• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 An artist who loves cats and dogs,...
 Cuckoo clocks
 Three trees
 The fortunes of Toby Trafford
 White Marie
 A curious relic
 Jingle
 To let
 Chan ok; A romance of the eastern...
 Tee-wahn folk-stories
 Confidence
 Little Plunkett's "cousin"
 An excellent reason
 A school-girl's recollections of...
 The time o' night
 The story of Nebraska Allen
 Jingle
 Black art
 Books of olden times
 The baby chicks
 An old story retold in picture...
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: St. Nicholas
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00246
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
regular
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
 Notes
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00246
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    An artist who loves cats and dogs, and paints them
        Page 891
        Page 892
        Page 893
        Page 894
        Page 895
        Page 896
        Page 897
        Page 898
        Page 899
        Page 900
        Page 901
    Cuckoo clocks
        Page 902
        Page 903
    Three trees
        Page 904
    The fortunes of Toby Trafford
        Page 905
        Page 906
        Page 907
        Page 908
        Page 909
        Page 910
        Page 911
        Page 912
        Page 913
    White Marie
        Page 914
        Page 915
    A curious relic
        Page 916
        Page 917
        Page 918
    Jingle
        Page 919
    To let
        Page 920
        Page 921
    Chan ok; A romance of the eastern seas
        Page 922
        Page 923
        Page 924
        Page 925
        Page 926
    Tee-wahn folk-stories
        Page 927
        Page 928
        Page 929
        Page 930
    Confidence
        Page 931
    Little Plunkett's "cousin"
        Page 932
        Page 933
        Page 934
        Page 935
        Page 936
    An excellent reason
        Page 937
    A school-girl's recollections of Hans Christian Andersen
        Page 938
        Page 939
        Page 940
        Page 941
        Page 942
        Page 943
    The time o' night
        Page 944
        Page 945
        Page 946
    The story of Nebraska Allen
        Page 947
        Page 948
        Page 949
        Page 950
    Jingle
        Page 951
    Black art
        Page 952
        Page 953
        Page 954
        Page 955
        Page 956
    Books of olden times
        Page 957
        Page 958
        Page 959
    The baby chicks
        Page 960
    An old story retold in pictures
        Page 961
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 962
        Page 963
    The letter-box
        Page 964
        Page 965
        Page 966
    The riddle-box
        Page 967
        Page 968
        Unnumbered ( 83 )
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text

















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"YOU MAKE SO MUCH NOISE I CAN'T SLEEP!"
FROM THE PAINTING BY J. H. DOLPII.


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NICHOLAS.


VOL. XVIII.


OCTOBER, 1891.


No. 12.


AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS,
AND PAINTS THEM.

BY W. LEWIS FRASER.


IT was a beautiful bright morning. The June
sun cast curious shadows from the storm-twisted
cedars whose roots, despite the coming of the
city people and the building of hotels and sum-
mer cottages, managed to keep their hold upon
the sand of the village street. The rich, full,
salty air of the Atlantic, borne landward by a fresh
southwest breeze, was filled with the song of
birds, mingled with the talk of the boatmen
down on the shore, busy calking and mending
their boats-getting them ready for the use of
the summer visitors.
Beyond this group of boats and boatmen the
sun brightened with its gleams the ripples of
the shallow waters of the great bay, and further
out made spots of burnished gold out of the win-
dows of the Life-Saving Station on the great
South Beach. The vacant lots between the
cottages were whiling away the time, until the
real-estate agent found a buyer for them, by
looking as pretty as they could in their deck-
ing-out of daisies and buttercups, and good-na-
turedly afforded paths which made a short cut
from street to street. Across one of these lots,
and on one of these paths, a bright yellow spot
was made by a new straw hat worn by a little


girl dressed in lilac cotton. Her feet were bare.
She was much interested in a basket carried by
a sunburnt boy who walked beside her.
What a dreadful noise they make! I guess
they are crying for their mother; they don't
like going away from her. Just let me move the
cover a little and see what they are doing," said
the girl.
What's the use ? asked the boy. They 're
all right. I guess they 're hungry, and if you
lift the cover some of them '11 get out."
Oh, no, jest a little, little way. I believe
that great, strong, yellow one is just treading on
my dear Whitey; he 's a great, strong, horrid
thing! Jest let me open it a little way."
Now, you jest leave them alone. Kittens
are always squalling. There's nothing the mat-
ter with them, I tell you."
SBut, jest a little way. I don't believe they
can breathe in that nasty basket, Will. I don't
believe you would care if they all died."
"Oh, would n't I, though! Where would
I get the money from to buy the cloth for my
new sail that ma has promised to make me,
unless we can sell these kittens to Mr. Dolph?"
This seemed to be convincing for the mo-


Copyright, 189z, by THE CENTURY CO. All rights reserved.


ST.






892 AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS, AND PAINTS THEM.


ment, and the little tot was quiet. But if she
was quiet, the contrary was the case with the
kittens; for there were kittens in that basket,
and I may as well tell you at once that they
were being taken to the summer studio of
Mr. Dolph, the celebrated artist, whose very
clever pictures of cats and dogs are known to
every one who goes to picture exhibitions.
At the mention of the name I remembered to
have heard that Mr. Dolph owned a house and
studio out on Long Island somewhere, and
here was I, it seemed, settled for the summer in
the identical village. I remembered well his
beautiful rooms in a studio-building in New
York City, where I had seen not only his life-
like pictures of cats and dogs, but some ex-
cellent portraits and other paintings.
And before we follow the children to the sum-
mer studio and tell you about it and the kittens,
perhaps you would like to know about his city
studio also. It is in one of those great, ugly houses
called studio-buildings, ever so many stories
high, which rich men build for artists to live
in, if they can pay a good high rent. If you
were to see one you would know without being
told that it is not an ordinary house, for it has
great, high windows, each one as large as three
or four of the windows in your house.
But the difference between a studio-building
and an ordinary house is still greater when you
go inside one, for you find wide, straight,
bare passages and an elevator. The floors of
these hallways have no carpets; and, in fact,
you might suppose, unless somebody told you
otherwise, that you had walked into an asylum
by mistake, it 's all so plain and cold and com-
fortless. There are rows of doors, and on some
of them are visiting-cards, and on others curious
brass knockers and queer knobs which make
you think that it is a funny place altogether.
But when Mr. Dolph's door is opened to you
you think of some fairy tale you have read;
perhaps of some kindly spirit who takes the
unfortunate princess through gloomy, dark pas-
sages, and then at the Open Sesame! brings
her suddenly into a beautiful palace; for here,
once in the studio, you think that you are in
one of the rooms of some old palace away in
Europe. Here are beautiful eastern carpets
in the soft, rich colors which artists love; great,


high-backed chairs all carved, brought from
Italy, chairs on which knights and ladies have sat
hundreds of years ago; old, curious musical
instruments which make you wonder what they
would sound like and how they were played;
a carved chest which some old Venetian noble
gave to his daughter, filled with brocaded
dresses and dresses of cloth-of-gold, and silver,
table linen, and so on, not forgetting the little
silver casket fitted with money and jewels, her
wedding dower when she was married, per-
haps four hundred years ago; guns, swords,
daggers, pistols, from Arabia, Persia, and other
far-away countries, of curious shape and so won-
derfully wrought and inlaid with gold and sil-
ver and precious stones as to make you won-
der why tools for killing people were made so
beautiful. But the funniest things are behind
an old Spanish screen of many folds, where
you might think the artist's wife keeps her
gowns- for skirts and robes hang there, so
many that she might change her dress three
times a day for a month. But should Mr.
Dolph give you permission to take them down
and examine them you would know that she
does not wear them, and that anybody who
should, nowadays, would be well laughed at,
for they were all made for people who died be-
fore your great-great-grandmother was born,
and a number of them are not unlike the
dresses worn by the people whom Mr. Birch
draws for ST. NICHOLAS. I fancy that some of
you think this must be a museum. Well, yes;
in one way it is, because the things are all curi-
ous and interesting and out-of-the-way. But a
museum is a place where people go to look at
things, and this is a place where every thing you
see is made of use. "Why," you say, "Mr.
Dolph does not dress up in these funny dresses,
and wear armor, and carry these odd-shaped
guns and pistols ? Oh, no,-but he paints them
in his pictures. They are his patterns-that is,
they are the things he works from, just as the
plans and sketches and photographs in an archi-
tect's workroom are the architect's models. This
is the reason why in France a studio is called an
atelier, which is French for workshop.
I will give you an example of how he uses
these things. A picture of his, one of his
most celebrated and beautiful paintings,-it has






iSg9.] AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS, AND PAINTS THEM.


been sought for by the managers of I don't
know how many exhibitions, and very many
people of whom you have read as noted artists
have praised it,-represents a carved chest, on
which a great handsome Angora cat dozes. In
front of the chest is a rich-colored Persian rug;
behind the cat, resting against the wall, is a
large beaten brass plate,
and in front of the plate
is a pewter tankard. The
picture represents the fa-
vorite cat of the family of
an old-time baron. Now
the cat in the picture was
painted from a real cat
since dead, a pet of whom
Mr. Dolph will tell you
later on. The chest on
which she dozes is the wed-
ding-chest which I have de-
scribed. The rug is one
of those now on the floor;
the brass plate hangs in the
studio, and the tankard is
on the shelf opposite. For
you see most artists do not
make up things out of their
heads, but must have the
things to look at when they
draw them.
Now having told you
about the city studio, I
think it is about time to go
back to the little village by
the sea, the girl, the boy,
and the kittens don't
you ?-and follow them to
their market, for with them
-strangely enough-it is
market-day for kittens. They turn out of the
vacant lot, brushing through the great hand-
some daisies which seem to grow thicker on
the edge of the street than elsewhere, as if they
wished to show their best to the passer-by. Once
more the high little voice speaks from under
the straw hat.
Willy, what do you think these kitties
would say, if they knew they would have their
pictures made by a truly artist, and put into a
real, real gold frame ? "


Oh, stop now; you don't suppose the frames
are real gold, do you ? replies the boy with all
a boy's delight in his superior knowledge.
"Why, of course they are. Did n't Mr.
Dolph tell me so, and then did n't I see two of
them at Mr. Dolph's studio? They were all
crinkles and things, and my they glittered like


J. H. DOLPH.
the piece of money that ma showed us once,
and that she said was gold."
Well, that 's all that girls know! I tell you
the frames are made of wood, and there 's just
a little gold on the outside."
Well, I don't care, it 's gold, is n't it ? "
Yes, it's gold, but it is n't all gold." Then,
after a pause, Kittens are n't worth much. I
mean you can't sell them-well, not to most
people. Why, the Grahams drown theirs!
They 're not worth much, but when Mr. Dolph






894 AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS, AND PAINTS THEM.


puts them into a picture I heard a gentleman
down at the hotel say he could sell one picture
for more money than Pa paid for our house."
This statement was received with wide-
mouthed astonishment by the little girl. In
her surprise the brand-new straw hat was
slowly lifted from her head, her feet came to
a standstill, and she looked for some explana-
tion inside the hat. Evidently she found it
there, for her face brightened, and she replied
slowly but with emphasis, It 's the real gold
frames; I told you they were real gold."
"Oh, you come along. I 've got to go to
school, and I can't stand waiting for you all
day," gruffly replied the boy; and together
they turned off the street and through a gate
into a dooryard, behind which stood a low-
roofed, rambling cottage, whose great window,
facing northward, showed it the home of an
artist. Tall beautiful orchard-grass grew every-
where, save on the path which led from the
street gate. Cherry- and peach-trees showed
promise of good things later on. A trellis cov-
ered with roses in full bloom sheltered the side
of the house which faced seaward, and a beau-
tiful Jacqueminot rose, trained against the front
of the house, scattered sweet perfume on the
morning air. A few torn and weather-beaten
red cedars across the street displayed their deep,
rich, somber foliage, relieved by their red sun-
lighted stems; beyond these was a wide sweep
of yellow plowed field, relieved by the tender
green of the young corn-shoots, and in the
extreme distance a glimpse of the sea.
The children had come to a halt in front of
the cottage; they seemed to hesitate for a mo-
ment. Then said the little girl, in a low tone:
Say, Willy, don't let us go around to the
back door. Let me lift that thing up and make
a loud knock," pointing to a big, old-fashioned
knocker, evidently the spoil of some bric-a-brac
hunt of the artist's. You lift me up."
Oh, you 're too heavy; besides, Mr. Dolph
would n't like it, it makes so much noise."
Oh, Willy, do. I want to so much."
Don't you know the kittens will get out if
I put the basket down? Don't you hear how
they are squealing now ? "
Just at this time a pleasant gentleman with
a thoughtful face came through the rose-covered


trellis. On the thumb of his left hand he car-
ried an artist's palette with colors set, and in
his right hand a rest or mahl-stick. His face
broke into a smile as he saw the children.
Hallo, Mabel and Will, how do you do this
morning? Brought me the kittens, eh ? Well,
how are they ? And you want to try my knocker,
do you, Mabel? Well, all right; here goes!"
And lifting the child up, the two little, brown,
chubby hands clasped the old man's face which
formed the lower part of the knocker, and with
some effort raised it and let it fall.
"Well done!" said the artist. Now, I '11 go
round and open the door."
In a moment the door was opened-the
door of the studio, as it proved to be.
"Now come in, and let us see the kittens.
How 's the mother cat, Mabel ? A little lone-
some? Does n't like to part with her babies.
Well, tell her we '11 take good care of them."
So saying he opened the basket. My, but they
are young ones! "
"Yes," said Willy, "but mother said I 'd
better bring them round because there was an
old tomcat prowling about, and he might kill
them."
"Quite right. Tomcats do kill them. They
are bad fellows, are tomcats. They will not only
kill them, but eat them too."
This statement seemed to shock little Mabel
very much, but she only muttered, Naughty
tomcats!"
They formed such a pretty picture as they
stood there, that although I was but just outside
the door, and Mr. Dolph had not seen me, I
hesitated for a moment to break it up. The June
sunlight fell through the open door like a flood
on the floor of the studio. The little girl, Mabel,
had taken off her hat, and was twirling it by its
blue ribbon in a shame-faced manner. A mass
of blue-black hair fell round her pretty oval face,
and the toes of her plump brown feet moved
nervously. The boy, more assured, held in his
hand the great, horrid, yellow one," which he
had taken from the basket; while the artist, who
had laid down his palette, was fondling the "dear
little Whitey." Another moment he looked up
and saw me.
"Why, how do you do? Do come in-
come in! When did you come and where are





1891.] AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS, AND PAINTS THEM.


you staying ? At the hotel ? Well, that's good.
And going to stay all summer? Well, that 's
better still." And then, denoting the children
by a wave of his hand:
Some of my little friends who provide me
with models. This is the first family which has
been brought me this summer. Sit down and
make yourself comfortable; it's a warm morning."
And then to the children: "Well, now, you had
better leave the basket; I '11 carry it over this
evening. And tell your uncle that I will buy
that Angora kitten, and not to sell it to any one
else. But you can tell him I think twenty dol-
lars a pretty high price for it." And, drawing
out his purse, and handing the boy some money,
"That's the price, Will, and a little more than I
think I was to pay, is n't it? And now go around
and see Mrs. Dolph." Again turning to me,
" Well, I am glad to see you in my summer camp.
We have only just come down-have not got
things in shape yet. It's so hard to get anything
done in the country. Excuse me for a few
minutes, I must attend to my newly arrived fam-
ily; but perhaps you would n't mind coming
with me ? I have out here a little way from the
house what I call my workshop. I like to use
carpenter's tools, and in my workshop I keep
my cats."
Preceding me with the basket in his hand,
he led the way through the studio and out on a
raised floor covered by a grapevine trellis, which
connected the out-buildings with the cottage.
This is where most of my sketching is done,"
said he, pausing. "You see I can get the cats
and dogs out here on this platform in the sun-
light, while I sit here to the left in the shadow
of the house and draw. Do you see this little
square hole here in the floor ? What do you sup-
pose it 's for ? Why, when my kittens are out
here sprawling in the sun, sometimes a stray dog
happens along, and then you should see them
make for this hole! You see it 's just large
enough to let a kitten through and no larger.
Great scheme, is it not ? But like many other
great schemes, I suppose, it is the result of
necessity and experience. But these kittens must
be attended to; they are probably both cold and
hungry." Opening a door which led from the
platform he placed the basket on the carpenter's
work-bench.


"Now let 's see just what we have here,"
said he, removing the cover from the basket,
and disclosing four very young kittens snuggled
down together. "Did you ever notice how,
when there are several kittens together, they
will be constantly struggling to see which shall
get to the bottom of the heap ? They will keep
nosing and nosing each other. They are always
in motion, for no sooner does one get nicely
stowed away under the rest, than another noses
and squirms and gets him out of his place to
squirm into it. I think, perhaps, this is seen
oftener among Angora kittens than any others,
but if you watch these you will see what I
mean, although these are searching for food
just now and not for heat. The nosing and
fighting I have spoken of is to keep warm."
Reaching his hand into the basket, he lifted
the little, soft kittens one by one, and placed
them on the bench beside him. He did not lift
them as some of you would have lifted them, by
their legs or by their bodies, but by the skin of the
back of the neck, whence they hung limp and
lifeless without complaint. Upon my remarking
this, he said:
Why, yes; you can lift not only a kitten but
a full-grown cat in this way, and it will not
struggle. You see it 's the natural method.
When the mother cat carries her kittens, she
seizes them by the skin of the back of the neck
with her mouth. I have seen a cat do this with
a kitten so large that she could not lift it, but
had to drag it, and that for a long distance.
Here is a fine kitten," said he, holding up the
tortoise-shell. You see how full and round its
head is. He is, you see, larger and stronger than
the others. He will probably grow up a very
smart and handsome cat. I have always found
it so with the round-headed kittens. This white
one, you notice, has a flat head, a good deal
like a snake; just notice how long and flat his
head is, how far back the eyes are set. This cat
will probably be stupid and vicious, but intelli-
gent or stupid, I must get them something to
eat."'
"But," said I, "kittens of that age cannot
feed themselves, can they ? "
Oh, no," he replied; I have to be a mother
to them; I will get some milk, and you will see
how I manage. Excuse me for a minute."


895






896 AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS, AND PAINTS THEM.


He quickly returned, bearing in one hand a
cup full of milk, and in the other a large paint-
brush, such as is used by artists in making water-
color pictures.
Now for luncheon," said he; and, dipping the
brush into the milk, he touched it to the mouth
of one of the kittens. At once its little red
tongue came out, surrounding the point of
the brush, and drawing the wet brush into its
mouth the kitten sucked the milk out.
"That's the way I play mother to them; it
takes some time to feed a family in this way,
but I must have my models, and so I must


Well, not very well, at first, but they get
used to it, and after a time seem to take to it as.
a matter of course."
I should suppose they would not like it. A
cat's dislike to water is proverbial."
"Yes, and we say a cat-and-dog life when two
people are constantly disagreeing. Yet I often
bring up puppies and kittens together, and they
have few quarrels. I think there are a good
many things said about cats that are not quite.
true. You have read, of course, of Lord Rus-
sell's cat which swam the moat of the Tower of
London to find him. Do you know that I think


_ -_-.. A- -L :._..
4-- --. -- .. I

A PILLOW FIGHT.


work for them. It 's much easier to feed
them than it is to keep them clean. Have you
ever noticed how the mother cat is always wash-
ing her babies, constantly licking them here and
there, seeming to take a pride in keeping them
always looking clean and nice, and how they
seem to like the attention? Well, I have to
imitate the mother as well as I can, else they
would sicken and die. I take a soft sponge and
some warm water, and wash their little mouths
and faces after each meal, and once a day or
so I wash them all over."
Do they like it?" I asked.


that unless a kitten is taught by its mother while
quite young, it will not eat a mouse ? It will
catch it and play with it, but will let it go when
it grows tired of the play. If you notice a cat
with young kittens you will see that as soon as
she catches a mouse she will bring it to her chil-
dren. She will let it run, and then spring upon
it, carry it around in her mouth without harm-
ing it, drop it in front of a kitten, spring upon
it again, and will keep this up for a long time;
and not until she thinks her children have thor-
oughlylearned their lesson will she eat the mouse.
One might think she was playing with it. I

























7v


"WHY DOES N'T MAMA COME HOME "
(SEE PAGE 900.)


OFF





898 AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS, AND PAINTS THEM.


think she is educating her children teaching
them how to get a living.
This is the first family this summer. You see
I have been here so many summers that all the
countryfolks know me, and the children bring me
the kittens; sometimes a good many more than
I know what to do with, but I try to make them
all comfortable. I call this my cats' dormitory.
As the kittens grow up they often show
strange fancies and whims. When we go back to
the studio I will show you a sketch of a kitten who
would sleep nowhere but on the top of my cabi-
nets, and every night I had to take down my
old Venetian glass and other curiosities to make
a place for pussy. I had another whose color
and whose markings were very beautiful. I sold
a number of pictures of her, and naturally she
came to be a pet. Well, she got into the habit
of taking a place on my knee at meal-times, and
after a while would only feed from my fingers or
eat bits put on the table especially for her. Af-


THE DANCERS.
ter a time it grew to be a custom with us to put
a chair at table for "Princess," as we called her,
and thus she always made one at our meals; and
the funniest thing was, she would never eat else-
where, and, I believe, would rather have starved
to death than eat as a common cat. Yes, cats
are easily spoiled if you pet them much, and
quickly become your master."
I suppose that is the reason that one rarely
sees trained cats in shows as one sees dogs,
monkeys, birds, and even pigs," said I.


"Well, yes, I suppose that is the reason; for
cats can be trained to do tricks. I had one once
which I afterward gave to one of the city clubs.
I had trained her to do some clever things, and
by what means do you suppose ? Well, I ought
to tell you before I go on that you must never
beat a cat nor wound her pride. A cat never for-
gives an injury, as a dog will, and her pride once
wounded she never forgives you. I tell you
this because the animal-trainers use the whip a
good deal; but you see you cannot whip a cat.
I found out that this one disliked to have her
nose touched and was fond of sugar. So when she
did what I wished I gave her sugar, and when
she was obstinate I touched her nose gently
with the tip of my finger. Then she would make
a wry face and do as I told her, or else run
under the chest, where I knew too much of cat
nature to disturb her."
Do cats often grow fond of persons ? "
Oh, yes, very often. I suppose many people
have had cats which
would follow them
as well as a dog. A
very popular author
has a beautiful black
Tom who will follow
him wherever he goes.
If the walk is a little too
far for Tom, he '11 hide
himself in the bushes
until his master comes
back, and then jump
.. '. B .- out, rub himself against
hislegs, and follow him
home again.The author
,. uses a large roomy
Portuguese chair of
rushes, and when he
sits to write he must always leave a place behind
him for Tom, who will sit nowhere else. But
now these kittens are sleepy; let us go into
the studio. You see there is little to the house
but the studio. When the public began to buy
my cat pictures, and I found that I must have
many cats for models, I tried to keep them in
my city studio. But some kittens are very mis-
chievous; they would tear my rugs and destroy
my bric-h-brac, and besides that, the concerts
they would organize at night were a trifle dis-






1891.] AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS, AND PAINTS THEM.


tracting to my neighbors. So I bought this
place-the village was not fashionable then.
That was many years ago, soon after I came
back from Europe the first time, after I had


INTERESTED FOR A MOMENT.
been studying in Antwerp with the celebrated
horse-painter, Louis van Kuyck. I have al-
ways had a desire to paint horses; I think I
painted them fairly well, but while artists pro-
nounced my pictures of these subjects good, I
met with little recognition from the public. It
was not long after my return (I had been abroad
studying five years, during which time it had
been all spending and no earning) before I
found myself in need of money. I had a little
frame in the studio which had cost me about
twelve dollars, and the idea occurred to me
that I would paint something for it, send it to
an auction room, and perhaps get a few dollars
out of it. So I painted the portrait of a little
kitten I had in my room-expecting no great
result. You may judge of my surprise when I
received from the auctioneer about one hun-
dred dollars for this picture. Naturally I tried
another cat picture, and another, and another,
and the more I painted the more the public
seemed to want until the public knew me only
as a painter of cats, and the fact that I had
painted many important portraits and large
and important figure-subjects seemed to be for-
gotten. But I hear Will talking with my wife,
and I want to impress on his mind not to for-


get the message to his uncle. Pray excuse me
for a few minutes and make yourself comfort-
able-I fear there is not much to look at."
So saying he left me. While he is gone I
will try to describe his country studio. It is a
great square room open to the roof-not un-
like a church. The walls are of a soft gray color,
and when you examine them closely you find
they are covered with burlaps-canvas. There
is a dado of prettily grained chestnut which
runs all around the room, neither stained nor
varnished. On the north side of the room is a
great high studio window, and near this win-
dow a large fireplace to burn wood, for some-
times heavy sea-fogs roll in even in summer,
and then a wood fire is agreeable. Over about
one half of the studio is a gallery open on the
front with the exception of a railing or balus-
trade. The artist jokingly calls this his min-
strel gallery," for it is not very unlike some of
the galleries found in the banqueting-halls
of the old palaces of Europe, where the musi-
cians sat to play or sing while the guests ate.
In fact I don't think this studio would have
been built as it is if Mr. Dolph had not seen
abroad some of these same banqueting-halls.
The whole room reminds you of them--
the high walls, the pointed roof, the gallery, and
the great fireplace. Artists are more fortu-


.- -- ; -
KEEP OFF!
nate than most folks in that they not only go
about the world considerably, but as they are
always looking for things to put into their pic-
tures, they see many beautiful things which or-
dinary travelers do not, and they remember
them better, and make them a part of their


899






AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS, AND PAINTS THEM.


lives. There is very little furniture in this great
room: the old carved cabinet on top of which
pussy used to sleep, a few plain, comfortable
chairs, some easels, and one or two tables.
For the intention of the artist is to have this a
direct contrast to his city studio; to have this
one as simple as the other is rich--for here he
does not paint pictures, but makes sketches to
work up in the city
into pictures. And
'- ,the puppies and kit-
tens may roll about
a .and play as much as
they please, and en-
'. joy themselves to
their hearts' con-
tent. Tacked upon
the burlap-covered
walls are some of
these sketches: a
.. .. great Flemish horse,
". painted with a vigor
FLY which would sur-
prise those who know Mr. Dolph's work only
by his carefully finished pictures of cats and
dogs; a bit of sea-shore with breaking waves
and the figures of a Breton fish-wife and her
husband in the foreground,--a note of real sun-
shine and light,-and several clever landscape
studies in which the somber-toned, twisted ce-
dars of the neighborhood seem to have been the
reason for their being painted. But the kittens
and the puppies are in the majority here. They
are in all sorts of odd positions and doing I
don't know how many queer things. Here
are two in the position of dancers, and comical
enough they are. Here is another, a charcoal
sketch of a mother cat watching a fly which has
been tormenting her and which she has tried so
many times to catch that she has given up in
despair. A sleepy, contented old cat with one
eye open, watching her three well-grown babies,
who are having a good time playing on a cush-
ion. A very quick and rough sketch of a kitten
on her back, all alive and full of nervous action,
as you have often seen a little pussy when you
have dangled the end of a string for her to catch.
A nearly finished picture of five beagle puppies,
two in a basket and three which have slopped
over-such limp, hopeless, helpless little pup-


pies that one feels sorry that their mother is not at
home to look after them. Such a variety of cats
and puppies and horses and beautiful setter dogs,
and all so true to nature that one wonders at the
talent and industry of the artist. But the door
has opened once more, and the artist says,
"Looking at my sketches? There is not much
for you to see here. All these things are, as you
see, unfinished. Like the puppies, do you?
They belong to a neighbor of mine. It is not
often that one gets such young puppies to paint,
but they are much easier to do than kittens,
they keep much stiller. I think it will make a
good thing when finished. I shall call it' Why
does n't mother come home?' How did I get
those dancing kittens to keep in that position
long enough to sketch them ? Oh, that 's one
of the tricks of the trade. I got my wife to
dangle a piece of bread soaked in milk just
high enough above their heads to make them
stretch out for it. I had a notion of painting
a picture which I should call When the mice
are away the cats will play,' just ringing a change
on the old proverb. Oh, my wife and I have to
resort to all sorts of tricks to pose the kittens as
I want them, and kittens can't be photographed.
They are too quick in their motions. One must
watch and study them closely, and draw largely
from memory. Now here is a group of fine kit-
tens, one on the edge of
a a basket, you see, and
.~r' -1.- .q in different
t : .ii..-', .:.n an old rug.
r.-"- t l.-ok as if the
:', -..'. m' .ht have been
Shl.:.r. ._r. i.!ed just as it
t. \\.! 11 I lisishowsuch
-1 .- is made. I
first sketch
i- in all the
group from
pure im-
agination,
"THAT FLY! composing
L'THAT I"LY [
them, as
artists say, making many rough pencil-sketches
until I get a group that looks real and life-like.
Then each kitten is drawn singly. The one on
the edge of the basket I got by putting a cater-
pillar in front of her on the floor, and sketching


90goo





i89i.] AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS, AND PAINTS THEM.


