun is
called upon as a final means of righting all as-
sumed injuries.
In truth, the idea that every bird with beak
and talons is a harmful creature, to be got rid
of at first opportunity, is a widespread one, and
so popular, withal, that legislators are ever ready
to pass laws, not only permitting hawks and owls
to be slaughtered at any and all seasons of the
year, but putting a price upon their heads. In a
period of eighteen months, the county treasuries
in the State of Pennsylvania paid out $100oo,ooo
as bounties for the slaying of animals supposed
to be harmful, of which amount, probably not
less than $65,000 was paid for hawks and
Nor need we seek far for the reasons of
the feeling against birds of prey. The general
dislike arises in large part from an utter igno-
rance of their habits and the useful purpose
which they serve, and more directly from a
bad practice, indulged in by a few species, of
preying upon the farmer's poultry-yard, or of
attacking game-birds. Let us then glance at
the matter as impartially as we may, giving
credit for usefulness where credit is due, placing
guilt where it belongs, and then see to which
side the balance falls.
For present purposes, our hawks may be
roughly divided into two classes, though the
two grade together: large and small, or slow
fliers and swift fliers; for most of the big hawks
are slow of movement, while all the small
species are swift of wing. Singling out two of
the largest species, which happen to be very
numerous in the eastern United States, we find

them to be the Red-tailed Hawk (Fig. i, page
794) and the Red-shouldered Hawk (Fig. 2).
Though, at a distance, it may trouble you to
tell one from the other, their larger size generally
distinguishes them from other kinds, whether
they be sitting motionless in a dead stub, or
sailing in wide circles high in air.
These especially are known as the "hen
hawks," by the farmer, and they are considered
to be fair game for all, to be shot, trapped, or
poisoned whenever seen, for the good of the
farm. As a matter of fact, are these hawks
poultry-thieves, deserving their bad name?
The answer is, no. The food of the two species
has been most carefully studied, numerous speci-
mens of these two kinds being among the more
than a thousand hawks and owls which have
been examined by the Agricultural Department
at Washington. It would teach a farmer some-
thing to note how rarely in the food of the hun-
dreds examined has any trace of poultry, or
indeed of any bird, been found.
Naturalists who. have noted how frequently
these hawks are found near the edges of small
ponds and streams and about meadows, are not
surprised to learn that, in the spring, frogs and
snakes constitute the chief part of their fare,
and that at other times the meadow-mouse
(Arvicola) is their usual food. Others, how-
ever, who have never paid any special attention
to their habits, will probably be surprised to
hear this.
Certainly no one will begrudge the hawks
all the frogs they choose to catch; and while
snakes are far from useless, they are not favorites
with the people, and the thinning out of their
number by these hawks will not be at all re-
gretted. As for meadow-mice and such vermin,
they are destructive, and though small, yet so
rapidly do they increase, and so great are their
numbers, that they do the crops very consider-
able injury-injury which would be a thousand-


fold greater were it not for the services of these
hawks. The mice destroy much grass in sum-
mer, and in winter they injure large numbers
(sometimes hundreds in a night) of young fruit-
trees. Tunneling beneath the snow,-they girdle
the bark under its cover, so that there is no visi-
ble sign of their work until the snow melts. No
doubt both these hawks do some damage to
poultry, and doubtless both species snatch' an
occasional rabbit or partridge, but so heavy of
wing and clumsy are they, that such acts are
but rare happenings in their lives. Admitting
the worst that can be said against them, how-
ever, the occasional mischief they do in this way
is made up for, many times over, by their con-
stant warfare against rats, mice, and similar
It is said that when a tiger once tastes human
blood, he ever after prefers it to all other food.
It is doubtless much the same with a hawk,
whether of the species we are now considering
or of others to be mentioned. A poultry-yard
being once visited, and a taste of chicken se-
cured, the visit is very sure to be repeated.
Under such circumstances, surely, the farmer is
justified in acting as judge, jury, and executioner
of the wrong-doer; but, it is to be added, he is
hardly justified in declaring war against the
whole hawk tribe, and in destroying the inno-
cent and guilty alike.
The Rough-legged Hawk (Fig. 3, page 794) is
another large species, a little larger than either
of the others, and even heavier on the wing.
Breeding further north, it visits New England
and the Middle States chiefly in fall and winter.
Doubtless he is often mistaken for his cousins, and
called a "hen hawk." At all events, he is usually
shot on sight; if for no other reason, then because
of his fierce looks. And truly, with his heavy
hooked bill and cruel-looking claws, he would
seem to be dangerous enough to the poultry.
Yet, notwithstanding his size and strength, he,
too, is equipped for no more daring raid than
an attack on a defenseless frog or snake, or the
slaying of meadow-mice. Of the last this hawk
consumes a great number,-probably all but a
twentieth of his food consists of them,-while he
rarely touches poultry or birds at all.
Very different in appearance and habits from
the above species is the goshawk (Fig. 4) or, as

he is ominously styled in northern New England,
the "blue hen-hawk." Of rather slender build,
when full-grown, a hawk of this sort measures
from twenty to twenty-four inches in length. It
is bluish slate-color above; below, white, crossed
with many zigzag slate-colored lines. Though
more numerous in the mountains of the far West
and in the British possessions, the goshawk is
not uncommon in our northernmost States in
fall and winter, and occasionally even builds its
nests in that region. It is a bird that loves the
woods, and is oftener met in the shade of the
dense pine and spruce woods than any other
hawk. For strength and bravery, this hawk is
not surpassed by any bird of prey.
It feeds upon ducks, pigeons, hares, grouse,
and poultry. It is the type of a true hunting-
falcon, flying rapidly a few feet above the ground,
and descending with a swift rush on the luckless
prey detected by its sharp eyes. It is daring
to rashness, and unlucky is the farmer whose
poultry-yard becomes familiar ground to one of
these hawks. Almost before the frightened fowls
have had time to sound the alarm, it has selected
and seized its victim, and is away more quickly
than the gun can be snatched from its corner.
Audubon once saw one of these falcons rush
upon a flock of the birds called grackles as they
were crossing the Ohio River. The birds in
their fright collected into a compact mass, the
hawk dashed among them, and, seizing first one
and then another, killed five before the flock
could escape to the woods on the further bank.
A closely related European species was one
of the falconers' favorites in the old days, and
was used in hunting hares, pheasants, partridges,
teal, doves, and crows. Doubtless our own gos-
hawk could readily be trained to hunt game,
but of course the falconers' days are practically
over, though it is said a few falcons are still
trained in England.
The American Peregrine Falcon or Duck
Hawk (Fig. 5) is another notable species, though
one in which the farmer takes less interest, both
because it is a rather uncommon bird, and be-
cause it is found chiefly on the seashore and the
banks of rivers.
Like the goshawk, the duck hiawk is dark
blue above, while the white underparts are
barred and streaked with black. It is more



-t. r



VOL. XVII.-97. 793


jSn: i


i r :



compactly built than the goshawk, and is
smaller, being only about seventeen inches
long. Unlike most other hawks, it rarely or
never builds in trees, but places its nest on
lonely and inacces-
sible ledges in the
mountains or on
cliffs by. the sea.

