Front Cover
 Front Matter
 A king without a throne
 Sir William Pepperrell's well
 Tom Paulding
 The "walking-beam boy"
 The rainy-day house
 Strange corners of our country
 Alexander Wilson
 An incident at Mowbray's
 A captive
 A curious community
 Two girls and a boy
 A kitten by post
 A year with dolly
 When I was your age
 Nan's collecting
 The last conquistador
 A troublesome model
 Mr. Somebody
 The keys to the student's...
 The letter box
 The riddle box
 To St. Nicholas girls and boys
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00259
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00259
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 Matter
        Front Matter
        Page 802
    A king without a throne
        Page 803
        Page 804
        Page 805
        Page 806
        Page 807
        Page 808
        Page 809
        Page 810
        Page 811
        Page 812
        Page 813
    Sir William Pepperrell's well
        Page 814
        Page 815
    Tom Paulding
        Page 816
        Page 817
        Page 818
        Page 819
        Page 820
        Page 821
        Page 822
        Page 823
    The "walking-beam boy"
        Page 824
        Page 825
        Page 826
    The rainy-day house
        Page 827
    Strange corners of our country
        Page 828
        Page 829
        Page 830
        Page 831
        Page 832
    Alexander Wilson
        Page 833
    An incident at Mowbray's
        Page 834
        Page 835
        Page 836
        Page 837
        Page 838
        Page 839
    A captive
        Page 840
    A curious community
        Page 841
        Page 842
        Page 843
        Page 844
        Page 845
        Page 846
    Two girls and a boy
        Page 847
        Page 848
        Page 849
        Page 850
        Page 851
        Page 852
        Page 853
        Page 854
        Page 855
    A kitten by post
        Page 856
        Page 857
        Page 858
    A year with dolly
        Page 859
    When I was your age
        Page 860
        Page 861
        Page 862
        Page 863
    Nan's collecting
        Page 864
        Page 865
    The last conquistador
        Page 866
        Page 867
        Page 868
        Page 869
        Page 870
        Page 871
    A troublesome model
        Page 872
    Mr. Somebody
        Page 873
    The keys to the student's success
        Page 874
        Page 875
        Page 876
    The letter box
        Page 877
    The riddle box
        Page 878
        Page 879
    To St. Nicholas girls and boys
        Page 880
    Back Matter
        Page 882
    Back Cover
        Page 883
        Page 884
        Page 885
Full Text



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No. ii.




IN the great city of Paris, on the morning
of March 20, 1811, was heard the report of
a cannon. As in the castle of the Sleeping
Princess all were petrified by the touch of her
finger to the fated spindle, so in the metropolis
of Europe the merchant dropped his yard-
stick, the citizen held his coffee untasted, the
seamstress stopped in the middle of a stitch,
the sentinels paused at the sound of that
All, as if enchanted, counted, One "
Another and another gun followed, until the
counting reached twenty-one. Then all lis-

tened breathlessly. If the salute should go no
further, they would know that a little princess
was born, but that the great empire yet wanted
an heir to its glories.
The counting ceased. Who at that supreme
moment cared to reckon the hundred and one
guns that announced the birth of the infant
who was heir to three-quarteis of the civilized
world? Even the artillerymen may well have
'been pardoned for a miscount; surely none
knew or cared. From the jarring peal of the
great bells of Notre Dame to the shrill cheers
of the street boys, every manifestation of joy,
every proof of good wishes, followed the glo-

Copyright, 1892, by THE CENTURY CO. Allrights reserved.


J 004 -


rious news. Not only the capital, but all
France awoke to felicitations: semaphore sig-
nals hurried the tidings to remotest provinces,
and special couriers sprang to their saddles to
ride at breakneck speed to foreign courts.
Throughout the land, fortresses echoed the
guns of Paris. The shipping blossomed with
bunting in every harbor. And when night
came, every quarter of the capital glowed with
spontaneous illuminations that seemed the best
proof of how dear was the little prince to high
and low.
Whoever can read must have followed the
grand career of Napoleon I., the greatest soldier
of modern times; but of his son, Napoleon II.,
little has been written where boys and girls can
read it. Perhaps it is well to see what the
ambition of the father brought upon the son.
The great Napoleon seemed at last to have
conquered the hearts of his people. He said
afterward, On that day I learned how much
the Parisians loved me!"
Beginning a few years earlier by dispersing
the city mob before his cannon, he had made
his way steadily upward until, self-crowned, he
could demand the hand of an Austrian princess,
in order to ally himself with the proudest royal
family of Europe.
When the divorced Empress, Josephine, was
a young maiden in Martinique, it is said that
an old gipsy woman one day predicted that
the young creole should be "greater than a
Queen of France." If another soothsayer had
foretold that Marie Louise, daughter of the
Emperor of Austria, would marry Napoleon
Bonaparte, it would at one time have seemed
quite as incredible. For when this same Marie
Louise was a little girl playing with toy sol-
diers, she always selected the ugliest to play
the part of Bonaparte," the hated enemy of
her country. Whatever queer fancies she and
her brothers may have carried out with their
toys, we are sure that this detested wooden
Bonaparte was never made to play the r6le of
bridegroom to the little archduchess.
And yet the fantasy of facts had brought it
about that she was the wife of the great Em-
peror of the French, and mother of the boy
whose birth set Paris and France and all the
world in tumult. Nor was the change in her

views and her fortune a gradual one. The
marriage was in 18io, and only five years pre-
viously she had written from Hungary, whither
the Austrian Imperial family had fled before
Napoleon's invasion: Perhaps God has let
him go so far to make his ruin more complete
when he has abandoned him!" Even one year
before the marriage, upon the reported loss of
a battle by Bonaparte, she wrote, May he lose
his head as well! "
But Napoleon had weighed the advantages
of a match with a sister of the Czar of Russia,
and had decided that he preferred an alliance
with the Archduchess of Austria; and, for the
sake of the peace of Europe, the girl of nine-
teen had yielded to the wishes of her father
and his advisers, and consented to become
Empress of France.
The wedding was one long pageant from
Vienna to Paris. So eager were the French
courtiers to see the young bride that, as she sat
enthroned before being presented to her new
subjects, one of them made a tiny gimlet-hole
in the partition, and all took turns in securing
a private view.
Napoleon said at St. Helena, "Marie Louise
had a short reign, but she must have enjoyed
it; the world was at her feet." And the proud-
est moment of her brief sovereignty was when
the little son was born.
Surely no infant ever had so bright a golden
spoon in its mouth. What a beginning for a
fairy-story! -" There was born in a most pow-
erful empire a young prince. His father was
an emperor and a king, his mother an empress,
the daughter of an emperor, and was likewise a
queen and an archduchess. His grandfather
was an emperor, his uncles and aunts were
kings and queens, and he himself was a prince
imperial and a king even before he could
What fortune will the seers predict for the
child? His father was sure that Prince Impe-

rial was too petty a title for this heir of Europe
and the glory of its conqueror. No modern
title was grand enough, and they went back
to the days of the world-rulers,-the Roman
Caesars. The heir to their throne had been
known as King of Rome," and in default of
greater title, the little Napoleon was so called.




The birth of this tiny monarch has been de-
scribed as the last smile of Fortune upon him
who had seemed her favorite child." But
though the course of Napoleon's career had
reached its highest point and was thenceforth
downward, the descent was at first gradual and
hardly apparent. The father and mother were
overjoyed and full of pride in the beautiful boy.
Though so great a personage, the Empress
wrote to the grandfather just as a humbler
mother would have done -" I think you
will see how much he looks like the Em-
peror,"-meaning, of course, her Em-
peror and the baby's Emperor. The
child's surroundings were the most ex-
quisite the world could furnish. He
was baptized in the chapel of the Tuile-
ries, from a gold font, and surrounded by
sovereigns and courtiers who blazed in
colors and jewels. Imagine the presents
heaped upon this little fellow, to whom
anything less than a duke was a poor
relation! His cradle was of costly ma-
terials, and designed by a distinguished
artist. It bore at the head a winged
figure of Victory, while at the foot
the imperial eagle was perched ready to
fly,-quite too ready to fly, as it proved.
His baby-carriage was drawn by lambs
as white as Mary's own; while, for fear
they should skip and play and spill his "-
precious majesty upon the soil of his
future empire, a gorgeous official kept
a firm hand on the reins, and the grand-
est of nursemaids walked ever by this
royal chariot. But if the baby crowed
and smiled, no doubt it was at the birds
and flowers and sunshine, which were no more
his kingdom than they are the domain of every
child that breathes.
When he tired of his coach, the bravest Vet-
erans of the Guard sought the privilege of
dandling the son of the beloved Little Gray
Corporal who had become an Emperor. No
cross or medal was too precious to be the play-
thing of the boy who was to inherit all that
had been won on so many terrible "battle-fields.
But grandeur has its penalties. Once, when
Napoleon playfully pinched the little cheek,
the baby cried.

Come, come, sir!" exclaimed the Empe-
ror; "do you suppose you are never to be
thwarted ?-and do kings cry ?"
Assuredly they do. There is no royal road
to teething.
Talleyrand, one day upon entering the private
study where father and son were together, found
the boy upon his father's knee, while Napoleon
was gently slapping him.


Do you know what I am doing ?" asked
No, sire," said the diplomatist, who was far
too wise to guess royal puzzles.
I am slapping a king!" was the answer.
And this trifling and harmless pleasantry has
been cited by a serious writer as a proof of
Napoleon's cruelty to his child !
Is he not a fine boy?-you must confess
that he is," said the Emperor to one of the
court ladies; and the father showed in- many
ways warm affection toward the little fellow.
It was the custom to let the boy come to the



table at the late breakfast, where he was treated
to a very small portion of claret in a great
deal of water. Both his parents seem to have
teased the baby at times; it may be that the
contrast between the proud title, "King of
Rome," and the tiny toddler who staggered
under it, tempted the father and mother into

. :- .


foolish tricks to make him show what a mere
infant he was after all. Only as he grew
older did he begin to understand that he was
a personage of some consequence.
Open the door. I wish to see papa!" he
said one day to the usher on duty before the
Emperor's study.
"Sire, I cannot let your Majesty in," was
the firm reply.
"Why not ?-I am the little King!" he in-
But your Majesty is alone," said the usher;
for the Emperor had ordered that the door
should not be opened unless the governess ac-
companied the boy. This was done that he
might respect her authority.
With tears in his eyes, the little monarch
ran away, only to return in triumph with his
Open the door," said he confidently; the
little King desires it."
The obsequious usher stood aside, announ-
cing, His Majesty the King of Rome! "

Very grand; but there are advantages in
being able to run to one's father without cere-
As he learned his importance, the royal
pupil sometimes proved refractory. Once,
when he openly rebelled, the governess went
to the windows and closed the shutters. His
curiosity overcame his rage, and he asked why
the shutters were closed.
"In order," she answered, "that no one
may hear you. The French would never
have you for king if they knew you to be so
This terrible threat brought him to terms.
"Have I cried very loud ?"
"You have."
"But did they hear me ?"
"I fear they did."
Then he surrendered, and begged forgiveness.
Certainly this was not quite straightforward
in the governess; but it is difficult to discipline
the pet of an empire, and if she made mis-
takes, she certainly atoned for them by her
devotion to the boy'when he had few other
true friends.
Many were the lessons in etiquette to which
he had to submit. We are told that he once
ran heedlessly into the council-room, ignoring
the grave dignitaries who were in consultation
with the Emperor.
"You have not made your bow, Sire," re-
marked his father, reprovingly. "Come, make
your obedience to these gentlemen." So the
boy bowed and kissed his hand, and the gray
heads returned the greeting, while the Em-
peror went on, "I hope, gentlemen, that it
won't be said I neglect my child's education.
He begins to understand infantine civility."
In these stories we see that the Prince was
a good little fellow who tried to keep the many
rules they prescribed for him. Other anec-
dotes show that he was kind-hearted as well
as docile. An old Greek statesman said that
the babies ruled Athens; for the babies ruled
the mothers and the mothers ruled the fathers.
Shrewd courtiers tried to make use of the in-
fluence of tle King of Rome over the Emperor.
A man who sought a place in the French
government presented to the Emperor a peti-
tion addressed "To His Majesty, the King of




Rome," begging for an appointment. The
Emperor said, "Carry it to the person to
whom it is addressed." So the petitioner was
conducted.to the cradle of the six-months-old
potentate, and there he solemnly read aloud
the document to the blinking infant, respect-
fully saluted, and returned to the Emperor.
"What answer did he make?" asked Na-
"Sire, he made no answer," was the reply.
"Who says nothing, consents," observed the
Emperor, dryly, and granted the petition.

read that, upon the return of the Emperor from
a grand review in the Champ de Mars, at which
the King of Rome was present, his mother
asked, "Was he frightened?" and the Emperor
replied, "Frightened? No, surely. He knew
he was surrounded by his father's friends!"
When the King of Rome was but one year
old, the artist G6rard painted his portrait as
he sat in his magnificent cradle. The picture
showed him with the symbols of royalty, and
was no doubt quite as imposing as the truth
would permit. As soon as finished the portrait


In this case the young King played a passive
part; but when he was older, by the artful
arrangement of some person about the court, a
soldier's widow passed with her son before the
windows of the palace at St. Cloud so as to
attract the notice of the young Prince.
"Why is she dressed in black?" he asked;
and they told him the sad story of the father's
death. He eagerly agreed to present a petition
for a pension.
We cannot regret that this pension was
granted, but must wish that the application had
been made in another way. It is pleasanter to

was packed in a great box, fastened on top of a
traveling-carriage, and hurried away into Russia,
where Napoleon was then encamped.
It arrived on the night before a battle; and
the Emperor caused it to be exhibited near
his tent, where it could be seen by the soldiers.
The Imperial Guard of Veterans were the first
to crowd about it, we may be sure; but we may
now accept with some reserve the statement
that they wept tears of joy over it.
"Gentlemen," said Napoleon to his officers,
"if my son were fifteen years old, you may be
sure that he would be here among this multi-


tude of brave men, and not merely in a
Happily, the little King was too young to go
with his father upon that terrible invasion of
Russia, which was to be the ruin of the empire.
Beginning so gloriously, it ended in untold hor-

T ,



rors of flight and frost. Then Napoleon aban-
doned the ragged remnant of his army and fled
secretly in a swift sledge. Muffled in a heavy
cloak, he came almost alone to the palace at
midnight, and had difficulty in gaining admis-
sion. He roused the Empress and kissed the
sleepy baby, who only mumbles drowsily as
he is carried back to bed.
There were yet a few happy months for the

boy; for while Napoleon was working des-
perately in his study to raise another army from
exhausted France, he found relief from his ter-
rible anxiety by playing with,his son, The two
would sit upon the floor, marshaling blocks of
wood that represented bodies of soldiers.
But, outside the play-room, the allied mon-
archs of Europe were as busily marshaling real
soldiers, and bearing back the eagles of France
on every side. Nearer and nearer they came,
until the French Emperor was forced to oppose
them with what resources he could conjure up
for the desperate struggle to save an inheritance
for his son-and to save it from the allies of
the boy's own grandfather!
On January 24, 1814, the Emperor sum-
moned to the Tuileries the officers of the
National Guard of the capital, and to them
confided "what, next to France, he held dear-
est," the Empress and her son. And when
they promised to be faithful to the trust, no
doubt they were sincere. But though Napo-
leon was not disgraced in the campaign that
followed, he was overcome by numbers, and
then all saw that the empire was at an end.
On the 28th of March, the throneless little
King found his mother dressed for a journey,
and the household in a bustle of excitement
and terror. No one could spare a moment to
tell him what they feared. At length, when it
was announced that the Cossacks, or Russian
cavalry, were approaching, it was decided that
the Empress must fly from Paris; and when the
boy saw the carriages he understood that he was
to be taken from his home.
"I don't want to leave'my house! I don't
want to go away. Now that papa is away, I
am master here he cried.
Poor child, how could he know that Rus-
sian Cossacks would not yield even to the
authority of the great Emperor himself! Cling-
ing to the doorway and balustrade, he resisted
with all his little strength, and had to be forced
into the carriage without ceremony.
"I don't want to go to Rambouillet," he
persisted. "It 's a gloomy castle! I want to
stay here! But his voice was drowned by the
rumbling of the ten heavy coaches that formed
this funeral of the empire; and then began the
anxious flight that lasted until the middle of






April, and brought the unhappy mother and
son into the power of the Emperor of Austria.
Meanwhile, Napoleon at Paris was trying to
make terms with the vic-
torious allies; but he
found time to send one
last message to his son,
" A kiss to the little King!"
Leaving the father
ruined, soon to become ---
a disguised fugitive, and
to be exiled to Elba, the
mother and her son sur-
rendered, themselves to
the grandfather and his
allies, the Emperor of
Russia and the English. -
Marie Louise burst into
tears when she met her

father, and putting the
King of Rome into his
arms, begged that the
child might be protected.
And the Emperor of
Austria took excellent
care of him; but he never
forgot that his grandson
was also the son of
the French Emperor, that
Deadly foe of Austria and
Sthe alliance. Especially
'V during the wonderful
'' "" Hundred Days" after
Napoleon's escape from
/ E// Elba, and until the defeat
Sat Waterloo had once
More proved the empire
an impossibility, was the
-: King of Rome guarded
;2 I like a state prisoner. A
messenger about to go
to Napoleon asked the
little exile whether he
had any message for his
The lonely child drew
him apart into a recessed
window-afraid of being
EON. overheard- and whisper-
ed: "You will tell him
that I always love him dearly!"
Napoleon never saw the boy again, and even
Marie Louise seemed soon to lose her motherly




affection for him. After the death of Napo-
leon, Marie Louise married again, and going
to the Duchy of Parma, a little realm set apart



for her, she lived there without
much to remind her of the de-
throned son who remained at Vienna
with his grandfather. Losing also her
second husband, after the death of the
King of Rome, Marie Louise was married a
third time; and there is -little to show that she
ever recalled her brief years, of splendor in
Paris as Empress of the French.
Now the King of Rome was king no longer.
It had been the custom in addressing him to
say, Sire, your Majesty"; but on the day that
his mother left Vienna, when entering the room
where the Emperor of Austria awaited him, he
was thus announced:
His Highness, the Duke of Reichstadt."
"Who is this new duke ? he demanded, and
then he was told that he was no longer to be,
even in name, the King of Rome. He had
been aware of the change in his fortunes even
before it was thus brutally forced upon him.

"Any one can see that I am not a king," he
had remarked; I have n't any pages now "
Few as were the letters and messages be-

,- _Hx .- < .


tween the father at St. Helena and the son at
the Austrian' court, the boy could not forget
that he was not born an Austrian noble. How
could the son of Napoleon the Great forget?
All the history of the time was but his father's
As soon as he was old enough, the little
Duke learned the duties of military service and
won his way by degrees to the rank of an officer.
The son of the greatest of warriors, military
studies were his passion, and he studied the
father's campaigns with a son's devotion.
The Duke of Ragusa, Marshal Marmont, in
his memoirs describes the Dule of Reichstadt




as taller than his father, of the same complexion, For three months the lessons continued; and
with smaller and deeper eyes. He adds that the when the story was ended, the young Duke as-
resemblance was in the serted, "Father and mother should
lower part of the face. .- never have left Paris-
Marmont met the young one for war and
man at a ball in Vienna, F' the other ur
and was eagerly ques- FL ', peac, ."
tioned upon the great / I I
Napoleon's campaigns. -
The young Duke ex- / i
pressed his love for a :6
military life, and begged /
that his father's lifelong
friend and fellow-soldier 11111
would instruct him in
strategy. -
France and Austria -
will one day be allies," 4
he said, and their armies, .
willfightsidebyside." Itf > ,
was his only hope, for he
assured Marmont that he
would never fight against
the French, because his
father had forbidden it.
But before agreeing to instruct
him, Marmont thought it necessary to
consult Prince Metternich. The great diplo-
matist, however, consented to the lessons, insist-
ing only that the father's faults should be told
as well as his virtues.
Before the instruction began, the young Duke
himself suggested that it would be best to se-
cure the approval of Prince Metternich, and .
was delighted to learn that there was no ob-
jection upon the part of the Austrian minister.
The old marshal declares that the boy's
thoughts were all of his father, whom he re-
garded almost with worship; and in the story of He gratefully declared that the marshal had
Napoleon's life he was interested beyond meas- given him "the sweetest moments he had passed
ure. Well he might be. None knew the story since he had been in the world," and in token of
better than the marshal, who had been Napo- his gratitude he presented to his teacher his por-
leon's friend and comrade in arms from the days trait, with a touching inscription from Racine:
when, as a young lieutenant, Bonaparte directed
the siege of Toulon, to the end of the Empire Having come to me with a sincere interest,
and downfall of the great Emperor. You told me my father's story;
You know- how my soul, attentive to your words,
Imagine what it was to hear that wonderful Kindled at the recital of his noble exploits.
story from the lips of an actor in it--to learn at
once the life of a father and the most dazzling In the strange situation where he now found
career of modern times! himself, the young Duke was advised by the


wise old warrior to bear in mind one of Napo-
leon's maxims: "Wait, be ready, but do not
strive against circumstances."
Only once were his hopes kindled. In his
nineteenth year, a revolution in Paris caused
even the Austrian Emperor to think it possible
that the young Napoleon might be called to

i -

the French throne; and the Emperor said that
he would not object, providing the French
should so decide. But affairs took another
turn, and the dream was gone forever.
A few more words will sum up the last days
of him who had been "the little King." He
became a colonel in the Austrian service, and
sought by reckless daring to prove false the
slurs of those who thought him effeminate. He
hunted, rode, studied, exercised-did whatever
he could to show himself brave and hardy.
Brave and ambitious he was, but he had not
the bodily constitution to bear the strain of the
tasks he set himself. At last his health failed,
and he was compelled to give up all active
pursuits; and soon he learned that he had not
long to live. He bore his last illness with the

utmost fortitude, and seemed anxious only that
no one should see him overcome by suffering.
He died on the 22d of July, 1832.
He had lived just twenty-one years. He
had won no battles, and had caused the death
of no soldier; he had won no great glory, and
had done no great wrong. Without repining
he had accepted as inevitable his helpless and
hopeless captivity-a captivity he could not
even resent, for his jailor was his dearly loved
What he could accomplish, he did well.
He had many excellent talents. He knew
several living languages, but showed less apti-
tude for science. As might be expected, his
memory for history was exceptional, for his-
tory told him of the military life for which
he longed continually, believing no happiness
equal to that of the successful soldier.
Though never muscular, he was athletic,
and skilled in sports,-above all, in horseman-
ship. It is hinted that he was not always
truthful; but his strange situation would neces-
sarily have caused him to be accused of this
fault. We must remember that he could hardly
express his opinions freely without risk of giving
offense in some quarter.
A visitor to the Austrian court once stupidly
asked whether he had any messages for friends
in Paris! What could he reply to so tactless
a question?
Paris ? he repeated; "I know no one
there. My only acquaintance in the city is
the column in the Place Vend6me."
And next morning the traveler received from
the Duke a little note containing only these
words: "When you see the column, pray give
it my regards."
He gave little evidence of an ambition to
urge his claims to the French throne. "The
son of Napoleon should be too great to be-
come a mere tool," are his own words. And,
in case of an opportunity to assert his claim,
he said he did not wish "to be in advance,
but in reserve. That is to say, to come to the
rescue by recalling former glories." He was
as shrewd as he was sensible. Once Marmont
quoted a saying of Napoleon's about trusting
secrets to few, and only to those who must be
used." The young Napoleon added that it



was well sometimes to intrust secrets to those
who have guessed them "-a clever comment
for a boy of nineteen.
Imbert de Saint-Amand, from whose recent
studies of the Empire many of these facts are
taken, says: "His sumptuous cradle he had
given to the Imperial Treasury of Vienna,
which is near the Church of the Capuchins,
where he was to be buried. 'My cradle and
my grave will be near each other,' he said;
'my birth and my death-that is my whole
story.' He composed for his tomb this epitaph:
Here lies the Son of the Great Napoleon.
He was born King of Rome.
He died an Austrian Colonel. il

It is only sixty years ago that his short '
life came to an end. As he himself summed
it up, it began with grandeur and ended in
petty uselessness. But Marmont says he had
the gift of winning the affection of those who
were brought into contact with him, and that
his appearance on horseback upon parade
made his soldiers forget their rigid discipline,
and burst into wild cheering as the martial
young officer galloped along the line. Surely
there was nobility of character in the boy who
thus bravely made the best of his sorry lot.
Many of you will recall the story, already
told in ST. NICHOLAS, of the Prince Imperial
of France who was to have been Napoleon
IV." You remember that his father, also,
abandoned the throne and left France forever,
and that the brave son was slain in Africa,
with his face toward the spears of England's
savage enemies.
Perhaps when the four Napoleons are
weighed in the just judgment of the ages,
the two who made themselves emperors,
only to flee into exile from their own people,
may be held in no higher honor than their


sons, each of whom died as a petty officer
under a foreign flag.
Napoleon II. and Napoleon IV.-the story
of each is the story of a short life; but we are
told that "he that ruleth his spirit is better
than he that taketh a city."


4 tI : N

1.- 4-

-e2~~L- T ~a~

'II fIr '

I, il II

(Isles of Shoals, A.D. i790-z892.)