901


her as she watched it crawl. The one with a
good deal of white on her was watching a toad
which I had caught for the purpose, and trying
to make up her mind not to be too much scared
at it.
"The one next to her, my wife was amusing
with one of those toy dogs they were selling
about the street last winter, which jump when
you press a rubber ball held in your hand. And
the one nearest her is the kitten of which I
made many sketches while she was playing with
a ball of yar. I think I shall get a title for this
picture by letting the kitten in the basket say:
You make so much noise I can't sleep.' I find
it a little more difficult, I think, to find satis-
factory names for my pictures than to paint
them.
"You are surprised that you don't see any
sketches of Angoras? Ah, they are the noblest
and the most beautiful of all cats, but they are
hard to get and expensive. I brought two from
Paris the last time I went abroad. One was
shot, I think, by some one who mistook him in
the bushes for a skunk; and the other, 'Jose-
phine' we called her, grew so tyrannical and
overbearing that it was hard to do anything
with her. She would eat only such delicacies
as were hard to get in a country place like this,
and would not be kept in o' nights. She was
the most intrepid huntress, would come home
at times lugging after her a rabbit as large al-
most as herself, and would make almost as much
noise at night as a brass band at a circus.
"The neighbors complained so much of
her that we decided to keep her indoors, but
she soon discovered our intention, and when
shutting-up time came she could not be found,
and a fruitless search would be made. Not a
sign of her could be seen, not a sound from her
could be heard until the lamps were put out,
when her yells made night hideous.
One night she was in-a damp, foggy, cold
night-lying on the rug by the wood fire, ap-
parently asleep. I had been reading. Said my
wife, Well, it 's about time for bed. Had you
not better shut up the house?' Like a flash
Josephine was on her feet, and made a dash
for the door. My wife laughingly ran to her
and lifted her from the floor, saying, 'Oh,
Mademoiselle, we have you this evening!' when


Josephine struck her on both cheeks with her
fore paws, digging the claws deep in the flesh.
Mrs. Dolph knew too much of cat-nature to
struggle or resist, and bravely, despite the pain,
spoke soothingly to the cat, gently scolding her,
and gradually the claws relaxed their hold.
Had she moved, her face would have been
badly torn. You may be sure we had no further
desire to keep the ugly-tempered Josephine at
home that night.
"A month or so later poor Josephine had a
domestic tragedy of her own. She had a little
family out there in my cat-house, the carpenter-
shop, beautiful kittens, although not pure An-
gora. Well, some of the children at the hotel
got to know of them and would come to see
them, Angora kittens being something of a
rarity. I did not object to the children seeing
them, but knowing something of cat-nature, I
would not allow them to be touched on any
account.
But in an evil moment, one day when I was
away, some boys came, and of course were not
content with simply seeing-they must lift them
from the basket and play with them. The con-
sequence was that when I returned the nest was
empty-not a kitten was to be seen. Jose-
phine, fearing harm to her babies, had carried
them off to some safe hiding-place. In vain I
tried to find her harbor of refuge. She would
come to the house for her breakfast, dinner,
and supper, but when I followed her she would
lead me a chase across the fields, and if she
could not give me the slip she would return to the
house and calmly lie down and pretend to sleep.
"Well, this went on for more than a week,
when one day as I was sitting outside on the
platform, painting a study of a frog which I
intended to put in a picture, I saw Josephine
coming toward me carrying something in her
mouth. She came to me and placed at my
feet a kitten, dead, cold, and stark. She looked
at me beseechingly out of her large, lovely
eyes, and licked the kitten all over, looking
at me again with an expression so human that
I felt my eyes moisten. When I picked up the
kitten I discovered a little cut on the side of
its neck. Of course I could do nothing for
the poor mother, who, while I held her baby,
rubbed herself against my legs, all the time look-





902 AN ARTIST WHO LOVES CATS AND DOGS, AND PAINTS THEM.


ing up with her great grief-filled eyes. When I
put the poor kitten down again, she seemed to
realize that the case was hopeless, for she took it
up and carried it to the root of a tree in the or-
chard, where she left it. The next morning while
at breakfast Josephine brought another dead
kitten, and the next day another, each with the
same fatal cut on the neck; and then, and only
then, did she allow me to follow her to where
she had carried her kittens under the barn, and


where each night a weasel had visited them and
left her but one baby out of four to bring up.
"What, you must be going? Well, come
again soon, and don't believe what people tell
you of my lack of hospitality. In a place like
this, where hundreds of people make vacation,
an artist's studio is apt to become a show; but I
come here to work, not to show pictures. The
city studio and the exhibitions are the places
for that. I won't say good-by, but an revoir."


CUCKOO CLOCKS.

By MALCOLM DOUGLAS.

SHE said that she 'd be the little man's wife,
And there came the happiest day of his life,
While the neighbors with gifts prepared to flock-
"I 'd like most," she told him, a cuckoo clock."


A roguish twinkle was in his eyes,
Pleasantly hinting of some surprise,
And, while they were talking, they heard a knock,
And a little boy brought in a cuckoo clock.


Then a package came which
had been expressed
SBy a dear acquaintance who
lived out west,
While from it there sounded a faint "tick-
tock,"-
And blest if it was n't a cuckoo clock!


,
/K .
I -...! V
*^ .iT-r l ; .,--'


.h^ ^ ^
^W I


C-~s


I


~


i






CUCKOO CLOCKS.


I 've just been
And I thought


Mrs. Smith appeared with her friend, Miss Jones,
And said the latter, in laughing tones,
I 've asked Mrs. Smith what 's in her box,
And I find that we 've both brought cuckoo clocks."



The little jeweler followed ,'.
them.
"Best wishes!" he said. t
"Ahem! ahem! i
looking over my stock,
I 'd give you a cuckoo clock." r


And was that the last one? Oh, dear, no!
They 'd found out the gift that she 'd most prize, so
All of the neighbors for blocks and blocks
Kept on coming with cuckoo clocks.



"Oo-hoo!" "Oo-hoo" "Oo-hoo!" "" Oo-hoo !"
'T would have set me frantic, would n't it you?
No plate, nor pictures, nor glass, nor crocks -
All cuckoo clocks! All cuckoo clocks!


D
5
.8


,~
-`"
,s
i
I z





























HE pine-tree grew in the wood,
Tapering, straight, and high; G
Stately and proud it stood, Gi
Black-green against the sky.
Crowded so close, it sought the blue,
And ever upward it reached and grew.

The oak-tree stood in the field.
Beneath it dozed the herds; Ai
It gave to the mower a shield, A
It gave a home to the birds.
Sturdy and broad, it guarded the farms,
With its brawny trunk and knotted arms.

The apple-tree grew by the wall,
Ugly and crooked and black; Ai
But it knew the gardener's call, T]
And the children rode on its back.
It scattered its blossoms upon the air,
It covered the ground with fruitage fair.

" Now, hey," said the pine, for the wood !
Come, live with the forest band. A:
Our comrades will do you good, W
And tall and straight you will stand."
And he swung his boughs to a witching sound,
And flung his cones like coins around.

"Oho!" laughed the sturdy oak;
The life of the field for me. A
I weather the lightning-stroke; T


q,
^ '--^- I- .- n I'I




My branches are broad and free.
row straight and slim in the wood if you will,
ve me the sun and a wind-swept hill."

And the apple-tree murmured low:
"I am neither straight nor strong;
Crooked my back doth grow
With bearing my burdens long."
nd it dropped its fruit as it dropped a tear,
nd reddened the ground with fragrant cheer.

And the Lord of the Harvest heard.
And he said: I have use for all;
For the bough that shelters a bird,
For the beam that pillars a hall;
nd grow they tall, or grow they ill,
hey grow but to wait their master's will."

So a ship of the oak was sent
Far over the ocean blue,
And the pine was the mast that bent
As over the waves it flew,
nd the ruddy fruit of the apple-tree
as borne to a starving isle of the sea.

Now the farmer grows like the oak,
And the townsman is proud and tall,
And city and field are full of folk -
But the Lord has need of all.
nd who will be like the apple-tree
hat fed the starving over the sea ?











THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.

By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.


(Begtn in the November number.]
CHAPTER XLVIII.
"THAT BEATS ME!"
LICK STEVENS jeeied and said he "did n't
care when he heard that Toby had been fully
paid for the burning of the wharf; but it was a
humiliating blow to Tom. The two accused
Yellow Jacket- unjustly, as we know--of
giving information that led to the exposure,
and branded Bob and Butter Ball as cowards.
This broke up the band of Toby's enemies;
and he felt that he had won the fight.
"Don't be too sure of that," Mr. Allerton
warned him. A railroad company is n't going
to own itself beaten by a boy. Even if it does,
your struggles are not over. Life is a continual
striving. We overcome one obstacle only to
encounter another. Then there will always
remain ourselves to conquer. That is the one
brave fight; that is the true victory."
Toby had little time to give to books during
the busy season. Nor did he renter school in
the fall. But under Mr. Allerton's direction he
pursued a course of studies, designed to make
up for his neglected opportunities. He improved
his penmanship, studied arithmetic, bookkeep-
ing, and composition,and read American history.
This brought Mr. Allerton very often to the
house on winter evenings. Gossip said he
went there to see Milly. There was a little
truth in this. She found relief from her house-
hold duties in his conversation, and in reading
with him works of English literature.
Toby had his boats stored in the barn, and
early in spring he began repainting them. Then
there was his wharf that needed repairs, after
the winter storms. He meant to be prepared
for the coming campaign.
So, evidently, did the railroad company.
Rumors of some important move on the part
of the management reached his ears; and in
May he witnessed an ominous sight.
VOL. XVIII.- 63. 9C


Five men, one of whom was Tazwell, walked
past the house and down the street to the lake,
where they stopped. They examined the wharf,
at the end of which one who carried a sur-
veyor's rod thrust it down into the water, as if
measuring the depth. Then they made short
measurements across the foot of the street,
along the shore; sometimes beginning at the
edge of the wharf, and sometimes including a
part of the wharf itself, which seemed the
subject of considerable discussion. They re-
mained some time in consultation, and then
went away.
Toby watched and wondered, burning with
jealousy. He could not doubt that two or
three of the men, besides Tazwell, were direc-
tors of the company, and that they had designs
against his wharf.
A week later something still more astound-
ing occurred. A heavy truck, bearing a small
steam-engine and a narrow upright frame, passed
the house, followed by another, with a load of
immensely thick poles.
"It is a pile-driver! said Toby, turning
pale.
Presently the door-bell rang with a loud,
ominous jangle. Toby himself went to answer
it. A stout man, whom he recognized as one
of the visiting group of the week before, stood
on the doorstep.
"I believe your name is Trafford ?"
"Yes, sir," said Toby, with resolute calmness.
"You own the little wharf at the foot of the
street ? "
Yes, sir."
I am sorry to say," continued the stout man,
"it is a little in our way."
"In whose way? said Toby, bristling with
fear and fury.
"In the way of the railroad management
which proposes to build a pier there."
The railroad management can't do anything
of the sort! cried Toby, in tones quivering
15






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


with passion. It can build as many piers as
it pleases anywhere else, but not there /"
I don't exactly see why not," replied the
stout man, mildly.
"You will see it. My wharf occupies the
ground. Nobody has a right to touch it.
Nobody shall touch it. I've fought the com-
pany, and I '11 fight it again."
I don't know anything about your fights
with the company, Mr. Trafford. I have no
interest in the matter; I am only a contractor.
But I have engaged to build the pier, and I sup-
pose I must go on and build it. Will you re-
move as much of your wharf as is necessary, or
shall I remove it for you ? "
I shall not remove it," said Toby, and you
will do it at your peril! What right has a rail-
road company to come here and order my
wharf away and put another in its place ? "
The right of the stronger, I suppose," the
man answered, with good-natured candor.
And is n't it a pretty thing," cried Toby, all
ablaze with indignation, for a great company,
because it happens to be the stronger, to drive
me to the wall in this way? "
You can sue it for damages," suggested the
stout man, with exasperating gentleness.
"Yes, and have a lawsuit that would ruin a
rich man, let alone a poor boy! I shan't sue
anybody for damages. I can do better. If
my wharf goes, the next wharf goes too. Tell
the company that. Then they can sue me for
damages!" said Toby, with savage sarcasm.
Oh, Toby, Toby !" His mother and sister
stood in the doorway behind him, pale and ex-
cited; it was his mother who made the appeal.
Don't use any foolish threats. They will be
remembered against you."
"They are not foolish threats," said Toby. I
mean what I say, and I '11 do it. And I won't
sneak about it neither, as the fellows did who
burned my property. If the company takes the
law into its own hands, why should n't I ? "
You speak of the law," said the contractor;
and I see there is something you don't under-
stand. The company may be acting tyran-
nically. I can't say. Very likely, if I was to
take sides, my sympathies would be with you.
I like your pluck."
You do take sides. You take sides against


me," said Toby. "You sell yourself to the,
company; for a little profit on a contract you
do an act of the meanest injustice. If you have
the soul of a man you '11 turn your teams about,
and say to your employers, I am not going to.
help you do a wicked and lawless thing, for any
money!'"
The man remained imperturbable; but his.
manner was not unkind.
"That might be a fine thing to do, but it
would n't be business. I don't lend myself to a
lawless thing, though; and'that's the point I 'm
coming at. Your wharf has no right there."
"It has as much right as anybody's."
"Have you a charter ?"
"A charter? No."
There 's where your case is lame," said the
contractor. "The company holds a charter
from the State, as I supposed you knew. The
bill has passed the legislature, and the governor
has signed it."
It was a stunning blow. Against a great
company and its charter, what could one weak
stripling do ?
"That beats me! said Toby.
His voice and countenance changed. But
he still bore up bravely, unwilling a stranger
should see how deeply he felt his defeat.
I thought you 'd see it," said the man.
"There 's no use trying to shin over a spiked
wall. Now, if you have any directions to give,
in regard to the part of your structure we 're
obliged to move, your wishes shall be heeded.
Have you any choice about it ?"
"Yes. One."
"What's that ?"
"Leave it where it is," said Toby. "I've
nothing more to say."
We can't do that," replied the man, with a
smile; "but we will be as careful as we can."
The knowledge that his enemies had the law
on their side did not lessen the boy's sense of
wrong. He felt that he had been crushed by
superior force.
He went into the house, determined not to
see what was done. But soon the sound of
hammers and of cracking and flapping boards
overcame his resolution. He looked from the
window, and saw his wharf going to pieces,
amid a crowd of boys gathered to look on.


906






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


Who cared that his heart was broken with the
parting of the timbers ?
Toby could restrain himself no longer. Mil-
dred's sympathy, his mother's attempts to con-
sole him only increased his passion. He turned
from the window, threw himself upon a chair,
and covering his face with his hands, shook
with convulsive grief.

CHAPTER XLIX.
THE QUEEN OF THE LAKE.
THE pile-driver was erected on a staging
over the water, and the engine was fired up the
next morning. Then came the fitful panting of
steam, alternating at intervals with the clatter
and thud of the heavy weight released in the
upright frame, and falling on the battered pile-
head it was driving.
Toby avoided the throng of spectators, among
whom he could sometimes see Tom Tazwell and
Lick Stevens, laughing and carrying their tri-
umphant heads high. But in the evening, and
each evening until the new pier was completed,
he went down to the lonely shore, to watch the
shape it was taking, and to think over the
situation.
"That beats me! he had said, when he first
heard of the company's charter. But he had
not given up the fight.
The new structure extended into the lake
about twice as far as the poor little thing it had
partly displaced. It was about twice as broad,
and twice as high.
About half of Toby's wharf was left standing
beside it, not seriously injured; the materials of
the other half were piled up in orderly fashion
on the shore.
One thing is lucky," he said philosophically;
"I had n't done my spring repairing. Now I
shall rebuild differently."
Early one morning he was on the spot when
the builder arrived.
You are getting about through," remarked
the boy.
"We '11 finish to-day," replied the man.
I see you left a piece of my wharf," said
Toby.
Did the best I could," answered the con-
tractor, though one of the directors was for


setting the whole thing over your way, and
crowding you out entirely."
"I can guess the first letter of his name,"
said Toby. "Why did n't they do it ?"
Mainly because we found more water on
the other side. Besides, the others said, No
use of being hard upon a boy.'"
"As if what they 've done was n't hard!"
Toby suppressed the bitter thoughts that rose,
and added, When you get through with the
big job, I 've a little one for you. I want to
rebuild the torn-up part of my wharf in this
way. Carry it out four feet, close alongside the
company's, then at right angles, across the end
of the old part, and twelve or fifteen feet beyond,
making a little harbor between the new part and
the shore. And I want to build the front on
piles, instead of stakes, with which the ice plays
the mischief in winter. Four or five piles will
be enough. And they ought not to cost much."
"Not so much as they would if I had to
team 'em here along with my apparatus. I 've
the piles left over, and the engine and driver
are on the spot; so you '11 make that much out
of the railroad company," said the builder,
with a smile.
"No great loss without some small gain,"
replied Toby, cheerfully.
"I wonder what they 'll say when they see
it," said the contractor, after some further dis-
cussion of the plan.
"I don't care what they '11 say when they
see it," replied Toby.
"If they find it in their way it may have to
go," said the man.
That will be the third time," said the boy.
It's nothing to me," was the reply. "I build
what I 'm paid for. Business is business."
Toby was not so confident at heart as he
seemed. What sort of boats would the com-
pany run? How could he compete with them ?
Why was the new wharf built so high ?
The company kept its designs a profound
secret until this is what happened one
pleasant afternoon.
Something extraordinary had arrived by an
upward-bound freight-train, and had been side-
tracked at the station. Small boys whooped
and yelled and ran; and soon a group of spec-
tators surrounded the wonderful object.






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


Toby likewise drew near, saw, and turned
sick with despair and envy. It was a beautiful
little steamboat supported upon platform cars,
sharp at the bows, trim as a bird about the
breast, gaily painted and polished from stem to
stern. On another car, covered by a canvas,
which the boys lifted and peeped under, were
the boiler, engine, and machinery of a screw
propeller.
"Is n't she a daisy ?" No rowboats nor
sailboats can hold a candle to her!" "It 's
all up with you, Toby!" Such were some of
the comments that greeted Toby's approach.
He had feared that the company might put
on a steamer, but he had not dreamed of such a
little QUEEN OF THE LAKE as this. "Queen of
the Lake" was the name, and he had to acknow-
ledge that it was a good one. Queen she was,
and queen she would remain for all that he or
any one now could do.
If anybody was jubilant it was Tom Tazwell.
He walked haughtily in front of Toby, ordered
boys to keep their hands off and to stand back,
and bragged of the boat's beauty and strength
and speed as if it had been the Minerva of his
own creative brain.
"I 'd like to be the cap'n of that craft!"
said Yellow Jacket, admiringly.
Oh, wouldn't you ? sneered Lick Stevens.
And all began to wonder who was to be that
proud and happy being-the commander of
the Queen of the Lake!

CHAPTER L.
TOM'S GLORY IS QUENCHED.
TOM went home to tell of his triumph and
of Toby's humiliation. "You never saw a fel-
low so cut up You could have knocked him
over with a soap-bubble! "
And I say it is too bad! exclaimed Bertha,
vehemently. "How you do treat Toby all
of you! she added, as her father at that mo-
ment entered the room. You burned up his
wharf. Then, when he had rebuilt it, the com-
pany tore it up, and he has had to rebuild it
again. And now you crow because a steam-
boat has come to kill his business. I don't
care! she said, as her mother shook her head
and pointed at Mr. Tazwell; "it is shameful,


and I will say so! What has Toby Trafford
ever done to you that you spite him so ? "
What has he done for you that you always
take his part ?" demanded Tom, impatiently.
As he spoke, he cast an anxious glance at his
father. The merchant had just come in from
the street, and he appeared to be in his worst
mood. The terrible shrug was in his crooked
shoulders. His lips were silent and set. Tom
had his own reasons for regarding him with
apprehension-so gloomy at a time when the
father should have been as jubilant as the son.
Bertha believed it was what she had just said
that displeased him; but she spoke up again
fearlessly as he crossed the room to his study
door:
"What has he done for me? I '11 tell you,
Tom Tazwell, if you want to be reminded!
He nearly lost his life to save mine, when you
were so frightened you thought only of yourself.
That is n't quite true, though; you did think
of your dear dog and your precious gun. While
you were throwing them overboard, and jump-
ing after them, and screaming for help, in-
stead of trying to help me-while you left me
to burn up in the fire you had set, Toby Traf-
ford went through the fire to find me at the
other end of the load burning his own hands
and feet; I never knew till long afterward how
badly he burned them, for he never told me."
"Hold your tongue! Tom interrupted her
angrily. "You don't know what you are talking
about."
"Hold your own tongue, and let your sister
speak!" said a dreadful voice behind him.
He turned and saw his father standing in the
study door.
Go on, Bertha! "
And Bertha did go on, impetuously, passion-
ately, her long pent-up feelings bursting forth.
She saw herself, she made her parents see her,
clinging to the verge of the load, with the fire
raging close upon her, flame and smoke rolling
over her, and no escape from them but to drop
into the lake and drown under the bows of the
drifting scow; then came Toby's thrilling
voice and Toby's rescuing hands almost at the
last moment of horror and despair.
All this was not new to Mrs. Tazwell, but the
father listened as if it were occurring before his


908






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


very eyes. Tom durst no longer interrupt, even
when Bertha went back to the very origin of the
fire, and explained minutely how it came to be
started.
"It was Tom and his pipe! Can anybody
blame Toby for not letting him light it, with me
right there on the hay ? But Tom has thrown
all the blame on Toby from the first! "
"Why, my child," said the father, strangely
affected, "why have you never told me this
before ?"
"You would never listen to me nor believe
me," replied Bertha; "you would hear only
Tom's story."
I have often wished you would hear Bertha
without prejudice," said the mother, wiping her
eyes; "though Thomas is our dear son."
Our son, of whom I hoped to be proud! "
Never before had the too indulgent parent
given his son such a look. His voice, ordina-
rily so level and restrained, shook with violent
emotion, as he went on:
"But he is an unnatural son; and I have
found him out."
"Why, what has happened ?" the terrified
mother inquired.
You know how money has been taken from
the desk lately, and how he declared his
innocence and ignorance of the theft. I sus-
pected one of the other clerks, and put a detec-
tive on the case. To-day two of the bills I
marked have come back to me with overwhelm-
ing evidence that Thomas our Thomas there-
took them and lost them at games of cards to a
tramp who has been fleecing the village boys,
particularly the Stevens boy and ours."
Tom sat in his chair pale and shriveling with
fear. Having once looked up at his father, he
raised his guilty eyes no more, but bowed his
head to the storm.
And this, after all my care and love for him!
It was not for my own sake that I wished to
build up a fortune, but for him; not so much
for you, Bertha, I shame to say it, as for your
ungrateful brother. For him I have toiled and
planned all these years. I have even allowed
Tom's interests to turn me against the son
of my old partner -a boy whose industry and
steadiness, and love of his mother and sister,
shine like the morning light beside my son's


shameful record. And what do I get from my
child in return ? The loss of money was noth-
ing; he has robbed me of my confidence in
him; he has ended my hopes. Since he basely
allowed others to be suspected, the disgrace is
public; he has dishonored, he has shamed us
all. I would disown him if I could."
"Oh, no, no!"
It was Bertha's voice that spoke. While the
mother sat stunned and speechless with distress,
the sister, forgetting her own griefs, seeing only
the culprit's fear and anguish, and remembering
only that he was her brother, threw one arm
about his neck, as he sat bowed and trem-
bling in his chair, and lifted the other hand,
with an appealing and tearful look at their
father. "Don't say that! she cried. "Tom
is n't so bad, only he does n't always think.
He is our own Tom after all! "

CHAPTER LI.
THE TRIAL TRIP OF THE QUEEN.
IF Toby Trafford had not felt some degree
of satisfaction when he heard of Tom's disgrace,
he would not have been human, and a boy.
But he had too much trouble of his own in
those days, to think of much besides.
He saw the Queen of the Lake moved down
the street, in a sort of triumphal procession, and
launched upon the waters it was thenceforth to
rule. The engine and boilers were hoisted
aboard; a roof was raised over all, supported
by slender pillars, and curtains were adjusted,
that could be rolled up or let down, making a
close shelter of the space above the deck, or
leaving it open to the breeze.
Toby could not attend to his own affairs
without seeing all this, and often passing the
little steamer lashed to the company's wharf.
He had begun to get his own boats into the
water; but how poor and insignificant they
appeared! He had planned to have one new
barge, with a canopy and cushioned seats; but
what would even that avail, in running opposi-
tion to the Queen of the Lake ?
Perhaps nothing would be left to him but the
business of letting boats; and how did he know
that somebody would n't crowd in and deprive
him of that ? He was thinking these things over


1891.]