Than the preceding,
'-j. the duck-hawk is in
no wise inferior to
it in prowess and
.strength of wing.
It attacks any bird
,- ..t. '. that is not larger
than a mallard
-.- i F duck. It has been
known even to kill
and eat the sparrow-
hawk. Its favorite
S food, nevertheless,
IG. 4. AMERICAN GOSHAWK. seems to be water-
fowl; and I have more than once seen it in pur-
suit of them far out at sea-a flight of fifty or

even a hundred miles being but pastime to
this fierce wanderer. It often proves its bar-
barity by killing more than it needs for food,
apparently just for the pleasure of the hunt.
Confident of its power of flight, the duck-hawk
makes no attempt to conceal itself, but boldly
starting the game, pursues it until it closes with
its victim and bears it struggling to the ground.
While out one day on a little stream near
Tucson, Arizona, I heard a loud quacking, and
presently I saw a mallard duck coming to-
ward me at a tremendous pace, hotly pursued
by a duck-hawk. Though pressing forward for
dear life, the duck's outcries told of its distress,
and it evidently felt that escape was impossible.
The greater danger blinded it to the lesser,-
or was it sagacity that prompted it to fly straight
to me? At all events, its trust in man saved
its life; for when the hawk had come almost
within gunshot, the fear of man overcame ap-
petite, and it gave up the chase in disgust, while
the duck sought safer quarters.
The gunners know this hawk well, and many
a duck that the hunter has laid low falls to the
share of this robber of the air. The European

* The pictures of hawks in this article are from The Birds of North America," and are used by kind
permission of Mr. Robert Ridgway, one of the authors of that work.


peregrine, which ours much resembles, formerly
played an important part in falconry, and became
the pet of kings and nobles, and it was the fe-

-c n

male of this species that was called the gentil"
or gentle falcon." Herons were the principal
game hunted with this bird, and he who knew
not "a hawk from a hernshaw," as Hamlet
says, was regarded as ignorant indeed. The
favorite time for the sport was when the herons
were passing from the heronry to the ponds after
food, or upon their return in the evening, espe-
cially if the herons had to fly against the wind.
When a couple of hawks were flown at a
heron, the latter at once threw out any food he
happened to have, "to lighten ballast" as a
sailor would say, and endeavored to mount in
air so as to give the hawks no chance to strike
him from above; and thus all three ascended in
a series of spirals. When one of the falcons
reached an advantageous point above, he im-
mediately endeavored to close with the heron,
and if he missed, the other took a turn. When
one of them finally seized the heron, his com-
panion bound to him, as it was termed, and
the three descended lightly to the ground, the
hawks breaking the fall with outstretched wings.
In days past, this falcon was carefully protected
by man for his sport, and severe penalties were
visited upon any one who molested or destroyed
it. We live now, however, in more prosaic days;
and, noble bird though it be, few claims to mercy
can be urged in favor of the peregrine falcon.
Its food consists largely of useful birds, and as its
talons are against every creature it can master,
so must the hand of man be raised against it.
Fig. 6.-The Broad-winged Hawk, though
smaller than most of the foregoing, is still a
large bird, an old male hawk measuring some-
where from thirteen to fifteen inches from tip
of bill to end of tail, while the female measures

from sixteen to eighteen inches. It may be said
that as a rule among birds of prey, the female
is always considerably the larger. As their
strength is according to size, it is supposed that
its larger size enables the female to provide bet-
ter for her family; though the male, however, lends
his best assistance. Now as to their food. Most
people will admit that our Broad-wing has a just
claim upon gratitude, when they know that its
chosen bill-of-fare includes snakes, toads, and
frogs, but not many mice, and very few birds of
any sort. It is, moreover, very fond of the larvae
(or caterpillars) of the big night-flying moths.
Fig. 7.-The Marsh Hawk, also, has a broad
expanse of wing, and is, perhaps, from its pecul-
iar habits, much easier to know than any of
our large hawks. His long tail and slim body
with its white rump, and his habit of "beating"
lightly, but not swiftly, over meadows and fields,
just above the tops of the grass, cause him to
be readily recognized. He sometimes trespasses
by snatching a sparrow or lark, but the food he
prefers, and that upon which he chiefly lives,
is mice, ground squirrels, and such little gnaw-
ers. No impudent raider of the hennery is he,
but a living mouse-trap, and so carefully does he
quarter and beat over his hunting-ground that
he is called the
"marsh harrier."
His family con-
nections, how-
ever, give him
a bad name, his
good deeds are
forgotten, and
many a harrier
thus falls victim
to the ignorant
crusade ..g-,m-, "
the whole hawk ..
tribe, or to the
of the sportsman
to whom a wing
shot is a tempta-
tion not to be re-
There are many other large hawks scattered
over the United States, but the above are the
ones oftenest found in the eastern section of our


, (7


country. As will be seen, they are, with two ex-
ceptions, really useful to farmers, feeding upon
creatures that for the most part are certainly use-
less and injurious to man, while the harm they
do the poultry and game is so slight as to
scarcely weigh in the balance against them.
The two injurious species, besides being un-
common, may readily be known from the others.
Passing now to what we may call the small
hawks, let us glance at the two most important,

--important by reason of size and misdeeds:
the Cooper's and Sharp-shinned Hawks.
Fig. 8.-The old male Cooper's Hawk is

from 14 to 17 inches long; the female 18
to 20 inches. Fig. 9.-The male Sharp-
shinned Hawk, a miniature of the last-named,
measures from io to I i inches, while the
female measures 12y to 14 inches. Size,
however, does not count for much in the
matter of hawk effectiveness, and the two
rascals now on trial before us, though small,
are remarkable for speed and impudence.
Woe betide the flock of small birds that
attracts the attention of one of these winged
bullets! Possessing speed and courage in
the highest degree, they search along hedge-
rows and copses, pass in graceful flight
S among the orchard trees, and follow their
winding paths through tangled brush and
vine, with the hope
Sof surprising some
luckless sparrow,
dove, or quail. The
terrified bird tries
to fly, or, better, to B
dodge into some f
friendly brush pile or
thorny patch. The
hawk instantly pursues;
and fortunate indeed.
is the fugitive he has .
once started if it escape
the clutch of his sharp
talons. Well have both .4 -
these rascals earned the' "
name chicken hawk,"
for both of them '..
are true hardened
thieves of the
Sbarn-yard, and do FIG. 9. SHARP-SHINNED HAWK.
not hesitate to snatch a pullet from under
the very nose of the irate farmer--and
even to return in the afternoon of the same
day to repeat the robbery.
Little can be said in their favor, but so
sudden are their attacks and so rapid their
flight, either in charge or retreat, that only
now and then do they come to grief, while
their sins are visited on their larger, more
honest, and more stupid relatives.
I am sure that hawks enjoy bullying weaker
birds, and that not infrequently they chase them
about, so as to enjoy their fright and discomfit-