LITTLE maid Margaret and I,
All in the sweet May weather,
Roamed merrily and peacefully
The island slopes together.

The sun was midway in the west
That golden afternoon,
The sparrow sat above his nest
And sang his friendly tune.

The sky was clear, the sea was calm,
The wind blew from the south
And touched us with a breath of balm,
And kissed her happy mouth.

The joyful, smiling little maid!
Her pretty hand in mine,-
"Look, Thea, at the flowers," she said.
"See how the eyebrights shine!"

Scattered like pearls all milky fair
Where'er our feet were set,
They glimmered, swayed by gentle air,
For little Margaret.

And here the crowfoot's gold was spilled,
And there the violet
Its cream-white buds with fragrance filled,
And all for Margaret.

I took a grassy path that led
Into a rocky dell.
"Come, and I '11 show you, dear," I said,
"Sir William Pepperrell's well."

In the deep shadow of the rock
The placid water hid,
And seemed the sky above to mock
Arums and ferns amid.


" Is this Sir William Pepperrell's well?
But, Thea, who was he?"
"A noble man, the records tell,
A lord of high degree."

" And did he live here ? "Sometimes, yes.
Yonder his house stood, dear.
By all the scattered stones you 'd guess
A dwelling once was here.

"There lie the door-steps large and square,
Where feet went out and in
Long years ago; a broken stair;
And here the walls begin."

"How long ago did they live here? "
Gravely the small maid spoke;
"And tell me, did you know them, Thea,-
Sir William Pepperrell's folk?"

"A hundred years they have been dead.
No, dear, we never met!"
"But, Thea, you 're so old," she said,
"You know you might forget!

"I 'm only six, I 'm very new,
I can't remember much."
She clasped me, as she nearer drew,
With light and gentle touch.

"Tell me, where are they now ?" asked she.
Oh, question ages old! ,
"That, Margaret, is a mystery
No mortal has been told.

"Here stood the house, there lies the well,
And nothing more we know,
Except that history's pages tell
They lived here long ago."

0 ti h f I \ '- I, -
With serious eyes she gazed at me,
And for a moment's space
A shadow of perplexity
Flitted across her face.

Then, dancing down the sunlit way,
She gathered bud and bell,
And 'mid its ferns forgotten lay
Sir William Pepperrell's well.

V 2 /I

(A Tale of Treasure Trove in the Streets of New York.)



stantly turned the
valve in the nozle
of the tube and
S shut off the water.
S He threw down
S the hose, and
sprang forward to
see what had been
F h discovered.
There in the
sand were the lower bones of a human skeleton,
bleached white by time. The feet were already
separated by the action of the water, and the
shin-bones were detached at the knees.
The three boys stood by the side of Mr.
Rapallo, looking with intense interest at these
relics of what had once been a fellow human
being. Amid the sand, and by the side of a
thigh-bone half uncovered by the stream of
water, lay a dozen or more yellow coins.
Tom Paulding came closer, stooped, and
picked these out. They were dull, most of
them, from their long burial in the earth, and
some of them were covered with mold or in-
crusted with rusty earth. But one had been
protected, perhaps by its position in the center
of the bag; and this one glittered as the early
f rays of the sun fell on it.
The boy held it out to Mr. Rapallo. "This
is a guinea, Uncle Dick. I have seen pictures
of them," he cried. "And see, the portrait of
Georgius III."
Mr. Rapallo took the coin and looked at it
carefully, turning it over. "It seems a little
queer, somehow," he remarked; "but it is a
George the Third guinea. There can be no
doubt of that."

"Then my guess was right," Tom said;
"and we have found Jeffrey Kerr."
"The 'working hypothesis' worked excel-
lently," his uncle answered. "This must be
the skeleton of Jeffrey Kerr, and these are the
guineas he stole. The punishment followed
hard on the crime; and it was the weight of
the stolen money which caused his death here
at the bottom of the pool a few minutes after
the theft, and when it seemed as if he had
made his escape and got off scot-free. The
retribution was swift enough for once; and the
manner of it worked out a singular case of
poetic justice."
These six or seven coins are not all the
money, I suppose ? asked Cissy.
Of course not," Tom declared; there are
two thousand of them in all. We shall find
them safe enough now."
"Shall I play the hose for you?" Harry
Zachary inquired.
No," Mr. Rapallo answered. "I think we
must abandon our hydraulic mining now. I 'm
afraid the force of the stream of water might
wash away the coins before we could get at
them. We have found the gold now, and we
had best dig it out carefully ourselves."
He himself took the pickax, and gently loos-
ened all the earth about the upper part of the
skeleton, which was not as yet uncovered.
Then, with the spades, the boys very cau-
tiously removed the sand from about the
bones of the dead man's body. Every spade-
ful taken away was sifted through their fingers,
and a little pile of guineas began to heap up
near the skull, where Tom had laid the bags
he had brought to carry home the treasure
when he should find it. The stolen money
had been tied in four bags originally; and
they discovered the coins in four separate
heaps, but they had been slightly scattered in


the century and more between the loss of the
guineas by Nicholas Paulding and their re-
covery by his great-grandson.
Two of these little heaps of coins were close
together under the thighs of the skeleton; and
it was from one of these heaps that the first
glittering guinea had been washed out.
Uncle Dick," said Tom, as they picked up
these coins and put them in the bags, "do
you remember that one of the papers I showed

think it was these pockets that weighted him
down when he struggled for life in the swift
waters of the swollen brook ? I think it very
The two other heaps were not so near to-
gether. The bags containing the coins in
these piles had apparently been held in his
hands until the thief fell into the stream as he
was crossing the stepping-stones. With an in-
voluntary clutch he had carried them with him


you said that Jeffrey Kerr had on a big over- as he went down into the pool. Perhaps he
coat with pockets ? had then released them in his efforts to get
"Yes," Mr. Rapallo answered; "what of free; perhaps also they had been attached to
it ?" his person.
Well," returned Tom, I should n't won- It may be that the man did not make any
der if these two piles of gold here under the struggle at all," said Mr. Rapallo, as they dis-
body were the ones that were once in the two cussed these queries while gathering the coins
of the bags which he had put into the pockets together and putting them in the new bags.
of his coat." He was fired on twice, remember; and at
I see," Mr. Rapallo responded; and you the second shot the sentry heard a cry of pain.
VOL. XIX. 52.


Now it may be that he was wounded and faint,
and so had no strength left."
I wonder -" Harry Zachary remarked, as
he went up to the bones and began to exam-
ine them carefully. I reckon you 're right,
Mr. Rapallo," he cried a minute later. That
second shot took him in the shoulder."
How do you know ?" asked Cissy Smith,
Here 's the hole in the bone," Harry an-
swered; and here is the bullet that made it."
And with that he pulled out a large leaden
ball that had been fast to the shoulder-blade.
"Then there can be no doubt now," said
Mr. Rapallo, as to the identity of the skele-
ton before us, as to the cause of his death,
and as to the ownership of this gold. The
more we discover about this, the more closely
does everything fit together in accordance with
Tom's working hypothesis.' "
When they had picked up the last coin in
the four heaps, and after they had searched
the sand below and on all sides without find-
ing a single separate guinea, Mr. Rapallo said
at last, I think our work is done. There is
no use in our lingering here and looking for
"There have been three more carts along
here in the last ten minutes," Cissy remarked;
" and I think it is about time for us to light
out, if we don't want a crowd about us."
That 's so," Tom replied. There may be
a dozen people down here before we know it."
Very well," Mr. Rapallo responded; "we
may get away at once. But first let us at least
give these poor bones a decent burial-place.
They belonged to a thief who died almost in
the act of stealing; but he was our fellow-man,
after all, and we must do by him as we may
hope to be done by."
Tom dug a light trench in the sand almost
exactly where they had first seen the skeleton,
and Harry Zachary gathered the bones to-
gether and placed them reverently in the grave.
Then Cissy and Tom shoveled sand over the
skeleton, hiding it from all prying eyes, and
heaping over it a mound like those seen in
When this was done decently and in order,
Mr. Rapallo bade the boys collect the spades

and the pickax. He went back to the hydrant
and turned off the water. Then he took off
the hose and threw it over into the vacant
block. Joining the boys again, he unfastened
the section of the hose to which the nozle was
attached, and this he coiled up to take away
with him.
"We '11 come back for the rest of the hose
when it is dark," he explained. For the pres-
ent, we '11 leave it here. I doubt whether any-
body will notice it."
Then they took up their march homeward.
Tom Paulding carried two bags of the recov-
ered guineas, but his heart was so light that it
seemed to him as if three times their weight
would be no burden. Cissy Smith and Harry
Zachary each had one of the other two bags.
The boys also divided between them the pickax
and the spades, as Mr. Rapallo was heavily
laden with a coil of hose.
They had kept no count of time while they
had been at work, and the hours had passed
over them unperceived. The sun now rode
high on the horizon. The roar of the great city
rose on the air, only a little less resounding
because the day was a holiday. The rattle of
carts in the neighboring streets was frequent, so
was the rolling of the trains on the elevated
railroad. The city was awake again, and it was
making ready to honor the dead heroes of the
war, and to deck their graves with green gar-
lands and with the bright flowers of the spring-
If you don't mind, Tom," said Harry
Zachary, as they walked side by side, "I 'd
like to keep the bullet."
"What bullet? asked Tom, in surprise.
"The ball I found in the dead man's shoul-
der," Harry explained.
"But it does n't belong to me," Tom de-
clared. "You found it. I suppose you 've a
right to it."
"I want to keep it," Harry responded;
"it's a curious thing to have in the house; and
I reckon it 's a talisman."
"A talisman? repeated Tom.
. "Yes," Harry answered, "like those they have
in the old stories--something that will defend
you from evil and bring you luck."
"Shucks!" said Cissy Smith, forcibly. "Why



should that old bullet bring you any more luck
than it brought Jeffrey Kerr ? And it brought
him to the bottom of the creek, and it left him
I can keep it if I want it, I reckon," Harry
remarked, placidly.
Uncle Dick," Tom asked, "was n't that the
Old Gentleman who leaned over the Wall-
the man who stood by the hydrant just as we
found the gold?"
"Yes," Mr. Rapallo answered; "that was
Joshua Hoffmann."
I did n't see him go away," Tom continued.
"I wonder how long he stayed there."
I 'd like to know how he came to be there
at all," cried Cissy Smith.
That 's so," Tom declared. How did he
know what we were going to do? "
Mr. Rapallo did not answer this direct ques-
tion. Indeed, he parried it by another.
How did your friend Corkscrew happen to
get up so early ? he asked.
I guess he won't feel encouraged to try it
again," said Cissy. "You soused him well!
Oh, how he did twist and squirm when you
turned the hose full on him! It was more fun
than the circus." And Cissy laughed heartily
at the recollection of Corkscrew's ludicrous
appearance. So did the other boys; and Mr.
Rapallo joined in their merriment.
He did look a little surprised," said Uncle
Dick. "I don't believe he had expected quite
so cold a welcome."
"If Corkscrew had only sprained his tongue
instead of his foot," suggested Cissy, "so that
he could n't ask any more questions, it would
be money in his pocket."
"I 'd like to ask a question myself," Tom
declared. I 'd like to know how Corkscrew
got news of our enterprise. I did n't tell him."
There was a guilty silence on the part of
Harry Zachary, as if he thought that possibly
something he might have hinted had been suffi-
cient to bring Lott out of his bed at daybreak,
in the hope of finding out something he was
not meant to know.
By this time they had come to the flight of
wooden steps which led from the sidewalk to
the knob of sand on which stood Mrs. Paul-
ding's house.

"Now, boys," said Mr. Rapallo, "I have to
thank you for the assistance you have been
to us -"
Yes," almost interrupted Tom, I 'm ever
so much obliged to you both."
"I don't know what we should have done
without your aid," Mr. Rapallo continued.
Oh, that's nothing," said Cissy Smith.
We 'd do twice as much if we could," said
Harry Zachary.
Now I 've got to ask one more favor," Mr.
Rapallo went on. "I want you to promise
me one thing."
"We '11 promise," replied Cissy.
Of course," declared Harry.
"I want you to promise me," said Uncle
Dick, "not to tell anybody about this morn-
ing's work."
"What ?" cried Cissy, "not tell anybody? "
Not ever tell ? Harry asked.
It was obvious that both lads were griev-
ously disappointed, as they had hoped to set
forth the whole story to all their friends, with
every interesting detail. Very few boys in
New York ever had a hand in the recovery
of buried treasure; if they had to keep their
share secret, Cissy and Harry both felt that
they were deprived of the advantage of the
unusual situation.
Not for the present," Mr. Rapallo said.
Of course I know you will want to describe
everything to your parents; and so you shall.
But not to-day."
"To-morrow, then?" asked Harry.
Perhaps you may tell to-morrow," Mr.
Rapallo replied. It is for the present only
that I ask for secrecy. As soon as I can re-
lease you from the promise, I will."
Oh, very well," said Cissy, frankly; I '11
"So will I," said Harry, with a sigh.
If you are asked about anything, you can
say that what you did is Tom Paulding's se-
cret, and that you have promised to keep it
solemnly," suggested Uncle Dick.
"So we can," Harry responded; "and I
reckon that will make them want to know all
the more."
His friends handed Tom the two bags of
the recovered coins, and Mr. Rapallo relieved



them of the spades. Then Cissy Smith and
Harry Zachary departed.
When Tom and Uncle Dick stood at the
top of the little flight of stairs, they saw Pau-
line come flying out of the house toward them.
Remember, Tom," said his uncle, "you
must not tell what you have been doing-at
least, not yet."
I know that," Tom responded.
Where have you two boys been ?" asked
"We 've 'been to London to see the
queen,'" replied Mr. Rapallo, gravely.
And what have you got in those bags ?
Those are the ones I made for Tom, I 'm
Tom looked at his uncle, and made no
"That 's a secret," said Uncle Dick, laugh-
ing lightly as they went up the walk to the
But I 'm so good," cried the coaxing Pau-
line. "I 'm so good you ought to tell me
Tom and Mr. Rapallo were able to resist
her blandishments, and the curiosity of Pau-
line was not satisfied that day.

AULINE followed
her uncle and her
Brother rather de-
;' spondently to the
door of the house.
You need n't
Itell me anything
if you don't want
to," she said; "but
I 'm good, and I'll
tell you something-and it 's something you '11
be glad to know, too. Breakfast is ready! "
And with that Parthian shaft of magnani-
mous reproach, she sped past them into the
"We would better get rid of the dirt .before
we go to table," Mr. Rapallo suggested.
Hydraulic mining is a pretty wet thing to
do," Tom declared. I don't believe I 've

got a dry rag on me; and there 's sand in
my shoes and in my hair and in my ears."
They went up-stairs, and Tom hid the four
precious bags under the pillow of his bed; and
then he made himself presentable for the
He and his uncle had agreed that, if they
succeeded in finding the treasure, they should
keep it a secret until they had sold the gold,
and with the proceeds paid off the mortgage
that worried Mrs. Paulding. Mr. Rapallo had
explained to Tom that as the mortgagee had
requested payment of the bond there probably
would not need to be any delay whatever.
They might go down-town the next morning,
sell the gold and pay the mortgage off, all in
two hours.
Then Tom counted on the pleasure of going
to his mother with the canceled bond and
mortgage, and making her a present of it. In
imagination he had gone over the scene half a
dozen times; and he longed for the flash of
joy which would surely pass over Mrs. Paul-
ding's face.
Yet when Tom and his uncle came down to
breakfast that Decoration Day morning, the
temptation to tell his mother the whole story
was almost more than the boy could resist.
Mrs. Paulding saw that something had hap-
pened, and that her son was in an unusual state
of suppressed excitement. But she would not
ask for any specific explanation, knowing that
Tom had had Cissy and Harry in the house all
night, and that the three boys had gone out
early, with Mr. Rapallo. To this daybreak
excursion with her brother she ascribed all her
son's excitement, and she wondered a little
what they had been doing to cause it. But
she had perfect confidence in her brother and
in her son, and she knew that the latter would
surely wish her to share in any pleasure he had
enjoyed; so she asked no questions, content to
be told whenever Tom was ready to tell her,
and unwilling to mar his delight in the telling
by any obtrusive inquiries.
Pauline was less reticent. At least, she had
less self-control.
"Tom Paulding!" she exclaimed, as her
brother took his seat at the table, "what is the
matter with you this morning ? And where




have you been? You are just bursting with
something to tell, and yet you won't let me
know what it is."
"So you think Tom has something on his
mind?" asked Mr. Rapallo.
Indeed I do," she answered. "Do you
know what it is? "
'" Yes," replied her uncle.
"And will you tell me? she begged. "Re-
member that I 'm your only niece, and I 'm so
Oh, yes, I '11 tell you what Tom has on his
mind, if you want to know," said Mr. Rapallo.
Tom looked up at his uncle in surprise, but
he caught the twinkle in Mr. Rapallo's eye,
and he was reassured.
Well, what is it ? Polly demanded. Tell
me quickly."
"It is a secret!" Mr. Rapallo answered
"Oh, I know that," returned Polly, disap-
"Then I need not have told you," said her
"You have n't told me anything really," the
little girl continued. "At least, you have n't
told me what the secret is."
If I told you that," Mr. Rapallo declared,
with great gravity, "it would not be a secret
any more,-so it would be of no use to you."
"Oh!" cried Polly, "I never had an uncle
as aggravoking as you are."
Still, if you will conquer your just resent-
ment," Mr. Rapallo went on, and pass me my
cup of tea, I shall take it as a favor and seek
for an occasion to do as much for you."
Uncle Dick," said Pauline, "you are a
goose! "
Pauline !" called Mrs. Paulding, reprov-
Oh, well, Uncle Dick knows what I mean,"
the little girl explained.
"I deny that I am a goose," said Mr. Ra-
pallo; "but I will admit that Tom and I have
been out this morning on a wild-goose chase."
Did you get any ?" asked Pauline.
"We got one," Mr. Rapallo replied; "it
was a goose with golden eggs."
"But that 's only a story," said the little girl,

"This was only a story," her uncle answered;
"but it came true."
"I don't think it 's at all nice of you to
puzzle me like this, Uncle Dick," Pauline de-
clared, as she took Mr. Rapallo's tea-cup from
her mother's hands and passed it to her uncle.
"Thank your ladyship," said Mr. Rapallo.
Oh," cried Polly, suddenly, "you are going
to see two girls!"
"Am I ?" asked her uncle. How do you
know ?"
"That's what Katie always says when she
finds two tea-leaves floating in the cup,"
Pauline explained.
"Ah," exclaimed Mr. Rapallo, "so two
leaves in my cup mean that I am to see two
girls? And if they had been in your cup-"
"Then that would mean two boys," Polly
broke in. "Of course, I don't believe it all,
but that's what Katie says. She believes all
sorts of things."
And where is the Brilliant Conversational-
ist this morning ? asked Mr. Rapallo.
"I think I heard the postman's whistle a
minute ago," Mrs. Paulding answered; she
has probably gone out for the letters."
The Brilliant Conversationalist came in just
then, with two letters in her hand. One she
gave Mrs. Paulding, and the other she placed
before Mr. Rapallo.
"There 's only one for you, Mr. Richard,"
she said with kindly interest. Ye don't be
getting' as many as ye did."
I 'm in luck to-day as well as you, Tom,"
said Mr. Rapallo, when he had glanced over
his letter, which he then folded up and put in
his pocket without further remark.
"How is Tom in luck to-day ? asked Polly.
That is part of the secret," answered her
I don't like secrets," she replied, haughtily.
"And I 'm going to have some of my own,"
she added, hastily, "just to tease you."
Mr. Rapallo laughed at this inconsistent
threat. Tom silently went on with his break-
fast, scarcely trusting himself to speak, for fear
that he might say more than he meant to say.
Mrs. Paulding had been reading her letter,
and now she laid it down with a sigh.
It 's about that mortgage, Richard," she


said, with anxiety and weariness in her voice;
they want it paid as soon as I can pay it."
Perhaps that will be sooner than you think,
Mother," cried Tom, involuntarily.
"I agree with Tom," exclaimed Mr. Ra-
pallo, hastily breaking in. You can never
tell what may turn up. Perhaps there may
be good fortune in store for you."
I 'm not much of a believer in luck," said
Mrs. Paulding, sadly.
But, Mother, I know-" began Tom.
Again Mr. Rapallo interrupted him sharply.
Tom," he cried, "if you have finished your
breakfast, we '11 go up-stairs. You may re-
member that we have something to do there."
Now what can you have to do on Decora-
tion Day morning, I 'd like to know," Polly
declared. I think this keeping of secrets is
just too annoying for anything."
Uncle Dick is right," said Tom, rising from
the table. We have work to do to-day."
Then he went around to his mother and
put his arm about her and kissed her. He
patted Polly's curls as he passed out of the
room, and she shook her head indignantly.
When they were up-stairs, Mr. Rapallo said
to Tom, "You came pretty near giving your-
self away then."
"I know I did," Tom answered. "I
could n't bear to- see my mother worrying
about money when I 've got enough here to
make her comfortable."
How do you know? asked Mr. Rapallo.
"You have n't counted it yet."
I '11 do it now," Tom responded, and he
took a bag from under his pillow and emptied
it out on the bed. Then he rapidly counted
the coins into little heaps of ten each. There
were forty-nine of these in the first bag, and
three pieces over.
I "You have made a pretty even division
among the bags, apparently," said Mr. Rapallo.
"Two thousand guineas in four equal parts
would be five hundred in each bag; and you
have four hundred and ninety-three in that one."
I '11 count the others," Tom exclaimed,
and perhaps one of them has seven guineas
more than its share."
You must not expect to find every one of
the two thousand guineas," Mr. Rapallo de-

dared; "that would be a little too much.
You must be satisfied if you have nineteen
hundred or thereabout. It is a mistake to be
too grasping. I wonder if I am doing right
myself, in trying for more than I can get now ?
You know that I have been at work on a lit-
tle invention ? Well, that letter I got this
morning brought me a very good offer for it."
Are you going to take it? asked Tom, as
he ranged the contents of the second bag in'
little heaps of ten.
I think not," his uncle answered. I
hope I can do better."
"There are five hundred and two in this
bag," Tom declared.
"That is to say," Mr. Rapallo commented,
"you have nine hundred and ninety-five in the
two bags. At that rate you would be short
only ten guineas in the two thousand."
And this was almost exactly as it turned out.
The third bag contained four hundred and
seventy-four, and the fourth had five hundred
and eighteen. Thus in the four bags there
were nineteen hundred and eighty-seven of
the two thousand guineas. Only thirteen of
them had been washed away or missed by the
eager fingers of Tom and his friends.
"How much in our money will nineteen
hundred and eighty-seven guineas be ? asked
"A little more than ten thousand dollars, I
think," his uncle answered.
Ten thousand dollars repeated the boy,
awed by the amount.
"That is, if you get only the bullion value
of the gold," continued Mr. Rapallo. Per-
haps some of the separate coins here may have
a value of their own, from their rarity. There
may be guineas of Queen Anne and of William
and Mary. Some of them are perhaps worth
two or three times their weight as specie."
As Mr. Rapallo was speaking, Tom was
rapidly turning over the little heaps from the
fourth bag, which was still on his bed.
"These are all George the Third," he said,
"every one of them. There is n't a coin in
this heap that has n't his head on it."
That is curious," said his uncle.
"These are of the same year, too," cried
Tom. Seventeen hundred and seventy."




That is rather remarkable," Mr. Rapallo
declared; "but I suppose you have there the
contents of one of the old bags which had
been filled from a stock of coin received at
one shipment from the mint in London."
"But the other bags are all the same,"
Tom returned, quickly examining the handfuls
of coin he had taken from one of the other
"They can't be all alike," Uncle Dick re-
sponded. Two thousand guineas of the same
mintage would be unlikely to be paid all at

once, six years after the date."
I have n't found a single
guinea of any year but seven-
teen seventy," said Tom, look-
ing at coin after coin.
"That is certainly suspi-
cious," Mr. Rapallo remarked.
"Suspicious ?" echoed Tom.
"Oh! cried Uncle Dick,
starting up. I hope not!
And yet it would explain one
What is it ? Tom asked,
with a first' faint chill of
Mr. Rapallo did not answer.
He went into his own room
and came back at once, with
a small stone in his hand and
a glass bottle containing a
colorless liquid.
Setting the bottle down on
the bureau, he took at random
a guinea from each of the four

bags; and with each he made a mark on the
stone, on the fine grain of which he rubbed
off a bit of the soft metal. Then he put down
the coins, and, taking up the glass stopper
of the bottle, he touched a drop of the liquid
to the four marks. They turned dark and dis-
appeared. Mr. Rapallo sighed, and cast a
glance of pity on his nephew.
Then he plunged his hand deep down into
each of the four bags in turn and drew forth
four more guineas, and tested these as he had
tested the first four; and again the marks
turned dark and disappeared.




Uncle Dick, what are you doing ? cried
Tom. "Is anything-"
"Tom," said Mr. Rapallo, placing his hand
affectionately on the boy's shoulder, are you
strong enough to learn the truth at once ? "
What do you mean ?" Tom asked, rising
involuntarily, with a sudden iciness of his
hands and feet.
I mean," his uncle answered, slowly, that
I am afraid all these guineas you have toiled
for so bravely are counterfeit."
Counterfeit ? repeated the boy.

