Front Cover
 A city of groves and bowers
 The city of Washington
 A vacation rhyme
 Toinette's Philip
 The deceitful dormice
 The "Vesuvius"
 The king's test
 When Timmie died
 The wind-broom
 The white cave
 The beaver's home
 Her theater hat
 Frank Pinkham, Reporter
 The weather-map of the ocean
 The apple of Arabia's eye
 From Hakluyt's "voyages"
 Inanimate things animated...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00270
 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: VID00270
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
    A city of groves and bowers
        Page 563
        Page 564
        Page 565
        Page 566
        Page 567
        Page 568
        Page 569
        Page 570
        Page 571
    The city of Washington
        Page 572
        Page 573
        Page 574
        Page 575
        Page 576
        Page 577
        Page 578
        Page 579
        Page 580
    A vacation rhyme
        Page 581
    Toinette's Philip
        Page 582
        Page 583
        Page 584
        Page 585
        Page 586
        Page 587
        Page 588
        Page 589
        Page 590
    The deceitful dormice
        Page 591
    The "Vesuvius"
        Page 592
        Page 593
        Page 594
        Page 595
    The king's test
        Page 596
        Page 597
        Page 598
    When Timmie died
        Page 599
    The wind-broom
        Page 600
    The white cave
        Page 600
        Page 601
        Page 602
        Page 603
        Page 604
        Page 605
        Page 606
        Page 607
    The beaver's home
        Page 608
        Page 609
        Page 610
        Page 611
        Page 612
        Page 613
        Page 614
    Her theater hat
        Page 615
    Frank Pinkham, Reporter
        Page 616
        Page 617
        Page 618
    The weather-map of the ocean
        Page 619
        Page 620
        Page 621
        Page 622
    The apple of Arabia's eye
        Page 623
        Page 624
        Page 625
        Page 626
    From Hakluyt's "voyages"
        Page 627
        Page 628
        Page 629
        Page 630
        Page 631
        Page 632
        Page 633
    Inanimate things animated (Illustration)
        Page 634
        Page 635
    The letter-box
        Page 636
        Page 637
        Page 638
    The riddle-box
        Page 639
        Page 640
        Unnumbered ( 83 )
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

-4 '

y" ', ,- :
E A T E :RO T H E W H I T H U E W N ( E 70




JUNE, 1893.
Copyright, 1893, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

No. 8.

n ;clgso-n B urnett
'*\flcc"'4onolgson Btrnettt -

ONE sees so
many cities in so
Many different
., -, 'r countries, but
r Sone never sees
another city that
is really like it.
.. A curious
spell rests upon
it. It is the city
of the springtime, and yet its life is almost en-
tirely lived in the winter. In October and No-
vember the people who disappeared in May, as

if by magic, begin to return as if the same magic
had called them back again. Houses begin to
open, showing bright draperies and flowers in
their windows, and servants about their doors;
the streets begin to fill, the shops to wear
brighter aspects; the hotels have a stirring air;
carriages stand before doorways and bowl about
the streets, the people in them seeming to know
each other and exchanging, welcoming greet-
ings as they pass and repass. They nearly all
do know each other. They went to each other's
dinner-parties and balls and afternoon teas the
past season, before the magic dispersed them,




:I,,.:. '-



and they will go to them again now that it has
once more called them together. But it is not of
this aspect of the city that I am going to speak.
Every one knows that on a certain hill which
looks down upon the city there is a majestic
white marble building upon whose stately dome
a Goddess of Liberty stands poised, and that
on the first Monday of each December the
magic calls together within its walls a certain
number of men chosen by the voice of their
country as fitted to hold in their hands the fates
and fortunes of a great nation. Every one
knows that when the flags fly from the Capitol
Congress is in session; that when the dome
glows out upon the darkness the work of the
nation is being done by night; that while this
work is being done, life in Washington is at its
flood-tide, and that when it is finished for the
year, the tide turns and is at ebb until it begins
There is upon Pennsylvania Avenue, among
a number of buildings all more or less noble in
proportion and architecture, a large, rather dig-
nified, though unelaborate house standing in
its own spacious grounds. Its dignity perhaps
consists in its well-sized, unmeretricious air. It
is not a palace, and it seems not to feel it neces-
sary to be one; it is not a castle, and one is
rather pleased that it has not attempted a cas-
tellated air; it is the White House, and the man
who lives in it is by the decision of the people
the ruler of sixty millions of thinking, working,
planning human beings.
In the guide-books one can read how many
feet high the dome of the Capitol is, how large
the Treasury, the Army and Navy Departments,
the Pension Office, the Agricultural Depart-
ment, and the Post Office are; but I think
perhaps some boy or girl who knew nothing
of these things might best describe the charms
of the City of Groves and Bowers.
It must seem charming to a small creature
who knows only the bright side of all the things
that happen in it and belong to it.
To get up in the morning, if one is only six
or seven, in a pretty nursery whose windows
look out on a broad, clean, smooth avenue, with
picturesque houses, and bands of green on
either side, must be very nice. Even in the
winter the sky is nearly always blue and the sun

is so often shining that, though the double rows
of trees are bare, they look pretty with their
branches against the background of the sky,
promising loveliness for the spring, and thick
shade and room for birds when summer comes.
If there is snow, they look beautiful with the
soft white fleece clothing them; and when the
snow falls off melted, little brown sparrows
come and balance upon the twigs and call to
each other, and make remarks about the weather
and reflections on the hardness of the times and
the scarcity of crumbs.
There are so many trees such rows and
rows of them as far as one can see up the ave-
nues and down them, and up and down the
streets which cross them -and one's eye can
always catch sight somewhere of a green circle
or park, where there is a statue of some great
man, about whom one can be told a story if
one asks questions enough.
In the morning the streets are quiet, but in
the afternoon the carriages begin to roll through
them. They all seem to be going somewhere
in particular, and they all have ladies in them.
To the occupants of the nursery windows in
certain quarters covering quite a large area, it
must seem that Washington is full .of ladies who
are always going to parties. In the streets of
other cities there are always signs of many
other things being done. There are passing
people and passing vehicles evidently not going
to parties; there are wagons and vans loaded
with merchandise of one sort or another; there
are shabby or shabby-genteel people going
about their anxious business, or roughly dressed
working-people going to and from factories or
warehouses or machine-shops. This city, which
is really like no other, is unlike others in this
respect that there are no manufactories or
huge works or shops. The only manufactories
are the great white marble building on Capitol
Hill, the Treasury, the Pension Office, the Army
and Navy Departments, etc., and the work done
in them does not necessitate the use of smok-
ing chimneys and furnaces, and the employ-
ment of overalls.
The broad, steady stream of people going to
their work through Pennsylvania Avenue at
nine o'clock in the morning and returning from
it at four in the afternoon, is a stream of hu-


manity well dressed, well bred, and respectable.
It is leisurely and looks comfortable whether it
is so or not. The crowds which suige through
London thoroughfares on bank holidays are
not nearly so well clad and agreeable to con-
template, even though they are not going to
work, but are on festive plans intent. But they
do not live in a city of groves and bowers, and
they work and live much harder.
The only people one sees in rags or asking
alms are occasional negroes; and they are very

another. Inside there are to be seen ladies in
lovely hats and bonnets. There are mamas in
brocades and velvets and furs, and there are
pretty slim girls in silks and velvets and soft
feathers. They are going to make calls, to at-
tend musicales or receptions or special after-
noon teas, where they will meet scores of other
mamas and pretty girls, and will talk and
drink chocolate and nibble cakes or listen
to some music, and then return to the carriage
and roll away to another party. It makes the

--; A

V" :j\ 't
The White House. The Treasury Building.

rare, and usually look rather as if their profession
were a matter of preference. Of palpable, hope-
less wretchedness one sees nothing..
There are no tall factory chimneys pouring
forth smoke to tarnish the blue sky and the
white clouds floating upon it. It is rarely very
cold, and dull skies are so uncommon that one
feels one's self almost injured in one's surprise
at two or three gray days.
Through the nursery windows the childish
eyes see only bright and amusing things. They
must really be very well worth looking at from
a nursery point of view-in fact, they must
seem brilliant. The carriages roll by one after

nursery wish itself a mama or a grown-up
young lady with a lovely frock and bright
eyes and furs and feathers. It hears a
great deal about lunches and receptions
and festivities of all sorts. The colored
young ladies who preside in the nurseries
frequently know a great deal of the doings
of the party-going world. They are able

to describe the grandeurs of the Army and Navy
Reception at the White House, and they can
often give information as to the floral decorations
at the reception of the Secretary of State.
It must be an exciting event for the nursery
windows when an awning is erected next door.
Then one sees many flowers carried in, palms
and blooming things and numberless interest-
ing packages and boxes. Carriages begin to
drive up by the score, and when their doors
are opened wonderful and beautiful personages
descend, and the awning swallows them up.
There are possible views of resplendent Chinese
ministers and officials in embroidered satin



robes. "'There 's the Secretary of War," says
the nursemaid. "There 's the Russian Min-
ister. That 's the beautiful young lady from
out West that everybody 's talking about 'cos
she 's so rich and handsome. There 's the
senator that owns a silver-mine."
One might easily imagine it suggesting Cin-
derella's ball to the small watcher at the win-
dow. The constant driving up of-the carriages,
the accumulating rows of them gradually filling
the street, the strains of music fitfully heard,
might well suggest that after it was all over
there might be found somewhere a small glass
slipper, even though the festivity is not a ball or
given at midnight.
So it is more than possible that, in the winter,
Washington seems to young, untired eyes a
sort of enchanted city with a habit of enjoying:
itself perpetually; but it is in the spring that it
shows its rarest enchantment, and blooms out
day by day into the City of Groves and Bowers.
The trees are all there in the winter, the
grass is all there, the green of the parks and
squares is there; but they are waiting for the
days when there are fewer parties, when the
carriages roll by less frequently, and there is
less to be seen by the watchers who look from
the windows.
Then-even in February-there come some
wonderful days among the cold ones. They
are like young daffodils scattered upon a gar-
den covered with snow. Suddenly there is a
strange, delicious softness in the air, the sun-
shine is clearer golden, one lifts one's face and
looks, with tender hopefulness and forgetfulness
of things of earth, into the bright, flower-like
lovely blue. Perhaps yesterday was wet and
cold, but to-day it seems to be impossible to
believe that cold and rain were not done with
weeks ago, or that they can ever come again.
One begins to think that the bands of grass
which border the pavements, and the trim
banks and lawns before the houses, are of a
livelier green. It is natural as one passes under
the branches of the trees to look eagerly for
little pale-colored things pushing out in, tight
buds. In March these days scatter themselves
rather more thickly among the cold ones, and
one has unduly sanguine moments when one
would scarcely be surprised by any unheard-of

thing in the way of weather or growth. The
tight little buds are pushing everywhere, and
some. of them are visibly plumper every day.
In Lafayette Square, in Franklin Square, in
Dupont Circle, and in fact in all the pretty
parks and inclosures, one sees a certain bushy
shrub which, instead of waiting for its leaves,
has actually begun to clothe itself in yellow
blossoms. Its slender, bending twigs are cov-
ered from root to tip. It is' a lovely, lovable,
eager thing, and seems almost to send out its.
flowers to call for the spring instead of waiting
until the spring calls for them. One sniffs the
fresh, cold air in damp days, because it has in.
it the scent of things growing; one draws it in
with still greater .eagerness in, the soft, sunny
ones, because there is in it the scent of these
same growing things stirred and warm.
The birds who alight on the trees where the
tight buds are showing touches of green, linger
and twitter more. They talk about nests, and
mention their tastes in the matter of situation.
There is so much choice in the matter of situa-
tion that it must be almost confusing. If you
are a Washington bird. you can have a nest on
any avenue or street you like. and the parks
provide accommodations which seem unlimited.
Perhaps they say to each other things like
"I must say I find Massachusetts Avenue
most desirable," one bird might remark. It
is broad and quiet, and the society is good.
The style of tree suits me. I prefer linden for
the young. I consider the odor of the blossom
good for infant digestion."
"But Sixteenth street has tulip-trees," an-
other would observe; "and it does entertain
them so to see the blossoms unfolding. The
nest is really quite peaceful in blooming-time."

SWell; perhaps I am 'old-fashioned,".a third
might twitter. I dare say I am; but give me
a good shady maple. I have engaged a nice
leafy branch in one on Connecticut Avenue."
"Of course I am only a bride," I am sure
some other would chirp coyly; "ald you may
think me foolish and sentimental. I have just
begged Robin to decide on one of those beau-
tiful flowering trees in Lafayette Square. I
think it would be so lovely to sit and twitter
to each other among all the soft.white blooms




on moonlight nights. They seem so bridal and
suitable to honeymoons."
All through March the lovely days are com-
ing and going, and each one is warmer than
the last and does something new.
In the squares there are afternoons when
baby-carriages accumulate, and small things
of all sizes totter or run about. Smart colored
nurses begin to sit on the benches and talk to
each other and watch their charges. On the
branches over their heads there are tender
green leaves instead of tight buds, and they
are opening and spreading every hour.
Early in April one looks up and down streets
and avenues, through lines of delicate pale
greenness. Little black or yellow boys begin
to appear with bunches of arbutus tied tightly
together, and offered for sale at ten cents each.
On the.mounds about the statues in the circles
there are beds of crocuses, which later change
by magic into tulips and hyacinths and adora-
ble things that fill the air with perfume.
As the days go on, the greenness grows and
grows, and it is so fresh and exquisite that one
becomes intoxicated with the mere seeing and
breathing so much of the life of spring, and
can think of nothing else. People who go out
to walk compare the leaves on the different
thoroughfares, and return to talk about them.
"Are the lindens a little slow this year ?" one
says; "or are the tulip-trees always earlier?
They are beginning to be quite full on Six-
teenth street."
In the grass near the railing surrounding the
grounds of the White House, purple and yellow
crocuses seem to spring up wild. They look as
if they belonged to the woods.
Soon the little colored boys have larger
bunches of arbutus, and bunches of wild violets
and pale blue starry things. They have gathered
them in the woods about Rock Creek. The
sun grows warmer, the rain that comes is de-
licious; there are more and more leaves on
every side; in the parks there are hyacinths
and crocuses and scarlet japonicas and new
things making buds for blossoms on trees one
does not expect flowers from. And then some
morning somehow it always seems quite sud-
denly-people, getting up, look out of their
windows, and all the world is Spring, the very

Springs itself. From a second or third story one
looks down upon a forest--not a city, but a
forest. It would be easy to pretend that it was
an enchanted forest which some fairy had
caused to flourish in the midst of a city, or
an enchanted city which had been made to
arise within the labyrinths of a forest. Trees
are everywhere, and whichsoever way one turns
it is to look down vistas of them- broad, beau-
tiful vistas whose straight lengths seem to close
in fresh, luxuriant greenery. In the narrower
streets the branches almost spread from side to
side, and one walks under an archway of
It seems almost impossible to believe that one
is in a town. The plan of the city gives so many
vistas of green. A person standing in one of
the circles sees in the center a statue with
flower-beds brilliant at its base. From east to
west this circle is crossed by one of the streets
whose names are the letters of the alphabet,
from north to south, by one of those whose
names are numbers; diagonally it is crossed
by avenues bearing the names of States; and as
each of these is bordered by one or two rows of
trees,-from east to west, from north to south,
and diagonally,-the eyes follow the course of
groves of linden, maple, tulip, sycamore, or
Within short distances of each other are the
bower-like squares which contain such blossom-
ing as one seems to see nowhere else. It is not
merely a matter of planted flowers or blooming
shrubs. There are trees loaded with blossoms.
They are not fruit-trees, but trees which bear
burdens of flowers which seem, some of them,
like specially sumptuous full-petaled apple or
plum or peach blossom, or a splendid kind of
English may.
The bowers are full of children by this time.
Their nurses sit looking at them; their little car-
riages are drawn up at the sides of the walks.
In some of these carriages, under swinging lace-
covered parasols, tiny soft mites, not much older
than the flowers, lie sleeping among downy
white wraps and lace. They are 'part of the
springtime. Small persons--very small ones
in quaint hats and bonnets, and coats which
seem much too long for them and give them a
picturesque air of ancientry toddle about and


tumble on the grass,. and carefully pick up
blossoms which have fallen from the trees, and
-probably after sitting down with unsteady
suddenness -proceed to examine them with a
serious air of botanical studiousness usually
losing itself in an earnest endeavor to cram
them into a small, dewy red mouth.
They are very pretty as they. run or tumble
or totter about- these little springtime things.
Sometimes one sees a small one standing under
a tree and looking up, wonderingly and rather
questioningly, into the world of snowy or pink-
and-white bloom above. It is so little, and it
sees a great sky of lovely flowers over its head.
Through this flower sky there are glimpses of a
sky of blue; fallen blossoms are at its feet; flow-
ers are blooming all about it in the bower it
plays in. It is taken home through groves of
greenery; it looks out on a fair forest when it
wakens. It thinks the world is made of fresh
leaves and pinky-white blossoms, and as it
looks up into the branches of bloom its snowy
petal of a soul is full of the joy of living.
And to the one who is taken for drives on
these bright and blooming days, this leafy, flow-
ery world must seem a boundless one. After the
avenues and parks are left behind, one bowls
along country roads where there is more green-
ery still. Oh, the soft hills and dips of land
covered with trees all busy attiring themselves
in pale green veils and wreaths, because the
Spring is passing softly by, whispering to each
one of them!
"You are a maple," perhaps she whispers to
one. "You must put out little red, velvet
leaves-tiny ones, thick and soft, and wonder-
ful. At first each one must be almost like a
strange little flower."
And to another:
"You are a linden. You must make little
blooming green tassels which delicately scent
the air. As people pass under you they must
say, How sweet the linden is!'"
And to the tangles of bare briers:
"You must begin to work industriously, be-
cause you have so much to do. First, you
must put out fresh green leaves until you' are a
waving garland. And then you know you have
to star yourself all over with white blossoms.
And by the autumn you must be weighed over

with plump, juicy blackberries for the children
to come and gather and laugh over, and stain
their little mouths and hands and aprons with.
You have no time to lose. You have a great
deal to do."
And to the dogwood:
Awake! awake! You are the beautiful
wild white princess of the woods. Among all
the beautiful things I give the world; you are
one of the most beautiful. Cover yourself all
over-to the end of every branch and twig of
you-with large-petaled snow-white flowers.
You must bloom until you stand out amongst
the other trees like a splendid white spirit of
spring, when the soft wind shakes you, and the
sun shines through your boughs. All your work
is done in the springtime. In the summer you
have only to be green; in the autumn you must
be a lovely red, it is true; but now you must be
so beautiful that people will cry out with joy
when they catch sight of you."
And so they do. The children of the City
of Groves and Bowers come back from their
walks and drives in the country with great
white branches over their shoulders. Some of
them walk, some drive out to the beautiful
Rock Creek, where trees grow close up hill and
down dale, and where blue violets and anem-
ones and other white and pink and purple
things. clamber down the banks and slopes to
the water's edge.
And then there is the Soldiers' Home, where
there are woods again, and flowers, wild and
tame, and ivy climbing over walls and bridges,
and ground- and tree-squirrels scampering. And
there are beautiful white buildings with all sorts
of interesting things connected with them; and
there are old soldiers who have been in battles,
and who now sit warming themselves in the
sun, or walk about slowly, or sit in arbors and
smoke pipes and talk--perhaps telling each
other thrilling stories about some of the very
battles they were in.
"Is that an old soldier?" little boys have
asked with breathless interest. "Was he once
in battles ? Has he been wounded with bullets
and cannon-balls ?"
And there is the big white hospital where the
old soldiers are taken care of when they are
ill--when the bullets and cannon-balls are




troublesome, or when they are invalided by
maladies less martial. And there are mounds
where one can stand and look out over a wide
panorama of the country, the river, the wood-
lands, and the City of Groves and Bowers
itself; and in one place, in a road one is always
driven through, there is an opening cut through
the trees, and there the coachman-if the peo-
ple are strangers-draws up the carriage and
says, "This is the Vista, ladies and gentlemen."
And then one looks down the vista ofi green
trees, and at the end of it one sees the 1ar-away
white-domed Capitol, a beauriful, stately thing,
shining in the sun on its Capitol Hill.
It is a great, lovely, peaceful
resting-place for the old soldiers
-this one the City of Gro es
and Bowers has made.
There is a very delightful .-
thing which is one of the '
springtime events of the
bowery city. It is not -,
asocial or a political '
function, and it is an i
event I have never
heard the origin .of.
It is the Egg-rolling
on Easter Monday.
Easter eggs, colored
red and blue and yellow,
and adorned with flow-
ers and stripes, are de-
lights known to the children '
of many countries; but I think -"
it is only in Washington t l.lt
there exists a custom---hich is
almost a ceremony-of rolling the
brilliantly hued things cvori :ra:s\-
slopes by way of festivity.
It strikes one also as be;n- deligihcully il 0ii.
trative of the power of the children's republic
that the places chosen as mnost suitable for
these festivities should be the private grounds
of the presidential mansion- the White House
itself--and the slopes of the grounds which
surround the Capitol.
If one wants to roll red and blue and yellow
eggs down a sloping lawn, it appears that a
little republican sees no reason why he or she
should not roll them by the thousand down the

lawn of a President's back garden. The slope
is just the one required, and no President so far
has been hard-hearted enough to go out on
the portico and wave his hand and order the
little intruders away; no Mrs.'President has
ever thrown a shawl over her head and run
out to scold them and say she will not allow it.
So every Easter Monday morning
be seen
"\ i
.fn ee er-
inc reas- '-

.. r.,j
,-._ ,, r~

ing stream of children of various sizes swarm-
ing through the streets, all wending their way to
the grounds of the White House. There are well-
dressed ones attended by their nurses or rela-
tives ; there are shabby little ones attended by no
one at all; there are some little black ones in a





pleasing state of excitement; but everybody has
a basket or package with colored eggs in it. A
great many also have something which holds a
little lunch. There is great excitement and
rivalry about the color of the eggs and the num-
ber each little person possesses. In a very short
time, the President's back garden is a shouting,
laughing, romping pandemonium. The enter-
tainment consists in rolling the eggs from the
top of the slope to the bottom of it. There is
also the exciting sport of "egg-picking." One
egg proprietor enters into a contest with an-
other one, in which one egg is tapped against
the other until one of the two is cracked. The
proprietor whose egg is not cracked is the
winner, and the stake won is
the broken egg. .
Eggs are rolledand "picked,"
and broken and eaten. When
the festivity is over, the Presi-
dent's back garden and the
slopes of the Capitol grounds
are strewn with fragments of
bright-colored egg-shells and
bits of paper left for the White
House gardeners to pick up,
and many little indigestions
have gone home and to bed
in innocent joyousness and
One cannot help wondering
what would occur if the same
number of little London chil-
dren decided to go and roll eggs in the grounds
of Buckingham Palace. Would Her Most
Gracious Majesty order out the Horse Guards?
Perhaps not, as she has had nine little children
of her own, whom she helped in their child-
hood to be most delightfully happy little per-
sons; but I am afraid she would regard it as
rather a liberty.
When the dogwood has withdrawn its white
blossoms into private life, as it were; when
there are no more violets scrambling up and
down the banks of Rock Creek; when the birds
in the linden and tulip and maple trees in the
avenues have begun active domestic duties,
and have family circles in their nests, the City
of Groves and Bowers begins to be warm, and
also to be deserted. In the summer, if the

weather was not so hot, Washington would be
delightful. The leaves grow thicker and thicker
upon the thousands of trees; the fountains play
in the parks; everybody's windows are open,
and through the streets are driven slowly carts
of fruit and vegetables, whose appearance and


9 X
disappearance record the progress of the sum-
mer season. The carts are always driven by
colored gentlemen, whose far-reaching sonorous
voices proclaim their wares as the cart wanders
along. Frequently a colored boy saunters near
it on the pavement, shouting also. Sometimes
the proprietor himself walks by the languid,
sleepy old horse's head. But in any case, as
the cavalcade strolls through a street, the in-
habitants always hear what is going by.
"Strawbe'ys! Fine fresh strawbe'ys i" is the
cry in the early summer. Strawbe'ys, twenty-
fi' cents er box!"
And then, as the days go on, and the fruit is
more abundant, there is a decline in price until
"strawbe'ys" may be bought at three boxes
for twenty-fi' cents."


And later appear the loads of watermelons.
A few years ago a certain vender of water-
melons used to be a source of great delight to
the two small boys who were the occupants
of one particular nursery. He was a colored
gentleman of the name of Johnson, and he had
a voice to rend the firmament.
"Watermillions--watermillions!" he used to
proclaim. "Joe Johnson's watermillions!
"Red to the rine, an' the rine red too-
Better buy a watermillion while they gwine thoo."