ure, when they do not mean to prey upon them.
I have seen a Cooper's hawk pursue a raven,
and evidently consider the chase a huge joke,
and I have seen
other hawks en-
joying the same

and bluish color,
makes a fit com-
rade of the other
two. Though no
less destructive to
bird-life, since it
is smaller it must
necessarily prey
upon smaller
birds; and the
poultry-yards are
usually free from
its visits unless, -
indeed, a yard
contains young FIG. 10. PIGEON-HAWK.
chickens. It is a beautiful hawk, but its pres-
ence in a neighborhood is a constant danger to
everything it dares to attack.
Fig. ii.-The Sparrow Hawk, our smallest
hawk and the most abundant of its tribe, is cer-
tainly a very valuable ally to the farmer. When
it can obtain them, grasshoppers are its favorite
food, and it rarely eats anything else. When
these are not to be had, it captures mice and
small birds, many more of the former than of the
latter. The destruction of grasshoppers means
little in the East, but in the far West, in the
regions of the grasshopper plague, it means much;
and the number of the winged pests destroyed
by the sparrow hawk is not easily reckoned.
Notwithstanding this fact, the State of Colo-
rado passed a law, a few years ago, offering a
bounty on hawks, owls, and various animals,
and vast numbers of sparrow and other hawks
were sacrificed and paid for by the State, because
the hawks of other species were supposed to be
guilty of stealing poultry. The sparrow hawk

when captured young is readily tamed, and
makes a gentle and interesting pet, perching
upon the hand, readily recognizing its friends,
and becoming quite friendly.
The West contains another hawk, of large
size, the Swainson's Hawk, which also appears
to live entirely upon grasshoppers in their season.
It seems remarkable that birds of such power-
ful build and provided with such talons should
be fitted out so formidably for the destruction of
a humble insect prey !
The time may come when some of the West-
ern States will be glad to buy back the aid of
these winged friends of the farmer at twice the
price now paid for their destruction.
For the sake of its curious food, I will call at-
tention to the remarkable Everglade Kite of
Florida. It feeds almost entirely upon a kind
of large snail. The talons of this kite are long,
and curved just enough to enable it to grasp the
globular shell, while the long, abruptly hooked
mandible is admirably fitted to extract the con-
tents. Wonderfully sharp eyes these hawks
must have, for I never was able to find one of
these mollusks alive in the Everglade marshes,
yet the hawks have
no trouble to find all
they want, judging
from the number of
empty shells. -
The Swallow- 0.
tailed Kite, perhaps ,
the most graceful of -:5]
all bur hawks, is also
abird of sunny skies.
It feeds very largely
upon snakes, and
when it has seized -
one it mounts high
in air, and then, as it
floats in graceful
circles, it leisurely
devours its prey.
This hawk is very
fond of wasps' 11. II AMERICAN SPARROW-HAWK.
fond of wasps'
larva, and it adroitly dives under the palmetto
leaves and picks off the wasps' nests.



I-r-- -.

it 4..
-zL it -

*1 ~ 'I j

I !' {- I

*~~~; .Ak I I~'.*'jY

I N H L 1L L F' I 'T.

BLESS me Vacation days are here again and
so are hosts and hosts of city youngsters, all
ready for a summer in the country !
Well, I wish you joy, one and all, and every-
body,- city folk who go to the woods, fields, and
seashores, and country folk who seek the sights
of the town, and charms of bricks and mortar.
And I specially wish joy to all city young folks
who do what they can toward helping along the
"fresh-air funds devoted to giving the poor chil-
dren of big cities a breath of pure country air
and some of the sweet delights of country life.
Who '11 do it? Yes, all speak at once, if you
wish. It is n't one bit impolite to do so on such
occasions as this, the dear Little Schoolma'am tells

MY birds are beginning to watch the bicyclers,
and bicyclers I think must have been taking special
notice of the birds. At least I have heard hints
that small sails or wings may be attached to spry
three-wheelers and the speed increased thereby-
while their riders' labors are much lessened.
Sails have been tried by a very few cyclers in
England. Who will try them here, boys? Be sure
to have your masts strong and very light; be care-
ful in the handling; and don't frighten the horses !

A COOL and refreshing variety of the Eiffel
Tower may yet be standing near St. Petersburg, in
Russia, unless the warm weather has melted it
away. At all events, it was standing there in
March last, on the banks of the river Neva,- a
beautiful structure built of thousands of blocks of
ice, towering at least one hundred and fifty feet
into the air.
It had restaurants, too, and observation plat-

forms; and I am told that the Russians, little and
big, seemed to enjoy it very much.
If it were possible for an enterprising American
to bring this fine Eiffel Tower over here as success-
fully as the Obelisk was brought over, what a de-
lightful summer resort it would make !

Now you shall hear Lottie's account, drawn from
life, of
DEAR JACK: I live on a farm; something quite inter-
esting happened here about three weeks ago, so I want
to tell you about it. One day my father was walking in
the melon patch, when he saw a snake, about seventeen
inches long, trying to swallow a toad. Now we do not like
snakes, but toads are very useful in destroying insects.
Father stepped on the snake's neck, and the toad, escaping
from the suddenly opened mouth, hopped away. Father
then killed the snake. The next day he went out again
and not seeing the snake at once, looked around for it.
He soon saw about three inches of tail sticking up from
the earth; he pulled it and out came the rest of the snake.
It was standing on its head," being buried head down-
ward in a perpendicular hole fourteen inches down. There
were a quantity of red beetles inside and around the skin, a
good deal of the flesh having been eaten. Father thought
that the beetles pushed their way down and let the snake
drop after. The snake was what is called a 'garter"
snake. I do not know the name of the beetle; perhaps
you do; it is large and of a bright red color.
Your interested reader

MY birds have brought in a startling story of
last summer, calculated to alarm all lovers of good
order. It is a true story, the particulars of which
may be of interest to you all.
It appears, according to V. I. A, who sends you
the account, that in the city of Brooklyn, N. Y.,
live two brothers who have been much interested
in bee-culture. For some years they have had hives
of fine Italian bees, which they have kept upon the
roof of their house; and from them they have for
several seasons taken as much as sixty pounds of
honey at a time. There were three hives, set one
above another, containing, early in September,
about fifty pounds of honey in the comb.
It became needful to make some repairs upon
the roof or the chimney, and workmen were busily
engaged therewith, when all at once the bees came
in swarms, dashed at them right and left, buzzing
and stinging furiously.
The men struck them down and fought them off
as well as they could, and finally threw hot water
upon them, destroying a great number. The own-
ers hoped that when the commotion had subsided
the few that were left would return to the hives;
hence they carefully avoided going to the roof,
trusting that the bees would become quiet and re-
sume work.
The next day was warm and beautiful. As the
sun's rays suffused the atmosphere, such numbers
of bees settled down upon the house that it was
dangerous to go in or out of the doors, and the
windows had to be closed to shut out the noise of



their humming. They were insects of larger size
than the Italian bees, and for some days they held
the fort; postman, iceman, milkman, paper-car-
rier, and grocer yielding the premises to their pos-
session. A number of persons were stung by
them, and it was with great relief that the beleag-
ured household saw them depart, thus raising the
blockade. The young men waited for two whole
days to be assured that all was quiet along the
Potomac," and then went softly up to the roof
to find that the robber-bees had carried off every
scrap of honey, comb and all! Not a particle was
left of what had been fairly estimated to be between
forty and fifty pounds.
It was thought that in the first tumult, the queen
bees, probably alarmed at the unusual noise of the
hammering, had left the hives, and had possibly
been among the slain in the hot-water conflict.
This had bewildered the swarms and completely
broken them up. But how the robber-bees came
to know of the fray, and where they came from,
and whither they carried honey and wax, as well
as how they did it in so short a time, are ques-
tions as yet unanswered. That they could carry
off in a few days what those workers had been
three or four months in collecting seems marvel-
ous. It is true that they may have devoured some
of it, but if it was for food alone that it was seized,
the wax would have been left behind.
It is easy to cry Stop thief I" But how can such
thieves as these be stopped ?