*~ $ 2


, --- ,. I"


"Yes," Mr. Rapallo replied; I have tested
eight of these coins taken at random, and no
one is gold. I 'm afraid there's not a genuine
guinea in all your two thousand here."
Tom said nothing for a minute or more. He
drew a long breath and stared straight before
him. He heard the wavering whistle of a river
steamer, and then he caught the faint notes
of a brass-band leading a local post of the
Grand Army of the Republic to take part in
the procession of the day.
At last he looked up at his uncle and said,
Poor mother I 've no surprise for her now."

(To be concluded.)






N i836 the steam-
whistle had not yet
been introduced
on the boats of
the western rivers.
Upon approaching
towns and cities in
those days, vessels resorted to all manner of
schemes and contrivances to attract attention.
They were compelled to do so in order to
secure their share of freight and passengers, so
spirited was the competition between steam-
boats from j836 to 1840. There were no rail-

roads in the West (indeed there were but one or
two in the East), and all traffic was by water.
Consequently, steamboat-men had all they could
do to handle the crowds of passengers and the
tons of merchandise offered them.
Shippers and passengers had their favorite
packets. The former had their huge piles of
freight stacked upon the wharves, and needed
the earliest possible intelligence of the approach
of the packet so that they might promptly sum-
mon clerks and carriers to the shore. The
passengers, loitering in neighboring hotels, de-
manded some system of warning of a favorite



steamer's coming, that they might avoid the
disagreeable alternative of pacing the muddy
levees for hours at a time, or running the risk
of being left behind.
Without a whistle, how was a boat to let the
people know it was coming, especially if some
of those sharp bends for which the Ohio River
is famous intervened to deaden the splashing
stroke of its huge paddle-wheels, or the regular
puff, puff, puff, puff, of its steam exhaust-pipes ?
The necessity originated several crude signs,
chief among which was the noise created by
a sudden escapement of steam either from the
rarely used boiler waste-tubes close to the sur-
face of the river, or through the safety-valve
above. By letting the steam thus rush out at
different pressures, each boat acquired a sound
peculiarly its own, which could be heard a con-
siderable distance, though it was as the tone of
a mouth-organ against a brass-band, when com-
pared with the ear-splitting roar of our modern
steamboat-whistle. Townspeople at Cincinnati
and elsewhere became so proficient in distin-
guishing these sounds of steam escapement
that they could foretell the name of any craft
on the river at night or before it appeared in
It was reserved for the steamboat Cham-
pion" to carry this idea a little further. It
purposed to catch the eye of the patron as well
as his ear. The Champion was one of the
best known vessels plying on the Mississippi in
1836. It was propelled by a walking-beam
engine. This style of steam-engine is still
common on tide-water boats of the East, but
has long since disappeared from the inland navi-
gation of the West. To successfully steam a
vessel up those streams against the remarkably
swift currents, high-pressure engines had to be
adopted generally. In that year, however, there
were still a number of boats on the Missis-
sippi and Ohio which, like the Champion, had
low-pressure engines and the grotesque walking-
One day it was. discovered that the Cham-
pion's escapement-tubes were broken, and no
signal could be given to a landing-place not far
ahead. A rival steamboat was just a little in
advance, and bade fair to capture the large
amount of freight known to be at the landing.

"I '11 make them see us, sir! cried a bright
boy who seemed to be about fourteen years
old. He stood on the deck close to where the
captain was bewailing his misfortune.
Without another word, the lad climbed up
over the roof of the forecastle, and, fearlessly
catching hold of the end of the walking-beam
/when it inclined toward him with the next oscil-
lation of the engine, swung himself lithely on
top of the machinery. It was with some diffi-
culty that he maintained his balance, but he
succeeded in sticking there for fifteen minutes.
He had taken off his coat, and he was swinging
it to and fro.
The plan succeeded. Although the other
boat beat the Champion into port, the crowd
there had seen the odd spectacle of a person
mounted on the walking-beam of the second
vessel, and, wondering over the cause, paid no
attention to the landing of the first boat, but
awaited the arrival of the other.
The incident gave the master of the Cham-
pion an idea. He took the boy as a permanent
member of the crew, and assigned him to the
post of walking-beam boy," buying for him a
large and beautiful flag. Ever afterward, when
within a mile of any town, the daring lad was
to be seen climbing up to his difficult perch,
pausing on the roof of the forecastle to get his
flag from a box that had been built there for it.
By and by he made his lofty position easier
and more picturesque by straddling the walk-
ing-beam, well down toward the end, just as
he would have sat upon a horse.
This made a pretty spectacle for those upon
.shore who awaited the boat's arrival. They saw
a boy bounding up and down with the great
see-sawing beam. For a second he would sink
from view, but up he bobbed suddenly, and,
like a clear-cut silhouette, he waved the Stars
and Stripes high in the air with only the vast
expanse of sky for a background. The vision
was only for an instant, for both flag and boy
would disappear, and-up again they came,
before the spectator's eye could change to an-
other direction! The sight was novel-it was
"I used to think if I could ever be in that
young fellow's place, I would be the biggest
man on earth," remarked a veteran river-man.



Like thousands of others along the Mississippi
and Ohio, he remembered that when a child he
could recognize the Champion a mile distant
by this unique signal.
After a while, though, other steamboats oper-

ing-beam boy" being killed or injured in the
machinery. On the other hand, the very haz-
ard of their duty, and the conspicuous position
it gave them, made them popular with passen-
gers and shippers, and so they pocketed many

k ~


-- --


7 1-'


ating low-pressure engines copied the idea,
and there were several walking-beam boys"
employed on the rivers, and their flags were
remodeled to have some distinctive feature each.
It was a perilous situation to be employed in,
but I am unable to find the record of any walk-

fees from Kentuckians, confections from Cincin-
nati folk, bon-bons from New Orleans Creoles,
and tips from Pittsburgers.
But at length, in 1844, the steam-whistle was
introduced, and the "walking-beam boys"
were left without occupation.

i~ `\~=F~=-





-^-^ ^'T~Si

I -~

A SNUG little house
For the children built,
And tucked like a mouse
Or a squirrel or mole
In the rocks under trees,
In a fine little hole,
"Where, if thou wilt,
Thou canst find us," they say.
Yet might we look
For many a day
Without seeing the roof,
Sturdy, storm-proof;
And even when found,
So close to the ground
Do they keep their key,
They could live, without doubt,
And not be found out,
In their rainy-day house
As snug as a mouse.

Inside they invite me
To go, and delight me
With pictures and chairs
And tables, and pairs
Of windows, each way,
Overlooking no bay
But the mighty northeast
Wild ocean- (at least
When we look out seaward);
But some windows look leeward,

(Dedicated to the children of Mr. and Mrs.
R. H. Dana, to whom the Rainy-Day House belongs.)


Among rocks and trees,
Well out of the breeze.
When rainy days come,
With a mighty hum
The children are bustling,
Or down-stairs come rustling
With paper and pencils,
And all their utensils.
The noise is too much
To endure, and just such
Long days of endurance
Brought this pleasant assurance.
Now the children have taught me
A lesson, and brought me
A joy they know not
('T was no part of their plot).
But I 'm building a house
Of my own that no mouse
Can possibly find,
For 't is not of their kind!
A house where the beams
Are cut out of dreams;
Where memory lingers,
And with her own fingers
Paints the pictures that cover
The bright walls all over.
And when the nights come,
And the birds are dumb,
I find a light there,
And a warm, sweet air.





You all know of the Natural Bridge in Vir-
ginia; and perhaps have heard how the first
and greatest President of the United States, in
the athletic vigor of his youth, climbed up
and carved his name high on its cliff. A very
beautiful and picturesque spot it is, too; but
many of them would not begin to make one of
the Natural Bridge of which I am going to tell
you-one in the western edge of the Tonto
Basin, Arizona, in the same general region as
Montezuma's Well and Castle; but it is even
less known.
The Natural Bridge of Pine Creek, Arizona,
is to the world's natural bridges what the
Grand Cation of the Colorado is to the world's
chasms-the greatest, the grandest, the most
bewildering. It is truly entitled to rank with
the great natural wonders of the earth-as the
Natural Bridge in Virginia is not. No photo-
graph can give more than a hint of its majesty;
no combination of photographs more than hints.
But perhaps with words and pictures I can say
enough to lead you some time to see for your-
self this marvelous spot.
From Camp Verde the Natural Bridge lies
a long, hard day's ride to the southeast. There
is a government road-a very good one for
that rough country-to Pine; so one may go
by wagon all but five miles of the way. This
road is fifteen miles longer to Pine than the
rough and indistinct mail-trail of thirty-eight
miles, which a stranger should not attempt
to follow without a guide, and a weak traveler
should not think of at all. About midway, this
trail crosses the tremendous gorge of Fossil
Creek, down and up pitches that try the best
legs and lungs; and here is a very interest-
ing spot. In the north side of Fossil Creek
cation, close to the trail and in plain sight
from it, are lonely little cave-houses that look

down the sheer cliffs to the still pools below.
Several miles down-stream there is a fort-house
Passing through lonely Strawberry Valley,
with its log farm-houses among prehistoric
ruins, one comes presently over the last divide
into the extreme western edge of the Tonto
Basin; and down a steep cation to the stiff
little Mormon settlement of Pine, on the dry
creek of the same name. From there to the
Natural Bridge-five miles down-stream-
there is no road at all, and the trail is very
rough. But the reward waits at the end. Leav-
ing the creek altogether and taking to the hills,
we wind among the giant pines, then across a
wild, lava-strewn mesa, and suddenly come
upon the brink of a striking cation fifteen hun-
dred feet deep. Its west wall is a jumble of red
granite crags; the east side a wooded steep
bluff. The creek has split through the ruddy
granite to our right a wild, narrow portal, below
which widens an almost circular little valley,
half a mile across.
In the wee oasis at our feet there is as yet no
sign of a natural bridge, nor of any other colos-
sal wonder. There is a clearing amid the dense
chaparral- a clearing with tiny house and barn,
and rows of fruit-trees, and fields of corn and
alfalfa. They are thirteen hundred feet below
us. Clambering down the steep and sinuous
trail, among the chaparral and the huge flower-
ing columns of the maguey, we come, quite out
of breath, to the little cottage. It is a lovely
spot, bowered in vines and flowers, with pretty
walks and arbors, by which ripples the clear
brook from a big spring at the very door. A
straight, sturdy man, with twinkling eyes and
long gray hair, is making .sham battle with
a big rooster, while a cat blinks at them from
the bunk on the porch. These are the only in-
habitants of this enchanted valley -old "Dave"
Gowan, the hermit, and his two ill-assorted pets.


A quaint, sincere, large-hearted old man is he
who has reclaimed this little paradise from ut-
ter wilderness by force of the ax. Only those
who have had it to do can conceive the fear-
ful toil of clearing off these almost tropical
jungles. But the result gives the hermit just
pride. His homestead of one hundred and
sixty acres contains a little farm which is not
only as pretty as may be found, but unlike any
It is well to have this capable guide, for
there is nowhere an equal area wherein a guide
is more necessary. Think of Gowan himself-
familiar for years with his strange farm-being
lost for three days within a hundred yards of
his house. That sounds absurd; but it is true.
The old Scotchman is very taciturn at first,-
like all who have really learned the lessons of
out of doors,-but promptly accedes to a re-
quest that his bridge be shown. He leads the
way out under his little bower of clematis,
down the terraced vineyard, along the corn-
field and into the pretty young orchard of
peach and apricot. Still no token of what we
seek; and we begin to wonder if a bridge so
easily hidden can be so very big after all.
There is even no sign of a stream.
And on a sudden, between the very trees,
we stand over a little water-worn hole and peer
down into -space. We are on the bridge now!
The orchard is on the bridge! Do you know
of any other fruit-trees that grow in so strange
a garden? Or any other two-storied farm?
The rock of the bridge is at this one point
less than ten feet thick; and this odd little two-
foot peep-hole, like a broken plank in the giant
floor, was cut through by water.
"Wait!" chuckles the hermit, his eyes twink-
ling at our wonder. "Wait!"' And he leads
us a few rods onward, till we stand beside an
old juniper on the very brink of a terrific gorge.
We are upon the south arch of the bridge,
above the clear, noisy stream, looking down
the savage cation in whose wilds its silver
thread is soon lost to view.
Going south along the southeast "pier,"
we start down a rugged, difficult, and at times
dangerous trail. A projecting crag of the pier--
destined to be a great obstacle, later, in our
photographic attempts-shuts the bridge from

view till we near the bottom of the gorge; and
then it bursts upon us in sudden wonder. The
hand of man never reared such an arch as
the patient springs have worn here from eter-
nal rock. Darkly towers that terrific arch of
rounded limestone. The gorge is wild beyond
telling, choked with giant boulders and somber
evergreens and bristling cacti until it comes to
the very jaws of that grim gateway-but there
vegetation ceases. Now one begins to appre-
ciate the magnitude of the bridge, a part of
whose top holds a five-acre orchard.
The south arch, to which we have thus
come, is the larger and in some respects the
more imposing. From its top to the surface of
the water is two hundred feet; and the pools
are very deep. The span of the archway is
over two hundred feet as we see it now from
without; but we shall soon find it to be really
very much greater. The vaulted limestone is
smoothly rounded; and the fanciful waters
seem to have had architectural training-for
the roof is wonderfully rounded into three great
domes, each flanked by noble flying-buttresses
of startling symmetry. A photograph of that
three-domed roof would be a treasure; but it is
among the many impossibilities of this baffling
Climbing up the water-worn bedrock into
the cool dusk of the bridge,-for the sun has
never shone one tenth of the way through this
vast tunnel,- we stand under the first dome.
Away up to our left, on the west side of the
stream, there is a shelf at the top of a high wall;
and mounting by ledges and a tall ladder, we
find this little shelf to be an enormous level
floor, running back three hundred feet west.
Here, then, we see the extreme span of the
bridge-over five hundred feet; and here we
find the central pier-a lofty column from
this floor to the vaulted roof, a column more
than one hundred feet in circumference. How
strange that the blind waters which washed
out all the rest of this vast chamber should
have left that one pillar to support the giant
About midway of the stream's course, under
the bridge, is the Great Basin-a pool which
would be a wonder anywhere. It is a solid
rock bowl, some seventy-five feet in diameter


and ninety in depth; and so clear that a white And now let us measure this greatest of natu-
stone, rolled down the strange, natural trough ral bridges. Its actual span is over five hun-
over one hundred feet long in the side of the dred feet-that is, about five times the span of
basin, can be seen in all its bubbling course to the Virginia bridge. Its height from floor of
the far bottom of that chilly pool. The stream bridge to surface of water is forty feet less than
pours into this basin in a white fall of thirty its small brother's; but to the bottom of the
stream's bed-the proper meas-
urement, of course-it is fifty feet
greater. But in its breadth-
that is, the measurement up and
down stream-it is over six hun-
dred feet, or more than twelve
times as wide as the Virginia
bridge !
.. In its vast size lies the impos-
sibility of photographing this
-'^ "- bridge. There is no point from
S which the eye can take it in at
once. Miles of walking are ne-
Scessary before one really under-
stands it. From the bed of the
stream, half the dignity of the
S arch is lost behind the boulders,
Sif one gets off far enough to see
all the opening. If near enough
for a clear view, then the vast
arch so overshadows us that
neither eye nor lens can take it all
a in. And the side-cliff which pro-
Sjects from the southeast pier-
Kf as you may see in the picture
of the south arch-makes it al-
most impossible to find a point,
.. -at sufficient distance for photo-
.. .graphing, whence one can see
clear through the bridge. "Can't
be done!" insisted the old her-
mit. Been lots of professionals
here with their machines, and all
they could get was pictures that
look like caves. You can't show
feet; but, dwarfed by its giant company, the through, with a picture, to prove it 's a bridge,
fall seems petty. at all!"
The north arch, to which we may come un- But it can be done; and being bound that ST.
der the bridge by a ticklish climb around the NICHOLAS should be able to show you all that
Great Basin, is less regular but not less pic- photography can possibly show of this wonder,
turesque than the south arch. It is more rug- I did it. It cost about twenty-four solid hours
ged in contour; and its buttresses, instead of of painful and perilous climbing and scouting
being smooth, are wrought in fantastic figures, experiment, and the camera did its work from
while strange stalactites fringe its top and sides, some of the dizziest perches that tripod ever




scaled; but here is the picture which does "show have since disappeared The rich mud soil
through that it's a bridge." When you look found only here would indicate that. At all
at that little far circle of light and realize that events, here was once a great round layer of
it is two hundred feet in diameter, you will limestone, many hundred feet thick, resting flat
begin to feel the distance from south arch to upon the granite. In time the water-whether
north arch under that terrific rock roof. stored in a lake upon this limestone bench, or
Following up the wild bottom of the cation merely flowing over--began to burrow "short
from the north arch, around gigantic boulders cuts" through it, as water always will in lime
and under hanging cliffs, we find
many other interesting things. W M
Directly we come to "The First *
Tree "-one of the very largest
sycamores in the United States.
The cation here is strangely pic- .
turesque. Its west wall is fifteen
hundred feet high-a wilderness '
of splintered red granite, not per-i i
pendicular, but absolutely un-
scalable. The east wall is of
gray limestone, perpendicular,
often overhanging, but nowhere
over tw6 hundred feet high.
Gowan's farm comes to the very 4P
trees that lean over its brink;
and he now shows us the "lower
story of his unique homestead. '
Not only does his orchard stand
two hundred feet in air, with room I'-
beneath for some of the largest
buildings in America, but the rest ,
of his farm is as "up-stairs,"
though in a different way. This j
east wall of the cation is fairly
honeycombed with caves. His .
whole farm, his very house, are
undermined. The old hermit has AV
made many journeys of explora-
tion, but has merely learned the -
beginning of the labyrinth. It ..
was in one of these tours that he
was lost in the caves.
How was .the bridge built? $i' \. '
By the same unwearied agent "
that builded the greatest won- '4 iA'L
ders of the earth-the architect
of the Grand Cation, and the -,;b' '
Yellowstone, and the Yosemite ANOTHER VIEW OF THE GREAT BRIDGE.
-by water. It seems probable
that Gowan's little round valley was once a lake, rock. As the west side of the valley was lowest,
dammed by ledges at the south end which there toiled the greatest throng of water-work-


men. And slowly so the tunnel grew until the
dark winding burrow of a rivulet became the
great cavern.
The hermit who owns it was born in Scot-
land, but has grown American in every fiber.
He refuses to make an income from his won-
derland. It is free for all to see-and his
kindly help with it. He intends to dedicate his

rude implements and fabrics are everywhere;
and among many valuable relics from that
region I brought home one which is quite price-
less- a rudely carved piece of flint-like stone
representing an eagle holding a rattle-snake in
his talons. Fancy the Pueblo boys and girls
of the dark ages with those giant domes of the
Natural Bridge for a roof to their playground,


homestead to the government, and to have it and miles of stalactite caves to play hide-and-

cared for as a National Park-as it should be.
A race grows into character according to the
country it inhabits; and the utmost savage
would grow (in centuries) to be a different man
when he had removed from the dull plains to
the Grand Caion, the San Juan, Acoma, the
Verde cliffs, the Tonto Basin, or any other spot
where the Pueblos lived five hundred years ago.
For here at the bridge they were, too. Their

seek in.
There are very many minor natural bridges
in the southwest, including a noble one in the
cliffs of Acoma. On my return from the last
Snake-Dance at Moqui I took a photograph
of a natural 'bridge near Fort Defiance, New
Mexico. It has an arch of only about sixty
feet, but is remarkable because it was carved,
not by water, but by sand-laden winds.



[THE verses printed below were suggested by hearing a distinguished man remark, while turning the leaves of
the "American Ornithology," that Alexander Wilson would soon be forgotten. Of course the speaker did not
wish his words to be taken literally; but truly, too little is known by American boys and girls of the heroic and
brilliant struggle which led to Wilson's great achievement as a graphic and descriptive ornithologist. The life
of the "Paisley Weaver," as Alexander Wilson has been called, was a comparatively short one, and the whole
of it was a fight against poverty and adverse conditions. He was born in Paisley, Scotland, July 6, 1766, and
learned the weaver's trade. In 1794 he came to America, and taught a country school, with one or two returns to
the loom, for a living. Meantime, he learned how to draw and color, and began to study the habits of birds,
having in view the writing of a great work on American ornithology, which was to have illustrations, drawn and
colored by his own hand, of all the species described. How this stupendous task was performed, and under what
almost insurmountable difficulties, the young readers of ST. NICHOLAS will do well to find out. Wilson's "Ameri-
can Ornithology," in three large volumes of text, with two books of colored plates from his own designs, was edited,
with an introductory biography, by George Ord, after the author's death. This edition, which also contains the
supplementary work of Lucien Bonaparte, is the only complete American one now to be seen outside of the most
favored libraries. The young reader will find Wilson's biography in any good cyclopedia.- M. T. ]

IN Paisley town, by White Cart stream,
Shut in a dingy room,
A youthful weaver had his dream
While sitting at his loom.

What time he made the threads unite
And heard the shuttles bang,
Wild forms of beauty crossed his sight,
And far-off voices sang.

He wondered what could thrill him so,
And what the songs could be;
Some nameless promise seemed to blow
From far across the sea.

Around him, 'mid the dust and lint,
Bright, unknown warblers flew,
Flung from their wings the breath of mint
And spray of honey-dew.

The weaver boy in honor wove
His stint with watchful care,
Set well the threads, the treadles drove,
And made a fabric fair.

4 ''- '

That was a hundred years ago
He wove in Paisley town,
And now what flutes of fairy blow
The notes of his renown!

O'er sunny mead, through blooming wood
The winged shuttles fly,
And Nature keeps the patterns good
He wove his fabrics by!

In every grove, by every stream,
The birds recall his name-
The flicker lights it with a gleam,
The oriole with a flame.

Wherever brake or bosket stirs
To whisk of silken wing,
There silver-throated choristers
All day his praises sing.

No cloud of Time can dull his fame,
No centuries destroy
The work he did. A deathless name-
The Paisley Weaver Boy!

\ ; ~ ij

r' R1aJl

VOL. XIX.- 53.



0? W 1 R3 Y'

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OWN on the Jersey coast, not many
miles from where the waters of
Barnegat Bay cut into'the line of
the mainland, there is a strip of
sand two or three miles long and
varying in width from a few rods to
three fourths of a mile. This little island, known
as Mowbray's, is apparently a very precarious
foundation upon which to build, being only a
few feet above high-water mark, but on it are
a good-sized hotel, several, pretty summer cot-
tages, and a half-dozen fishermen's houses.
I had heard of it, incidentally, as a restful
place, and, a few days after the middle of Au-
gust, I went there to spend my two weeks'
After supper, on the evening of my arrival,
I took a seat on the piazza of the hotel, not far
from a little group of boys and girls, whose
ages ranged apparently from ten to sixteen
years. Nothing in their conversation attracted
my attention until one of the younger girls
suddenly exclaimed:
Oh, look at that big star coming up out
of the water! Don't it twinkle! "
I glanced involuntarily toward the south-
east, and saw the object of her admiration

hanging a few degrees above the horizon, like
a great jewel in the dark sky.
Clara," said an older girl, who was about
sixteen, "I beg your pardon, but I 'm going
to play school-ma'am. That is not a star; it
does not twinkle; and when you are using the
singular number you should say does n't,' not
"Then, Miss Teacher," said Clara, seem-
ing not a bit disconcerted, "suppose you tell
us what it is, if it is n't a star. Perhaps it is a
sun or a moon ? "
Wrong again; I see I shall have to recite
your lesson for you. That is the planet Jupiter.
It does n't twinkle, because it shines only by
the reflected light of our sun. It is n't a star,
strictly speaking, because the stars are all suns,
and the light that comes to us from them is
made by their own fires; that is why they
twinkle. Class dismissed!"
No, no, Edith cried half a dozen of her
companions; don't stop; we like to hear
about the stars. Go on, please!"
I wonder if you 'd say that if this were a
real school and I were your real teacher?"
said Edith, laughing.
"Yes, we would," answered one of the boys,-


" if our real teacher would talk about things
as you do, and explain 'em so that a fellow
could understand 'em."
I 'm much obliged to you for the compli-
ment, Ned," Edith responded; and as you all
seem to be anxious to have another session,
we '11 make it a five-minute one, and then dis-
miss Jupiter & Co. for the evening. You think
him beautiful, of course, and he is one of the
finest objects in the sky; but he is really
insignificant compared with that very bright
star over in the northwest. Here; you can see
it from this corner of the porch."
The young girl rose and walked to the spot
indicated, and all her friends followed her
eagerly. I followed, too, for I was as much
interested as any of them-perhaps more than
any of them.
That is Arcturus," she continued, "the
greatest of all the suns. Now Jupiter, as big
and as brilliant as he apparently is, is only a
speck by the side of Arcturus. His diameter
is. over 85,000 miles; that of Arcturus is said
to be 71,ooo,000 miles-think of it!
And as to distance-Jupiter is about 390,-
ooo,ooo miles away from us at this time, but
Arcturus is i1,ooo,ooo times as far from us as
the sun is, and the sun, you know, is some-
thing more than 92,000,000 miles off. If these
figures don't set your thoughts a-whirling, you
are rather strong-minded pupils.
"Arcturus would n't prove to be a very
pleasant neighbor, for, according to the as-
tronomers, if we were even as close to Arcturus
as Jupiter is to the sun, about 485,000,000
miles, all our oceans would disappear in steam,
and every bit of vegetation on the earth be
burned to a crisp. By the way, I heard
Cap'n Cutter say this afternoon that we may
expect a northeaster to come in a few days.
If it proves to be what he calls a 'big blow,'
perhaps it would n't be a bad idea to have
Arcturus move a few miles in this direction
and turn some of the biggest waves into
steam, for they might take a notion to dash
right over this little island of ours and drive us
to the mainland."
"Oh, Edith!" cried Clara, "do you really
think so? I 'm going to ask mama to go
home to-morrow!"