How was this to be resisted on a hot, hot
sleepy day ?
But at this time the majority of the inhabi-
tants is at the seaside or in the mountains, and
those who are detained in town find they
have grave need of watermelons, and ice, and
When, in the autumn, the houses which have
been closed during the hot months begin to
open their doors, and once more there are
small faces at the nursery windows, another
Spirit has passed through the groves and bow-
ers and roamed through the country roads and
woods, and over the dips and curves, and down
to the:water's edge at Rock Creek. It has
touched every branch and leaf, every vine and
woodland bramble, and even the small, humble
things which creep about close to the ground
in the wild places and among the rocks. It has
painted the groves yellow and red and orange
and golden brown; to the vines climbing over
walls and about windows'and doors it has done
wonderful things; the bowers are variegated,
the flowers in the parks are deep and richly
colored or flaming. The avenues and streets
are gorgeous, and when, in walking between
the brilliant trees one lifts one's face as one did
in those mornings of earliest spring, one's eyes

find a touch of deeper blue in the sky. It
seems as if so much color, such tints of amber
and crimson and orange, could surely never
fade out, and that the City of Groves and Bow-
ers must flame like this always. The small hu-
man flowers who came with the leaf-buds in
the spring, being rolled into Lafayette and
Franklin squares again by their nurses, have
grown enough to be of the world which is not
always softly asleep or vaguely absorbed in
bottles with milk in them. They lie in their
pretty carriages and stare at the wonderful
branches above them. Sometimes they make
remarks on the subject of leaves which are
quite scarlet. But the nurses and grown-up
people think they are simply cooing or goo-
ing, or doing something quite aimless, while
really their observations may be most profound.
But it is so often the case that great discoverers
are not at first understood.
These great discoverers, at least, have made
the most of their City of Groves and Bowers.
They have seen only the beautiful, the lova-
ble, the adorable things in it. They have
not explained to themselves the workings of
the Capitol and the Treasury. They have only
looked up at the blue above them.-and at the
blossoming boughs and the flaming ones; they
have smiled at the flowers and at the tender
little breezes which kissed their soft cheeks in
hurrying by. And though the flames of color
will die down, the breezes will be less tender,
and the boughs will drop their leaves and stand
bare, yet there is one thing-just one beau-
tiful, joyous thing--of which even older and
less untried creatures can be quite, quite sure.
Whatsoever of sadness, or clouds, or chill, or
fading colors the passing year may hold, the
Spring will always come again--the Spring
will always come again!



U S. Senator from Massachusetts.

THOUGH cities are the work of men's hands,
they usually are placed where nature dic-
tates. As a rule their place in the world has
been determined for them by a great river, a
safe harbor, or a .sheltered plain. But there
are a few instances of cities which owe their
being solely to the caprice of man. An arbi-
trary will bade St. Petersburg rise by the Neva,
and created a great capital on the .sandy plains
of the Spree. These cities were the work of
despotic rulers, and yet; curiously enough, the
capital of the American republic was likewise
the creature of the will of man. When the
framers of the Constitution of the United States
were engaged in the great work of making a
nation out of thirteen jarring States, one of the
duties they imposed upon the Congress they
then created was the establishment of a capi-
tal city for the new government. This subject
had been already much discussed under the
Confederation, and to this duty, therefore, the
new Congress gave immediate attention. It.
was a burning question, too, because local in-
terests were deeply engaged in it, and thus the
site of the future, federal city assumed an im-
portance to the States and the people in 1789
which at this time it is difficult to realize. It
was in reality a contest 'between- North and
South, and it is curious to observe how excited
men became over the question whether the new
city was to be placed in Pennsylvania or on the
borders of Virginia.
It would be tedious to trace in detail, with

its amendments, the history of the bill which
was to establish the capital. The North all
along had a majority of votes, and after much
struggling it began to seem certain that the
national.capital would go to Pennsylvania.
But it so happened that at that very time
another matter was pending in Congress upon
which the division of opinion was equally sharp
and men's feelings equally bitter. This second
question was the bill providing for the payment
by the United States of the debts incurredby the
several States during the Revolution. The law
proposed was one of the great series of financial
measures by which Alexander Hamilton bound
the States together, and converted the dry
clauses of the constitution into living realities.
This final measure, so-important to the welfare
of the country, .was on the edge of decisive
defeat by a narrow majority, and the votes
against it were chiefly Southern votes. Hamilton
believed, not without reason, that the continu-
ance of the Government and the fate of the
new constitution depended upon the success of
this particular law, which was the crown of the
series intended to restore our finances. He pro-
posed, therefore, to Jefferson, who had not yet
quarreled with him, that if Jefferson would get
a few Southern votes for the paying by the
government of the State debts, enough North-
ern votes would be turned over in return to
send the capital to the Potomac.
This bargain was carried out. The bill for
the payment of the State debts was passed, and

^-^^ ^
'V-- ^-//



the national capital was placed by the Potomac,
on the borders of Maryland and Virginia. The
country secured a law which was of immense im-
portance, not only to its financial credit, but to
the existence of the Union, while the South
gained the site of the capital, which was really
a matter of no lasting moment to any one.
The act for the establishment of the city,
which resulted from this arrangement, passed
on July Io, 1790, and gave the President power
to appoint three commissioners, who were to
select a site, and take the necessary land be-
tween the Potomac and what was known as its
Eastern Branch, on the Maryland side, and an

Major L'Enfant, a French officer who had
served as one of our allies in the Revolution.
So far as the work went, this choice was an
excellent one, and L'Enfant produced an admir-
able plan, on which the city has practically been
laid out, and which to-day is a proved success:.,
But, although L'Enfant could plan a city, he
could not deal with other men. He was hot-
tempered and impatient. He quarreled with
the commissioners and with Mr. Carroll, one of
the principal land-owners of the neighborhood,
and in fact proved an extremely difficult person
to get on with. At last he flatly refused to
publish his plan, because, he said, speculators


equal amount opposite on the Virginian side,
the whole district thus taken to be ten miles
square. So said, so done. The commissioners
were appointed and the land taken. Washing-
ton, who was in those early stages the control-
ling mind in the whole affair, took the deepest
interest in the selection of the site, and in all
that pertained to the new city which was to bear
his name and to be built so near his own home.
After the land had been taken, the next step
was to secure an engineer to lay out the new
capital, and Washington's choice fell upon

would take advantage of it. Thereupon Wash-
ington dismissed him, and appointed Andrew
Ellicott, who took up the work where L'Enfant
dropped it, and very wisely followed as closely
as he could the plan of the talented but irritable
This, however, was the least part of the
work a mere preface to what remained to be
done. It is comparatively easy to select engi-
neers and to survey land, but the building of
a city is a more difficult problem, and takes a
good deal of time, as the proverb inculcating


patience tells us in regard to Rome. The ter-
ritory selected for the new capital when L'En-
fant and Ellicott surveyed it was merely a stretch
of rather poor farming land, with underlying
clay and much surface gravel, which reached
from Rock Creek on the west to the Eastern
Branch on the east, and was bordered along
the south by the Potomac. In all these many
acres there were then only two or three scat-

was the new city to be built. Congress had
done nothing in the way of money; but with
the funds furnished by Virginia and Maryland,
a little more raised from the sale of city lots, a
little more still from lotteries, and finally, by the
aid of a loan of one hundred thousand dollars
from Maryland and Virginia, which was guar-
anteed by the commissioners, the work on the
public buildings was begun. On September 18

........... .. .- ---- *-s8:" "

~ -'
- ----


tered farm-houses, with their negro quarters
gathered about them. The house of John
Burns, one of the principal farmers and land-
owners, still stands at the foot of Seventeenth
street, below the White House. It looks to-
day, in its desolate old age, little better than a
negro shanty, and is entirely overshadowed by
the Van Ness house, built later by John Burns's
son-in-law. The Van Ness house, too, is old
now, but it is large and spacious-looking, and
still has about it a certain air of stateliness.
There, then, on rough fields, on this soil of
clay and gravel broken by watercourses and
showing a good deal of scattered woodland,

the corner-stone of the Capitol was laid with
some simple ceremonies, and work upon that
and upon the President's house, about a mile to
the westward, was started. The architect of
the White House was James Hoban, an Irish-
man, who also superintended the construction
of the Capitol, which was built upon the plan
of Stephen Hallet, a French architect. The
new buildings were pushed as rapidly as pos-
sible, for the law demanded that they should be
ready for occupancy in 800o; and, accordingly,
in October of that year the packet-sloop which
bore the records, furniture, and some of the
officials of the Government left Philadelphia





THE W T--E- ---- ---VIW"-i i- FR "M -


and duly arrived at the capital. The Cabinet
officers and chiefs of departments followed by
land in their carriages, and established their
offices in some little brick buildings built for
that purpose in the neighborhood of the White
House, while the one completed wing of the
Capitol furnished a meeting-place for Congress,
which soon after assembled.
It was a rather dreary place in which to
house and establish a government. A few half-
finished buildings, dotted about in the fields,
and a road little better than a cart-track over
the heavy red clay, constituted at that moment
the capital city; and the Government officers
who were forced to come there looked back

r 1 .!II ~ _

# -' ,

with regret to the comfortable quarters they
had left in Philadelphia. We have, fortunately,
some descriptions written at the time, which
set the scene before us in a very vivid fash-
ion. Oliver Wolcott, Secretary of the Treasury,
wrote as follows to his wife on July 4, 800oo:

The City of Washington, or at least some part of it,
is about forty miles from Baltimore. The Capitol
is situated on an eminence which I should suppose was
near the centre of the immense country here called the
city. It is a mile and a half from the President's House,
and three miles on a straight line from Georgetown.
There is one good tavern about forty rods from the
Capitol, and several other houses are built and erecting;
but I do not perceive how the members of Congress can
possibly secure lodgings, unless they will consent to live



like scholars in a college, or monks in a monastery,
crowded ten or twenty in one house, and utterly secluded
from society. The only resource for such as wish to live
comfortably will, I think, be found in Georgetown, three
miles distant over as bad a road in winter as the clay
grounds near Hartford.
I have made every exertion to secure good lodgings
near the office, but shall be compelled to take them at
the distance of more than half a mile. There are in fact
but few houses at any one place, and most of them small,
miserable huts, which present an awful contrast to the
public buildings. The people are poor, and, as far as I
can judge, they live like fishes, by eating each other.

of pity with others. It must be cold and damp in win-
ter, and cannot be kept in tolerable order without a regi-
ment of servants.

Mrs. Adams, the wife of the President, a
clever woman, a good observer, and a New
England housekeeper as well, has also left us a
description of the new city:

I arrived here on Sunday last, and without meeting
with any accident worth noticing except losing ourselves
when we left Baltimore, and going eight or nine miles


All the ground for several miles around the city, being in
the opinion of the people too valuable to be cultivated,
remains unfenced. There are but few inclosures, even
for gardens, and those are in bad order. You may look
in almost any direction over an extent of ground nearly
as large as the city of New York, without seeing a fence
or laborers. Greenleaf's Point presents the appear-
ance of a considerable town which had been destroyed
by some unusual calamity. There are [there] fifty or
sixty spacious houses, five or six of which are occupied
by negroes and vagrants, and a few more by decent-look-
ing people; but there are no fences, gardens, nor the
least appearance of business. This place is about a mile
and a half south of the Capitol.

Of the White House, which in those simpler
days was called a palace, he says:

It was built to be looked at by strangers, and will
render its occupant an object of ridicule with some, and

on the Frederick road, by which means we were obliged
to go the other eight through the woods, where we wan-
dered two hours without finding a guide or the path.
Fortunately, a straggling black came up with us, and we
engaged him as a guide to extricate us out of our diffi-
culty; but woods are all you see from Baltimore until
you reach the city -which is so only in name. Here
and there is a small cot, without a glass window, inter-
spersed among the forests, through which you travel
miles without seeing any human being. In the city there
are buildings enough, if they were compact and finished,
to accommodate Congress and those attached to it; but
as they are, and scattered as they are, I see no great com-
fort for them. If the twelve years in which this place
has been considered as the future seat of Government
had been improved as they would have been in New
England, very many of the present inconveniences would
have been removed. It is a beautiful spot, capable of
any improvement, and the more I view it the more I am
delighted with it.


In plain truth, it must have been governing
under difficulties to have lived in Washington
in the first year of the century. The little vil-
lage of Georgetown, on the further side of
Rock Creek, at the head of tide-water and
navigation, was really the only inhabited place
within reach. There, or in buildings hastily
erected for the purpose, alone could the Gov-
ernment officers find shelter. Most of the
congressmen dwelt at first in Georgetown,
superior comfort making up for the greater
distance from the Capitol. An entry in John
Quincy Adams's diary tells us how he, while
senator, waited for the House to adjourn until
very late one night so that a friend might
take him home in a carriage. and save him
from a wetting and from being mired in the
red clay. This gives .us a glimpse of the daily
discomfort of having to g6 two miles over
a country road from the Capitol to George-
town, which must have been disagreeable
enough in bad weather. Some of the mem-
bers, from the very first, lived nearer the
scenes of their duties, in the small boarding-
houses and hotels which sprang up near the
Capitol building, and which in reality, unim-
portant as they then seemed, constituted the
true beginnings of the city.
The scheme of Washington and of the com-
missioners was to have the city, or at least the
best quarters of it, on the broad and level pla-
teau which stretches westward from the Eastern
Branch of the Potomac. Accordingly, upon
the western end of this stretch of high and level
ground was placed the Capitol, facing east and
looking out over the place where the city was
to be. At the back of the Capitol the land fell
abruptly away to low ground, level with the river,
and here ran the road now known as Pennsyl-
vania Avenue, which connected the Capitol with
the White House and with Georgetown. But the
city would not grow as it was intended. Tradi-
tion says that the high prices at which Daniel
Carroll and others held their land on the east-
ern side were the cause; but whatever the rea-
sons may have been, people descended into
the low ground behind the Capitol, and the
city grew steadily westward.
One curious result of this overturning of
the founders' design can be traced even now
VOL. XX.-37.

in the names of the avenues. It was a South-
ern capital, and the South led in all that
concerned its early upbuilding. Accordingly,
the names of Southern States were given
to the avenues on the eastern plateau and
along the river-front, while New York and the

/ y---

New England States were pushed off into the
rough fields and woods at the extreme west
and to the north of the White House. But
the city, following the law of its own being,
paid little heed to the wishes of those who
named its avenues or who bought up the best
lots on the eastern plateau. Like the star of
empire, it traveled westward, and to-day the
great business streets bear the names of
Pennsylvania and New York, while the five


1 P


~_.~" ,


New England States are represented by the
avenues which run through the residence quar-
ter of the city where the best houses and the
finest private buildings are gathered.
The growth, however, which thus began in
the rear of the Capitol, and along the road to
the White House, was at best straggling and
feeble, and it resulted in houses for the most
part small and irregularly built. The mate-
rial advance of Washington in the early days
of the century, in fact, was not brilliant; and,
what was still worse, a little more than a dozen
years after the coming there of the Government
the town received a severe check, for at that
time it fell into the hands of a foreign enemy.
After the rout which is called by courtesy the
battle of Bladensburg, the British troops en-
tered Washington, set fire to the Capitol, and
burned and sacked the departments. The bat-
tle was discreditable to the Americans, and the
wanton destruction of the public buildings was
even more discreditable to the British. After
the war was over, a patriotic congressman pro-
posed that the ruins of the Capitol should be
railed in and left standing so that they might
be preserved as a monument of British van-
dalism. It was decided, however, to rebuild;
and, as the old walls were so much damaged by
fire that their appearance was spoiled, they
were painted white, which makes them to this
day a very serious blemish in a noble and
beautiful building.
After the peace of Ghent, the city resumed
the slow process of growth which had been
so violently and unpleasantly interrupted. The
small buildings, in the form of houses or shops
needed by the inhabitants who were at-
tracted thither by the Government business,
gradually increased, while the growth of the
Government itself slowly added to the number
of public buildings. During the next forty
years the Treasury Department, the Patent
Office building (now known as the Department
of the Interior), and the Post Office Department
were all built, and the foundations of the two
fine wings of the Capitol were laid. These
buildings were all large and beautiful, and were
also appropriate to their purposes. With their
lofty porticos and marble columns they pre-
sented a curious contrast to the straggling town

which had grown up about them; for the Wash-
ington of the days before the Civil War was
little more than an overgrown Southern village.
With very few exceptions, the streets were un-
paved, deep with mud, almost impassable, in
winter and spring, and equally dusty in sum-
mer. Cattle and swine went at large, and M.
de Bacourt, the French minister in 1840, speaks
with much annoyance of women milking cows
on the edge of what passed for a sidewalk. It
was at that time certainly neither an imposing
nor an attractive capital city, and its most strik-
ing feature was the contrast between the ill-
built scattered town and the really stately public
buildings towering up in the midst of it.
It was upon a city built after this fashion that
the storm of rebellion broke in 1861. To tell
the history of Washington during the four years
that followed would be to write the story of the
CivilWar; for, however unimportant Washington
may have been considered simply as a city,-it
was nevertheless the capital of a great nation,
and the contending armies fought to possess it.
When the war was over, it was found that it had
left its scars upon Washington, as on so many
other places. The city had been girdled by a
chain of forts and earthworks, which had laid
low the woods in many places on both sides of
the river. Armies had encamped about it, and
its buildings had been used for hospitals and
storehouses, while in the outlying quarters mule
corrals and cavalry depots had been established.
The streets had been torn and furrowed by
the passage of countless trains of artillery, bag-
gage-wagons, and ambulances. In the tumult
of the time, the city had been forgotten, although
in the midst of it all Congress had still remem-
bered to continue the building of the wings
of the Capitol, as a sure sign to friend and foe
that the Government, at least, had no doubt as
to its future.
After the war was over, however, public at-
tention was again drawn to the capital of the
country, and there was more or less discussion
as to its removal to the West, so that it might be
nearer the center of population. It was at this
period, while General Grant was President, that
a movement was made and carried into effect
for the development and improvement of the
city. This was done under the leadership of





Alexander R. Shepherd, who became Governor
of the Territory into which the District was
then, and (as it proved) only for a time, con-
verted. New streets and avenues were laid out,
the old ones were extended, and all were paved


with asphalt and brought to an easy grade
throughout the city, while squares and parks
were made and planted at the points of inter-
section of the great avenues. The old canal
was filled or covered up, the Tiber River was
turned to the Eastern Branch, and the water
and gas systems of the city were reorganized
and improved. The work was a very large and
very expensive one. A great deal of money
was spent, and there was much criticism and
some scandal in regard to it. It is not worth
while here to inquire into the truth or falsehood
of these scandals, or whether there was much
or little extravagance. One thing is certain, the
work was done, and done thoroughly. From
being a straggling, overgrown village, Wash-
ington was changed into a handsome city, with
broad, well paved avenues and streets, well
lighted and well drained, and all talk about the
removal of the capital died away. The im-
provements of Shepherd were not only the sal-
vation of the city, but they fixed it finally in the

place originally chosen by its founders. The
changes which had been made brought with
them also improvements in the construction of
private houses, and drew population to the city.
The national government, too, having abol-
ished the old city government, took charge of
the city itself, and added largely to the pub-
lic buildings. Congress completed the Wash-
ington monument, and extended from it to the
White House on the north and to the Capitol
toward the east a system of parks, which in-
cluded the grounds of the Smithsonian Institu-
tion and of the Botanical Gardens.
Thus, from being an ill-built, ill-paved town,
striking only from the painful contrast be-
tween the great public buildings and their
surroundings, Washington has been changed
into a singularly attractive city, with a peculiar
character of its own, and giving great promise
for the future. It is a government city, and no-
thing else. It has practically no manufac-
tures and no commerce, and its population is
made up of persons engaged in the govern-
ment service, and of those who supply their
wants, together with a constantly increasing class
of people who come to dwell there because it is
a pleasant place in which to live. The result
is that the business quarters of Washington are
comparatively small and the residence quarters
large, while both are constantly growing and im-
proving. The city has followed in its expansion
the plan of L'Enfant, the French engineer,
and thus has a character all its own, producing
by its system of avenues a grateful irregularity
of design, and many open spaces which, like
the streets, are planted with trees and shrubs.
The march of improvement quickened by the
growth of the city has not stopped within the
city limits. The immediate neighborhood of
Washington, although not desirable from the
farmer's point of view, has a great deal of
natural beauty, a fact which was first remarked
by Mr. Merry, the British minister to the United
States, in Jefferson's time. The valley of the
Potomac, especially above Georgetown, is very
beautiful, rising abruptly into low hills broken
by the ravines or watercourses which come
down to the great river on all sides. A large
branch, known as Rock Creek, runs from a
point north of the city down to the Potomac,


dividing Washington from Georgetown. This
stream, miscalled a "creek," forces its way
through the ledges and hills until it reaches the
river, and its narrow valley is as wild and beau-
tiful as if it were hidden in some distant moun-
tains. The Fiftieth Congress took a hundred
and forty acres of this valley on the borders of
the city for a zoological park, and the Fifty-
first, with great good sense, continued the work
by taking two thousand acres more, extending
to the head of the stream, for a public park.
Thus this beautiful region, with its rocks and
woods and ravines, has been preserved from
the destroying hand of the land speculator. It
is not too much to say that it will make a park
of greater natural beauty than is to be found in
the neighborhood of any great city in the world.
It is an excellent thing that the original idea
of the founders has thus been carried out, and
that we have for our capital a city which is a
government city and nothing else. It is far
better that the government of a great country
should have a city to itself, and not be lost in
the turmoil of some vast metropolis where its
presence is of little importance, and where it
would be subject to local influences which might
readily in a country like ours be most unfortu-
nate for our general welfare. There was a
time when a wide-spread feeling existed that the
capital was not worthy of a country like the
United States, but that day has long since passed.
In its development Washington has become or
is becoming in all material ways everything that
the capital of the United States should be, and
yet it has not lost and never will lose its pe-
culiar and important character as the home
of the Government.
There is, however, something more to all this
than' the merely material side. In a country
like ours it is especially desirable to. preserve all
historic and patriotic associations. If, after the
war, the capital had been removed, all these
associations which have gathered about.Wash-
ington would have been lost, and we should
have begun over again with an entirely new
city to which no interest attached beyond the
fact that it was one day to be the capital of

the country. About the home of the National
Government memories are sure to cluster, and
in a century-a long time in a new country-
these memories have gathered fast. If the
history of all the events that have taken place
in Washington since 8oo00 were to be writ-
ten, we should have a fairly complete story
of the United States. With the public build-
ings of Washington are associated the lives and
deeds of all the great public men of the country,
and within her limits the events have occurred
and the decisions have been taken which have
settled the fate of the Union. It is well to have
such a city, and it is still better to preserve and
develop it. It is well to have one place where
people may come from all parts of our broad
land, where they must forget all local inter-
ests and remember only that they are citizens
of the United States. In such a place not only
can they find much that is of interest and in-
struction, but they are in the midst of memories
and associations which tell them at every step
that they are citizens of a great nation with a
great past. It is well that our children should
come to the city through whose streets have
passed in their day Adams and Jefferson, Madi-
son and Marshall; to the city whose Capitol has
heard the voices of Clay and John Quincy
Adams, of Webster and Sumner; to the city
where Lincoln wrought and suffered and died,
and where the armies of Grant and Sherman
marched in triumph. It is the city that Wash-
ington founded; it bears his name and is a
part of his history. From the obelisk reared in
his honor, a noble shaft glittering in the sun-
light, or standing pure and clear against the
clouds, we can look far away down the broad
river to the place where he sleeps, at his much-
loved Mount Vernon. All this is sentiment, no
doubt; but, after all, it is true sentiment which
ennobles nations and makes a people capable
of great deeds. It is well to have a capital city
not only beautiful and prosperous, but belong-
ing to no county and to no State, one that
is the heritage of all the people, and that tells
no story but that of national life and national



for a glad vacation
/ Set to a song of
Ho for a rhyme of
the happy time
That comes to the girl and boy!

To the tide-washed shore we find our way;
We run on the beach and plunge in the
Or over the craggy rocks we roam,
And watch the waves as they break in
Till the ebbing ocean reveals the home
Where the tiny barnacle dwells,
Where the starfish lie on the dripping sands

And where, as if waiting for eager hands,
Are curious, fluted shells.

We spin along on our flying wheels
With a thrill that the soaring swallow feels,
And under the shining moon we make
A glittering path on the silvery lake
With our dipping oars, as we merrily take
A row in our little boat.
Oh! the song of these beautiful summer days
Should ripple with laughter like roundelays
Trilled from a bobolink's throat.