909






THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


rather ruefully one afternoon, while putting up
his signs at the corners of his reconstructed
wharf, "Boats to Let," and Boats for Three
Springs," when he was aware of unusual prep-
parations on board the Queen.
It was getting up steam. The first puffs of
smoke that issued from the low, raking funnel
seemed a signal to every idler in the village,
and soon the usual crowd collected. Only a
few favored ones, however, were permitted to
step on board.
Toby kept at his work, til:tr- a lil-- i .ii th
friends who came over tc li- i, harf., .ii:i pre-
tending not to notice wh.,r .. .I.-..,.-,. rl-t
pier, when a voice called r,:, !i.a : "* Tr:.iH;.'i !
here's a gentleman who i tiic- t._ -...-, ..'i.
Toby was minded to an:.-.. suilrily,. \\-.il!.-
here I am; he can see me u' E. t r \.i r.:t i
his nature to be so unci.:! ti.-. :t.i i .
even to one of those who !.1.1 -ii 'r:.ir ,lI
that lay in their power t:. luir, I.
business.
He stepped to the edge F.I
the higher wharf, where
a prosperous-looking
gentleman met him with
a businesslike air.
Trafford," some-
body remarked, this
is Mr. Kendall, presi- .
dent of the railroad."
The boy looked up
sullenly from the little
low wharf. The man -
looked down smilingly -
from the fine new pier. -I a
"You 've got your
platform in good shape
again," said Mr. Ken-
dall, pleasantly. "I
don't think it will be in
our way."
I hope not," replied
Toby. "If it is," he
went on, impulsively, "'I BELIEVE YOU HAV
I suppose it will have to be torn up again. A
private person's rights are nothing where a rail-
road company's interests are concerned."
I am sorry you feel in that way," said the
president, from above him.


I am sorry I have reason to," said the boy,
from below.
By this time most of the spectators had
turned from admiring the pretty Queen of the
Lake, to listen to the conversation between
these two.
I believe you have not yet sent in your bill,"
said the president.
"What bill ? asked Toby.


E NOT YET SENT IN YOUR BILL,' SAID THE PRESIDENT.
The bill for damages," replied the president.
"I requested one of our directors, who looks
after the local business here, to speak to you
about it. Of course, we don't destroy property
without paying for it."


[OCT. .


9IO





THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


"This is the first I have heard of it!" ex-
-claimed Toby in some surprise.
Come up here, and we '11 talk it over," said
the president, graciously.
Surprised, bewildered, still suspicious of the
company's designs upon him, and conscious of
being gazed upon by many curious eyes, Toby
stepped hesitatingly upon the pier.
"There 's another thing I wish to speak to
you about," Mr. Kendall resumed, leading the
way through the crowd that parted respectfully
before him. That mineral spring on your
mother's lot. Will you show it to us ?"
"This is what he is soft-soaping me for!"
thought Toby, resolving not to allow himself to
be imposed upon, while he answered aloud:
I am always glad to show it to anybody
interested in such things."
Our company naturally is," said the presi-
dent. If your spring is what it is represented
to be, we might like to develop it, merely to bring
additional patronage to the railroad and the
steamer," he added with a smile; though that is
a minor consideration. Have you been aboard
.the Queen of the Lake ?"
Toby was ashamed to confess that he had
yielded to his curiosity in that particular, when
nobody was there to see him.
Let me show her to you," said the president.
" There 's a fine little horizontal engine, with
just room enough, between it and the boiler, for
the engineer. Here's the wheel, and the place
for the pilot"-leading the way to the bow.
" Sit down here on the shady side; the sun is
warm to-day "-removing his hat when they
were beneath the pillared roof, and wiping his
brow. "We are going to start her on a trial
trip, in about ten minutes. Will you come? "
Flattered by these attentions, but flushing
and embarrassed, with so many wondering and
curious eyes upon him, Toby still tried to keep
his heart and his features hard, though with
indifferent success. In his working-clothes, he
sat by the well-dressed great man near the
bow, and, eying the pilot's wheel, which he
longed to lay hands on, answered as carelessly
as he could: You can't make a landing at our
lot; the steamer draws too much water. You
.might take one of my boats in tow."
"That we '11 do," said the president, and he


gave directions accordingly. "You must n't
feel hard against the company, Trafford," he
added, genially. "I have n't known much
about your grievances, having left our affairs
here for the most part in the hands of a director
who is on the spot."
That gave Toby another opportunity.
My wharf has been burnt once, and torn up
once; and the company, or at least, some of its
agents, have done everything they possibly
could to injure me."
"The burning was a great outrage," said the
president; "but you must n't think the com-
pany had anything to do with that. The partial
destruction afterward was a necessity which,
as I said, we expect to pay for. I have been
rather pleased than otherwise at the fight you
have made; though, of course, we could n't sit
by and see a part of our business diverted into
another channel, without making an effort to
retain it. You have helped us, after all, more
than you have hurt us; you have really increased
our railroad patronage, and prepared the way
for this gem of a steamboat."
"It seems hard," answered Toby, "that I
should have done so much to benefit a business
that is to kill mine! "
"That is the way things sometimes work,"
said the gracious Mr. Kendall. "Philosophers
nowadays talk learnedly about the 'struggle
for existence' and the 'survival of the fittest.'
As it is in the natural world, so it is in the affairs
of life. Those succeed who make the bravest
and strongest fight. Weaklings go to the wall."
Toby remembered what Mr. Allerton had said
about life being made up of struggles.
It is hard for the weaklings," he said, feeling
himself to be one.
Yes, but what would the world be without
competition? Competition--" Here the rail-
road president checked himself. "We are off,"
he said, rising to his feet.
The lines were cast from the pier. The pilot
- a strange man who had come to town with
the boat--pushed off the bowand stepped
quickly to his place at the wheel. The whirling of
the spokes under his hands was accompanied by
a mysterious rattling of concealed cordage that
controlled the rudder. The jerk of a bell-pull
caused a sharp tinkle amidships. The engineer,





THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


who was fireman likewise, gave the touch which
set the piston to working and the screw to revolv-
ing. There was a boiling of water at the stern;
the steamer moved, describing a graceful curve,
and dashed away upon the blue, beautiful lake.
Hats were waved and cheers went up from


"WELL, NOW, SUPPOSE WE JOIN FORCES," SAID
the shore. The few favored ones on board
responded. It was all Toby could do to keep
from joining in the applause. His face was
radiant; he was in love with the little Queen,
and proud of her success!
Now you must show us the attractive points
of the lake," the president said to him. "No
doubt you know the rocks and shoals as well


as anybody, and certainly much better than
our helmsman."
"There is n't any part of this lake I don't
know," replied Toby.
"Perhaps you can steer," said the president.
It is very simple. Would you like to try ? "
"I should n't ob-
ject," said Toby, with
a smile of bashful
pleasure.


CHAPTER LII.
TOBY AT THE WHEEL.

HE could hardlybe-
lieve himself awake
when he actually stood
up to the wheel, and
took control of the
Queen, under the pilot's
directions. What must
Toby's envious fellows
think if they could still
watch him from the
shore ? And his mother
and sister he fancied
them looking at him
through a glass and
marveling. He wished
that Mr. Allerton had
been there!
Lick Stevens had
attempted, with smil-
ing effrontery, to come
aboard, but had been
rebuffed. Yellow Jacket
was in his boat, with
Bob Brunswick and
one or two others; they
pulled with all their
might after the steamer,
THE PRESIDEN'T. but were quickly left
behind. How happened it that Tom Tazwell
missed the trial trip of the Queen?
Tom did not show his face that day; but
Bertha and her father came down the lane to
the lake, just in time to see the steamer sweep
past them, leaving a broad, curving wake, and
to recognize Toby, with the august Mr. Kendall,
on the bow of the swift little craft.


_ __ ____I___~___ i~





THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


Oh, papa, I am so glad! the girl exclaimed.
"I thank you so, so much "
Along by rock-edged shores, by grassy coves
and grain-covered slopes, past orchards, fields,
and groves, Toby steered as he pleased, aston-
ished at the confidence placed in him by those
he had so lately regarded as enemies.
He was left almost to himself. The president
was conversing with his friends; the pilot stepped
back to speak with the engineer. There was a
perilous submerged ledge not far beyond the
Three Springs. What was to prevent the boy
at the helm from putting the steamer square
upon it, in requital of his wrongs, and sinking
her in the pride of her trial trip ?
He shuddered at the very thought. Had the
Queen been in danger he would have risked
life and limb to save her. Yet he was the
same boy who, not very long ago, had almost
wished she might meet with some such disaster
or go up suddenly by night, together with the
company's new pier, in a roaring column of
fire.
He did not know how closely certain eyes
were watching him, while they seemed to study
the working of the machinery, or to observe the
beauty of the lake. He steered up and about,
and learned the use of the bell, making the
engine as well as the helm obey him. It was
all like magic, with himself the magician.
"Are you getting tired of it? the president
asked, coming back to him after a while.
Oh, no! replied the boy, his lips curving
with pride and pleasure; "I never should get
tired of this! "
We want to inspect the new wharf we have
been building at Three Springs. Can you lay
her alongside ? "
I can try, sir! "
The practised helmsman was near by, but the
maneuver was left entirely to the boy. The
Queen did not so much as bump the pier, but
lay so close to it, when stopped by the reversed
engine, that Toby himself could have stepped
off and made the lines fast.
Bravo said the great Mr. Kendall. You
are a born pilot! "
While his associates were inspecting the wharf
he resumed the conversation that had been
interrupted by the starting of the steamer.


Competition, as I was saying, is the life of
business. But there is one thing better than
competition; that is, cooperation. One thing
better than war with its enmities; that is, peace,
with mutual help and good-will. There seems
to be no reason in the world why a boy like you
should be at strife with a company like ours."
I am tired of it," Toby replied, his softened
heart glowing with a new, strange hope.
Well, now, suppose we join forces," said the
president, as he absent-mindedly offered Toby
a cigar which, of course, was declined with
thanks. "How would you like to be the cap-
tain of this boat ? "
"Oh! breathed Toby, almost ready to cry
with the joy that thrilled his soul.
"We probably can't pay you quite so much
by the month as you made with your boats in
the busy season last year. But we can pay you
a fair salary and give you some congenial em-
ployment the year round. Then, while you are
running the Queen, I don't see why you can't,
with an assistant, let boats at your little wharf,
and turn an honest penny that way; but you
must n't permit your own business to interfere
with ours. How does it strike you ? "
"It 's-just-what-I 'd-like!" Toby
could hardly speak for happiness.
"I thought of this," Mr. Kendall went on,
even before you were recommended for the
place by our local director."
"Not Mr. Tazwell! exclaimed Toby.
"Certainly, Mr. Tazwell. He wrote me a
note just after the Queen arrived, suggesting
this solution of the difficulty, and speaking of
you in the highest terms."
Toby was too much amazed to speak. It
must be a dream, after all!
"And now," said Mr. Kendall, walking to
the side of the boat, "we '11 take our friends
aboard, and go and look at your spring."

The spring was inspected with satisfactory
results. The company soon after purchased
the property at a generous price, and there is
now a fine hotel on the lake-side lot.
If you visit it and drink of the sparkling
water for which it is famed, you will look in
vain for the winged inhabitants of the hollow
tree. The swallows never returned after that





THE FORTUNES OF TOBY TRAFFORD.


summer when reckless boys made war upon
them, and the tree itself has long since dis-
appeared.
Toby, as pilot of the Queen of the Lake,
was--as everybody said--the right boy in
the right place. He certainly was very happy
in it,- so happy that he left it with regret,
even when, after four or five years, the company
advanced him to a more important position.
The boy Burke became engineer of the little
steamer. The business of letting boats Toby
turned over to another assistant, to whom he
owed a certain obligation. An unsteady em-


ployment of that sort, which kept him on or
about the water, and afforded him leisure for
catching wasps and hunting four-leaved clovers,
proved just the thing to suit Yellow Jacket.
Tom Tazwell occupies a position in his
father's store, dresses well, and carries his head
high; but it is the general opinion that he
" does n't amount to much." Bertha is the
flower of that family" is a common saying when
Tom's name is mentioned.
Mrs. Trafford has a happy home with her
children, of whom her son-in-law, Mr. Frank
Allerton, must be accounted one.


THE END.


-^ K '^- ,).' ^ '
-2


yr-ylma ?,:2/b ard ~~/oud


OH, White Marie from the mountain high
Came down, when the world went Maying,
From the snow of the peaks that shine always,
To the snow of the fields that flowering lay,
Where Shy Suzette and Saucy Dinette
-and Baby Babette- were playing.

Stole White Marie from the mountain high
Like a wandering wind-flower straying;
And oh, the surprise in her soft, dark eyes
At the blossoming ball of wonderful size
With which Suzette and Saucy Dinette
-and Baby Babette-were playing!

Then-
Shy Suzette would not go nigh,
And naughty Dinette drew her face awry,
And frightened Marie turned swift to fly


U;:

ii


- ; :-. --~ :--I-~---~----------


914





WHITE MARIE.


. d. ," ,


S'L -l' i
.. ."II .
,, .. : ., _,' '-.
1"
.. 1 :; .'1 "
.....> ..-.. ^' t,'.i .
r ,,,, ;


Back to her goats, the foot-path by,
When -
Baby Babette in the grasses high-
A Marguerite out-swaying--
Reached her hands with a laugh of delight,
And scattered a shower of sunflakes
white,
With nods and smiles and baby wiles,
And baby words soft saying.


'I".


~ -
-- ".1.





5K,, -Y ,_





, ,' T .^. !' .
. I


Then!
Dinette threw her ball and cried "Ici!"
And Suzette looked sorry and said 0 oui/"
And Marie murmured a sweet "Merci/"
And then-and then-
Dear Baby Babette and Shy Suzette and Saucy
Dinette,
With White Marie from the mountain high,
In the snow of the fields were playing!


I..


II *
,,,Ii *


II


915


\,









A CURIOUS RELIC.

BY MARGARET ISLAND.


*I 'V


A CURIOUS RELIC. FRONT VIEW.


ON a high mantel-shelf in the billiard-room
of a handsome New York house stands a strange
piece of bric-a-brac, the like of which cannot be
found elsewhere in America or Europe. It never
fails to arouse both curiosity and interest. At a
distance one might think this a big dusty can-
non-ball, but on nearer approach the distinct
outlines and features of a half head and face
appear.
Who is it? where did it come from? what is
it made of? are the very natural inquiries fre-
quently put to the most amiable of hosts. But
there is no boy nor girl student of American his-
tory who will fail to recognize the square, mas-
sive forehead, high-combed, straight locks, large,
well-molded nose, and prominent cheek-bones,
as belonging to-why, let us see-Oh! Andrew
Jackson's face, of course.


Quite correct. It is of wood, very close in
grain, and darkened to a dull brown, doubtless
by some preparation put on to preserve it against
the action of salt-water and rain. Now, as to
where it came from, and how it happened to
find its way into this particular New York house,
"you might guess all your lifetime, but you
could n't guess that." To this upper half of
General Jackson's wooden face belongs a bit of
a true story that should not prove entirely unin-
teresting in the telling, for it throws light on an
incident in American history doubtless unfamiliar
to many young students.
Fifty-seven years ago Andrew Jackson was
enjoying a second turbulent administration in
the presidential chair, and boldly wielding such
authority and power as none of his predecessors
had ever dared to exert. You will remember


----






A CURIOUS RELIC.


reading in your histories of the famous bank
war" begun during Jackson's first term and car-
ried on with unabated energy in the second-
how, in the Senate, no less famous statesmen
than Calhoun, Clay, and Webster headed an
opposition party against the uneducated, obsti-
nate, but great Andrew Jackson, who, many be-
lieved, was about to do away with the Presidency
and establish himself as Dictator of our country.
Stormy scenes were enacted at Washington, and
the flint-faced, iron-hearted warrior of New Or-
leans and the Indian wars succeeded in stirring
up such violent political and financial quarrels
as had not been known since the time of the old
Continental Congress.
While all this dissension was at its height, in
May of the year 1834, the stanch frigate Consti-


she of all their admiration and pride, for not
only had the Constitution weathered great storms,
but after fierce conflicts five foreign men-o'-war
had hauled down their colors to the Stars and
Stripes floating from her masthead.
In recognition of these valuable services, and
also as an honor offered the warlike President,
patriotic and grateful Boston placed on the bow
of the Constitution a marvelously well-carved
life-size figure of General Jackson. The most
skilful carver of these wooden statues was em-
ployed, and gave the figure a vigor of pose and
likeness to the original seldom found in such
work.
A long, full cloak fell from the shoulders, one
hand was thrust into the breast of the coat, and
the other grasped a scroll; while the head was


A CURIOUS RELIC. SIDE VIEW.

tution" cast anchor in Boston Harbor. She was held proudly, and one foot slightly advanced
just home from a wonderful cruise of over fifty gave the General an energetic and commanding
thousand miles, and the enthusiasm of the Bos- posture, when with befitting ceremonies they
tonians over the gallant vessel, her officers and firmly fastened the figurehead to the bow of
crew, was hearty and sincere. Quite worthy was the brave ship.


%ILA#





A CURIOUS RELIC.


The making and placing of this figurehead
was entirely the doing of the President's politi-
cal supporters and friends, and those opposed
to the presidential policy warmly resented the
action. Enemies of Jackson insisted on the fig-
ure's removal, but the old frigate calmly bobbed
up and down in the blue bay, the figure of Old
Hickory gazed sternly seaward, and for a time
nothing at all was done by those who wished
the figure removed.
It was in Boston Bay that the mysterious un-
loading of the tea-ship had taken place many
years before; and early one July morning the
old town, the Constitution's crew, and her offi-
cers discovered to their consternation that a
second curious and secret attack had been
made over-night.
General Jackson's wooden head had been
sawed off just along the upper lip and was not
to be found! No specter, but a very human
hand had wielded the saw that accomplished
the wicked work, and a half-headless figure
faced the sea from its place on the Consti-
tution's bow.
The ship's company, as well as officers of the
law and reporters of indignant newspapers, went
searching and advertising for the clever scamp,
who, evading the ship's guards, had under the
cover of darkness committed the peculiar crime.
A long and careful investigation did not bring
the criminals to justice, though Commodore
Elliott offered one thousand dollars reward for
any information concerning the act.
A year later the Constitution came down to
New York Bay, and a second head, made for
the purpose, was quietly bolted on in place of
the lost one. General Jackson's administration
closed not long after, all excitement over politi-
cal matters abated, and nowadays the famous
figurehead can be seen at the Annapolis Naval
Academy where there are many others, nearly
as well known.
So much for the figure; but now for the lost
head of which the pictures on the preceding
pages are faithful likenesses.
Three years after the unexplained decapita-
tion in Boston Harbor, a man, Captain Dewey
by name, and a native of Cape Cod, asked for
an interview with Mahlon Dickerson, the Secre-
tary of the Navy. To the Secretary's surprise,


Captain Dewey produced the missing half of
General Jackson's head. After receiving the
Secretary's assurance that no punishment would
be laid upon him, Captain Dewey proudly told
his story:
Near midnight, he and a friend rowed out in
a small boat to where the big vessel lay, and by
the aid of a rope and the hawsers contrived to
scale the tall bows. With ever watchful eyes
and ears for the not too vigilant guards, Captain
Dewey crept out over the water, and, hugging
the General close, plied a small, sharp saw. At
the first attempt, the saw struck a bolt that fas-
tened the head to the body; but on a second
trial he cut his prize entirely off, lowered it to the
little boat, slid quietly down, and rowed away,
chuckling over his own cleverness and the sur-
prise in store for the crew and town. Patriot-
ism, and a love of exciting and adventurous
undertakings, led him to risk his life in the
adventure.
Having no further reason to fear Jackson, or
to retain what he did not consider his own prop-
erty, the Captain begged to give the queer tro-
phy into Mr. Dickerson's keeping.
When Van Buren and his cabinet retired from
Washington, Mr. Dickerson carefully carried
the wooden head to his home in Paterson, New
Jersey, and there it held a post of honor in his
library till his death.
The curious old relic then passed into the
keeping of his nephew, a lawyer, the late E.
N. Dickerson, who, building a new house in
New York City, removed from the old New
Jersey house such articles as he most valued.
First among them ranked the wooden head.
This was intrusted to no hands but its owner's,
and during the short journey from the old to
the new home, he placed it on the car-seat
under his watchful eye.
A man passing through the coach in which
Mr. Dickerson sat, halted at the sight of the
head.
I beg your pardon," said he courteously, in
response to the lawyer's inquiring glance, "but
don't I recognize there the head of the wooden
figure of Andrew Jackson that was set on the
Constitution's bows, many years ago ? "
Yes; but how did you know it ? inquired
the owner, very much interested.


918





A CURIOUS RELIC.


Because I carved that figure," replied the
man, laughing. My name is Sewell, and dur-
ing Jackson's administration I was counted the
best maker of figureheads in Boston. I took
great pride in carving the General, for I admired
him and expended much care and thought on
the design and cutting of his wooden statue.
I was in Boston when the head was sawed off,
and helped to hunt for those who did it. Shortly
after that time I left my native State, and in the
Carolina mines found the great, yellow Ameri-
can diamond' and sold it. With the money from
my prize I bought a western ranch, and now


am a rich man. I am on my first visit to
Boston since I left thirty-five years ago, and
this head of my own making may perhaps be
the only familiar face left to greet me and
welcome me back once more to my changed
old home."
Just then the train glided into the station,
and with a cordial handshake Mr. Dickerson
and the man who had carved the head parted
never to meet again.
Excepting for a split down one side, the
old head is yet quite as firm and solid as when
it was made.


JINGLE.


919























S HERE once was a dear
j little, queer little man,
As quaint as quaint could


So he called a whale with a limber tail,
And said, Come live with me,
And share my neat little, sweet little house


be, At the bottom of the sea."
i. And he built him a neat lit-
tle, sweet little house With open smile, quite free from guile,
.-\ the bottom of the sea. Said the whale, I 'm fond of stones,
T TI- I v.alls were all of shells so small, But I plainly know, to dwell below
I TI1.. floors of shining sand, Would soften all my bones."
'i \\rhi charming frieze of coral trees,
;1 thick as they could stand. A codfish spry went sailing by,
tJ' 1With eye of brilliant 5
When finished quite, this mansion green --
white,
"'T will surely never do -
o live alone," said this queer little nrr, r.,
'There 's ample room for two.",' .
--' -- _----" .,,.,,_ __ -
17 s
ON-I I










-, -stare and
"., \" '-""' '~ -stony glare,
_. is the finest----
ihouse I 'ye



-- --seen.
-.-He said with
stare and
'tony glare,
i[ ,'{/1! is the finest

seen.


'T






TO LET.


" But duty, pray, is in the way;
To linger might not do,
For Friday's dish might not be fish,
Should I remain with you."

The small man sighed and nearly cried,
Till he saw a mermaid fair,
Who sat all day, in blinding spray,
Combing her golden hair.









-/44






"The rocks are cold, the waves are bold,
The passers-by are few;
Then come, I pray, and do not stay,
There 's plenty of room for two."

The mermaid gay, as she looked that way,
Said, Lonely it must be
For one to dwell in a house of shell
At the bottom of the sea.

" It 's plainly damp, you have no lamp,
And it's quite too far away.
'T is best to roam the fleecy foam,
Combing my hair all day."


Alas for the dear little, queer little man,
As sad as sad could be -
He hid his wail in a leaf of kail,
I '11 travel abroad," quoth he.

So he packed a bag with a suit of flag,
His stick was a seaweed brown,
And he climbed the stair, to the open air,
In the Bay of Slumbertown.

Then he wrote a sign with a bit of pine,
On the shining sand wrote he,
"To let-a right little, tight little house,
At the bottom of the sea."


But sad to say, he turned away,
And a merry, laughing wave
Washed out the sign and bit of pine,
And none was there to save!

Gone is the dear little, queer little man,
So pray tell all you see
About the sweet little, neat little house,
" To let at the bottom of the sea.


-.---f ----I


VOL. XVIII.-64.











CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


By J. 0. DAVIDSON.


[Begun in the iay nnmber.]
CHAPTER XIII.
THE END OF THE JUNK.
As Frank and Ben were viewing the scene
from a forward port, the gong sounded below,
the engines started, and, making a graceful turn,
the frigate swiftly glided through the opening
in the cliffs, just as the sun, rising from its watery
bed, cast its first glances on the mountain peak,
and then crept lower down to the jutting crag,
lighting up the solitary palm-tree on its summit.
An hour later, the frigate was hull-down on
the horizon, and the island was but a blue cone
on the ocean; but still, tall columns of smoke
from the western side, bending slowly seaward,
told of the burning settlement and proved that
the conflagration had not yet ended.
Where had Chan Ok gone? What would
he do with his pirate fleet, now that his den
was discovered and destroyed? Would he
play some bold game, as was his wont?
Would he sail into some coast port, sell his
plunder, and leave the ocean-or found some
new nest for piracy in other seas ? Such were
the questions put by many on board; but none
could give an answer.
Captain Wyman, however, soon set the men's
minds at rest concerning the next destination
of their ship; for, being headed northeast, all
surmised that their next port would be Singa-
pore. They had not destroyed the pirates
themselves, it is true, but they had been so
close on their heels as to convince them of the
danger of remaining any longer in those parts;
and thereby much of the work they had set out
to do had been accomplished. The ship's usual
routine of life now took the place of the previ-
ous excitement, and the Dictator proceeded
slowly on her way under sail.
One afternoon, shortly after this, they found
themselves in a frequented track of commerce;


and, meeting a vessel, they told the news of
their chase of Chan Ok and its result. Hardly
had the officer on watch conveyed the intelli-
gence, when a commotion among the men on
the stranger's deck betokened some excitement,
and the stranger captain, waving his trumpet,
bawled out to "Hold on a minute!" adding
that he had something important to commu-
nicate. The frigate stopped, and presently the
stranger's boat came dancing alongside, and
her captain, a fat little man, in a white suit
and broad white hat, came up the side and
entered the captain's cabin.
He had not remained long when the order
was passed, "'Bout ship! "
The fat captain went back to his own vessel,
and the frigate started on a new course due
south. Before night, it was pretty well known
that the stranger had told Captain Wyman of
a cluster of a dozen or more junks that he
had described on the southern horizon, which,
apparently, were shifting cargo from one to
another.
As night fell, the distant water took on a very
peculiar hue. Deep crimson streaks lay close
to the ocean's rim, behind which the sun set
suddenly; above, the sky was of a deep apple-
green, changing, toward the zenith, into a blue,
and then deepening to a purple.
"We 'll have wind out of that! said old Ben,
as he stood on the forecastle beside the pivot-
gun. "I never saw that color in streaks but
that we had a heavy blow."
He was right; for in the middle watch Frank
was awakened by the trampling of many feet
upon deck and the noise of the firemen shovel-
ing coal into the furnaces. Going up on deck,
he saw a strange sight. The beautiful lights
had faded out of the sky, and a dense black-
ness without a single star prevailed. A great,
white, misty-looking wall was rising out of the
horizon, and seemed to be lifting and rushing





CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


toward them. A low, hoarse moaning could be
heard, and blue and green flashes of phosphor-
escence in the black water beside the ship
apparently indicated a troubled condition of
the elements below as well as above. On came
the gale, and the frigate was headed to meet
it. Her yards were brought down, the boats
extra-lashed, hatches fastened, and guns made
doubly fast, to meet the heavy sea which all
knew was upon them. On it came, a great
wall of foam! A dense, black mass of pale
green water was forced along under it, lighted
up by phosphorescence beneath. The boom-
ing now became a roar, then a rushing thunder-
ous noise, and a typhoon, in all its fury, burst
upon them!
Bravely the stout vessel met it. Head on,
with engines at half-speed, her prow was buried
in a smother of foam. The wind blew the
spoon-drift in transverse sheets as high as the
mast-tops, and howled in a score of high notes
through the loose rigging, while the taut stand-
ing rigging and stays hummed a deep quavering
diapason of their own. The watch on deck,
in oilskins and sou'westers, huddled behind the
guns or under the break of the forecastle, over
which poured cataracts of green water.
Presently a wild shout came from one of the
lookouts forward:
"Sail, ho "
"Where away ?"
Right ahead !"
Scarcely could the sound of the cry have
blown away, when a terrific crash was heard
from the waters under the bow. A crushing,
grinding noise resounded, as the frigate's bows
came down, followed by a rumbling, rolling
sound under the frigate's keel. Pieces of boats,
and torn mat-sails went flying by, and all was
over with the junk!
We 've run over a junk! was passed from
lip to lip.
"Sail ho!" again came the cry, "off the
starboard bow!"
The stranger was close-reefed, her hull was
hidden in spray, but her bat-like wings showed
clear against the foam.
"Sail ho Another on the port bow!"
called the lookout.
"We 're right in a fleet of them! What


fleet can it be, so far off the coast ?" shouted
Frank to Ben, who stood near and was gazing
intently through the storm.
Just at that moment came the lookout's song
again:
Big junk, almost dead ahead "
Frank scrambled forward, and holding on to
a gun peered over the bulwarks; and there,
not a hundred yards from him, her decks crowded
with men, her sails reefed down to a patch on
each mast, her tall spars reeling to and fro as
she went plunging over the waves, was the great
pirate junk !
Her forward deck was smothered in foam,
and the water poured in floods from her scup-
pers; while the guns, as she rolled, went trun-
nion-deep in water. 'Way aft, on the high
steersman's deck, Frank's quick eye saw the
slight form of Chan Ok, standing beside the til-
ler. Four of his crew, lashed to the tiller by
the waist, held the junk off before the wind, the
pirate directing with his hand, gesturing now
this way and now that, how to steer. There
he stood, bare-headed, his coal-black hair
streaming out straight over his forehead, his
rich silken suit showing only in wet, clinging
folds.
Frank had scarcely time to note this, when a
hoarse voice reached his ear from the forecastle
deck. Hanging by the pivot-gun stood old
Ben, clad in an oilskin suit but without the hat.
His gray hair and beard were tossed about by
the wind, and his long arm reached out with
clenched fist.
"There 's that rascal pirate!" he shouted,
"I know him! See him grin! But we '11 fetch
him soon."
Instantly the frigate's decks were alive with
men. It was a dangerous thing they were about
to do, but the orders were given unflinchingly
by Lieutenant Morris.
Hard over helm! Stand fast all!"
Slowly the ship came about, heeling over to
the wind as her broadside came to it. She lay
down on her beam-ends-never to come up
again, as some thought. But after a few mo-
ments' suspense, she slowly rose and plunged for-
ward with the gale. Great mountains of water
roared after her, tossing first her stern and then
her bow high in air. The propeller "raced "


923





CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


as she lifted and then plunged with a shudder
into the solid green water.
"Clear away fore-courses, there!" shouted
Lieutenant Morris; and the great sail, though
close-reefed, made the ship fairly leap.
Forward, there! Can you make her out ? "
called he again, through his trumpet, from the
bridge.
"Ay, ay, sir!-and another, a little off to
starboard!"
"Never mind the one to starboard! Clear
away that pivot-gun, load with shell, and fire as


tainous wave beyond, splinters and bits of
planking were seen to fly from the mast at the
stem of the pirate junk.
Then the starboard battery came into play,
as the junk on that side came into range. Cloud
after cloud of smoke, followed by tongues of
flame, lit up the waters; and whirling smoke-
wreaths were tossed away by the gale, as the
shot and shell went howling into the doomed
junk. Shot after shot struck her, till at length,
rising high on the crest of a wave, she split
open and disappeared beneath the waters.


"THEN, AS THE SHIP REMAINED LEVEL FOR AN INSTANT, HE PULLED THE LOCK-STRING."


soon as you are ready! came Morris's orders,
quick and sharp.
He 's a dandy, if he is going to open fire in
this gale!" cried Ben gleefully to the old gun-
ner, who was now busy with the gun. Oh, he
means business! came back the dogged reply.
" He '11 sink that fellow, sure! "
The great frigate, under both engines and sail,
was now fast closing with the junk; and the old
gunner, squinting along the piece, took a good
long sight. Then, as the ship remained level
for an instant, he pulled the lock-string.
The cloud of smoke and the loud report were
borne ahead by the wind; but a faint streak of
fire showed just near the junk's mast-head as
the shell burst and the enemy's topmast went
over the side.
"Well done!" shouted Lieutenant Morris.
"Try it again! "
Once more the pivot-gun spoke out; and al-
though the shell burst on the crest of a moun-


"Well done, my men! Now for the one
ahead!"
Chan Ok's junk was now directly in the
track of the frigate. The old gunner fired once
more, and, knowing he could not miss, jumped
with his crew to one side to note the effect of
the shell. The previous shots had carried away
the upper sail at the junk's stern; and ranged
along the deck could be seen the pirate crew,
armed to the teeth, half-drowned in spray, but
evidently massed as if for attack.
Suddenly Chan Ok, seizing the great tiller,
aided his steersmen. Throwing the tiller hard
over, he brought the junk broadside to, right
under the frigate's bows. With masts whipping
like cords, her great mat-sails booming in the
gale, and her lee side buried in water, her men
swarmed like rats over the low bulwarks.
The bow of the frigate being over the junk,
as the man-of-war was raised on high the sails
and hull screened the junk from the wind for


[OCT.






g891.] CHAN OK; A ROMANCE

an instant. A line of fire, flashed from pistols
fired by the pirate crew, lighted up the faces of
those who were leaving the pivot-gun. As the
bullets drove hard home in the wood, or wound-
ed some of the Dictator's crew, a shout arose;
for, with a great crash! the frigate's bow came
down upon the junk, cutting her in two, and
then plunged deep into the sea beyond.
A tangled mass of wreckage swept by the
frigate, and a hundred wretches were struggling
in the billows. Some of the crew clung to the
floating spars and wreckage, and as many as
possible were hauled aboard.
"That 's the last," said Ben, as he drew one
poor fellow aboard.


OF THE EASTERN SEAS. 925

"Stand back, all of you!" roared Mr. Morris,
as he pushed his way among the men with
drawn sword, scattering them right and left.
I think it 's that villain, Chan Ok. Let the
boys finish him, sir! cried Ben.
No. The law will settle his fate. Hand-
cuff him and bring him aft," said Mr. Morris,
as he rescued the half-drowned pirate.
A score of men sprang to do his bidding, giv-
ing their prisoner a sly shake or two, as they
dragged him roughly over the deck.
A few minutes later, a gathering of officers
was called in the captain's cabin, and there, by
the light of a swinging lamp, and surrounded
by a group of stern and silent men, stood Chan


"THE FRIGATE'S BOW CAME DOWN UPON THE JUNK, CUTTING HER IN TWO.


But not quite-for as Frank picked himself
up, for the shock had thrown him from his
feet, he saw a man making desperate efforts to
keep his head above water. In an instant a rope
was thrown to him, and as they drew the man
aboard, he was surrounded by an angry crowd
of sailors who struck at him with their fists.


Ok, held by Ben and a sergeant. A piece of
paper and ink in a saucer were on the table.
"Are you Chan Ok ?" asked the captain.
The pirate was silent.
Put your thumb signature on that paper,"
he ordered.
Chan Ok, pale but defiant, drew back.





CHAN OK; A ROMANCE OF THE EASTERN SEAS.


Force him," ordered the captain.
The sergeant seized him by the left arm and
shoulder and pushed him forward to the table,
while Ben, gripping his right hand as in a vice,
dipped Chan Ok's thumb in the ink and pressed
it down on the paper for a moment so as to
make an imprint.
Mr. Morris drew from his pocket the red re-
ceipt furnished by the agent at Hong Kong,
and laid it beside Chan's mark.


The officers gathered about and compared
the two. They were identical.
Chan Ok had been caught at last.
By the captain's orders the young pirate
was at once heavily ironed and conducted
to the ship's prison. Then, turning to the
executive officer, the captain gave the com-
mand:
Our work is finished. And now, Mr. Morris,
about ship, and away for Hong Kong!"


THE END.


4 L


,,,' .. '


















Wa s l(iMIcR fmt maan

Wh' d eaten so Tuch bread

a ottile fodd of waving wheat

ad sprouted on his head .


/


926














TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES.


BY CHARLES F. LUMMIS.

THE MAGIC HIDE-AND-SEEK.


FANCY I must have been
dozing after that hard ride;
for when a far-away,
cracked voice that could
be none other than Grand-
SfatherYsidro'ssaid, "FKa/-
whmee-cdme, Lorenso-kai-
/,; deh! I started up so
,,.,',. *,-) hastily as to bump my
S.,., head against the white-
,,, i washed wall. That may
.seem a queer sentence to
rouse one so sharply; and
especially when you know
what it means. It meant
I:i that old Ysidro had just
finished a story, which I
had altogether missed, and
was now calling upon the old man next him to
tell one, by using the customary Pueblo saying:
There is a tail on you, Father Lorenso !"
Kah-whee-cdme is what a Tee-wahn Indian
always says in such a case, instead of Now you
tell a story, friend." It is not intended as an
impolite remark, but merely refers to the firm
belief of these quaint people that if one were to
act like a stubborn donkey, and refuse to tell a
story when called upon, a donkey's tail would
grow upon him!
With such a fate in prospect, you may be
sure that the roundabout invitation thus con-
veyed is never declined.
Grandfather Lorenso bows his head gravely,
but seems in no haste. He is, indeed, impres-
sively deliberate as he slowly makes a cigarette
from a bit of corn-husk and a pinch of tobacco,
lights it upon a coal raked out of the fireplace by


his withered fingers, blows a slow puff eastward,
then one to the north, another to the west, a
fourth to the south, one straight above his head,
and one down toward the floor. There is one
part of the United States where the compass
has six cardinal points (those I have just named),
and that is among these Indians, and in fact
all the natives of the Southwest. The cigarette
plays a really important part in many sacred
ceremonies of the Pueblos; for, as I have ex-
plained, its collective smoke is thought to be
what makes the rain-clouds and brings the rain!
Having thus propitiated the divinities who
dwell in the directions named, Lorenso looks
about the circle to see if all are listening. The
glance satisfies him-as well it may. There
are no heedless eyes or ears in the audience,
of which I am the only white member-and a
very lucky one, in that I, an Americano," am
allowed to hear these jealously guarded stories,
and to see the silent smoke-prayer which would
never be made if a stranger were present.
There are seven aged men here, and nine
bright-eyed boys-all Isletefos (inhabitants of
Isleta). We are huddled around the fireplace
in the corner of the big, pleasant room, against
whose dark rafters and farther white walls the
shadows dance and waver.
And now, taking a deep puff, Lorenso ex-
claims:
"1Nah-t' hdo-ai! ("In a house.") It has
nothing to do with the story; but is the pro-
logue, to inform the hearers that the story is
about to open.
"Ah-h-h!" we all respond, which is as
much as to say: "We are listening, go on,"
and Lorenso begins his story.





TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES.


/


ONCE upon a time there was a Tee-wahn vil-
lage on the other side of the mountain, and
there lived a man and his wife who thought
more of the future of their children than did
the others. To care better for the children,
they moved to a little ranch some distance
from the village, and there taught their two
little sons all they could. Both boys loved the
outdoors, and games, and hunting; and the par-
ents were well pleased, saying to each other:
"Perhaps some day they will be great
hunters !"
By the time the elder boy was twelve and
the younger ten, they both were very expert
with the little bows and arrows their father
carefully made them; and already they began
to bring home many rabbits when they were
allowed to go a little way from home. There
was only one command their parents gave
about their hunts; and that was that they must
never, never go south. They could hunt to
the east, north, and west, but not south.
Day after day they went hunting, and more
and more rabbits they killed, growing always
more expert.
One day when they had hunted eastward, the
elder boy said:
Brother, can you say any reason why we
must not go south ?"
I know nothing," replied the younger, ex-
cept what I overheard our parents saying one
day. They spoke of an old woman who lives
in the south, who eats children; and for that
they said they would never let us go south."


Pooh !" said the elder, I think nothing
of that. The real reason must be that they
wish to save the rabbits in the south, and are
afraid we would kill them all. There must be
many rabbits in that bosque (forest) away down
there. Let 's go and see-they won't know! "
The younger boy being persuaded, they
started off together, and after a long walk
came to the bosque. It was full of rabbits, and
they were having great sport, when suddenly
they heard a motherly voice calling through the
woods. In a moment they saw an old woman
coming from the south, who said to the boys:
Makh-koo-oon (grandchildren), what are
you doing here, where no one ever thinks
to come ? "
"We are hunting, Grandmother," they re-
plied. Our parents would never let us come
south; but to-day we came to see if the rab-
bits are more numerous here than above."
Oh! said the old woman, "this game you
see here is nothing. Come, and I will show
you where there is much, and you can carry
very large rabbits home to your parents." But
she was deceiving them.
She had a big basket upon her back, and
stooping for the boys to get into it, she carried
them farther and farther into the woods. At
last they came to an old, battered house; and
setting the basket down, she said:
Now we have come all the way here, where
no one ever came before, and there is no way
out. You can find no trail, and you will have
to stay here contented, or I will eat you up!"


928






1891.1 TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES. 929








-.P5I ,.ll, .F


,'J .,-rnd .r.ented E;11E th ...Id
U e ri .old:
i .-. .. .... ^:- -1- ..ml i.r:_ L ., a i.. .. he \ -
















.hent.er tl.. n".r i r 1 o. ,i, -oin :nl.
.-'; .. l l,: l:.:. :.\ ; ,:." mnuii .i:l!:' lrljt i, : ind 5i ,ii' tih,:.\ ., ', it


I i













That is so," replitecd Lorenso, and i etI L.mn.
Then the old woman put a flat trocl e ..ir 'r i
little door of the oven, and anotlherl Ir I.u-
smoke-hole, and sealed them both '. 1,.r .: t
S clay. All that night she and her hu:l..i a i. r-
chuckling to think what a nice bre :. f,:r Lb.- I
would have-for both of them were iii.h
S pe, and ate all the children they col,:r L., i. In
..T \ But in the morning when she upta flat i.ro -.

ing together unhurt-for the Trues FPui. Ii. I
call their gods] had come to their aid .er hIi -
s tected them from the heat.
Leaving the boys to crawl out, the hul i 'n -.-!-I
rian tothe house and scolded the o':1 !. 11,. I I
ribly for not having made the oven bort ..t.il. .
"BGo this minute," she said "and pui' ii eI' ,
oven all the wood that it will hold, a ughir-- il- '
burning all day
When night came, the old wom.i i .lrin':l
the oven, which was twice as hot as before; and
again she put in the boys and sealed it up.
But the next morning the boys were unhurt and f.
went to playing.
"THEY HID THEMSELVES, ONE AGAINST EACH OF THE DOOR JAMBS." [SEE NEXT PAGE.]






TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES.


The witch-woman was very angry then; and
giving the boys their bows and arrows, told
them to go and play. She stayed at home and
abused the old witch-man all day for a poor
fire-maker.
When the boys returned in the evening, she
said:
"To-morrow, grandchildren, we will play


'THE WITCH MADE HERSELF VERY SMALL, AND WENT BE
FOOT OF A BIG CRANE."
Jah-oo-p'ah-clhee (hide-and-seek), and the one
who is found three times by the other shall
pay his life."
The boys agreed [for such a challenge, which
was once a common one with the Indians, could
not possibly be declined], and secretly prayed
to the Trues to help them-for by this time
they knew that the old man and the old woman
"had the bad road" [that is, were witches].
The next day came; and very soon the old


woman called them to begin the game. The
boys were to hide first; and when the old
woman had turned her eyes and vowed not to
look, they went to the door and hid one
against each of its jambs. There you could
look and look, and see the wood through them
-for the Trues, to help them, made them in-
visible. When they were safely hidden they
whooped, Hee-Mh / and the old
woman began to hunt, singing the
hide-and-seek song:
"Hee-ldh yahn hee-choo-ah-kdo
S mee, mee, mee?" (Now, now, which
way went they, went they, went they?)
1, After hunting some time she called :
"You little fellows are on the door-
posts. Come out!"
So the boys came out and "made
blind [covered their eyes] while the
old woman went to hide. There was
a pond close by, with many ducks on
it; and making herself very little, she
went and hid under the left wing of
the duck with a blue head. [I should
tell you that, being a witch, she could
not possibly have gone under the right
wing. Everything that is to the left
belongs to the witches.] When they
heard her Hee-tah the boys went
searching and singing; and at last
the elder cried out:
"Old woman, you are under the
left wing of the whitest duck on the
lake -the one with the blue head.
Come out! "
This time the boys made them-
selves small and crawled into the
quivers beside their bows and arrows.
The old woman had to sing her song
HIND THE
over a great many times, as she went
hunting all around; but at last she called:
Come out of the quivers where you are! "
Then the witch made herself very small in-
deed, and went behind the foot of a big crane
that was standing on one leg near the lake.
But at last the boys found her even there.
It was their last turn now, and the old woman
felt very triumphant as she waited for them to
hide. But this time they went up and hid
themselves under the right arm of the Sun [who


930






TEE-WAHN FOLK-STORIES.


is, according to Pueblo belief, the father of
everything]. The old witch hunted every-
where, and used all her bad power, but in
vain; and when she was tired out she had to
cry, "Hcee-tdh-ow And then the boys came
down from under the Sun's arm rejoicing.
The old witch, taking her last turn, went to
the lake and entered into a fish, thinking that
there she would be perfectly safe from discovery.
It did take the boys a great while to find her;
but at last they shouted :
Old woman, you are in the biggest fish in
the lake! Come out!"
As she came walking toward them in her
natural shape again, they called: Remember
the agreement!" and with their sharp arrows
they killed the old witch-woman and then the
old witch-man. Then they took away the two
wicked old hearts, and put in place of each a
kernel of spotless corn; so that if the witches
should ever come to life again they would no
longer be witches, but people with pure, good
hearts. They never did come to life, however,
which was good.
Taking their bows and arrows, the boys -
now young men, for the four days they had
been with the witches were really four years -


returned home. At the village they found their
anxious parents, who had come to ask the Ca-
cique [head of the village] to order all the
people out to search.
When all saw the boys and heard their story,
there was great rejoicing, for those two witch-
people had been terrors to the village for years.
On their account no one had dared go hunting
to the south. And to this day the game is thicker
there than anywhere else in the country, because
it has not been hunted there for so long as in
other places. The two young men were forgiven
for disobedience [which is a very serious thing
at any age, among the Pueblos], and were made
heroes. The Cacique gave them his two daughters
for wives, and all the people did them honor.

"Is that so ? we responded; and Lorenso
replied, That is so," gathering his blanket and
rising to go without "putting a tail" on any one,
for it was already late.
I may add that the game of hide-and-seek
is still played by my dusky little neighbors, the
Pueblo children, and the searching-song is still
sung by them, exactly as the boys and the old
witch played and sang but of course without
their magical talent at hiding.


(To be continued.)


CONFIDENCE.

By MAUD WYMAN.


' COME, show me the road to Fame," he said,
For I must be off to-day "
His eyes were bright, and his cheeks were red,
While his voice rang fresh and gay.

" I take my volume of verse with me,
To read as I onward go,
And if you await my return," said he,
I '11 read you a rhyme or so."

" Then show me the road to Fame, I pray.
Make haste, for the day is bright,


And I must be off and upon my way
For I hope to get back to-night."

I showed him a path where the briers grew,
By the mill-pond greenly cool.
But did not add,- what full well I knew-
That it led to the village school.

Then I turned me round and wildly fled -
For I knew, ah, yes! I knew -
Should he come again, I would have to hear
An original rhyme, or two.




