I' : r ,


I '




YOUR Jack is glad that, following up his sugges-
tion, many of you are reading the Life of Audubon,
the great naturalist. So far the best letters have
come from A. Simpson, W. Cutler, and R. P. Kent.

ON one sole eve of the bright, long year,
There is trouble in Fairyland;
There is dread, and wonder, and elfin fear
At something they never can understand.
For "why? says the Queen,
And "why ?" say the elves,
And what does it mean? "
They ask of themselves.
We'd like to know why,
On the Fourth of July,
These mortals should make such commotion ?
Rattle and flash Fountains of fire
Play low, play round, play higher and higher;
Now, what it 's about,
This terrible rout,
We have n't the ghost of a notion."
Poor little fairy-folk, dear little sprites !
What can you know of wrongs and of rights,
Battles and victories, birth of a nation ?
Heed not these jubilant echoes of fights; -
Dance and rejoice in your lightsome creation.
M. M. D.




THREE little birds
Sat upon a tree.
The first said Chirrup !"
The second said Chee !"
The third said nothing
(The middle one was he),
But sat there a-blinking,
Because he was a-thinking.
"Pee-wit! pee-wit! Yes, that is it!
Pee-wip, pee-wop, pee-wee! "

Three little birds
Sat upon a bough.
The first said, When is dinner-time ?"
The second said "Now!"
The third said nothing

(The middle one was he),
But sat there a-blinking,
Because he was a-thinking,
"Pee-wit! pee-wit! Yes, that is it!
Pee-wip, pee-wop, pee-wee !"

Two, little birds
Flew down to the ground,
And soon, by working very hard,
A fine fat worm they found.
The third flew down between them
(The middle one was he),
And ate it up like winking,
Because he had been thinking.
"Pee-wit! pee-wit! Yes, that is it!
Pee-wip, pee-wop, pee-wee !"



ELSIE BURTON was going to give a party, and
there had been little else thought about by the
children on the block for several days. Almost
all of the families on this particular block, in
this pleasant Southern town, are friends; and as
there are twenty children, counting all in the
different houses, they form a little set among
They have many pleasant times together:
picnics in the spring, nutting parties in the
autumn, and coasting in the winter on the rare
occasions when there is snow enough.
It was June, and no one had yet left town,
and Elsie was going to give a party. Now, of
course, all of these twenty children could not be
invited. Many of them were too young, and in
some families there were too many; so the line
had to be drawn, and the great question was
"Where?" Who would be asked, and who
would be left out? Now Hugh is a third
child, and is a sturdy, heedless, honest fellow of
seven. But Mrs. Burton very properly thought
two from that family was enough, and so,- oh,
sad to tell! Hugh was not invited.
For the few intervening days, it was funny to
watch him.
He seemed unable to believe that the fates
were going to be so cruel to him. He seemed
to feel that, at the last moment, some way would
be opened to him, that something would surely
turn up. What amount of "hinting" went on
to the little Burton boy during these days, I do
not know and dare not conjecture; but nothing
was accomplished up to the afternoon of the
When his sister and brother went upstairs to
dress for the party, Hugh went too, and soon
came down magnificent in his best clothes and
new cravat. But, you know, my darling," I
said, you cannot go. You have no invitation."
Then began a scene of agony. Hugh took his
seat on the front steps, and indulged without
restraint in the luxury of deepest woe.
VOL. XVIT.-98. 80

After his sister and brother went off looking
very happy, and perhaps just a little triumphant,
his cup seemed full; but as, one after another,
the fortunate children who had been invited
came out from their homes, and walked up to
the house at the corner, which was brightly
lighted, and from which caihe the sound of
music, his wretchedness seemed too great to be
borne. He buried his face in his hands, and
groaned aloud, only to raise his head every
now and then to look ruefully at some festive
little figure as it passed.
"Now, there goes Paul James! He 's no
older than I am, he told me so yesterday; and
there goes Eustis Turner! Just look at him!
Mother, you know he is a year younger than
I am!"
It was useless to explain that those children
were the oldest in their households, and that he
was unfortunate in being the third in his own.
Still came the wail, I think I ought to have
been invited." His father and a friend who
had come in to take tea with us, tried to laugh
him out of his misery; but it was of no use, his
grief was too deep for ridicule to touch.
My sympathies had become warmly excited
for the little fellow, but I could do nothing to
help him. It was one of those sad cases where
the little heart must bear its own bitterness.
When we went to tea, Hugh, who had eaten
his bread-and-milk some time before, was still
sitting on the front steps deject and wretched."
After a while it occurred to me that if he came
into the room where we were, and got out of
sight of the house at the corner, and had some
tea with us, particularly as there was an ice
(and there are few childish griefs that ice-cream
will not cure), perhaps his spirits might revive a
little. So I sent the maid to tell him to come
After being absent some little time, she re-
turned to say that, not finding him on the steps,
she had been looking for him, and had at last


discovered him at the party, and she added that
Mrs. Burton said: Please do not make him come
home, for I believe it would break his heart."
So I waited, wondering how it had come to
pass. After a while they all came back, May and
Ralph, the two older ones, very mortified and
indignant, and Hugh very quiet, but with a
gleam of satisfaction in his eye. It seems that
after we went in to tea, his misery became very
great, and he thought he would walk up to the
house and look in. So he did, and to get a.
better view he climbed upon the fence and sat
perched in that mysterious way known only to

boys of his age on the top of a spiked iron
There he had a full view of the entrancing
interior: of the lights, the dancing, the pretty
little girls (Hugh is very gallant), and the happy
boys. The sight was too much, and he broke
forth into wails so loud and long that they were
audible even above the music: "Oh, I want to
come in so bad! I want to come in so bad!"
Mrs. Burton heard him; her heart was touched;
and, going out, she brought this despairing one
into the delights of Paradise.
And so Hugh went to the party.