Then, ho! for a glad vacation rhyme,
Set to a song of joy!
Ho for a rhyme of the happy time
That comes to the girl and boy!

_N_ _n


Autkor of "Lady Jane."

[Begwn in the May number.]
THE painter from the north who was "rich,
rich!" as Seline said, had often stopped at her
stand to buy a handful of pecans or a few of
her crisp pralines, and as often as he came, he
studied with the eye of an artist the two chil-
dren who were always there; and many a dime
found its way into Philip's pocket in return for
a sprig of sweet olive and a few violets.
It was true that he was a painter; his name
was Edward Ainsworth, and he was an artist
of some note in New York; but as to his being
"rich, rich!" Seline had only guessed it: first,
because he was a stranger, and secondly, be-
cause he bought flowers nearly every day, and
no one but a rich man would buy flowers.
On this day, Seline, full of anxious expecta-
tion, saw him approaching, and at first she
thought he was about to pass-but no, he
stopped suddenly, and swinging around, leaned
over the table and buried his face in Philip's
tray of odorous flowers.
"How fragrant, how delicious!" he said to
himself in a low voice.
Then he selected a sprig of sweet olive, and
a handful of violets, all the while looking from
Philip to Dea, who stood with their large
questioning eyes fixed on him.
In the mean time, Seline had put on her
most genial smile, and when the customer laid
down a dime for some pecans, she said in her
smooth, rich voice:
"They're fresh, right fresh, M'sieur; an'
won't yer have a praline for lagniappe ?"
"Certainly; thank you," replied the artist,
still looking at the children, while he twisted
the top of the little paper bag that contained
his purchases.

If yer please, M'sieur, I 'd like to show yer
dis yere little image "; and Seline gently intro-
duced Quasimodo, while Dea turned paler, and
Philip's eyes were full of anxiety. It was a
moment of intense interest.
The artist's face brightened; he laid down
the flowers and the paper bag, and taking the
little figure almost reverently, he turned and
examined it critically. "Who made this?" he
asked, looking from one to the other.
"My papa," said Dea, finding her courage
and her voice at the same time.
"Your papa! Well, he is a genius. It is
perfectly modeled. What is your papa's name,
and where does he live? "
Dea dropped her head and made no reply.
The artist looked inquiringly at Seline.
"Her pauv' papa is always sick," said- the
woman, touching her forehead significantly;
"he does n't like to see no one. She," with a
glance at Dea, "won't never tell strangers
where she lives."
Oh, I see!" murmured the artist. "Well,
my child," turning to the little girl and speak-
ing very gently, "can you tell me what character
this figure represents ?"
"It is Quasimodo."
Of course. It's perfect, perfect; but what a
strange subject 1" and again he turned it and
examined it still more closely.
"Do you want to sell it ? he asked at length.
"Oh, yes, M'sieur," cried Dea eagerly. If
you only will buy it, pauv' papa will be so glad;
he told me that I must sell it to-day."
"'How much do you ask for it?"
Papa said I could sell it for five dollars. Is
five dollars too much?" faltered Dea. "He
said it was a work of art, but if you think that
is too much-"
." It is a work of art," interrupted the painter,
as, with an absent-minded air, he-introduced


his thumb and finger into his waistcoat pocket
and drew out a crisp note.
Dea's eyes sparkled, and thin grew dim with
"But tell me, if you can, how long it took
your father to model this?" he asked, still hold-
ing the note.
Oh, a long time, M'sieur; I can't tell just
how long, because he works at night when I 'm
"Ah! he works at night. And do you sell
many ? '
No, M'sieur, I have not sold one for a long
"She has n't sold one since Mardi Gras,"
interposed Philip, with an air of great interest.
" A stranger bought one then, but he gave only
three dollars for it."
"Are you brother and sister ? asked the
artist, smiling down at Philip.
Oh, no, M'sieur, we 're not related," replied
the boy; "she 's just my friend. She 's a girl,
so I try to take care of her and help her all
I can"; and as the boy spoke he raised his eyes,
and there was such a sweet light in their blue
depths that the man's heart was touched with a
very tender memory. How much he is like
him," he thought. "The same look, the same
smile, and about the same age. I wonder if
Laura would notice it. I wish she could see
him." For a moment he forgot where he was.
A far-off memory of his childhood mingled with
a recent sorrow. A boy in bare legs wading
for pond-lilies, a boy standing by his side
watching each stroke of his brush with lov-
ing eyes, and the boy before him all seemed
one and the same. A strong emotion swept
everything from his mind, and he could only
stand silent with his eyes fixed on Philip's elo-
quent face. At length he started like one from
a dream, and when he spoke his voice had a
new note of tenderness in it.
"What a good boy you are! She 's a fortu-
nate little girl to have such a friend. Tell me
your name, please; I wish to get better ac-
quainted with you."
The boy flushed with pleasure, and replied
promptly, My name is Philip, M'sieur."
"Philip!" echoed the artist; "how strange.
What is your other name ? "

"Oh, I 'm always called Toinette's Philip.
I never thought of any other name. I '11 ask
my mammy to-night if I 've got another."
Is Toinette your mother ? "
No, M'sieur, she's my mammy. She's a
yellow woman, and you see I 'm white."
"Have you always lived with Toinette ?"
"Always, ever since I can remember."
Then you have no parents? "
"Parents? Oh, no; I guess not. I don't
know; I '11 ask mammy."
"Where do you live ?"
"I live on Ursuline street, away down-town.
Mammy has a garden and sells flowers. It's a
right pretty garden; won't you come some day
and see it? Mammy 's proud of her garden,
and likes strangers to see it."
Thank you; certainly I will come," replied
the artist, promptly. I like flowers myself,
and I like pictures. I wonder if you like
them--I mean pictures. I suppose you have
not seen many."
Lots of them, and I like them, too. I 've
seen them in the churches, and in the shop
windows, and I 've tried to make some,"
added Philip, lowering his voice and flushing
a little.
Well, my boy, I 'm a painter; I paint pic-
tures. Would you like to come and seemine ?"
"Yes, M'sieur, I would, if mammy says I
may. I '11 ask her, and if she 'll let me, I '11
come to-morrow."
"I wish you could bring your little friend
with you. I should like to paint a picture of
her." And the artist turned his eyes to the
anxious face of the little girl, who was looking
eagerly at the note that was fluttering in his
"Will you go with me, Dea? asked Philip.
"I can't; I must sell Esmeralda," returned
the child curtly.
The artist looked smilingly from one to the
other. So you have a figure of Esmeralda,
and your name is Dea. Where is Homo,' the
wolf? "
Homo is under the table asleep; but he 's
not a wolf, he 's only a wolf-dog."
At this moment, hearing his name used so
freely, Homo came slowly out and sniffed at
the stranger, who patted his head kindly; then



the old dog, with a wag of approbation, returned
to his nap beside Lilybel.
"Really," thought the artist, with a puzzled
look, it is very interesting; this child and the
dog seem to have stepped out of one of Victor
Hugo's books."
Here Seline made an expressive pantomime
behind Dea, which led the artist to suspect that
the modeler in wax was an enthusiast on the
subject of the great French writer; and without
further explanation, he understood the situation
pretty correctly. A poor sick genius sick
mentally and physically with this one child
who was his only companion and friend.
After a moment of deliberation he said gently,
" My child, if you will come to my studio I
will pay you for your time, and I will buy some
more of your little figures. I won't keep you
long, and it will be better than staying in the
street all day."
"Yes, honey, so it will," interposed Seline.
"Does yer un'stand? M'sieur '11 pay yer, and
yer '1 have plenty money fer yer pauv' papa."
Dea hesitated, and then replied doubtfully,
"I 'm afraid papa won't be willing; I '11 ask
him. But I must go home now-I must-I
must go to papa."
Dea can't promise now," said Philip, excus-
ingly; "but perhaps she '1 come to-morrow.
I '11 try and bring her, M'sieur."
"Thank you. I live in that tall house just
below here. Ask the cobbler in the court to
show you the way to Mr. Ainsworth's apart-
ment." And as the artist gave Philip these
directions, he handed the five-dollar note to
Dea, who took it with an eloquent glance of
"Oh, M'sieur, I 'm so glad Yes, I'll try to
come; when pauv' papa knows how good you
are, perhaps he 'll let me come. And may I
bring Esmeralda ? Will you buy Esmeralda? "
"Yes, I '11 buy Esmeralda," returned the
artist, with a smile. "You '11 find me a good
customer if you '11 bring your figures to my
I '11 come; I '11 come to-morrow," she cried
eagerly. Now, Seline, give me my basket.
I must run all the way to papa."
"Don't, honey; don't get so flustered," said
Seline, soothingly, as she handed her the basket,

"an' don't run; it '11 make yer little head ache,
an' then yer can't get yer papa's dinner."
"I must I must run, Seline," cried Dea.
"Au revoir, M'sieur; au revoir, Philip." And
with a happy smile, she darted out of the por-
tico and down Rue Royale, followed by Homo,
who seemed aware of his little mistress's good
fortune, for he was as alert and lively now as
he was listless and discouraged before.
"Oh, M'sieur, you 've done a good deed,
buyin' dat little image," said Seline gratefully,
as she looked after Dea. "Pore child, she 's
so glad! She can't wait, 'cause her papa ain't
had no breakfast."
Nor no supper last night," continued Philip.
"Dea don't like to tell, but I always know
when they have nothing to eat."
"What! Is it possible, nothing to eat? Are
they as" poor as that ? exclaimed the artist.
"And have they no one to take care of them?"
"They have n't any one," returned Philip.
"They came here from France when Dea was
a baby, and her father's been strange and sick
ever since her mother died."
An' that pore chile has to take care of
him," sighed Seline. Oh, M'sieur, do buy
something' more fer the sake of that motherless
little cre'tur!"
I will, I certainly will; I '11 try and do
something for them," replied the painter kindly.
I '11 sell some to my friends. Bring the child
to me and I '11 see what I can do." Then with
a pleasant "Good day," he walked off, carrying
Quasimodo very carefully.
Philip watched him with admiring eyes until
his tall figure disappeared in the court of the
high house on the next square; then he turned
to Seline and said earnestly, I did n't think
any one who painted pictures would stop to
talk to us. Why, I ain't a bit afraid of him.
You can bet I 'm going to see him, and I 'm
going to get him to teach me to paint pictures."
"An' he 's rich; he '11 buy lots of them little
.images," returned Seline with undisguised sat-
MANY years ago, when handsome residences
were not numerous in the French quarter of



New Orleans, the creoles of Ursuline street
were very proud of the Detrava place. It was
a large white mansion with fluted columns and
wide shady galleries, set well back from the
street and surrounded by a broad lawn and
lovely rose-garden, which were hidden from
inquisitive neighbors by a high brick wall
covered with pink stucco. On each side of
the wide gate of beautifully wrought iron were
massive pillars, supporting couchant lions, who
held beneath their iron paws two rusty cannon-
balls brought from the victorious field of Chal-
mette by the General Detrava who built the
imposing mansion, and retired there after the
battle of New Orleans.
For many years the Detrava place was the
scene of the most generous hospitality, and
many an aged lady can count her d6but at a
Detrava ball as one of the most brilliant events
of her life. Children and grandchildren suc-
ceeded the General-until at last one by one
they dropped away, and all were gone but
Charles Detrava, a wealthy sugar-planter, who
preferred to live in the country on his fine plan-
tation. For years the old mansion was closed
and deserted; but at last, one winter, it was
thrown open for a brilliant occasion, the d6but
of the only child, the charming Estelle Detrava,
who had just been graduated at the Dominican
Convent. That fete will always be remembered
by those who were fortunate enough to be
present. It was the winter before the begin-
ning of the Civil War, and it was almost the last
brilliant social event that preceded years of
sorrow and disaster.
Among the first to join the Confederate army
was Charles Detrava; he went away with his
regiment, never to return, leaving his wife and
daughter in the seclusion of their country
home. Shortly after her husband's departure,
Mrs. Detrava died, and Estelle was left with-
out a relative, excepting some cousins in France
whom she had never seen. Then there came
a rumor of her marriage, but to whom she
was married no one seemed to know. So little
was she thought of in the face of graver events,
that, some time after, when one night the resi-
dents of Ursuline street were awakened by the
the uproar of a great conflagration, and the old
Detrava mansion disappeared in smoke and

flames, they were appalled and astonished to
learn that a young mother with her babe and
nurse had perished in the house. No one knew
that the house had been occupied, or that Estelle
Detrava, who had lost her husband in a re-
cent skirmish near her country home, had fled
from the scene of the conflict to the refuge of
the deserted city mansion. She had arrived
the day before with her child and servant, and
only one or two tradespeople were aware of
her being there until the sad news was reported
that of the three sleeping in the house that
night not one escaped.
By this sudden and terrible calamity, the
family was, as it were, destroyed, as well as the
beautiful old mansion of which there only
remained some broken columns and tottering
chimneys standing among piles of debris. But
very soon that generous artist, Nature, decorated
and beautified the ruins by covering them with
a luxuriant growth of flowers and vines, and
the curious who stopped to peer through the
iron gates saw only a profusion of green cover-
ing the fluted columns and the winding shell
In the spring the pittosporum trees, which
before had been kept carefully trimmed, thrust
their white blossoming branches above the walls,
and the riotous vines climbed over the gate,
and almost hid the white board on which was
painted in' black letters: "A vendre ou a loner."*
Day after day the sign hung there, in sun and
rain, but no tenant came to occupy the little
cottage in the rear, which had escaped the con-
flagration; neither did a purchaser appear ta
bargain for the property that had passed to
the heirs, the unknown cousins in France.
Time passed on, and each season the place
looked more neglected and deserted. The
beautiful lawn and rose-garden were overrun
with weeds, the flowering shrubs grew into
trees, the climbing roses and jasmines pushed
their branches upward and clung to every pos-
sible support, dense shadows brooded among
the foliage where numerous birds built their
nests and bred their young. The old garden
was still lovely, but a cloud hung over,it,-the
memory of the tragedy of that terrible night.
And after a while foolish rumors filled the
neighborhood, and people began to eye the

*"For sale or to let."



rusty gate and grim lions as though they Detrava place. She was a small, gentle-looking
inclosed and guarded a gloomy secret, until it woman, .dressed in rusty black, with a white
seemed as if no one could be found who would tignon* tied neatly over her gray hair; and the
brave the loneliness and seclusion of the place child, though plainly. clad, was as clean and



and take possession of the comfortable little cot- fresh as a lily. For a long time the woman
tage that had served as servants' quarters in the lingered with her face pressed against the iron
prosperous days of the old mansion. scroll-work of the gate, and when, after some
At last one day the neighbors noticed a time, she walked sadly away, there were traces
respectable-looking old quadroon, leading a of tears on her cheeks.
lovely little white child by the hand, pass slowly A few mornings after that, the druggist oppo-
up the street and stop before the gate of the site noticed a slender column of smoke rising



from the chimney of the little cottage, and he
knew that at last the Detrava place had found
an occupant. The old sign disappeared, and
after a while in its place hung another on which
was neatly painted, Floral designs for funerals
and weddings, and cut flowers for sale at
very low prices."
It was some time before the curiosity of the
neighbors was gratified in regard to the new
tenant, and when at last they learned that it
was the little quadroon woman who had been
seen looking in the gate, they were greatly
surprised and disappointed. In spite of every
effort, the most they could learn was that her
name was Toinette, that she was a skilful florist,
and that she was nurse and guardian to the
little white boy she called Philip. She was
very seldom seen, as she passed in and out of
the gate in the rear; and of the child they had
only occasional glimpses. Those were at the
times when he ran, like some lovely little sylvan
creature, down the shaded walk between the
great oaks and magnolias, to press his round
pink face against the iron gate, where he would
stand and look out into the narrow, dusty street
his blue eyes wide and bright with pleased sur-
prise. The little creoles on the other side of
the gate tried by every- means in their power
to overcome his shyness, but in vain; at the
first approach, he would scurry away and con-
ceal himself behind a clump of bushes or a
tangle of vines until his would-be friends had
He was a healthy, happy child; he loved
flowers and birds, all dumb things came to him
with the utmost confidence; he was always
surrounded by his pets, and they seemed to
have a sort of secret understanding with him.
Toinette sometimes thought they even had a
language in common. For when he whistled
softly, the cardinals and mocking-birds flew
down to eat out of his hand. He would flit
about among the flowers, and butterflies and
other winged insects hovered over him. Very
early he showed a taste for drawing birds
and animals, and Toinette encouraged it. She
bought him paper and a small box of colors,
and when Pere Josef, the kind little priest who
lived in a tiny cottage near, told Toinette that
the child had talent and would make a painter'

some day, she was delighted. As soon as he
was old enough to learn his letters, she engaged
Pere Josef to teach him; and every morning,
summer and winter, at six o'clock, the rosy
little fellow finished his hominy and milk, and
ran to Pre Josef, who was always sitting over
his coffee and books at that hour.
Philip loved Pare Josef, but he adored Toi-
nette. There was nothing in her power that
she would not undertake for the child, and he
repaid her with ready obedience and unstinted
affection. As he grew older, he assisted her in
many ways: he weeded her flower-beds, trans-
planted her violets, gathered up dead leaves,
and dug the grass out of the cracks of the brick
paving with the most patient industry. There-
fore, when one day Toinette told him he could
go on the street and sell a few flowers, he was
overjoyed. He was about six years old then,
and he had lost much of the shyness of his
infancy, but about him there was always
enough of the air of a. little woodland crea-
ture to make him natural and charming; and
this perhaps led him to seek the protection
of Seline when he found himself alone in the
crowded streets. He usually sold his flowers in
the morning to gentlemen on the way to their
offices, and he had many regular customers who
dropped the dime into his hand as much for the
charm of his sunny smile and pleasant good
morning" as for the love of the flowers. When
his tray was empty he did not linger nor idle
away his time, but ran off to Toinette, as happy
as a lark, to assist her in cultivating her beds
of pansies and violets.
Philip had told his mammy of his acquain-
tance with Dea, and the kind old woman,
although she had never seen the little girl, felt
a great interest in her, and always managed to
supply the boy with food enough for two, so
that his little friend need never go hungry.
And every day when the boy came home, her
question was not whether he had sold his
flowers, but whether Dea had sold any of her
little figures.
ON the day when the artist bought Quasi-
modo, Philip could hardly wait, so eager was he


to tell Toinette of Dea's good fortune. So,
when all his flowers were sold, he fairly flew
down Ursuline street, never stopping for any
of the tempting invitations to join in the numer-
ous games the children were playing on the
sidewalk; for Toinette's Philip was a great
favorite among them, and they were always glad
when he appeared.
At the corner of Trem6 street he saw a
group of boys around a small crippled negro
who carried a heavy bucket on his head.
" There are the brick-dust children going home,
and those boys are tormenting little Bill again!"
he cried, with a flash of anger in his blue eyes.
"Just let me catch up with them, and I '11
scatter them! A moment after he was in the
midst of the crowd, striking out to the right and
left. "Look here, you boys, leave that lame
child alone! Are n't you ashamed to torment
him? Here, Bill, give me your bucket; you can
carry my tray "; and swinging the heavy pail of
brick-dust upon his head, he marched off as
straight as a caryatid, followed by the "brick-
dust children," who gave three cheers for Toi-
nette's Philip.
When Philip'reached the gate of the Detrava
place, he was rosy and breathless from his
exertion, and his eyes were sparkling with ex-
citement. Toinette was sitting on the little
gallery beside a table covered with white flowers.
She was filling the wire design of a lamb with
small waxen jasmine blossoms.
Who 's that for, Mammy?" asked Philip,
leaning against a pillar of the piazza while he
rested and recovered his breath.
"It's for a little baby on Prieur street; it
died last evening. But what makes you so
warm, child?" asked Toinette gently; "have n't
I told you not to run so much ? "
I could n't help it; I was in such a hurry
to get home. I wanted to tell you that Dea
has sold Quasimodo!" Then Philip rapidly and
breathlessly, partly in English and partly in
French, told Toinette of the adventures of the
day. "And oh, Mammy, he paints pictures
right there where he lives, and he wants me to
come some time to see him! Can I go to-
norrow ?"
Why, yes, child," replied Toinette, without
looking up from her work, "you can go; and if

he '11 teach you anything, I shall be glad to
have you learn."
He will teach me; I know he will. He's
very kind, and he promised to buy Esmeralda,"
said Philip confidently.
I 'm glad for the poor child," said Toinette,
busily building up the lamb's ears.
Can't I have my supper now, Mammy?
I 'm awful hungry. Did you make the
Yes, cher; it 's all ready. Just wait a min-
ute. I must finish this; the. woman 's coming
for it. I have only the eyes to put in." And
as Toinette spoke she selected the dark leaf of
a pansy, and dexterously inserted it into the
empty socket. "There, is n't it natural ? she
said, holding it off and looking at it admiringly.
"It 's so white and innocent."
"I don't know," said Philip, regarding it
critically with his head on one side. "I think
I 'd like the flowers best just as they grew."
At that moment the bell rang, and Philip ran
to open the gate. The servant had come with
a basket for the lamb.
Madame will like this," she said as she wiped
a tear from her glossy black face; she does n't
know about it. M'sieur ordered it."
Toinette enveloped the lamb in white oiled
paper, and laid it carefully in the basket; she
did everything daintily, with a gentle, refined
touch, but she looked old and feeble.
"Now, child," she said, as the woman went
away, walking slowly and glancing often at the
basket as if it contained a living thing, "just
run and fasten the gate, and I '11 set the table
for your supper."
Toinette brushed from the little table the
fragrant remnants of the flowers, and spread a
white cloth over it. Then she went into the
spotless kitchen, which served well for their sim-
ple needs, and brought out a bowl of steaming
gumbo, a dish piled with snowy rice, a plate
of biscuit, and a glass pitcher of milk. While
she was making these preparations, Philip went
to his little bedroom, which opened out of this
one living-room; and as he passed through the
kitchen, he glanced at everything with a loving
eye. How clean and cheerful it looked! The
walls were nearly covered with bright wire
designs for making floral ornaments. These em-




blems of the extremes of joy and sorrow jostled
each other intimately. There were bells and
harps, crowns and stars, pillows and horse-
shoes, gates ajar" and four-leaved clovers,
lambs and doves; and between these skeleton

the white walls, the red brick floor, and the
plain dark furniture. Outside, everything was
green and cool, and this bit of light and color
made a pleasant contrast. Philip always liked
it; unconsciously, his artistic sense was gratified,


emblems hung numerous wreaths of white "im-
mortelles," on which were mottos in purple:
A monfils, A ma mere, Priez pour nous, and the
like. The creoles often bought those; there-
fore, Toinette kept them ready with the French
mottos. As Philip passed through the room,
the evening sun darted in at the west window,
and all the frames sparkled like silver. They
gave a kind of richness to the place, and set off

and, besides, it was his home, the only one he
had ever known, and it was very dear to him.
He entered his little room, and glanced at
his white cot draped with the mosquito bar; at
the little table by the rose-covered window, on
which lay his slate and books. He thought
proudly in his little heart that there could be
no prettier place in the world. A small brown
bird hung on a branch of the rose-bush, and



twittered ."sweety-sweety-sweet." Philip re-
peated the caressing notes in a tone. exactly
like its own, while he bathed his hands and
face, and brushed his tangled hair. Then he
took a prayer-book from a shelf over his bed,
and went out to the gallery where Toinette was
waiting for him. After their simple meal was
over, Toinette pushed back her chair and com-
posed herself into a listening attitude.
"Oh, Mammy," said Philip coaxingly, as he
took the prayer-book and turned the pages,
"I 'm awful tired! Can't I skip the Ten Com-
mandments to-night?"
"Certainly not," replied Toinette, severely.
"Have you ever missed saying them a night
since you knew them? Go on, cher; I 've some
work to do before dark, and you have your
lessons to learn. Was Pere Josef satisfied with
you this morning?"
"He said he was. He said I did my analyse
very well. So you won't let me off to-night.
Well, then, I may as well say them."
And Philip, composing his face to a becom-
ing gravity, repeated in a gentle droning voice
the Ten Commandments, the Creed, and the
Lord's Prayer. When he had finished, Toinette
bowed her head and said softly, "Amen." After
that serious duty was over, he got his books and
sat on the steps to study, while Toinette cleared
the table and busied herself for some time
When she came out again, she looked at
Philip anxiously; the boy was sitting with his
chin in his palms, and his books were lying
neglected at his feet. She glanced again at
him; he was in deep thought. What could the
child be thinking of? Suddenly Toinette looked
older and feebler, and her hands shook as she
tried to sort some seeds.