"No, goosey; of course I don't think so,"
laughed Edith. "Has n't Mowbray's weathered
a hundred wild storms? But.bother the stars,
the storms, and Cap'n Cutter's predictions!
I 'd rather talk about the race we are going
to sail day after to-morrow."
And then this bright young girl, who seemed
to have the whole story of the visible heavens
at the end of her tongue, suddenly began talk-
ing about the race she had referred to, and the
good and bad" points" of sail-boats, as if she
had passed every one of her sixteen years on
the water, and knew little, thought of little,
and cared for little else.
Moved by an impulse of curiosity and inter-
est, I went in search of the landlord to ask him
for information about this strange and attractive
young girl.
"They call her Edith, you say ?"
"Yes; and she is about sixteen years old,"
I replied.
"Long black hair down over her shoulders?"
"Dark-gray eyes, very bright? "
"I can't tell you their color, but they shine
like stars."
"Well, sir, thet 's Edith Percival, the smart-
est, bravest, best-looking girl on the island, and
the best all-round sailor and swimmer I ever
see. She 's been a-comin' here ever sence she
was ten year old. Her father owns that purty
house over thar. Thet girl, sir, is goin' to do
something' worth doing one o' these days. All
she needs is a chance."
That chance came a great deal sooner than
Cap'n Mowbray thought it would.
The boat-race that Edith Percival was so
much interested in did not take place. When
the people at Mowbray's awoke the morning
after that little episode on the porch, they
heard the wind whistling weird tunes around the
corners and under the eaves of their houses-
a wild wind, straight from the northeast, and
laden with the damp breath of the ocean.
Cap'n Cutter's "big blow" had come!
I got up soon after daybreak and went down
to the front porch, for the noise of the wind
and the surf made me think that there was
a heavy surf which always is an inspiring
sight. Cap'n Mowbray and three other men



were there looking out over the water in a
somewhat anxious way.
I learned afterward that the landlord's com-
panions were Cap'n Cutter, Cap'n Holzclaw,
and Cap'n Barstow; all "Cap'ns," you see,
for it is an unwritten law at Mowbray's that
every man that "runs" a boat is a Cap'n,"
though his boat may be nothing more preten-
tious than a "double-ender" with a "leg-o'-
mutton" sail.

"Good-morning, Cap'n," I said; "are we to
have a storm ? "
It 'pears a good deal thet way," answered
the landlord. This is a heavy wind, and as
the moon's at the full, we '11 more 'n likely hev
a big tide fer a day or two."
"Yes, and the moon 's close to us, too," said
one of the men, "an' thet '11 make purty high
water, of itself."
Not one of the four old sailors, perhaps,
could have told you exactly why the moon's
being "full" and "close to us," or, as astrono-
mers say, in perigee, should produce a very high
tide, but they knew the effect from actual ex-
perience, just as they could predict rain from
the direction of the wind and the appearance
of the clouds.
We know, however, that when the moon is
full, it is on the opposite side of the earth from
the sun. And when the moon is in perigee, it
is at the point in its orbit nearest to the earth.

It is this combination of natural conditions that
causes the highest tides we have.
I understood now the anxiety that showed
itself in the faces of the four men, and I confess
that I began to feel apprehensive myself. To
the conditions just mentioned add a gale from
the northeast, and the further fact that we were
entirely and hopelessly cut off from the main-
land; for not a sailor on the island would have
attempted to take a boat across the inlet under
such circumstances, especially
if it contained women and
A glance over the strip of
sand did not reassure me at
all. There was no danger to
--J .-be feared that day, perhaps,
-. but by high tide the next day,
-after the strong wind had had
a chance to heap up the waters
along the coast, would even the
highest point on our little island
-. be above the sweep of those
already threatening billows ?
S-"- As I have said, the outlook
/ was far from reassuring, and I
asked Cap'n Mowbray bluntly
if he thought the island per-
fectly safe, in view of all the
conditions. The weather-beaten old man turned
suddenly toward me, and looked me steadily in
the eye for a few seconds. Then he spoke.
"I believe thet we can trust you, sir. We
must n't scare the folks, you know, for it mought
turn out to be a false alarm-but I 'm afeard
we '11 have a bad time of it; leastwise, all over
the island except right here whar we are.
This ground is ten foot above ordinary high
water, and doorin' the big storm two year ago
we was a good three foot above the flow, but
nearly all the rest o' the place was two to five
foot under water.
Howsumever," he added, "we can't git
away, and we '11 hev to do the best we can.
To-morrow afternoon, about three o'clock,
we '11 hev the highest water, an' ef things
looks werry dangerous, we '11 bring all the folks
on the island to this house, and trust to Provi-
dence. Betwixt now and then we must keep
mum about the danger, you know.



By the way, Enoch," turning to Cap'n
Cutter, "Mr. Percival an' his wife 's still on
shore, ain't they? We 'll hev to look after thet
daughter o' their and her brother. There 's
nobody at the cottage but them and the ser-
"Why not have them all come over to the
hotel before the storm sets in?" I suggested.
Oh, they're all right now, an' ef I brought
'em over it 'd scare the other folks," said the
landlord. But Miss Edith 's as brave as a
lion, an' I mistrust ef she 'd come, anyway, yet
awhile. We '11 not forgit her, ye may be sure."
And if they should "forgit" her, I knew a
man that would n't.
About the middle of the forenoon it began
to rain, and everybody was driven indoors,
where various schemes for making the imprison-
ment endurable were at once devised. There
was no uneasiness among the guests, for they
were ignorant of the "situation" as the four
Cap'ns and I understood it.
More than once I looked out of my room
window toward the Percival cottage, whose
dark outline, a little more than a quarter of a
mile distant, down the beach, showed almost
ghostlike through the rain and mist. I won-
dered how the bright young girl, whom I had
heard talking so merrily the night before, was
bearing her enforced seclusion. And every
time I looked I was strongly tempted to dis-
obey Cap'n Mowbray's orders, and warn her of
the impending danger.
The dismal day wore away at last, but night
brought only an increased fury in the storm.
Just before dark Cap'n Mowbray told me that
Cap'n Cutter had been over to the Percivals',
and that Edith and the others were cheerful
and free from apprehension. Her father and
mother, she knew, were comfortable on the
mainland, and she and her little household, in-
cluding her big dog Prince," were well shel-
tered and happy.
But great changes may come within twenty-
four hours.
The next morning broke like the day it suc-
ceeded, dark and dismal, with the rain still
pouring, and the unabated wind lashing the
surface of the sea to fury. I looked out of my
window as soon as it was light, and saw to my

dismay that the waves, during the night, had
broken through an embankment of sand that
had been made along the ocean front, between
the hotel and the Percival cottage. The lower
ground behind the latter was covered with,
I thought, two or three feet of water.
The pond-it was almost large enough to
be called a lake-extended nearly to the inlet
on the west, and on the north to within a short
distance of the hotel. The channel that the
waves had made through the sand was empty,
fortunately, for if the water had remained in it,
the Percival cottage would have been cut off
from us.
I went down-stairs at once, and told Cap'n
Mowbray what I had discovered. He had
seen it, he told me, and it had made him de-
cide to bring not only the Percivals, but all the
other families, to the hotel before the afternoon
By nine o'clock that morning a feeling of un-
easiness, which had begun among the guests be-
fore breakfast, had increased almost to a panic,
especially among the women and children.
The men were less demonstrative, but there
was no mistaking the meaning of their pale and
anxious faces.
About noon, under Cap'n Mowbray's direc-
tion, men were sent to all the houses on the
island to bring the inmates to the hotel. Some
had come of their own accord, not daring to
remain longer where the water was gradually
but steadily encroaching. Cap'n Cutter started
for the Percivals', and I asked permission to
accompany him.
We found Edith and her brother at the door
wondering what our object was; but, taking
only time enough to say that Cap'n Mowbray
had sent for them, we hurried them off. In-
deed, we hurried them off so fast that they
both seemed to be dazed, and neither spoke
until we had gone two thirds of the way back
to the hotel. We had trudged along with
all the speed we could make through the soft

sand and against the wind-driven rain. When
we reached the newly made channel we found
that the water was beginning to run through it
again, and we had to wade up to our ankles to
get across. Nor did we cross it a minute too
soon, for as we reached the other side the sea



broke in, and channel and pond were merged
into one.
At the.sound of the rushing water Edith turned
and glanced back at the house she had just left.
Suddenly her face paled, and she looked from
me to Cap'n Cutter.
Oh, you should have told us what you
feared!" she cried, in the greatest agitation.
"I know now why you are taking us to the
hotel,-you think the waves will soon sweep
over the cottages. But Cap'n Cutter, little
Clara was there with me, and there are the
servants, and Prince, too,-my dog Prince!
Oh, Cap'n Cutter, we must go back for them.
They may be drowned!"
And the young girl stood there, wringing her
hands in her distress.
"We can't git back now, Miss Edith, least-
wise through thet water," said the Cap'n; but
don't worry 'bout it-we '11 have time to hurry
over to the hotel and send men in a boat."
And then we pressed on with still greater
speed and were soon on the hotel piazza. Cap'n
Cutter lost no time in getting the boats ready,
-his own skiff was moored with several others
close at hand,- while Edith sought Cap'n Mow-
bray and asked his permission for her to go
with Cap'n Cutter to rescue her little friend
Clara, the servants, and her much loved dog.
Cap'n Mowbray looked out over the broad
stretch of water that now separated the Perci-
val cottage from the hotel, but it was not very
rough, and he thought there would be no great
risk in the trip. Besides, Cap'n Cutter's skill
and Edith's well known courage and experi-
ence could be depended upon, and he gave
his consent.
And so the boats started, Cap'n Cutter row-
ing his skiff and Edith steering, while the oc-
cupants of the hotel forgot their own fears for
the moment, and crowded out on the porch to
watch the brave voyagers.
The passage was quickly made, and we saw
the Cap'n and Edith open the door and bring
out Clara-a girl of ten years-and Edith's
great Newfoundland, and hurry them into the
boat. Then they began their voyage back.
The servants were in the first boat, and reached
the hotel without trouble. But, meanwhile,
the storm was increasing, and the occupants of

the second boat were not so fortunate. They
had to come right in the teeth of the wind,
and I confess that I watched them with the
greatest anxiety.
Suddenly, while we looked at them,, the sea
broke tumultuously through the sand embank-
ment below the Percival cottage also, and the
water from that opening came sweeping over
the low ground to meet that from the upper
break. This gave greater depth to the pond
on which the voyagers were struggling, and
as the water deepened the height and fury of
the waves increased.
But still the boat kept on its way. Steered
by the firm hand of that heroic girl, its prow
never swerved from the point of the wind, but
dashed into the foaming crest of wave after
The strong arms of the old sailor and the
skill of the young pilot had brought them
within two hundred feet of where we stood,
when a tremendous sea came rushing over the
broken embankment and swept down upon
them with resistless fury. It lifted the boat as
if it were a toy and dashed it down again, bot-
tom upward, upon the surface of the water.
Moved by a common impulse, Cap'n Mow-
bray and I, followed by two old sailors, rushed
to the boats that lay near the porch, and pushed
out to the rescue of the gallant old man and his
Meanwhile what had happened out on the
water ?
As the boat fell over, Edith, Clara, and Prince
were thrown clear of it, but Cap'n Cutter was
struck on the head by the gunwale and stunned
into unconsciousness. He disappeared under
the water just as Edith, with faithful, intelligent
Prince swimming by her side, had caught Clara
by the arm and was striking out bravely for
shore. Hurriedly throwing the little girl's arm
over Prince's back, to which it clung instinc-
tively, Edith turned toward the spot where the
old man had gone down, and, catching him by
the coat, she drew him to the surface again.
Then, holding him thus and keeping herself
afloat with her right arm, she once more turned
toward the hotel and-looked right into the
faces of the men who had come out to save


The Percival cottage went down that after-
noon, and two others with it, but the hotel was
untouched, even by the highest waves.


the island and the ocean as if nothing at all un-
usual had happened. Mr. and Mrs. Percival
returned from the mainland during the course

The wind shifted during the night, and the of the day to find their summer home in ruins,
next morning the sun smiled as benignly upon but their daughter Edith the idol of Mowbray's.



I TRAVEL each day full many a mile,
Yet never get out of my bed;
And my mouth, it increases the faster
Till it 's greater by far than my head.

THE elephant said, "If my trunk I could check,
I would make an excursion to upper Quebec;
I But truly I cannot get state-room or bunk,
-So long as I 'm hampered with such a big

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MY prison was the old arm-chair,
Half turned toward the light;
My judge had been-O cruel judge!-
A knickerbockered sprite.

My jailer walked before my chair,
In dress of crimson shading,
And now and then she' took a run
To break the slow parading.

My chains a pair of dimpled arms
About my shoulders twined;
My jury was a collie dog
Who gravely sat behind.

My jailer lay down at my feet,
So naughty in her glory;
My trial had been for laziness,
My sentence: "Tell a story!"



THE study of ants is a peculiarly fascinating
one.. Their manners and customs are in many
respects so like those of man, and their behavior is
so startlingly human, that some authorities have
placed them at the head of all the lower animals
in intelligence. There is a world in the sand
beneath our feet much more like our own than
we realize, but a little contrivance is necessary
to get a clear view of these underground homes.
Ants have been kept in confinement very suc-
cessfully, as the eminent English scientist, Sir
John Lubbock, has made known to the world;
and they are so easily obtained, and require
so little care, that I often wonder why people
who lavish trouble and expense on bird-houses
and aquariums do not add to their collection a
few equally interesting families of ants.
The "ant house," or formicarium, is of very
simple construction.
Any boy with a little
knowledge of carpen-
ter-work can make a
very convenient one by
I taking a board about
Eighteen inches long
and fourteen inches
wide for a foundation,
and driving four pegs into holes bored in the
corners, for feet (see fig. i). Upon the upper
side of the platform insert a piece of broom-
stick a foot or more in length (A), into an-
other hole bored near one corner. This will
furnish a support for several platforms or swing-
ing shelves. They are made of half-inch board,
thirteen inches long and ten inches wide (fig. 2),
and at the corner of each is nailed a block of
wood (i) about four inches square and an inch
and a half thick, to keep them at a convenient
distance apart. When the block is secured to
the shelf, bore a hole through it (H) to fit the
broomstick pivot. The shelves, when slipped
upon the pivot, appear as in fig. 3. A sec-

ond post is inserted in the platform at the rear
edge of the shelves, to set them even (fig.i, B),
and pegs driven into this post under each shelf
serve to sustain its free
corner, which might
otherwise be weighed
4 down too heavily by the
S ., nest which is to rest
uponit. Bythisarrange-
ment, any of the shelves can be turned on its pivot
independently of the others, when a particular

nest is to be inspected. The whole structure
stands in a square tin tray of water, to prevent
the escape of the ants; though, as they some-


times fall into it and are drowned, a better
though less simple arrangement would be to
construct a metal gutter in a groove around the
margin of the lower platform, from which the
ants could easily retreat when they had once
discovered its perils.
Such is the formicarium itself. The nests are
made of two panes of glass, seven inches wide
and nine inches long (fig. 2, G), laid one upon
the other with thin strips of wood (K), glued
around the edges of the lower pane; the space
within being filled with finely powdered, damp
earth. A gap in each of the front strips (N)
forms an entrance to each nest.
In such an abode I have watched a curious
community live and flourish, showing day by
day new habits and powers, and often acting
comedies worthy of a larger audience.
Although to many people ants are such famil-
iar insects, a few words concerning them may
not be out of place, that the ways of my colony
may be more clearly understood. Like other
insects, ants pass through three stages of life
after leaving the egg: first they are in the form
of larve, soft and worm-like. They pass from
that into the pufa stage, during which they lie
torpid, inclosed in white cocoons about as large
as the full-grown ants themselves. Thence they
finally emerge in the perfect form. On opening
an ant-hill during the summer the little crea-
tures are to be Seen running in every direction
carrying the cocoons, which are sometimes
called '"ant-eggs"; but the true eggs are very
small, and hardly to be noticed among the
particles of earth.
There are three kinds of full-grown ants:
males and females, which possess wings for at
least part of their existence, and workers, which
are less developed females. These are the ones
most frequently seen, as they do all the running
about for the community, as well as caring for
the eggs. After the winged ants have taken
their flight in the sunshine, they lose the gauzy
wings that they will never use again, and from
that time remain in the nest attended by the
The best time to take a colony is in July,
after the eggs have hatched, and the nurseries
are full of larva and cocoons. With this intent,
my formicarium was made ready for the sum-

mer, fresh earth was placed in the glass nests,
and dark coverings were laid upon. them to
protect the inmates from the light. These prep-
arations being completed, it only remained to
introduce some families of ants to their new
A week of sunshine was favorable to the suc-
cess of an ant-collecting expedition, and no
better hunting-ground could be desired than a
neighboring field, where large flat stones lay
scattered through the thickly growing timothy.
Under such stones ants are fond of building.
Nevertheless, some search was necessary be-
fore they could be found. The tall grass, just
shedding its pollen, waved in the wind, grass-
hoppers skipped in every direction, and slugs
and creeping things appeared under every stone
that was lifted; but where were the ants ?
At length, on overturning a large flat piece
of sandstone, a wild scene of confusion pro-
claimed that a colony of small yellow ants
had been surprised. With one consent all
rushed to the rescue of the larve and the
cocoons. These helpless creatures had been
arranged in orderly groups, with no thought
that the dreaded daylight was to be so sud-
denly poured upon them; for young ants re-
quire the soothing influences of darkness for
their development. Their guardians were evi-
dently horrified at this sudden exposure to the
sunshine, and if left to themselves would 'soon
have disappeared, young ones and all, into the
earth, as dwellers in Western towns rush to
the cellar on the approach of a cyclone; but
the trowel was quickly at work, and earth, ants,
cocoons and all were transferred to the collect-
ing-box before they realized what had befallen
There was no effort to escape. The ants
were only too glad to find themselves in the
dark once more, and they crawled into the
very heart of their nest, or what remained of it,
where they perhaps discussed the calamity and
appointed a committee of arrangements to
bring the demoralized colony into order once
more. Their meeting was soon interrupted.
Their introduction to the formicarium was-ac-
complished by a process of gentle shaking,
which transferred a few ants from the old nest
to the new one, where they ran wildly about




like cats let loose in a strange house; after
which the glass roof and dark covering were
replaced. The old nest was then scattered over
the frame close by, some care being necessary to
dislodge the ants without injuring them. They
were greatly excited, but still their first care
was for the precious larve and cocoons, and
they naturally knew of no refuge but the ruins
of their old home; so I was obliged to crumble
the lumps of earth and scatter them as much
as possible to prevent the ants from burrowing
into them.
However, hardly ten minutes had passed
when they discovered the dark, quiet glass
nest. Whether the pioneers that had been first
placed inside found their way out and reported
its advantages, or whether those outside acci-
dentally found their way in, is a difficult ques-
tion to answer when the case is that of several
hundred little yellow people all exactly alike;
but, however they discovered it, they were soon
at work running to and from the nest, carrying
in the helpless little ones and hastening back
for more. The process of removal was now
fairly under way, ard as the ants had taken
the matter into their own hands-or, more ac-
curately, jaws-they required little assistance.
Thus in three hours' time all was accomplished,
the ants were safely in their new home, and
the ruins of the old nest were swept away.
It was remarkable to see how quickly these
nervous little creatures settled themselves in
their new surroundings. Late in the evening
they were still actively running about the nest,
arranging the cocoons and dragging particles
of earth about, with every indication of des-
perate haste; though it was not apparent, to
any eye but that of an ant, what the work was
that must be accomplished before daylight.
The next morning, some walls and fortifica-
tions showed that the industrious little crea-
tures had probably worked all night.
It was reasonable to suppose that their la-
bors had given them an appetite; and, as they
showed no 'disposition to leave the nest, an
ant was coaxed out on the point of a straw,
and placed on a paper near by on which was
a drop of molasses. Of course she ran the
other way at first,-for ants will on no account
go the way one wishes them to,-but at last she

discovered the molasses, and, though it must
have been her first taste of such food, it evi-
dently suited her palate. In a few moments
another ant, that had been wandering about
the platform, likewise discovered this fountain
of sweetness, and showed equal pleasure, par-
taking freely and waving her antenna with
every appearance of satisfaction.
Twenty minutes passed, while the two friends
went on blissfully imbibing the nectar, but as
those in the nest were unaware of its nearness,
none came forth to share in the feast. But an ant
must become satiated even with molasses after
a while. The two ants, at about the same time,
tore themselves away and started for the en-
trance to the nest, which was only two or three
inches distant. One of them found her way
with little trouble, but the other showed a
degree of stupidity which suggested that over-
indulgence in molasses had affected her intel-
lect. She wandered about in every direction,
straying as far as the lower platform before she
eventually reached the door; but as soon as
she arrived on the threshold she ran briskly in,
and joined her companion, who was already
feeding the others from her own supply, after
the custom of ants. It was curious to see the
hungry ants clustering around their friends and
caressing them with their antennae, evidently
coaxing to be fed.' The fortunate ant put her
jaws to those of one friend after another, and
fed them much as an old bird feeds its young.
But the most good-natured ant would weary
in time of so many calls upon its generosity.
These two had not been able to take enough
food to supply the whole colony, and would
naturally prefer to direct their comrades to the
spot where they could obtain molasses for them-
selves. The question was, whether their powers
were equal to this need.
My doubts on this point were soon settled.
In less than three minutes from the time the
first ant came among them, there was a general
rush from the nest to the molasses; none of the
ants showing the hesitation of the original dis-
coverers, but rushing straight to the paper,
swarming over it, and surrounding the drop,
where they stood drinking with the greatest
eagerness. As many as fourteen could be seen
feasting at one time, new-comers trying to push



away the others, and eagerly taking possession
of the first vacancy; but there was no fighting,
and each seemed to give way good-naturedly to

plenty gives strong evidence that a report of
the discovery had been made, and clear di-
rections given as to where it was. Of course

her sisters. the ants might have inferred from the sample
of food brought to them
that more was to be ob-
A"'-'- tainted near by; but this
S ..'?\, alone hardly accounts
for the readiness with
S, ._ which all turned in the
right direction.
S'After this exhibition
of intelligence, I natu-
Srally looked for still more
S wonderful acts on the
Part of these small crea-
';. r' tures; but often found
S them, it must be con-
Si fessed, showing a degree
: .."... of stupidity equaled only
.! T;.'e .by the obstinacy with
which they would refuse
-: r 6-'. r to abide by the laws
S' '"/ science has laid down
S "'- for them.
SIt is a well-known fact
S.-"-. '_-" that two colonies of ants,
even belonging to the
': same species, cannot live
A r l.-'$ peaceably together in
Sthe same nest, and all
i-' i intruders are promptly
"-- expelled by the rightful
owners. Accordingly,
before taking another
family of ants, I pre-
:pared a nest on the
.-- -- lowest platform of the
S--- -- formicarium for their re-
S.... ception. By way of ex-
"-:. periment the new nest
was made with a wooden
'\ -. floor, which warped bad-
ly, throwing the whole
ANTS EATING MOLASSES, AND ANTS AT HOME. out of balance and caus-
Now, all these ants had been in the nest ing general disorder. Thus the new family, the
nearly twenty-four hours, ignorant of the sup- night after their arrival, found themselves in a
ply of food that had been placed outside, very trying position. These ants were brown
and their general rush toward it as soon as the ones, rather larger than their neighbors, but less
two pioneers had returned from the region of numerous. Like the yellow ants, however, they




had valuable cocoons to protect, and it was
plain that matters must be arranged differently.
How they decided the matter-whether they
called a council and took a vote, whether
some bold spirit set the example and all the
others followed, whether there was faction and
disagreement or not-will never be known.
But on visiting the formicarium in the morning,
an astonishing performance on the part of the
brown ants was revealed. Every larva and
cocoon had been carried from the uncomforta-
ble nest on the lower platform to their neigh-
bors' quarters on the upper one, and the brown
ants gathered in a group at one corer of the
nest in which the yellow ants were already
Now, such a proceeding as this was utterly
opposed to all known rules for the conduct of
ants or any other settlers, but no such reflection
seemed to trouble the minds of the invading
family. Quite regardless of the impropriety of
their behavior, the brown ants ran in and out,
paying no heed to the yellows excepting when
they came into direct collision; and on these
occasions both parties retreated in equal confu-
sion. The yellow ants showed no disposition to
drive out their unexpected guests, and, indeed,
seemed hardly aware of the invasion. This
was probably because they had not become
thoroughly acquainted with their own domain,
and did not realize that they had full sway over
the whole glass nest, all other ants being in-
truders on their territory.
However, the nest was not very large, and
as the two families extended their borders it
was inevitable that they must one day come
into direct contact. What would happen in
such a case ? Would the contending parties
decide their right of way by open warfare?
Would anything satisfy either side short of the
extermination of the other ? Or would they
form a treaty of peace, and present to the world
the hitherto unknown spectacle of two ant
colonies living side by side in one nest?
The brown ants, as before, settled the ques-
tion. The warped wooden nest had been re-
placed by a glass one, as well made as that of
the yellow ants, but it had remained vacant
while the foolish browns stayed in a hostile
encampment. For their situation was a haz-