THE sketch shows three gowns, for young
girls, from six to sixteen years of age.
In the costume of the eldest young girl, a
dress intended for evening wear, "bengaline"
of the shade called salmon-pink will do well
for the main part of the gown; and the same
material should be used for the sleeves, over-
dress, and under-dress, and back of the bodice,
as well as for the full front which is tucked
in under the broad, crinkled belt of "cigare "
brown velvet. The belt finishes at the under
arm-seam. The over-dress is cut at the hem
into large, irregular points, and the edges of the
hem and the sides, partly, are trimmed with nar-
row velvet ribbon of the same shade as belt.
Deep Pointe Gene lace is set on the hem of
the under-skirt. The soft frill and puff which
finish the neck and sleeves are of "salmon-
pink" silk mousseline.
A pair of bronze slippers will tastefully com-
plete the toilette.
For the "outing" costume worn by the girl
of twelve French twill flannel is an excellent

material- use dark blue for the body of jacket,
the sleeves, cuffs, and collar; white for the little
shirt (fastening with tiny pearl buttons), and
large, dark, blue-and-white plaid for the skirt.
The jacket may be trimmed, as indicated in the
sketch, with blue military braid. The buttons
are covered with the dark-blue flannel. A dark-
blue sailor hat, either of the flannel or of straw,
may be worn with this dress.
The child's frock and entire costume is to be
made of white piqu6, trimmed, somewhat as
shown, with white cotton braid. The buttons,
of two sizes, are covered with the white piqu6.
The little white vest is braided with the braid
laid on in arabesques. The hat is of white
straw, surmounted with becoming flowers, as
bachelor's buttons, or poppies, whichever are
most becoming to the child.
This costume could, of course, be made of
any light, plain flannels, substituting silk braid
for cotton, and pearl or tailor-made buttons, of
the same shade as the gown, for those covered
with the piqu6.



CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the Ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can
not conveniently be examined at the office of the ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the
magazine with contributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.

MRS. PENNELL, author of Cycling published in this
number, writes that Major Knox-Holmes and his grand-
daughter, whose pictures are given in one of the illus-
trations, are the oldest and the youngest cyclists in
England." She also says that the little girl rode over
200oo miles between the first of January and the first of

MARCH, 1890.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little American
girl, born in Florence, Italy. I am eleven years old, and
have never seen America.
As the other day I read in your last number (for
March) of a doll, I would like to tell you about one
which we have, and who is eighty years old. She was
bought abroad, in a town in Germany; she was given to
my grandmother in 18Io by a captain of a ship; a friend of
my great-grandfather; she was dressed in pink satin, and
she was called then Glementina Mortimer Montmo-
rency." When my mother had her, she was naturally
rather old; then she had a rather hard life from my uncle,
who buried her alive and also put her in a cistern; and my
mother's uncle cut her nose off. My own uncle also gave
her a new name, Lignum Vitrs," and she has always
been called Lig." I must tell you that she is of wood.
I am, your affectionate reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been wanting to write
to you a long time. I live on a ranch, five miles from
San Antonio. I like the ST. NICHOLAS so much. I
went to the window the other day, and saw a big lobo wolf
in our little pasture; it had killed our little pig. Papa
shot at it, but it ran away. There are a great many rat-
tlesnakes out here. One day I found one under the gal-
lery. Papa killed it with a hoe. When a rattlesnake
rattles it is very mad, and it sounds something like a
cricket; but the sound makes you feel very different.
I am nine years old. MARY V- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Seeing very few letters from
this part of the world, I thought some of your readers
might like to know a little about the Australian bush,
and the doings there. Last Christmas I went for my
holidays a few hundred miles north of Melbourne, right
into the bush. Leaving home at six in the morning, we
traveled by train for six hours and reached Wangaratta.
Then we jumped into a large open buggy, and set out on
a forty-mile drive. For fifteen miles the road lay flat
and dreary, very hot, with a red dust flying up, and every
now and then turning into little whirlwinds that lost
themselves in the sky. Then we came to a township,
consisting of three houses and a rude hotel. A few stray
animals were strolling about, but that was all. After pass-
ing that, the road became prettier. On each side were

large paddocks, inclosed with post-and-rail fences and
filled with gum-trees; most of the trees were dead, hav-
ing been ringed to make the grass grow for the cattle, for
the Australian farmers are great traders in sheep and
cattle. In a number of fields there were tobacco crops,
with Chinamen dotted about here and there hoeing, and
generally near by you saw a Chinaman's hut. Perhaps
some of your correspondents do not know what a bark
hut is like. It is very small and brown, and very rustic.
The walls are low, being made of slabs of stringy bark,
and the roof is generally gable-shaped, made of bark,
kept down by two poles fixed across each side. Some-
times the roof is thatched.
As we neared our destination, blue hills became visible.
The road now wound in and out among the wattles and
gum-trees very prettily, and as we drove on we reached
the hilly country. Our road was now cut out on the hill-
sides, and very pretty it was, looking from the high
buggy into depths below us, seeing little winding creeks
edged with fern and scrub, tall reeds standing gracefully
out of the water, and rabbits and hares scuttling at the
sound of our horses. Above us sloped the hill, thick with
gum-trees and birds--parrots, magpies, groundlarks,
plover, and cranes. Those are the most common Austra-
lian birds. At half-past six we reached our destination:
a little homestead built on a plain stretch of ground and
surrounded with hills. There we staid five weeks.
Mountains and hills met our gaze everywhere. We rode
a great deal, and one day were taken to visit a turquoise
reef, which was very interesting. We saw only two kan-
garoos. They are very graceful creatures, hopping away
at the slightest sound; but when once their anger is
aroused, they become dangerous. Snakes are the animals
most to be dreaded. They even visit the houses, spend a
night there, and leave a track behind them. We always
had to search our beds before going to sleep; and all
through the night you would hear the low, melancholy
wail of the curlew. If any of your correspondents should
visit Victoria, I should advise them to spend a month
among the "Australian Alps." EDITH A- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My little girl and I are very
anxious to express to you how dearly we love to read
your bright, charming stories. She is very much inter-
ested in Lady Jane," and quite impatient to hear of
her fate.
She has a heron for a pet also, but hers is white. It
is very tame, and we call it Suds," from the resemblance
of its fluffy white wings to soap-suds.
With many thanks from myself for the good you have
done my little daughter, we remain,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I recognize in the base-ball series
some pictures of the Yale athletic grounds and building.
I was in the Elm City Military School for two years, and
this school was in sight of the Yale grounds.
Those of your readers who visit New Haven to-day,


will find that the old fence around the college campus
has been removed.
I saw a professor at Yale take a specimen of meat
broth, which had been kept for many months, and which
was perfectly preserved. He took a needle-point and
dipped it in some spoiled broth and shook off all adher-
ing drops, and put the needle into the good broth, and
then he put away the needle. He then, after corking it
let the good broth stand for seven days, and at the end
of that time he opened the broth, and it was just as bad
as the old specimen. If your readers (those who have
tried the experiments mentioned in the piece about bac-
teria,-in the February number) will try this experi-
ment, I think they will get the same results, although I
have been told that this experiment sometimes fails.
I am an old reader. Have taken ST. NICHOLAS for
twelve years. From the time I first knew the magazine
I wished to take it, but I could not do so until 1878. I
am a member of Nathan Hale Camp, Sons of Veterans,"
of New Haven, Conn., also a member of the Conn.
Society Sons of the Revolution." I am so busy that I
have scarcely time to read you through. Hoping that
this is not too long to print, I remain, yours very truly,
An old reader,
P. S.-I have an old sword which was picked up on
the evening after the battle of Bunker's Hill, by my
great-great-grandfather; also, I have his commission as a
major of a Revolutionary regiment.