There was something she had been dreading
lately. It was a question, and he miglt ask it
at any moment. As he sat there in the soft even-
ing light, he all at once looked older to her,
and with an inward shiver she felt that it was
Suddenly he raised his eyes, and'fixing them
on her gravely, he said: "Mammy, that gentle-
man asked me to-day if my father and mother
are living. Are they ? "
Toinette turned very pale, and looked away
from the child's clear gaze. "No," she replied
tremulously. "No, my child; you lost them
both when you were a few months old."
"Well, he asked me what my other name
was. Have I got another name ?"
"Certainly you have," gasped Toinette; "but
what need of asking such questions? It can't
matter to a little boy like you."
"Yes, Mammy, it does; now I think of it, all
boys have two names. Even little Bill is named
Bill Brown, and I 'm only Toinette's Philip."
A look of pain passed over Toinette's face,
and for a moment she remained silent; then
she said gravely and decidedly: "You must
never ask me any more such questions, Philip.
When the right time comes you will know all
about it. Some day, when I 'm not here, Pere
Josef will tell you. He has some papers for
you when you are older. I can't tell you any-
thing now. Forget all about it and attend to
your lessons, or Pere Josef won't be satisfied
with you to-morrow."
Philip picked up his book, and fixed his eyes
on the page before him, but he did not see it.
Suddenly a strange curiosity was awakened in
his mind. His mammy would not satisfy it, but
perhaps Pere Josef would. He would ask him
about it in the morning.

(To be continued.)


_ p;
Zy Anal.


SLEEPY Dormouse
who had passed
The winter in
her nest,
Hearing that
S spring had
Come at last,
Got up at once,
half dressed,


"I 've only just returned, my dear,"
The sleepy Dormouse said,
" From Florida -the winters here,
You know, affect my head."

" Have you, indeed?" exclaimed her friend.
I 'm glad to see you home.
I, too, have just retured-I spend
My winters down in Rome."

And, hastening from her
downy house
To hail the new spring
She ran against another
That lived across the way.

The shock was such, at first the two
Could scarcely speak for lack
Of breath. Then each cried,
"Oh, it 's you!
Why, when did you
get back?"

With many pawshakes then, at last
They parted-each to say,
"I wonder where that
creature passed
/ The winter-any-




To a monk of England was for many years
awarded the honor of inventing gunpowder,
which unchurchly article immediately became
a very convenient and popular means for people
to kill one another with. The claim had to be
given up, however, when it became known that
in far-away and sleepy China, gunpowder and
guns, as well as fire-crackers, had roared,
popped, and banged centuries before the
learned monk was born.
Some time later an enterprising explorer dis-
covered a tribe of savages that blew little
poisoned arrows through long reeds, and with
them settled many an old grudge against their
tribal enemies. They also used their deadly
puffs of air in the pursuit of game too wary to be
captured by a snare. For many years this was
pointed out as an example of great inventive

genius in the savages, until two young gentle-
men of the tribe who were not on speaking
terms with one another, owing to their rivalry
as shots, came to blows. The defeated one let
the cat out of the bag, so to speak, by leading"
the white men to a stream where the fish-with
unerring aim blew drops of water into the air
at the giddy-headed flies resting on the bank,
tumbling them into the water and into the fishes'
mouths as well.
Whether the street-boys of Athens knew the
use of the putty-blower or not, history fails to
state; but it is more than probable that they did,
for a famous English naval writer of the six-
teenth century claimed to have proof that some
of the Grecian war-galleys had projecting at their
sides.tubes from which were darted shot with a
vapor that roared." Simply big putty-blowers,



you see. The squid or cuttlefish darts through at the bow. Most of these guns lie at an angle
the waves by ejecting a quick stream of water slanting back and downward to where the air-
through a little tube under its chin; and this compressors lie close to the heel.

plan was so well copied by an American inven-
tor (Dr. Jackson), that he made a hundred-foot
steamer go through the waves at twelve miles
an hour by pumping, water through a nozzle
under the stern, where the rudder is usually
found in such craft. In London mail-bags and
some railway trains are now driven successfully
by compressed air. So the saying that there 's
nothing new under the
sun" is to a certain
extent true enough.
The most recent ap-
plications of the blow-. '.
pipe principle, how-
ever, are the three
air-guns of the United
States "torpedo cruis-
er" (or as she is also
called, the "pneumatic -
cruiser") "Vesuvius."
This vessel of war is.
251 feet 9 inches long,
26 feet 5 inches wide,
draws 9 feet of water
and has a displace-
ment of 725 tons, she -.
is of 3794 horse-power,
and she darts over the
waves at a speed of 25
miles per hour. She is
too beautiful and fast .'
a craft to be called a >" -,',
"blowpipe gunboat";
but that is exactly what 7
she is, because of the .
blowguns which stick
up through the deck
VOL. XX.-38.


Into the somewhat bottle-shaped steel flasks
which are shown in the diagram on page 592, air
has been forced until it is compressed under a



Strain of 2000 pounds to the square inch, by engines especially con-
structed- for that purpose. The shells, or bombs, or darts fired from
the guns are made partly of iron, of brass, and of copper. They
are io feet long, 15 inches wide, and while some are of uniform
width, others give up half their length to a thin spindle or
i""" tail having metal fans at'the end, and looking somewhat like a
huge, clumsy arrow. These darts are kept in three barrel-like
"revolvers," and as there are five darts in each, the Vesuvius can
throw fifteen projectiles in rapid succession.
When a gun is to be loaded, about twenty feet of its lower end drops down by
means of a hinge, and from the revolver directly in front of it one of the bombs is
pushed back into the lowered end, which is then pulled up again in line with the
rest of the tube. When all is ready, a lever in the conning tower* is moved, enough
air admitted from one of the reservoirs, and away goes the dart flying through the air to
a distance of one and a half miles.
SThe operation, which seems so simple, does not look very formidable as a method
of warfare; but that -dart hirled away by the: blowpipe is in reality the most deadly
weapon known to war, afloat or ashore, for in the head of the missile is stored 500
pounds of guncotton, than which no more terrible explosive is known that can be so
used. The name guncotton sounds innocent enough, and the material is nothing
more than the cotton waste, with which you have often seen-engineers cleaning their
engines, soaked in nitric and sulphuric acids, and washed clear again. A pound of
this will burn quietly, but when it is struck or "detonated," it explodes with a force
sufficient to blow up a good-sized house. If upon an anvil is laid a piece of paper with
one or more letters cut out, and a pound of gun- cotton is exploded on it, the letters or
figures cut in the.paper will be stamped into the metal one quarter of an inch deep. Just
think of such force, and then imagine 500 pounds of guncotton exploding on a ship or fort.
In the recent aiming trials on the Vesuvius, some of the darts, after striking close
before the target, dove under it for forty feet, t then jumped clear of the
waves, then dove again, playing the game of ... i, marine leap-rog for. 3: feet.
The great bombs, flying for a mile and a -.. \ hai, rarely m!nsed the ob-
ject aimed at by more than a few feet; and il a vsc-el hid bLeen in
the target's place it would assuredly have -; b-en blow n ro
atoms. A new exploding device was used t th- cral.
and it did not work well; but as there are fuses which never
fail, the system of throwing guncotton, or dynamite,
or gunpowder by compressed air is a perfect success
even in a high cross-wind.
What amount of damage will be done to a
vessel when one of the 5oo-pound cl ,rges is ex-
ploded on her deck, it is impossible to stafe, since it
never yet has occurred; but it is reasonable to sup-
pose, from the effect on rocks and earth, in land l_
trials, that the ship must be torn asunder and sunk on "
the instant.
It will not always be the object of the air-gunrer., how- ". .
ever, to destroy a vessel completely, for it is often more "
desirable to disable a vessel and to capture her ar.d her cre '. To
*A strong steel turret, like a pilot-house, from which the :l.i.er, can 2 .
safely direct all the actions of the vessel and keep the enemy in view.




test this possibility, trials have been ordered in
which a ship's boat while being towed by a
long line from a steamer moving fifteen miles
an hour will be fired at by the Vesuvius, also
going at full speed and approaching it from one
side. This will be known as the moving tar-
get" trial, and will be very interesting, for the
object will be to hit as near as possible without
actually strik- A ,
ing the boat,
as shown in
the picture.
It is claimed
that if one of
these bombs
the side of a .I .-".
ship it will
create such a
concussion of
the air that
the ship's
plates will be .--:.',:
loosened, her
guns upset, ...-'.
her machin- .i
ery thrown
out of place, ... .. ....
and her boil-
ers started
leaking. And
no doubt her
crew will
gladly surren-
der before a
second such
British ironclad turret-ship "Royal Sovereign"
was anchored near the ironclad Bellerophon "
off the Isle of Wight, and several shots were fired
at her turrets from a 9-inch gun. It did not re-
quire many shots to demonstrate that in a short
time the iron turrets would be battered to pieces.
It is now proposed to anchor, in the lower bay
of New York harbor, one of the old United
States monitors that saw service in the war, and
to let the dangerous Vesuvius show what she
can do with her. There will be many thousands

SUVIUS." 595

to look on at the strange sight. The monitor's
turret, looking like a little cheese-box at the dis-
tance of a mile and a half, will appear almost
too small a mark. The Vesuvius will steam
to within striking-distance, and launch one of
her darts into the air. It will not fly so fast as
a cannon-ball, and will be seen all the way. It
will not howl or whistle like a rifled shell, but

will go on its way with a low whispering
sound. If it strikes the water before exploding,
a grand fountain of spray and water will be
tossed toward the sky. If it explodes in air
or on the monitor's deck, there will result a
flash as of lightning, but no boom like that
of a cannon will follow. The noise will be
an ear-splitting crash, the water will upheave
as if there was an earthquake, and the moni-
tor, as if struck by a giant hand, will sink in



SCERTAIN king, be-
loved by all
Who thronged his
stately lobbies,
Like other men, was
grave or glad
As fortunes changed; and,
%^ like them, had
His own especial hobbies -
The which he aired, be it confessed,
With something -more than common zest.
By his opinions obstinate
Sometimes a little blinded,
Of pompous mien and manners bland,
Good-natured, simple-hearted, and
Extremely absenm-minded,-
A king he was, it not to lear,
With loyal fondness to revere.

One day, when from the cares of state
The Queen and he were resting,
And in the book the King perused
Some argument the author used
His favorite theme suggesting,
He praised, as was his wont to her,
The power of kingly character.

HERE is," said he, "in
o f ,. A certain grace es-
A charm which cannot
be concealed,
That shines through all disguise, revealed
In majesty potential,-
A bland, benignant influence shed.
Where'er the royal steps may tread.

* -


"Now, in a book of ancient tales
I 've read the curious story
Of old Haroun al Raschid's plan,-
You recollect, my dear? -a man,
Not all unknown to glory,
Who, walking through -his realm, disguised,
His subjects' doings supervised.

UT how absurd! No
King could thus
Escape their recogni-
Why, from a hundred,
The royal presence must
By instant intuition.
The hundredth, well,
a babe, mayhap,
Or one with bells upon
his cap.

"Nay," and the King, who loved in such
Diversions to engage her,
Smiled as he cried in great delight,
"I '11 prove the thing this very night,
And lay with you a wager:
A ton of Huylerico's best
Is yours, my dear, if fails the test."

"Agreed, my love," she murmured, half
Unconscious of his meaning;
Then, while her lord retired in glee,
Took up her novel, languidly
Among her .cushions leaning;
For on the hearth the fire was.bright,
And soft the candles' shaded light.

UT to the garret ran the
Excited still, and
S/ eager,
And sought and found
an ancient suit,
'Threadbare and frayed;
a cloak, to boot,

Of pattern strange and meager;
Also a pair of ragged hose,
And shoes that scarcely hid his toes.

With joyful haste he drew them forth,
Nor paused to prink or dally.
Hind side before and wrong side out,
He got them on at last, without
A mirror or a valet,
And muffled half his royal face
Within the ragged cloak's embrace.

Then down a secret stair he stole
With footsteps swift and stealthy,
And out into the city street,
Where, l.! the first he chanced to meet--
A lad both stout and healthy-
Turned pale and stared, then on the ground
Knelt down in reverence profound.

The King could scarce contain his glee.
SFulfilled was his prediction!
And on he sped, at every turn
Some fresh, emphatic proof to earn
Of his sublime conviction:
Until his heart so raptured leapt
For pride and joy he could have wept.


HROUGH stately
avenues he went,
T Through alleys dark
and narrow;
He met the merchant
and the clerk,
The courtier with his
crafty smirk,
The huckster with his barrow;
The fool, the rogue, the minister,
The damsel and the dowager.

The noisy urchins squabbled,
Or, melancholy as his bell,
The sexton tolled the midnight knell.

And still, as on the
monarch fared,
Where'er his fancy
drew him,
Some laughed, some
frowned, some
only stared,

He stood with soldiers fierce and dark,
Amid the blare of trumpets;
He climbed the student's lonely stair,
And stole into the kitchens, where
The maids were toasting crumpets:
They dropped their forks and shrieked aloud,
And then in coy obeisance bowed!
Where sailors spun their yams he went;
Where whining beggars hobbled;
To balls and theaters and shops,
And where with marbles and with tops

And some were
obviously scared,
But everybody
knew him;
And, soon or late,
in homage bent:
Till, faint and tired,
with mud be-




Homeward he turned,- less fit, indeed,
For palace than for hovel,-
And, flushed with victory, sought the Queen, .
Who, still in languorous ease serene,
Was buried in her novel,
While on the hearth the fire burned low,
And paler grew the candles' glow.

"My love," he said, in accents hoarse,
But tenderly facetious,
"The candy's mine! Observe me, pray!
Note well my garb, nor ever say
My arguments are specious..
For know that all, though thus disguised,
In me the KING have
recognized! "
HE lifted slow her grace-
ful head,
With just a glance
of wonder,
Suppressed a yawn, or
-could it be?-
A smile of faintest
Her slender fingers under. THE KING DISGUISED
" You 're absent-minded, dear," she said,-
" Your crown is still upon your head!"



I THINK-I really think I cried,
A little bit, when Timmie died.
You see he was so soft and gray,
And liked so very much to play,
That when I found him cold and still,
Stretched out beside the barn-door sill,
It seemed as if he 'd just .forgot
To breathe a little minute, not
That he was dead. I smoothed the paws
That covered up his cunning claws.
He did not stir. Then Helen found
A ribbon, and she tied it round

His neck. 'T was new and red.
But oh! my Timmie cat was dead,
And ribbons could not make him see,
Or give my kitty back to me.
And then we buried little Tim
Beneath the sunflowers, with a rim
Of pansies-purple ones and gold-
Around him; and I let him hold
A favorite spool, his very own.
Then, when we left him there alone,
I 'm sure you think I might have cried
A little bit 'cause Timmie died.





THE wind-broom sweeps so wondrous clean
That when you hear it upon high
Go swishing by, go swishing by,
You may be sure the sky-folk mean
To make their homes all fair to see,
Garnished, and gay as gay can be
0' nights, for starry company.



[Begun in the November number.]

HUGH and his mother knew that other eyes
must be near them. Hugh had already told
his mother all that had. happened to him and
Ned Wentworth since they had left the picnic
party to hunt;, but she was too thirsty and tired
and excited to say much in reply. Shewas afraid
to have him talk now, except in whispers; but
he insisted that he knew where they were, and
that they were getting nearer the front door"
of the cave-man's hidden house.
"I cannot walk any farther, Hugh," she sud-
denly exclaimed. "I am faint."
There was an answer, but it did not come
from him. Silence! was the warning from
a shadow near them. "Down, both of you!
Let them go by!"
Down sank Lady Parry and her son, shiver-
ing with surprise and fear, while there was a
rustling sound near.
Hugh," whispered the voice, I 've found
your father. I 've brought him into the cave.
You and your mother must wait just where you
are. Three of those robbers have scouted
this way. They 're going back to their camp
soon, and when the coast is clear you can go
right in. Wait till you hear me' coo-ee-e' before
you move. I '11 draw them off for you."
Mother," whispered Hugh, "it 's Beard.

Keep still! and he added to the cave-man
in the dark, All right; we '11 wait."
A few minutes later, they heard the trampling
of feet, and the sound of rough, low voices,
passing very near them. She put an arm around
Hugh, and he raised his gun and cocked it
with a thrill of courage.
That was the last scout made that night by
the white robbers; but the blackfellows were
still stirring, and the little black boy had yet
another thing happen to him. He had almost
found his people,-or believed that he had,-
and indeed several of them crept close to him
in the gloom. He believed it until two of
them caught him by his arms, and a harsh voice
rasped out: Ka-kak-kia "
He was a captive once more, and in worse
hands than before. He was likely to lose all
his sticks again, and his life too. He knew it,
but he behaved with stubborn pluck, and did
not utter a sound.
Ka-kak-kia did not intend to kill his prisoner,
or to steal sticks from him.
He told him to go and 'find his friends, and
to say that the blackfellows must stop killing
one another until after their fight with the white
fellows, of all sorts, should be finished. They
must act, for a day or so, as if they were friends.
It seemed an unheard-of proposal, but the
black boy listened, and at the end of it they let
go of him. He gathered all the sticks he had
rescued, hugged them tightly, and darted for-



THE wind-broom sweeps so wondrous clean
That when you hear it upon high
Go swishing by, go swishing by,
You may be sure the sky-folk mean
To make their homes all fair to see,
Garnished, and gay as gay can be
0' nights, for starry company.



[Begun in the November number.]

HUGH and his mother knew that other eyes
must be near them. Hugh had already told
his mother all that had. happened to him and
Ned Wentworth since they had left the picnic
party to hunt;, but she was too thirsty and tired
and excited to say much in reply. Shewas afraid
to have him talk now, except in whispers; but
he insisted that he knew where they were, and
that they were getting nearer the front door"
of the cave-man's hidden house.
"I cannot walk any farther, Hugh," she sud-
denly exclaimed. "I am faint."
There was an answer, but it did not come
from him. Silence! was the warning from
a shadow near them. "Down, both of you!
Let them go by!"
Down sank Lady Parry and her son, shiver-
ing with surprise and fear, while there was a
rustling sound near.
Hugh," whispered the voice, I 've found
your father. I 've brought him into the cave.
You and your mother must wait just where you
are. Three of those robbers have scouted
this way. They 're going back to their camp
soon, and when the coast is clear you can go
right in. Wait till you hear me' coo-ee-e' before
you move. I '11 draw them off for you."
Mother," whispered Hugh, "it 's Beard.

Keep still! and he added to the cave-man
in the dark, All right; we '11 wait."
A few minutes later, they heard the trampling
of feet, and the sound of rough, low voices,
passing very near them. She put an arm around
Hugh, and he raised his gun and cocked it
with a thrill of courage.
That was the last scout made that night by
the white robbers; but the blackfellows were
still stirring, and the little black boy had yet
another thing happen to him. He had almost
found his people,-or believed that he had,-
and indeed several of them crept close to him
in the gloom. He believed it until two of
them caught him by his arms, and a harsh voice
rasped out: Ka-kak-kia "
He was a captive once more, and in worse
hands than before. He was likely to lose all
his sticks again, and his life too. He knew it,
but he behaved with stubborn pluck, and did
not utter a sound.
Ka-kak-kia did not intend to kill his prisoner,
or to steal sticks from him.
He told him to go and 'find his friends, and
to say that the blackfellows must stop killing
one another until after their fight with the white
fellows, of all sorts, should be finished. They
must act, for a day or so, as if they were friends.
It seemed an unheard-of proposal, but the
black boy listened, and at the end of it they let
go of him. He gathered all the sticks he had
rescued, hugged them tightly, and darted for-


ward, hardly more than half sure that he had
not been killed.
His next report was to his lame father, and
then all the others of that party knew what had
become of their slain comrade. When they
heard the strange proposal made by Ka-kak-
kia, they at once agreed to it; for short truces
are a sort of custom among all their tribes.
Then the woods heard cry after cry that must
have been understood, for in a very short time
the blackfellows of both parties were grouped
together around a fire they lighted. But not

sprang to her feet with a frightened exclama-
tion, and she breathed quickly for a moment
as she strove to remember where she was.
She thought of being brave, too, and drew
her revolver out of its case; but it seemed to
tremble so much as to be of no use.
There was the river, gleaming in the moon-
light. Behind her lay the dark, terrible forest,
with its untold dangers. At her side were the
two faithful hounds, baying their angry warn-
ings at something yet unseen. Helen's first
thought was of the dingos, but then she re-

one of them had anything to cook by it, or was membered the blackfellows. One of the dogs
then likely to have, for all the food, found or dashed forward, and Helen heard:
stolen, in the robbers' camp, had been eaten. "Who could have expected to find you here!
Where 's the camp?"
Helen Gordon was suddenly startled from The other dogs followed the first, and Ned
the half nap into which she had fallen. She Wentworth found himself nearly upset by them.



Oh, Ned!" cried Helen, half sobbing, as she
sprang toward him from the foot of the tree.
"Poor Helen!" exclaimed Ned. "Why,
where are all the rest?"
In a few moments she explained.
"We 'll start right away," said Ned. "We
can get back to the cave by moonlight.
There's no more danger in trying it than there
is in staying here. You mount, and I '11 lead
the horse. Come!"
He felt as if he were a knight-errant guarding
a princess from giants and dragons. For her
part, Helen felt almost cheerful.
"Don't talk, Helen," said Ned; "we must
make no more noise than we can help."
Still, they did exchange a few whispered
words as they went along.

After Beard left Lady Parry and Hugh, he
moved away rapidly, seeming to be laboring
under strong excitement or even suffering. It
was only a minute or two, however, before they
heard a clear, prolonged "Coo-ee-e! Coo-
ee-e!" at some distance.
There," said Hugh. That must be Beard.
It means that we can go right along. Come,
Mother, we can get to the cave. Father is safe
somewhere. So is Helen. Come! It is not
so very far."
"Coo-ee-e!" sounded again, a little more
"Don't you see, Mother?" said Hugh;
"Beard is drawing the robbers off."
The three robber-scouts followed the coo-
ee-e rapidly, for several minutes, because it was
leading them toward their own camp. Then
one of them said:
Jim, it 's no use! I 'm fagged out. We can't
catch anything in the dark. All I was hoping
for was to surprise him by a camp-fire or in
a shanty."
So they gave up the search; but that coo-
ee-e had been heard by the blackfellows also,
and had brought them all to their feet except
Ka-kak-kia. He had a very good reason for
not heeding it.
"Friend," he said; and then he explained to
the rest that he knew the voice very well.
Not kill him right away," he said; and all
answered, as with one voice, in their own tongue:

"That's the white fellow who can't be killed.
He won't die."
Somehow or other, they had all acquired that
notion concerning the cave-man.
Hugh helped his mother to mount her horse.
The noble animal was more thirsty than weary,
and plodded along, keeping his head over
Hugh's shoulder, as if afraid of something, he
knew not what. Lady Parry was regaining her
courage. She had found her son, and she was
now going to find her husband.
Her husband, sitting there in the cave, began
to feel almost as if he were no better off than
before. He was no longer hungry or thirsty.
He was too strong a man to be tired, and he
was becoming restless.
"I saw him go out in that direction," he
remarked, at last. "Maybe I could find that
front door without any help. At all events I
can't be cooped up here any longer."
He kindled a torch, and tried to find Beard's
way out. He went only a step at a time, study-
ing the walls and the pillars, and as he walked,
he talked to himself:
Here are two saddles," he said, and bri-
dles. He seems to have all sorts of things-
firearms and tools. I wonder who he is, and
what he is doing here? An escaped convict,
most likely. But, then, he did n't wish to do
me any harm, and he would n't let me hurt
the blackfellow. There 's certainly some good
in him, and I must n't forget that he saved
Hugh's life, and Ned's life, and my own.
Hullo! Here 's a sort of opening. I '11 explore
it. Ah-I have put out my torch!"
He had bumped his head, and put out his
torch against the low, sloping roof of rock
above him.
"It 's a pokerish place to creep about in,"
he went on. "What's that?"
He was suddenly aware that there was some-
body else in that narrow passage. He spoke
no more aloud, but his thoughts were busy.
I hear breathing. Some one is surely creep-
ing in. They have found the front door, that
he said was so safely hidden. Shall I have to
fight a blackfellow in here? It can't be one
of the boys. Either of the boys would have
spoken. I 'd better get out my revolver!"
Hugh at the same moment was making



ready his revolver. For Hugh and his mother
had reached and found the front door, and
they were creeping into the cave. The boy
had also heard some one moving, for he was
saying to himself:
"It can't be Ned or Beard! "
"Hugh," said his mother aloud, "I wish I
could stand up. Can't you call out and let
anybody in there know we are here? "
"Hugh? Hurrah!" And then, knowing
her husband's voice, Lady Parry exclaimed:
"Is that you, Frederick? Quick, Hugh!
Move faster! You are not hurt, are you?"
"No; wait I '11 relight the torch," said
Sir Frederick. "If this is n't the strangest
meeting! "
Before long they were standing in front of
the fire, and Hugh was heaping it with dry
branches from Beard's wood-pile.
"Has n't he a beautiful house, Mother? "
Hugh asked, as the brilliant blaze lighted up
the cave. I will go for some water, Father,
while you see whether you can get mother some-
thing to eat."
"Hugh, take some water out to the horse, if
you can," said his mother.
"Of course I will! said Hugh, promptly.
He picked up the tin kettle, a coil of bark
rope, and a torch, and walked far into the cave.
His mother's eyes followed him for a moment,
and then she turned and put her hands upon
Sir Frederick's shoulders, and looked anxiously
into his face.
"Fred," she said, "what can have become
of Helen? Do you know anything about her?"
I hoped that both of you had found your
way back to camp," replied the baronet,
gloomily. "I still hope that she did."
Hardly had he said the words when she
heard the barking of the dogs, and Ned and
Helen entered the cave.