4 F it is better to be "first in a
village thanlast in Rome," Ralph
McGregor should have been content. For there
was no doubt that he was the first among the
village boys in all those pursuits which they most
valued. Not only was he thus preeminent, but
he was blessed with competitors some of whom
were able to threaten his possession of the title
of champion.
Ralph, therefore, never failed to realize the
sweetness of power,- continual attempts to
displace him having thus far only resulted in
lengthening the list of his victories.
One Saturday afternoon the boys started for
their swimming-beach, which was on a lake
not far from the village where they lived. With
and without permission, the little group had
come, in twos and threes, along the hot and
dysty road which led past the village store,
between fields and meadows, over the rises and
hollows, to the lake shore.
On the way down there had been a race; and,
after an exciting struggle, Ralph had won it.
He was in high spirits over the victory, and this
made him a little boisterous.
When they entered the water, Ralph had
"ducked" one of the smaller boys, who had
made little resistance or remonstrance at the
moment, but bided his time and retaliated, as
Ralph discovered when he left the water and
began to dress.
Ralph examined his shirt just long enough to


discover that knots had been tied in the sleeves
and then, hastily drawing on his trousers and
throwing his jacket around his shoulders, he
started to run along the road after the retreating
figure of the sly small boy, who had left the water
some little time before.
In spite of the long start secured, Ralph over-
took his fleeing prey and grasped him firmly by
the nape of the neck. Then, without checking
his speed, Ralph turned a long curve, driving
his unhappy captive before him, and the two
were soon at the swimming-beach again.
Now," said Ralph, "you can just untie
those knots, youngster, and be quick, too!"
"What for ? asked the younger boy, whose
name was Plunkett, feigning a bland innocence
which was really absurd under the circum-
stances.
Disdaining other answer, Ralph tightened his
grasp upon Plunkett's neck in a most convinc-
ing way. Plunkett seemed satisfied with this
proof of his crime, and began a reluctant strug-
gle with the knots, regretting perhaps that he
had so firmly constructed them.
A few of the older boys had meanwhile come
to the conclusion that there was something to
be said on the other side of this case which
Ralph was deciding so summarily.
See here, Ralph," said Tom Cromwell, one
of the most ambitious of the champion's rivals,
"just suppose you let Plunkett go. He 's all
right. You ducked him first! "






i.,T11.L. rtLUiNx
"What's that to you, anyway ? asked Ralph,
never relaxing his grip upon the stooping Plun-
kett.
"Oh, nothing much," said Tom; only you
ought to be fair."
"So I am fair," Ralph replied. "I only
ducked him for a joke."
"And I only tied your clothes for a joke,"
responded the smaller boy with some spirit.
"Well, it 's a different thing," said Ralph,
"and you know it." This last clause he added
as a clincher, for he was conscious that the dis-
tinction between the two acts was far from clear
to himself, and was unwilling to argue.
No further remonstrance was made by Crom-
well, and little Plunkett soon finished the task
imposed upon him, so the subject was dropped,
and the boys loitered homeward.
Some flung stones at trees or posts which of-
fered themselves as fair tests of marksmanship,
while others plodded along in the rearguard,
making constant efforts to thoroughly dry their
hair,-a matter to which they seemed to attach
much importance.
In throwing stones, as in other boyish ac-
complishments, Ralph easily proved his suprem-
acy, and was even foolish enough to taunt his
companions with their lack of skill.
"You can't throw any better than a lot of
girls! he said, contemptuously. Look, here
is the way you throw!" and he gave a wildly
farcical fling of the arm.
The boys laughed, for it was comical, but
they did not take any pleasure in being re-
minded of their inferiority, nor did their chagrin
fail to bear fruit.
When they came to Main Street,-which, of
course, was the street made by the church, the
village store, and the town hall,- Ralph's path
diverged from the course of the rest, and he
turned away, saying jauntily, So long, boys! "
and went whistling homeward.
The others walked on for a few paces in si-
lence. All felt somewhat ashamed of their sub-
servience to the village bully, and each was too
proud to say so, or to become bolder immedi-
ately upon his departure. Indeed, they would
not have called Ralph a "bully," for to them
the word meant only one who fought and
thrashed smaller boys, and Ralph was neither


TI S COUSIN. 933
quarrelsome nor pugilistic. Yet he was a bully,
for he took for himself liberties which he denied
to others, and did so by force. He did not
fight, it is true; but that was merely because
the boys were of a higher grade than those
whose fists are their sole arbiters of right and
wrong.
Now, Ralph went home entirely unconscious
of the impression his conduct had made upon
his comrades, and no doubt would have said
that they had enjoyed the afternoon quite as
much as he had. But not long after his sway-
ing figure was concealed by a turn in the road,
young Plunkett said to the rest:
"Fellows, why did n't you stand by me ? I
had just as much right to fix his shirt as he had
to duck me, hadn't I ? "
"Well, I said so," replied Tom Cromwell,
but in a half-hearted way.
Oh, yes! You said so," answered little
Plunkett, "but a lot of good that did me! I
had to untie the knots, all the same."
"Well, what do you want me to do ? asked
Tom, a little sulkily, for he was far from thor-
oughly pleased with his own conduct. Do
you want me to pound him over the head, and
then to get licked by him ? You know he can
do it, and there's no use saying he can't. What
good would it do you for me to get rolled in the
mud? I '11 do it, if you say it's the correct
style," added Tom, dryly; "but first I 'd like to
see the good of it all."
Young Plunkett was one of those big-headed
boys who are born to make plans. It was not
the first time he had considered the problem of
Ralph McGregor, and he had a general idea
of what ought to be done; but he was not en-
tirely satisfied with the details of his project.
He was glad of this opportunity to foment a
conspiracy, and promptly took advantage of it.
"It 's no fun having you rolled around in the
mud, Tom," he answered, smiling;" and, as you
say, it 's precious little use. But I 've got a
notion Here the boys all chuckled, for
" Plunkett's notions were a staple joke among
them. But he merely paused long enough for
the laughter to ebb away, and then continued
undisturbed: "I've a notion how we can fix
this up all straight." They were just then pass-
ing the school-house yard, so he said: Come


IT T'nT fl f (TTiTrr 'mm ,-. ^





LITTLE PLUNKETT'S COUSIN."


in here and sit down for a while, and I '11 explain
it to you."
The old gate swung open, the boys filed in, it
slammed together again; and for an hour or so
a group of gleeful conspirators concentered
around the intellect of Plunkett, the boy with a
notion how to fix it."
They parted at dusk in the best of humor,
each distributing giggles along his homeward
path.
During the next week, only a very keen ob-
server would have remarked the fact that the
thoughtful brow of Ethan Plunkett was upon
two several afternoons missed from its accus-
tomed place in the school-room. The school-
master noted the circumstance in his little book,
but attached no importance to the absences be-
yond a mental recognition of the warm interest
some of the other scholars seemed to take in this
lad, who was one of the younger boys. Indeed,
the master thought he observed that looks of
inquiry were directed toward the youngster upon
his second return to the school, and even that
the boy nodded an assent to the questions thus
mutely expressed. Still, as a small boy was at
that moment endeavoring to convince the
teacher, by a positive manner and reiterated as-
sertions, that Kamtchatka was an empire in
South America, the master's mind was diverted,
and never recurred to the subject.
A week having passed, it easily follows that
another Saturday afternoon was entitled to ar-
rive. The season being summer, it also follows
that the boys were early on the road to the
swimming-beach. In fact, there seemed some
concert in their meeting, for quite a squad of
the boys- the same who had met at the school-
house-came along together. There was also
a stranger with them. He was a quiet lad,
dressed in a shabby suit and a little derby hat
which seemed rather old for him, and he held
his head down as he walked. Close beside him
walked Ethan Plunkett, and it was noticeable
that the stranger was treated with much con-
sideration by Ethan, and indeed by all the
boys.
This squad walked quietly to the swimming-
beach, and, strangely enough, plunged into the
river without delay, as if they had come only
for a bath, instead of for a frolic as usual.


They seemed to be expectant, for they watched
the stranger keenly.
The look of relief which was plainly visible
when Ralph McGregor appeared upon the
shore would indicate that his presence was at
least one of the factors necessary to gratify their
expectations.
Hello, fellows," said Ralph, as he threw off
his coat, why did n't you wait for me ? "
Oh, we knew you 'd be along; and Plun-
kett wanted to take his visitor down to show
him the beach," answered Tom Cromwell, who
with careless ease was treading water not far
from shore.
"That 's all right," said Ralph, good-na-
turedly.
Well, I 'm glad you 're not displeased with
us," said Plunkett, in rather a mocking tone.
Ralph, however, was not thin-skinned, and re-
peated, Oh, no; it 's all right Then, taking
a short run, he plunged into the water, diving
under and coming up with a snort and shake
of the head not far from the new boy.
You're Ralph McGregor ? asked the new-
comer.
"Yes," replied Ralph, rather shortly, for he
was not entirely pleased to be addressed with so
much assurance bya "new"boy. What'syour
name ? he asked, in turn.
"Signor Alberto," replied the youngster as
quietly as if he had said Thomas Brown.
What? said Ralph, in his surprise.
"Signor Alberto," replied the boy, in the
same matter-of-fact tone.
"What are you ? French ? asked Ralph.
No. Are you Scotch ? inquired the other
boy.
"No. Why?"
Because your name is McGregor," and the
boy turned and swam, somewhat awkwardly,
away.
Ralph struck out in his wake, and soon over-
took him; Ralph's curiosity was excited, and
he wanted to ask a few more questions. But
just as he came abreast of the other swimmer,
the stranger dived, and came up several feet
further away. Ralph again swam to him, and
the diving was repeated. When he came up
Ralph called : See here, Alberto, or whatever
your name is, I want to talk to you."


1~1__
----~-






LITTLE PLUNKETT'S "COUSIN."


Well," replied the other, what of it ? "
"You keep swimming away," replied Ralph.
Can't you swim ? asked Alberto, in a dry
tone which made the other boys grin.
"Course I can, but I want to talk now."
"Well, talk,- and I '11 swim," replied the
cool stranger. The boys chuckled, and Ralph's
temper was a little ruffled.
Come here!" said he, somewhat imperiously.
"I have n't time," replied Alberto; and I 'm
afraid I shall wet my feet." The last part of
the reply admitted of but one construction.
This irreverent stranger was evidently poking
fun at the proud McGregor.
"If you don't come, I '11 come there and
duck you," said Ralph; at the same time pre-
tending to laugh as if he were only joking.
But Alberto seemed to have forgotten Ralph's
existence, and was swimming, still with apparent
awkwardness, near Ethan Plunkett, and convers-
ing quietly with him. This entire ignoring of
his threat provoked Ralph more than any reply
could have done.
Do you hear me ? he shouted angrily.
I do," replied Alberto; "but your voice is
powerful weak. You need a tonic." Ralph
wasted no more words, but plunged into the
water and swam with all his might toward this
irritating fellow. At the same time the boy
called Signor Alberto seemed to be making
tremendous efforts to get away; but Ralph
gained upon him and was soon so near that he
could almost reach the boy's heels. Almost,
but not quite. Ralph redoubled his efforts, mak-
ing frantic plunges, and puffing out water like a
Chinese laundryman, but somehow there was
still just an inch or two between his hand and
Alberto's heels.
The other boys roared with laughter, and it
soon became clear, even to Ralph, that he was
not going to catch the boy-much less duck
him. It was humiliating, but Ralph's breath
gave out, and he had to stop.
"You 're a pretty fair swimmer," he said,
trying to put a good face on the matter.
"Where did you learn to swim?"
"In the Desert of Sahara," replied Alberto,
"with the Eskimos."
"Oh, see here, stop fooling!" said Ralph.
"Who are you, anyway ?"


You can call me an Italian cousin of Ethan
Plunkett's," replied the boy, and he swam
further out.
Ralph made up his mind that there was not
much to be made out of so odd a fish, and swam
away. Soon after he waded ashore, and, dress-
ing, waited for the rest to come out. Ralph
was somewhat silent, and indeed was for the first
time conscious that he had lost rank in the eyes
of his companions. He knew no other way to
recover what he had lost than by some feat of
strength or skill. Since he had been beaten in
swimming (for the new-comer had easily out-
done Ralph's best efforts in the water) he
thought that perhaps his strength might stand
him in good stead, though his skill had failed.
So, when the others were dressed, Ralph pro-
posed that they should stay awhile by the lake
and "have some fun." The other boys well
knew what this meant, and little Plunkett, who
had hitherto kept strangely in the background,
said: What '11 we do, Ralph? "
Let's pull on a stick."
This was Ralph's favorite amusement; he
even preferred it to "snap-the-whip," though
that, too, was a favorite.
So they found a stout stick, and two of the
boys sat on the ground, put the soles of their
feet together, and holding the stick near the
middle pulled until one or the other was drawn
to his feet or pulled over. Several of the boys
declined the game-among them Alberto. But
after Cromwell had with much difficulty con-
quered all but Ralph, the latter sat down with
a confident smile, and after a short struggle
pulled Cromwell over. Indeed it seemed to
him he had never conquered Tom so easily.
As he sat upon the ground, beaming with
pride and with his good-humor entirely re-
stored, little Plunkett stepped up and said mod-
estly: My friend Alberto thinks he would like
that game-and he's willing to try with you, if
you '11 show him how."
All right," replied Ralph, very graciously.
So Alberto sat down, and after a little teach-
ing said he thought he understood it.
Oh, it takes some practice," said Ralph, in
a patronizing tone; I 'll pull against you with
one hand, at first." So he did, but strange to
say Alberto pulled hard enough to make Ralph


935





LITTLE PLUNKETT'S "COUSIN."


lose his hold upon the stick, and it slipped
from his hand.
"You 'd better take two hands, perhaps,"
said Alberto, politely. It pulls more evenly
that way."
So Ralph took both hands, braced himself,
smiled to think how the little foreigner would
come flying through the air, exerted all his
strength, and, to his intense surprise, arose
gracefully, but most unwillingly, to his feet.
He was beaten; and the little foreigner was
actually chuckling at him.
You 're too heavy to be very strong," re-
marked Alberto, critically.
"Well, I guess you'd find me all you'd want
to tackle!" said Ralph, for he was unused to
this style of criticism, and found it too frank to
be agreeable.
"How do you mean ? asked the other.
"Wrestling."
"What kind ? asked Alberto.
"Any kind," said Ralph, recklessly. Come
on, and I '11 show you whether I 'm too fat ornot."
It 's all good-natured, you know ? said Al-
berto, in a questioning tone.
Any way you like," said Ralph. Alberto
threw off his coat and advanced toward Ralph.
Are you ready ?' he asked. "Ready," said
Ralph.

When Ralph got up he looked around him
in a dazed way, and then asked curiously,
"How did you do that?"
"That's what they call the Graeco-Roman
style," replied Alberto, who did not seem to
have moved at all, so far as Ralph could re-
member.
"Are your other styles like that? "
"Something like that," replied his cool antag-
onist.
"Then I don't care to see any more," replied
Ralph very frankly, and with much more good-
nature than most boys would have shown after
having been thrown to the ground like an empty
sack. The boys around laughed, and Tom
Cromwell said: "That 's a smart cousin of
yours, Plunkett t "
"Yes, he 's pretty quick," replied Plunkett,
very soberly, and with more modesty than was
entirely natural under the circumstances.


"Are you Plunkett's cousin ? asked Ralph,
suspiciously.
I have always called myself so ever since I
first knew him," replied Signor Alberto, turn-
ing away. Plunkett laughed; he could not
help it.
Ralph was much chagrined, but did not even
yet completely realize his downfall or have sense
enough to stop where he was. He was restless,
and proposed a race to the village store. Away
they went; little Plunkett first, at the start, for
he was great on short distances. Tom Crom-
well came next; then Ralph, saving himself for
the final spurt; after him, two or three other
boys, and, strangely enough, Plunkett's "cousin"
was running lightly, the last of all.
Cromwell soon took the lead, but only to
lose it to Ralph, and Ralph was just beginning
to congratulate himself that he would be the
winner when something rolled by him. Ralph
drew up short.
It was Plunkett's "cousin"--ttiiing hand-
springs!
That was too much. Ralph turned and fled
home. He went to his room, sat down in a big
armchair, and thought it all over. He did not
go to church next day. He said he did not
feel just right. He reappeared next day, and
things thereafter went just about as usual-
but with a difference. It was a very different
Ralph McGregor who came to school on Mon-
day-and a much better fellow the new Mc-
Gregor was.
Now and then some of Ralph's old traits
would show themselves for a moment, but
when this happened there was likely to be a
sudden interest in Plunkett's "cousin among the
boys, and solicitous inquiries about his health,
and Ralph never failed to quiet down. Plun-
kett was reticent; but freely admitted that he
did not expect another visit from Signor Alberto
for some time to come.
A month or two passed, and Ralph went to
the circus, which was at the county-seat near
his native village. Among the performers he
was surprised to recognize Plunkett's visitor!
After seeing Alberto perform some wonder-
ful feats of bareback riding, tumbling, jumping,
and conjuring, Ralph said wisely to himself:
Well, a fellow ought to follow his bent. It


936






LITTLE PLUNKETT'S "COUSIN."


937


is n't long since he was here; that youngster was before the departure of Plunkett's "cousin,"
cut out for the business or he never could have and resulted in the prompt collection of five
learned all that in so short a time! dollars. This was handed to Plunkett's "cousin,"


-ir-)
\';' r i ,"':* -


---; ^' -
,-:- _,.1 i .- L *...
.- ,' ,,' ,^ .^ =, .
,, ) I,?. 'II -*i
I ---.,.t1 I, 1


THE TUG OF WAR.


He told Plunkett so, when he returned home,
and Plunkett said only: "Ho ho ho "
But Ralph did n't see that there was any-
thing to laugh at.
As to the conspirators, they held one more
meeting than the two mentioned. It was just


and he thanked the boys and said as he turned
away: I don't like to take money from you,
boys, but, after all, you made it a matter of
business."
All the boys assured him that they were
well satisfied.


AN EXCELLENT REASON.

By MARY E. BRADLEY.


PAPA and his guest sat at table together,
And talked of the tariff, the crops, and the
weather,
The Indian outlook, the Woman's Convention,
And other such matters too many to mention.
While poor little Dot, who distinctly preferred,
Like most of her sex, to be seen and be
heard,-
Whose patience, in fact, neared the end of its
tether,-
Was waiting a chance for her own little word.
VOL. XVIII.-65.


A pause came at last: at the very first
knocking
She seized opportunity was n't it shocking!
And chattered so fast that her father, astonished,
Concluded his Dot must be sternly admonished.
" My dear little girl,"- was his terrible way,-
"What makes you so noisy, I wonder, to-day ?
A bit of your tongue I shall have to be
docking."
But Dot answered back, with no sign of dismay,
" 's talking' because I 's dot sumpfin' to say."












A SCHOOL-GIRL'S RECOLLECTIONS OF
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

BY FRAtLEIN ROSA SCHMALZ.


ON a certain lovely warm spring day, the
world looked especially beautiful to me as I
stood under the scanty shade of a large apple-
tree, which bore here and there a few fragrant
blossoms. I gazed wistfully down the moun-
tain-side in expectation of my guests. They
were really mine, for that day I was quite an
important person; one of those enviable mortals
to whom nothing can be refused, not only be-
cause I was a "Sunday child," but because I
was also a birthday child, and on one's birthday
all one's wishes must be fulfilled.
It was my sixteenth birthday, and the very
woods seemed full of sunshine and springtime.
As I lingered on the highroad, watching for
the friends and well-wishers who were on their
way, I found the time a little long and tedious,
and anxious thoughts began to trouble me.
"Suppose Jenny had forgotten to tell them
that to-day was my birthday! Suppose she
should not come herself! "
Soon Mina, one of our neighbors in Bergfeld,
came, bringing my cake and all its colored can-
dles in her milk-wagon; and a half-hour later,
Jenny and all my friends had come. My fa-
vorite cousin was with us, too, and three of his
comrades. We played croquet and other games,
we laughed, and talked, and danced, and all
were happy; but the crowning point of all the
day was a letter from the Countess Sorr. She
had arranged a great festival in honor of her
husband's birthday, and my father was invited,
with the ladies of his family.
My sister was only a few years older than I,
but she was in eager consultation with my
mother about her dress. I heard scraps of their
conversation concerning sky-blue silk, pome-
granate flowers, and camellia blossoms, but it
all interested me but little. I was not yet
grown up. I was only a shy, insignificant


school-girl, who dared not dream yet of going
out." Suddenly my father turned toward me,
and said kindly, Little one, would you like to
go to Sorran ? "
I said nothing, but stared at him with great
wondering eyes. He laughed a little, and con-
tinued lovingly, stroking my hair as he spoke,
"But I am in earnest. I had no specially
delightful gift for you to-day, so, little mother,"
and he looked at my mother, "we will take
R6schen with us this time."
This important matter being settled, I did not
know whether to be very happy or not. I had
heard so much about that festival at Sorran
from sister Helen-how many, many people
would be there, and among them so many cele-
brated folk- that I decided that I would really
like to go. I would like to see again the grand
old schloss, or castle, with its beautiful park and
grotto; and yet my heart began to beat uncom-
fortably at the thought of myself alone in all
that crowd, where certainly I should be the
only child.
Nonsense!" I cried, suddenly springing up;
"from to-day I am no more a child-I am a
young lady, and I can see that father thinks so
too; besides mother, and Helen and Nelly will
all be there, too."
It was not until on the way to the station
with my departing friends that I confided to
Jenny the wonderful news. I told her with an
important air, and a face beaming with smiles,
that I had been invited to the birthday festival
of Count Sorr, that of course my parents and
Helen were also invited, and that we expected
to see any number of world-renowned people,
musicians and poets, sculptors and painters.
Oh, you lucky girl! said Jenny, and then
I was suddenly quite sure that I was entirely
happy and fortunate, for Jenny was my oracle.






A SCHOOL-GIRL'S RECOLLECTIONS OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 939


And thus ended my sixteenth birthday, and I
fell asleep, to dream of a white muslin dress,
and of our journey through the Tiefenthal, or
deep valley.

A few days passed by, and then, one after-
noon, we were at Sorran. As our large family
carriage drew up, the servants from the castle
hurried across the garden, in order to relieve us
from the packages and wraps with which we
were loaded. The great doors of the Sorraner
Castle were wide open, and the great hall was
adorned with orange- and myrtle-trees, and
countless lovely flowers. Gentlemen shining
with orders, Saxon, Prussian, and Austrian offi-
cers in their gay uniforms, ladies who looked like
queens in their diamonds and feathers, all moved
here and there about the rooms. Everything
glittered and shone like gold and silver. Now
a mother with two beautiful daughters came
down the steps, and they seemed like the fairies
in my book of fairy tales. Flowers lay every-
where, as if they had been shaken out of a
horn of plenty. The flowers appeared to me
much more beautiful than those in our gar-
den-beds at home.
I went up the long steps behind a splendid
lady, who looked like a wandering flower-garden,
and who was my especial admiration. Suddenly,
in a long pier-glass, I recognized with much
dismay a very slender little personage, dressed
in white, with a wreath of roses a little crooked
on her somewhat disordered curls. I put up
my hand hastily to arrange my wreath, for
that and a golden girdle were my only orna-
ments. They looked very pretty in Bergfeld,
but here the glass showed me a rather unpresent-
able little figure, with limp white ribbons, and
so out of harmony with all the luxury and
beauty around her that I was afraid the lady
like a flower-garden had smiled pityingly on me,
and as I shyly slipped my hand into my father's
kind grasp, I thought sadly that perhaps I had
better have stayed at home, with the crocuses
and primroses. It was, however, too late then,
and we made our way toward our amiable
hosts. They stood together in eager conversa-
tion with a tall gentleman, who looked curi-
ously at me (too youthful for such an assembly),
but seeing me blush, nodded kindly and reas-


suringly. When, somewhat timidly, I congrat-
ulated the dear old Count, and wished him
much happiness, he kissed me on the forehead,
and said, I am glad to see you here, Fraiilein
Rdschen. Be a good child, and I will presently
find my godchild, our minister's granddaughter.
She is about your age, and you will be happy
together." I was deeply thankful to Count
Sorr for his good intentions, but he had many
more important duties to fulfil, and his god-
child was not easily found among more than
three hundred guests; so it was not until late in
the evening that I met Pastor Fritz, and made
the acquaintance of his grandchild.

The great dinner was over, and so was the
beautiful music of the Life Guard Band, which
had been the only thing that had given me
much pleasure, as my next neighbor was a clever
young professor whose brilliant speeches I only
half understood, and who, therefore, naturally
turned his attention to my sister Helen, who was
at his other side.
Near-by, Countess Sorr sat, beside the tall,
kind-faced gentleman with whom she had been
talking at our entrance. Once, as I watched
them, it was evident that they were talking about
me, and, catching my eye and seeing my em-
barrassment, he nodded pleasantly; and when
the usual toast to the "Blooming Wreath of
Young Ladies was proposed, he leaned toward
me and said, "And to the Little Buds also, my
Fraiilein." Deeply pleased and flattered, I found
a courageous moment in which to ask my ne-
glectful professor the name of my friendly vis-a-
vis.
"That is Professor Andersen," he answered,
"the celebrated poet."
Really," said I, "I have heard his name so
often. I am sure Helen and Nelly would be
delighted to have his autograph. So that is
Professor Andersen! My neighbor was quite
convinced that I appreciated Andersen's celeb-
rity, and as the Countess almost immediately
rose from the table, I-.heard no more about
him at that time.
In the next room, the company soon divided
into various groups. I went to one of the wide
windows, and looked alternately out at the
sunny park and at the glittering crowded room.






940 A SCHOOL-GIRL'S RECOLLECTIONS OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. [OCT.


A little cluster of young ladies gathered around
Andersen and begged him for his autograph for
their albums. He was very amiable, and told
them to send their books to him, as he would be
three or four weeks at Sorran; and then, proba-
bly seeing from my eyes the deep interest I took
in the scene, he came across the room and said,
"Now, little one, do you not want me to write
something in your album? I shook my head
sadly, and said timidly and slowly, No, I thank
you." He appeared greatly astonished, but also
a little amused, and said, No ? Whynot, then ?"
"Because I have no album; if you only
could have asked me day before yesterday, I
could have wished for one, for that was my
birthday."
"Indeed! Then day before yesterday was your
birthday? You must allow me to congratulate
you now. Would you like me to write you a
congratulation? Then on your next birthday (for
you seem to be certain your wish will be accom-
plished) you can put it in your album, and keep
it in memory of a friend." He held out his
hand to me, and as I laid my trembling finger-
tips in it, he continued: Do you know that I
have the happiness to be the especial friend of
children? Have I been yours, too?" This puz-
zled me; I did not know what he meant by
"Have I been," but I nodded my head, and said,
"It is very good of you to be my friend, for it is
really quite lonely here among so many strange
people," and with the intention of saying some-
thing very flattering and agreeable, I went on:
"Helen and Nelly admire you so much, and
now I will, too."
Now, only?" said Andersen, much amused.
" Then you did not like the fairy tales ?"
This remark puzzled me again, but I con-
cluded that he wished me to give him my opinion
on the subject of fairy tales, so I replied decid-
edly, "Oh, I cannot bear them! I want to know
how it really looks in the world, and then-"
Here I paused, and burst out laughing, a hearty,
merry laugh, at the remembrance of a certain
sad afternoon when I was a little girl. I was
shocked at myself immediately, and fancying
that Professor Andersen would consider me only
a foolish school-girl, I hastened to add in justi-
fication, I will tell you why I hate fairy tales.
Many, many years ago-"


"There lived a queen," interrupted Andersen.
No, no, Professor, I was it myself. Many
years ago I was reading a pretty story about a
little princess who had a wicked stepmother,
and the story grew sadder and sadder, and at
last I cried so hard that I had to stop reading.
My brother was at home then, on leave from
the cadet school, and he came straight into the
room, and said quite rudely, 'Rosa, stop that
howling! What is the matter with you ?' I
showed him my book, and sobbed out, Oh the
poor princess!' Then Ulrich took the book,
and said: 'Oh that will come all right; let me
see,' and he sat down and read a little, and
then laughed out loud, and showed me that the
princess turned into a swan; so of course the
story was not true, and all my crying had been
for nothing. Then I laughed, too, and I never
read any more fairy tales. What was the use ?
Ulrich said they were none of them true, and
since I have grown up, I am astonished that I
ever believed such nonsense."
The good Professor listened to my story with
great attention; then he stroked my head kindly
with his long, slender hand, and said, You are
a little heretic. We must try to convert you.
Come up into the library in half an hour, and I
will read you one of my fairy tales, and perhaps
you will pronounce a milder judgment."
I opened my eyes wide, and tried to stammer
some excuse, but he was gone. I was oppressed
with the thought that I had been saying some-
thing dreadful. Astonished and ashamed, I
hid behind the heavy curtains. How angry
mama would be! I could hear her say, "This
comes of taking a child into society." But how
could I know that this celebrated poet wrote
fairy tales ? Suddenly, to complete my con-
fusion, I remembered seeing in great golden
letters on the back of one of our story books,
"Hans Christian Andersen."
Before dinner a Count Conty, young and
fair-haired, had been introduced to me, and we
had had a very merry conversation. Now, just
as mama and I were going up the steps, he was
coming down, and he accosted me with: Why,
little Fraiilein, where have you been ? I have
been looking everywhere for you. Immediately
after dinner, I went to look for the photograph
of my home, that I promised to show you. May





1891.] A SCHOOL-GIRL'S RECOLLECTIONS OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 941


I bring it here now?" I gave a little sigh, and
said rather mournfully, No, Count Conty; Pro-
fessor Andersen is going to read one of his fairy
tales, and I have promised to listen to it, and
you know I must keep my promise." It must
be confessed that I would have preferred to talk
to the gay young Count rather than to hear all
the fairy tales in the world, and I hastily added,
"But I will make a bargain with you; if you
will come now to the library, I will go with you
afterward to look at the views, and we can see
the garden besides." He agreed gladly, and
mother and I went under his escort to the li-
brary, but it was so full that Conty could hardly
find a chair for mother, and I stood alone at
the door, looking anxiously about for Professor
Andersen. He was not in the room, but I was
sure he would not forget to come; he would
never let all this crowd of gentlemen and ladies
wait in vain; and I also remembered that some
time before, in the hall, it had been announced
that Professor Andersen would read a fairy tale
in the library, and.that afterward Herr Henselt
would play on the piano in the music-room.
As I was keeping down my uneasiness by these
considerations, I felt the light touch of an al-
ready familiar hand upon my own, and, leading
me with him, Andersen took the chair awaiting
him before the window, while I sat down upon
a little bench beside him, and listened with
absorbed attention, and the deepest interest, to
the History of the Snow King."
Andersen held the book open in his hand,
but he seldom looked at it, and his habit of clos-
ing his eyes gave him a nervous appearance;
perhaps he only wished to shut out the world.
He gesticulated a good deal and read in a quick,
lively manner, though his voice was quiet and
gentle and his German was broken and peculiar.
The room was very still; only now and then
when the reader paused one could hear a soft
whisper, or, as Conty afterward said to me the
sighs of the little Frailein, when the story was
too sad."
Now the Professor has finished. Every one
rises and crowds round him. They praise him,
they thank him, but he turns to me and, taking
my hand kindly, says, Now, I want to know
what this little one has to say. You look as if
you would like to eat us all up, Kay and


Gerda and me. Do you like fairy tales bet-
ter now ? I look up at him, but suddenly I
find a mist before my eyes, and I can only
whisper softly, "It was wonderfully beautiful,
Herr Professor. How very, very clever you
are to make everything sound as if it were
really true! Poor little Gerda! You have
made me cry again as I did when I was a
little girl."
A little girl," he says with an amused smile;
"and what are you now ? And he turns away
to his other friends.

Conty was waiting for me in the ante-chamber
with a little packet in his hand. "Let us go
down these garden steps, or we will never get
into the open air, and we must hurry. It
looks as if we were going to have a thunder-
storm."
We hastened through the shady paths looking
for some quiet place furnished with a table on
which to lay the views. At last we found one,
and Conty spread out the pictures before me,-
an old castle with its towers perched on a
wooded height, and in the distance the sea.
This is my home," he said in rather a mel-
ancholy voice. Denmark is beautiful, though
it is not a garden, like your little Saxony."
"Then you are a Dane, too," I said in sur-
prise. "You must have known Professor An-
dersen quite well before you came to Sorran."
Certainly I did," he answered. I am his
traveling companion, and we are going to-
gether first to Switzerland and then to Italy."
But while we chatted, to our astonishment
great drops of rain begin to fall. Up we jumped
and hastened toward the house, but certainly
we must have lost our way, for we were in
danger of a thorough drenching before we
reached there.
As we passed a rocky grotto, Conty urged
me to take refuge in it. Only wait five min-
utes, Fratilein," he said. "I will be back again
with a shawl and an umbrella."
Obediently I entered, but the damp air of the
cavern and its darkness frightened me, and I
would gladly have followed my companion
even into the rain; but a fearful flash of light-
ning, followed immediately by a peal of thunder,
sent me stumbling back into the black space a






942 A SCHOOL-GIRL'S RECOLLECTIONS OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. [Ocr.


moment since so fearfully illuminated, trembling
in every limb and crying with terror. A mo-
ment later I was delighted to hear Andersen's
voice calling cheerily:
'" Rschen, I have been looking for you."
And there he stood, with a great family umbrella
over his head and a shawl upon his arm.
He looked at me and said, "Take my arm,
child, and I will take you back to your nest.
Your mother is very anxious, and it is fortunate
that I saw you and Conty go in this direction."
He wrapped the shawl carefully around me, and
a few minutes later I found myself in the Coun-
tess Sorr's boudoir, where she kindly stroked my
uncurled locks, and made me put my cold feet
in a pair of soft, silken shoes.
Poor little thing she said to me; "the
thunderstorm has frightened you. You had
better stay with us all night."
As I thought of Andersen and the kindliness
he had shown me, I longed to say "yes "; but
suddenly it occurred to me that my mother was
already wondering where I was, and that my
father would be very lonely without me, and
I remembered a thousand little duties that
awaited me in my home, and so, thanking the
good Countess, I was making the most amiable
promises for the future, when a familiar voice
broke on my ears, and Andersen said gaily:
"Here, Madam, is your little jewel, safe in the
care of the Countess," while I sprang up to see
my dear mother entering the room. Then fare-
wells were said, and with a kind good-by from
Andersen, our visit ended.

Fourteen days had passed since the Sor-
raner festival, and still I could think of nothing
but the various events of that delightful day.
Between me and the page of my French gram-
mar continually came the thought of my dear,
good, celebrated friend. It was no wonder
that Mademoiselle Elise exclaimed loudly that
I was much too young to go into society, and
that my head was wholly turned.
However, there was no use in my trying to
study French verbs, when I had just received
an invitation from the Countess to ride over
with my father and take tea at the castle, and
at Andersen's particular request. I had ordered
John to make Saladin, my beautiful black


horse, as shining as possible, and in half an
hour the horses were led up.
Oh, how enchanting it was to ride in the
early summer through the lovely, fresh, sunny
world, nowhere so beautiful as on the heights
and surroundings of dear Bergfeld! Every-
thing was green and blooming and fragrant;
the birds sang in every tree, and from the val-
ley we could hear the wedding bells, as they
rang for the marriage of a village girl, whose
bridal bouquet I had made with my own hands.
The villagers, on their way to the little town,
gave us many a friendly greeting and more
than one flattering word for Saladin and his
happy young mistress. The beautiful valley
was as beautiful as ever, with its little river, its
slopes, its fine old trees, in their tender green,
but it seemed to me endless as I urged my
poor Saladin more than once into a rapid trot,
and remembered with impatience a certain
long hill up which we would have to climb
slowly. At last we reached the castle door,
and I made Saladin prance and curvet and
throw back his handsome head, while I tried to
sit as gracefully and proudly as I could. But
alas! there was no one to be seen-all my fine
performance was in vain, to the amusement
of my father, who said with a smile, Well, lit-
tle Miss Vanity, I should think our long ride
would have driven away all that pride and
foolishness."
The groom who took our horses told us that
the company was in the garden, and there we
found them, in the rocky grotto. Andersen
was standing in the middle of a crowd of ladies,
who were all admiring, with little cries of de-
light, an object which he held in his hand. I
knew in a moment that it was one of the bou-
quets, peculiar to him, made of a number of the
smallest flowers, lying in a long, narrow leaf.
Just at this moment Conty saw us at the
entrance, and, coming forward, he took my
hand and led me to the group. Andersen
turned quickly round, and said in his kind,
fatherly voice, "Ah, here is my little friend.
Take this, dear child, as my welcome," and he
extended to me his hand, and on the palm lay
a great calla, filled with a whole nosegay of
the tiniest and sweetest wild flowers. I looked
up surprised and delighted, and could only






1891.1 A SCHOOL-GIRL'S RECOLLECTIONS OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 943


stammer out some stupid words of gratitude
for the graceful greeting. After this, Andersen
disappeared, and I saw him no more, as we
took our coffee and the young people of the
castle strolled about the gardens for an hour
and a half. I began to be impatient at his
absence. I had so many things to tell him;
it was chiefly on his account that I had taken
a long, fatiguing ride. I wanted to tell him
how anxious I was to see the "fMondgeschichz-
ten," and how I had spent my last pocket-
money on a copy of Only a Violinist," and
that I would always think of him when I read it.
It was very provoking that he did not
come, and at last I was ready to cry, and go-
ing to my father, who was just coming out of
the door with Count Sorr, I said in a pleading
voice, Dear papa, do let us have the horses
saddled; I am afraid to go home so late,
through the dark Tiefenthal"; but papa only
patted me on the hand, and said, "No, no,
R6schen; we must wait for the moon to rise,
and for our tea, as well. What is the matter
with my little girl ? Is she tired ? I dared
not say yes, and I turned away, blushing and
confused, just in time to see Andersen coming
across the park with his swift, peculiar step,
and carrying in his hand a sheet of paper in a
roll, bound with a slender branch of evergreen,
.and fastened with a pale red rose. He stopped
before me, and, with a low bow, he presented
me the paper, saying with a pleasant look at
my delighted face, "This is the fulfilment of
my promise; to the R6schen, the Rose, and to
the author a charming recollection." Happy
and proud I took his offered arm, and to-
gether we went into the long dining-room.
All my dissatisfaction had vanished. Ander-
sen sat beside me at tea, and we talked together
.all the time. I begged him again and again


to let me read what he had written for the
school-girl's album, but he said only, "Pa-
tience, little one, patience. Take it home with
you, and just before the evening prayer loose
the rose knot, and perhaps you will dream of
the lonely old man, so many years older than
you, but who grows young again and happy
at the sight of youth and happiness."
I hear the restless movements of the impatient
horses on the drive: it is all over, and I must
say, Auf wiedersehen."
Auf wiedersehen I say that still to-day,
after so many years, to my dear and honored
friend Andersen-but when? and where? Cer-
tain it is that we will meet here no more; but
in the hearts of thousands he will live forever.

Papa and I ride silently homeward through
the soft evening air, and through a world all
bathed in moonlight, so still, so peaceful, that
gradually my heart grows peaceful too, and as
we pass the old castle in the Tiefenthal, blazing
with light, because the royal family have ar-
rived, I think myself, mounted on my swift
Saladin, and rich with golden recollections,
more fortunate than all the kings and queens
in Christendom.
No one is awake at home but my little
mother; she welcomes me and bids me good-
night with the same kiss. To-morrow she shall
know all about our visit, but now I long to be
quiet in my room; my heart is full.
Before the evening prayer "; so now I place
upon my little marble cross the spray of ever-
green, and, laying the rose upon my Bible, I
read the precious lines:
What are thy dreams ? Grief has no part in them;
In love thou dwellest: thy soul is sweet and fair,
And thy whole life is like a poet's heart,
Who sees a Heav'n where all the rest see air.
Hans Christian Andersen.












THE TIME O' NIGHT.

By FRANK M. BICKNELL.


MANY years ago a king's son was shut up in
a tower where it was so dark he could not tell
day from night. Once, being awakened from
sleep by the sound of a clock .Eri.n,;, he be-
gan to count the strokes.
One! two! three! four! five! six! seven
eight! nine! ten! eleven! twelve! thirteen!-
At the thirteenth stroke he rose on his elbow.
Fourteen!
At the fourteenth stroke he sat upright.
Fifteen 1
At the fifteenth stroke he was about to leap
from his couch; but with that stroke the clock
ceased striking, and he sank back again with a
heavy sigh.
Why ?
The prince had been in the dark tower a
long time. At his father's death he should
have succeeded to the itl l .e. but for a good
reason (or perhaps it ought to be called a
bad one) he did not. He had an uncle who
wanted the crown for his own head, and had
not hesitated to take it. This wicked man had
seized the helpless young prince and locked
him up in the dark tower, where he meant to
keep him.
Here you will be out of harm's way," said
he.
And how long must I stay in this dreary
place ?" asked the poor youth piteously.
"Until after the clock has told a lie by re-
peating the truth," the uncle answered; which
was the same as to say "always."
But when will that be?" persisted the
-iH. l.-minded prince.
Oh, when it strikes sixteen at the .ilhl'
hour," replied the uncle, and then, with a
mocking laugh, he went away, double-locking
and l .linhr the door behind him.
That is why the prince rose on his elbow at
the thirteenth stroke of the clock (for he never
before had heard it strike more than twelve),


sat upright at the fourteenth stroke, was ready
to leap from his couch at the fifteenth stroke,
and-sank back disappointed when the clock's
voice became silent. He had hoped the hour
of his deliverance was sounding; but, alas! it
seemed the hope was vain.
As he lay thinking he began to wonder,
"What can be the time o' night when the
clock strikes fifteen ? Such a thing never had
happened before in his remembrance, and he
was at a loss to understand what it could mean.
But the more he wondered the more puzzled
did he become; for, while he was a prisoner in
the dark tower, his education had been neg-
lected, and he was not a skilled arithmetician.
Finally he gave it up and went to sleep.
By and by he was aroused by a great noise
without, and a few minutes later the door of
his prison was burst open and a crowd of peo-
ple rushed into the room, shouting with all
their might: "Long live the King! "
Almost before he knew what was happening
his liberators, for such they were, had taken
him in their arms and borne him away in tri-
umph to the palace. Then he learned that his
uncle the usurper was dead, and that he was
being acknowledged, amid universal rejoicing,
as the rightful sovereign.
I'i?-ou-!' glad to be free, die new king could
not understand why he should have been re-
leased before the clock struck sixteen. Still, he
did not let that trouble him. There was an-
other point of more importance that he was
curious to have settled. One of his first acts
after being seated on the throne was to send
for four famous mathematicians and to put to
them the query, What is the time o' night
when the clock strikes fifteen ? "
The mathematicians asked to be allowed to
withdraw and talk the matter over among
themselves. The king gave his consent to this,
but they stayed out in consultation so long






THE TIME 0' NIGHT.


that he began to grow impatient. At last,
however, they reentered the royal presence.
"Are you entirely agreed as to your an-
swer ?" asked the king.
"We are, Sire," replied one of the four.
"And to what conclusion have you come ?"
"That we entirely disagree."


matician, "that the clock began to strike at
four, and after that struck five, and six, making
in all fifteen; from which it is plain that I can-
not be wrong."
If your Majesty will listen to me," exclaimed
the fourth mathematician, "I am sure you will
agree with me that the clock must have begun



.- 1 ,


"'YOUR ANSWERS ALL SEEM REASONABLE ENOUGH; HOW AM I TO DECIDE WHICH IS RIGHT?'"


"How is that ? demanded the king in a
tone of disappointment. "Is your knowledge
of mathematics at fault ?"
No, Sire; we all have solved your problem,
but in each case with a different result."
"Then let me hear them all."
The four mathematicians bowed, and the
first one continued speaking thus:
May it please your Majesty, I hold that it
was the hour of midnight when the clock
struck; that it struck twelve, and then, being
out of order, continued to strike one and two,
the sum of all of which is fifteen and proves
the correctness of my calculation."
"I think," said the second mathematician,
"that the clock struck at the hour of one,
and went on striking two, three, four, and five,
all of which added together amount to fifteen,
showing the accuracy of my reckoning."
It is my opinion," quoth the third mathe-


by striking seven and ended by striking eight,
total fifteen; could anything on earth be sim-
pler or more convincing ? "
"Your Majesty has heard our solutions,"
interposed the first speaker; "it is for you to
judge between them."
That is not such an easy matter," returned
the king in perplexity. Your answers all seem
reasonable enough; how am I to decide which
is right ? "
While he was pondering the question to lit-
tle purpose the Prime Minister bent down and
whispered a suggestion into his ear.
"Ah, yes; that is a good idea," cried His
Majesty brightening. Send for a clock-
maker!"
So a clock-maker was summoned, and came
in such haste that he had no time to take off
his work-apron, and forgot to remove the glass
from his eye. The king informed him as to the


945






THE TIME 0' NIGHT.


subject under discussion, and as to the varying
opinions of the four mathematicians.
"And now," he added, "can you tell me
which one of them is in the right ?"
No, your Majesty," answered the clock-
maker promptly.
"Why not? asked the king.
"Because they are all in the wrong," was the
blunt reply.
How do you know that?" demanded His
Majesty, in surprise.
Because the clock itself was brought to me
for repair."
"Then in that case you can tell me what
time o' night it was when I heard the clock
strike! exclaimed the king eagerly.
"I can tell you that it was no time o' night
at all, but eight o'clock in the morning," replied
the clock-maker. Your Majesty was released
from the tower in the forenoon, and unless you


the hour was eight, either in the morning or the
evening ?"
"Because on looking at the clock I saw it
had stopped with the hands pointing to eight
on the dial; and on further examination I found
that the striking apparatus had run down on the
eighth stroke of nine, making, with the eight
strokes of eight, the sixteen strokes which your
Majesty heard."
"Eh?" cried the king. "But I heard only
fifteen strokes, I tell you."
It is neither civil nor quite safe to contradict
a king, so the clock-maker shrugged his shoul-
ders and kept silence.
"Well, if it really did strike sixteen at the
eighth hour, as my uncle promised, how do you
explain my having counted but fifteen ? asked
his majesty, with a puzzled air.
The clock-maker may have thought his
royal master, being far from a clever arithme-


"'IT WAS NO TIME 0' NIGHT AT ALI, BUT EIGHT O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING,' REPLIED THE CLOCK-MAKER."
slept twelve hours and more after hearing the tician, made a mistake in his counting, but he
clock strike (which is hardly possible) it must was prudent enough not to say so.
have been at eight in the morning that you Sire," he replied, "you perhaps forget that
heard it strike." the first stroke which awakened you prob-
But what reason have you for deciding that ably escaped being counted."


946











THE STORY


OF

NEBRASKA I

ALLEN

BY KATE M. PUTNEY.

IN a busy little village in central
Nebraska, some years ago, there was
a newly built school-house, where
there were some sixty or seventy
pupils, from the little ones in the
primer class up to the members of
an advanced high-school class.
This school was presided over by Ne
Alien, a girl of only eighteen years of age
strange to say, never attended school
scholar for a single day.

Her parents had left the Eastern Sta
make .a home in the far West, traveling
cars as far as St. Joseph, Missouri, and
having just enough money left to purch
"outfit."
A homesteader's outfit consists of a
two horses, a cow, and a few articles of
ture; and, if he is very fortunate, he ma:
a few sheep, pigs, and chickens.
Traveling in their wagon, the Allens
neyed to the central part of Nebrask
that region the commonest kind of a dv
was the dug-out, which is merely a cell
a roof.
This was what they built, and here they
permanently, with only their animals for
pany, for they were twenty-five miles fro
nearest town, and fifteen miles from the r
neighbor.
They lived carefully, saving what they
and loving the free life more each da'
another year, a little girl came to lighter
lives. They thought their cup of hap
was full. When the little girl was a few


_=_----

c_- I--~---
-- % '5-_ -_ :_--

braska old, they named her Nebraska. She thrived
, who, wonderfully on the rough fare, and at the age
as a of five years was a vigorous little maid. Her
mother, who had been a Massachusetts school-
teacher, attended to her little daughter's educa-
Ltes to tion.
in the Nebraska was such a go-ahead little body that
I there she learned rapidly, for whether she worked or
ase an played she put her whole mind to it, and when
she studied she studied because she longed for
vagon, knowledge.
furni- When she was six years old, her father bought
y have her a pony. It was one of those small Indian
ponies which, although they look hardly large
Sjour- enough to carry a child, are as strong and tough
a. In as a large horse. He had belonged to the
selling Sioux, but had been captured from that tribe
.r with by a band of Pawnees. All Indian horses are
marked, and Nebraska's, named "Pawnee" in
settled honor of the tribe who sold him to her father,
com- had the Sioux mark, notched ears, and also
m the carried the Pawnee brand.
nearest Nebraska would go galloping over the
prairies after her dogs, who were in pursuit of
could, some luckless rabbit, or would herd the cattle
y. In near the house. While herding she would pass
i their long hours in study.
ipiness She had no need to spend what little money
weeks she had for ribbons and those other fineries girls






THE STORY OF NEBRASKA ALLEN.


so delight in, because there was no one there to
admire them; so with all the money she earned
she bought books, and she thoroughly mas-
tered each one before she got another.
It would seem that she had no way of earn-
ing money; but, her father having taught her to
use a gun, she shot quails and grouse and sent
them to the market, and often she shot a wolf.
Wolves were her greatest source of profit, for be-
sides selling the skins she received a bounty from
the Government for every one she killed. She
also killed a deer occasionally, with the help of
her dogs. They were those fleet-footed deer-
hounds whose original home is Siberia, and
they could easily run down a deer.
Nebraska was a skilled shot at small game, but
her greatest ambition was still unrealized. She
longed to shoot a buffalo. She was, therefore,
all excitement one morning when she saw a stray
herd of five or six buffaloes coming down. Run-
ning into the house, she cried, Mother, come
quick and see the buffalo! I am going to shoot
one." Before her mother could stop her, she was
on her pony galloping after the herd. She raced
along, popping away with her little rifle, which
she usually carried slung across her shoulders.
They crossed the Platte River. Though it is
a mile wide, at low water a horse can cross it
without swimming.
She hit several, but the bullets would not go
through the tough skins, and about the middle
of the afternoon she was obliged to admit that
she could not bring down a buffalo, and she
turned to go home.
Then, as she turned, she saw dark clouds gath-
ering and felt the wind rising. She would have
noted this before had she not been so excited.
Here she was, fifteen miles from home, and she
knew by the look of the sky that there was a
regular northeaster coming.
She rode along as fast as her pony could go,
trying to reach home before it came, but had
gone only a few miles when the storm broke in
all its fury. The wind nearly tore her from the
saddle, and the snow blinded her. She gave the
reins to her pony, and trusted to him to carry
her home. The natural instinct of the horse
often taught him to find the way home, but
now the storm so bewildered him that he wan-
dered about aimlessly.


Nebraska tried to distinguish something famil-
iar, but everything was covered by the snow.
She could not see a dozen yards in front of her,
and had become thoroughly frightened when,
just at their feet, she saw the dark waters of the
Platte.
Oh, now, Pawn, we are all right! Go on,
and we will reach home before dark." She
thought she knew where they were, and as the
wind was not blowing so fiercely now, she be-
came quite merry again, and considered her
adventure as safely over.
Pawnee started bravely across the river and
succeeded in getting more than half-way across,
when Nebraska discovered that it took all his
strength to step. She thought it was just be-
cause he was tired, and tried to hurry him up.
"Now, pony, go on! We're almost home. Think
of your nice warm bed and your supper. Go
on, that's a good fellow!"
But the pony, although laboring very hard,
was making slow progress, and when they were
about a quarter of a mile from the other bank,
came to a dead stop. He floundered around,
but could not get farther.
All at once, like a flash, the thought came to
Nebraska--the quicksands! Looking down
she could see the pony's feet sinking, and knew
he was in the sands. Her brave heart almost
stood still as she looked around and saw no-
thing but the dark water in all directions, and
felt her horse steadily sinking-sinking into the
awful death-trap.
She coaxed and urged her pony, and the
faithful animal made every effort to get out, but
stuck fast. For an instant Nebraska despaired;
then her natural daring and frontier training tri-
umphed. She jumped from the pony, and
bravely struck out for the shore.
Her thick clothes retarded her progress
greatly, but, throwing off her cloak as she swam,
she at last reached the shore, shivering and wet.
And the pony, freed from his burden, man-
aged after a desperate struggle to scramble to
firm ground, and walked to the river bank.
After Nebraska found herself safe, and began
to think about Pawnee, she decided that he
could not escape, and sorrowfully started to
walk home. Imagine her surprise, when, as she
was walking rapidly along, she heard a whinny






THE STORY OF NEBRASKA ALLEN.


and pattering hoof-beats, and the next moment
felt Pawnee's cold nose on her shoulder. She
was surprised, but of course delighted to know
that he was safe.
She jumped upon his back, and, as the storm
was nearly over and the snow not very thick,
both steed and rider knew the way home, and
reached the house in safety a little after dark.
Her parents would not have been worried
in the least had it not been for the storm, but as


"What a lovely evening for a ride!" when she
heard pattering steps. Looking around, she saw
two wolves stealthily following. She urged her
pony to his greatest speed, and tried to think
out what she should do, for she was by this
time only half-way home, and seven miles from
the nearest house.
She kept perfectly still because she knew that
if she screamed before she was attacked, al-
though it would scare the animals away for a


.-~ : i,::-. . .: .' ". :
: : 4 .-'. -, .- , .
,. "! .jr... : a ' _-.. .
". '.-. .' 't{ 'd_ = ", : .. .,' ,-. : .: 'T : "_ , o -
-' ..-, -' '; ". ,".;r'-; s'- .a._' "' - _; ' - : -;. i .' -
.. ._- . c a o. o. .. -, .. _
. .: ,'.. '. ', '; '. =' 5 --, .- .. .. .. '- _; _. I'- = : .. .
.,-" ' -,:-- '' "_ :, "_ :,r-.. - ,-
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....~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~J. """ i- .....:'''":-:- ._' -'- :'. .'" "i. ""
-.-' -' ." .' ., .,-: .... "ri :'-'-'C- .-- -, :....o : -- '-

:. .- ., . .
.. ,& g=. "' "-- .--- 2 t *LI E' '


"SHE JUMPED FROM THE PONY, AND BRAVELY STRUCK OUT FOR THE SHORE."


it was they were greatly relieved when Nebraska
burst in at the door. She was not hurt at all
by her cold bath, which might have chilled a
girl of less endurance, and, with the exception
of the loss of her cloak, and the disappointment
at not shooting a buffalo, she felt little regret
over the misadventure.
Another time she had been to visit at their
neighbor's, and started for home when it was
nearly dark; but as it was a moonlight night
she did not feel lonely and had just thought,


time, they would return, and would soon get
used to the noise and not be frightened by it.
She felt certain so few of them would not dare
attack her, for wolves are very cowardly, but
she also knew that they would summon the rest
of the pack almost instantly.
The wolves were now in full pursuit, and
she, glancing back, saw there were three. She
was alarmed indeed now, and as they were
gaining on her every minute, she knew some-
thing must be done if she was to reach home


949






THE STORY OF NEBRASKA ALLEN.


alive. She knew the wolves would not long
hesitate to attack her, for there was quite a large
pack of them gathering. Her pony, too, sniffed
danger, and the next instant, before she com-
prehended what he was going to do, he had
turned and sprung right into the midst of the
snarling pack, pawing and kicking right and left!


utes, she had secured four dead wolves, worth
more than fifty dollars.
She dismounted and slung them over Pawnee's
back and then galloped home.
No need of saying that her father and mother
were surprised to see her come up to the door
and exhibit triumphantly four slain wolves!


"PAWNEE HAD SPRUNG INTO THE MIDST OF THEM, PAWING AND KICKING EIGHT AND LEFT."


He had not forgotten his wild habits, nor
how he had many times saved himself from the
ferocious animals. And now his bravery stood
his mistress in good stead, for as his feet came
down on the wolves fierce yelps showed that he
was not dealing gentle taps. In a few seconds
there were four stretched dead on the ground,
and the others had fled.
Nebraska had thought, as soon as she knew
what he was going to do, that she was safe if
she could keep on his back, and this required
all her strength and skill. When the pack were
gone she looked down at the dead bodies, and
shuddered as she thought of her narrow escape.
With no injuries and only a few anxious min-


After his glorious exploit, Pawnee was more
petted than before. Did he not deserve it ?
The summer that Nebraska was fifteen, a party
of surveyors, who were laying out the land for
a railroad, boarded at her father's house. They
stayed in that neighborhood for three weeks,
and during this time Nebraska became much
interested in their books and surveying instru-
ments. The leader of the party kindly taught
her the elements of surveying, and even some-
thing of the higher mathematics, geometry and
algebra. He also gave her several books on
these subjects for study by herself.
Houses had been springing up here and there,
and now neighbors were not farther than five or


950





THE STORY OF NEBRASKA ALLEN.


six miles from one another; and one day the glad
news spread that a doctor had moved into the
settlement.
Here was the opportunity Nebraska had al-
ways longed for, to study physiology. And to
make the matter all the easier and pleasanter,
the new doctor proved to be one of Mr. Alien's
schoolmates, one whom he had not seen since
their school-days. Dr. Davis was more than
willing to teach Nebraska, and let her have full
access to his library and specimens.


And when at last the railroad did come,
and the station was placed right on the corner
of her father's land, and a little town sprang
up, and the school came, Nebraska Allen no
longer needed to be taught as a scholar, but
was ready to be the principal of the new school.
This little story is founded upon facts, and
this girl, who could swim, shoot, and ride so
well, also prepared herself to be a successful
teacher, although she never went to school a
day in her life.


JINGLE.


i like my little dog

because -

jperhap5 you may

have heard .


a l I ^ 0 _



-fle lets me pull hi5 tail

and paws

And never say5 na word.
























BY JACK

IT seems a pity that the silhouette, a quaint
and cheap method of preserving the likenesses of
your family, friends, and acquaintances, has fallen
into disuse as a means of home amusement.
Though simple, convenient, accurate, and
unique, available to every ingenious boy and
girl, this easy means of portraiture and pleasure,
which might be made a never-failing source of
home entertainment, and a novelty for amusing
friends, seems to have been left to the dignified
and solemn past which it adorned and with
which it flourished. Occasionally some hu-
morous artist, grasping the possibilities of the
silhouette, chooses it as his vehicle to convey
some striking bit of graphic absurdity to the
public. Occasionally a magazine writer will
refer to it as a decayed
art. Occasionally, on
the wall of a college boy's
room, a huge black por-
trait of the student and
his room-mate, is found
glaring from the middle
of a group of more mod-
est photographs, too
large to be preserved
and too unimportant to
deserve more than pass-
ing mention.
But aside from these
chance appearances, or
the treasured portrait of some periwigged an-
cestor in this artistic mourning, the silhouette
is a thing of the past.


BENNETT.


There is hardly a family in the civilized world
that has not, from time to time, spent more
than a few moments puzzling out the diagrams
for producing strange figures and shadowy ani-
mals upon
the wall by
means of
interlocked
fingers, or
laughed to
see their
shadowspro-
jected by
some bril-
liant lamp
upon the
sides of a
room.
In many a
hall, on the panels of an old door, the hang-
ings of an unused room, or the rough walls
of a basement or garret, may still be found dim
outlines of the profile of some member of the
home circle, the face being thus brought to
remembrance by the careless work of an idle
moment, which has left this faint record for
the years to come.
There is not a reader of ST. NICHOLAS who
cannot preserve the likenesses of all his friends,
and produce souvenirs that will long be re-
tained by the owners as remembrances of the
artist, the occasion of their production, or the
days that are past. They will be looked on,
sometimes with a smile at a merry recollection





BLACK ART.


of an actual comedy thus committed to record,
sometimes with a sigh of regret or a welling
tear for the absent face whose shadow recalls
it so faithfully.
The possibilities of the silhouette in the hands
of any ingenious boy or girl are, one may say,
limitless.
There is little need of special artistic skill,
though the more of drawing the silhouette-
maker has at his finger-tips the more opportu-
nities of pleasure are open to him.
The first and easiest silhouettes are those
made direct from life. The method is so simple
that it hardly needs explanation. A candle, or
a lamp with a narrow chimney, so that its flame
will give a shadow not too diffuse; a sheet or
two of manila paper, not the heaviest, but about
the weight used in stores for wrapping lighter
goods, strong and cheap, costing but a few cents
for a dozen sheets; a firm crayon or a good soft
lead-pencil; a table or stand; a chair; a wall or
a smooth door, and a subject to draw; these are
all that is necessary to make a beginning.
With pins, or the more convenient thumb-
tacks, one of the sheets of manila paper is fas-
tened upon the wall or on the smooth, unpaneled
door so that it will not slip.
Upon a stool, or, preferably, for steadiness, a
chair with a high back, the subject is seated close
to the wall and just opposite the sheet of paper.
Let him sit as near the paper as possible so
that the shadow may be clear and strong and
not too extravagant in proportions.
The candle or lamp may be placed on the ta-
ble at the distance that is found on trial to make
the plainest shadow. The light should be on a
level with the head of the subject so that there
will be no distortion of the features by the rays
casting the shadow in a diagonal direction. By
turning the head slightly and slowly a few times
from side to side, the profile can be cast perfectly
in shadow, as it is easy to see when the head is
turned either too much to one side or the other.
Have the model" sit up erect, that the chin
may not be sunk in frills or a high collar. Throw
the head well back, to give an independent,
striking, lively attitude, yet not so far back that
it looks strained. If the head stoops, the sil-
houette will probably look downcast or hump-
shouldered. Don't let the model assume an
Vot. XVIII.-66.


expression for preservation. Let him talk a mo-
ment or so, while you watch the shadow in pro-
file on the paper before you. Catch the most
natural set of the lips or toss of the chin, and
then let the subject maintain that position and
expression, easily, naturally, and recognizably,
with no pursing-up of the mouth or nervous
gripping of the jaws.
While he sits steadily for a moment, quickly
and firmly trace the outlines of the shadow upon
the paper with your pencil or crayon. Watch
the sweep of the hair and indicate it easily in its
waves, though that is a matter of secondary im-
portance. See that you preserve the angles of
the face, the bend of the brow to the bridge of
the nose, and the squared, pendulous, rounding,
snubbed, pointed, or Roman turn of the nose it-
self. Catch the sharp angle or curve where the
nose turns into the upper lip as exactly as pos-
sible, and the exact turn of the lips, thin and
firm or tenderly pouting, closely set or softly
dropped apart. See that you have the turn of
the chin and the lower lip above it. Indicate
the neck, shoulders, and coat by strong, expres-
sive outlines that will preserve the characteristics.
And there you are! A little care taken to fol-
low the outline of the shadow as closely as pos-
sible, especially at the points emphasized, will
give a result worth aiming for, and the one you
desire: a good likeness. And any boy with a
firm hand can make a silhouette as well as any
expert portrait artist.
This is the simple silhouette, and for it but
a few moments are required. A round dozen
can be drawn in a very short time in the evening
when the lamps are lit. They may be filled in
on a holiday, a spare evening, or a rainy Satur-
day. For hasty work, liquid blacking or dark ink
will do to fill in the outlines, using either the
sponge in the blacking bottle or a marking
brush. The penciled outlines must of course
be carefully followed.
Do not finish the silhouette out to the edges
of the paper. Let the lower part of the shoul-
ders and bust go unconsidered. Draw a curve
downward from back to front, beginning just
below the coat-collar and touching the front of
the outline at about the center of the chest or
a little above. This will give the effect of a
medallion head and a much more finished


953






BLACK ART.


look to the work when completed. With a
little drawing at command, the hair may be
dressed by the artist in the most becoming
manner, a ruffle added to a neck otherwise
too long or bare, and, when the face portrait is
particularly good, the neck and bust may be


THE OUTLINE. THE OUTLINE FILLED.
drawn at will, not only without spoiling the like-
ness, but making even a much more pleasing
picture.
For the walls of a den such as most boys
delight in, for the ornamentation of a club-
room, for the sides of a boarding-school room
or dormitory, if permission be obtained to use
them, these big, ebony-hued fellows make very
effective decorations.
Any club of boys-and what
boys have not a club of some
sort?-can by this means cover
the walls of their club hall with
the likenesses of all their members
at little or no cost, the work being
really an amusement, the money
that photographs would have cost
being reserved for one of those
" tuck-outs so dear to the boyish
heart.
This is silhouetting in its first
and crudest form. It is the further
application of these gigantic likenesses that
offers the most satisfactory results. The next
thing to do is to buy or make a pantagraph.
If the needed carpenters' tools are available,
and a lad has some mechanical genius, he can
construct one good enough for the purpose
even if he does not produce one that will copy
to exact working scale.
For the average maker of silhouettes, how-
ever, perhaps the best plan is to buy a panta-


graph, as they can be had at prices not too
high for the most moderate purse. A cheap
one will answer if the joints be closely adjusted
so that they will not wiggle; but it may be re-
marked that a little larger price for a fairly good
instrument will be more than repaid by the
better results obtained by it.
A nicely adjusted pantagraph will cost not
more than a few dollars, and can be had in any
city from a dealer in art materials or mathe-
matical instruments. And besides silhouetting,
the pantagraph can be turned to all sorts of
uses; enlarging patterns for scroll-sawing, wood-
carving, brass-work, embroidery, and enlarging
or reducing sketches, and the like.
The pantagraph procured, the work in pros-
pect can be entered upon in earnest. Plac-
ing the pantagraph upon the large table cleared
for the work, by the use of the tracing point on
the long arm and the sharpened pencil point
on the short, the large silhouette may be re-
duced to any proportion desired, and the field
for all that fancy can suggest or occasion de-
mand is open.
Take the large, ungainly silhouettes of the
entire family, made on some evening when all
are at home, and reduce them to, say, three


inches in length on sheets of smooth white
paper or Bristol-board the size of a cabinet pho-
tograph. Fill them in with black, and a fam-
ily portrait gallery is completed that will be a
treasure to the possessor, and will make a most
unique Christmas or birthday present for an
absent brother, relative, or dear friend. A small
portfolio of tinted paper simply inscribed with
ink or water-colors, or ornamented by some
graceful design traced on its cover by means


954






BLACK ART.


of the pantagraph, makes a neat and handy
packet in which to inclose the little fellows for
safe preservation.
In filling in these smaller silhouettes, one
large soft camel's-hair or sable brush will be
needed to cover the larger spaces and the gen-
eral outlines, supplemented by a smaller, finer-
pointed brush with which to complete the
outlines of the face, leaving the sharpest cor-
ners and most delicate
touches to be put in with
a fine pen. A good steel
pen, or a lithographic
crow-quill pen, one of
Gillott's, will be just the
thing for this work. A
stick of India ink may
be rubbed down for the
filler, but it is much
easier to buy a small
bottle of prepared liquid
India ink, drawing-ink
such as artists and archi-
tectural draughtsmen
use. The cheaper inks
will give quite satisfac-
tory results in most cases.
Applications of the
process will suggest
themselves to any ingenious youngster. One
clever lad, who got out of the art as much per-
haps as any one can, pantagraphed the comical
design of a file of caricatured soldiers marching
by in profile from Howard Pyle's silhouette in
an old ST. NICHOLAS, and by transferring the
likenesses of his boy friends for the militiamen's
faces, produced a military turn-out of ridicu-
lous solemnity that long adorned the club-
room. The canoe club of which he became a
member soon appeared as lively frogs, each
"paddling his own canoe" and carrying as his
head the portrait of one of the members of the
aquatic society.
The story of "Moumouth," the famous
French pussy-cat, which once amused thou-
sands of boys and girls, in the back numbers of
ST. NICHOLAS, furnished many prime sugges-
tions and queer figures, of wicked butlers, an-
tique countesses, juvenile "Fariboles," and
angular Mistress Michels," from Mr. Hop-


kins's comical silhouettes. And besides these
our young friend kept a regular scrap-book of
all good silhouettes or amusing and pretty
fancy-dress figures that could be worked up
into the "little black pictures," as the old cook


called them.
pretty young
the ingenious
and in a day


So that whenever one of his
girl friends wished her picture,
young artist drew her silhouette,
or so presented her portrait in


the costume of a jaunty little French marchion-
ess, an Italian flower-girl, or one of the beauti-
ful but haughty court ladies of the olden
time, in sweeping Empire gown, or Watteau
train, feather fan,
and high-heeled
slippers.
One dainty lit-
tle silhouette, over
which he spent
much time and
a great deal of
care, was carried
for many a day in
the back of his
watch-case, while
his own picture filled a certain little locket
during the same term of glamour.
Illustrated magazines and circus bills fur-
nished plenty of spirited sketches of horses to
mount a whole riding party and to preserve a


955





BLACK ART.


memory of the jolly day with the likenesses of of his performances, by entertaining a large
the participants. party of their young friends, and, amid much
A charity entertainment of private theatricals excitement and pleasure, turning out and pre-


IWOen


was advertised in a way that attracted uni-
versal attention by silhouettes a foot high, in
character dress appropriate to the drama to be
performed, each silhouette being a correct like-
ness of the one assuming the part in the play.
A large party of his elder brother's college
friends, who spent the holidays at his home en-


senting a silhouette of the guest, of himself, and
of his sister to every one present.
His days of silhouetting are over, now that
his mustache is showing signs of activity, but
he still resorts to it on frequent occasions, and
there are few keepsakes more carefully treasured
by the owners than the results of his fancy,


joying the hunting, figured as the heroes in a
hilarious hunting scene in which guns and rab-
bits were busy in all directions.
With the active help of his sister, he gave the
crowning event of the season and the summit


application, care, and skill in the exercise of
this harmless "black art."
And every year that they are kept adds to their
quaint value as souvenirs of old friends, and
mementos of past pleasures.












BOOKS OF OLDEN TIMES.


Bv C. A. LYNDE.


SURROUNDED as we are, at the present day,
by books of every description, for the young
and for the old, with libraries in every town and
village, it is almost beyond the power of im-
agination to conceive of a time, centuries ago,
when books were unknown, unthought of;
when the record of the events and history of
the times had to be carved on rough stone in
queer, rude signs and symbols; when altars
were raised or cairns heaped up to tell some
tale. Yet such a time there was. Looking
back-ages and ages, until the time seems like
a dream to us, we find that people inscribed






FIG. I. CELTIC INSCRIPTION ON STONE.

on rock, in whatever form they found it, even
upon the side of some hill or cliff, such records
as they wished to preserve.
Glad must they have been when clay, a softer
material, was brought into use for this purpose.
In Babylon, impressions were made on bricks of
clay, which were baked in the sun, and after-
ward built into the public structures for safe
keeping. Some of these Babylonian bricks,
thousands of years old, are preserved in Trinity


College Library, England, where there is also a
curious clay pillar quite covered with queer-
looking inscriptions. Each division is thought
by some learned men to contain an entire subject,
to be what we should call a complete book; but


















FIG. 2. THE TALIPOT TREE.
no one knows much about it, the characters being
almost unintelligible to us.
As centuries passed on, various materials were
brought into use, and later we find the square
tablets of wood, lead, or horn. Some people
utilized also the leaves of trees. These were
the first real books, the word "book" being
by some thought to be derived from the Anglo-
Saxon boc, which is the original form of the


FIG. 3. CEVLONESE BOOK.
name beech. On the smooth bark of the beech
the Saxons used to write with the sharp point
of the thorn.





BOOKS OF OLDEN TIMES.


Even now,in some countries,leaves of trees are
used for books. In Ceylon, the leaves of the
talipot, a tree common on that island, are used
for a similar purpose. The talipot-tree be-
longs to the Palm family. It grows to about a
hundred feet high, is straight, and has no real





7:
I. 4



FIG. 4. PAPYRUS ROLLED.
branches. When very old, the tree blossoms,
and dies after ripening its fruit. The tree never
blooms blit once. The leaves used for books






; X
/' ,






FIG. 5. PAPYRUS PARTLY UNROLLED.
are cut by the natives before they spread open,
and are of a pale brownish-yellow, a color they
retain for ages. The characters are impressed
upon the leaf, and are rubbed over with char-
coal to make them show more plainly. The
leaves are then strung together between covers
of board, or of some less common material.
A picture of one is on the preceding page.
Early writers made use of linen or cotton
fabrics, of skins, and even of scales of fishes,
for writing. For a long period papyrus was used,
the books being made in rolls, being about one
and a half feet wide and sometimes fifty feet
long (Fig. 4). Papyrus was a flag, or bulrush,
growing eight or ten feet high, found in the
marshes of Egypt; from its inner pith the form
of paper called papyrus was made. A most
extraordinary papyrus was discovered at Mem-
phis, supposed to be more than 3000 years old.
It measured loo feet in length. It is a funeral


roll," and is preserved in the British Museum.
Papyrus sheets were neatly joined, attached
to a stick, and rolled upon it (whence we have
our word "volume from the Latin verb volvere,
to roll). The titles were written on tags at-
tached to the sticks, or inscribed on the outside
of the rolls. The rolls were kept in round
wooden boxes resembling the old-fashioned
bandboxes, and could easily be carried about.
When the literary jealousy of the Egyptians
caused them to stop the supply of papyrus, the
king of Pergamos, a city in Asia Minor, intro-
duced the use of sheepskin in a form called from
the place of its invention, pergamona, whence
our word "parchment" is believed to be derived.
Vellum, a finer article made from calfskin, was
also used. Many of the books done on vellum
in the middle ages were transcribed by monks,
and often it took years to complete a single
copy.
Books consisting of two or three leaves of
lead, thinly covered with wax, on which they
wrote with an iron pen or stylus, the leaves be-
ing joined by iron rings or by ribbons, were also
used by the ancients (Fig. 6).
Books remained very scarce and expensive
until after the introduction of paper made from
linen, and the invention of printing.
When the first libraries were established in
England, books were so rare and valuable
that they were usually attached to the shelves
by iron chains to prevent their being stolen.


FIG. 6. LEAD BOOK.
A fashion of expensive bindings prevailed for
a long time, and great skill was exhibited in
bindings ornamented by embroidery and vari-


958


~F~------------------^IT~T~r~.ry;i-s~=






BOOKS OF OLDEN TIMES.


-.'- --''--..---. -- A--o_ -
~ -i_.'. ':.4 .. ;


A MONK TRANSCRIBING A BOOK TO A ROLL OF PARCHMENT. (FROM AN OLD DRAWING.)


ous styles of needlework, as well as in bindings
studded with precious stones. Queen Elizabeth
used to carry about with her, suspended by a
golden chain, a book called "The Golden Man-
ual of Prayer," bound in solid gold. On one
side was a representation of "the Judgment of
Solomon "; on the other the brazen serpent with
the wounded Israelites looking at it. In the
Jewel House of the Tower of London is a book
bound in gold and enamel, clasped with a ruby;
on one side is a cross of diamonds with other
diamonds around it; on the other a flower-de-
luce in diamonds, and the arms of England.
The book is enriched with small rubies and
emeralds.
Year after year has brought its changes
among books, making them more and more at-
tainable by the poorer people, until now there is
scarcely a family, in our country at least, so


poor as not to be the owners of a few books;
while in most homes we find well-stored shelves
and rooms, filled with interesting volumes, and
upon the tables are the daily papers and popu-
lar magazines. Even the children have maga-
zines and papers of their own, nowadays, and
books by the thousands are written for young
readers.
Have the readers of the ST. NICHOLAS ever
thought of those olden times before books, as
we know them, had come into existence? Im-
agine yourself deciphering a lesson in history
from some slab of rock, or spelling it out from
a lengthy papyrus roll--or, worse still, sup-
pose you had to grow up in utter ignorance of
all book knowledge!
Who can help being grateful for the privilege
of living in an age when books are within the
reach of all ?


959


~. ~4.----
'
.,.,.,,,,,~ :, ,I;
-L- '-,' ~ '~----------
5







very sleepy,
for you see


\A/e 3


The sand-md n left
the send for me


so naughty


Syest'ercley,


With little
acrCoss


George -.
the way.: .


THE BABY CHICKS.


[A Rhymefor the very youngest. ]
CHICKY, Chicky,
Soft and fluffy!
Chicky, Chicky,
Fat and puffy !
Peep, peep! Peep, peep!
This is what the Chickies say-
This is every Chicky's way-
From early morning till they sleep-
Peep! Peep!
Chicky, Chicky,
Feathers yellow!
Chicky, Chicky,
Happy fellow!


Peep, peep! Peep, peep !
This is what the Chickies say-
This is every Chicky's way-
From early morning till they sleep-
Peep! Peep!
Chicky, Chicky,
Bobbing brightly!
Chicky, Chicky,
Strutting lightly !
Peep, peep! Peep, peep!
This is what the Chickies say-
This is every Chicky's way-
From early morning till they sleep-
Peep! Peep!


479L


", 1)
J-1 M









AN OLD STORY RETOLD IN

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.

T 7, I 7 I ._ 1.


PICTURES




----' '


,;* 1 : 11 ^.&^ 1 '










III

I: r: -

i i 'I *I
; i


: *w


IV. V.


VII.


Xl. XII.
961






JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


JACK-IN-THE- PULPIT.
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


OF all the changes of the year
Complete, from birth to rest,
This rosy, russet, golden change -
October-is the best.
Be glad, 0 man for it is here;
Earnest and hopeful, children dear;
Ripe is the year, and blest.
IT IS pleasant now and then to greet you with
song, my friends, though the full meaning of these
rhymes may not at first be clear to you. You see
I thought them, and then the dear Little School-
ma'am set the ideas to an acrostic measure,- what-
ever that may be,- and so it may take both you
and myself a little while to get settled in our minds.
But, at all events, the rhymes are trying to tell you
that October is not a weary, melancholy month
hinting of destruction and decay. No; it is rich,
complete, content, glorious.
That, at least, is how October appears from this
pulpit, whether in quiet hours when only my birds
and I are taking in its glow and grandeur, or when
busy human folk, little and big, are roaming hither
and thither, or settling themselves in ruddy shades.
By the way, one of the finest bits of music I
know of (and my squirrels quite agree with me) is
the sharply soft sound of ripe nut-burrs falling
through the keen air into beds of yellow leaves and
crisp little spears that have long since ceased their
waving. But perhaps you boys do not care for
nuts and such things? Well, time is speeding.
Suppose we now take up the subject of

A HERMIT TO ORDER.
HALF the world knows that to make a wild, out-
of-the-way bit of woods truly interesting to some
folk, somebody must discover in its recesses a
lone, lorn hermit-inhabitant, a dazed, unkempt,
half-civilized creature with a history of his own


which he has sedulously forgotten for many a year.
Well, Archibald, the ninth Duke of Hamilton, I
am told, actually advertised for "A Hermit," as
an ornament to his pleasure-grounds, and stipulated
that the said hermit should have his beard shaved
but once a year, and that but partially, in order to
produce the required shaggy effect. Probably he
was instructed to wear ragged old clothing, to say
nothing of a dazed, where-did-I-come-from cast of
countenance.
A STARTLING PET.
IT was this same ninth Duke of Hamilton, it
appears, who had a strange pet. A friend calling
on him one day asked if it was true that he kept
a young, tame tiger. The duke slapped his thigh,
uttered a kind of whistle, when out from under the
sofa crept the long-backed animal; and out of the
door retreated the visitor.

ANIMAL LANGUAGE AGAIN.
HERE is one more letter about animals that seem
to have a language of their own.
ANDOVER, MASS.
DEAR JACK: In the April number of the ST. NICHOLAS
you asked if animals have their own language. I should
answer decidedly in the affirmative.
One day we were out in a field, shooting with bows
and arrows; our dog, "Wat," was there watching us.
Pretty soon another dog, "Puck," came up to him and
nosed around his ears. In a minute both dogs started off
together. We went on shooting and did n't notice it
much, but just as we had stopped shooting, both dogs
came back carrying a big woodchuck. Now don't you
suppose that Puck came and told Wat (who was a larger
dog than he was) that the woodchuck was there, and that
lie was n't strong enough to carry him alone ?
This is true, as I was there and saw it, and I think it
shows that dogs, at least, do have a language.
Yours truly, ERIC PALMER.
AN INFANT AUDUBON.
HERE is a boy's composition, my friends, which
will interest you, because it was written by the
eight-year-old son of a man who was one of The
Boy Emigrants" that figure in Noah Brooks's fa-
mous ST. NICHOLAS story.
Master John evidently is a boy with his eyes
open. His "piece" is so comical and so good I
think I '11 have to show it to some of my birds after
this meeting is over.

BIRDS.
BIRDS live in the north in summer time, but in
winter they all fly south. They make their nests
of threads, twigs, and cotton.
There are blue-birds, and robins, and blue-jays,
and crows, and red-birds, and snow-birds.
The swallows take mud, and make their nests.
They make their nests on sides of houses. Some-
times after the swallows' nests fall down, the bees
come and make their nests in the places where
the swallows have gone away.
The birds give to their young, worms, and flies,
and bugs, and butterflies, and little grasshoppers.
First the birds don't have anything in their nests,
and then they have eggs, and then young birds.


~11~_ __~I___







JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


Kingfishers stand on a limb and watch for a fish
to pass by. Then the kingfisher dives down into
the water and almost always gets the fish. Then
it screams, then a big eagle hears it and goes after
him, and always catches the kingfisher. Then it
screams again, and drops the fish. Then the eagle
flies off. Eagles carry off babies and lambs. The
eagle makes its nest in a big hole in a mountain.
The robin goes "pear," and the crow goes
caw." I do not know how a blue-jay goes, or a
swallow, or a blue-bird.
There is another kind of bird; it is a meadow-
lark. I do not know how it goes. Some boys
have sling-shots, and they put a stone in them,
and fire at the birds. They do not always kill the
birds; they hit them in the breast and knock off
some feathers.
There is another bird; it is a blue heron. It
makes a noise like tob." There are some tame
birds; they are canaries. They sing the loudest
and the best. JOHN UPHAM.

A GRASSHOPPER'S EARS.


A PHOTOGRAPH IN ACTION.

DEAR MR. JACK: Will you please tell everybody
that Mr Edison (who knows the father of a fellow
I know in school) has now invented something more
wonderful than anything he has yet done. He
calls it a Kinetograph, and it can show upon a
screen a photograph of a man or an animal in ac-
tion. I mean the man or animal actually is moving
his arms or legs. Why, he could, I suppose, show
a bull tossing a man in the air-and you could see
the whole performance Is n't that a daisy inven-
tion? I hope when these Kinetographs are sold,
they will be cheap, so I can buy one. The boys of
the Red School-house by your meadow might all
combine and buy one for their holiday exhibition.
Who knows?
My friend says that Edison is going to use the
phonograph in connection with the Kinetograph, so
as not only to show a speaker, or an actor, or
preacher in full action, but also to give the very
words and voice of the man. I call that wonderful,
as well as complete. He could give you two dogs
really fighting in earnest, and growling at the same
it Q Thi r + l^c^+ ^./ ^ ~.i-^ -^ Tl...b I


DEAR JACK: Here is a funny state of affairs. A grass- Lm,.* s s e ,L "ngCSU L IcLLt 1 CIZ WotULC uut
hopper has its ears in its fore legs Supposing one of shall also hand it to my teacher to-morrow for this
your friends had an ear on each of his arms, between the week's composition. He has requested us each to
wrist and elbow, would you not think it a very queer hand in a letter. All the same, I am,
place ? Yet this is just where ears are situated in crickets Your faithful hearer, JAMES R. G.
and grasshoppers.
On the tibia oftheir
fore legs may be (
seen a bright shiny
spot, oval in form,
which has been
found to be a true '
ear. Old natural- C '
ists supposed these.
strange structures
helped in some -
way to intensify "
the penetrating,
chirping sounds of -
crickets. No one for EAR
a moment thought ,
they might be ears,
and I don't much
wonder at it. How-
ever, Sir John Lub-
bock and .other
modern naturalists
have decided that '
crickets, bees, ants,
and other little ani-
mals s no kee-orns PART OF LEG OF A ,HOPPER SHOWING EAR.
a secret from us GREATLY MAGNIFIED "'
any longer; and al- .
though these are '--
often in the least '
suspected places,
still, by careful ex-
periments they are sure to be discovered, as was the crick- FROM THE DEACON'S SCRAP-BOOK.
yet's ear. Some grasshoppers have no ears in their legs,
and as a rule these cannot sing. HERE is something well worth considering from
While on the subject of ears, I have something else the Deacon's Scrap-book:
to tell you. There is a certain member of the crustacean the Deacons Scrap-book
family whose two ears would give you much trouble to I FIND," says Oliver Wendell Holmes, "that
find; for where do you suppose they are ? In one of the the great thing in this world is not so much where
segments of its tail! MEREDITIiH NUGENT. we stand as in what direction we are moving."










































EDITORIAL NOTE.
THOSE of our readers who are interested in Mr.
Fraser's description of a visit to the country studio of
J. A. Dolph, the noted painter of animals, and in the
illustrations from his delightful pictures of cats and dogs,
will perhaps remember the excellent study of two sleep-
ing puppies, also painted by Mr. Dolph, published in
ST. NICHOLAS for March of this year.



ANADARKS, OK. TER.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am eight years old, and I go
to an Indian school. My mamais a teacher in the school,
and my little sisters and I are the only white children in
it. I have learned to speak the Wichita language, and
know a little Caddo.
There are Wichita, Caddo, and Delaware Indians on
this side of the Washita River, and Kiowas, Comanches,
and Apaches on the other side.
I get the ST. NICHOLAS from the school. I like the
story of Chan Ok, a Romance of the Eastern Seas," and
I like to read the letters.
Very truly, WILLIE D- .


GREY ROCK, MD.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live on a farm in Balti-
more county, and we have two dogs -one great big one
three feet high and six feet long. We imported him from
Germany; his cousin belongs to the Prince of Wales,
and his grandfather was the largest dog in the world-
took first prize at London. He would have grown a good
deal larger, but the climate did not suit him. When
he was younger we used to drive him and another dog,
"Don," together in a little cart, and we used to have


plenty of fun. We have a Revolutionary ruin here; it is
an old stone house, where General Howard was born,
and the graveyard is near-by where his father and
brother are buried; he is buried in Baltimore. There
is a very interesting legend about them that may interest
your readers.
In the battle of Flodden, in the time of Henry VIII.,
the Earl of Surrey killed the King of Scotland. The
crest in the King's coat-of-arms was a lion; so the
Earl of Surrey asked Henry VIII. if he could n't put
it in his coat-of-arms. The King answered yes, and it was
made his crest. The Howards are descendants of the
Earl of Surrey, and in this old graveyard the coat-of-
arms is put at the top, and the lion is the crest.
I hope this little letter, if you think it fit to publish,
will be interesting to some of your readers.
I am yours truly, MARGARET G-


LANGENSCHWALBACH, GERMANY.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about the
first convent we went to. It was just outside Paris,
"Le Chiteau de Neuilly," every one called it. It-in
fact, all Neuilly--was at one time the country-house
and park of the Duc d'Orleans." The house was very
old-fashioned, and full of secret doors and passages;
but of course now, much to the children's disgust, all
closed up. Outside, in front of the house, were two
large statues that had always been there. One, "Notre
Dame des Victoires," was very well preserved; the
other was so mutilated that we could not discover what
or whom it was designed to represent. These statues,
on looking at them from the front, seem to stand on little
hillocks, but in the back of each was a door and steps
leading down, one to the gardens of the Tuileries, the
other to Versailles; both have been all blocked up, how-
ever, and served as capital hiding-places when we played
at hide-and-seek.







THE LETTER-BOX.


Inside, the house was still more old-fashioned than the
garden. The class-room for the elder girls was said to be
the room in which the Duke had been born. The refec-
tory was supposed to be haunted; and it is well known
that during the Franco-Prussian war the German soldiers
kept their horses there. When we were there, I wanted
very much to go down and see the "ghostly visitant."
So it was agreed that another girl and I would creep
down at five minutes to twelve, but the other girl said
I must come and wake her. In the day-time I was very
brave, and agreed to do this, but when the night came I
was quite content to stay in my warm bed, and thus lost
forever my chance of seeing the "ghost," as we left
before the twenty-eighth of the next month, the only
night it was supposed to walk.
Schwalbach is a very pretty little town and a renowned
place for invalids. We are here for my younger sister.
Mama takes the waters; in fact we all do, but it was
only for my sister that we came. When we finish the
season we are going to travel in Switzerland.
Coming here we sailed up the Rhine from Cologne to
Coblentz. We saw the Mount Drachenfels, and the cave
in which the dragon lived before Siegfried came and
killed him, and a great many castles in ruins, all with
their respective legends.
I must close now, dear ST. NICHOLAS; my letter is
already too long, I am afraid.
Hoping that you will continue to interest another
generation of young readers as greatly as you have in-
terested those of this generation, I am one of your many
devoted admirers. MAY J-.


GRAND RAPIDS, MICH.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Would you like to hear from a
little sick girl? I have to lie in bed, with a plaster
jacket on, because my back was hurt a year ago.
I greatly enjoy you every month. And lately I have
been reading all the old bound volumes I could get from
the public library. I want to tell you about two queer
pets of mine.
One day, early this spring, my brother brought me two
brown, furry caterpillars. I put them in a box with
leaves and water. After a while I grew tired, and did
not look at them for several days. When I did look,
I could find only one, but on the cover of the box was a
little brown cocoon. Then you may be sure I watched
the other-but alas, he died I do not know why it was.
I still have the cocoon, and that may be a gay butterfly
some time.
Perhaps some other child during an illness may learn
from my experience how much real enjoyment there is
to be had in observing even a caterpillar.
From your ever faithful friend,
BESSIE M. R-

LAS CRUCES, N. M.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Five years ago our family
lived at the agency of the Mescalero Apache Indians, in
this Territory, where my father had a position and my
mother was matron of the Indian boarding-school. This
school was only established while we were there, and
it was difficult to get the parents of the little Indian
children to consent to their coming and living in the
building provided for them. The little boys were espe-
cially wild, spending their time in hunting small game
in the woods with bows and arrows, and could not be
induced to come. At last the agent devised the plan of
sending out and forcibly bringing the boys in, when they
were subjected to a bath, much against their will; and
with their long black hair shaven off, and a suit of Amer-
ican clothes substituted for the Indian apparel, the
transformation was in some instances so remarkable
that it was hard for their own parents to recognize them.


However, when brought in to see their little ones, after
this change had been wrought, they were nearly always
pleased, and rarely offered any further objection to their
education.
They learned to read and write just as rapidly as little
American boys of the same age, and some of them were
particularly bright. My mother would provide them
with an American name in full, such as Philip Sheridan,
Miles Standish, Christopher Columbus, or any that sug-
gested itself, and they were always known by these
names afterward, dropping their Indian names.
While we were at the agency my brothers and I pur-
sued our studies under mother's instructions in the
school-room with the Indians. Mother had a class she
called her "ten little Indian boys." Among the little
savages who were so abruptly started upon their educa-
tional career was a boy about eight years of age, one of
the La Paz tribe. La Paz, in Spanish, signifies peace;
but a decade or so ago this tribe was on anything but
peaceful terms with the Mexicans and Americans of this
country; in fact, they were noted as being extremely
warlike. This little Indian received the name James
La Paz. He made rapid progress in his studies. Since
we left the agency he has been sent to the Indian school
at Grand Junction, Colorado, to complete his studies. We
have exchanged letters quite frequently, and I send you
one of his in his own handwriting, which I hope you will
consider worthy of publishing, as it might interest some
of your readers to see the letter of a little Indian boy.
Your friend and reader, HOPE G---.
We print the letter as it was written:
TELLER INSTITUTE, GRAND JUNCTION, COL.
MY DEAR FRIEND, MIss HOPE G- : I have re-
ceived you letter some time ago, and I was very glad
that you still remember me. I don't think you are a
lazy girl, because you wrote a very long letter. If you
were lazy you would n't write a long letter. When I
first wrote to you I think you were off somewhere;
that is why you did n't write me soon. No, I never get
mad at anybody when I don't get letter from him soon.
I study arithmetic, fourth reader, and some time geo-
rapha, But not very often. When I saw the writing on
the envelope I did n't think it was you writing. I
thought it was from my home, Because it look like baby
writing. Can you write better than that? I think you
can if you just try. Our teacher is gone home about a
week ago. I was very sorry when my teacher is gone,
that I pretty nearly cried for her. She treat me better
than the other boys. She gave me one of her picture
and book. She use to give me candy every day. Hoping
to hear from you soon,
Yours, JA.MES LA PAZ.


CHICAGO, ILL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Although we have been your
devoted readers for many a year, we have never written
to you before.
While traveling in Switzerland last winter we had quite
an adventure, an account of which we thought might
interest some of your readers. One day, we two boys
went with several others and a guide to see some of the
wonders of the Alps. After climbing quite a distance,
we found ourselves gradually wandering away from the
others, and in trying to find our way back we lost our
way. It was growing darker every minute, and as we
had never been there before, we naturally began to feel
a little frightened. After looking around in vain to dis-
cover in which direction to go, we finally gave it up as
of no use, and resigned ourselves to our fate. After wan-
dering around hopelessly for about two hours, it became
so dark that we were afraid of falling over the precipice
if we went further, so we sat down and whistled to keep







THE LETTER-BOX.


up our spirits. After another hour, which seemed like
two, had gone by, we thought we heard, in the distance,
the well-known bark of the St. Bernard dogs. The
sound came nearer and nearer, until finally we could
distinguish, between the barking of the dogs, a man's
voice calling to us. We answered back joyfully, you
may be sure. The man finally reached us, and after a
great deal of trouble we reached home safely, resolving
never again to wander from our guide in a strange place.
Your constant readers,
REGINALD AND LAWRENCE.

PORTSMOUTH, N. H.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write you
a letter. I have taken you for several years.
I have four small turtles, the size of a quarter; they
were wild when I first got them, but are now quite
tame. They are very intelligent; when I go to feed
them, I tap on the china bowl I keep them in, and they
all run over to the side of the bog to get fed. I feed
them on flies. It is very interesting to watch them eat;
when one of them gets a large fly, the rest are so envi-
ous that they chase him all around the bowl, and some-
times in grabbing it, they get hold of his leg, and then a
great struggle goes on until he gives up the fly. They
are very interesting animals when young and small.
Your friend, G. W.


SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wrote you a letter last
year from Germany. Now I am home once more, I
thought I would write you again. I saw in the August
number a letter from two boys in Berlin about Von
Moltke's funeral, so I decided I would tell you some-
thing I saw in Dresden. Two years ago last June, they
had what they called the Wettin Fest, to celebrate the
eight hundredth anniversary of the House of Saxony.
A great many towns and cities were represented. The
town of Meissen had boys and girls dressed in fancy
dresses and flowers, to look like their beautiful figures.
Then there was a hunting-scene. The hunters were all
in handsome costumes. They had a great many hounds,
all held by one man on horseback. The procession
halted in front of the house where I was, and when it


started again, the strings by which the dogs were held
had become tangled, and so the dogs were all mixed up,
and they were jumping around and over one another, and
it made everybody laugh. There were also cars with
lovely tableaux. The last one was called Peace," and
one of the figures was my governess, named Elsie, a real
pretty girl.
I was in Europe two years, and my papa sent you to
me all the time. I like all your stories very much,
particularly "Toby Trafford."
You must excuse my writing if it is not as good as it
should be for a boy nine years old, for I have been writing
English only a year. Your little friend,
FRED N-


INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I spent last winter abroad
and am going to tell you some of my adventures there.
While we were in Rome a placard was pasted up on the
walls of some of the houses, announcing the fact that
there was to be a grand carnival the next week. We
decided to stay for that.
On the Wednesday of the carnival week I went out
for a walk, and nearly got my eyes put out by the lime-
dust they were throwing around. It is one of the privi.
leges granted every one during the carnival that they can
throw lime-dust in anybody's face. I did not know that,
so did n't protect myself with a veil, as others did. I
enjoyed everything about the carnival but that. I like
Europe very much, but America is the place for me- I
am a Kentucky boy and am on a visit to Indianapolis.
This is the home of the President of the United States.
I have often passed his house on Delaware street. It
formerly had a picket-fence around it, but relic-hunters
have broken it all down and carried it away.
I forgot to tell you my age. I am thirteen years old.
Your true friend, CYRIL CECIL S--


WE have received pleasant letters from the young
friends whose names follow: Helen B., Holstein DeH.
B., Curry Y., Harriet F. P., Petite Chatelaine," Regi-
nald S. B., Ethel G. G., C. B. B., Emma F., Grace A. L.,
Henry S.


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ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER.
BEHEADINGS. Rosa Bonheur. i. R-ounce. 2. O-read. 3. S-pence. NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "What is all our knowledge? We do not
4. A-gouty. 5. B-angle. 6. O-rations. 7. N-arrow. 8. H-eft. 9. E-state. even know what weather it will be to-morrow."
1o. U-niter. ix. R-addle.
o U-nier. R-adde. PI. We welcomed May with all her changing skies,
WORD-SQUARE. I. John. 2. Oboe. 3. Home. 4. Need. And hailed with joy the queenly month of flowers,
ZIGZAGS. William Dorrit. i. Wand. 2. diet. 3. baLk. 4. culL. Counting some blessing on each fleeting day,
5. EnId. 6. kAne. 7. Mead. 8. eDit. 9. prOd. ao. sluR. Telling them on a rosary of hours.
xi. giRd. 12. lIme. 13. Teal. Some idle tears must fall above the past
CONNECTED WORD-SQUARES. 1. I. Chum. 2. Hope. 1. Upas. For all the sweet, dead days that we remember;
4. Mess. I. Roam. 2. Once. 3. Acme. 4. Meet. IIa.. Sale. But, with the garnered treasures in our grasp,
4 Mess. II. r. Roam. Once. 3. Acme. 4 Meet. III. Sale. We drink the golden Wine of bright September.
2. Amen. 3. Lend. 4. Ends. IV. i. Tame. 2. Aver. 3. Mews. We dink the golden wine of bright September.
4. Erst. ADDITIONS. Harvest Home; Harvest Moon. I. Heat-Hen.
RHOMBOID. Across: I. Toole. 2. Nails. 3. Tafia. 4. Sivan. 2. Arm-Ada. 3. Rack-Rent. 4. Visa-Vis. 5. Ens-Eel. 6. Slip-
5. Names. Shod. 7. Tar-Tan. 8. Heads-Man. 9. Ode-On. io. Mist-Old.
DIAGONAL PUZZLE. Diagonals, Ich dien. i. Ignoble. 2. aChieve. a. Ear-Nest.
3. OtHello. 4. canDied. 5. chillad. 6. brothEr. 7. slackeN. DIAMOND. i. C. 2. Mad. 3. Manes. 4. Candles. 5. Delta.
ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS. I. I. R. a. Rip. 3. River. 6. Sea. 7. S.
4. Pet. 5. R. II. i. R. 2. Tin. 3. Rides. 4. Ned. 5. S. III. NOVEL ACROSTIC. Have-lock. I. HoLiday. 2. AmOunts.
i. R. 2. Ton. 3. Roses. 4. Net. 5. S. IV. R. 2. Sun. 3. ViCeroy. 4. ElKhorn.
3. Rules. 4. New. 5. S. V. I. S Tar. 3. Sales. 4. Red. HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Crimson. I. ereCted. 2. fuRor. 3. fir.
5. S. 4. M. 5. aSp. 6. clOak. 7. chaNtry.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July 15th, from Josephine Sherwood-Edith Sewell-
Paul Reese -" Wee 3" -"King Anso IV."- Clara B. Orwig- Malcolm and Jean L. O. E. and C. E.- Stephen O. Hawkins-Uncle
Mung-C. E. M. and M. L. M.
ANSWfRS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July 15th, from P. L. S., i Elaine S., i Grace Shirley, -
" ShanghAi China," 2-" Only I," i -"New Haven, Vt." i Bridget and Timothy, 2 Carrie Thacher, 7 -Daisy and Dandy, I -
" Konkle," --Thomas F. Helm, I -H. M. C. and Co., 7-"Puzzles," i -Laura M. Zinser, 3-Ella B. Lyon, 3-Annie B. Rive-
ley, I Effie K. Talboys, 7 -" Infantry," i Hubert L. Bingay, 8- C. E. K. W., I Pearl F. Stevens, o1- Anna Paul, i Nannie
J. Borden, 2 Wilford W. Linsly, 2 -Nellie M. Archer, 6 Elsie B., i -"A Third," 6 -" Snooks," 7 Blanche and Fred, as Ida and
Alice, -i-"May and'7," ii-Chiddings True, 5-"Charles Beaufort," E. M. G., i Edith, Allis, Helen, Mac, and Essie, 2-
"Kit and Kat, 2 -"ThD e Nutshell," ao- Ida Carleton Thallon, lo- Estelle and Clarendon Ions and Mama, i-" Hawkeye," 6-
Charlie Dignan, 8 -" Dode," 2-" Tahoe, Cal.," 5.


DOUBLE DIAGONALS.
EACH of the words described contains seven letters.
When rightly guessed and placed one below another, in
the order here given, the diagonals from the upper left-
hand letter to the lower right-hand letter will spell the
name of a celebrated Polish officer who was killed at the
siege of Savannah in 1779; the diagonals from the up-
per right-hand letter to the lower left-hand letter will
spell the name of an English satirical painter.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Having peaks. 2. A small fresh-
water fish allied to the carp. 3. A musical term mean-
ing "quick." 4. A crustacean with ten feet or legs.
5. A small umbrella. 6. Onsets. 7. A warlike people
subdued by the Romans in the year 306 B. C.
FRANK SELLING.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I AM composed of forty-seven letters, and form a
quotation from one of Shakespeare's plays.
My 19-38-42-1I is to send forth. My 28-7-34 is sor-
row. My 29-45-23 is a farming implement. My 2-21-
39-15-5-31 is fated. My 33-37-18-47-6 is dressed.
My 12-26-9-41 is healthy. My 4-24-44-43-30-22 is to
deliver. My 13-36-16 is a feminine name. My 20-1O-
3-1-25 is to demand as due. My 35-14-8-27-46-32-
40-17 is a tin-mine. F. M. R.
ZIGZAG.
ALL the words described contain the same number of
letters. When rightly guessed, and placed one below
the other, the zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand
letter, will spell the name of a barber in one of Dickens's
stories.
CROSS-WORDS : I. To keep busy. 2. A little pocket
for a watch. 3. The whole quantity. 4. A horned quad-


ruped. 5. To petition. 6. Abig-headed bird. 7. Epoch.
8. Cognizance. 9. A bird of the Crow family. o1. Ca-
lamity. II. A four-winged insect. 12. A quadrumanous
mammal. 13. Anger. 14. Suitable. 15. An adversary.
C. H. H.


CUBE.
I .


5 .


7 8
FROM I to 2, a city in the United States; from 3 to 4,
to soften; from I to 3, formerly a duty of two shillings
on every tun of wine imported into England by foreign-
ers; from 2 to 4, to make clear; from 5 to 6, unsafe; from
7 to 8, to amuse; from 5 to 7, to copy; from 6 to 8,
retirement; from I to 5, a song; from 2 to 6, to orna-
ment in relief; from 4 to 8, a flag; from 3 to 7, to
glide by. HYME.


. 2


4





THE RIDDLE-BOX.


-T7I- I

- 7


ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE.

EACH of the seven pictures in the above illustration
may be described by a word of seven letters. When
these are rightly guessed and placed one below the other,
in the order here given, the central letters (indicated by
stars) will spell the surname of an American author, and
the letters from I to 14 (as indicated in the diagram) will
spell the name under which, for a time, he wrote.
J. K.
PI.
THREE smoce a thmon ni elit rawey cary,
A mothn fo ruelise dan thafluleh ster
Hewn eht peri slavee lafl adn eht ria si crale.-
Rebcoto, eht wrobn, teh scrip, het belts.

WORD-SQUARES.
I. 1. A SIMPLETON. 2. The European blackbird. 3. An
old word meaning "one side." 4. Stone-crop. 5. A
resinous substance.
II. 1. The ermine. 2. A large animal found in
South America. 3. A musical drama. 4. Ventilated.
5. Commerce. REYNAR D.

RHOMBOID.
AcRoss: I. Besides. 2. Not anything. 3. Relating
to time or duration. 4. Pertaining to Christmas.
DOWNWARD : I. In rhomboid. 2. Forward, in
progression. 3. A kind of deer. 4. To long after
vehemently. 5. The French word for "water." 6. In
parallels. 7. In enigma. c. D. M. AND H. II. M.

AN ORIENTAL ACROSTIC.
ALi. of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below
another, the initial letters will spell the name of a cele-
brated religious teacher born about 570 A. D.
CROSS-WORDS: I. The birthplace of this prophet.
2. The Arabic name of the Supreme Being. 3. A nymph


of paradise. 4. The founder of the Ottoman empire.
5. An official expounder of Mohammedan law, in Tur-
key. 6. An Arabic prince. 7. An African country
most of whose inhabitants are Moslems.
"PYRAMUS AND THISBE."

ANAGRAM.


A famous artist:
CITIME ON ALL AGE.


" XELIS.'"


OCTAGON.
I. To suffer. 2. Temples. 3. A salt. 4. One who in-
stigates to evil. 5. An instructor. 6. To direct one's
course. 7. To deviate. "CHARLES BEAUFORT."

RHYMED DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
PRIMALS AND FINALS.
The patroness of gloomy war,
Whose thunder shakes the heaven,
With Mars, her brother, from afar
She comes, on storm-clouds driven,
To where the army's warlike sound
Makes hills and rocks and cliffs resound.
CROSS-WORDS.
I. By Vulcan fashioned, to the world she brought
Evils, though of ill she but little thought.
2. A mountain on whose lofty summit lay
The bark which saved the chosen of that day.
3. To this proud Caledonian seaport sail
Ships, with full many a priceless Indian bale.
4. The ancients said that when a person died
Old Charon ferried him across this tide.
5. At thy command the walls of Thebes arose
Thy lute had power to conquer all thy foes.
6. The goddess of the moon, the Grecians say,
Who, under golden diadem, holds sway.
R. F. G.


THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK.




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