ardous one, and they knew it. However im-
perfectly the yellows realized their own right
to the whole nest, the browns understood that
they were living in a territory that did not be-
long to them, and they did not feel at home.
After a week's time, during which they shifted
their heap of cocoons from one side of the nest
to the other, and showed extreme nervousness,
they again decided on a revolutionary pro-
One morning the larvae and cocoons that the
brown ants had so carefully cherished were not
to be found. A very few full-grown ants were
running about in an agitated manner, suggest-
ing at first the thought that the expected crisis
had surely come, and the yellows, having won
the day, had slain their enemies and confiscated
their cocoons. But such a battle would have
left some traces, and none were to be seen; so
I sought an explanation elsewhere.
The answer was not hard to find. The rest-
less brown ants had moved for the second time,
carrying every young one down to the new
nest on the lower platform, and there had
stowed them away! They had been very sly
about it, for instead of coming down the front
part of the formicarium, where they would
have been in plain sight, they had slipped out
the other entrance, down the supporting post,
and in at the rear entrance of the lower nest,
where they continued to go in and out.
And in regard to these corridors, it must be
said that they are not quite what the fancy some-
times pictures, at least in the artificial nests.
The tendency of my ants was always to consult
comfort rather than symmetry, and while they
worked industriously, clearing spaces and.pas-
sageways, there seemed little attempt at regular
arrangement; and they constantly altered their
plans, pulling down one wall to build another.
But the most melancholy example that my
ants gave of their tendency to fly in the face
of established tradition, was the utter want of
individual affection they manifested. Their one
idea was the welfare of the community, and to
this all individual claims must be sacrificed.
An able-bodied ant being rescued, half drowned,
from the water surrounding the formicarium,
and placed among a group of her friends, they
at once surrounded her with eager welcome,



stroking her with their antennae; while some
that had been enjoying the rich juice of a rasp-
berry came to refresh her with a little of that
pleasant cordial. Why ? They could not afford
to lose a good worker.
This may seem a very ungenerous view to take
of the ants' behavior on this occasion, but un-
fortunately a second incident presented the re-
verse side of the picture very strongly. Another
ant which had fallen into the water was placed
on the platform near her comrades. This one
had met with some injuries, and writhed about
painfully, unable to walk. The first friend that
came near touched her slightly and passed on,
and several more in succession manifested equal
indifference. One ant alone made some effort
to lift the helpless sufferer in her jaws, but soon
abandoned the attempt, and the poor creature
at last died in convulsions; to which distressing
spectacle none of her comrades paid the slight-
est attention. Undoubtedly they saw at a
glance that the ant's injuries were too serious
to be cured, and therefore it was no use wast-
ing their time tending a helpless creature that
could never be anything but a burden to the
It may be that not all ants manifest this

hardness of heart, but the dwellers in my formi-
carium show very little sensibility. They are
inclined, moreover, to take a base advantage of
their enemies' misfortunes., One of the brown
ants, running about the yellow ants' nest, where
she had no business at all to be, encountered
one of the rightful owners painfully making her
way toward the center, where her friends were
assembled. She had been in the water, and was
coming home, dripping wet, to be assisted in the
process of drying, and she looked very uncom-
fortable and awkward, because every loose par-
ticle of earth or straw clung to her antennae and
legs, and impeded her progress seriously. The
brown, on first encountering her, fled precipi-
tately; but, soon noticing the dilemma of her foe,
she returned to the charge and attacked her
ferociously. The yellow ant, indignant at this
attempt to expel her from her own home, turned
upon the intruder, and, though laboring under
great disadvantages, defended herself so well
that the brown ant at last let go, and retreated
from the field.
On the whole, ants are a wonderful race, pre-
senting traits, both good and bad, that lead
to strange speculations concerning them, and
affording a field for endless study.





[Begfun in the January number.]

NOTHING more was said about the ocean
voyage or Mildred's visit to Cousin John's home
for two days. But during that time Mildred
went around with a very heavy heart. For
though her mother had said she should do as
she wished, and though she certainly did not
wish to be left all alone in this strange land,
she could not quite make up her mind to say
so. She could not help but think that Mistress
Barbara would have stayed. Then, too, as she
had noted her mother's watchful care of her
father during all these years, she really had of-
ten longed for an opportunity to do some great
thing for him herself. She had dreamed of
helping him to regain his lost health, or of
bringing him back the wealth of the Fairleighs,
by some great sacrifice of herself. And now
here was a chance, and yet-she had no idea
that it was so hard to sacrifice oneself when it
came to the point. The truth was, she felt a
little ashamed that she had not instantly said
yes when her mother had first suggested the
plan. They had done so much for her, surely
she could do this for them. And yet-and
It was the evening of the second day of the
battle. Mildred was standing in front of the
fire staring at the blaze, when her father, who
was sitting near by, put out his hand and drew
her to his side. What is it, little woman? "
he said. "Why are you so serious ? "
"I was thinking about your going away,"
said Mildred.
About my going away?" said her father,
raising his brows. "And are you not going
with me ? "
"No, Papa," replied Mildred. "I am going
to stay with Cousin John."
Mildred had had no intention of saying this
when she began, but now the words were

spoken, and, although her eyes filled with tears,
her heart sang a hymn of victory.
Her father looked at her thoughtfully for a
moment and then said, Ah, my dear, how like
your mother you are! At the same time," he
continued, I cannot afford to have my little
girl made unhappy at any price. So I think
you had better go with us after all."
"Oh, no, Papa," said Mildred, stoutly; I
sha'n't be unhappy. Cousin John has a very
pretty home in Arcata, and a nice ranch in the
country with cows and-and things on it, and
I won't be unhappy. That is," she added des-
perately, "not very unhappy." And feeling that
that was the best she could do, Mildred fled to
her own room.
When her mother came to give Mildred her
kiss that night after she was in bed, she put her
arms around her and whispered such words as
made Mildred very proud, and even glad. And
her mother told her how sorry she would be
not to have her little girl with her, and this
comforted Mildred. And Mildred felt com-
forted to think that her father and mother
would miss her. But the next day found her
heart as heavy as ever again, and the struggle
between her'inclination and duty going on al-
most as hard as before her decision. Especially
was this the case when her mother began pre-
paring for their departure, and all of Mildred's
things were put in a separate trunk. It required
all of Mildred's courage to bear that.
At last came the day when the Australian
steamer, which took passengers to Hawaii, was
`to sail. It so happened that the cbast-steamer
which was to carry Mr. Kenilworth and Mil-
dred to Arcata left on the same day as the
Australian steamer, only a few hours later. This
was fortunate for Mildred, as it gave her less
time to realize the woeful loneliness that took
possession of her when she saw the great ship
move slowly away from the dock, with her
mother and father waving her a farewell from


its deck. The grief of that first parting was
worse even than she had expected. She felt so
utterly forsaken and miserable that she cried
herself sick. She felt that she no longer cared
what happened to her; and when she finally lost
sight of those dear forms, and Cousin John ten-
derly lifted her into the carriage that was to
take them to their own steamer, she crouched
in a corner and paid no heed to his few words
of consolation.

THE voyage to Humboldt Bay was not a
long one, but, as Mildred was ill as well as
unhappy, it seemed very long, and it was a
great relief to get ashore again. Mr. Kenil-
worth's home was in Arcata, a small town at
the head of Humboldt Bay. He also owned
a large stock-ranch in the interior, where he
spent a great deal of his time. His Arcata
home was a pretty place-a white cottage in
the middle of a big garden; and it was here
that he brought Mildred after they had landed
from the steamship. An old lady, with gray
curls on each side of her face, welcomed them
at the door, and was introduced by Cousin
John as his relative, Mrs. Jenkins. Mrs. Jen-
kins immediately took charge of Mildred and
showed her her room, a dainty little apart-
ment, with a climbing rose at the window,
and then did everything she could to make
Mildred feel contented, if not happy.
But for the first day or two Mildred was too
miserable to care for the pretty room with the
climbing rose, or for the cottage, or even for
the garden, wonderful though it was. Her
only wish was for the day to pass, so that she
might go to bed and think about her father
and mother who were sailing away from her,
farther and farther, and cry herself asleep. But
as the days and nights came and went, she
found that she was not weeping half as much
as she intended to, and finally a night came
when, being very tired, she fell asleep without
weeping at all. Mildred rebuked herself for
this the next morning, and refused to acknowl-
edge that her grief was growing any less. But
time softens all sorrows, and Mildred's was no
It was about this time, when smiles were once

more making their appearance on her face,-
that is to say, about a week after her arrival at
the cottage,-that Cousin John announced his
intention of going to his ranch for a while.
"But I have been thinking, little cousin," he
said, that perhaps you will find it pleasanter
to.stay here in Arcata with Mrs. Jenkins while
I am away."
But Mildred, looking very much disap-
pointed, exclaimed, Oh, Cousin John, I would
much rather go with you."
"Would you, really ?" he said. "But I am
afraid you will find it somewhat rough at the
ranch-house, and not at all what you have been
used to."
"But I don't mind that," protested Mildred.
"Indeed, I would rather go with you, if you
will let me."
Of course I will let you, and be glad to
have you," said Cousin John. "I was only
thinking about your comfort; and, after all, it
will be easy enough for you to come back if
you don't like it."
So that being settled, the following morning
a light spring-wagon, drawn by two big bay
horses, drove up to the door, and Mildred's
trunk was placed in it. Mildred herself, in
her long ulster and traveling-cap, looking, as
Mrs. Jenkins said, like a little boy, took her
place on the front seat by the side of Cousin
John, who drove. Then, as she waved her
hand in farewell to Mrs. Jenkins, the spirited
horses quickly carried them out of sight of the
pretty white cottage, through the town, and out
to the level, sandy road by the salt marshes.
Crossing Mad River bridge, they lost sight of
the sea and began climbing the road winding
along the river-bank, which, in turn, they left
to enter the great redwood forests. Sweet-
water Ranch, as Mr. Kenilworth's place was
called, was about thirty miles from Arcata, in
the foot-hills of the Coast Range. When Mil-
dred asked if thirty miles was not a very long
drive, Cousin John smiled and said no, that it
would not take them very long. Then Mil-
dred asked if he had many horses on the
No," said Cousin John, not many; prob-
ably about thirty."
I call that many," said Mildred.



Do you ? he said. They don't think
it is many in California,-that is, for a stock
But you have got lots of cows, have n't
you?" said Mildred.
Well," said Cousin John, perhaps you will
think so; I have about a thousand head."
Oh said Mildred. She could not get
used to the bigness of everything in this
After leaving the forests, where the lumber-

dred, as Cousin John stopped to let her look
at the scene.
It must be a hungry bird, then," said Cousin
John. We generally lunch here."
So they drove into a little grove of timber,
and drew up by a spring. While Cousin John
watered the horses, Mildred got the lunch
out pf the wagon, and making a table-cloth of
a napkin, spread it on the grass. That was a
very pleasant meal-in fact it was really a
picnic; and when Mildred once more took her


men were felling the giant redwoods, they
started up a long grade. When at last they
reached the top, Mildred saw range after range
of mountains extending off into the east, black
pine forests covering their sides, and their tops
capped with glittering snow. Deep, dark
caioons stretched far beneath her-so far
that an eagle sailing over the tree-tops looked
no bigger than a fly; while far away in the
direction from which they had come a silver
line marked the ocean.
It is almost like being a bird," said Mil-
VOL. XIX.-54.

seat in the wagon, she felt more than ever like
a bird.
The scenery now grew wilder and the road
rougher. No more ranches were seen, and as
they descended the mountain the forest closed
in upon them on all sides. But it was very
beautiful. They crossed many little brooks
babbling noisily over the boulders, while mosses
and ferns of all sorts grew on each side of the
way. Squirrels scampered along in front of
them, or perched on fallen trees and stared at
them with round, bright eyes. The road kept



getting steeper and more broken, so that Mil-
dred had to cling to Cousin John's arm to
keep from falling out. The constant jolting
and swaying was making her very tired. It
was now nearly four o'clock, and Mildred was
hoping that they did not have much farther
to go, when suddenly and most unexpectedly
to her they emerged from the dim green light
of the forest into a glare of sunlight. In front
of .them was a stream, on the other side was
an open valley, and back of that again the
mountains; in the middle of the valley were
half a dozen houses, and pointing to these Mr.
Kenilworth announced that they had arrived
at the ranch.

No sign of life was to be seen around the
houses as the wagon forded the creek, except
that a dog, lying on one of the porches,
sprang up and came bounding toward them,
barking furiously. When he saw Mr. Kenil-
worth, however, he stopped and began wagging
his tail, in fact his whole body, in an apologetic
way, and frisked about them till they stopped
in front of the best-looking of the houses. At-
tracted by the barking of the dog, a tall, thin
woman, in a faded calico dress and sunbonnet,
came out, shading her eyes with her hand.
"Why, good lan'! is that you, Mr. John?"
she said. I did n't allow that you 'd git yere
much afore sundown. An' that 's the little gal,
is it? Howdy, Sissie ? Glad to see ye, to
be shore. I reckon ye did n't fergit the ile, did
ye, Mr. John? 'Cause we 're plumb out of it."
And while she talked the woman busily
began getting the bundles out of the wagon.
Meantime Mr. Kenilworth lifted Mildred down,
and then unloaded the trunk and the heavier
packages. While this was going on, Mildred
looked about her. The house was long and
low, a -story and a half high, with a porch in
front of it. A big chimney built of stones and
clay was at one end. The shingles on the roof
were moss-covered, and the house itself, though
it had once been painted, looked dark and
weather-beaten. A rough, high picket-fence
stood around it, inclosing a yard. On the
tops of the pickets were stuck empty cartridge-
shells, while deer-horns, bleached white by the

sun and rain, ornamented the posts. Upon the
gate was nailed a board on which was printed
in very straggling letters the request, "Pleas
shut the gait." Mildred wondered why, as
there was nothing in the yard but dry grass
and stones.
Then Mr. Kenilworth, having finished the
unloading of the wagon, said, I 'm going to
the stable, Mildred. I '11 be back in a mo-
ment. Go right in with Mrs. Stokes, and
make yourself at home."
I reckon ye 'd like to wash," said Mrs.
Stokes, looking at Mildred curiously, yet
"Yes," said Mildred, "if you please."
Will ye go up-sta'rs to yer room er out to
the pump ? Ye kin do whichever ye like."
"I would rather go to my room," said
"All right," said Mrs. Stokes; "come 'long,
an' I '11 show ye whar 't is."
Following Mrs. Stokes into the house,
Mildred found herself in what was called the
living-room. At one end was a big, open
fireplace, and at the other what seemed a
closet, the door of which Mrs. Stokes opened,
disclosing a flight of steps, and up these she
climbed, followed by Mildred.
"This is yer room," said Mrs. Stokes, when
she reached the top.
Mildred looked around. The room was small
and had a sloping ceiling, just like the attic at
home. The walls were made of boards and
papered, the paper being stained in places
where the rain had leaked through. The floor
was covered with a rag carpet, and when Mrs.
Stokes walked across it the boards creaked and
the room shook. A white muslin curtain was
drawn across the window and a brightly col-
ored patchwork quilt was on the bed. On the
bureau was a fat, red velvet pincushion covered
with beads, and from the ceiling hung an orna-
ment made of perforated cardboard, worsted,
and beads, known as a "castle in the air."
My gal made 'em," said Mrs. Stokes, when
Mildred looked at these works of art.
"Did she ?" said Mildred.
"Yes," said Mrs. Stokes, slowly rubbing her
chin and gazing at Mildred very seriously.
"They are very pretty," said Mildred.




My gal made 'em," repeated Mrs. Stokes.
"Where is she now ? asked Mildred.
"She 's dead," said Mrs. Stokes.
"Oh!" said Mildred. "I-I 'm sorry."
"Are ye ?" said Mrs. Stokes, looking slowly
around the room. Then with a sigh she added,
Well, I reckon I 'm a-wastin' time up yere.
If ye want anything jes' let me know." And
turning quickly she descended the stairs, leav-
ing Mildred quite surprised at the suddenness
of her disappearance, and somewhat depressed
by being so unexpectedly told of the death of
Mrs. Stokes's little girl.
Quickly making her toilet, Mildred went
down into the living-room. There was no one
there, and so she sat down on a home-made
lounge that was covered with a horse-blanket,
and looked out of the window. The sun was
setting and the forest across the creek looked
dark and gloomy. The valley was so still
that the rippling of the water could be heard.
The scene was not cheering, and Mildred was
beginning to feel very forlorn when she heard
Cousin John's voice outside calling:
"Bud! Oh, Bud! Come in here and make
a fire! "
The next moment Cousin John entered the
room, quickly followed by a boy of fourteen,
dressed in a blue shirt and overalls, a slouch-
hat, and stogy boots, and carrying in his arms
a load of fire-wood.
"Now then, Mildred," said Cousin John,
brightly, "this is Bud, Mrs. Stokes's son; and
whenever you want a fire made in here, or any-
thing else, when I 'm not around, you just go to
Bud for it."
The boy, who was kneeling on the hearth,
looked up at Mildred without saying anything,
and then went on making the fire. Taking a
match from his pocket, he slowly drew it along
the leg of his overalls and held it to the kind-
ling, and the next moment there was a cheerful
blaze roaring up the chimney. Bud sat on his
heels and watched the result of his labors for
a moment, and then, looking up at Mildred,
nodded his head and said pleasantly:
"What Mr. John says goes, ye understand. "
At that moment a strange moaning sound
was heard outside.
"What 's that?" said Mildred, uneasily.

"It's the horn for supper," answered Bud,
Then Mrs. Stokes put her head in at the
door, and said, "Supper's ready, folks."
At this announcement they all went in to
the dining-room, which was next to the living-
room. The long table was set with a coarse
but clean white cloth and steel knives and forks.
Mr. Kenilworth sat at the, head of the table
with Mildred next to him, and Mrs. Stokes sat
at the other end, with her husband, who was
foreman of the ranch, next to her. Then some
six or eight sunburned, bearded men, dressed
like the cow-boys Mildred had seen on the
plains, came in, and hanging up their slouch-
hats, sat down. The Chinese cook quickly
filled the table with big dishes of" deer-meat,"
bacon, vegetables, bread, butter, and milk, and
the dishes were as quickly emptied by Mr. Stokes
and the vaqueros. Indeed, Mildred herself had
a very fine appetite after her long ride.
Supper finished, Mildred and Cousin John
went back to the fireside, and she talked while
Cousin John smoked his pipe. Every one retired
very early at the ranch, and so it was not
long before bedtime arrived. When Cousin
John bade Mildred good-night, he told her that
Mrs. Stokes slept up-stairs in the room next to
hers, and that he had a room just underneath,
and that she must try not to feel lonely. Never-
theless, Mildred did feel very lonely. The
night was so dark when she looked out of her
window, and so still; there was positively no
sound but that of the water flowing at the edge
of the solemn forest. Her father and mother
had never seemed so far away, and she felt
utterly alone in a strange land. And after she
had said her prayers she crept into bed, and
burying her head in a pillow, she once more
cried herself asleep.

BUT the next morning, when Mildred awoke
with the sunlight streaming into her room, all
of these gloomy fancies had disappeared, and
she arose and dressed, feeling as blithe as the
meadow-lark that was piping out his little soul
on the gate-post beneath her window. Going
down-stairs, she found no one in the living-
room, and so wandered out and around the


house. As she passed the kitchen, some one
startled her by calling out, "Hello !"
Mildred looked all around without seeing
where the voice came from, and then, hearing a
chuckle just over her head, she looked up and
discovered Wing, the Chinese cook, at work by
an open window.
"How you do?" he said, when Mildred had
replied to his unexpected greeting.
Mildred answered," I 'm very well, thank you."
"Tha 's good," said Wing. Then he said,
"Wha 's you' name?"
Mildred told him.
Tha 's good," said Wing. "You come
he' live?"
"Just for a little while," said Mildred.
"Tha 's good," said Wing. And then, as
his work took him away from the window, Mil-
dred heard him squeaking out some queer
Chinese song which sounded like the singing
of a tea-kettle.
Continuing her explorations, Mildred made a
great discovery, which was no less a fact than
that there were numbers of chickens and ducks
and turkeys of all sizes and ages in the yard
back of the house. The old turkey-gobblers
were very grand and dignified, and at sight of
Mildred began to put on a great many airs,
fluffing up their feathers and strutting along
with their wings trailing on the ground. It
reminded Mildred of Amanda's description of
how the gentlemen used to dance the minuet.
Only, just at that moment, Wing happened to
throw something from the kitchen door, where-
upon the turkeys, forgetting their dignity, picked
up their feathers and raced with the rest of the
fowls to get their share. Mrs. Stokes called
Mildred in to breakfast just as she was making
friends with the downy little chickens and
ducks; and while she was eating breakfast
Cousin John came in, every one else having
finished and gone off to work hours before.
Cousin John was dressed like a cow-boy this
morning, and when Mildred spoke of it, he
laughed and said, Well, out here I am a cow-
boy. And so," he added, sitting down oppo-
site her, you don't think the ranch will be
too lonely for you."
No," said Mildred. I did last night, but
I don't this morning."

"Well," said Cousin John, I am glad of
that. I told Pedro to bring in a horse for you
to ride. He has got him outside now, and is
going to try him with a blanket. Come; you
would like to see him."
Mildred was very eager to see the horse, and
so she hurriedly finished her breakfast and
went out on the front porch. Pedro was a
Mexican whom Mildred remembered having
seen at supper the night before. The horse,
a pretty little bay animal with an intelligent
head, was snuffing suspiciously at Pedro, who
had made a skirt for himself out of a blanket.
This, Cousin John explained to Mildred, was
intended to accustom the horse to the flap-
ping of a dress; "Dandy," as the horse was
named, never having been ridden by a woman.
Sure enough, Pedro presently sprang into the
saddle and allowed the blanket to wave
around Dandy's legs, whereupon the horse be-
gan to rear and buck, which made not the
slightest difference to Pedro. Then the horse,
finding that the blanket was not going to hurt
him, quieted down a little, and Pedro rode off
with him up the valley.
He will be all right in a day or two," said
Cousin John; "he is very gentle. And now,
as I have to go down to Rocky Bar on some
business, I will leave you to amuse yourself as
well as you can." And swinging himself on
the back of his big, brown horse, Mr. Kenil-
worth waved his hand to Mildred; and he, too,
galloped away.
Mildred was about to return to her friends
the chickens, but on the road she met Mrs.
Stokes, who was going to the corral to milk the
cows; so she went with her instead, and made
friends with the calves. After that she wan-
dered down to the stables, where she found
Pedro grooming her horse after his run.
Pedro was a good-natured fellow, and talked
to her about her horse in badly broken Eng-
lish, and presently let her feed Dandy. By
this time the horn was moaning out its call
to dinner. After dinner, Mr. Stokes, the fore-
man, invited her to ride with him on the big
ranch-wagon. There were four horses to this
wagon, and the seat was so high up in the air
that there was nothing for Mildred .to rest her
feet on, so that Mr. Stokes made her hold to




his arm. It seemed to Mildred like being in
a circus, perched up there with four horses
down in front of her, and she felt quite excited
and, if the truth must be told, a little scared.
But she soon got rid of this feeling, because
Mr. Stokes appeared to think nothing what-
ever of driving four horses with a little girl or
two hanging on his arm.
But to tell all that Mildred said or did on

o~ I l


,Am 1 1


that first day at Sweet-water ranch, and on
The days that followed, would fill a book by it-
self. And so we must pass these little adven-
tures by. Only it must not be supposed that
all of Mildred's days were happy ones. This
being the rainy season in California, there were
many wet days when she had to stay in the
house, and having nothing to do, she became
cross and homesick and was not altogether

an agreeable companion. At these times she
was rather inclined to look upon herself as a
martyr who deserved a great deal of sympathy.
But she did not get it from Mrs. Stokes, nor
from Bud, nor from Wing, the Chinese cook.
"Wha' fo' you cly ? said Wing, one day,
about a week after Mildred's arrival.
"Because," replied Mildred, pouting.
"I t'ink maybe you cly-baby," said Wing.


"I am not! said Mildred, angrily; and she
complained to Mrs. Stokes of Wing's imperti-
But Mrs. Stokes smiled grimly, and said, I
reckon he war n't so fur from the truth, Mil-
derd. You see, out yere we ain't got much use
fer cryin'; thar 's too much work to be done."
Then Mildred tried to make Mrs. Stokes
understand the great sacrifice she had made in



consenting to stay with Cousin John while her
father and mother were away. But Mrs. Stokes
did not seem to think much of this; on the con-
trary, she said:
"'Pears to me like there 's heaps o' children
'u'd jump out o' their skins to be in yer place.
I reckon the trouble with you, Milderd, is that
you think too much 'bout yerself an' not
enough 'bout other folks. S'pose everybody
was to cry when they ain't happy, what kind of
a place would this yere earth be to live on?
Thar 's one thing certain: we would n't need
no rain."
Mildred was very indignant with Mrs. Stokes
for her lack of sympathy and for telling her
that she was selfish, and so she sat down by the
window and looked out at the wet fields and the
dim, misty forest beyond, without making any
reply; which was her way when offended. Pres-
ently Mrs. Stokes went out and returned with
a basket of mending, with which she sat down
before the fire.
Ye must n't take on 'bout what I said to ye
jest now," she said; "not that it ain't the truth,
but 'cause it ain't none o' my business. All the
same, ye 're a good little girl, an' it seems a pity
yer ma raised ye to be above doin' anything'
'cept pleasin' yerself; 'cause thar ain't nothing'
like work fer getting' rid o' the cries."
Now, Mildred could bear being reproached
herself, but she could not bear having her
mother reproached. So she faced around upon
Mrs. Stokes, and said in a tremulous. voice:
"You don't know anything about mama!
She did not 'raise' me to be above doing any-
thing, and you have no right to say so!"
"Why," said Mrs. Stokes, I never seen ye
do anything' sense ye b'en yere."
Because there is nothing for me to do," said
'Pears to me like there was a heap to do,"
said Mrs. Stokes. "Thar 's Bud, he waits on
ye like he was hired to do it, an' yet when he
busted a suspender-button offn his overalls
ye did n't offer to sew it on. Mr. John does a
heap fer you, an' though ye 're on his ranch ye
ain't offered to set the table, or hunt the eggs,
or any o' them things a little gal might do."
"I did n't know that Cousin John wanted
me to," said Mildred, still very indignant.

"He don't," said Mrs. Stokes. It ain't that
the ranch needs yer help. I 'm talking' 'bout
what ye might offer to do. To tell ye the truth,
Milderd, I' kind o' like ye, an' I can't bear to
see ye frettin' an' worryin' fer want of a little
plain talk. Maybe I give it to ye a little too
plain; but ye must n't mind, it's only my way."
But Mildred did mind it, and although she
did not cry any more, it took a whole day for
her to recover from the hurt and resentment
of Mrs. Stokes's words. Perhaps it was more
pride than anything else that caused Mildred
to go out in the chicken-yard the next morning,
and gather up the eggs and bring them to Mrs.
Stokes in the kitchen. Whatever it was, Mrs.
Stokes good-naturedly thanked her, and later
on, when Mildred set the table for dinner, she
said more gently than was usual with her:
"Ye mind me mightily o' my own little gal,
Milderd; ye do fer a fact."
Mildred's heart softened toward Mrs. Stokes
at this, and indeed it was not long before they
became very good friends. As for Cousin
John, Mildred could plainly see that he was
amused and pleased with her little efforts to
help, and that was reward enough in itself.
Among the other duties that Mildred took
upon herself, curiously enough, was that of
teaching Wing. This came about as follows:
One day Mildred was in the living-room mend-
ing her riding-skirt, when she heard a great
noise in the dining-room as of shuffling feet
and chairs being knocked about, the sound of
slaps and blows, and above all Wing's voice
raised in anger. Now Mildred was somewhat
afraid of Wing. He was a very big man, and
he did not shave his head neatly and wear his
cue nicely braided down his back, like the Chi-
nese in San Francisco. His hair stood up on
end all around his head, and his cue was
loosely coiled on top, giving a fierce look to his
rather ugly face. So now, as she heard his
loud voice and the blows, she was startled, and
laying aside her work, she listened. Then she
heard Wing say, Wha' fo' you come in heah ?
I show you! and bang! went something.
This so alarmed Mildred that she thought
she would run out of the front door and around
the house and call Mrs. Stokes. Then it sud-
denly occurred to her that Mistress Barbara



never would have done that. Mistress Bar-
bara would have been brave and have found
out what was the matter before giving an
alarm. So Mildred determined to be brave.
Step by step, holding her breath, she went on
tiptoe to the door and opened it. And the
dreadful sight which met her gaze was this:
Wing, all alone, was killing flies!
"Wha' fo' you come heah! Did n' I tell
you no come in house, hey?" bawled Wing,
and bang! went the dish-rag. "I teach-ee
you do wha' I say, nex' time!" Slap! from
the rag. Buzz-z-z!" said Wing, mimicking
the noise of the flies; "I make-a you buzz!"
and smack! went the rag again.
Just then Wing caught sight of Mildred.
"Hello," he said; "how you do?"
Mildred, checking an inclination to run
away, said very politely, "I 'm very well,
thank you," though he had asked her the same
question several times before that day.
"Tha 's good," said Wing; I heap kill fly.
Too much-ee fly no good. All-ee same-all-ee
same-" Wing stopped and rolled his eyes in
search of a word-" What you call-ee him ? "
"I don't know what you mean?" said Mil-
dred, doubtfully.
Hold on," said Wing; I get book."
And going into the kitchen, he returned with
a curious-looking book made of light brown
paper stitched together, and covered with
queer marks. These proved to be Chinese
words, and underneath them were the English
translations. Wing, beginning at the back of
the book, turned over the leaves, working to-
ward the front, and reading from the bottom
of the page to the top, while Mildred looked
on wonderingly. At last he found the word,
and showing it, said, What you call-ee him ? "
"Oh," said Mildred, reading the translation,
"Yaas!" cried Wing, grinning from ear to
ear; "noo-sance! Fly heap noo-sance."
"You speak English very well, Wing," said
Mildred, relieved to find him so amiable.
Yaas," said Wing, smiling wider than ever.
"You t'ink so ? "
Yes," said Mildred. Did you learn it
from this book ? "

Maybe, some," said Wing. Some time
no can honderstan' book. How you say
that ? he added, at the same time pointing
with his slim yellow forefinger to this very long
word: Requestaskcivilly."
At first Mildred thought it was Chinese, and
was very much puzzled.
"You no sab6 ? said Wing, in surprise.
"Oh! said Mildred, beginning to laugh, I
see. It means, 'Request, ask civilly.' "
Yaas," said Wing, tha 's it."
"Why, how funny," said Mildred. "They
are all written that way."
Then there were such words as Ruefully,"
"Cherishadislike," "Antagonistically," and oth-
ers that it was plain had been plucked bodily
out of an English dictionary.
I should think it would be very hard,"
said Mildred, after trying to explain to Wing
the blunder of the Chinese book-maker.
"Yaas," said Wing, "it velly hard. Yes'-
day, one Chinaman he come. He velly old,
he work twonty-fi' yeah in mine. He tell-ee
me he want money."
Did you give it to him? said Mildred.
"Yaas," said Wing, indifferently. "He
velly old; no can work. All-ee same, I want
catch-ee that word; how you call-ee him ?"
Again Wing's forefinger pointed to the page.
Subscribe," said Mildred.
"Yaas," said Wing, greatly excited, sub-
sclibe. I no like-ee that old man, he too high-
toned. But he no can work, no can catch-ee
gold. He want to go back to China. All
Chinaman subsclibe. Me subsclibe, tha 's it.
Subsclibe!" And throwing back his head, Wing
laughed, Ha ha! ha! "
Wing," said Mildred, laughing too, "when-
ever you want to know about these words, you
come to me and I '11 tell you."
"All light," said Wing, "you tell-ee me.
Tha's good! Good-by!"
And Wing went off into the kitchen, chuck-
ling and repeating to himself with great satis-
faction, Subsclibe."
And after that Wing would often come to
Mildred for assistance in his studies, and Cousin
John, hearing of it, playfully gave her the name
of the little schoolma'am."

(To be concluded.)



KITTEN FLUFF'S" birthplace was a big,
round basket in the back room of the Rush-
town post-office. There she spent the first days
of her life, with her two sisters, Kitten "Gray"
and Kitten "Spot." For the first week or
two of their lives they were very quiet, con-
tented kittens. All they wanted was to eat
and sleep, and Mother "Muff" attended to
their meals and kept the house-that is, the
basket-very quiet while they slept. One day
they found out two things: one was, that the
world was n't bounded by the circumference
of their basket; the other was, that their legs
were made to walk with. At first it was a
great deal of trouble to make their legs go the
way they wanted to have them, but after a few
days' practice they found, to their great satis-
faction, that their legs would not only go where
they wanted to have them, but would go very
fast, indeed. What fun they had when they
found that out! How they scampered after
each other and after Mother Muff, if she
chanced to go to the door to see what the
weather was like! Mother Muff was very
proud of her kittens. She said to herself that
they were certainly the smartest family of kit-
tens she had ever had; and, as they were the
only ones she had ever had, I am quite sure
she was right. One day they went through
the door into the post-office. What a curious
place it was! Kitten Gray and Kitten Fluff
examined all the desks and chairs and nooks

and corners, and got acquainted with Postmas-
ter Jones and several of the clerks; but Kitten
Spot, who was of a very quiet, uninvestigating
turn of mind, was the one who found the mail-
bags. There they were, flat, empty things,
thrown in a pile in a corner.
"What a splendid place to lie down and take
a nap!" thought Kitten Spot; so she curled
herself into a little ball on the leather bags.
Then Kitten Gray and Kitten Fluff thought
that they were very tired also, and, following
Kitten Spot's example, they cuddled down be-
side her and were fast asleep in a minute.
When Mother Muff walked in, a little later,
she was shocked to see where her children
were sleeping. She knew that mail-bags are
very precious things. She had heard of dread-
ful things that Uncle Sam had done to people
who tampered with mail-bags. She was al-
most sure she heard Uncle Sam's step outside.
She picked up the kittens, one at a time, by the
nice little handle at the back of their necks,
and hurried with them to their good, safe
basket. Then she gave them a long lecture
about their conduct, which she was almost cer-
tain they would never forget. But whenever
they went into the office, they always felt so
sleepy when they got into the corner where
the mail-bags were, that they did forget, and
were sure to get into a bunch and go to sleep.
Mother Muff was dreadfully worried; but
after she learned that Postmaster Jones only


laughed when he saw them there, she felt a
little easier, and thought perhaps, if that dread-
ful Uncle Sam should happen to come in,
that Mr. Jones would plead for the kittens, and
perhaps Uncle Sam would excuse them, they
were so very young.
One morning, when Kitten Spot was fin-
ishing her after-breakfast nap, and Mother
Muff was attending to Kitten Gray's bath, Kit-
ten Fluff was enjoying a little waltz, with her
tail for a partner. Before she knew it, she had
waltzed through the open door into the post-
office and half across the room.
Then she stopped short, and with a
great deal of dignity walked over to
the mail-bags. One of them was
lying by itself, somewhat apart from
the others, and was open a little.
Kitten Fluff poked her nose inside.
Then such a bright idea struck her!
She would go into the bag, and II
hide from Mother Muff. Mother Muff
would think she was lost. How she
would hunt for her, and how surprised
she would be to find her in the depths
of the bag! It was a very
long way to the bottom of
that bag, but Kitten Fluff
pushed her way in, and
cuddled down very still,
hiding her nose in her
paws to smother a laugh.
But before you could -
count ten she was asleep,
and dreaming of a great big rat
she was going to catch when she grew
up. All of a sudden, something hit
her ever so many raps. She started up. She
thought Mother Muff was boxing her ears.
But it was something a great deal worse than
that. There were dozens of letters (Mother
Muff had told her what those funny paper
things were) falling down on top of her. She
was so frightened she could n't stir. Then
there was a terrible earthquake. Then the light
was all shut out at the top of the bag, and she
heard a little click. Oh, dear, it was so dark,
and those dreadful letters kept pushing and
crowding her so! She did n't want to hide
from Mother Muff any more, but called for her

again and again. But, alas! the leather walls
were very thick, and no sound reached Mother
Muff's ears.
What a terrible time poor Kitten Fluff had!
The bag was picked up and carried a long way,
and thrown down again very hard. Kitten Fluff
was pretty sure some of her bones must be
broken. Then the air in the mail-bag was very
close; she had a very bad headache and a dread-
ful palpitation of the heart. She was sure she
was going to die. She wished she had al-
ways been a good kitten, and she wished
very, very much that she had

seek with her mo-
ther. Then came
some strange
.. rumbling

noises all
about her,
which she -
could not
atall. After THE LETTERS OUT."
a while she fell asleep; but she dreamed such a
bad dream about a large dog that was running
after her, that she was glad when she woke up.
After a long while (Kitten Fluff thought it



must be several years), the bag was moved
again. She had another shaking, and lo, a
wonderful thing happened! Somebody opened
the end of the bag, and dumped her and all
of the letters out upon a shelf in a very long,
narrow room. For a minute she was so sur-
prised she did n't know what to do; but the
next instant she jumped down and rushed wildly
across the floor, to see if she still had the use
of her legs.
Great Casar! said one of the men.
That was n't Kitten Fluff's name, at all, but
she was too much astonished to tell the man so.
A little man came up from the other end of
the car-she heard the men call it a car after-
ward-and exclaimed, "Well, that's the most
curious mail-package I ever saw!"
Then the little man took her up by the
nape of the neck, just as her mother always
did. She liked that man very much.
Well, I declare! said he, "if this is n't
one of those identical kittens that I saw up
in the Rushtown post-office last week. I can
tell it by that odd white ring on its tail."
Kitten Fluff had never cared much for rings
before, but she was very glad now that her
tail was ornamented with one. She told all
her troubles to the little man, in kitten lan-
guage, and as he was something of a student
in languages, he understood all she said. He
said something to the big man about telegraph-
ing ahead and having her sent back from
Greatville. Kitten Fluff was a little worried
at first, for she did n't suppose there was any
way of going back except in a mail-bag; but
the little man looked so kind that she
made up her mind to trust him,
and went to sleep on his
overcoat thrown
over a chair.

Pretty soon the train stopped, and a man
came to the car door with a light wooden box
and a pan of milk.
Kitten Fluff had almost forgotten how hun-
gry she was in her excitement. But she al-
ways lunched at ten o'clock, and now it was
nearly noon, so that she really was very hungry
indeed; and milk was her favorite food.
After she had lapped a great deal, the little
man said, No time to spare, Kit; the up-train
is nearly due."
Then he put her in the wooden box, and
nailed some slats over one side. She did n't
like it very much, but it was a vast improve-
ment on the mail-bag. There was some writ-
ing on the top of the box, which she could n't
see; but she caught sight of the big placard,
"WITH GREAT CARE." She wondered what that
meant. She did n't have time to inquire, how-
ever, because another train came up just then
by the side of theirs, and she was put into one
of the cars on that train. She enjoyed the ride
home very much, because she was near a
window, and could look and enjoy the scenery.
It was late in the afternoon when the train
reached Rushtown, and there at the station
was the errand-boy, Mike, whom she knew
quite well. He took the wooden box, with its
big label, under his arm.
"Be jabers!" said he, "you 're a foine
traveler. I always said you war the loikeliest
wan o' the lot."
What a time there was when Kitten Fluff
reached the post-office! The postmaster and
all the clerks had some word of greeting for
her, but there was no one else half so
k glad to see her as Mother Muff,
_?- and no one else whom
she was half so
glad to see.



My Dolly has been so quiet andsad
That nothing appeared to rouse her ;
So I thought per aps it would make her Slad
To give her a ride on Towser.
I pushed him off the step in the sun
He looked so la3y and idle -
For a saddle I fastened my apron on,
And my ribbon sash for a bridle.

,.7, .

,Ii,' '
L I,-'

Then Dolly sat on his back to r de .
And he neither growled nor rumbled; I "
I held her hand and walked by lver side ,
Till I suddenly tripped and tumbled! ,
Poor Dolly fell with a dreadful crash ,
For of course I couldn't hold her -
One arm and one leQ went all to smash,
And a great crack came in her shoulder.


A YeaT With Dolly

Bij Oudova S. Bamstead,



[Begun in the January number.]
MANY interesting visitors came and went,
both at Green Peace and the Valley,--many
more than I can recollect. The visit of Kos-
suth, the great Hungarian patriot, made no
impression upon me, as I was only a year
old when he came to this country; but there
was a great reception for him at Green Peace,
and many people assembled to do honor to the
brave man who had tried so hard to free his
country from the Austrian yoke, and had so
nearly succeeded. I remember a certain hat,
which we younger children firmly believed to
have been his, though I have since been in-
formed that we were mistaken. At all events,
we used to play with the hat (I wonder whose
it was!) under this impression, and it formed
an important element in dressing up," which
was one of our chief delights.
One child would put on Kossuth's hat,"
another Lord Byron's helmet, a superb affair
of steel and gold, which had been given to our
father in Greece, after Byron's death (N. B.
We ought not to have been allowed to touch so
precious a relic, far less to dress up in it!);
while a third would appropriate a charming
little square Polish cap of fine scarlet, which
ought to have belonged to Thaddeus of War-
saw, but did not, I fear.
What pleasant things we had to dress up in !
There was our father's wedding-coat, bright
blue, with brass buttons, and the waistcoat he
had worn with it, white satin with raised velvet
flowers. Such a fine waistcoat! There were
two embroidered crape gowns which had been
our grandmother's, with waists a few inches
long, and long, skimp skirts; and the striped
blue and yellow moir6, which our mother had
worn in some private theatricals -that was

beyond description! And the white gauze with
gold flounces-oh! and the peach-blossom silk
with flowers all over it-ah!
But this is a digression, and has nothing
whatever to do with our guests, who never
played dressing up, that I can remember.
One of our most frequent visitors at Green
Peace was the great statesman and patriot,
Charles Sumner. He was a very dear friend
of our father's, and they loved to be together
whenever the strenuous business of their lives
would permit.
We children used to call Mr. Sumner "the
Harmless Giant"; and indeed he was very
kind to us, and had always a pleasant word
for us, in that deep, melodious voice which no
one, once hearing it, could ever forget. He
towered above us to what seemed an enormous
height; yet we were told that he stood six feet
in his stockings-no more. This impression
being made on Laura's mind, she was used to
employ the great senator as an imaginary foot-
rule,-six-foot rule, I should say,-and, until
she was almost a woman grown, would mea-
sure a thing, in her own mind, by saying two
feet higher than Mr. Sumner," or "twice as
high as Mr. Sumner," as the case might be. I
can remember him carrying the baby Maud
on his shoulder, and bowing his lofty crest
to pass through the doorway. Sometimes his
mother, Madam Sumner, came with him, a
gracious and charming old lady. I am told
that on a day when she was spending an hour
at Green Peace, and sitting in the parlor win-
dow with our mother, Laura felt it incumbent
upon her to entertain the distinguished visitor;
so, being arrayed in her best white frock, she
took up her station on the gravel path below
the window, arid filling a little basket with
gravel, proceeded to pour it over her head,
exclaiming, Mit Humner! hee my ektibiton!"
This meant "exhibition." Laura could not


pronounce the letter S in childhood's happy
hour. "Mama," she would say, if she saw
our mother look grave,." Id you had ? Why id
you had? and then she would bring a doll's
dish, or it might be a saucepan, and give it to
her mother and say, with infinite satisfaction,
"Dere 1 'mooge you'helf wid dat!"
Another ever welcome guest was John A.
Andrew, the great War Governor, as we loved to
call him. He was not governor in those days,
that is, when I first remember him; but he was
then, as always, one of the most delightful of
men. Who else could tell a story with such
exquisite humor? The stories themselves were
better than any others, but his way of telling
them set every word in gold. The very sound
of his voice made the air brighter and warmer,
and his own delightful atmosphere of sunny
geniality went always with him. That was a
wonderful evening, when, at one of our parties,
some scenes from Thackeray's The Rose
and the Ring" were given. Our mother was
Countess Gruffanuff," our father "Kutasoff
Hedzoff." Governor Andrew took the part of
"Prince Bulbo," while Flossy made a sprightly
"Angelica," and Julia, as "Betsinda," was a
vision of rarest beauty. I cannot remember
who was "Prince Giglio," but the figure of
Bulbo," with closely curling hair, his fine face
aglow with merriment, and the magic rose in
his buttonhole, comes distinctly before me.
Who were the guests at those dinner-par-
ties so well remembered ? Alas I know not.
Great people they often were, famous men and
women, who talked, no doubt, brilliantly and
delightfully. But is it their conversation which
lingers like a charm in my memory? Again,
alas! my recollection is of finger-bowls, crimson
and purple, which sang beneath the wetted fin-
ger of some kindly elder; of almonds and rai-
sins and bonbons, mystic, wonderful, all gauze
and tinsel and silver paper, with flat pieces of
red sugar within. The red sugar was some-
thing of an anticlimax, after the splendors of
its envelop, being insipidly sweet, with no
special flavor. The scent of coffee comes back
to me, rich, delicious, breathing of 'f the golden
days of good Haroun Alraschid." We were
never allowed to drink coffee or tea, but stand-
ing by our mother's chair, just before saying
good-night, we received the most exquisite

dainty the world afforded: a coffee-duck,"
which to the ignorant is explained to be a
lump of sugar dipped in coffee-black coffee,
bien entendu-and held in the amber liquid till
it begins to melt in delicious "honeycomb."
This was probably the true ambrosia of the
gods. And then we said good-night, and-
and-went and begged the cook for a "whip,"
or some "floating-island," or a piece of frosted
cake. Was it strange that occasionally, after
one of these feasts, Laura could not sleep, and
was smitten with the terror by night" (it was
generally a locomotive which was coming in at
the window to annihilate her; Julia was the
one who used to weep at night for fear of
foxes), and would come trotting down into the
lighted drawing-room, among all the silks and
satins, arrayed in the simple garment known as
a "leg-nightgown," demanding her mother?
Ay, and I remember that she always got her
mother, too.
But these guests? I remember the great
Professor Agassiz, with his wise, kindly face
and genial smile. I can see him putting sugar
into his coffee, lump after lump, till it stood up
above the liquid like one of his own glaciers.
I remember all the "Abolition leaders, for our
own parents were stanch abolitionists, and
worked heart and soul for the cause of free-
dom. I remember when Swedish ships came
into Boston Harbor, probably for the express
purpose of filling our parlors 'with fair-haired
officers, wonderful, magnificent, shining with
epaulets and buttons. There may have been
other reasons for the visit; there may have
been deep political designs, and all manner of
mysteries relating to the peace of nations. I
know not. But I know that there was a little
midshipman in white trousers, who danced
with Laura, and made her a bow afterward
and said,-"I tanks you for de polska." He
was a dear little midshipman! There was an
admiral, too, who corresponded more or less
with Southey's description:
And last of all an admiral came,-
A terrible man with a terrible name,-
A name which, you all must know very well,
Nobody can speak and nobody can spell.
The admiral said to Harry, I understand you
shall not go to sea in future times ? and that
is all I remember about him.


I remember Charlotte Cushman, the great
actress and noble woman, who was a dear
friend of our mother's; with a deep, vibrating,
melodious voice, and a strong, almost mascu-
line face, full of wisdom and kindliness.
I remember Edwin Booth, in the early days,
when his brilliant genius and the splendor of
his melancholy beauty were taking all hearts
by storm. He was very shy, this all-powerful
"Richelieu," this conquering "Richard," this
princely "Hamlet." He came to a party
given in his honor by our mother, and instead
of talking to all the fine.people who were dy-
ing for a word with him, he spent nearly the
whole evening in a comer with little Maud,
who enjoyed herself immensely. What won-
der, when he made dolls for her out of hand-
kerchiefs, and danced them with dramatic
fervor? She was very gracious to Mr. Booth,
which was a good thing; for one never knew
just what Maud would say or do. Truth
compels me to say that she was the enfant
terrible of the family, and that the elders al-
ways trembled when visitors noticed or ca-
ressed the beautiful child.
One day, I remember, a very wise and
learned man came to Green Peace to see our
mother,-a man of high reputation, and withal
a valued friend. He was fond of children, and
took Maud on his knee, meaning to have a
pleasant chat with her. But Maud fixed her
great gray eyes on him, and surveyed him with
an air of keen and hostile criticism. "What
makes all those little red lines in your nose?"
she asked, after an ominous silence. Mr.
H-, somewhat taken aback, explained as
well as he could the nature of the veins, and
our mother was about to send the child on
some suddenly-bethought-of errand, when her
clear, melodious voice broke out again, relent-
less, insistent: "Do you know, I 'think you
are the ugliest man I ever saw in my life!"
That will do, Maud! said Mr. H-, put-
ting her down from his knee. "You are
charming, but you may go now, my dear."
Then he and our mother both tried to become
very much interested in metaphysics; and next
day he went and asked a mutual friend if he
were really the ugliest man that ever was seen,
telling her what Maud had said.

Again, there was a certain acquaintance--
long since dead-who was in the habit of mak-
ing interminable calls at Green Peace, and
who would talk by the hour together without
pausing. Our parents were often wearied by
this gentleman's conversational powers, and
one of them-let this be a warning to young
and old chanced one day to speak of him in
Maud's hearing as a great bore." This was
enough! The next time the unlucky talker
appeared, the child ran up to him, and greeted
him cordially with How do you, bore? Oh,
you great bore!" A quick-witted friend who
was in the room instantly asked Mr. S- if
he had seen the copy of Snyder's "Boar Hunt"
which our father had lately bought, thinking it
better that he should fancy himself addressed
as a beast of the forest than as Borus hu-
manus; but he kept his own counsel, and we
never knew what he really thought of Maud's
But of all visitors at either house, there was
one whom we loved more than all others put
together. Marked with a white stone was the
happy day which brought the wonderful uncle,
the fairy godfather, the realization of all that
is delightful in man, to Green Peace or the Val-
ley. Uncle Sam Ward!--uncle by adoption to
half the young people he knew, but our very
own uncle, our mother's beloved brother. We
might have said to him, with Shelley,
Rarely, rarely comest thou,
Spirit of delight!

for he was a busy man, and Washington was a
long way off: but when he did come, as I said,
it was a golden day. We fairly smothered
him, each child wanting to sit on his knee, to
see his great watch, and the wonderful sapphire
that he always wore on his little finger. Then
he must sing for us; and he would sing the old
Studenten Lieder in his full, joyous voice: but
he must always wind up with Balzoroschko
Schnego" (at least that is what it sounded like),
a certain Polish drinking-song, in which he
sneezed and yodeled, and did all kinds of won-
derful things.
Then would come an hour of quiet talk with
our mother, when we knew enough to be silent
and listen, feeling, perhaps, rather than realiz-




ing, that it was not a common privilege to lis-
ten to such talk.,
"No matter how much I may differ from Sam
Ward in principles or opinion," said Charles
Sumner once, "when I have been with him
five minutes, I forget everything except that
he is the most delightful man in the world."
Again (but this was the least part of the
pleasure), he never came empty-handed. Now
it was a basket of wonderful peaches, which he
thought might rival ours; now a gold bracelet
for a niece's wrist; now a beautiful book, or a
pretty dress-pattern that had caught his eye in
some shop-window. Now he came direct from
South America, bringing for our mother a sil-
ver pitcher which he had won as a prize at a
shooting-match in Paraguay. One of us will
never forget being waked in the gray dawn of
a summer morning at the Valley, by the sound
of a voice singing outside-will never forget
creeping to the window, and peeping out
through the blinds. There on the door-step
stood the fairy uncle, with a great basket of
peaches beside him; and he was singing the
lovely old French song, which has always since
then seemed to me to belong to him:

Noble Chatelaine,
Voyez notre peine,
Et dans vos domaines
Rendez charity i
Voyez le disgrace,
Qui nous menace,

Et donnez, par grace,
L'hospitalit !
Toi que je r6vere,
Entends ma priere,
O Dieu tutelaire,
Viens dans ta bonte,
Pour sauver l'innocence,
Et que ta puissance
Un jour recompense
There is no sweeter song. And do you think
we did not tumble into our clothes and rush
down, in wrappers, in petticoats, in whatever
gown could be most quickly put on, and unbar
the door, and bring the dear wanderer in, with
joyful cries, with laughter, almost with tears of
pure pleasure ?
Ah, that was "long ago and long ago "; and
now the kind uncle, the great heart that over-
flowed with love and charity and good will to
all human kind, has passed through another
door, and will not return. Be sure that on
knocking at that white portal, he found hospi-
tality within.
And now it is time that these rambling notes
should draw to a close. There are many things
that I might still speak of. But, after all, long
ago is long ago, and these glimpses of our
happy childhood must necessarily be fragmen-
tary and brief. I trust they may have given
pleasure to some children: I wish all childhood
might be as bright, as happy, as free from care
or sorrow, as was ours.



C -~---*- -
if-. N*
A --
it i

IT was two o'clock of a hot
summer afternoon, and most of
the people at the cottage were
asleep. Even thebirdswere drowsy,
and performed low-toned solos to
a murmuring chorus of insects; the i'
brook that tumbled. into the little
mountain lake seemed trying to tur-
ble in such a way as not. to waken
itself. Only Nan, as she stood on the
piazza, the.brown hair straggling into her
eyes, was free from anything suggesting
She had been advised to read during the
hour after luncheon, if it was impossible to
sleep like other people. Bravely she had gone to
work, and for ten minutes had read a book which
told of the gnomes and pygmies and giants
which are said to abound in the Black Forest.
Nan was practical and patriotic; it seemed
to her that if such things were found in Ger-
many,- a country no way superior to the United
States,-there should also be interesting crea-
tures here in the Adirondacks. These quiet
evergreen woods were as fit homes for fairies
as any Black Forest.
Before long she tired of reading, and wished
to do something more lively; for Nan, it must
be confessed, was the least bit of a tomboy.
If there was nothing else to do, she could take
a walk into some part of the forest. She would
have liked a shot-gun as companion in her wan-
derings; but that would hardly do, and she
had to content herself with a bow and arrows.
She got these weapons, and now stood on the
piazza, wondering in which direction to go.
There was the path near the lake-shore,

where in the autumn Uncle
Bob shot pigeons that came
S'> to the buckwheat fields; but
/ this path was bordered only by
9, raspberry-bushes, and looked too
S open and sunshiny to be a suitable
place for creatures so shy as fairies.
The ravine down which came the
brook, on the contrary, was cool and
dark-so lonely, indeed, that Nan had
never cared to wander beneath the great
hemlocks which grew there. This afternoon,
however, she resolved to be more bold; and,
keeping near the brook, she ventured into the
After walking a short distance, she found the
ravine becoming wider; its sides grew steep, and
moss-covered boulders checked the course of
the brook. Nan sat down on one of these
stones, and looked around. No fairies, giants,
nor any of the strange things which the book
told of were in sight,-not even a little man
dressed in green to dance on the moss and tell
of buried treasure, as is said to happen often
in Old World woods.
While the girl was waiting there, wishing she
might capture something unusual for Uncle
Bob, who was a naturalist and had collections
of all kinds of queer creatures, a striped squir-
rel, or chipmunk, hopped upon a log and
uttered the shrill chirp which tells of expecta-
tion or alarm. True to its warning, another
animal came pattering along. Nan fitted an
arrow to the bow; perhaps she was to discover
something as strange as the creatures written
about. But no weird shape pushed its way
through the bushes; only a little gray animal


with big, bright eyes; and before Nan could
draw the bow, it scurried away.
Soon a red squirrel, which had been frisking
in the branches of a spruce-tree, began to chatter
and'scold-but not at Nan. A small brownish
animal was climbing the spruce.
As the girl took a step forward, it turned to
look at her in mild astonishment; then
scrambled clumsily up the tree-trunk.
Nan felt sure her naturalist uncle
would like this creature to add to his ,
collections; for she decided that it
was a sable or pine-marten. Only a
few days before, Uncle Bob had said
he wanted a sable to put among his
stuffed animals; and when she asked
what a sable was like, he had said: "A
sable, more properly called a pine-mar-
ten, is a small brown animal spending
most of its life in trees."
Here was a small brown animal in
a tree. "It must be a sable," thought
Nan, looking it over; "I '11 catch it for
Uncle Bob."
So she fitted her best arrow to the string, and
drew the bow with all her strength. But as
she was aiming, the string snapped, and the
arrow fell limply to the ground.
She tried to remedy matters, but in vain.
Then she got several pebbles from the bed of
the brook, for she was a living contradiction of
the notion that no girl can throw a stone; and
soon one of the pebbles hit the animal squarely
in the side. It whimpered, but made no sign
of coming down. There seemed only one way
of capturing it: she must climb the tree.
When Nan's mind was made up, she acted
promptly. Fastening the bow on her shoulder,
she clambered into the spruce. Low-growing
branches made it easy to climb; and, then,
she was as nimble as a boy, though she in-
dulged her taste for climbing only when she
was alone.
Seeing her coming, the animal began to show
fear, crying and whining. She was about to
reach for it with the end of her bow, when she
heard soft steps on the ground below. Look-
ing down, she encountered the sharp eyes of
a tawny, cat-like animal with tufted ears and
short tail, as large, perhaps, as a spaniel.
VOL. XIX.-55.

The conviction flashed through the girl's
mind that this creature had something to do
with the "sable" in the tree; the two possessed
a strong family likeness. Perhaps the larger was
the mother, and the cries of its young had
brought it to the spot.
The little one continued to whine, and the

other an-
swered with
sounds prob-
ably intended ,
to be sooth-
ing, but they
did not have
that effect upon
Nan. The sul-
len growls, and b ndro
those menacing .
eyes turned to-
ward her, meant
no good.. The
pursuit of the sup-
posed sable was
forgotten in the "NAN WVAS IN A PANIC OF FEAR."
painful interest with which she watched the
movements of this new arrival.
Several times it paced around the tree, sniff-
ing and growling; then, snarling, it crawled
slowly upward. The girl, perched in a fork of
the tree, was in a panic of fear.
Quick, Nan! cried her uncle's voice,
"scramble out on that branch, and drop. I '11
catch you! "


Her energies revived, and she dragged her-
self along the branch. Below she saw a famil-
iar figure. Swinging down and relaxing her
hold, she fell twelve feet, and was caught in
the strong arms of Uncle Bob.
The animal which had so frightened Nan did
not offer to follow, as her uncle led her rapidly
down the ravine.
Now, my venturesome niece," said he, at
last, how did you manage to get into a tree be-
tween an old lynx and her kitten ? You were in
a dangerous situation when I happened along."



"I only meant to get the little one,-which I
thought was a sable,-for your collection; but
the bowstring snapped and I could n't tie it
again, so I had to climb the tree. Then the
fierce animal came."
"I thank you for your kind intentions," said
Uncle Bob, "but I would n't try to collect
anything so dangerous as a lynx-kitten which is
still in the charge of its mother. Lynxes are
not common in these woods, and you '11 prob-
ably never see another. But if you do, don't
meddle with it."



^ BY ^'.5- oOKS-

The earlier Spanish fighters in America delighted in the title of el conquistadores, the conquerors. This story
of the boy who made the last stand for Spain in the Mississippi country was suggested to me by Mr. George W.
Cable, who had been impressed by the pluck and loyalty of young Louis Grandpr6.

THERE was trouble and turmoil in the Span-
ish fort at Baton Rouge. There was disquiet
and unrest through all that section of Louisiana
that was not yet free from the authority of Spain.
It was the summer of the year 18o1. Emi-
grants from the pushing States along the Atlantic
seaboard and from the scarcely conquered for-
ests of the West were seeking homes within that
fair and fertile southern country, through which
the mighty Mississippi cuts its winding way to
the Mexican Gulf. And, as they came, they
brought with them into all that soft southland
between the Mississippi and the Pearl, the
sturdy breezes of personal liberty and civil free-
dom. With this spirit they imbued the frontier

folk among whom they came to settle, and, as a
result, they grew more and more aggressive to-
ward the slender garrison that, in the tumble-
down fort at Baton Rouge, sought to maintain
some show of authority in that region for King
Ferdinand of Spain.
It was but a sorry show, withal. Rood by
rood, that once magnificent empire that De
Soto had conquered for his king-long held by
France, and again, through fifty years, a prov-
ince of Spain,-was fast slipping away from
the Don's unsteady hand. The shifting for-
tunes of war and of diplomacy had even
before this crisis-year of 1810 reduced Spain's
possessions along the Mississippi to a section


1892.] THE LAST CC

not very much larger than the little northern
State of Delaware.
And even this-strip of Spanish territory the
American pioneers openly coveted. Joining to
themselves the disaffected ones among the
French colonists, and those who, remembering
the Don O'Reilly's iron hand, had ever hated
Spain, the new-comers, by bluster and artifice,
by much talk and the most persistent scoffing
at Spain's shadow of authority, were drawing
nearer and nearer to their prize. And now the
only "lion in the path" seemed but a very weak
one-a boy of sixteen, stationed in an old and
crumbling fort at Baton Rouge.
This was the way of it. Don Carlos de
Grandpre, governor and commandant for Spain
at Baton Rouge, was dead. His successor, the
intendant Delusas, had, through fear or in the
hope of obtaining succor, absented himself from
his post, leaving in charge as only officer, Louis
Grandpr6, the son of the former governor.
But Louis Grandpr6 was no ordinary boy.
Reared amid all the dangers and hardships of
a frontier post, he had been compelled to assume
and accept responsibilities early in life.
The mingled French and Spanish blood that
flowed in his veins bore in it some strain of the
old-time heroism which had marked the days
of paladin and Cid; and Louis Grandpr 's one
legacy from his father, the commandant, was
this maxim of the camp: A soldier's first duty
is obedience; his watchword, Loyalty to King,
to Country, and to Flag."
He was a child of that fair southern land,
and its forests and savannas, its bayous, lakes,
and rivers, its flowers and birds, and even its
tropic tangle of morass and swamp, were all
dear to his heart. Above them the flag of his
king had waved for half a century, and to de-
fend them from the enemies of his king was
his duty as a soldier and a son of Spain.
Knowing this of him, we can understand the
full meaning of the defiant attitude and the
flushed face of the boy commandant of Baton
Rouge as, on a bright July morning of 18o1, he
listened to the report with which the old half-
pay sergeant, Estevan Sera, who had served
under this lad's father, came to headquarters.
"My capitan/!"
"Well, sergeant ?"

Here has come to us sorry news from above.
Pedro the Natchez is just in from the Bayou
Sara country, and tells of much plotting against
us. The Americans are to march upon Baton
Rouge speedily, and have vowed to drive us
"Well, sergeant, to threaten is easy, but to
do is harder work. Let the Americans try us
if they will. We can but ,do our duty. Who
leads them on?"
El capitan Thomas heads the riflemen, and
with the dragoons comes that son of Satan,
Depassau, to whom your father once gave life.
One hundred men and forty is the force they
bring-and what can we hope to do ?"
What, sergeant, but hold the fort for Spain
and for the king! For that we are here. To
that our lives are pledged; and, unless other
orders come to me from Pensacola, that will I
strive to do. A soldier of Spain can but do his
duty-and die."
With many a "caramba of protest and
many a half-grumble at this simple but un-
pleasant doctrine of his young commandant,
the old sergeant shuffled away; and yet, even
though he could not accept the alternative,
he could not but rejoice over the pluck and
courage of this boy whom he had watched and
tutored almost from the cradle.
Misfortune is fleet of foot. Even before
young Grandpr6 had time to strengthen his
works and decently equip his command, the
enemy was on the march. Depassau with
forty dragoons was approaching by the St.
Francisville road, and Thomas, with more than
eighty riflemen, had bivouacked in the pine-
woods to the south.
Matters looked black indeed for the young
commandant of the Spanish fort.
Louis Grandpr6 knew-none better-the
character of the foemen whom he must face
in fight. The dragoons, as the sergeant had
called them, were bold horsemen--"cow-boys"
of that early day. Full of the tireless spirit, the
daring, and the recklessness that a free rein on
the broad savannas of the southwest gives to
every ranger of the prairie and the plains, their
charges were irresistible, their saber-swings were
death. The riflemen were northern foresters-
desperate fighters, quick of eye, unerring of aim,


sharp-shooters, and sure shooters all. Horse
and foot alike were, as he knew, distinguished
for a hardihood, a dash, and an alertness in
action that not one of the lazy veterans in his
crippled fort was capable of resisting.
For this was his condition: To this whirl-
wind of "Yankee invasion he could oppose
only a garrison of less than fifty worn-out
Spanish soldiers in a decaying and half dis-
mantled fort, upon which scarcely a touch of
repair had been made since the days-a half-
dozen years before--when his father, Don
Carlos, had successfully withstood just such an
invasion of Yankee malcontents-though with
a much more serviceable garrison and against
a much less thoroughly organized foe.
Riding into the plaza, or grand square," of
the little town of Baton Rouge, Louis stood
beneath the ample folds of the big Spanish
Long live King Ferdinand!" he cried; and
then he summoned all true
subjects of Spain to rally to
the support of the king's gar-
"Until other orders shall
come to me," he said, "I am
here to defend the charge that
has been given into my
hands-the fort of Baton -
Rouge, your town, and the
king's authority in this his = .
province. He who sides with -
the invaders is a traitor to the
king, and Spain knows no
mercy to traitors. Let all
true sons and subjects of
Spain follow me into the fort!"
There was in the ringing
voice and determined words
of this manly boy an enthu- HE
siasm that had its effect upon
certain of the townspeople. But when, with
the banner still floating over his head and
with fife and drum playing a martial air, the
young commandant rode back through the gate
of the fort, less than forty of the "loyal sub-
jects of Spain" followed him from the town.
Arming them hastily, he placed them in the
rear rank, behind the regular garrison, and then,

marshaling his little army on the parade, just
within the gates, he bade his men, in a few
earnest words, stand fast for the king.
It was a most unpromising-looking army.
It numbered less than a hundred men all told.
Could he depend upon them? He felt
assured that not much confidence was to be
placed in his new recruits from the town;
and as for the soldiers of his garrison-well,
even there he was uncertain. Most of them
were old and invalided soldiers who had long
been strangers to a battle, and very many of
them were little better than cripples-sorry-
looking fellows all when it came to standing
before a cavalry charge or facing riflemen's
But upon them alone he must depend. He
could look nowhere for succor, from no quarter
could he expect it. Far to the eastward lay
Pensacola and the little Spanish province of
Florida--scarcely better provided for defense


or resistance than was his threatened post of
Baton Rouge.
All about him, crowding into the very small-
est show of authority and space the contracted
limits of the province he was set to guard,
stretched the lands that the Americans had
bought from France-lands forever lost to
Spain. Within the Territory of Orleans" to the




south-American in ownership, Creole and
French in population--there were to be found
few indeed ready to lift a hand in his behalf, to
strengthen the arm or train the guns of Spain.
To the east the Mississippi territory was fast
filling up with Northern folk, English by birth
and blood, Americans all in future and in desire.
The failure of Colonel Aaron Burr had shown
how hard it was to win these new settlers in the
south from their allegiance to the spreading and
successful American Republic.
Louis Grandpr6 knew well enough that the
end was not far off. He knew, too, that the
days of Spain's sovereignty in the Mississippi
Valley were doomed, and that, when the flag
of his king came down from the tall staff upon
the time-stained blockhouse in the fort, the last
vestige of Spain's authority would be swept
The post of Baton Rouge was Spain's forlorn
hope, left despairingly upon the bayous of
Louisiana. And he, as its commander, must
stand or fall with it. From this there was no
escape when one felt, as did this boy of sixteen,
that obedience to orders was the one duty of a
soldier. To defend his post successfully seemed
an impossibility; to surrender it, when he had
been charged with its security, would, in his
eyes, be no less than a crime. And so, de-
liberately, manfully, unfalteringly, he chose the
impossible. It should not be said of Louis
Grandpr6 that the son of his father had proved
unfaithful to his trust. Rather should it be said
of him that, though a boy, he had faced his
duty bravely and stood steadfast to the end.
A determination, once taken, is the strongest
incentive to action. This boy commandant of a
ruined post knew his task to be a hopeless one,
and yet, so confident is youth, so full of hope is
the boyish heart, that, as he glanced up and
down the lines of his sorry-looking army," he
actually felt an inspiration toward victory. For
a thought came to him that brought the flush
of pride to his face and set the fires of cour-
age aflame in his heart-the thought that here,
encompassed all about by determined foemen
and held at bay in an unfriendly land, he was
to make one last stand for the honor of Spain,
to try one last issue with fate for the glory of
his country and his flag.

His proud bearing affected even the weak
and nerveless band who acknowledged him as
their captain. They had grumbled loudly over
his boyish determination to resist attack, but now
the valor and devotion that lived in their young
commandant's face and words did much toward
reassuring them. They were soldiers of Spain,
and that name itself, for many a year, had been
full of terror to the foe. So, as they stood thus
drawn up in battle array upon the parade, they
even began to boast of what they once had
done, and of what they would do again. Los
Americanos should see what it meant to face
in fight the gentlemen of Spain!
Alas! it is always so easy to promise; but
performance, as we shall see, is quite another
"The gentlemen of Spain" had not long to
wait. There was a clatter of hoofs through the
the deserted town, a ringing Yankee cheer, and
the shrill call of the bugle demanding a parley
at the gate.
Somewhat stiff of joint, old Sergeant Sera
started to answer the summons; but even as
the rickety gate swung open, the reckless and
unconventional Depassau, contrary to all the
rules of war, dashed through the gate at the
head of his forty horsemen, overthrowing in the
rush the slow-going, old sergeant. Dazed and
dumfounded at his sudden overthrow and at
this breach of military etiquette, old Sera picked
himself up, bruised and grumbling, and then
burst into a torrent of hot Spanish exclamations
more pertinent than polite.
The ranks of the, Spanish garrison recoiled
perceptibly before this unexpected onset. But
Louis Grandpr6, sword in hand, faced the in-
Sirs!" he demanded, "what means this
armed and hostile entrance into a fortress of
the King of ,Spain ? "
"What, young Grandpr !-are you the cap-
tain here ? Depassau said, with a laugh, as he
reined in his horse. Well, we want the fort;
that's what it means. Or-if you must have
it in better form: In the name of the peo-
ple of the sovereign State of West Florida I
demand the instant surrender of the fortress of
Baton Rouge!"
"Captain Depassau," the young commandant



replied, "this post of Baton Rouge, belonging
to His Majesty King Ferdinand of Spain, has
been left in my charge, as intendant, by my
superior, the governor of Baton Rouge. He
has left with me no orders to hand over the fort
to others. Much less has he permitted me to
surrender it to a parcel of rebels, as are these
you lead. Until other commands come' to me
from the governor I am here to defend this
post, and that I will do with my life. Unless
you retire at once, I shall order my soldiers
to fire upon you!"
"Well crowed, young game-cock !" cried
Depassau, while a chorus of laughter from his
band echoed his words.
"Why, what a young
fire-eater it is! Most noble
Sefor fntendente,"- and,
doffing his hat, he bent low I
in mock courtesy to the'-
boy, who, with drawn
sword, stood so defiantly in
his path,-" we regret to
inconvenience so valiant
a caballero, but we have '
taken a fancy to this post
of Baton Rouge, and we
mean to have it-town, -'
fort, commandant, and all!" '
and, swooping down upon .
the lad, he would have
seized him as a prisoner.
But Louis Grandpr6 was as
active as he was valiant.
Deftly dodging the attempt
at capture-"Ha, Depas-
sau! he shouted, "traitor .
and double traitor, would .
you seek to turn a parley
into an attack ? Holo, my --
men! Ready! Fire! Drive "DOFFING HIS
these traitors out!"
And, with ringing voice and waving sword, he
turned toward the ranks of his garrison to inspire
them to instant action. Not a man was there!
Those Spanish soldiers had a healthily de-
veloped fear of los Americanos. The long rifles
and the ready sabers of those Yankees, their
unerring aim and their resistless dash, were not
pleasant enemies to face in the open field.

They believed their only safety lay behind stout
So it was that, quietly, but hastily and
unanimously, the garrison of Baton Rouge had
deemed discretion the better part of valor, and,
without awaiting the formality of the word of
command, had withdrawn into the blockhouse
that formed the inner defense of every frontier
fort of the last century.
Depassau's horsemen laughed in loud deri-
sion. But on Louis Grandpr6's face anger
and sorrow alike raised the flush of shame.
"Cowards! he cried, turning to the block-
house, "would you run from a parcel of Yan-


kee rebels? Holo there! Come out! To your
captain, my men! For Spain! For Spain!"
Come, come, Louis, my lad," Depassau
said patronizingly," I don't want to hurt you.
I want only this fort, and have it I will. Your
men are afraid to fight. What is the use of
holding out longer? Pull down your Spanish
flag from the blockhouse yonder; march out




your men, and we will put you on your way to
Pensacola, without a scratch. Come; give up
your sword."
"Never!" answered the boy, haughtily. "My
sword is my king's. I would rather die than
break my promise. It is my duty to hold this
post for my master, King Ferdinand, and hold
it I will-or die! "
"We have wasted too much time on you
already," Depassau angrily broke out. "For
the blockhouse, boys! Charge!"
And at his word the horsemen dashed up to
the tumble-down palisade that protected the
door to the blockhouse, set in an angle of the
But, quick as was their action, Louis Grand-
pr6 was before them. With a spring he cleared
the space that lay before the palisade, closed
:and barred the rickety gate, and the next instant
was within the blockhouse rallying his men.
But they refused to be rallied.
Of what use is it to make a stand against
*them, my capilan?" old Sergeant Sera asked.
'" It is only to meet death. Their rifles and
their sabers are too strong for us to face."
What! would you have me too turn traitor,
and basely give up what I am charged to de-
fend?" the boy indignantly demanded. "Is
it thus, 0 Sergeant, that my father would have
*done-or Galvez, the young hero who won
this very fort of Baton Rouge from the Eng-
lish? No; they would have fought to the
-death! Holo, my men! twenty of you to the
port-holes with your guns. Fire when I bid
you. Do you, Sera, look to the defenses.
The rest-you who love Spain and honor your
king-follow me and drive the rebels out! "
And, sword in hand, young Grandpr6 rushed
from the blockhouse to meet the foe -alone!
At that very instant, with a loud war-whoop,
in through the southern gate of the fort dashed
Thomas and his eighty border rifles. Beneath
the blows of the dismounted dragoons the
crazy gate of the palisade went down with a
crash, and with a mighty cheer the Americans
swarmed into the inclosure.
"Back, on your lives! Ho, in the block-
house there! Fire on these rebels!"
With his back firmly set against the block-

house wall, his lifted sword flashing in the sun-
light, before them all he stood defiant-one
against a hundred!
There came a clatter of horsemen charging
up to the door of the blockhouse; there rang
out a volley from the Northern rifles as the

besiegers rushed in-and that was all! At
the door that shielded his craven garrison,-
within the fort which, because he had no in-
struction to surrender it, he deemed it his duty
to defend to the last,-Louis Grandpr6 fell.
"Long live King Ferdinand!" he cried.
"Santiago and Spain! "
And so he died-a martyr to duty.
Then, surrounded by the resistless invaders,
the thoroughly frightened garrison cried aloud
for quarter, the Spanish flag came fluttering
down, and the last hold of Spain upon the
valley of the Mississippi was broken.
Not alone to the soldier of freedom does
death in the hour of victory or defeat bring
glory everlasting. Even to him who, in the
face of certain disaster, upholds the honor of
his flag, is praise abounding due.
Louis Grandpre died a hero. And Ameri-
can boys who honor the brave can assuredly
pause in their pride in all that is American to
bestow a word of appreciation upon the gallant
lad who was faithful to his trust, and manfully
struck the last blow for Spain in the land
where Spain had won and lost an empire.




a w -
'Cr -


r T; r

NOT long ago I had a nonpareil, or "painted
finch," a South American bird, from which I
was making a drawing. He was a bright
little bird, but certainly was not a good model.
I caught him at work one day, "touching
up" a drawing I had just finished. It hap-
pened in this way: I was called out from the
studio to speak to a caller, and during my short
absence my feathered friend-who seemed to
be a meddlesome fellow--plunged into the
bowl of painting-water to take a bath.
With wings and tail he vigorously sprayed the
colored liquid all over the drawing, and before
long had changed my picture-a painting of
birds-to something more nearly resembling a
fireworks display on the Fourth of July.
When I came back to the studio he was put-
ting on the finishing-touches; but as soon as he
caught sight of me he flew out of my reach.
I will not attempt to describe to you my
feelings at that time; but I will simply say that
within a few days after this event I presented

the feathered model to a delightful old lady who
is fond of birds and flowers. She thought him
"a lovely bird-he was so cute"; but one day
when the neat old lady had finished watering
her window-plants, the nonpareil saw an oppor-
tunity to show her how "cute" he could be.
He proceeded to take a bath in the muddy water
and spatter it over the clean, white curtains.
This was a bit of fun just to his taste. In fact,
whenever and wherever a chance offered he
would bathe. If the faucet were left running,
he would get under it and almost drown him-
self. I have seen him on a cold winter's day
bathe and bathe again, until he was so thor-
oughly chilled that I feared he would die.
On these occasions I would take him in my
hands and hold him by the heater until he was
warm and dry; but I have always suspect-
ed that he had very little sympathy with my
method of making him comfortable, and he
plainly showed that he much preferred the
"water-cure" to this drying process.


6 '..
- :.



MY little one came to me weeping, weeping,
Over her bright cheeks the bright tears creep-
" Oh! Mama, 't is raining and pouring away !
We cannot go to the picnic to-day."

I took the darling up in my lap,
And tried to make light of the great mishap:
"Be patient, my child, with the rain; for oh!
It makes Mr. Somebody's garden grow.
Yes, it makes Mr. Somebody's garden

My little one came to me sighing, sighing,
Almost ready again for crying:
" Oh! Mama, the sun is so fiery hot,
The flowers I planted have died on the

I took the darling up on my knee,
And kissed and spoke to her cheerily:
"Be glad, my child, of the sun to-day!
It helps Mr. Somebody make his hay.
Yes, it helps Mr. Somebody make his

There 's many a thing may seem "quite too bad!"
For this little lass or that little lad;
But the thing that to you may the hardest be,
May fill Mr. Somebody's heart with glee.
Yes! may fill Mr. Somebody's heart with glee.

1."" ... "'

. ;.:;. .

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4 x'. a ,.

a::" :17 -.Z_ -

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HUGH MCVICKER was pulling his lower lip
with chagrin, a frown knitted his brow, and an
air of dissatisfaction rested upon every feature.
There lay the cause on the table before him:
his examination report of school-work, with its
average far, far below what it should be. He
rested his head upon his hand and surveyed the
paper ruefully.
He sighed as he looked, and thought of what
his father had told him, last night,- that if he
were promoted he might enter Lawrenceville
school. Hugh's one desire was to go to Law-
renceville school, chiefly for the foot-ball, it
must be confessed; for we must speak truly and
say that none of Hugh's longings lay in the line
of scholarship. And now here were his reports,
no better than the time before. He had asked
to be sent to Lawrenceville then, but his father
had distinctly refused; and he had told Hugh
that story about the old farmer who took his
son away from college because he was not going
to spend a thousand dollars on a five-dollar
boy. Somehow that story impressed him just
now as it had not done when it was told him.
He had laughed at it then. But now the
thought of it made him move rather uneasily
in his seat. Was he a five-dollar boy? He
gave his head a defiant little shake; he would
not like any one else to say that of him; but
looking the matter squarely in the face, he had
to acknowledge he had not been up to the
average boy in school-work. There were a num-
ber of boys in the class-room upon whom he
had rather looked down, but they certainly
surpassed him there.
He had heard some one say that an ordinary
mind could go along quite easily in the common
school, as it is graded nowadays, and be pro-
moted every term. Was he less than ordinary?
He was n't at all vain, or, as the boys some-
times expressed it, "stuck on himself," but he
did think he might be rated as an ordinary

boy. But there were his marks to the contrary
-everything far below eighty, and no prospect
of promotion in those figures.
He could not blame his teachers; he felt they
liked him and had helped him in every way.
No, the fault lay in himself. Now, how could
he reach it? There were his monthly reports;
any one of them would have passed him if they
could have been used for promotion. But his
examination-papers were bad, and there must
he seek the cause of his low marks. His ex-
aminations-how had he come up to them?
Was it with a clear mind? No, his brain was in
a tangle from which he could not extricate one
date of history, one fact of science, one proposi-
tion or rule of grammar; and yet through the
quarter he had recited his lessons correctly
enough to get good marks.
Here between these two facts lay the evil.
Now, how to stamp it out. "It 's just here,"
went on Hugh's thoughts; "it 's in the study-
ing; I 've got to do something about it." Hugh
thought long, thought until the bell rang and
he had to rise and make himself ready to
join the family at the tea-table.
"What did you get?" said his sister Mollie to
him, as they were all seated round.
"Get what? get where?" responded Hugh,
purposely evading the question.
His mother looked up as he spoke. He re-
turned her glance, and she knew, without a
word from him, the answer. A little shadow
went over her face. Hugh hated to see her
look like that. The last week or two before
examination the thoughts of the whole family
had dwelt upon Hugh and his chance for pro-
motion. They had been disappointed so often
that it was always an anxious time with them.
There was no reason why he should not
succeed: he was quick-witted enough outside
of books, expressed himself very well indeed,
in conversation, was not self-conscious in any


degree--no circumstances seemed ever to dis-
compose him; but the fact remained that it
always took him two terms to get through a
His sister went on teasingly. Come on,
Hugh," she said, "tell us about your report,
you know."
His father's attention was caught by the word
report. "Why, yes, Hugh; how did you suc-
ceed ? Do I see you blushing with honors ? "
Hugh saw he was in for it. He gave an
inarticulate reply. Then he spoke out:
"Well, I have my report," he said; "but I
am not willing to show it to any one."
"That sounds unkind; you should let us
share your triumph," said Mollie, with a know-
ing little laugh.
Hugh gave her a threatening look, but at
this time some one came to the door and called
his father away, a diversion was made, and
Hugh, happily, escaped further questioning.
He saw his father before he went to bed.
" Father," he said, "will you not pass over
my report this time ? It is not what you would
like, and I am going in for another examination
after vacation. They will let me have it if I
ask for it."
His father looked at him.
"All right, my son," he finally said; "but
if you are going to work this summer, remem-
ber what Anthony Trollope said was the recipe
for successful novel-writing."
"What was that, Father ?"
"A bit of shoemaker's wax in the seat of
one's chair."
Hugh laughed, but it set him thinking
again. That means keeping at it," he thought,
"not letting yourself be interfered with by
chance things." He saw the sense of that.
But how to fix the wandering thoughts?
There would be the hardest work of all. You
may say what you please about shoemaker's
wax: a boy might sit in his chair all day long
with his book before him, but if his thoughts
are to go astray, he might as well follow them
with his body.
There was the difficulty, wandering thoughts;
that was what made him fail, and the remedy
was concentration of mind. He knew that.
He knew that in studying his lessons for every

day he gave himself very little time over them,
and in order to be prepared he had to give
his mind directly and completely to the book.
He generally knew those lessons, too, during
the recitation; but, alas! they slipped from him
as quickly as they had been acquired.
That was why he failed in examination; he
had not sufficient grasp of his subject. So with
concentration of mind must go something else,
and that was retention by memory. Hugh had
at last got in his hand the tools for his work;
but back of them must be a will to succeed,
and in front an object in view.
These, then, are the four keys of success for
the student:
Concentration of. mind.
Retention by memory.
Will to succeed.
Object in view.
Hugh wrote these out in a clear hand and
pasted them up in front of his desk, and then
he set to work; and as he worked he felt he was
in no wise doing what he had planned if he did
not keep these four things uppermost. And he
found he had to keep them all going. The will
to succeed was always with him, and always he
had his object in view; but the hard thing was
to concentrate his thoughts, and still harder was
it for his ease-loving mind to retain what he
But he set himself tasks. He gave himself
fifteen minutes to do certain work, and if he
had not done it in that time he considered he
had failed; and if he had done it, and yet when
the next day came he could not remember
what he had learned, he considered he had
failed again.
At first it was difficult to force his laggard
mind to do what he required of it. It was
" soft," as they say of an unused horse; but from
day to day, steady work stiffened its staying
qualities. Hugh trained his mind exactly as
he would have trained and exercised the mus-
cles of his body. Let the boy who sits down
to his lesson be convinced that he is men-
tally to exert himself, that there must be an
active cudgeling of the subject before him
until he masters it. No listless, fitful doings
will bring success.
As the summer went on, Hugh found his



work becoming easier and easier. It took less
time, too; he was often surprised at that.
Twenty minutes' concentration of mind now
would carry him over ground that would have
required an hour or two in the past. He did
not give up the pleasures that come to a boy
through the summer; he did not have to, for,
after all, thanks to concentration of mind, the
time spent over his books he scarcely missed.
When Hugh went in to be examined, before
the beginning of the fall term, he was more
than successful; for in his effort for concentra-
tion of mind and retention by memory he had so
strengthened his mental powers that it was no
trouble to him to be questioned. He had all
his subjects at his fingers' ends, as we say, and
he felt a curious sort of pleasure in handling
them-much as he had felt, one time, when
his father had let him hold the lines over the
four-in-hand. Now his thoughts responded
as quickly to the question as the well-trained
beasts had then to the slightest turn of his wrist,
and he felt the strange exultation that comes
when one recognizes that he has the mastery
over creatures which but for his controlling spirit
have the power to go far astray.

It was a glad boy who came home from that
examination. But he was somewhat sobered
when he went into his father's library that
So you are ready for Lawrenceville, are you,
my boy ?" said his father. I was afraid, last
June, you would miss it."
"Yes, I am ready; but, Father, if you do
not mind I will stay on for another year at
the town school."
"I thought Lawrenceville was the goal."
"It was. I started in for this examination
with that object in view; but I would like
now to go another year to the school here, so
that when I do leave, it will be from a higher
There are many boys like Hugh: sorry (if
not ashamed) on examination day for their dis-
appointment. Often they hunt about for some
one to put the blame upon. But let them, like
Hugh, be honest enough to put the blame on
their own shoulders, and like him, too, let them
turn about and boldly lay hold of the keys of
Concentration of mind; retention by mem-
ory; will to succeed; object in view.


I ______

-' O



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

MANY a little girl among our readers will sympathize
with the little mother told about in this lively bit of verse,
received from a welcome correspondent, Julia B. M.:
A MINIATURE mother, our little one sat
In the midst of her children the dolls:
Some tall and some short, some thin and some fat-
Sweet Rosies, black Dinahs, and Polls.

There were French dolls from Paris with all the fine
arts -
They could walk, talk, or sleep at their ease;
But the doll she loved best in her deep heart of hearts
Was the rag doll who sat on her knees.

When we asked her the reason of poor Raggy's
"Oh, she 's so satisfact'ry," she said.
"When we go out to walk her bonnet will stay-
I can stick the pin straight through her head."

DEAR EDITOR OF ST. NICHOLAS: I am only a little
girl nine years old, and I thought, perhaps, you would
find a little room in your magazine for my little letter.
We have taken ST. NICHOLAS since the year it began,
long before I can remember, and now we could never do
without it. Good-by. Your little friend,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in the country on a
large plantation. It is a lovely place. There are about
a hundred colored people that live here in the quar-
ters. We live in a big white house in the center of
a large grove. There is only one white family on the
place. Perhaps you would like to know the names of
some of the little negro babies. Well, here they are:
King David Kelly, King Solomon Guy, and Queen
Anne George Ginwright. Then there is a Rose and a
Lily, and they are so cute and black. I go to school in
the morning, and in the afternoon I swing in my ham-
mock. I love to swing very much, indeed. We had
such a mild winter that I was able to swing every after-
noon, except on rainy days. I like the Southern winters.
I am glad that spring has come again. I am eleven
years old. We live not far from Wilmington--about
thirteen miles.
I have a large, handsome cat named "Tom." I had a

young ox named "Billy," but I have sold him to my
brother. I hope that you will live always.
I am your constant reader,

MARCH 27, 1892.
To THE EDITOR OF ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl
twelve years old. I composed these verses one day
while I was walking home from school. Mama does not
know I am going to send them to you. I hope they will
find a place in the pages of your magazine.
Yours truly, THEODORA G- .

As I sauntered slowly homeward
One bright October day,
I saw a sight I 'd often seen
Upon the broad highway.

I saw a little maiden,
Within her hand a book,
And on her arm a basket swung
At every step she took.

"Fared you well to-day, my little maid? "
I asked, my footsteps slacking.
Oh, yes, right well, sir," she replied,
"But still-one thing was lacking."

"And what was that, my little maid?"
I said, as now I halted.
"Grandma gave me for my lunch
The butter that was n't salted."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have only just commenced to
subscribe to you, and I find you very interesting. I
began with reading "The Admiral's Caravan," and enjoy
it immensely; it is with impatience I await your next
I dare say you know Antwerp is very flat, and for that
reason it is easy in winter, when the snow lies thick
upon the ground, for the sledges to run. It is really
pretty to see them going at a great rate along the boule-
vards, and to hear their little bells jingling. You would
think yourself in Russia instead of in Belgium. I am
a Belgian girl. I hope you will excuse my English, as
I am not very perfect in that language.
Yours sincerely, M. E-.


WORD-SQUARES. Bloomfield. I. i. Bloom. 2. Large. 3. Orbit. NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "Above all other things is justice: suc-
4. Ogive. 5. Meter. II. i. Field. 2. Indue. 3. Educt. 4. Lucre. cess is a good thing; wealth is good, also; honor is better; but
5. Deter.- ANAGRAM. William Makepeace Thackeray. justice excels them all."
PI. The yellow golden-rod is dressed WORD-BUILDING. I, in, tin, tine, tinge, meting, terming, merit-
In gala-day attire; ing, remitting.
The glowing redweed by the fence GEOGRAPHICAL CUBE. From i to 2, Antwerp; I to 3, Algiers;
Shines like a crimson fire; 2 to 4, Potomac; 3 to 4, Saranac; 5 to 6, Manilla; 5 to 7, Moravia;
And from the hot field's farthest edge 6 to 8, Atlanta; 7 to 8, Almeida; i to 5, Anam; 2 to 6, Para ; 4 to
The cricket's soft refrain 8, Cuba; 3 to 7, Sana.
With mellow accent tells the tale
That August's here again. HOLLOW STAR. From i to 2, stridor; I to 3, saddled; 2 to 3,
recited; 4 to 5, derided; 4 to 6, deduced; 5 to 6, deleted.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Farragut; finals, Napoleon. Cross- RHOMBOID. Across: I. Noble. a. Niece. 3. Dally. 4. Paste.
words: I. Fashion. 2. Alabama. 3. Rat-trap. 4. Rotundo. 5. Terse.
5. Abuttal. 6. Germane. 7. Undergo. 8. Tertian. CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Central letters, the alphabet. Cross-words:
CONNECTED SQUARES. I. x. Crab. 2. Race. 3. Ache. 4. Beer. i. coAst. 2. caBle. 3. maCaw. 4. seDan. 5. shEet. 6. waFer.
II. i. Drab. 2. Rase. 3. Asia. 4. Beam. III. i. Root. 2. Ogre. 7. riGht. 8. otHer. 9. quick. io. raJah. iz. piKed. 12. meLon.
3. Ores. 4. Test. IV. i. Mart. 2. Area. 3. Rear. 4. Tart. 13. hoMes. 14. wiNce. 15. grOpe. 16. upPer. 17. piQue. 18. coRal.
AN OCTAGON. I. Sap. 2. Acrid. 3. Scatter. 4. Article. 19. upSet. 2o. alTer. 21. moUth. 22. noVel. 23. boWer. 24. boXer.
5. Pitched. 6, Deles. 7. Red. 25. loYal. 26. raZor.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th 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 JUNE NUMBER were received, before June i5th, from Maud E. Palmer-Alice Mildred
Blanke and Co.- L. O. E. Paul Reese Josephine Sherwood -" Uncle Mung "- Ida C. Thallon Arthur Gride -" Guion Line" and
Alpha Slate Co.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JUNE NUMBER were received, beforeJune x5th, from Marion.Alice Perkins, x- Elaine S., -- Hannah
R. Sprague, i-"Emmett,"i -J. A. Frothingham, i- Gwendolen Reid, 4- Chester B. Sumner, ix -Julia Johnson, I- G. B. Dyer, ro-
Effie K. Talboys, 7- Eleanor Ogier, x Voa, i Katharine Van Cochnet, 3- Miriam Coste, i E. T. B., x- Clara S. Barker, 2 -
Hubert L. Bingay, ni Rosalie Bloomingdale, xx -Dora F. Hereford, 8 Nellie Archer, 3 No Name, Edgefield Junction, 3 -" May
and '79," 7 -Blanche and Fred, iz -Nellie L. Howes, 9- E. M. G., zn -Jo and I, I L. W. A., A. W. A., and A. P. C. A., 5-
Marie Th6rese B., 4-Agnes C. Leaycraft, 2- No Name, Waterbury, 7- No Name, Chicago, 7 -Ida and Alice, z Olive Gale, 4.

MY primals and finals each name a cathedral town of
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length)': I. Immature. 2. Soda-
ash. 3. A people. 4. A small animal found in Mada-
gascar. 5. Sufficient. 6. To range. 7. Shatters. 8. Dis-
quietude. 9. To retreat. Io. At a distance, but within
view. J. w. F.


SONON rea nunsy, wram, dan slilt,
A dongle heaz shoregan eht Ihil;
Brame nishsune si no het frool
Stuj hitwin eht pone rood;
Listl eht circteks lad nda krace,
Veren fundo, hoguth glon ew kese,
Tof comse tafin torper fo nug,
Suby lifes uzzb ni eth nus,
Ni bresmepet.


* -

* -

I. I. SOUR substances. 2. The weight by which
gems are weighed. 3. Enraged. 4. One who dates.
5. Severe.
INCLUDED SQUARE: I. A southern constellation.
2. A small animal. 3. The goddess of discord.

II. I. HAVING wings. 2. A large basin. 3. An old
word meaning to lower. 4. A term used in grammar
denoting the final end or purpose. 5. To establish.
INCLUDED SQUARE: I. A reverential salutation.
2. The French word for valley. 3. A masculine name.

IT was a remarkable dinner. The twenty-one writers
who sat down to it belonged to different periods and
nationalities. They were (I) hearty; (2) scalds; (3) a
naughty exclamation; (4) a cover for the head; (5)
a color; (6) a short jacket; (7) a heath ; (8) habitations;
(9) a stout rope used by sailors; (Io) fleet; (II) an
ecclesiastical dignitary; (12) a hard substance; (13)
lengthy, and a companion; (14) a pleasure-ground, and
a human being; (15) a young sheep; (16) a combusti-
ble substance and a crest; (17) resembling the coverings
of mollusks; (18) a color, and depart; (19) one who
makes barrels; (20) to purchase and to hurry; (21) to
invoke evil upon, and a small farm.
The dinner consisted of (22) an imitation animal;
(23) a fine color; served with (24) colors, and (25)
colored letters; then came a (26) favorite essayist with
(27) a place where money is coined, sauce; and (28) a
country of Europe, and (29) a survivor of the deluge.
Of course there were the usual (30) cooking-utensil and a
group of letters; (31) a vehicle and period; (32) pounds;
(33) to cure by salting; (34) three and one fifth grains,
Troy weight; (35) to drag, a comrade, and letters; with
(36) predicaments, and (37) the symbol of peace.
For dessert there were (38) confused type, (39) mates;
(40) turns informer; and (41) a vessel, a beverage, and
to leap. Last of all were served (42) a letter, and (43)
the cry made by certain birds, and to recompense, with
(44) a woman of refinement, and handles. o.



1 -=, .,


I AM composed of seventy letters, and am a quotation
from one of the letters of Horace Walpole.
My 39-20-9-49 is enlightened. My 14-65-30 is
triumphed. My 26-57-60-5 is a musical instrument.
My 34-52-28-45 is part of a tea-kettle, and my 8-22-
62-1-54 is what often issues from it. My 35 is an
important letter. My 59-68-18-43-24-50 are cases for
transporting fruit. My 47-32-64-11-37-31 are evil
spirits. My 61-7-29-16 is proper. My 41-55-13-70-53
is a time of darkness. My 10-36-4-15-42-58-66-21 is
shrill. My 2-67-51-25-38-46 is a great gun. My 69-
3-27-48-12 is an ecclesiastical dignitary. My 56-44-33-
6-23-63-19-40-17 is an Irishman's cudgel.


1 9 17
2 1 .. 8
3 II 19
4 12 20
5 13 21
6 . 14. 22
7 I. .5 ... 23
8 16 24

FROM I to 9, confusion; from 2 to Io, to refer; from
3 to II, a sharp instrument for cutting; from 4 to 12,
a famous painter; from 5 to 13, one of the books of the
Bible; from 6 to 14, a beginner; from 7 to 15, a sign of
the zodiac; from 8 to 16, division; from 9 to 17, a one-
wheeled conveyance; from io to 18, a feminine name;
from II to 19, to draw out; from 12 to 20, character;
from 13 to 21, to impede; from 14 to 22, to record;
from 15 to 23, a blue dyestuff; from 16 to 24, a fine
woolen fabric.
The letters represented by the numbers from I to 8,
from 9 to 16, and from 17 to 24, each name a famous
battle. "ISHMAEL."
I. IN diamond. 2. A vehicle. 3. A wood noted for
its durability and fragrant odor. 4. The surname of a
president of the United States. 5. A city of Switzerland.
6. An animal. 7. In diamond. w. N. S.

ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below
another, in the order here given, the zigzag, beginning
at the upper left-hand corner, will spell an honorary
epithet given to David Garrick.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A masculine nickname. 2. An
article very often used. 3. A farming implement. 4. A

wager. 5. To incline the head with a quick motion.
6. Since. 7. To lubricate. 8. A falsehood. 9. A cavity
containing a fluid. io. An exclamation. I. A vehicle.
12. A dowry. 13. Depressed. 14. A cooling substance.
15. A masculine name. 16. A fruit of certain trees.
17. The amount. 0. B. G.


MY first is in capture, but not in loose;
My second, in voyage, but not in cruise;
My third is in baggage, but not in trunk;
My fourth is in cabin, but not in bunk;
My fifth is in active, but not in dull;
My sixth is in calico, never in mull;
My seventh, in sloping, but not in slant;
My whole is the name of a famous plant.
0. B. G.
I. A VOWEL. 2. A verb. 3. A master. 4. A father.
5. A county. 6. To administer confession and absolu-
tion to. 7. A Turkish or Persian monk. 8. Shattered.

I. I. A PANORAMA of the interior of a building, seen
from within. 2. Supreme power. 3. To suppose. 4. To.
resound. 5. A verb. 6. A pronoun. 7. A letter.
II. I. A mark or expression of applause. 2. The
common name of the gorse-hatcher. 3. A feminine
name. 4. A single thing. 5. A river of Scotland. 6. A
pronoun. 7. A letter. c. D.


1 20
2 19
3 18
4 17
5 16
6 15
7 14
8 13
9 12
[0 II

I and 20, a personal pronoun; from 2 to 19, a pro-
noun; from 3 to 18, the name of two Roman patriots;
from 4 to 17, a seaport town of Japan; from 5 to 16,
pointing; from 6 to 15, to show; from 7 to 14, defama-
tory; from 8 to 13, derangement with regard to one
subject only; from 9 to 12, a musical term denoting a
certain time; from 10 to II, pertaining to shows.
From I to Io, a certain day in September; from II to,
20, something often eaten on that day. F. S. F.



S h PThpVBLI3 R$ S

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-and one of these subscriptions means one other. Or they can send in any amount -
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in effect, for we give as much as you; -every '. ,
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tions all together with the I'.
ber number of this year. I fh ,
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our new little friends will beg,. -, .
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tances to The Century Co.,
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