THIS interesting letter is printed as it came to us -
spelling and all:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS. Washington is lovely. I went
to the Treasury I held in my one hand $21o.ooo. I
went to the Soldiers hone and they told me a little
While ago that a Soldier died 104 yoars old that fought
in the battle of Whaterlou. I shook hands with Presi-
dent Harrison. Iwent to the museum and I saw George
Washingtons coat that he resigned his cammesian to
become President. my Cosen's kitty plays the bangos
it is so funny to hear her I have a ktty that dances with
me. Good by. GEORGE H. E-- .
Playes print the letter.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the August number, I read
Elizabeth Bisland's "Flower-ladies," in which the author
says that she has never known any children but those of
her own family who knew about the game. Well, I
would like to tell you, if you have room, how my sister
and I used to play it, when we lived in the old city of
Charleston, S. C.
We played it at my grandfather's. There was a low
brick piazza, opening on the garden, which ran down to
the river. In this piazza was a long "joggling-board";
this was our court, for we played kings and queens."
In the garden grew two kinds of begonia, or trumpet-
vine. The long, slender, dark-red blossoms of one fur-
nished us with queens, arrayed in stiff pointed waists
and flounced skirts. The other vine gave us our kings,
short and pompous, in gorgeous orange robes. White
and red pomegranate flowers were courtiers; the queens
had waiting-women of their own kind; monetas were
demure maids in scanty red skirts, and dear little white-
stockinged, brown-slippered legs and feet, made of their
own stamens. Pale blue, filmyplumbagoes were dancers;
petunias were servants; lilac-gray nierembergias were
ladies who were presented at court. I do not know why,
but we seldom used roses. A gay, short life our court
led, on the joggling-board; for, alas the sovereigns
were as blood-thirsty as the Queen in "Alice in Wonder-

land," who was always exclaiming, Off with his head! "
When the kingly halls became uncomfortably crowded,
the whole set of courtiers, ladies, maids, etc., were be-
headed. A sharp piece of tin was the fatal axe. Often
the relentless sovereigns, with a cruelty worthy of the
Dark Ages, ordered some unfortunate to be chopped up
like mince-meat. The remains were then consigned to
a grave beneath an orange-tree. The relatives from dis-
tant countries personatedd by my sister and myself)
brought crape-myrtle blossoms to cover the melancholy
tombs with, and chips for head-stones. After a short
period of mourning, a fresh court was selected. Occa-
sionally, the whole bevy would spend a summer in an
upper piazza, overhung by a crape-myrtle tree.
We spent many happy days in this way, in the old
"City by the Sea."
Your constant reader, MAY A. W-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wonder if any of your readers
have ever heard of this interesting fact:
If you let a mosquito alight on your hand and wait
until he has imbedded his proboscis well into the skin,
you can then take a pair of scissors and cut off the after
part of his body; and even part of his wings and hind legs
if they happen to be in the way. The mosquito will not
pay any attention to this; but will keep on pumping
until quite a large clot of blood has been collected by
flowing through his body. As the mosquito does not
feel his stomach fill with blood, he keeps on with his
work until, apparently, he gets tired, when he withdraws
his proboscis and flies off in his maimed condition.
This goes to show that the mosquito has little or no
nerves in the after part of his body; but if so, it is difficult
to see how those parts of him are able to act at any time.
Perhaps he is so intent, while sucking, that his nervous
system is concentrated in the fore part of him, or the blood
he drinks may have a stupefying effect. Can any of your
readers tell me ? ECKFORD C. DE K-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We live in Amiens, about two
hours' railway journey from Paris.
It was at the time of the Paris Exhibition that we four -
Papa, Mamma, my cousin, and myself- went for a few
days to Paris. We started on a Friday afternoon,
arrived in Paris about six o'clock, went to the Hotel
Bergere, where we dined, and then went to the Hippo-
drome, the largest circus in the world- it has three mov-
able rings, each the size of an ordinary circus ring.
I can not tell you all they did as it would take up too
much space.
One time they fixed a kind of cage up, and then a
young lion and a horse were brought in; the lion
jumped through rings, and then came down again upon
the horse-the horse had a wide saddle on. The lion
performed many other clever tricks.
They finished up with a hunt, which I will try to
explain. First they had the meet, the ladies and gentle-
men were all dressed in red, and kept arriving in
carriages. At one side there was a forge with some
blacksmiths in; the men turned on a red light and then
played tunes on the anvils. But now I must go back
to the huntsmen after they had met. They started off
after a little fawn, with about sixty dogs. They jumped
over hedges, ditches, and walls. For the finish they
brought in an imitation fawn for the dogs to worry.
The next day we went and looked at the shops, and
then went to the Exhibition. We went in a little rail-
way, open at the sides, which took us from the gates
into the Exhibition grounds. We thought the Exhi-
bition a very handsome looking building, particularly


the middle dome. At first we did not think it was clear
enough to go up the Eiffel Tower, but in the afternoon
it cleared up, and up the tower we went. The first lift
going up had seats in, but the lift going up the rest of
the tower had none; when you get out of the first lift
you have to walk all round the tower to keep your place,
what they call here making a tail." It took us two hours
to go round the second platform. When we arrived at
the top we had a splendid view of Paris. Comingdown
was much quicker work, as one went straight down. In
the evening we watched the fairy fountain. We went
up into the operating room, and had a splendid view, as
there was a large crowd below.
The next day was the 14th of July, and Sunday.
There was a review of all the troops, to which we were
going, and had started, but did not arrive there owing to
the rain. When we were in the Champs Elys6es the
rain came down in torrents, and ran down the streets
almost like a river. We might have gone if we could
have gone under shelter, but we had not bought any
tickets. We should have had to sit on the uncovered
stand. In the evening we saw the illuminations, which
were very pretty, though many were spoilt by the rain.
The Champs Elys6es and the Place de la Concorde
were like a fairy scene, with their festoons of white and
colored lamps.
Of course we saw many other things also, but it
would take too much of your space to tell you, for I am
hoping that if it is not too long you will be able to print
it, as it is the first letter I have written to you. We
always look forward with pleasure to the arrival of ST.

NICHOLAS at the beginning of the month. I like most
of your tales very much, particularly those by Mrs.
Burnett. I have taken you for two years, and my
cousin, who is staying with me, has taken you from the
Your loving friend, MARY MATHER.