Ned Wentworth led Nap along through the
forest and through the scrubby growth along
the foot of the mountain. Helen was no
longer thirsty, but she was so weary and faint
that she could hardly keep the saddle. Ned
himself felt his weariness coming back again,
but it was as nothing compared to his anxiety
lest he should lose his way. He almost forgot

his fear of the blackfellows in his dread of
"Here we are, Helen," he exclaimed at last.
"I can see the tree. We can leave Nap here,
but the danger is n't quite over. Can you
walk ? "
"I can, for a short distance," said Helen,
smiling bravely as he helped her down; "but-
I am so tired !"
Off came the saddle and bridle to be hidden
in the underbrush, and Nap was turned loose
to feed, while Ned, with Helen leaning upon
his arm, walked bravely on through what
seemed to him their last danger.
"It 's over at last," he exclaimed, as they
reached the tree. "Now, Helen he drew
a long breath of dismay at that moment, and
exclaimed in a frightened tone:
"Helen! I 'm afraid we are too late. The
cave has been discovered! Somebody has
gone in and left the front door open!"
"But, Ned," said Helen, "see the dogs."
For in a flash the dogs had scrambled into
the entrance to the cave.
"That's a good sign, I think," said Ned.
"I '11 go ahead, anyhow, and you creep in after
me. Do you dare to follow? It 's dark! "
"I '11 come, Ned," said Helen, bravely. "I
can't stay here by myself."
Ned was already disappearing into the bur-
row. Helen felt fainter than before, but fol-
lowed him upon her hands and knees.
The torch is gone," she heard Ned mutter.
"Well, we must go ahead. I '11 be ready to
shoot. See, there 's a light coming. Helen,"
he added more loudly, somebody 's here. I
hope it 's Hugh!"
Who 's there ?" shouted a deep, gruff, yet
somewhat shaky voice. Speak quickly."
"Who is it ?" added a woman's voice. "Is
it you, Ned Wentworth ? "
"Aunt Maude and Uncle Fred! Both right
here in the cave-house!" exclaimed Helen.
Helen Gordon and Ned!" exclaimed Sir
Frederick. "Can it be possible ?"
Hugh had hurried with the kettle of water,
and was back at the fireplace when the party
met at the front door. He saw the dogs, too,
and he called:
Mother, has Ned found Helen ?"




Hugh," came back tleh voice of Sir Freder-
ick, "they are allfound!"
"We are safe," remarked Lady Parry, thank-
fully; "but--I wish I knew how we are to
get back to camp,-and to the Grampians."


LARGE caves are very likely to have branches.
Beard's cave, at a first glance, seemed to con-
sist only of the vast hollow which began at the
fissure leading into it from under -the great
tree. The fact, however, that it had a side
door proved that it was very much like other
So far as any of Beard's present guests were
aware, the space near the fireplace was the
most comfortable room in his "house." If it
contained no chairs, there were blocks of stone
to sit upon. There was no other furniture, not
so much as a dinner-table, as the guests remem-
bered when the boy cooks. announced that
dinner was ready, as they shortly did.
"I 'm sleepy, rather than hungry," said Lady
Parry, "and I am tired enough to sleep, even
on a stone floor."
"Sir Frederick," came, at that moment, from
among the group of pillars near the entrance,
"will you please step this way for a moment.
Ned-you come, too!"
The voice was deep and clear.
That's Beard! said Ned. "-I'm coming-"
Come here,'Beard," said the baronet.
"No," he replied, I:'ve another matter on
my hands. I am glad you 're all safe."
Sir Frederick was a man accustomed to have
his own way, but the flush that came to his face
was quickly gone, and he arose and went to the
"Beard," he said, "come in and -speak to
Lady Parry and my niece. They wish to thank
Not now! There is no time!" said Beard,
hastily. "In among the stalagmites, yonder, you
will find some grass-matting bags, stuffed with
moss. They will be better than the rock for
ladies to sleep on. Ned, get your gun and
come with me."
"All right," said Ned, and he went back for

his gun, although even his tough young mus-
cles had a strained feeling.
" Sir Frederick," continued Beard, "not one
of you must venture out while I am gone. The
woods are full of dangers. Hugh and Ned must
bring me a kettle of water for the horses,-just
to wet their mouths a little."
"We '11 stay here," said the, baronet, and -he
turned and repeated the warning to Hugh and
Then he tried to ask Beard a number of,
questions, but he was altogether unable to ob-
tain from the cave-man any information. So he
went back to Lady Parry and 'Helen. The
water was brought, and Ned. followed his
strange friend out into the open air.
S" I know where to find the horses," said
Beard. "Just a little taste for each will do, till
we get back. I sha'n't be gone long."
.Ned crouched, in some underbrush while
Beard disappeared among the shadows.
"He shut the front door carefully enough,"
said-Ned to himself. "What can he be up to ?
I can stand it better than Hugh can. I 'm
tougher, somehow. He 's about used up; but
then he 's stronger than I in pulling or lifting."
Ned had but a short time to wait, and-he
was almost surprised that nothing happened to
him while he was waiting. He was getting so
used to having queer things happen that he
missed them if they did not come.
"The horses have been needing that water,"
remarked Beard, when he came gliding back
and put down his kettle. "They 're all right,
and we can find them in the morning. Now,
Ned, you and I must go and get some coffee
for Lady Parry. We shall get another prize or
two besides.
Coffee?" exclaimed Ned. "Where can we
find coffee in those woods ? "
Come with me, and you will soon see,"
said Beard.
A-strange thought entered Ned's mind. He
saw that Beard seemed much excited; he hardly
appeared like the same man. His motions
were nervous and quick, and he spoke rapidly.
Could it be possible that the cave-man was
losing his reason? Perhaps he lived away out
there because he was crazy and could not live
with other men. It was a terrible thought, and



Ned forgot his weariness while he watched his
"We '11 get some coffee," repeated Beard.
"She's only a woman, and Helen's but a young
girl. They need more care than men and boys.
I 'm glad they are in my house; but
they 're not safe yet. by

At that moment there was a rustle in the
bushes near them, and-Beard stopped short and
lowered his rifle from his shoulder. Ned did
the same, but the rustling sound went away,
a jump at a time, and the cave-man muttered:
"It was some animal."
Yo6 saw them tried ?" said Ned. "Was
lie co.\ icted ? D'.i heC tell them w\ho he was?"
- He wa: t,:,'. pro:u. foI r tlit." iid Beard.
"He lent lby the name ot Ro:gdon-
jiLt a ti i:t rof hi; or,.n n .rne. Yes, he
Sa- conmi'ted :ind sentenced
to transl.:": rtatn n."
And he was tlnnspurted?"
Qaid Ned. "- Yes," said
Beard, -- he was
sent out here,

any nle an. I
know all about ,
al HeOW doi \o g '
know all a:,ot them ?"
asked Ned.
LAd- Maude is a noble ,
woman." aMid Beard, with-
out noticirng the question.
"wI kc ablu:,t her; I knew
brotl-r it hers, once.
IN,_ .LI s'" aii Ned,. e -
erly. \Vha sort if a ;fl,,w, -.
wase -
"A ni:.:t tunluckly lello:, sa id
Bear i. --A great fooll, tr. So :proud
that h!e ws adl s un his ninA
-hot-tempered and obstinate. He got "IT WAS LOWERED SLOWLY AND STEADILY UNTIL HE COULD
into trouble at home and ran away. He TAKE HOLD OF IT." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
had a stepfather who was not fair to him-- to Australia, and his pride was as great as ever.
or so he thought. Just a.fool of a boy, that 's He got away into the bush among the bush-
all. He ran away and got into bad company, rangers, and he could n't get along--even with
and he was too green to know how bad it was. them. He seemed to make enemies wherever
They were thieves and counterfeiters, and he he went-in short, he was the greatest fool
had n't been with them three days when they you ever heard of."
were caught and he was found with them. I I know," said Ned, as they walked rapidly
was in the court-room when they were tried." along, keeping a sharp lookout; "the bush-


rangers are about the worst thieves in all the
"That 's so," said Beard; "they are all of
that. They are sharp, too. They called Lady
Parry's brother Big Red, and whenever any-
thing worse than common was done, they all
laid it to him-to Big Red; and the Colony
government offered heavy rewards for him,
dead or alive."
"What became of him?" asked Ned.
"Oh, they believe he was lost in the woods
somewhere! said Beard, or else he 's over
among the mountains, or in the gold-diggings,
or living among the blackfellows where no
white men will ever come. It 's years and
years since they 've heard of him."
"I guess they must have given him up long
ago," said Ned.
"I suppose they have," said Beard; "but
he had an older brother that was heir to the
family property, so it did not make so much
"He 's in the army and he 's in India," said
Ned. "Helen is his daughter. She has lost
her mother, and Lady Parry is bringing her up."
"She is a noble woman! exclaimed Beard.
It had seemed to do him good to tell that
story, and he was quieter now; but Ned had
only a dim idea of the direction in which they
had walked.
"Now, Ned," said Beard, "we 're getting
near the coffee-shop. We 've scouted around
your old camp by the waterfall. The robbers
are there. I 'm going to show you something
new pretty soon-my coffee-shop."
"Coffee-shop?" said Ned, and again it
occurred to him that Beard must be going
"Here it is," said Beard about five minutes
later; and Ned replied:
"Why, it 's another big tree! "
Only the stump of one," said Beard, laying
aside his rifle. "I want you to stand right
here. When I let down anything, you unhitch
the rope it's tied to. It 'll take me quite a
while to climb that stump in the dark. The
moonshine can't get in here to help me."
Ned now, for the first time, noticed a coil
of bark rope that the cave-man carried over
his shoulders.

He is n't climbing the tree," he next- re-
marked; "he is walking away into the woods.
I do believe that man 's gone crazy. He 's
surely insane ] "
Beard seemed to know what he was about,
however, for he went very straight to the tree
he had first ascended by, when Ned was not
there, and up he went into its branches. He
crept cautiously along, grasping hard and
making sure of his hold. From tree to tree,
and up, up, up he went, as if he had been a
human orang-outang or a gorilla.
Ned watched with keen anxiety, standing
there between the ashes of the old camp-fire
and the foot of the stump. He was not look-
ing up, but rather watching the gloom around
him lest any enemy should steal in and take
him by surprise.
"Hullo !" he exclaimed, "what's that ?"
He was severely startled, indeed, for some-
thing had swung against him with a blow that
all but knocked him down.
"It is- a saddle!" he said. "Beard has
lowered it from the stump."
He felt better as he loosened the loop that
held the saddle. There were a bridle and some
other things with it. Up went the rope, as
soon as it was loose, while Ned remarked to
himself: But that is n't coffee."
A few minutes later, as he gazed upward, he
saw something coming down which seemed to
glimmer a little. It was lowered slowly and
steadily until he could take hold of it.
It 's a coffee-pot!" he exclaimed. "It 's
bigger than the one in our camp, and it is two-
thirds full of coffee !"
There was really something startling in re-
ceiving a pot of coffee in that manner.
Ned waited patiently, but Beard had finished
his errand at the top of the stump and was on
his way down. He had quite a number of
curious questions to answer, when he again
came within Ned's reach.
It did not take him long to find a hiding-
place for the saddle and other things, and then
he and Ned and the coffee-pot set out for home.
All was very quiet there. The sacks of moss
had been found, and Lady Maude and Helen
fell asleep upon them as if they had been their
own beds-Sir Frederick and Hugh had only




a small sack for their heads to rest upon, the
other part of their bed being rock. Both of
them tried to keep their eyes open, but it was of
no use, and even Yip and the hounds went to
sleep. The cave was really the safest sleeping-
place in all that wilderness. It was silent, ex-
cept for the dull roar of the torrent.

Now, Ned," said Beard, as they plodded
along with the coffee-pot, "we are to do a little
work that is not without danger. We must get
a look at the fellows who are trying to find us.
You keep close to me, and be silent!"
Cautiously, stealthily, they went forward, and
Ned was trembling with excitement and expec-
"There," whispered Beard. "They have
built a fire. Look sharp now!"
Ned could at first hardly discover the faint
glow which his companion had seen; but it
grew brighter as they crept nearer, and before'
long Beard whispered:
"Those are the blackfellows. Both bands
are together, now; Ka-kak-kia's band and the
other have united. That means just so much
greater danger for us. If they were fighting
each other we could escape more easily. I 'm
glad to know they've camped, though, and are
not out after us. Come, Ned, it won't do to
scout any nearer a camp of blackfellows. Their
ears are quicker than a dog's. We must now
take a look at the land-pirates."
Ned nodded, without a word, and the cave-
man went forward again as if he almost knew
the paths of that forest in the dark. He did
not have to travel far before he again whispered,
"There! and the glow of another fire began
to blend faintly with the gloom of the forest.
"We can venture nearer to them than to
blackfellows," said Beard, "but we must n't
actually risk anything."
"We must get safe back to the cave with our
coffee," replied Ned.-
Beard seemed entirely satisfied with what
could be seen from under a bush a hundred
yards away from the camp. Three of his
enemies were lying down, asleep. Two were
sitting up, rifle in lap. One was walking around
as a sort of patrol. Beyond the glow of their

camp-fire could be dimly seen the glitter of the
thundering waterfall. It was a sight well worth
coming to see. When they were a little further
away, Beard whispered to Ned:
"They mean to come after us-or after
me -in the morning; but I don't believe one
of them will get back to the gold-diggings.
The blackfellows' camp-fire is too near this one.
No," he continued. They won't do any more
mining,- or robbing."
Ned thought of the other camp-fire, with the
blackfellows around it, but it all seemed much
like a dream.
"Come along, Ned," whispered his friend.
"I can't quite understand why there is n't
anything stirring, here or there. Hist!"
Ned looked toward the land-pirates' camp.
The men on guard, looking out into the dark,
could not have seen anything, but a tall, naked
human figure passed swiftly, glidingly along,
between Beard and Ned and the firelight. He
held in his hand a long spear, and he raised it
and shook it threateningly.
"He is going to spear one of them whis-
pered Ned, excitedly.
No, he is not," replied Beard. He is only
threatening because he feels like it. They never
throw a spear with the bare hand; they pitch
them with a throw-stick."
The blackfellow glided along into the dark-
ness, and the men he had threatened had no
idea that he had been near enough to have
sent his long spear among them.
."Most likely,"- said Beard, as he and Ned
again pushed forward, "the blackfellows will
wait and follow them by daylight, when they
can do better throwing, and try some plan to
attack them separately. That 's their way. Of
course, they are watching Sir Frederick's camp,
but they don't know about the cave."
Don't you ever get tired?" asked Ned, in
a very weary tone of voice.
"I hardly know what tire is," replied the
cave-man, smiling. "I 'm all right. Here we
are. Now, you carry in the coffee and tell them
how things are. Tell them not to try to leave
the cave till I come. I think it would be sure
destruction for them to make a start, just
now. So remember, Ned."

(To be continued.)


The Beaver's


Y the river, it
was' two days'
journey in the
canoe to the
while straight
through the
forest it was-
fully a scoreof
miles, and the railroad was ninety-eight miles
away. It was a wild, rough country, a wilder-
ness of firs and spruce and paper-birches; of
lakes and trout-streams fringed or choked with
alders; in the very heart of the Province of
New Brunswick in Canada.
It was the beavers' home but men had al-
ready learned the way there, and wherever men
go the same story always may be told. The
beavers' wonderful houses, built with such skill
and care, were destroyed; the dams were broken
and the. ponds were drained. Year-after year
when the trappers returned home, most of the
beavers went with them. The few that escaped
were those that left their haunts on the more
prominent waterways; so when I visited that
country, in the summer of 1892, beavers were to
be found, with a few exceptions, only in out-of-
the-way places on the smaller brooks.
Our camp was on the Serpentine River. My
tramps, sometimes alone, sometimes in the com-
pany of an old trapper, led twenty miles from
home in one direction, and seventeen miles in
the other. Everywhere were traces of beavers,

and there are unmistakable signs by which their
presence may be:known, although the animal
itself is rarely seen. For to-day, of their former
great numbers, scarcely one in twenty-five
The beaver belongs to that family of which
the common house-rat is a member, and in
general appearance its body is like that of a
giant muskrat. It is the largest of all rodents or
" gnawers," the body, when fully grown, being
about thirty inches in length, of which the head
alone is six inches. The hind feet are large as
compared with the front ones, and are webbed
like those of a duck, to aid it in swimming.
But that feature which is most popularly known
is a wide; flat, scale-covered tail that is about
five inches across its widest part and adds
nearly a foot to its owner's total length. Its
shape suggests a trowel, which has led some
people to believe it is used as such. But
probably its most important use is as a support
to the body when the animal sits erect upon its
hind legs, as it does when eating and when fell-
ing trees.
As in every "gnawer," its skull is armed with
two long chisel-like teeth in each jaw. These
teeth are exceedingly powerful, and are to a
beaver what an ax is to a woodsman. One
such tooth taken from the lower jaw of a
medium-sized skull (they can be removed with-
out difficulty, unlike the most of ours) is bent
into nearly a semicircle, and measures five
inches along its outer curve. Only one inch


of this length projects from the skull. The cor-
responding one from the upper jaw is bent into
more than a complete half-circle, and measures
upon its outer face four inches, of which less
than an inch protrudes from its bone casing.
In width each tooth is five eighths of an inch.
Examination of one of them reveals the secret
of how a beaver can perform such feats as

which keeps it constantly growing. Thus, not
only is the natural wearing away provided
against, but a certain amount of wear becomes
an actual necessity. With such instruments,
the beaver is admirably fitted for obtaining its
natural food, the bark of shrubs and trees.
None of the evergreens are touched, but the
more delicately flavored barks of whitewood,


.. .. .- .. -. '.-...... ; .. ..'* ***-T -

chopping down a birch-tree sixteen inches in
diameter, not to speak of softer woods, like the
basswood, of much greater size. The tooth is
composed of two materials. Along the outer
face or front of the tooth is a thin plate of ex-
ceedingly hard enamel; on the inner, form-
ing the body of the tooth, is a substance called
dentine. The dentine, being softer, wears away
with use; the thin enamel remains compara-
tively unworn, so that the tooth assumes the
shape of a keen chisel that never grows dull.
The tooth is hollow at the base for half its
length, and is filled with a nourishing substance
Vo.. XX.-39.

moosewood, and alder, and the smaller poplars
and maples, are chosen. But especially do they
like the inner bark and that on the smaller
limbs of the paper- or canoe-birch.
A shrub of an inch thickness is cut down at
two or three bites, the top and twigs are bitten
off, and the pole dragged away to be peeled.
But with a large birch the case is different.
With powerful cuts the tree is gnawed into
upon every side, and chips like those shown on
the next page, and often three inches in length,
are strewn about the ground. At each cut the
surface of the wood is left as if chiseled with a



pair of tiny gouges. These are sure signs of
beaver-work. The stump is rounded as is shown

in the picture on the next
page. Should the tree
lodge, the trunk is again
cut as high as.the beaver
can reach. Afterward all
the limbs are hewn off
and carried away, even
to those as thick as a
man's arm.
During '
the sum-
mer days
bout, usu- J
ally with no fixed abode. They
then occupy old houses or holes
in the banks of streams, to which
latter they also resort when
driven from their winter houses
by the spring freshets.
These burrows, Indians say, I
are made by beavers too lazy to
build a dam and house-perhaps
by old fellows that would not
work and were driven out of the

community. The accompanying diagram shows
a section of a "bank" beaver's abode on the
Deadwaters of the Serpentine River.

The Deadwaters is a natural pond two miles
in length, with an average width of half a dozen
rods--a perfect place for beavers. It lies
between low banks in a flat, broad valley that
is covered with an unbroken carpet of moss
and a thick growth of scrubby "cat" spruce.
Under the blackened roots of a tree that stood
at the water's edge, where the bank was but
little higher than the water's surface, a dark
opening, partly under water, drew my attention
one day as I was with much exertion making
my way down the Deadwaters on a small raft.
The bank was much worn away at the water's
edge, as if an otter frequented the place. Curi-
osity led me ashore. About fifteen feet from
the water grew a large tree 'at the -side of
a slight elevation. Three or four weather-
bleached sticks as large as one's wrist lay upon
the summit of the mound. Paths less than a
foot wide led from the water's edge, and were
lost among the trees. I began digging a hole
into the soft earth at the foot of the tree.
A cavity was soon brought to view. It proved
to be a nearly circular room, three feet across


and two feet high, hollowed out beneath the
arched roots of the tree. Toward the water a
large opening extended downward. I pushed
my head well into the hole I had made. A glim-
mer of daylight could be discerned at the end
of the low passageway. Getting accustomed
to the darkness, there appeared to be a chamber
quite smooth on the bottom, four feet across
and over a foot high. Near at hand a steel
trap lay on the floor. It proved, taken to the
daylight, to be an old rusted beaver-trap at-
tached by a rusty chain to a water-sdaked stake,




apparently many years old. This
hole had been a beaver's house. The
trap had been set at the door. A
beaver had been caught, perhaps
by the toes, had dragged the trap
inside, and then pulled loose. The
chamber at the end had been the
living-room. The larger room had
been the food-chamber, where was
kept its stock of food wood.
The water being low in the
stream, the floor of the pas-
sageway was barely covered,

There was no-
thing in th two feet RAC, AN SALING
appearance of water its

ground above to indicate the usual house of
occupa beaver except those sticks. The guileless
still have evidently did not know when to leave
highwell enough alone, for by putting those sticks
there, true to its instinct, it plainly said, Here

is a beaver's house."
A mile way, on the same Deadwaters, was
a more conspicuous object. About fifty yards TWI
from shore, where the A Bpond was widest, among

the oval leaves of the lilies that crowded the
surface of the water, rose a large mound. The
gpond was nto indicate there but that the lilies
could reach the upper air with their yguilellow
beaver evidently did not know when to leave

well enough alone, for by putelevation that just missed
there, true to its instinct, it plainly said, "Here

being an island, the mound rose upon a base of
A mitwelve feet each way. The same foundeadwation was
nothing but a conspicuous of sticks, most of them as
from shore, where the pond was widest, among
the oval leaves of the lilies that crowded the
surface of the water, rose a large mound. The
pond was not so deep there but that the lilies
could reach the upper air with their yellow
stems; and from an elevation that just missed
being an island, the mound rose upon a base of
twelve feet each way. The foundation was
nothing but a pile of sticks, most of them as

large as one's wrist, and peeled and weather-
worn; but the body of the structure looked
like a pile of dirt-earth and fine vegetable
matter-well covered with peeled sticks of
considerable age. When it was first discovered
and the drawing of it made, there lay upon the
summit two short twigs of alder whereon the
leaves were turning brown.
I began digging into the beaver's house. The
roof was an almost inextricable mass of sticks
lying in all directions with earth packed solidly
around them. It was not desired to remove
the whole pile bodily (though that might have
been easier), so it was only by the hardest
muscular exertion, breaking out stick after


stick through more than a foot of the firm
and-compact roof, that the inside of the house
was reached.
What a reeking, soggy hole the rays of the
sun lighted up It was circular in form and
three feet across the floor, which was slightly
hollow in the middle. The walls rose six inches.
Sticks about an inch thick were laid around in
building, one upon top of another, like inter-
locked fingers. Though not woven, in the

'6 I


sense of the sticks being bent around, neverthe-
less the surprising smoothness of the wall, to-
gether with the even manner in which the sticks
had been arranged, suggested the inside of a
Spaces between the sticks were filled in with

that so long as we were there the occupant
failed to appear.
As long as warm weather lasts, the beaver
lives an easy life, as this one did, disturbed
only by the ungainly moose that wades out and
shares his crop of lily-stems. But in a country


black mud, and whenever the end of a stick had
protruded, it had been gnawed off even with the
wall. Then the sides were rapidly drawn in-
ward, and ended in a low domed roof about
two feet high. At one side of the room, which
was only a few inches above the water, a pas-
sageway led downward and outward, being
the only entrance. A strong odor of beaver
filled the room. The occupant had been sitting
in the middle of the floor eating the-pulpy lily-
After skilfully stripping off their yellow skins,
he gathered the shreds into wads which he
tucked back out of the way. There was also a
freshly cut alder stick, about two feet long, from
which every twig had been clipped and part of
the bark gnawed off. It evidently had been cut
to eat, but the sourish lily-stems tasted better,
so it was discarded. It is not necessary to say

where the winters are severe and the snow piles
up six to nine feet on a level, he must prepare
for the future.
A family of beavers, consisting, perhaps, of a
pair of old ones and their children, have eaten
everything in the way of bark that can be eaten,
and must change their quarters. Selecting a
stream where food is abundant, they will build
a dam-for a ready-made pond like the one
just described is, of course, not to be found
every day.
On these northern brooks, alders spring up
wherever they find a foothold, often quite chok-
ing the stream. Usually mere bushes, they
sometimes attain a height of twenty feet and a
diameter of six inches, and take entire posses-
sion. Such places a beaver loves, for they
furnish an abundant building material, and help
to hold their dams in place. At the point




chosen for the dam, sticks are cut of varying
size and laid in the brook, butts pointing down-
stream. Others are laid on top of these, not
always parallel, but in every direction, yet mod-
erately smooth on the lower side. Dirt, sticks,
and stones are piled on top, then more sticks,
until there rises an irregular, narrow pile of
brush and dirt, the whole thoroughly matted
Groups of alders standing in midstream are
taken in whenever it is possible, and to ob-
tain the support of these, a dam may change its
direction several times. Freshets cannot tear
them away. As the dam grows higher, the
water begins to flow around the ends. So the
dam is added to, bit by bit, until even in a

occupied by beavers. It must have been
built many years. It was about three feet
high, and built around clumps of giant alders
growing in the bed of the brook. Sediment
and fine driftwood had in time gathered upon
it, and a rank growth of weeds and grass had
taken possession of the crest. Thus even a new
dam is soon obscured, and the alders grow so
thickly about it that usually there is little to be
seen of any beaver-dam. Photographs rarely
show anything of the structure.
Upon an elevation in such a pond, just cov-
ered by the water, the beavers build their house,
after the manner of the one just described, ex-
cept, however, that the usual house, when newly
built and covered with fresh-cut limbs, resem-


small brook it may reach a length of three or
four hundred feet,- in some places a slight
ridge that one would scarcely notice, in others
a pretentious structure, two or three, and some-
times five or six, feet high, over which the water
The picture on page 612 shows a dam recently

bles more a heap of brushwood. But in the case
of the house on the Deadwaters, mud was a
building material more plentiful than alders. A
family apartment, accommodating five or six,
may be six or seven feet across the floor, or
"shelf," while the walls are built up to the
height of a foot. Poles (some of which are as


large as one's wrist), laid slantingly upward and
covered with earth, and other sticks to a thick-
ness of over a foot, compose the roof of the
chamber, which is three or four feet from floor
to ceiling. Between the sticks at the peak is
space for ventilation. Each member of the


family owns a bed, which it lines warmly with
grass or shreds of poplar wood split as fine
as if for basket-work. There are several exits
under water for additional safety. Another
purpose of the pond becomes apparent. The
bed of a beaver-pond is shown in the picture
on page 613. The dam, a long, grass-grown
ridge, three feet high in the middle, was de-
stroyed a few years ago, and now only a tiny
stream of water courses through the black,
muddy bottom. Fir-trees, killed by the rising
water when the pond first was made, stand with
gray, mossy limbs and broken tops, like specters
against the dark background of the evergreen
woods. Some have fallen prostrate into the

pond, and beavers have trimmed off the limbs
so that their motions under water might not be
impeded. But in the middle of the pond is a
fan-shaped pile of brush,-all the butts point-
ing toward the entrance of the house. There
is a wagon-load of it the store of winter's
food, covered with water and ice before the
pond was drained. Every stick had been cut
in the surrounding woods and dragged sepa-
rately to that place. Paths, a little less than a
foot in width, lead back a distance of a quarter
of a mile from the stream. These paths are
found in every beaver settlement. The birches
and whiteivoods are separated from the resinous
evergreens, and dragged along these little roads.
Saplings growing in the way are chopped off
close to the ground. In one place where a
large pine log lay across their hauling road, a
section of solid wood a foot wide and six inches
deep was cut out. Indeed, when large logs fall
across their ponds, an entire section is some-
times removed for the passage of their bodies.
This pond was the most important in that
whole settlement,-one of a series of ten or
twelve,- occupied before its destruction by a
very large family of beavers.
At the head of the big pond, a short dam,
backing the water three or four rods, was
thrown across the stream. Above was a third
dam. Neither contained, houses-they were
for storage, and belonged to the family living
below. But at the head of the last pond was
a large dam, in which there was a house, and
above that were several smaller ponds. In the
other direction, below the first big pond, there
were five more, one containing a house. Thus
there was made a continuous deep waterway on
a brook that otherwise could not sustain a six-
inch trout in comfort.
Only four years ago this had been a great,
flourishing community. A white man found it
first, and of course talked of it. At his heels
came Indians, who captured every beaver but
two, and left scarcely a dam undestroyed.
Two years afterward the two that had es-
caped shared the fate of their kindred. Such
is everywhere the story of the beaver. Soon
there will be none left.
In winter, secure in his thick-walled house
and with a storehouse of food locked beneath


the ice, the beaver lives at ease. But at every houses from the animal heat within. So, while
thaw he comes forth and works, in sunshine the world outside is cold and cheerless, the
and rain, until the cold drives him back. The beaver is warm and comfortable in his dark
snow is said to melt upon the tops of their home under the snow.


*A vain little, plain little woman each day
Would don her big theater hat,
And then, while she looked at the glass, she would, say:
"Why, I can't be as pretty as that!"




\a sun had set
~, half an hour
before, and the
deep, heavy twi-
light of an October even-
ing had settled over Moose
According.to his custom when his father was
away fishing, Frank Pinkham, the only son of
the lighthouse-keeper, had lighted the lamps,
made the lighthouse tidy, and brought in the
wood and water from the shed; then he had
walked to the seaward side of the little island,
and seated himself on the rocks. He did not
notice the schooners sailing up and down the
coast, the larger vessels farther out at sea, nor
the huge waves that came rolling in and broke
into spray against the rocks, casting their foam
high in the air. He was deep in thought.
Moose Island was two miles from the main-
land, six from the nearest post- or telegraph-
office, and a score from a town of any size.
Frank had passed the whole of his fifteen years
within the shadow of the tall lighthouse tower.
He attended school every day when the weather
permitted, rowing or sailing to the shore, and
then walking three miles to the district school-
house. When not in school, he "did the:
chores" about the island,- cleaned the lamps,
milked the cow, and assisted his father in
fishing. For. amusement, Frank shot plover
and peep along the shore in summer, and
black ducks in the fall; while in the winter he
devoted his spare time to reading eagerly the
meager literature that found its way to the
lighthouse island.
He was large for his age, and unusually
bright and active. He stood at the head of
his class, and had learned about all his teacher
could teach him. He was also a good wing-
shot, and few men could excel him in sailing

a whale-boat, or in baiting or under-running
a trawl-net. For some time he had been tired
of the life of a light-keeper, and he shrank
from the prospect of succeeding his father and
spending his life in such uneventful solitude.
His ambition was to go to the city and there
begin a business career, so that in a few years
he could fill a good position, and take his
father, mother, and sister Mary to live with
him. What he was fitted for, he did not really
know; but he felt sure he could succeed at
In the preceding June, his father had re-
ceived a letter from a Mr. Matthews who
wished to board at the lighthouse in August;
and, although the keeper had never taken
boarders, in this case he made an exception to
his rule. The gentleman wrote that he wished
to fish; shoot, and rough it generally, and.was
not particular about his board, provided, he had
plenty of fish and milk and eggs.
So Mr. Matthews came down to Moose
Island, and passed a month, greatly to the
satisfaction of the family. He was a quiet,
unassuming gentleman, and he possessed a fund
of information and good nature that made him
a very interesting talker.
Mr. Matthews and Frank soon became con-
stant companions, and passed the long summer
days in company. They sailed up and down
the coast, shot plover and peep, and caught
haddock, cod, and flounders. They usually
spent all day away from the island, taking
luncheon with them. They made their dinner
of fish, clams, and lobsters, with ears of corn
cooked over a fire of driftwood. Dinner over,
they would lie on the rocks or grass, and pass
the time in quiet talk till the sun began to near
the horizon. Then they would return to their
little craft, hoist the sail, and lay their homeward
course for Moose Island.


Mr. Matthews soon perceived that Frank
had not only a strong desire to better his posi-
tion in life, but also a keener intellect and judg-
ment than would be found in most boys with
no greater advantages. He was the editor of a
western newspaper; and Frank was never so
happy as when listening to stories of newspaper
life, and descriptions of how the great daily
papers are made. His friend explained to him
every detail of the business-how the news was
gathered from all parts of the world, the portion
the reporters and correspondents obtained, and
how those enterprising helpers were paid for it
according to its "exclusiveness," its quality, and
the work and ingenuity involved in securing it.

While a finished education is very desirable,
it is not really necessary," Mr. Matthews re-
plied. "The things necessary are wide-open
eyes and ears, a good common-school educa-
tion, a strong constitution, and lots of ambi-
tion and energy. You might make a good
reporter, Frank; and if you lived in a larger
place you might soon commence as a corre-
spondent. There is not much news here; but
if a ship should come ashore, a daily would be
glad to pay you for a good telegraphic account
of the wreck."
These remarks made a deep impression upon
Frank. Mentally resolving to be a reporter
some time, he asked so many questions about



One evening as they were sitting before the newspaper work during the editor's visit, that
fire in the lighthouse cottage, Frank remarked had their boarder been less patient and obliging,
in a questioning way: "I suppose a fellow must he would have tired of answering them all.
be well educated in order to start as a reporter? At the expiration of Mr. Matthews's vacation,



Frank drove him to the nearest railway sta-
tion. Mr. Matthews's last remark was:
"Well, Frank, keep on studying, and don't
be discouraged. You will be a reporter one
of these days!"
Good luck, Mr. Matthews! Come again,"
Frank answered. Then he drove slowly home-
ward, resolving that his friend's parting words
should come true.
From this time, Frank lived in the future and
in the hope of being a newspaper man. He was
on the free list of Mr. Matthews's paper, and
every evening he not only read it carefully,
but studied its contents and its make-up.
At night, after his work was done, he would
go to the edge of the island, and perching him-
self on the rocks, would remain there dreaming
until his father returned from fishing.
One evening he sat longer than usual, as his
father was late in returning. Frank was begin-
ning to feel anxious; for the wind, which had
been blowing fresh all day, was steadily increas-
ing, and there were signs of an approaching
northeast gale. But in a little while he saw
the "Black Bird's lights as she rounded the
point, and in a few minutes he had jumped
aboard. He helped his father to take in the
sails, and make things snug for the night.
As they returned to the house, Mr. Pinkham
said: "If I 'm not mistaken, we '11 have the
heaviest nor'easter to-night and to-morrow I
ever saw at this time of the year."
The prediction proved to be correct, and in
a few hours the storm began. It shook the
lighthouse till the tower seemed about to
topple over, and the great waves came break-
ing upon the boulders with a noise like thunder.
Their spray was cast against the house, though
it was fully a hundred feet back from the rocks.
The next morning the storm was still at its
height, but it had already accomplished its
work-about a mile and a half from the island,
a large ship was fast aground on the Southern
At' noon the weather cleared a little, the
storm began to abate, and the wreck could
easily be made out. The ship, a large vessel
of fully two thousand tons, rested on an even
keel, but was wedged tightly between great
jagged rocks that were grinding their way

through her timbers. She had evidently been
through a terrible night. Her mizzenmast was
gone, all her boats had been washed .away,
and the crew were just beginning to venture
from the rigging, where they had lashed them-
selves. to prevent being swept away by the
As Frank stood looking at the.wreck, the re-
mark that Mr. Matthews had made returned to
his. mind-" There is. not, much news here;
but if a ship should come ashore, a daily would
be glad. to pay you for a good telegraphic
account of the wreck."
Here was a chance to make a beginning as a
reporter-a chance to which he had been look-
ing forward, believing that it would not present
itself for years.
He rushed excitedly to the boats, and pushing
a dory down the shelving beach, never thinking
to ask permission or even to leave word where he
was going, jumped in and rowed for the wreck.
It was hard pulling against the heavy wind,
and through the rough water. His arms ached
as they had never ached before; but he tugged
at the oars, seeming at times to make scarcely
any progress.
An hour later, while gazing through his glass
at the wreck, his father was amazed to see
Frank and the dory. The tiny-boat was then
bobbing up and down like a cork, about half
a mile from the wreck. What could have
possessed him that he should undertake so dan-
gerous a trip-and why had he not asked
permission ? It was not like him to do such a
thing. His father watched him through the
glass, and groaned as the dory disappeared be-
hind a wave and was lost to view for several
He saw Frank approach the ship, the, dory
now at the crest of a wave on a level with her
deck, and then fifteen feet below in a hollow.
How can he board her? A ladder is thrown
over the side; he stands in his dory, the boat is
raised by a wave, and Frank throws the painter
aboard. As he nears the ladder, he springs for
it, catches it, and climbs safely to the deck!
If Captain Connelton, of the good ship
" Princess Annie," was surprised to see a mere
boy alight on his deck after that perilous feat,
he was much more surprised at the business-




like rapidity with which questions were asked
regarding 'the port from which the Princess
Annie. had sailed, where she was bound, who
owned her, what was her value, her cargo, and
so on. His catechism completed, Frank started
at once to return, offering to take with him a
sailor who could bring back the other dory,
and be ready to take the sailors ashore as soon
as the sea went down.
The return trip was quickly made; but not
till Frank had arrived at the island, and was
greeted as one who had had a narrow escape
from death, did he realize the danger of his trip.
It was then important to reach the telegraph-
office as soon as possible. To this trip his father
had no objections, for the row to the mainland
was through comparatively' sheltered water, and
besides, the wind was rapidly subsiding. Yet it
was a hard row, and a still harder walk, that
Frank had before him, and he was a very tired
boy as he entered the telegraph-office, late in
the afternoon. The operator was obliging, as
most operators are, and he also knew some-
thing of newspaper correspondence. In a few
minutes this message had been sent to the
managing editor of one of the great dailies:
Full account wreck of big ship. Do you want it?

In half an hour the answer came clicking
over the wires:

Rush one thousand words of wreck.

SThe next morning that managing editor's
paper was the only one having the news,-'and
so it gained what newspaper men call a "scoop"
over its rivals, who knew nothing of the details
of the wreck, by printing a long account of
how the Princess Annie, owned in New York,
from Hong Kong and for Portland, with a
cargo of tea, rags, bamboo, and pottery, worth
half a million dollars, had gone ashore the day
before on the Southern Reefs near Moose
Island, and would probably break up within
twenty-four hours and be a total loss.
The last portion of the Princess Annie had
disappeared the next day; and at the request
of the editor Frank sent another despatch
announcing the fact.
A week later he received a check for a goodly
Of course, Frank Pinkham succeeded in his
desire to become a newspaper man. No boy
having his determination could have failed. He
is now city editor upon the daily to which
he sent that first despatch from Moose Island.



C 'N the interesting article,
.. -- Learning to be Weath-
Ser Prophets," which ap-
peared in ST. NICHOLAS
last October, the young
People found avery clear
account of the method
by which the Weather
Bureau at Washington
collects and sends throughout the country much
valuable information about the weather.
To the people who live on shore the Weather

Map is, of course, a great boon, and their in-
terests are often greatly served by such season-
able knowledge.
But there is another class of men-men who
spend most of their lives on the ocean, and they
need a report which, though not unlike that
furnished for the dwellers on land, is yet of a
different nature.
The Weather Bureau in its published charts
conies down to the sea. Then the Hydro-
graphic Office of the Navy takes up the work,
and, for the benefit of the navigators of the



Atlantic Ocean, collects regularly and system-
atically facts which, collected in what is known
as the North Atlantic Pilot Chart, give the sea-
faring men one of the most valued publications
issued by any nation on earth. In truth, there
is no similar work that can be in any way
compared with it: none- so much sought for,
none which receives such willing aid from the
masters of vessels afloat. To the Division of
Marine Meteorology in the Hydrographic Office
come regular reports from more 'than 2500
vessels of every nation. There is not a flag
afloat from whose representatives records are not
received. Many foreign men-of-war give their
assistance, and this would not usually be ac-
corded unless the results were both useful and
accurate. To all vessels forms and envelops
are furnished free of charge, and every aid is
given to render as light as possible the task
Which they undertake. On these meteorological
forms, as they are called, are recorded by the
observers the direction and the force of winds,
the. figures shown by barometer, thermometer,
and so on, as they are each day at noon. The
date and place of running into and leaving
fog; the exact .locality- of icebergs or floating
ice seen during the voyage; every wreck, every
buoy adrift, and all unusual things floating in
the water which might injure a vessel striking
them, are also located as accurately as possible.
In the event of unusually severe storms, like the
cyclones of which you have all heard, records
are made on special forms furnished. If the
vessel's commander tries to lessen the danger
from waves by the use of oil on the water,-a
means of safety which is much encouraged,--his
experience is recorded on a form especially
printed for that purpose.
Finally, in order to add to the knowledge
of ocean currents, there are forms which are
called "bottle papers." On these little papers
an invitation, in six languages, is extended to the
masters 'of vessels to enter occasionally upon
the proper lines of the form the name of the
vessel and her captain, the date, and the ship's
position; and then to seal the. paper in a bottle
and cast it into the sea. In other lines of
this form a request is made, in the same six
languages, that the finder will write clearly the
exact place where, and date when, any bottle

was picked up, and by whom, and then forward
it to the Hydrographic Office at Washington,
or to any of our consulates abroad. These
bottles, of course, drift in the ocean currents.
Some are picked up soon after they are thrown
overboard, others drift for more than a year
before being recovered. They furnish valuable
records for more correctly fixing the currents
already known.
Day after day these reports are received by
the meteorological office; each one is acknow-
ledged promptly, and then given to the staff of
workers known as nautical experts.
The result of their labor is that on the last
day of every month is issued a chart on which
appears all the information received during the
month that has gone. The chart, then, contains
a review of the past month, and a forecast for
the month, that is to follow.
The prevailing winds to be expected, and
their strength, as foretold by men of many years
of experience, are also given for the month to
come. The various sailing-routes best adapted
for that month are mapped out, as well as the
steamship routes adopted by the principal trans-
atlantic steamship companies. Every floating
wreck, with its position when last reported;
each iceberg in its place as met with during
the preceding month, and the fog-banks, de-
termined in the same way, are fixed and
shown by marks. Besides all this, the latest
charts that have been issued by the office, and
the last Notices to Mariners," are mentioned.
In the upper left-hand corner is either a little
chart prepared in addition on some subject of
timely interest, or some further remarks about
things upon the great chart itself.
On every chart is printed information regard-
ing the storm signals of the United States coast,
and directions to be followed in the event of
being caught in hurricanes.
Nor is this all. So much information is gener-
ally at hand which is sure to be useful to the
Mariners, that very often a supplement is pub-
lished to accompany the chart proper.
Every month 3500 of these charts are printed
and sent out to the branch offices and to indi-
viduals. These branch offices are at Boston,
New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Norfolk,
Savannah, New Orleans, San Francisco, and


The heavy dark lines ending in arrowheads show storm tracks, and are thicker where the storm is more violent; a small circle in these lines shows the place of the storm at a date
given in figures. Wrecks and drifting vessels are indicated by a symbol and the name of the ship. The lines from shore to shore are steamer-routes. The prevailing winds at each
place are to be judged by the little arrows fixed to the regularly arranged circles. The date of observation is known by the figure in each circle, and the force of wind by the number of
"feathers on each arrow: Icebergs are shown by little pictures. In the left-hand upper comer is a part of a separate view of the track of an especially notable storm. Other signs
are explained by words in the map, or will be understood readily. [It is not necessary, in examining this greatly-reduced chart, to try to read the matter (in impossible type) at the sides.]


Portland, Oregon. Each is supplied with an
outfit of charts, books of sailing-directions, and
so forth, and to them the masters of vessels are
invited to bring instrumentsfor correction; here
they may seek information, which is gladly
furnished them without charge, and here they
obtain free copies of the pilot charts. To the

so that they may obtain the latest news before
they sail.
The value of the work done by the Hydro-
graphic Office in this way is again and again
learned from the commanding officers both of
"ocean greyhounds" and of old-time, sailing
vessels. In foreign periodicals unstinted praise

This chart shows clearly two records of drifting wrecks -the bark "Vincenzo Perrotta," and the schooner "Wyer G. Sargent." Fol-
lowingithe.track of the schooner, we see that she was wrecked east of Cape Hatteras, Martch 31, x89g, and the wreck, after being front time to
time reported, as shown by the dots and dates, was last seen, nearly m mid-ocean, on December 6, x892 one year' and eight months
later. The other wreck, the bark, seems to have been afloat a year and four months. It will be noticed that each vessel more than once
doubled on its track.
Wednesday and Saturday steamers leaving New and admiration, are awarded to the American
York and Boston especial attention is given. The energy which has developed so striking an enter-
pilot charts are sent to them by special delivery, prise, and has brought it to so successful an issue.
when necessary, and their messengers wait at Even a brief study of the charts will be interest-
the branch offices until the last possible moment ing and instructive to ST. NICHOLAS readers.