WE thank the young friends whose names follow, for
pleasant letters received from them: Margie V., Maie H.
F., Frederikke H. L., Ralph Waldo E., Craig B., Fannie
C., Gracie W., Edwina B., Alfred and Rodney, Edgar
M. P., Lilian Pearl O., Ruth K. P., Margaret Cicely P.,
Eahel Violet 0., Kitty R., Muriel E. M. P., Stella C. A.,
Cora S. M., Wm. M. U., Audella H. Q., Edith E.,Ethel
S., Nellie May H., Ethel E., B., Chaffel Y.,W. S. W.,
John H. M., Bessie B. O., Teresa S Norman R. McL.,
Annie C. S., Eleanor G., Geo. H., Dorothy, loneL.,
Marguerite H., Eunice R. O., Gertrude M. B., Sidney O.,
Amy L. G., J. DeW., Jr., Maybel C., May G. R., Vio-
let, Daisy, and Rose, Ella W. W. and Florence W., Alice
K., Washington L. G. S. S., M. G. B., Hugh E., Marie
R. DuB., S-p-y, E. T., Agnes B. D., Marian M.
and Ruth W., H. F. S., Willie K., Jr., Mabel S. G.,
Harriet B. M., A. H.E., J. F. E., C. C. F., S. Maude
M.,Tina C., Gladys W., Elmer B. M.,Tom B., Sophie St.
C., Gertrude and Elise, Hattie F., Julie M. C., George T.
O., Christabelle S., H. M., Knowlton D., Alma W.,
Ethel, An Inquisitive Subscriber, Paul S. R., Hoosier,
Lilian C., Martha B., Henry C.



_----------------- f


DIAGONAL PUZZLE. Davis. Cross-words: I. Dream. 2. Taste. NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
3. Waves. 4. Stain. 5. Flies. Govern the lips
COMBINATION PUZZLE. Jackson andDickens. I. Jointed. 2. La- As they were palace doors, the king within.
conic. 3. Bicycle. 4. Lacking. 5. Guesses. 6. Andiron. 7. Saffron. Tranquil and fair and courteous be all words
HALF-SQUARE. Across: D. 2. It. 3. Lip. 4. Aver. 5. Totem. Which from that presence win.
6. Elated. 7. Dilated. Downward: I. Dilated. 2. Tivoli. 3. Petal. EDWIN ARNOLD.
4. Reta. 5. Met. 6. De D. DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Summer Solstice; Finals,Midsummer
EASY ACROSTIC. Daisy and Roses. Cross-words: x. Odor. 2. Night. Cross-words: I. Salam. 2. Uthai. 3. Monad. 4. Mavis.
Halo. 3. Bits. 4. Isle. 5. Eyes. 5. Elihu. 6. Realm. 7. Shawm. 8. Obole. 9. Liter. o1. Sivan.
ST. ANDREW'S CROSSOFDIAMONDS. I. x. T. 2. Nut. 3. Tulip. Ii. Tutti. 12. Icing. 13. Conch. 14. Eclat.
4. Tip. 5. P. II. 1. P. 2. Rep. 3. Pewit. 4. Pie. 5. T. PI. Sunshine over the meadows wide
III. r. P. 2. Pip. 3. Pilot. 4. Pot 5. T. IV. i. P. 2. Dip. Where the bees hummed in the clover,
3. Pivot. 4. Pod. 5. T. V. I. T. 2. Tag. 3. Tapir. 4. Gin. And sunshine filling the lily cups
5. R. Till every one brimmed over.
WORD-BUILDING. A, as, sea, east, steal, staple, plaster, pilaster, Sunshine over the hazy hills,
particles. And over the dimpling river,
CONNECTED WORD-SQUARES. I. I. Slop. 2. Love. 3. Oval. And I wished the sun and the summer day
4. Pelt. II. x. Gasp. 2. Area. 3. Seer. 4. Part. III. I. Ting. Might shine and last forever. EBEN E. REXFORD.
2. Idea. 3. Neap. 4. Gaps. IV. x. Tong. 2. Olio. 3. Nias. A HEXAGON. I. Fete. 2. Ewers. 3. Tenets. 4. Eremite.
4. Goss. 5. Stiver. 6. Steer. 7. Errs.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the g1th 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 APRIL NUMBER were received, before April 15th, from Maud E. Palmer- Charles Beaufort-
Russell Davis-Ernest Serrell- Nardyl and Thida-The Wise Five-Ida C. Thallon-Wm. H. Beers -E. M. G.-J. B. Swann--
Hubert Bingay-A. L. W. L.- Mary Keim Stauffer-E. and A.
ANsWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE APRIL NUMBER were received, before April i5th, from Elaine Shirley, 2-Lucia and Co., 3-
Elsa H., I--N. Cahn, i--Evie S. B., I--W. E. Ward, --Maud S., I-Frances O. Dufourcq, 2-Faith, Hope, and Charity, 2-
Alice Rice, i -C. Devin and N. Sullivan, 2- Grace Jadwin, 3- M. Woodford, i Geordie, Ailie, and Lily, i Katie Van Zandt, 3-
F. Kloeber, i-"Squibs," I- Mamma, Margaret, and Marion, 2-Bess and Lalla, i-Florence Bettmann, 2 -"W. T. K.," B.
MacMahon, --Amy F., i-"Sunny," 2-"Budge and Toddie," 2- M. A. Bates, I-T. Calonem, i-S. W. French, 3-J. H.
W., i-" Little Women," 2-B. Fernald, i- F. Carter, Jr., i- Alice V. Farquhar, 2-Frank B., I-"Jenny Wren," i-Philip 0.
Gravelle, 2--H. and H., z--K. L. Rogers, M. and G., 3--J. S. N., No Name, Albany, 3- Mamie Crump, 3- Harriet S.
H., 3- K. L. Kenney, M. Padelford, Haverford, i--J. R. Williamson, 3- 0. Allison, M. Rockwell, I- W. E. Eckert, 2-
S. Maude Moore, I-M. Brown, -Ernest Schom, 2-Lottie C. Mitchell, 3- Paul Reese, 5-Carrie K. Thacher, 4- G. C. Rock-
well, Florence Buchanan, 2 -"Lady Malapert," I -Otto J. Sieplein, 3--Joe F. and Lucy F., i K. McG. Martin, I- Helen
Schussler, 4 E. Shirley, i -J. Herron, i J. Swords, i Bessie Davis, 3 -Clara and Emma, 4 Florence and Lillian S., 3 F. Abe-
ken, L. S. Vail, H. Hughes, I M. Wilber, Helen M. Walker, 2- L. H. Ripley, Mary Gabrielle C., 2- Elizabeth
Adams, 2- B. L. Adair, I -J. E. Taylor, i E. H. Rossiter, 5 W. Reynolds, 3 -R. Gunther, i J. M. Ridgeway, E. C. A., 2 -
H. Mencke, I--J. Oelbermann, I G. V., I C. Wilkins, I Leo and Elsa, 4 Esther W. Ayres, Arthur B. Lawrence, 2 -A. W.
Coe, I- J. J. Mumford, i Beth C. T., 3 Mamma, Helen, and Alfred, I H. H. Francine, 4 Mabeland Alfred, 2 John Berry, 2-
" McG., 2 Charles L. and Reta Sharp, 3 Douglas Adams, B. C. and C. W. Chambers, 2--Two Dromios, 3 Majorca and
Ivica, 2-Nellie C., I B. Hetter, I S. N. Mitchell, i -" Cockle Shells," 3 Little Women, 3- B. Dorman, I E. E. F., i- Grace
Ely, C. B. Powell, i- Bertha Snyder, 4- Maud Huebener, 4- Sarah P. Judson, 2 C. P. Linville, 3 J. A. Miller, I Ida E.
Mackey, 3- L. McCune, 2--Effie K. Talboys, 3 -"The Lancer," 3-Madge Lyons, 2-" Infantry," 5- Bertha W. G., 2-" Peace
and Happiness," 3 Marian S., 3 F. Ramsey, x Marie and Flo Foote, 4-" Hypothenuse and X.," 3-" May and '79,"4 Alexis J.
Colman, 4- E. and S. Ryerson, 3-R. Maude Wilson, 2 -Elsa, 2--Capt. White, i -McG. and friends, i-John W. Frothingham,
Jr., 4- No Name, Berkeley, 2 Mamma and Millie, 3 Lillian C., 2 M. D. and C. M., 4 Adele Walton, 4- Lucy R., i Alex.
Armstrong, Jr., 4 Doctor and I, 2 -Nellie and Reggie, 4 Mamma and Marion, 5- M. G. M., i R. Bennett Bean, 4- Geoffrey
Parsons, 2-G. Howland, Two Book Worms, 3-J. A. Fisher, i-Kittie and Bess, 3- E. Jernegan, I--E. N. Johnston, r-
C. S. Harmon, i-Maud S. A. Taylor, 4- Irene, 2- E. Webster and M. Hore, 2-Willie Kerr, Jr., I-L. Duane, i--H. Smith,
i- Eunice, L. H. Stoffel, F. Kloeber, I Elsie Shaw, I- Irene, 2 0. and G. Marix, I.