I ~C ih~-'

Ali ~~ ~ ~%
(hr~lL~~ J~I~ C ~ Rig

IN Arabia, many years ago, there dwelt a
mare called Ansha, renowned throughout the
length and breadth of the desert for her sur-
passing beauty, her unrivaled speed, and her
marvelous endurance. Khan Ali was her mas-
ter, and he loved her, and was proud of her
high repute; and she loved Khan Ali well, and
was proud to do his bidding. Many coveted
her, but all the gold yet offered in all the land
had not tempted Khan Ali to part with his
treasure. His coffers swelled with many wagers
won, for at a word or sign from her master,
Ansha showed her paces and won all races
against the best and fleetest of Arabia's horses,
until she came to be called "The Apple of
Arabia's Eye."
One day to Khan Ali came word from the,
Governor of- Trebizond, that a rich Count
from a far country had arrived- for the sole
purpose of seeing, and perhaps of buying, the
beautiful mare Ansha. The Count was waiting
at the Governor's house for her and her master.
For many leagues by night and by day across the
burning desert and through the burning sands
flew-Ansha, bearing her beloved master to an-
swer the Governor's commands. They trav-
eled with little rest, and arrived very worn and
weary, so that when Khan Ali had alighted
Ansha drew her four feet together under her,





S after the peculiar manner of Arabian
horses, her head drooped over, and
her little ears, so sharp and pointed
when erect, seemed to unfold, and fell
down long, like the ears of an ass.
And thus she fell asleep. Khan Ali also stood
to rest himself, and shaking from the folds of
his burnoose the sand of the desert, and its fine
impalpable dust, with a sigh of relief he drew
forth his pipe, and proceeded to light it. Soon
he felt the ground tremble under him, and lift-
ing his eyes, saw a line of horsemen approach-
ing. Passing through the gate which gave
them entrance to the inclosure appointed for
the rendezvous, they beheld the travel-stained
Arabian and the sleeping mare, and said to
Khan Ali:
"We have come to see Ansha, the famed
'Apple of Arabia's Eye.' "
With salaams and an indicating gesture,
Khan Ali said:
"Do you wish to try her speed?"
"What! now !-when she is so nearly dead
with fatigue?"
"Yes, Effendi, now. You see that tree, a
mile or so distant? I will give you a fair start
and we shall then see who will reach it first."
Being freshly mounted, they assented with
smiling disdain to so easy a race and so sure a
victory, and started their horses on a dead run.
Before they had gone one quarter the distance,
the mare passed them with easy strides; and
as they began the last quarter of the distance,
they looked far ahead. There sat the Arab


on the motionless mare, under the appointed
tree, coolly filling his pipe,- both man. and
mare in an attitude of easy waiting. Together,
they all returned to the rendezvous; the,Count
who had come to buy determined on the pur-
chase, and keeping close to Khan Ali, said:
"You are willing to sell this mare?"
"Yes, Effendi."
"How much do you want for her?"
"As much gold as a man can lift!"
,A strong bag was brought, and the servants of
the Count were beckoned to approach. They
began to empty their saddle-bags, and the gold
coins were poured, clinking and tinkling with a
merry sound, into the bag held open to receive
-them. When it was nearly full, the Arab lifted it,
but it came off the ground too easily. Shaking
his head with. dissatisfaction, he again opened
the bag, and held it toward them. More gold
was piled into its capacious mouth, and now,
with all the Arab's strength, he could barely lift
it from the-ground-so he was satisfied. Then
the Governor of.Trebizond said to the Arab:
"Khan Ali, you give this mare, Ansha, in
exchange for this bag of gold, to the Count.?"
"By the beard of Mahomet! I do vow that
I give my mare, Ansha, in exchange for this
.bag of gold, to the Count!" Repeating "By
the beard of Mahomet" three times, he picked
up the bag, and staggering under its weight,
walked off. The gate clicked to behind-him,
and the mare standing quietly, held by the
Count's groom, lifted her head high at the
sound. With deepest interest and admiration,
the group of men surrounded her, commenting
upon her extraordinary beauty-for now she
stood erect, with her ears pointed forward and
her nostrils quivering. Suddenly a sharp, shrill
whistle was heard, when, in the twinkling of an
eye, the mare had wrenched her head loose from
the hand that held her, had leaped the fence,
and with incredible speed was beside her
master before any one could reach the gate.
In a moment Khan Ali mounted and was flying
on Ansha's back, with the bag of gold resting
on his saddle-bow; in another, only a cloud of
dust remained to indicate the direction of their
sudden disappearance. Consternation reigned
among the group so unceremoniously left be-
hind; and threats deep and dire followed the

Arab thief who had so shamefully outwitted
them. Then said the Governor of Trebizond:
* "How many pounds of gold did Khan Al
lift ?"
"At least one hundred and fifty pounds were
in that bag."
"Then Khan Ali carried away a large sum
of money ?"
The Count, in reply, named a sum equal to
some $45,000 in American money.
"Well, Count, you shall have the mare or
the gold. I promise that the Arab shall return.
You have all heard him swear' By the beard of
Mahomet' three times? "
Yes, Most Wise, we heard him swear it three
He shall return to you here; but you must
wait, and I will gladly be your host until he
comes. Will you accept this arrangement?"
"With great pleasure, your Excellency."
They waited. A week passed-two weeks-
three weeks had dragged by their weary length,
lightened only by such diversions as the kindly
Governor could command. At last, at the end
of the fourth week; came meekly walking into the
courtyard, Khan Ali, leading a mule. Beside
him was the famous mare, Ansha, magnificently
caparisoned. Gold lace was about her neck,
and a bridle of exquisite workmanship adorned
her head. The saddle-cloth was of finest em-
broidery, and the saddle a marvel of skill,
while the stirrups were finely carved, and all
the trappings gleamed with jewels and golden
fringe. The unhappy Khan Ali, covered with
dust, abject and conscience-stricken, had re-
turned, and begged to see the Count. The
sudden appearance of the strange -trio was soon
noised about, and the Governor and his guests
hastened to the courtyard. Khan Ali, lifting
Ansha's bridle-rein, placed it in the hands of the
Count, and with a cry for mercy and pardon,
besought him to take the mare. The Count,
mindful of his late experience, promptly led
Ansha to the stable, and,,locking the door, put
the key in his pocket. Returning, he questioned
the repentant Arab; and Khan Ali, with many
tears and sighs, related how the wretched gold so
dishonestly obtained had brought him onlykeen-
est misery. The story of the theft spread far
and wide, and preceded him everywhere. All





distrusted the man who broke his promise.
He could make no trades, he could neither
buy nor sell; his wife and children, not-
withstanding the great heap of gold the good
Count had given him, were starving. Mahomet
was angry, for had he not broken his most
VOL. XX.-40.

solemn vow? He would thank the Count to
take his pet-his blessing-and he had cov-
ered her with gorgeous trappings. He had
heard that the Count loved horses, and was
good to them, and-"Oh! would the Count
be kind to his Ansha?"



Then suddenly turning, and no longer seeing
the mare, he rent his burnoose, he tore his hair,
and, flinging himself on the ground, face down-
ward, gave utterance to his heartrending grief.
In vain did the group of bystanders try to
comfort him. In vain they showed him the
good horse the Count had left for him to ride
home, instead of the mule; he still moaned, and
would not be comforted. And when, two hours

later, the little procession of horsemen filed
past him and he saw for the last time his be-
loved Ansha, and heard her farewell whinny,
his lamentations redoubled. They were the
last sounds that reached the ears of the de-
parting cavalcade.
Thus came the famous Arabian mare into
Europe, and her descendants are among the
most noted horses on European soil.

.' ,






IN the days of Queen Bess lived Richard Hakluyt, to whom England was "more indebted
for its American possessions than to any man of that age."
Not that he was statesman, soldier, or even sailor. He was a preacher. He never saw the
marvelous New World. But it was the passion of his life. He incited merchants and noble-
men to expeditions and "plantings." He knew the chiefestt captains and best mariners"
of England, and he published their reports, together with many other narratives, letters, trans-
lations, and treatises, in the great volume of his Voyages."
The voyages were written by mariners and captains, merchants and gentlemen, mechanics
and knights. They tell of expeditions undertaken for greed of gold, for thirst of adventure,
for hatred of Spain, for love of England, for the glory of God. They give pictures of those
wonderful times, from Queen Elizabeth waving Frobisher farewell, to poor Job Hortop, gunner,
sitting down in his old age to write the woeful tale of his labors and troubles.
Hakluyt's Voyages have been called the great prose epic of the English nation." Charles
Kingsley's "Westward Ho!" is largely drawn from them, and may well be read in connection
with them for understanding of the times.
Sir Walter Raleigh, brilliant courtier and soldier as he was, was mariner as well. The
New World filled his imagination, and seemed to promise him adventure, gold, and fame. He
sent thither various expeditions. With several he went in person, notably in the romantic
search for the land of gold.
His first expedition was sent in 1584-two barks under Philip Armadas and Arthur Barlow.
One of these captains sent to Sir Walter the following glowing account of the voyage.


THE twenty-seventh day of April, 1584, we
departed the west of England, with two barks
well furnished with men and victuals.
The tenth of May we arrived at the Canaries,
and the tenth of June we were fallen in with
the islands of the West Indies. At which
islands we found the air unwholesome, and our
men grew ill; so, having refreshed ourselves,
with sweet water and fresh victual, we departed.
The second of July, we smelt so sweet and
so strong a smell, as if we had-been in some
delicate garden abounding with all kind of
odoriferous flowers; by which we were assured
that the land could not be far distant, And,
keeping good watch, and bearing but slack sail,
we arrived upon the coast. We sailed along a
hundred and twenty English miles before we
could find any entrance, or river issuing into the
sea. The first that appeared unto us we entered,
though not without some difficulty, and cast
anchor about three harquebus shot within the
haven's mouth. And, after thanks given to

God for our safe arrival thither, we manned our
boat, and went to take possession in the name
of the Queen's most excellent majesty.
Which, being performed, we viewed the land
about us, being very sandy and low- toward the
water's side; but so full of grapes, as that the
very beating and surge of the sea overflowed
with them; of which we found plenty of vines,
both on the sand and on the green hills, in the
plains, as well on every little shrub, as also
climbing towards the top of high cedars.
We passed from the seaside towards the tops
of those hills next adjoining, and from thence
we beheld the sea on both sides. This land we
found to be but an island of twenty miles long,
and not above six miles broad. We beheld the
valleys replenished with goodly cedar trees;
and, having discharged our harquebus shot,
such a flock of cranes, the most part white,
arose under us, with such a cry, and many
echoes, as if an army of men had shouted all

628 HAKLurfs
This island had moany goodly woods fhll of
deer, comes, hames aA. r>.A j; even mi tuhe midst
of samnnaer, in incredible abumndance The
woods are not abarea and finwitess, but tIhe

hiim a shiiat,, a batt, and some atler es iair aasiS
mmcae kim taste off raor a winD amileSr aim amo,
which he ltiikl waey wIell A1 heILna..1%;I si.riwll
IbtAh thainlbt. he detial.

S t. :

-R K


Us, Tib (aom mN IV. IlWa mIi':

liry". 3.11.?il.}|,l! jrsi2 r < k ', v,..ii1.wlti.g im
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iiA, Qsf IEl diate -k t(mfl ~ff ai h N1thEaM-lriin-
far I-t o ijtt ffim lit off M.ii,-itL .i; gautl

1J." thi.t 6di .;it.t !"[1c .- -la ttldl lpditt
Wt usngiindittwo witake 4ielb 1khame we asnw
anir li1t, 1..i !,-.- ,; l u (a oits ..

;r;'.,,-, ItWAr NT it.'u,. m- i t it ttlahn e g,.,,.*(jI:..

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dshteidl tawIftlItS.
lih tule iaatkrr off thel A&bithnll," Saiamu

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i Atla~ttWR 1rff tai f' l dii-* 1sx I 12~hi 't- I-I I-

M1h unvit day tifflima vamss unth ts iaxmms
11".~&ir. 'iii.' in asome Vff ttfmm tfie t~ia &Bkatta;,
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tiAl Qm V mf'i n l _I .ii i i..ff Iii
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wtftl (Bur wagtaa, te earr rmnwal foam bits

'ihi .litiin. *.\'.il ,~1 .,.* :.I F i;li..i .. ,-

-YI-lOM 4rit..-.:-! f] lt- l 1 ta1 t1:ill 1i f iN S I gyaAt,
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*.i ;ill "lg rl'ii.l !i.if l.. hlfV,t,,1V. L m.:b-Z %,'.:<.. 1; i ; ,pff


all love and familiarity. After he had made a After two or three days the king's brother
long speech unto us, we presented him a ii came on board the ship, and brought his wife
divers things, which he eri'.,i most joyfully with him, his daughter, and two or three chil-
and I.i! .ful.,. None of the company durst dren. His wife was very well favored, of mean
speak one word all the time Only the four stature, and very bashful. She had on her back
which were at the other end spake one in the a loni cloak of leather, with the fur side next
other's ear very softly. to her body; 'and before her a piece of the
The king is greatly obeyed, and his iirli.d.cr same. About her forehead she had a piece of
and children reverenced. The king himself white coral, and so had her husband. In her
was, at our being there, sore wounded in a ears she had bracelets of pearls (whereof we
fight which he had with the king of the next delivered your worship a little bracelet). And
country. By reason whereof, and for that he those were of the bigness of good pease. The
lay at the chief town of the country, six days' rest of her women, of the better sort, had pen-
journey off, we saw him nota a all dants of copper hanging in either ear. And
After we had presented his b-,.l',i with such some of the children of the king's brother, and
things as we tho.u.ghb hie other noblemen, had five or six in either
liked, we likewise gave ear. He imn-.lf had upon his head a
somewhat to the others broad pl.;r o'f i-jolj ,: i, paper; for,
that sat with him on the being urnpo.lihcnI. we knew not
mat. But he arose, and wh',r r eral it should be;
took all from them, and n,.ithr 'would he by any
put it into his base, means suffer Le to take
making signs that all .t ff i. heL ad.
ought to be dcii rei d Hispp'rel was
unto him. and the rest %:.-. hli wife's;
j i -. aif e's
were but his servants and

A day or wo afre-r thj --
we fell to trading with
them,, exchaanging some ". .
zhing 1 rhc Wen1d i br a-
rious kinds of pelts and
skins. W\i-hen we showed .
him our packet of mer-
.:l~ n isc. of all tii _pngs'_
that he saw, a bdiT rt ioi
dish most pleased him, .
which he presently t
qp and clapt it before his
"'S. -cand after, made a
nokle in the brimllh':rt "iD" EA MrNm iM r- M[OUiW, THEY CUaT cOUT TIHE COAL
and hung it about his rn 121M M asrN .' (SI MaiT PAGE)
neck, making sigan that it vwotl del 11& m only the women wear their hair long on both
against his enemy a now We exclheaged o slides and the men only on one. They are
ti dish for t~ nts slkiva, ok Ut ,,at" q:o...,-. e-,f a color yellowish, and their hair black for
and & copper kettle tr Aft AMhs lthe most part; and yet we saw children that
They ch s gadf edXhaqge fo&r our- had very fine auburn and chestnut-colored
1lLv).!. v-.. and axes and ftr bkuyW and Wuald hair,
he given .,gi.u lrt. for swevd, buLt we slMt After these women had been there, there
at ptat with ay.. ase from all parts great store of people, bring-



ing with them leather, coral, divers kinds of.
dyes, and exchanged with us.
But when Granganimeo, the king's brother,
was present none durst trade but himself, except'
such as wear red pieces of copper on their head,
like himself. For that is the difference between
noblemen and governors of countries, and the
meanest sort. And we noted that no people in
the world carry more respect to their king,
nobles, and governors than these do. The
king's brother's wife was followed with forty
or fifty women always, and when she came into
the ship she left them all on land saving her
two daughters, and one or two more. The
king's brother always kept this order: as many
boats as he would come withal to the ships, so
many fires would he make on the shore afar
off; to the end we might understand with what
company he approached.
Their boats are made of one tree, either of
pine or of pitch. They have no edged tools
to make them. If they have any of these it
seems they had them twenty years since out
of a wreck of a Christian ship, whereof none
of the people were saved; but only the ship
or some part of her being cast upon the sand;
out of whose sides they drew the nails and the
spikes, and with those they made their best
The manner of making their boats is thus:
they burn down some great tree, or take such
as are windfallen; and, putting gum and rosin
upon one side thereof, they set fire to it. And,
when it hath.burned it hollow, they cut out the
coal with their shells. Ever when they would
burn it deeper or wider, they lay on gums which
burn away the timber. And by this means they
fashion very fine boats, and such as will trans-
port twenty men. Their oars are like scoops.
The king's brother had great liking of our
armor, a sword and divers other things we had,
and offered to lay a great box of pearls in gage
for them. But we refused it for this time, be-
cause we would not let them know that we
esteemed thereof, until we had understood in
what places of the country the pearls grew.
He was very just of his promise. For many
times we delivered him merchandise upon his
word; but ever he came within the day, and
performed his promise. .

He sent us every day a brace or two of fat
bucks, conies, hares, fish; the best of the world.
He sent us divers kinds of fruits, melons, wal-
nuts, cucumbers, gourdes, pease, and divers
roots; and of their country corn, which is very
white, fair, and well tasted, and growth three
times in five months.
After they had been divers times aboard our
ships, myself, with seven more, went twenty
miles into the river. And the following evening
we came to an island which they call Roanoke.
At the north end thereof was a village of nine
houses, built of cedar, and fortified round about
with sharp trees, to keep out their enemies; and
the entrance into it made like a turnpike, very
artificially. When we came towards it the wife
of Granganimeo came running out to meet us,
very cheerfully and friendly. Her husband was
not then in the village. Some of her people she
commanded to draw our boats on shore. Others
she appointed to carry us on their backs to the
dry ground; and others to bring our oars into
the house,, for fear of stealing.
When we were come into the outer room
(having five rooms in her house), she caused us
to sit down by a great fire. And she herself
took great pains to see all things ordered in the
best manner she could; making great haste to
dress some meat for us to eat.
Then she brought us into the inner room.
She set on the board, standing along the
house, some wheat, sodden* venison, and
roasted; fish sodden, boiled, and roasted;
melons raw; and sodden roots of divers kinds,
and divers fruits. Their drink is commonly
water; but, while the grape lasteth, they drink
wine. But it is sodden, with ginger in it, and
black cinnamon, and sometimes sassafras, and
divers other wholesome and medicinal herbs.
We were entertained with all love. and kind-
ness, and with as much bounty as they could
possibly devise.
We found the people most gentle, loving, and
faithful, void of all guile and treason, and such
as live after the manner of the golden age.
The people only care how to defend them-
selves from the cold in their short winter. Their
meat is very well sodden, and they make broth
sweet and savory. Their vessels are earthen
pots, and their dishes are wooden platters.

' Boiled, or soaked and softened.




While we were at our meat there came in at
the gate two or three men with their bows and
arrows from hunting. Whom, when we espied,
we began to look one toward another, and
offered to reach our weapons.
But as soon as she espied our mistrust, she
was very much moved, and caused some of her
men to run out and take away their bows and
arrows and break them, and withal beat the
poor fellows out of the gate again.
When we departed in the evening, and would
not tarry all night, she was very sorry, and gave
us into our boat our supper half dressed, pots
and all; and brought us to our boat side, in
which we lay all night, removing the same a
pretty distance from the shore. She, perceiving
our jealousy, was much grieved, and sent divers
men and thirty women to sit all night on the
bank side by us; and sent us into our boats
fine mats to cover us from the rain, using very
many words to entreat us to rest in their houses.

But because we were few men, and, if
we had been lost, the voyage had been in
very great danger, we durst not adventure any-
thing; although there was no cause of doubt.
For a more kind and loving people there
cannot be found, as far as we have hitherto
had trial.
Thus, Sir, we have acquainted you with the
particulars of our discovery, made this present
voyage. And, so contenting ourselves with this
service at this time, which we hope hereafter to
enlarge, as occasion and assistance shall be
given, we resolved to leave the country.
Which we did accordingly, and arrived in the
west of England about the midst of September.
We brought home, also, two of the savages;
men whose names were Wanchese and Manteo.





NExT.month, my sunny ones, you 'll be shout-
ing Hurrah for the Fourth of July I "- a capital
and most stirring sentiment, no doubt; but what say
you to giving a rousing cheer to-day, my hearties,
for June June, the month of Roses! the month
that brings sweet "vacation-times" to restless
school-boys and school-girls, and to weary teachers
-not to mention a few other good folk scattered.
here and there over the country.
"All right?" I knew you'd say so. Well,
then, boys and girls, THREE CHEERS FOR JUNE I
Hip, hip, hurra h!
Good Now we '11 settle down to a quiet life.
First you shall hear a good story which comes from
our honored friend, J. A. D.:

THE boys on a farm missed apples from a choice
tree. Though thertree was carefully watched, the
fruit steadily disappeared, and no one knew how.
One day, when the other boys had gone to din-
ner, and John had been detained in a field sepa-
rated by a hill from the favorite apple-tree, he
heard the tree shake and its fruit fall. The air was
still. Somebody evidently had shaken the tree.
Mr. Thief had taken advantage of the dinner-hour,
and was at work! Running swiftly but quietly
to the top of the hill, the lad was amazed to find
no human being in sight. The thief could not
have escaped, and there was no place to hide; but
where was he ? There was no doubt that he had
beeh there, and had shaken the tree; for some of
the'apples, fresh fallen, lay on the ground, and
"Jim,".the favorite horse, was eating them!
While the bewildered boy remained on the hill-
top quietly looking all around for the thief, Jim
ate the'last apple and searched in vain for'more.
Whenh'e failed to find any, he walked to the tree,
bent his fore legs as he pressed his shoulder

against it, and, rising suddeni. gave the tree a
severe shaking. Several apples fell; Jim swallowed
them quickly, and looked about for more.
The thief had been found. When the lad
shouted, Jim looked toward the hilltop in sur-
prise, and then ran away, as if he knew that he
had been caught stealing.

HAPPY Jim,--not to know any better! I shall
never believe "he knew that he had been caught
stealing." On the contrary, I think he probably
was a very modest horse, and ran away so as not
to hear himself complimented for his good taste
and ingenuity.
Here is another pleasant anecdote from J. A. D.:

IN the autumn of 1876, when old and young were
celebrating the National Centennial, a venerable
minister in New Jersey celebrated his fiftieth anni-
versary as pastor of a single church. The house
of worship was elaborately decorated, and over the
pulpit in floral letters Semi-centennial" told the
meaning of the celebration.
In the crowd filling the house of worship was
Bert, the pastor's grandson. The little fellow oc-
cupied a front seat beside his aunt, and spent most
of the time during service in studying the deco-
rations. At the close he said to his aunt:
"What makes grandpa such a poor speller? "
"Why, is he?" was the response.
SYes; just read his spelling back of the pulpit."
"What is wrong in that, Bertie ? "
"Can't you see ? He spells 'See My Centennial'
'S-e M-i C-e-n-t-e-n-n-i-a-l.' Two words out of
three are wrong."
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-P1 L L! : A certain learned pro-
fessor, in the course of a -,:intilifc lecture, not long ago,
told his young hearers how, to 'blow mammoth soap-
bubbles. His directions were: TFirst get a lamnp-chiirine
(one that is straight up and down i: dir:. one end into a
solution of soap and water, until a fla dijI; of-film covers
the end; blow-gently till the bubble is-formed; then re-
move the chimney about two inches'from the lipi, arnd
continue blowing gently. The professor advised his class,
in trying this experiment, to add a little glycerin to the
soap and water. Perhaps some of your boys and girls
will follow these directions, and report results.
Yours truly, E. M. C.
HERE come couple of true stories about piders.
They picture and all are ready made for you
by our friend and close observer, Mr. Nugent.
But if you watch the busy and wonderful little
creatures carefully, during this brand-new summer,
you will find out for yourselves many another true
example of their shrewd and skilful ways.

DEAR JACK: I think spiders are the brightest creatures
of the insect world. What other insects roam on land,
travel through the air, walk and sail on the water, and




even make diving-bells for themselves so as to live under
water ?
Look at the feats they accomplish as engineers and
architects. They are both house-builders and bridge-
builders who can build anywhere. When difficulties
present themselves, the spider usually overcomes them
in so masterful and artistic a manner as to win admiration
from human beings.
If, in making a bridge from one tree to another, the
branches interfere with the free passage of their lines,
they lower themselves -in a cradle made for this pur-
pose until the way is clear. Then the line is spun out
and the wind kindly carries.it across for them. The wind
and the spider are in partnership when a bridge is to be
built. The spider furnishes from his own body the silken
strand and fastens his end of it; the wind takes the other
end and carries it perhaps across a stream, perhaps across
a road, thirty or forty feet wide.
If by chance a spider falls into the water far from land,
it is sure to find some clever way of reaching shore.
The spider may walk on the water, or, if there is a breeze,
he may sail ashore. If he happens to find something
floating, he will make a life-boat of it. It does not take
long to cover the floating straw, or seed, or whatever itmay
be, with net, and thereby make of it a beautiful silken raft.
I send you a drawing showing a spider which was
dropped into the water, near the silken ball of a cocoon.
The spider at once threw strands around the ball and
attached herself to it. Lazily and gently the silken buoy
bobbed across the surface of the water, and, with the
wind's help, cocoon and spider were soon safe ashore.
DEAR JACK: Did you ever hear of spiders making
nightcaps ? Well, they do; and I saw one in the British
Museum which had been thade by them. A nice large
nightcap it was too, being nearly four feet long.
As you might perhaps suppose, it came from that
place where so many queer things come from -the Fiji



Islands. When a native wants a nightcap, all he has to
do is to make a light framework, and place it in a dark
corner where spiders are plentiful. These accommo-
dating little creatures will then completely cover the
framework with beautiful silk, and make for the native a
nightcap of which he may well be proud.

I send you a drawing of the only specimen I ever saw.
When one of the museum professors took the nightcap
out of the case for me, I noticed the thickness of the
material; it must have been nearly an inch thick, and
yet the cap was so light it hardly seemed to have any
weight. But what can a Fiji Islander want with a
nightcap from three to four feet in length?
I peeped into it, hoping to see some of the original
framework, but even when the professor partially turned
the cap inside out we found nothing of the framework
In color the cap was a dingy gray; originally it
had been of a beautiful light-golden hue. Attached
to it was a card saying that it had been presented
to the museum by Miss Gordon-Cumming, and I hoped

f I




I might find an account of it in some of the many
interesting books that lady has written. In a hurried
search, however, I found neither text nor illustration
referring to it, and this leads me to believe that per-
haps the drawing I send you is the first that has ever
been published of this interesting nightcap. M. N.




MR. PILL-BOX: Well, well -what next ? I 've seen cork Miss Incandescent Light thinks no part of the day is so de-
legs before, but never a cork head! lightful as the evening. As soon as it begins to grow dark
her face lightens up.


HAPPY POTATO: "I say, this is ever so much jollier than living
underground, is n't it ?"
DOLEFUL POTATO: I don't see it."
HAPPY POTATO: "Of course not-why don't you use your eyes
as I do? "


PROBABLY A FISH: IST BOB: "What ails you ?- got the cramp?" 2D BOB: "O-o-o! Something's got me by the toe "


~--- i


a J I ~-'



- -----~c~-


CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the x5th of September, manuscript cannot 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.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl at the Chil-
dren's Hospital, and I thought I would tell you about
the exhibition a kind magician gave us here.
They brought all the children into our ward, and all
that were able to be up were up, and all that were in bed
were brought in. We had all the beds moved, and the
chairs, and a number of people came to see him play.
The first thing he did was to shuffle cards. Then he
borrowed a lady's handkerchief, and gave it to one of the
boys, and told him to roll it up. Then he asked him to
open it, and when he did so, it was all in pieces; and
then he told him to roll it up again, and then he asked
him to give him a small piece, and when he opened it,
it was all in a long piece. Then he took a lemon
from a boy's mouth, and when he opened it, the hand-
kerchief was in it. Then he put the handkerchief
on a plate, and set it on fire, and took a piece of paper,
and put it on the fire, and put it out. Then he took dollars
out of our hair, and from our sleeves. Then he asked a
man to lend him his hat, and he hit the hat, and two
rabbits were in it. Then he brought in some candy in a
bowl, and gave us all some of the candy. Then he took
a stick and wound shavings out of the bowl, and out of
the shavings flew a live duck. Then he brought two
glasses in, and in one was a blue handkerchief, and in
one was a red handkerchief and an egg. A colored
boy had the blue, and Professor had the red. He shook
his glass, and the egg went over into the other glass, and
the handkerchiefs changed places. We children enjoyed
it very much, for which we thanked him. We will never
forget him. NETTIE PRECHT.
(Ten years old.)

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I was born on one of the
Sandwich Islands. The island of Hawaii is the one, and
the town in which I was born is called Hilo. It is a
lovely place, and I lived there until I was six years old.
The large volcano is on Hawaii. When I was one year
old, there was an eruption, and the lava came within a
mile of our house. A good many people packed up their
things to come. away, but we did not.
It is warm the whole year round there, and bathing is
fine. There are lots of kinds of fruit there, but, of
course, they are different from what they are here. Al-
most everybody rode horseback when I lived there.
We came from the islands to San Francisco in a sail-
ing vessel, and were just a month on the way.- I enjoyed
the water very much, and was almost sorry to leave the
We have lived in Santa Barbara five years, and like
the place very much.
A short time ago, a party went up to Seven Falls. I
was one of the party, and we had a lovely time. We
took our lunch with us, and were gone all day. It is
quite a jaunt to get there, as the trail is very steep in some
places. There are lots of lovely ferns there now, and
there were a great many when we went. We came home
well laden with lace-ferns, gold-backed ferns, and other

varieties. There is a lovely stream in the cation, and the
sides of it in some places were covered with maidenhair
My aunt Mary sends you to me, and I enjoy you ever
and ever so much. I am interested in Polly Oliver,"
for the story said her home was Santa Barbara.
Your delighted reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The following names of five
United States senators contain all the letters of the
alphabet: Nathan F. Dixon, Zebulon B. Vance, James
Henderson Kyle, W. A. Peffer, Roger Q. Mills.
Your sincere reader, GEO. S. S- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am ten years old, and have
taken you for two years. Last Saturday papa and I
went all through the Cramps' shipyard. We went all
'over the "New York" and the "Columbia," or "Pirate,"
as she is called, because she is intended to destroy the
enemy's commerce, and not to do any heavy fighting.
The Pirate will be the fastest war-vessel afloat when she
is done. We also saw the hull of the "Minneapolis"
(which is a sister ship to the Pirate), and of the Indiana"
and "Massachusetts," which are sister ships intended
for very heavy fighting. The contract price of the New
York will be $2,985,000, of the Columbia, $2,725,000,
and of the Indiana, $3,063,000. I am your interested
reader, LEWIS B- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken your paper for
five years, since I was a year old. My cousin is writing
this for me. I am anxious to tell you about" Billy," the
goat. My brother Joe and I drive him, and he rears
up, and if you pull his tail he will run_away. Joe can
ride him, but he is much too wild for me. We have a
mule called "Anniemule."
My mother's name is Fannie, and I am called Panchita,
and that means Little Fannie." We live on a rice-plan-
tation, and have a good time. Mulberry Castle is four
miles from here, and was built in 1714, and there are
cannons at the corners of the building. Billy joins me
in good wishes to all the children. PANCHITA.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy ten years old.
Yesterday I was walking along with my dog, "Jack," in
our cation. I soon got tired of walking, and climbed
upon a rock to sit down, and Jack gave me a push and
I fell down in the cacti. I started to run home, and
stumbled and fell in a lot of thistles; so-when I got
home I was in a pretty bad state. I had to take off
my clothes and go to bed. A kind friend in Florida has
sent you to me for almost a year; my sister has taken
you for four years. Please don't forget you have a lov-
ing friend and reader, WALTER B- .


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: T am going to tell you about
the lovely times we are ha1vmrg. We'have not been in
Venice long; but what I have seen is so funny.
When we arrived at the station, I thought we would
get into a cab, but when we came out on a platform, we
saw below us water instead of a street, and black gon-
dolas instead of cabs. There were men at each end of
the boats, some dressed in blue with long red scarfs.
They stand up to row.
The boats look like graceful black swans. The Grand
Canal is very wide, and the side ones very narrow, and
in these it is hard for the boats to pass each other.
From our windows we watch the great ocean-steamers
passing, and also the little steamboats, which are the
street-cars of Venice.
We go every morning in front of the Cathedral, where
there are hundreds of pigeons, and if you buy corn from
the men there, the pigeons will rest, many at a time, on
your arm and take corn. Once I had six on my arms,
and I saw one man with them on his hat. When we
were at Pisa, we saw the leaning tower; it leans fourteen
feet out of thp right way, and another strange sight was
a woman letting down a basket out of the third-story
window for the mail, and the postman put the letters
into it, and she drew it up again.
I am your devoted reader, ALICE H- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have not- seen many
letters from California, I thought I would write one. I
enjoy your delightful magazine very much, and look
forward to its coming every month. We live at North
Beach, and from our windows can be seen the San
Francisco Bay. Papa is the captain of the pilot-boat
Bonita," and we often go on little excursions around the
bay. West is the Pacific Ocean, and on the beach is
situated a building called the Cliff House. From there
can be seen seal-rocks, and it is fun to see the big lazy
sea-lions slide off into the water. It is sometimes very
rough around there, and once a big black fin-whale was
nearly stranded on the beach. California is a very beauti-
ful State, I think, as there are flowers all the year round,
and the orchards and grain-fields are very extensive. The
scenery is beautiful. I often wish we had more snow in
San Francisco, for we have had it only four times since I
was born. I think "Juan and Juanita" is a beautiful
story, and I like the White Cave" and Polly Oliver's
Problem" very much. Your interested reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Halifax is a garrison town, and
is chiefly noted for its fine public gardens, where the
military band plays once a week during the summer
months, and is enjoyed by a great many people. We
have a fine park and many beautiful and interesting
drives outside the city. One of the nicest walks is around
the top of Citadel Hill. You have a view of the whole
city and harbor, which is called one of the finest in the
world. On a clear day you can look away out to sea.
Quite a number of American tourists come here in the
hot months to enjoy our cool sea-breezes, fishing, and
boating. They think we are very slow, and our city so
old-fashioned; but mama, who has traveled a good deal,
says there are worse places than Halifax. I have two
sisters and one big brother. He lives in Brooklyn, N. Y.,
and tells me there are streets in that city called Pine-
apple, Lemon, Orange, Cherry, and Cranberry.
We have a number of house-plants that we take great
care of, and they reward us by blooming freely this year.
I found a bud on my calla-lily early in January. It never

bloomed until April before, so I took great care of it,
and tried to have it out by February I, mama's birthday.
She is an invalid, and I thought it would be a pleasant
little surprise for her. I put boiling water in the saucer
every day, and it came out lovely. Mama was quite
pleased about it.
Your interested reader, M. F- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am very fond of reading you,
and to-night I was trying to find you, but could not, for I
think my little sister has taken you to bed with her, for
she likes ST. NICHOmAS better than any other we take.
We have a new pet, which is a pup, an Irish setter,
and he is very cute. The reason that we have him is, last
summer we lost a very handsome Irish setter. We
missed him so much that papa bought us this new one.
You cannot imagine how much he looks like our old
dog "Prince." We named our new dog "Prince," too.
I am only eleven years old, and always sit down when
I get home from school and read you through.
Your faithful reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two little girls, ten and
eleven years old, and are very good friends. It always is
a source of great pleasure to us when your magazine ar-
rives, and we look forward eagerly to the twenty-fifth of
each month. We have taken you for a long while. "Lady
Jane," "Sara Crewe," "Juan and Juanita," and "The
Fortunes of Toby Trafford" are our favorite stories. We
think that these lines from Longfellow's "The Ladder of
St. Augustine are so pretty that we should like to see
them in the Letter-box," in order to make them known
to your other readers:
"All thoughts of ill, all evil deeds
That have their root in thoughts of ill;
Whatever hinders or impedes
The action of the nobler will-

"All these must first be trampled down
Beneath our feet, if we would gain
In the bright fields of fair renown
The right of eminent domain.'
Your devoted little readers,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am eleven years old, and
have traveled a good deal. I have been to the Channel
Islands; it is lovely there; Sark has some very pretty
caves called the Gouliot "; in Herm there is a beach of
nothing but shells. We stayed in Guernsey most of the
time. I have been to Brussels; the 6th of January is St.
Nicholas's day, and all the children get their presents
then instead of at Christmas. I have a little French
card with the legend of St. Nicholas on it. I stayed at a
little place in the south of England called Wilmington,
where there is a very curious figure marked on the Downs.
It is two hundred and forty feet high. The country peo-
ple call it the Giant "; half of it has been restored. It
is supposed to have been done in the time of the ancient
Britons, when Julius Caesar landed in England. In May
my mother and I are going back to England, and I mean
to take you for a long time, you are so interesting.
I remain your constant reader,



DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You were given to me as a
Christmas present by a friend.
I am nearly twelve years old, and am devoted to read-
ing. I must tell you something my little sister said yes-
terday. We took her to the dentist, and when she came
back she was asked by her teacher what he did to her.
She said that he "pulled out one and stuffed two teeth."
She has the oddest ways of expressing herself I will say
good-by, Your new reader,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in a small town
called McKinney, Texas, andhave no brothers or sisters,
but I find great consolation in reading your delightful
pages. I am in the sixth grade, and have been going
to school nearly four years. My teacher is very kind
to us. Your devoted little reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am just ten years old. I am
going to tell you a little of my travels in Switzerland.
At Zermatt we got up at four o'clock one morning, and
the sun was just rising all rosy on the Matterhorn, while
the village was dark as night. It was a beautiful sight.
We took mules up to the G6rnergrat, which was a long
pull, taking about five hours. From the top one could
see ten or twelve great glaciers at his feet. The clouds
rested soft and white just on the tiptop of the mountains,
and looked like eider-down. The Matterhorn rises above
all the mountains; there is a sharp point which seems to
touch the sky. Staying at the top long enough to rest
and enjoy the lovely picture, also to get a drink of milk,
which they had to'sell in a little shed built up there for the
purpose, we came down on foot, it being too steep to ride.
The little shops in the village are very curious, and have
queer things for sale.
From Zermatt we went to Chamounix. Mont Blanc
does not seem very high, although, as you know, it is the
highest mountain in Europe. We went over the Mer
de Glace; there are some very deep crevasses in this
glacier, which you can look away down into. On the
other side of the Mer de Glace we reached the Mauvais
Pass, which in some places makes one dizzy, it is so dread-
fully steep down the solid side of a rock, with the glacier
and crevasses at the bottom. There was an iron railing
to hold on by so that one may not fall down the precipice.
After leaving this we reached the Chapeau, which is
called by this name because it is a big rock shaped like a
hat with a vizor. At this place was a little shop where
one could buy souvenirs. We met our mules and rode
back to the hotel. From your devoted reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My good aunty gave you to me
for a Christmas present. I enjoy you so much. I live
at the foot of Shoe Peg Mountain, on the Newacet River,

in. rather a wild country, where there is plenty of wild
animals, such as bear, panther cats, and foxes. They
catch our sheep a good deal. I go to school about two
miles from here, and ride on horseback. I can shoot a
gun and kill hawks and birds. I have some sheep. I
have one that I work in my little wagon, and with him
I plow in my garden. He eats corn and oats. We have
sheep, cattle, horses, and hogs. I have- a little black mare.
I remain ever your loving friend, J. R. B- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for five years,
and am ten years old now.
As this is a seaport town, we see a great many vessels
here. There have been some men-of-war in here, and
I have been on a good many of them. Last year there
were more of our American men-of-war here, but this
year there have been more English men-of-war. There
was one very large English man-of-war in here this year;
the name of it was the "Warspite." It was the English
I lived over at Coronado beach, at a hotel named Hotel
del Coronado, for a year. It is the largest hotel in America.
They have a beautiful swimming-tank over at Coronado,
and I learned to swim in it.
I remain your devoted reader, EMILY D-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl ten years old.
We have taken you a long time. I read the story Two
Girls and a Boy," and found it very interesting. I live
in Washington, and as the story said Mildred's house was
in Washington, I took a walk to see if I could find it,
and I think I found the right house, for it was very much
like the description you gave. As we were not ac-
quainted with the people who lived in that house, I could
not go through it, as I would like to have done, and was
very sorry I could not. Your little reader,

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Joseph F., Valerie
De K., Amy J., Winifred M. B., Bonnie B., Elizabeth
H. M., Richard B. L., Ruth B. J., Louise H. B., John
A. S., Jr., Cecilia Y., Madeline T., Eben S., Edith R. J.,
Harry and Fanny A., Frieda R., Beth M., Louise K.,
Bertha G. M., M. S. A. S., M. T. D., Gracie D., Lizzie
P. C., Annie F. C., Irving C. N., Edith G. S., Marie
M. G., Ida L. C., Agnes B. C., Mary M., Jessie H. C.,
Marguerite D., Gertrude J., Louise A. B., Grace V. H.,
May H., Harriet D. McK., B. D. J., H. M. S.,Wallie
B., Harry 0., Margaret M., Annette I. T., Eva D., Sarah
L., Mary M., Clara S., Amelia T. P., Courtenay D., Edith
M. S., Anna B., Charles R. H., Laura A., Blanche I. G.,
Dorothy Van W., Ina, Nina, and Mina T., Florine K.,
Marjorie B. T., Rae M. R., Abby A. N., Grace A. K.,
Marie, Marjorie G. J., Arthur W., Gordon H. P., Edith
C., G. G.W., Joseph S., Charlotte and Minna J., Mat-
tie, Nellie R. M., Lawrence S., Emily S., Addison N. C.,
Mary F., M. C. F., Nannie R., Edna I. W., J. D. M.,
C. W. F., Ruth B., O. B., Anna M. P., Elbridge J., C. R.




i. clAms. 2. flUte. 3. baDge. 4. chUrn. 5. caBin. 6. flOat.
7. caNoe.
CONNECTED WORD-SQUARES. I. i. Major. 2. Agama. 3. Jambs.
4. Ombre. 5. Rased. II. x. Ruler. 2. Usage. 3. Large. 4. Egged.
5.Reeds. III. x. Discs. 2. Inkle. 3. Skein. 4. Clips. 5. Sense.
IV. i. Scuds. 2. Comic. 3. Umbra. 4. Direr. 5. Scare.
DIAMOND. x. C. 2. Cog. 3. Sarah. 4. Cacolet. 5. Corollary.
6. Gallery. 7. Hears. 8. Try. 9. Y.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA; Never seem wiser, nor more learned, than
the people you are with."
WORD-SQUARE. x. Japan. 2. Alate. 3. Parol. 4. Atoll. 5. Nelly.

3. Gamut. 4. Cameras. 5. Burin. 6. Tan. 7. S. II. i. P. 2. Mab.
3. Magic. 4. Pagodas. 5. Bidet. 6. Cat. 7. S. III. Posse. 2. Of-
ten. 3. Start. 4. Serve. 5. Enter. IV. x. T.. 2. Cab. 3. Cable.
4. Tableau. 5. Bleat 6. Eat. 7. U. V. i. T. 2. Rab. 3. Rates.
4. Tattler. 5. Belie. 6. See. 7. R.
RHOMBOID. Across: I. Layer. a. Naval. 3. Meter. 4. Nenia.
5. Raphe.
CONCEALED DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Initials, Charles Dickens;
finals, Pickwick Papers. Cross-words: i. Cap. a. Hadj Alec.
4. Risk. 5. Low. 6. Eli. 7. Sumac. 8. Dirk. 9. Imp. io. Camera.
ii. Keep. s1. Eagle. 13. Nectar. 14. Sailors.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the isth 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 MARCH NUMBER were received, before March x5th, from "The McG's"--Helen C.
McCleary-Rosalie Bloomingdale--Paul Reese- Isabel and Marjorie-" Dad and Bill"- Chester B. Sumner-Mama and Jamie-
Hugh, Kenneth, and Constance-Ida C. Thallon-"Infantry" -Alice M. Blanke and Co.-E. M. G.-"Midwood"-Jessie Chap-
man-Hubert L. Bingay-Jo and I-"R. H.,Jr."-Bessie R. Crocker-Sallie and Nell-Josephine Sherwood-"Uncle Mung"-
Ida and Alice Maud and Dudley Banks -Jennie and Robert Liebmann.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, before March z5th, from Walter C. Mathias, 2-Henry R. Worthing-
ton, 2 -Julia D. Lancaster, ix-Elsie H. Bridgham, i --Edith McLaughlin, --J. H. W., i -No Name, Olean, 2- H. H. Scudder, -
Carrie Chester, 2 -Marion L. C., 4-Robt. W. Macbeth, i-R. J. Burdette, Jr., 2-Will. P. Philips, 3-Etta A. Sonntag, 2-Maude
E. Palmer, Ix-P. D. P. and M. P., --M. H. S. and R. J. S., 3-Mary Mack, I-Grace C., 2-C. Wagner, 2-Mary Peter, i-
W. Eyre Trainer, i Howard Woodhead, 3 Milton S. Garver,. 2 L. 0. E., r Robert Wheelwright, 2 Franklin E. Everdell, 3 -
Alice V. Farquhar, 3- Effie and Agnes, 3 Floy L. Noteman, i--Harold W. Mason, 3--Leo Liebmann, 7-" Ego," 3- Edwin
Rutherford, 2- Margie Wallis, 2 Laurence F. Peck, 3 -" Miramonte," 4- Ruth A. W., I -Annie F. Crane, Mary S. Hunter
and Caroline S. Williams, 2- Gail Ramond, 9 -"Mardo,"2-" Clover," 2- Grace Coventry, I- Lucy H. Bullard, 3-Mary and Elsie
Draper, 2-Evelyn de Zouche, 3-"Jake," 2-"Santa Claus," 2-De Forest Porter Rudd, r-R. V. Pell, 2-L. K., 2-Ruby and
Cousin, 2 -"Mr. Micawber," 4 --Belle Duke and Katherine, 3-Melville Hunnewell, 6-F. C. J. and R., i-"The Four J's," 2-
Addison Neil Clark and Mama, 9-"All of Us,"' 3-J. S. G., 7-Laura Stedman, 3-Donald F. Schumann, 3-Dora F. Here-
ford, 8- M. M. T. and G. T., 6 Margaret, 2 Edith T. Race, i -Charlotte A. Peabody, 9-Howard A. Plummer, 3 Alfred W.
Bowie, 2-Sadie and Mama, 4-Amy Ewing, 6-Dorothy Hills, a-" Two Sage Judges," 6--June, 8- Grandma and Hattie, i-
"Wareham," xi-Laura M. Zinser, 5- Elinor Barras, 4-Agnes C. Leaycraft, 2 -Class 8, School No. 25, Roselle, 3-Vincent V. M.
Beede, 6- Marie Th6rese B., 6--John Howard Eager, io--Willie S. Cochran, i-"Old Riddler," 4--Willie N. Carter, a.


A FAMOUS American:


THE problem is to change one given word to another
given word, by altering one letter at a time, each altera-
tion making a new word, the number of letters being
always the same, and the letters remaining always in the
same order. Example: Change LAMP to FIRE in four
moves. Answer: lamp, lame, fame, fare, fire.
I. Change BLAND to SMILE in eight moves. II.
Change HOLY to ISLE in eleven moves.

I. UPPER SQUARE: I. A Turkish official. 2. A per-
former. 3. To assault. 4. A quadruped. 5. Furnished
with means of protection.
II. LEFT-HAND SQUARE: I. A proportional part or

share. 2. An African wading bird. 3. Fat. 4. A shell.
5. Behindhand.
III. RIGHT-HAND SQUARE: I. A vision. 2. A musi-
cal composition. 3. To settle an income upon. 4. To
pay divine honors to. 5. One who mows.
IV. LOWER SQUARE: I. A kingdom. 2. Listless-
ness. 3. Concerning. 4. Pertaining to the moon. 5. A
covering for the head, worn by church dignitaries.
I. A LETTER. 2. A preposition. 3. A hostelry. 4. A
number. 5. Not outward. 6. The principal meal of
the day. 7. Tearing asunder. 8. Drifting. 9. Offering.
Io. Making believe. EVERETT M. H.

MY first is in cowslip, but not in grass;
My second in iron, but not in brass;
My third is in arrow, but not in bow;
My fourth is in swallow, but not in crow;
My fifth is in sudden, but not in quick;
My sixth is in plaster, but not in brick;
My seventh is in coffee, but not in tea;
My eighth is in ankle, but not in knee;
My ninth is in dinner, but not in lunch;
My tenth is in cluster, but not in bunch;
My whole ten letters in a row
Will spell a place where all should go.

ACROSS: I. To alter so as to fit for a new use. 2. A
drama of which music forms an essential part. 3. Parts
of comets. 4. Grates harshly upon. 5. Unswerving in
DOWNWARD: I. A letter. 2. To perform. 3. Quick
to learn. 4. A fruit. 5. The act of testing in any man-
ner. 6. Besides. 7. To watch closely. 8. One half
of a word meaning to reserve. 9. A letter.




DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 6. A group of islands in the South Pacific Ocean. 7. A
country in the north of Africa. 8. The most elevated
MY primals name an author, and my finals a painter, chain of mountains in the world. 9. An important river
Both were born in June. of Germany. 10. A large river of Quebec. 1. A city
CROSS-WORDS: I. Brittle. 2. Having symmetry aid of tethetherlands 12. The most populous city of Italy.
dignity. 3. Concerning. 4. Extreme joy or pleasure. L. W.
5. A small, monkey-like animal. 6. To surround entirely. ILLUSTRATED ZIGZAG.
7. A long, cushioned seat. 8. A maritime .
province of China. 9. To pour in
drop by drop. so. Not the one
or the other. II. A large ani- __
mal found in South Africa.
I2. A title given in India
to Europeans of rank. i3. N3
A machine for shaping ar-
ticles of wood or metal. I
14. The act of pouring I N
out. 15. A tribe of In- A
dians native of Arizona.
L. W. 1j


I. I. THE weight by which precious
stones are weighed. 2. To make satisfac-
tion for. 3. A common bird. 4. Imbecile.'
5. A dogma.
INCLUDED SQUARE: I. A measure of
weight. 2. A kind of sorcery. 3. Noth-
II. I. The gathered and thrashed stalks of
certain species of grain. 2. A distinct por-
tion of a people. 3. A Dutch gold coin. 4.
Helps. 5. A Russian measure of length.
INCLUDED SQUARE: I. The chief nerve
of a leaf. 2. A small fresh-water fish. 3.
A wager. "XEIS."


i. 5 3

S *

4 6 ..2

CROSS-WORDS: I. Annoys. 2. Pertaining to the
humors. 3. Lamenting. 4. Fashionable. 5. To make
wider. 6. Intoxicated. 7. A warrior.
From I to 2, a carpenter; from 3 to 4, navigators;
from 5 to 6, a country of Europe. H. W. E.

WHEN the following geographical names have been
rightly guessed, and placed one below another, the initial
letters will spell a name given to Baalbec.
I. A seaport town of Peru. 2. A great river of South
Asia. 3. A seaport town of Morocco. 4. A city seven-
teen miles south of Tokio. 5. A Russian seaport city.

EACH of the nine pictures maybe described by a word
of five letters. When rightly guessed and placed one
below another, the zigzag (beginning at the upper left-
Shand letter) will spell the name of a celebrated French
dramatic author and founder of the French drama, who
was born in June, 1606.

I. A LETTER. 2. An article. 3. Exhibited in a showy
or ostentatious manner. 4. The universe. 5. Low hills
of drifting sand. 6. Places in an upright position. 7. To
pull or tear down. 8. In this manner. 9. A letter;



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