I. A NAME beloved by a certain nation. 2. To be
borne in a carriage. 3. A notion. 4. Tidy.
FIRST, find a little modestflower,
Refreshed by many a summer shower;
Next, colors you may call to mind,
Which in an artist's box, you '11 find;
A strong desire please write down,
It is possessed by king and clown;
An article must now be found,
In many a book it does abound.
Transpose these words to spell a time,
Written about in prose and rhyme;
For "if it rains upon this day,
'T will rain for forty more," they say. c. D.

I. BEHEAD a large bundle, and leave a beverage.
2. Behead custom and leave a man of wisdom. 3. B&-
head not any, and leave a unit. 4. Behead part of a ship,
and leave a snake-like fish. 5. Behead a church festival
occurring in the spring, and leave a flower. 6. Behead
to contend in running, and leave a unit. 7. Behead a
shelter, and leave a bower. 8. Behead angry, and leave

a fixed allowance. 9. Behead the first of the six mechani-
cal powers, and leave always. Io. Behead a series of
steps, and leave a venomous serpent.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of a place
famous in American history.


EACH word described contains eight letters. When
these are placed one below another, in the order here
given, the initial letters will spell the name of a famous
French author.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A reigning sovereign of Europe.
2. To water. 3. Seized by force. 4. Not to restrain.
5. Pertaining to a musical drama. 6. Turning about an
axis. 7. A mounted soldier. 8. To wave. 9. A jelly-
like substance. Io. An impediment. EMMA SYDNEY.


THE zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand corner,
will spell the delight of every boy.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A kind of tree. 2. An article of
dress. 3. Much used in winter. 4. A snare. 5. A
vehicle. 6. Skill. 7. A body of water. 8. Much
used in summer. 9. Relatives. Io. A wager. In.
A sailor. "TOM."




REARRANGE the letters in each of the circles, so that
a word of eight letters may be formed. When this has
been done, and the twelve words are placed one below
another, in the order in which they are numbered, the
third row of letters will spell exemption from control;
the sixth row, a city where an important document was
signed on July 4, 1876. F. S. F.

MY first is in barn, but not in shed;
My second, in copper, but not in lead;
My third is in gate, but not in door;
My fourth is in ceiling, but not in floor;
My fifth is in land, but not in reef;
My sixth is in joy, but not in grief;
My seventh, in west, but not in east;
My eighth, in dinner, but not in feast;
My ninth is in bonnet, but not in hat;
My tenth is in rounded, but not in flat.
If all the letters are rightly selected,
They '11 spell a battle when connected.

I AM composed of seventy-two letters, and am a selec-
tion from a famous essay.
My 35-43-62-49 is that part of a plant which grows
underground' My57-2-I8 is to strike. My 68-46-28-
51-9 is one bereaved of a husband. My 15-25-37 is a
file. My3I-22-7-65-12-5o is the pharynx. My 4-70-
53-55 is a cowl. My 54-41-21-39 are distinct parcels.
My 24-26-60-13-32-27-5 is to contend. My 66-10-45-
48-71-34 is a general scarcityof food. My 1-19-30-14-
33-8-64 is arrogant. My 6-29-42-17-52-38-59 is the
Christian name of the person alluded to in the quotation
on which this enigma is based. My 72-69-23-67-56-47-

36-2o-II is the title of the essay from which this quota-
tion is taken, and my 58-61-16-63-3-44-40 is the writer
of the essay.
TRANSLATE the following lines, and a tribute to the
same famous American, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, may
be found:
Mih os ture dan dreten,
Het strapito tays, eht sleepop stutr,
Het shedli fo eth fodernef. M. V. W.

* ,, -
% %

2. Depressed. 3. A cloth for the hands. 4. Texture.
5. In troubled.
2. To sever. 3. Dismal. 4. A nickname. 5. In troubled.
III. CENTRAL DIAMOND: I. In troubled. 2. A small
piece. 3. Of a lead color. 4. A metal. 5. In troubled.
2. A snare. 3. Black and blue. 4. A point. 5. In
2. To be drowsy. 3. The property which a woman brings
to husband in marriage. 4. A haunt. 5. In troubled.
EACH of the nine cross words contains ten letters.
When these are rightly guessed, and placed one below
the other, in the order here given, the initials will spell a
human affliction, which the profession, spelled by the
finals, aims to alleviate.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Menaced. 2. Manifest. 3. The
act of kissing. 4. Victorious. 5. The language of the
Hindoos. 6. Warns of a fault. 7. Delicate flattery.
8. One who heightens. 9. That part of zology which
treats of insects. "TWO SUFFERERS."


~C. Coi\nMYSo6,I

S~~lldsa~~~_.-a- -_ ---SI 1_~~_J --- ~~_


V. ,3

'. ", ? > T *:, -'. -'i -^.'" '...V,
'^ '- .* .,. ,. -^ ,., ,- j .. ,

A -
i&fliffljD LIBRR

a nK ,L...... ,"" t .."a l.", y -. '..

'.,,.,uUy (. *..*.,
'. .plat ....picture,

Siior Iiea.tan.f- e l f$ .t
,,tt ( :'. ."..


II -1 I II


. . . ?

............................ :



University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs