Front Cover
 A night encounter
 The fool and the little court...
 On the lagoon
 A boy's visit to Chief Joseph
 Tom Trawley's start in life
 Dee and Jay
 Queer things about frogs
 The little elf
 Toinette's Philip
 Through a snow-drift
 The white cave
 The pulse and the temperature
 The Caliph and the Cadi
 From Hakluyt's "voyages"
 Twilight town
 The stars and stripes
 The old women who sweeps
 To our readers old and new
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00273
 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: VID00273
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 night encounter
        Page 803
        Page 804
        Page 805
        Page 806
        Page 807
        Page 808
        Page 809
        Page 810
        Page 811
    The fool and the little court lady
        Page 812
        Page 813
        Page 814
    On the lagoon
        Page 815
    A boy's visit to Chief Joseph
        Page 815
        Page 816
        Page 817
        Page 818
        Page 819
    Tom Trawley's start in life
        Page 820
        Page 821
        Page 822
        Page 823
        Page 824
        Page 825
        Page 826
        Page 827
        Page 828
        Page 829
    Dee and Jay
        Page 830
        Page 831
        Page 832
        Page 833
        Page 834
        Page 835
        Page 836
    Queer things about frogs
        Page 837
        Page 838
        Page 839
        Page 840
        Page 841
    The little elf
        Page 842
    Toinette's Philip
        Page 842
        Page 843
        Page 844
        Page 845
        Page 846
        Page 847
    Through a snow-drift
        Page 848
        Page 849
        Page 850
    The white cave
        Page 851
        Page 852
        Page 853
        Page 854
    The pulse and the temperature
        Page 855
    The Caliph and the Cadi
        Page 856
        Page 857
        Page 858
    From Hakluyt's "voyages"
        Page 859
        Page 860
        Page 861
        Page 862
    Twilight town
        Page 863
    The stars and stripes
        Page 864
        Page 865
        Page 866
        Page 867
        Page 868
        Page 869
        Page 870
        Page 871
    The old women who sweeps
        Page 872
        Page 873
        Page 874
        Page 875
    To our readers old and new
        Page 876
    The letter-box
        Page 877
        Page 878
    The riddle-box
        Page 879
        Page 880
        Unnumbered ( 83 )
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

, S... l 's--



Copyright, 1893, by THE CENTURY CO. Allrights reserved.



A FEW years ago, in late summer, I was
camping with a comrade, on the Little Squa-
took .Lake-known to the hunters and trap-
pers of that wild region as Second Lake. On
the high plateau of the Squatooks, dividing
northern New Brunswick from Quebec, the
noons are temperate and the nights- chilly, even
during the most fervid of the dog-days.
One radiant moonlight night, when the
windless little lake spread out before our camp
like a shield of silver, and the woody moun-
tains inclosing us seemed to hold their breath
for delight, I was seized with an overwhelming
impulse to launch the canoe and pole myself
up the swift current of the river to the spacious
waters of First, or Big Squatook, Lake. This
lake is ten miles long and from two to four in
breadth, and I was eager to paddle noibelessly
out upon its wide, gleaming expanse. The dis-
tance between the two lakes is about a mile and
a half, with rapid water almost all the way; and
my fellow-camper, who had been amusing him-
self laboriously all day, was too much in love
with his pipe and blankets by the camp-fire.
to think of accompanying me. All my persua-
sions were wasted upon him, so I went alone.
Of course I had an excuse. I wanted to set

night-lines for the great gray.trout, or togue,
which haunt the waters of Big Squatook Lake.
A favorite feeding-ground of these fish is just
where the water begins to shoal toward the
lake's outlet. Strange as it may.seem, the togue
are never taken in Second Lake, or in any other
of the Squatook chain.
It was a weirdly beautiful journey up-stream.
The narrow river, full of rapids, but so free from
rocks in this part of its course that its voice sel-
dom rises above a loud, purring whisper, was
overhung by many ancient.trees. Through the
spaces between their tops fell the moonlight in
sharp white patches. As the long slow thrusts
of my pole forced the canoe stealthily upward
against the current, the creeping panorama of
the banks- seemed full of elfish and noiseless
life. White trunks slipped into shadow, and
black stumps caught gleams of sudden radiance,
till the strangeness of it all began to impress me
more than its beauty, and I felt.a curious and
growing sense of danger. I even cast a long-
ing thought backward toward the camp-fire's
cheer- and my lazier comrade; and at length
when, slipping out upon the open bosom
of tle lake, I put aside my pole and. grasped
my paddle, I drew a breath of distinct relief.


No. Ii.


It took but a few minutes to place my'three
night-lines. This done, I paddled with slow
strokes toward a big rock far out in the lake.
The broad surface was as unrippled as a
mirror, save where my paddle and the gliding
prow disturbed it. When I floated motionless,
and the canoe drifted softly beyond the petty
turmoil of my paddle, it seemed as if I were
hanging suspended in the center of a blue and
starry.sphere.' The magic of the water so per-
suaded me that presently'I hauled up my canoe
on the rock, took off my clothes; and swam far
out into the liquid stillness. The water was
cold, but of a life-giving freshness, and when I
had dressed and resumed my paddle I felt full
of spirit for the wild dash home to camp,
through the purring rapids and the spectral
woods. Little did I dream just how wild that
dash was to be i
Where the river flows out of Big Squatook
Lake the shores draw together like the sides
of a funnel, there are no rocks to impede, and
the strong, swift current is as level as the sandy
floor beneath it. Just at the neck of the fun-
nel, so to speak, the Indians had built a sort
of fence of upright stakes, set close together
in a double row. This fence at one time ex-
tended all the way across save for a narrow
gateway in the middle, where the Indians were
accustomed to stand at certain seasons and
spear the whitefish as they darted through.
At the time of my visit, however, the barrier
extended only to mid-channel, one half having
been carried away, probably by logs, in the
spring freshets. For this accident, doubtless
very annoying to the Indians, I soon had every
reason to be grateful.
As I paddled noiselessly into the funnel, and
began to feel the current gathering speed be-
neath me, and noted again the confused, mysteri-
ous glimmer and gloom of the forest into which
I was drifting, I once more felt that unwonted
sense of danger stealing over me. With a
word of vexation I shook it off, and began to
paddle fiercely. At the same instant, my eyes,
grown keen and alert, detected something
strange about the bit of Indian fence which I
was presently to pass. It was surely very high
and massive in its outer section I stayed my
paddle, yet kept slipping quickly nearer. Then

suddenly I arrested my progress with a few
mighty backward strokes. Lying crouched flat
along the tops of the stakes, its head low down,
its eyes fixed upon me, was a huge panther.
I was completely at a loss, and for a minute
or two remained just where I was, backing
water to resist the current, and trying to decide
what was best to be done. As long as I kept
to the open water, of course, I was quite safe;
but I did n't relish the idea of spending the
night on the lake; I knew enough of the habits
and characteristics of the panther to be aware
the brute would keep his eye on me as long as
I remained alone. But what I did n't know
was how far a panther could jump. Could I
safely paddle past that fence, by hugging the
further shore ? I felt little inclined to test the
question practically; so I turned about and
paddled out upon the lake.
Then I drifted and shouted songs and stirred
up the echoes, for a good round hour. I hoped,
rather faintly, that the panther would follow me
up the shore. This, in truth, he may have done;
but when I paddled back to the outlet, there he
was awaiting me in exactly the same position as
when I first discovered him.
By this time I had persuaded myself that
there was ample room for me to pass the bar-
rier without coming in range of the animal's
spring. I knew.that close to the further shore
the water was deep. When I was about thirty
yards from the stakes, I put on speed, heading
for just about the middle of the opening. My
purpose was to let the
panther fancy that I
was coming within his
n range, and then to
Change my course at
the last moment so sud-
denly that he would not have time to alter his
plan of attack. It is quite possible that this
carefully planned scheme was unnecessary, and
that I rated the brute's intelligence and fore-
thought quite too high. But however that may
be, I thought it safer not to take any risks
with so cunning an adversary.
The panther lay in the sharp black shadow
of an overhanging maple, so that it was impos-
sible for me to note his movements accurately;
but just as an instinct warned me that he was



about to spring, I swerved smartly toward this strange one in which I now found myself
him, and hurled the light canoe forward with straining every nerve. The current of the
the mightiest strokes I was capable of. The Squatook varies greatly in speed, though no-


maneuver was well executed, for just before I
came fairly opposite the grim figure on the
stake-tops, the panther sprang.
Instinctively I threw myself forward, level
with the cross-bars; and in the same breath
there came a snarl and a splash close beside
me. The brute had miscalculated my speed,
and got himself a ducking. I chuckled a little
as I straightened up; but the sigh of relief
which I drew at the same time was profound
in its sincerity. I had lamentably underesti-
mated the reach of the panther's spring. He
had alighted close to the water's edge, just
where I imagined the canoe would be out of
reach. I looked around again. He was climb-
ing alertly out of the hated bath. Giving him-
self one fnighty shake, he started after me down
along the bank, uttering a series of harsh and
piercing screams. With a sweep of the paddle
I darted across current, and placed almost the
full breadth of the river between my wild enemy
and myself.
I have paddled many a canoe-race, but never
one that my heart was so set upon winning as

where is it otherwise than brisk. At first I
gained rapidly on my pursuer; but presently
we reached a spot where the banks were com-
paratively level and open; and here the pan-
ther caught up and kept abreast of me with
ease. With a sudden sinking at the heart I
called to mind a narrow gorge, a quarter of a
mile ahead, from the sides of which several
drooping trunks hung over the water. From
one of these, I thought, the panther might
easily reach me, running out and dropping into
the canoe as I darted beneath. The idea was
a blood-curdling one, and spurred me to more
desperate effort; but before we neared the per-
ilous pass the banks grew so uneven and the
underbrush so dense that my pursuer was much
delayed, and consequently fell behind. The
current quickening its speed at the same time, I
was a good ten yards in the lead as my canoe
slid through the gorge and out into the white
moonlight of one of the wider reaches of the
Here I slackened my pace, in order to recover
my wind; and the panther made up his lost



ground. For the time, I was out of his reach,
and all he could do was to scream savagely. This,
I supposed, was to summon his mate to the no-
ble hunting he had provided for her; but to my
inexpressible satisfaction, no mate came. The
beauty and the weirdness of the moonlit woods
were now quite lost upon me. I saw only that
long, fierce, light-bounding figure which so in-
exorably kept pace with me.
To save my powers for some possible emer-
gency, I resolved to content myself, for the
time, with a very moderate degree of haste.
The panther was in no way pressed to keep up
with me. Suddenly, he darted forward at his
utmost speed. For a moment this did not
trouble me; but then I awoke to its possible
meaning. He was planning, evidently, an am-
buscade, and I must keep an eye upon him.
The order of the chase was promptly reversed,
and I set out at once in a desperate pursuit.
The obstructed shores and the increasing current
favored me, so that he found it hard to shake
me off. For the next half mile I just managed

Again I paused, not only to take breath, but
to try and discover the brute's purpose in leav-
ing me. All at once it flashed into my mind.
Just before the river widens into Second Lake,
there occurs a lively and somewhat broken
rapid. As there was moonlight, and I knew
the channels well, I had no dread of this rapid
till suddenly I remembered three large boul-
ders crossing the stream like stepping-stones.
It was plain to me that this was the point
my adversary was anxious to reach ahead of
me. These boulders were so placed that he
could easily spring from one to the other dry-
shod, and his chance of intercepting me would
be excellent. I almost lost courage. The
best thing I could do under the circumstances
was to save my strength to the utmost, so
for a time I did little more than steer the canoe.
When, at last, I rounded a turn and saw just
ahead of me the white, thin-crested singing rip-
ples of the rapid, I was not at all surprised to see
also the panther, crouched on one of the rocks
in mid-stream.


to keep up with him. Then came another of At this point the river was somewhat spread
those quieter reaches, and my pursued pursuer out, and the banks were low, so the moonlight
at last got out of sight. showed me the channel quite clearly. I laid






aside my paddle
and took up the
more trusty white
sprucepole. With
it I snubbed"
the light canoe
firmly, letting her
drop down the
slope inch by
inch, while I took
a cool and thor-
ough survey of
the ripples and
From the slop-
ing shoulder of
the rock lying
nearest to the
left-hand bank a
strong cross-cur-
rent took a slant
sharply over to-
ward the middle
channel. I de-
cided to stake my
fate on the assist-
ance of this cross-
current. Gradu-
ally I snubbed
the canoe over to
the left bank, and
then gave her
her head. The
past. The rocks, with that crouching sentinel on more than got himself fairly turned around!
the center one, seemed to glide up-stream to meet With a shout of exultation I raced down the
me. I was almost in the passage-when with rest of the incline and into widening reaches,
a superb bound the panther shot through safe from pursuit. The panther,
the moonlight and lit upon the rock I screaming angrily, followed me for
was approaching! As he poirCd lmnell. time; but soon the receding
gaining his balance with some diff(i.lt. shores placed such a distance
on the narrow foothold, a s-rron between us that I
lunge with my pole twisted ceased to regard him.
the canoe into the swirl of Presently I bade him
that cross-current; and -- a final farewell and
with the next thrust I headed across the lake,
slid like lightning down ,, for the spot where the
the middle channel, be- camp-fire was waving
fore my adversary had c me a ruddy welcome.



ON ONKEY is, in
Spanish, burro.
In Texas, New
a Mexico, Colo-
rado, and in Ari-
zona, where the
I donkey is as well
I known as the
Shore, he is. al-
ItV! ways called by his
I Spanish name, on
account of the
fact that this section of the United States so re-
cently belonged to the Mexicans, who, as every-
body knows, talk that language. The Spaniards
and Mexicans also apply the term "burro"

because they are carefully bred and looked
after. But the donkey of the West- the burro -
has no blood," no pedigree. Like Topsy, he
"just growed." With ancestors no better off
than himself, he has been kicked and cuffed and
overworked all his life, and left to pick up his
living as he could; In consequence he is stupid
and lazy and stubborn and dwarfed.
And yet, for all that, he is patient and long-
suffering, will grow fat on rations that would
scarcely keep a nobler animal from starvation,
and is a most valuable aid to the progress of
industry and civilization in the West.
One night, shortly after my arrival at a mili-
tary post in southwestern Colorado, I was
awakened by a most terrific chorus of yells and



to a stupid or ignorant person, just as English- screams, apparently just under my window.
speaking races use the word "donkey." With hair on end and wild visions of an Indian
The donkeys found in Kentucky and Mis- attack flitting through my mind, I frantically
souri are probably the largest of their race, grasped my revolver and hastened to the win-


dow. Drawing the curtain aside cautiously, I
saw in the dim starlight the cause of the whole
disturbance. It was a little group of burros
penned up in the yard of an adjacent set of
quarters. Disgusted, I sought my bed again.
I discovered the next morning that these burros
belonged to the officers' children, and had been
" corraled" in the yard, so as to be at.hand for
use as saddle-animals on an excursion that had
been planned for the next day. The braying

wanted to make some noise. Rickety, clickety,
rappety, tappety, click, clack, click! they went,
and then wound up the whole performance with
a resounding bray! I had sighed to think of
leaving my eastern home for the dreary quiet
of that post, but now I longed for the peace of
Broadway at noontime!
The next day the owners of those burros,
after a prolonged and not altogether pleasant
interview with the commanding officer, dis-


was probably a protest against such confine-
ment, and, if so, was most successful, for the
commanding officer gave stringent orders that
dooryards, even of vacant quarters, should not
again be used for corrals.
But the burros did n't seem to realize that
they had won an important victory. Being
turned loose to. wander at their own sweet wills
upon the pa'rade-ground, they spent the next
night in chasing one another up and down the
board walk that surrounded it. There was
plenty of good soft turf, where they could have
had a half-mile track if necessary; but no-they

posed of them at a greatly reduced rate to a
neighboring ranchman.
The burro has many peculiarities, which he
shares with his half-brother, the mule. Bur-
dened with-a heavy pack, he may travel for
hours patiently and without complaint. He
approaches a little stream of sluggish water
not more than an inch or two deep, or it may
be a dry ravine which has water only in the
rainy season. He sets foot in it with the ut-
most reluctance, and after having been fairly
pulled in, he may deliberately lie down and
refuse to go further. He knows how easy it

The illustrations of this article are mainly from photographs by the W. H. Jackson Co., Denver, Colorado.



':'L :
i, :
''' ~'

makes him so sure-footed. He will carefully
pick his way over mountain-trails that would
be impassable to a horse and would make a
man dizzy. I once saw a burro with a good-
sized pack on his back try to pass along a trail
that led through a narrow cleft in a rock. The
cleft was too narrow, and, when half-way
through, the pack stuck fast. Being unable
to go forward, the burro backed, but was
equally unsuccessful in getting out. He then
tried his last resource -lying down. When he
could n't do this, his groans and lamentations
filled the air, and continued during the hour
it took us to free him. I thought he must
have been injured internally, but no sooner
was he at liberty than he went a few yards for-
ward on the trail and quietly began to graze!
But it is when kept behind his comrades,
if only for a few moments, that his agony is
greatest. Then such struggles to be free!
Such brays! One wonders how so small an
animal can make so great a noise.
A burro dislikes exceedingly to have his ears
touched by water, or by anything else, in fact.
Whether the long ears are sensitive, or he is


is for his little feet to sink into the wet sand,
and the recollection that just such an innocent-

. ,'--.. . ." -, ,, '_ a,--. -


looking place once upon a time proved to be sensitive about them, is hard to tell How
a quagmire still survives in his mind. expressive these same ears are! When the
This same instinct of self-preservation is what burro starts out with his pack in the morning,




they are up in the air, inclining a bit forward,
in token of ambition. Something unusual ap-
pears on the trail; straight forward they go,
and close together, as much as to say, What
is that ?" His comrade behind approaches too
near; back go
the ears along
the neck, to be
perhaps by a "
fierce squeal
and a vision
of heels high
in air, as the
rear burro dis-
covers his mis-
take and hasti-.
ly falls back.
When, what
with thirst and
the heat of
the sun, long
hours of travel
and the dust
of the trail, '
the morning's. ...'
vigor has de- -
parted, then
the ears hang BURROS AS W
wide apart, and flop wearily up and down.
This signifies that you had better choose a
camping-place, for if your animals choose one
for you, all your persuasive powers will be
wasted in trying to make them change their
It is difficult to see what the people of the
Rockies would do without the burro, the sad-
eyed philosopher of the West." He is a great
pet with children, and seems to grow very fond
of them. But he is used principally as a beast
of burden. He boards himself, nibbling the
grass that grows along the trail

On his patient back the lonely prospector
ties blankets, pick, and frying-pan, while he
himself plods behind with rifle and staff. The
miner, fai up in the mountains, uses him to
carry ore in sacks to the smelter, and. bring

back in return flour, sugar, coffee, and even wa-
ter. When the galleries and shafts of the mine
are ready to be braced, the timbers are brought
up in the same way, as are the lumber and fur-
niture for the miner's house.
And finally he brings the rails that are to
connect the mine with civilization by an iron
band. This is the last. Slowly and sadly the
burro turns his back upon the work in whose
completion he has been such an important
helper, and picks his cautious way over the
rugged trail that leads to fresh woods, if not
to pastures new.


1893.] -





HE was a merry, merry Fool so gay,
She was a little Court Lady;
He jangled his bells by night and by day,
She sang in the green ways shady.

iii i I

/-: I


She sang to the Queen with the sad, sad face,
Who sighed, Ah me !" as she listened,
My crown for a day of such childhood's grace!"
And a tear in her dark eye glistened.

And the grave King looked at his jester gay,
And sighed, as he smiled at the chaffing,
" My kingdom to be this Fool for a day,
Whose life is a time for laughing!"

They met when the sun slipped down in the sea,
The Fool and the little Court Lady,
And a queer jester he, and a sorry singer she,
As they walked in the green ways shady;


For" I would I were the King !" this queer Fool
"I am tired of my jesting and my laughter!"
"And oh, to be the Queen! cried this weary little
"And to wear a gorgeous robe forever after!"


Then he bobbed a little bow, and a little curtsey she,
As they passed down the green ways shady;
But "Alack!" quoth the queer little Fool, quoth he;
And "Alas!" sighed the little Court Lady.


(Jackson Park, Chicago, z893.)


"FULL!" cried the gondolier! Swish !-and they started.
Great was the crowd, but they would not be parted;
So in they all scrambled-from Clara to Kitty-
Little white citizens of the White City.




I LEFT Portland on the third of July, 1892,
to visit Chief Joseph, who is chief of the Nez
Perc6 Indians. They live on the Collville
Agency, two or three hundred miles north of
the city of Spokane, in the State of Washington.
I arrived at Davenport, Washington, on the
fourth of July. There was no stage, so I had
to stay all night. I left for Fort Spokane next
day, arriving at about seven in the evening.
As we did not start for Nespelim until the
seventh, I went and visited Colonel Cook,

commanding officer at the fort. I stayed all
night, and next morning I helped the soldiers
load cartridges at the magazine. That after-
noon I watched the soldiers shooting volleys
at the target range. We started for Nespelim
in a wagon at three o'clock in the morning.
The next day I went fishing in the morning,
and in the afternoon I went up the-creek again,
fishing with Doctor Latham. He is doctor at
the Indian agency. The next day I went down
to Joseph's camp, where I stayed the rest of the'

-- -, :.. i' -

(Jackson Park, Chicago, z893.)


"FULL!" cried the gondolier! Swish !-and they started.
Great was the crowd, but they would not be parted;
So in they all scrambled-from Clara to Kitty-
Little white citizens of the White City.




I LEFT Portland on the third of July, 1892,
to visit Chief Joseph, who is chief of the Nez
Perc6 Indians. They live on the Collville
Agency, two or three hundred miles north of
the city of Spokane, in the State of Washington.
I arrived at Davenport, Washington, on the
fourth of July. There was no stage, so I had
to stay all night. I left for Fort Spokane next
day, arriving at about seven in the evening.
As we did not start for Nespelim until the
seventh, I went and visited Colonel Cook,

commanding officer at the fort. I stayed all
night, and next morning I helped the soldiers
load cartridges at the magazine. That after-
noon I watched the soldiers shooting volleys
at the target range. We started for Nespelim
in a wagon at three o'clock in the morning.
The next day I went fishing in the morning,
and in the afternoon I went up the-creek again,
fishing with Doctor Latham. He is doctor at
the Indian agency. The next day I went down
to Joseph's camp, where I stayed the rest of the'

-- -, :.. i' -


time-about five moriths-alone with the In-
dians. The doctor and the teamster returned
to the agency. During my first -day in the
camp, I wrote a letter to my mother, and
bought a beaded leather belt from one of the
squaws. I stayed about camp most of the
first day; but in the afternoon I went fishing,
and caught a nice string of trout.
The Indian camp is usually in two or more
long rows of tepees. Sometimes two or three
families occupy one lodge. When they are
hunting and drying meat for their winter sup-
ply, several lodges are put together, making one
big lodge about thirty feet long, in which are
two or three fires instead of one. They say.
that it dries the meat .better.
When game gets scarce, camp is broken and
moved to a different place. The.men arid boys-
catch the horses, and then the squaws have to
put on the pack-saddles (made of bone and
covered with untanned deer-hide) and pack
.them. The men sit around smoking and talk-
ing. When all is ready, the different families set
out, driving their spare horses and pack-horses
in front of them. The men generally hunt ini
the early morning; they get up at about two
o'clock, take a vapor bath, get breakfast, and
start to hunt at about three. Sometimes they
hunt on horseback, and sometimes cn boot.
They come back at about ten or eleven o'clock,
and if they have been on foot arid have .been
successful, they take a horse and go and bring
in the game. The meat is always divided. If
Chief Joseph is there, he divides it; and if he
is not there, somebody is chosen to fill his place.
They believe that if the heads or horns of the
slain deer are left on the ground, the other deer
feel insulted and will go away, and that would

spoil the hunting in that neighborhood. So
the heads and horns are hung up in trees.
They think, too, that when anybody dies, his
spirit' hovers around the spot for several days
Afterward, and so they always move the lodge.
I was sitting with Joseph in the tepee once,
when a lizard crawled in. I discovered it, and
showed it to Joseph. He was very solemn, and
I asked him what was the matter. A medi-
cine-man sent it here to do me harm. You
have very good eyes to discover the tricks of
the medicine-imen." I was going to throw it
into the fire, but he stopped me, saying: "If
you burn it, it will make the medicine-men
angry. You must kill.it some other way."
The Indians' calendars are little square sticks.
of'wood about eight inches long. -Every day
they file a littleinotch, and on Sunday a little
hole is made. When any one dies, the notch is
painted red or black.. When they are home at
Neisplimi, tieiy all meet out on the prairie on
certain days, and have. horse-racing. They
run for about two.miles. W\ hen they are on the
hoametretcl, about a half a mile from the goal,
a:lot of men get behind them and fire pistols
and \\iip the I'orses.
I \.was out grou-e-hunting with Niky Mowitz,
nmy Indian companion, and ie started a deer.
We.were near the camp. and he proposed to
run aroLund iii front of the deer and head it for
camp. So we started, and the way he got over
those rocks.was a wonder.!..: If we had not had
the dogs, we might have succeeded; but as
soon as they caught sight of the .deer, they went
after it like mad, and we did not see it again.
.Niky Mowitz is a nephew and adopted son of
Chief Joseph; his father v.'s killed in the Nez
Perc6 war of 1877. In the fall hunt the boys

[NOTE: The author of the sketch "A Boy's Visit to Chief Joseph" is Erskine Woo:d, a ,boy thirteen years
old. He is an expert shot with the rifle, and he has brought down not only small: game, but bear,
wolves, and deer. A true "oodsman, he is also a skilled archer and angler, having camped alone in
the woods, and lived upon the game secured by shooting and fishing.
When, two years or more ago, Chief Joseph, of the Nez Perc6 Indians, went to the national capital,
he met Erskine, and invited the young hunter to visit his camp some summer. .So in July, 1892, the
boy started alone from Portland, Oregon, carrying his guns, bows, rods, and blanket, and made his
'own way to Chief Joseph's camp on the Nespelim. River.
The Indians received him hospitably, and he took'part in their annual fall hunt. He was even
adopted into the tribe by the Chief, and, according to their custom, received an Indian name, Ishem-
tuz-il-pil',-" Red Moon."
Chief Joseph's band is the remnant of the tribe which, under his leadership, fought the United States
army so gallantly in 1877; they carried on a running fight of about eleven hundred miles in one summer.
When Erskine visited him, the Chief was inievery way most kind and hospitable to his young guest.
C. E. S. WooDr]




VOL. XX.-52. 817




are not allowed to go grouse- or pheasant-hunt-.
ing without first getting permission of the chief
in command. And it is never granted to them
until the boys have driven the horses to water
and counted them to see if any are missing.
The game that the boys play most has to
be played out in open country, where there are
no sticks or underbrush. They get a little hoop,
or some of them have a little iron ring, about
two inches across. Then they range them-
selves in rows, and one rolls the ring on the
ground, and the others try to throw spears
through it. The spears are straight sticks about
three feet and a half long, with two or three
little branches cut short at the end, to keep the
spear from going clear through the ring.
The Indians take." Turkish," or vapor, baths.
They have a little house in the shape of a half
globe, made of willow sticks, covered with sods
and dirt until it is about a foot thick and per-
fectly tight. A hole is dug in the house and
filled with hot rocks. The Indians (usually
about four) crowd in, and then one pours hot
water on the:hot rocks, making a lot of steam.
They keep this up until one's back commences
to burn, and then he gives a little yell, and
somebody outside tilts up the door (a blanket),
and they all come out and jump at once into
the cold mountain-stream. This bath is.taken
just before going hunting, as they think that
the deer cannot scent them after it.
Only the boys indulge in wrestling. They
fold their hands behind each other's backs, and
try to throw each .other by force, or by bend-
ing the back backward. Tripping is unfair,
in their opinion.
The country is full of game, and we killed
many deer and a cinnamon bear. .In the even-
ing, when they come home, they talk about
the day's hunt, and what they saw and did.
The one that killed the bear said that when he
first saw, the bear it was about fifteen yards off,
and coming for him with open jaws, and growl-
ing and roaring like everything. He fired and
wounded it. It stopped and stood on:its hind
legs, roaring worse than ever. While'this was
going on, the Indian slipped around and shot
it through the heart. I cut off the claws and
made a necklace out of them. The next day
they dug a hole nine feet in diameter and

built a big fire in it, and piled rocks all over
the fire to heat them. In the mean time the.
squaws had cut a lot of fir-boughs and br.o:ught
the bear-meat. When the fire had burned
down, and the rocks were red hot, all the coals
and things that would smoke were raked out, and
sticks laid across the hole (it was about three
feet deep). Then the fir-boughs were dipped
in water and laid over the sticks. And then
meat was laid on, and then more fir-boughs,
and then the fat (the fat between the hide and
flesh of a bear is taken off whole) is laid on,
and then more fir-boughs dipped and sprinkled
with water. Then come two or three blankets,
and, last of all, the whole thing is covered with
earth until it is perfectly tight. After about
two hours everything is removed, and the water
that has been put on the boughs has steamed
the meat thoroughly. Then Chief Joseph
comes and cuts it up, and every family gets a
portion. I helped the. squaws cook some wild
carrots once (they cook them just as they do the
bear, except that they let them cook all night),
and Joseph said that I must not do squaws'
work: that a brave must hunt, fish, fight, and
take care of the horses; but a squaw must put
up the tepees, cook, sew, make moccasins and
clothes, tan the hides, and take care of the
household goods.
The boys take care of the horses. They
catch them and drive them to and from their
watering-places; and the rest of the time they
hunt with bows and arrows (the boys don't
have guns), and fish and play games. The
Indian dogs are fine grouse- and pheasant-
hunters, scenting the game from a long dis-
tance, and going and treeing them; and they
will stay there and bark until the men come.
The dogs are exactly like. coyotes, except that
they are smaller.
Many people have said that the Indian is
lazy. In the summer he takes care of his
horses, hunts enough to keep fresh meat, fishes,
and plays games. But in the fall, when trie
are'getting their winter meat, they get up regu-
larly every morning at two o'clock and start to
hunt. And if the Indian has been successful,
as he usually is, he seldom gets home before
five o'clock. And the next morning it is the
same thing, while hoar-frost is all over the





ground. In the Fall Hunt, I was out in the
mountains with them seventy-five miles from
Nespelim (where Joseph's camp was, and
about one hundred and fifty miles from the
agency), and it was about the 15th of No-
vember; and if I had not gone home then, I
would not have been able to go until spring.
So Niky Mowitz brought me in to Nespelim,
and we made the trip (seventy-six miles) in
one day. We started at about eight o'clock in
the morning, on our ponies. We had not been

gone more than an hour when the dogs started
a deer; we rode very fast, and tried to get a
sight of it, but we could n't.
Chief Joseph did not go to the mountains
with us on this hunt, and we reached his tent
in Nespelim at about ten o'clock. When we
got to the tent, one of Joseph's squaws cooked
us some supper; and on the third day after
that, I went to Wilbur, a little town on the
railroad, and from there to Portland, where
Papa met me at the train.




"Tals suits me down to the ground!" said
Tom Trawley, enthusiastically.
"Well, I don't believe you '1 think it 's
so very fine after you 've been at it for a
month," replied Johnny Slocum. "Anyhow,.
you would n't like it if you had to do it for a
"That's where you're mistaken, Johnny,"
said Tom, earnestly; "I 'd&like anything that I
could do for my living. All I want is a starting
life. I 've had my share of hard knocks for
a boy, and I think it 's about rime that luck
turned and gave me a chance. \\ hy, if I could
go out there on that ocean every day and
catch enough of these to make a living and
save a little, I 'd be happy, I tell you!"
Tom held up the splendid weakfish he was
carrying along the beach, and looked at it
admiringly. Johnny was carrying one also, but
he regarded it with a grave lack of interest.
I don't think much of 'em," he said; "but
you 're easily pleased, Tom."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Tom. "Why, just
think, Johnny-what sort of a fix was I in when
your father met me on that pier in New York ?

I had lost mny father and mother, and I had n't
a relative, a friend, or a red cent. There I was
a-wandering around the North River front,
wondering whether I could n't get a job to
go to sea as a c.bin-boy, or something of that
sort. I saw a man cleaning fish on the deck"
of a sloop, and I wondered v.hether I could n't
do thit; and just then the man put down his
knife and came ashore. I don't know what
made him stop, but he did, and he says to me,
'Do you want anything, sonny ?' And I up
and told him I wanted some work to do, to
keep from starving. And he took me aboard
the sloop, and told me I must n't think of going
to sea, and that I tnust come down here and
fish a bit, and look around before I went
to work-and-and-Johnny, you know all
about it, as well as I do-how good your
father was to me. And now you say I 'm
easy to please But I suppose you never were
really hungry, old fellow."
Never really hungry ? And you 've seen me
eat cakes And Johnny broke into a hearty
laugh, which drove the serious look from Tom's
face and caused him to laugh, too.


"-But-after all, Johnny," he said presently,
I wish I could go to work."
"At what?"
"Anything-fishing preferred. I tell you I
like it. I like. the sport, and I like to be out
there on the sea, especially since you and your
father have taught me so much about sailing a
"I see," said Johnny; "you '11 be sailing a
sloop of your own some day, and taking your
own fish to market."
"Oh, of course. It looks like it now, does n't
it?" said Tom, with a comical expression.
Nevertheless, that night, as they were seated
at supper, Johnny began to tell his father what
Tom had said. Henry Slocum listened for a
few minutes and then said:
"Tom, that 's a good idea."
"But how am I going to manage it? asked
"Well, I '11 tell you," replied Mr. Slocum.
"You know the old dory that I picked up
adrift last spring, Johnny? "
"Yes, Father."
"Well, she 's lying out behind the ice-house.
She 's in good condition, except that she needs
calking and a pair of oars. Now, Tom, I '11
lend you enough money to buy the oars and
the stuff to calk-her with, on condition that
you take Johnny int6 partnership with you, and
I '11 give the use of the boat free as Johnny's
share of the capital."
"But I 'm not givirg anything at all; it
is n't fair to you and Johnny," said Tom.
Oh, yes, it 's fair for everybody," answered
Mr. Slocum. "You are giving the plan that
you made up, and your services."
It only goes to show how good you are,"
mumbled Tom, with a flushed face.
"That's all right, Tom," said'Mr. Slocum.
"It does n't cost me anything to do this for
you, and Johnny gets the benefit of whatever
it amounts to."
"Oh, does he? exclaimed Tom, "you 're
not doing it for that, Mr. Slocum, but from
just goodness to me."
But no matter how or why it was done, the
next day the old dory was formally turned over
to the boys, and they went to work to calk
her. They did not make as fine a job of it as

they might have done had they been in less of
a hurry to get to sea, but they made her tight
and safe. Johnny secured enough paint to
give her a coat, and she was left over night
to dry.
"I 've a fine old set of spars and a sprit-
sail," said Johnny, "and when we get time
we '11 fit them to her; but for the present I
think we '11 have to get along with a white-
ash breeze.' "
"And why not? Is n't a white-ash breeze
enough for two strong men?" asked Tom, so
seriously that he made Johnny laugh.
"Men, eh? All right, if you feel so. And
say, Tom, I 've a beauty of a lobster-pot that I
have n't set lately. Let 's take that with us
to-morrow, and see if we can't get a big fellow
out on Turtle Back Reef."
"Good! exclaimed Tom.
The boys spent the evening in preparing
their lines and other "fixings," as Tom called
them, and they went to bed early so as to be-up
before daylight. :A good sea-fisherman wishes
always to be through the surf and on his way
to the grounds before the sun peeps over the
edge of the waters.
"Turn out, Johnny; it 's seven bells in the
mid-watch." That was what Tom said as soon
as he woke up.
i" My! You talk like an old salt," said Johnny,
as he rolled out of bed.
It was a glorious morning when the boys,
having swallowed a hasty breakfast, started to
push their patched-up dory down to the water's
edge. The sky in the east was all scarlet and
rose-color, and the sea was like a lake of molten
"I tell you this is great! exclaimed Tom.
The fisherman's son was an expert surfman,
and Tom himself was by no means a green
hand, for he had been out fishing almost every
day, except Sundays, for five weeks. So it was
no difficult task for them to get their dory out
through the very gentle surf which was break-
ing softly and lazily on the long outer bar that
Now, Tom, which way ?"
"To Turtle Back Reef to set the lobster-pot,
of course; and after that we will try our luck
with the lines."



So Johnny bent his back to the oars, and
away they glided out to the eastward as if they
were trying to hit the spot where the sun was
just coming up, a great, luminous, orange-

.)r T,E iL7:'I. "I. .

colo:redi biil. The lo:bster-pot[ wa
set in a -:,.-t \.hiich Johnny found,
by cIrtl.n L.berings orn he shore.
Ye" Ve," said Tom, -- I known
the benrinrs myself nowi-
lhen the spire of the lMerho,-).r
church is in ine \\ili tlhe
big cedar-rree t,: the
n:vrti' iardi and tlihe
row'er on Mr. C--:._.

Billings's cottage between the two oaks on Sig-
nal Mound to the southward."
"That 's right," said Johnny; "let her go!"
And Tom "let her go." Next the boys
pulled away to the
southward, and
were soon in the
middle of a fine
school of bluefish.
Their arms fairly
ached with haul-
ing in big fellows.
"Why, Johnny!"
'; cried Tom, "we
will clear enough
money out of to-
day's haul to pay
for the oars."
I believewe
can! answer-
ed Johnny.
And the
oys did
St, too.








* .' .


(-~ .1. -u.


The next day they had less luck, but they
earned enough to pay for the calking. That
night Tom, after considerable stumbling and
hesitating, managed to say to Mr. Slocum:
"I 'd like it, sir, if you 'd keep me here
as a boarder now."
"Why, what do you mean? I have n't said
anything about turning you out, have I ? "
No, sir; but you see-you see-well, I 'm
earning enough to support myself, and I-I
don't like to live on charity."
Mr. Slocum meditated a few minutes, but
although he was only a rude fisherman he
understood well enough how Tom felt, and
liked him all the better for it.
"All right," he said; "you see Mrs. Slocum
about the price of board, and that '11 suit me."
So Tomp made himself an independent youth
at the rate of three dollars a week. But fishing
is a very uncertain business, and Tom found
that while he sometimes made five dollars in
his week, sometimes he made only two dollars;
so he did not have much to spare. He
puzzled over the problem constantly, but he
did not see any way to get ahead.
"Never mind," said Mr. Slocum, when Tom
confided his troubles to him; "this business of
ours is uncertain, but it has its ups as well as
its downs. Why, the first September. gale

may bring your fortune ashore, Tom. Who
knows ?"
Tom Trawley shook his head as he walked
away; for he was not much of a believer in
luck, even when he had been what many would
have called lucky. He was unflagging in his
industry, however, and he always had enough
money to pay his board, though he did not
have any but his rough suit for Sunday.. The
summer was drawing to a close, and the weather
was hot and dry. The boys were as brown as
berries, and their muscles weie like hard rubber.
Tom had never felt so well in his life; and one
morning, as they were going out through the
surf, he exclaimed:
I suppose it 's foolish for me to say so, but
I believe somehow that we 're going to strike
luck to-day."
"Well, I don't know that there's anything to
complain of. We 've been doing well enough."
Oh, I mean something big! "
Less than an hour later, Tom's prediction was
verified in a strange way. The heavy line
which the boys kept over the side for big fish
tightened, and they hauled it in- or perhaps it
would be nearer the truth to say that they tried
to haul it in.
Goodness! exclaimed Tom, I must have
the whole reef on the end of this line!"



No! it's a fish!" cried Johnny; "I can feel
it jerk."
"Maybe it 's a porpoise! gasped Tom.
"Hullo! The line 's broken! "
"No! It's the fish-it 's coming up-it's
coming right at the boat! "
"Oh! Look!"
Whew !-it 's a shark! "
"A big shark!"
"Hit him, Johnny! "
"Where 's the boat-hook ?"
"Look out! He '11 upset us!"
The maddened shark, coming up just beside
the boat, looked terrible, and thrashed about
in a most alarming way. But. when Johnny
drove one of the oars into its open mouth, the
great fish turned, threw up its tail, and striking
the water fiercely, causing a loud report, it
turned and disappeared, taking the heavy hook
and line with it.
The two boys dropped upon the seats in
their dory, and looked at each other in silence
and with serious faces, while they panted after
their exertions.
Finally Johnny began to laugh.
".I don't see anything funny," said Tom.
"You said we were going, to strike something

big, Tom; and we struck something just a little
too big!"
Tom smiled, and said:
"Let's get back to business. We have n't
set the lobster-pot to-day yet."
No, that's so."
"What do you say to putting it on the Bass
Rocks ? We have n't had much luck with it on
Turtle Back lately."
"It's a long pull out to Bass Rocks."
"Well, we can take turns."
"All right; here goes."
The Bass Rocks were seven miles offshore,
and were buried at a depth of twelve fathoms.
They were a famous feeding-ground for lobsters.
The boys beguiled the time with conver-
sation as they rowed out. Suddenly Tom
stopped in the middle of a sentence and ex-
Hullo !"
What 's the matter now ?" asked Johnny.
"You 're a fine fisherman!" said Tom; "the
south wind has dropped right out."
So it has," said Johnny; and the western
sky:says W-e 're going to have a squall."
"Yes, and it 's going to be a stiff one, too."
"Well, we can stand it, I guess, in this boat."


; i-

-'i 4 -__-"- N "
^ i- '"- '.-._ --c -- :. .-i.-.
.''. "%^., - :; "-'** "
'V -. .
1 ['- .^^ -' ^ '' ,M ~ r "* ''
I / y ... : .- ; *. ^ ."





ir ';"c----- ^.

__ -.1-


If the boys had been older seamen, they
would have felt more uneasiness, for the scene
was one to bring anxiety to an experienced
man. The southerly breeze had, indeed, ceased
to blow, leaving the air still, heavy, and oppres-
sive. The sea; which a short time before had
been dotted with tiny whitecaps, now ran
under the boat in long, undulating folds of dark,
oily blue. Away in the northwest over the
land, which was now only a low, faint line to

"Well, we 've got the lobster-pot aboard,"
said Tom; "and that and an oar will make a
fine drag."
"That's so. Let's fix it right away."
They got the lobster-pot over the bow, and
made its buoy-line fast to the painter. Then
they lashed one of the oars to it, and, returning
to the stem, awaited the squall. It was not long
coming. Soon they heard a faint, moaning
sound in the northwest, followed by a low


the boys' eyes, was a heavy, black cloud, which
was rising and spreading very fast. Its upper
edge was fringed with ragged patches of ashen-
gray vapor, which appeared to roll over and
over as they advanced with alarming rapidity.
From the lower edge of the cloud hung what
looked like a curtain of thin bluish mist, and
through this occasional flashes of lightning
could be seen.
It's going to be a great blow," said Johnny,
"but I think the wind is ahead of the rain, so
it won't last long."
Do you think you can keep her head to
the seas when it gets to blowing ? asked Tom.
"I don't know but it '11 be safer to make
a drag and let her ride to it."

hissing. The sea in that direction became all
white, and the patches of gray vapor swept over
their heads at a terrific speed. The next mo-
ment the wind struck the dory, and low as she
was on the water, it heeled her over so that the
boys instinctively seized the gunwale. Then
the dory swung round behind her drag and
pointed her nose to windward, and the boys
breathed more freely. The wind shrieked like
scores of steam-whistles, and the sea rose with
frightful rapidity. The long oily folds were
quickly torn into ragged, foaming ridges, over
which the boat leaped and plunged in mad
dizziness. Tom had been out in choppy
weather, but never in anything like this; and
sometimes as the dory dived into the hollows



he held his breath, expecting that she would go
under. But the drag sturdily kept her head
to the waves, and a dory will ride out even a
bad gale, if you let her alone.
The squall raged for nearly an hour, and the
rgin poured in torrents. The boys were soaked
to the skin, and were compelled to bail out
their boat to keep her from becoming too heavy
with her load of rain.
But at the end of two hours, they saw, to
their relief, a white light spreading along the
sea ahead of them.

"A sail!" he cried; "we are safe!"
Looking in the direction in which Johnny
pointed, Tom saw a schooner under a double-
reefed mainsail and jib.
She 's coming this way !" he cried.
"Yes-no; she 's going about!"
"No; there she goes about again."
Now she 's all in the wind."
"There must be something wrong, or else
she would n't twist about so wildly."
"Wait; let us see what she will do next."
The schooner was sailing in a most remark-



"The squall's breaking!" shouted Johnny
into Tom's ear.
"I wonder where we are," cried Tom.
"That 's hard to tell," replied Johnny; "we
must have drifted a long way."
There was nothing to do but to wait till the
squall had passed. The sky became brighter in
the northwest and soon the black clouds fled to
the southeastward, and the wind fell to a gentle
westerly breeze. The dory was far out of sight
of land, and was still tumbling about on a very
rough sea. Johnny looked anxiously all around
the horizon.

able manner, and the boys watched her with
puzzled faces.
"I know what 's the matter!" cried Tom,
suddenly;' there 's no one steering her. She's
deserted !"
An abandoned vessel! The very thought
was full of gloomy suggestion. Here was a
genuine mystery of the sea. Whence had she
come? Whither had she been going? Where
were those who had left port in.her?
"Johnny," said Tom, suddenly, "I have an
"What is it?"



, 'i: i. % ., ,


"We can't go drifting around out here in
this dory. Night will come on before we can
get back to shore, and we may be run down
.and drowned."
That 's so," said Johnny.
"Then let us board that schooner."
"What! Board a deserted vessel ?"
"Certainly. Let us board her and sail her
to the harbor inside the point."
"Do you think we can do it?"
"I don't know why not. She has sails set-
not enough for fair weather, but enough to
keep her going; and we 're good enough
sailors to steer her."
Let's try it!" exclaimed Johnny.
Working with a will, the two boys soon had
their drag aboard and their oars once more in
the rowlocks. The sea was still very rough, and
the wind was freshening up from the south-
The queer movements of the schooner taxed
the ingenuity of the boys, but finally they drew
near to her, and watching for a good oppor-
tunity, when she was shaking in the wind, they
dashed alongside and Tom sprang into the lee
main-chains with the dory's painter. Johnny
was soon aboard, and the dory was made fast
astern. The boys then turned to survey the
deck. It was evident that the schooner had
been through a rough experience. Her sheets
and halyards were all uncoiled, and were stream-
ing along the deck in a mass of confused lines.
Oh, look here!" cried Tom, as he bent over
an object in the lee scuppers.
What is it?" asked Johnny, picking his
way across the rolling deck.
"A man's coat!" exclaimed Tom.
Do you suppose the man fell overboard?"
"Yes-or escaped with the rest of the crew."
"Why, of course," said Johnny. "She has
-no boat here; her crew must have escaped
in it."
"But escaped from what ? The schooner
seems to be in good condition."
Maybe she 's sinking!"
"She does n't seem to be settling very fast,"
declared Tom, very coolly; "anyhow, I mean
to go below and see what things look like down
Go below ?" exclaimed Johnny.

"Yes, why not? Maybe there 's something
to eat down there."
"Yes; and maybe this is all a trick and the
crew is down there hiding and just waiting-"
"Don't be silly! The crew would n't hurt
us. There are n't any pirates around this part
of the world."
So saying, Tom started for the companion-
way leading to the cabin. Johnny followed with
evident reluctance. Cautiously Tom picked
his way down the steps, trying in vain to peer
into the darkness below.
"Black as ink down there," he muttered.
"Let's go back," said Johnny; "I heard a
"Nonsense. It 's only the creaking of the
schooner's timbers."
He pressed forward, and in a few moments
stood in the cabin. Attempting to move ahead,
he stumbled against a pile of something soft.
"What 's this? Why, the whole floor is
covered with things!"
Tom," exclaimed Johnny, that time it was
a groan!"
You 're right," said Tom, "there 's some-
body aboard here, sick or hurt."
He advanced, stumbling over the things on
the floor, and called out: "Who is here ?"
Out of the middle of a pile of canvas and
clothing a strange figure lifted its head and
shoulders. The boys started back as the figure
spoke: "Ahoy thar! What ship be ye, and
w'ar bound?"
"We 're two fishermen," answered Tom,
"blown offshore in the squall; and seeing this
deserted schooner, we boarded her."
"Werry proper, werry proper! 'Cos w'y?
Practically, the 'Mary Ann Gumby,' o' Port-
land, are deserted, seeing' as how thar ain't
nobody aboard 'cept me, an' I 'm a wrack
"Are you sick ?" asked Tom.
"I ain't wot ye might call sick, an' I sar-
tainly ain't wot ye would stigmatize as wal.
My ankle are sprained so bad I can't stand up."
"Why, how did that happen, and why are
you here alone?"
"Easy enough as you might say. Help me
over to one o' them lockers an' I '11 tell you."
The boys stooped, raised the sailor in their




arms, and carried him with great care across the
"This 'ere schooner are bound from Phila-
delphy to Portland, in ballast. That thar squall
knocked this
wessel onto
her beam-
ends, an'- at '
the same time
throwed me
hatchway an'
made me a
wrack. The
rest o' the
crew, includ-
in' the cap'n,
got a-skeert,
thinking' the
ballast had
shifted an' the
schooner war
goin' to sink;
an' they tuk
the boat an' "OUT OF THE MIDDLE OF A PIL
rowed away,
not stopping' to inquire whether old Hiram
Huggins war alive or dead- which the same I
are half-way atween 'em. An' that are the whole
o' my story."
Then the first thing for us to do is to bind
up your ankle," said Tom. "Is there any ice
There are a little in the ice-box, I guess."
Tom, following old Hiram's directions, found
the ice-box, and soon had some cracked ice
bound in a towel around the injured ankle.
"That '11 ache a good deal at first," said
Tom, "but it '11 take the inflammation out."
"Where did you learn that 'ere trick?"
asked Hiram.
From my father," said Tom.
"Is he a fisherman?" asked Hiram.
"He 's not living," said Tom; "nor my
mother either."
"I 'm 'truly sorry fur ye," said Hiram.
"It 's hard to fight the world alone; but
you 've got your start in life to-day, if ye
know how to use it."
"How do you mean?" asked Tom.

"Wot was ye goin' to do aboard this 'ere
schooner ?"
"We meant to sail her into the harbor, six
miles above our village," said Johnny.


"An' so ye shall; an' old Hi Huggins '11
show ye how to do 't. All ye got to do is to
get me on deck an' fix me comf'table w'ar I kin
give ye orders. Do ye know anything' about
We 've both had a good deal of practice on
my father's sloop," said Johnny.
Good! Did ye ever hear o' salwage ?"
"Yas, money paid fur savin' a wessel from
wrack. Now, ef you two boys sails this 'ere
schooner into port, ye '11 be entitled to salwage,
an' Hi Huggins 'll testify to 't.'"
"But you '11 be entitled to just as much as
we are."
"Thar '11 be enoughh fur us all. This 'ere
schooner is new an' wallyable."
Without further talk the boys set to work
to carry old Hiram Huggins on deck. The
schooner was rolling so that it was not an easy
job; but they accomplished it, and finally
seated him near the wheel.
The seas must 'a' swep' her decks w'en she
was on her beam-ends. I don't know how




she come to right herself but she did," said
Hiram; "fur w'ich the same I are truly thank-
ful. Now let 's see. She are under double-
reefed mains'l an' one heads'l. It are blowin'
fresh, an' the sea are lumpy, an' we 're werry
short-handed, our crew consistin' o' one wracked
sailor an' two fish-boys off a sloop. We 'll let
her canvas stay as it are. So one o' you take the
w'eel an' let her go about nor'west till we sight
the land, an' then we can tell w'ar we be."
Tom took the wheel, and the sailor sat near
and gave him hints as to the proper way to
steer. Johnny went below, and, following direc-
tions given him by Hiram, found some cold
cored-beef, some bread and pickles, and some
cheese. With these and some cold water from
the scuttle-butt they appeased their hunger.
About dark they could make out a white light
ahead of the schooner, and Johnny cried out:

up and on his way home to let his father and
mother know that they were safe. Mr. Slocum
returned with his boy to the schooner, and in-
sisted on taking Hiram Huggins to his house
till the sprained ankle was well. Mr. Brown,
the village lawyer, in due time put in the claim
for salvage, and to his great joy Tom found
himself the possessor of $800. With this he
bought and equipped a sloop and started a fish
and oyster business. Such were his industry and
economy that in five years he owned a large
stand in the market of the neighboring city,
and was fairly on the road to a comfortable

Do you remember what I said the day of
the squall ?" Tom said to Johnny. "I said we'd
strike big luck, and we did. That day gave.
me my start in life."


"Oh, I believe that 's the lighthouse at the
entrance to the harbor!"
After sailing on for half an hour, Johnny's
belief was found to be correct. In another
hour and a half they were safe and at anchor.
The next morning, before daybreak, Johnny was

"What's become of the Mary Ann Gumby?'"
Why, there she is, at the wharf, loaded with
fish," said Tom; I 've bought a half interest
in her."
"Who owns the other half?"
Captain Hiram Huggins, of course."



.what great
plan are you making now? I nearly
window trying to stop you, and you
turned your head!" exclaimed Do
as she caught up with her friend at
gate, after the noon intermission.
"We have n't time to talk it out
come over when I 've finished my cor
answered Jean; and side by side th
ried in at the wide doorway, as the
its warning.
Three hours later, the friends were
talk." Each had settled herself in
great "sleepy-hollow" chairs in Jud!
library. On the table was a large
rosy "Baldwins" -always a necessai
to their "talks."
"Jean certainly is unusually solemn
Dora, as she took a preliminary bite
ple, then looked at her friend with ai
"Well ?"
Jean sat very erect.
"I hope you won't be disgusted,
the truth is this: I 've been thinkii

and I have about decided that girl-friendships
are just'-nonsense! "
A quick bounce brought Dora's reclining
figure to an indignantly upright position.
"I must say, Jean Young, that is a nice thing
to tell to your best friend! Perhaps you don't
care much for me, but I never felt toward any
girl as I feel toward you. Why, I have a queer
"WELL, sensation if I just catch a glimpse of your ul-
eanYoung, ster coming around the corner! Maybe it is
or weighty nonsense,' as you call it; but it's nonsense
broke the that makes me mind far more when you fail in
never even class than when I do, and happier when you
ra Eaton, are 'number one' than when I am. There!"
the school and Dora took a huge bite of apple to stop the
choke fast rising in her throat.
now; I '11 Jean's brown eyes grew wider and wider as
positionn" the indignant words poured forth, till, at the
e two hur- last, something dimmed their brightness, and
bell struck the room was very still for a moment after
Dora paused.
"ready to "I will never say it again, without making
one of the one exception," and Jean's voice was beautifully
ge Eaton's gentle. I never dreamed you felt that way.
Plate of It makes me dreadfully ashamed. I wish I
ry addition could say the same to you; but I am horridly
selfish and always care more for my own honors
i," thought than for any one else's; but I can say honestly
of her ap- that I care more for you than for any of the
n inquiring others, if that is any comfort."
"Thank you; it does make me feel better;
but what else were you going to say? "
Dora, but I am half ashamed to say it now," began
ng it over, Jean, slowly; "but I do wish girls could be

friends in the same way that boys are. I am
so tired of seeing them caress each other one
day, and then say all sorts of mean things be-
hind one another's backs the next; but re-
member, Dora, I don't mean this is true of us,
because I think we have been quite sensible."
Dora was listening intently now.
Oh, I know what you mean! Only this
noon, Bessie Grey walked home with me and
told the greatest story of how Annie Locke had
disobeyed her father, buying candy without his
"Yes, indeed," broke in Jean; and did n't I
see her with her arm around Annie's waist,
helping her eat that same candy!"
"And," continued Dora, "Helen Childs
would n't speak to Lucy, because she had a
mistake in her dictation, and Lucy marked it
wrong. What else could she do, I 'd like to
know ? And it was only yesterday I heard
Helen call Lucy her 'dearest, bestest friend.'
But do you really suppose that the boys are
any better than we are?"
Yes, I do," answered Jean. Since I began
thinking, I have watched Ned and Frank Dole.
You know what chums they are. No one can
make Ned say a word against Frank. Ned
got that new edition of-'Uncle Tom's Cabin'
for his birthday, last week. Mother had an
errand for him to do, just after father gave it
to him; so he told Frank to take it home and
look at it, but be sure to be back by five o'clock.
I was in the library when Ned came in at six.
I thought I would catch him at last, so I said
very meekly,' Did you want anything ?' 'Only
my new book; never mind!' and off he went,
not saying one word about Frank. When we
came up from dinner, Frank was there; so I
walked slowly through the hall. .' I say,' said
Ned, I thought you were to be here by five.'
Then Frank's voice, 'Now, don't get excited,
old boy; Father sent me over to Dover, so I
could n't get here.' All right,' said Ned; and
they went to talking about the pictures, without
another word about the delay. I wonder how
two girls would have acted."
Oh, I can tell you! said Dora. "One of
them would have stormed to the whole family,
when she did n't find the book, and then would
have been as cool as a cucumber when it was

brought back, and then they both would have
been 'mad,' and would n't have spoken for
two weeks!"
Jean laughed at Dora's scornful tone.
Not all girls, I 'm sure; but some would do
just that, I am afraid," Jean admitted.
"What made you think about it?" asked
"Hearing about' John Halifax.' You know
mother tells me grown-up stories, once in a
while; and I think I like this one more than
all the others. It's about a rich boy and a
poor one. The rich one tells the story; and
they were friends-such friends, Dora! Of
course they grew up, and it's very interesting
and exciting, too; but they never have any
quarrels." Jean stopped, with a far-away look
in her brown eyes, as if listening once more to
the tale of that matchless friendship.
"Do you remember 'Tom Brown' and 'East'
and 'Arthur' ? What splendid times they had! "
sighed Dora.
But David and Jonathan were the best of
all. John Halifax and Phineas tried to be like
those two," said Jean.
Dora lifted a Bible from the table, turned
the pages for a moment, then read slowly:

"The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of
David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul."

It was rather a hard puzzle for fifteen-year-
old heads; but as the simple old words fell
reverently from Dora's lips, both girls felt that
friendship, could be something far nobler and
grander than they had ever dreamed.
"I don't see why girls can't do it!" said
"Suppose two of them try it," cried Jean;
but she added, "- if you can put up with my
I '11 risk it," laughed Dora; "but how shall
we begin? David and Jonathan would be a
pretty hard model, and I don't know about
those others; and Tom Brown was mostly
fights, foot-ball, and cricket. That leaves only
your brother and Frank Dole."
"Begin with them, then," said Jean; but
how they will laugh, if they find it out!"
Oh, we will make the copy so much bet-
ter than the original, they will never know; but



832 DEE AD

Jean,"-anxiously,-- you don't think they
really care more for each other than \we do?"
No, indeed; only if we are to have a bo-.
friendship, we must have a boy-copy."
"Ye-es; but you know they never put their
arms around each other, nor write notes, and
they call each other by their last names; and
when they are very glad to see each other they
only slap their friends' backs. Do you mean for
us to do all those things, Jean ?"
"Partly; though of course you could n't call
me Young,' and it would look rather queer
if we took to slapping each other's backs;
but don't you honestly think some girls overdo
their kissing and embracing one another?"'
es- sometimes," said Dora, slowly; then
she added in a brighter tone:
Let 's begin now. Would n't it be better
to call each other by some name like a boy's1
Sand that would make us remember ? "
"How would David and Jonathan do??
laughed Jean.
"Oh, no! The girls mbst notsuspect. Let's
try to twist our own names"; and Dora pro-
ceeded to write them down: "Dora Elsworth
Eaton-Jean Aiston Young."
"Just see here!" she cried the next moment,
pushing the paper toward her friend. There
-:` stood the two :trios of initials: "D. E. E.-
J. A. Y."
S "Is n't that splendid ? Dee for David, and
Jay for. Jonathan; only. I have the best."
"No, I have," answered Jean. "Jonathan
gave up more for David, and it will be a good
thing for me to remember."
The next morning, as Jean Young passed
Judge Eaton's gate, a lively figure danced
down the walk.
How are you, Jay ?"
"Finely, Dee!" with a covert pat on her
friend's shoulder.
And so the enigma began. "What has come
over Jean and Dora?" "Are they daft?"
"I always thought their friendship was too
thick to last," were the comments whispered
behind the two, who rarely walked with their
arms about each other's waists; rarely inlaid
their- talks with dears anid dearies"; and,
worst of all, rarely kissed at, parting for 1the
noon intermission.. But the friendship did last.



"Phew!" said-Phebe God-l, in. "Please some
one see if my head is still on. I just hinted
something about Dora's having help with her
algebra, and yo'u ought to have heard Jean:
you would ha\e thought I had pinched her."
And Dee and Jy, walking arm in a:rm, or at
the most with an arm over the neighboring
shoulder, with all their spoken and acted fun,
felt :their hearts knitting. more firmly as the
days went by. Little did they think of the test
preparing to try their friendship.

It was the custom at Mrs. Grey's school for
the grmna:tic-class to give an annual exhibi-
tion on the e ening of W\ashington's Birthday.
I am afraid some of my girl readers would
turn up their dainty noses at the idea of such
an exhibition: for lrs. Grey was qld-fashioned
in her notions, and. hkat not arrived at the ad-
vanced ideas which clothe the. girl gymnast in
divided skirts. In this exhibition there were
neither traveling-rings nor flying-trapezes, par-
allel bars nor bars horizontal. Pretty wand-
exercises, dumb-bells, and light club-swinging
were all that viere attempted. Very simple it
sounds; but even simple motions, when done in
perfect tine .to bright tuneful strains, may give
great pleasure. and there were many who
counted this \\ashington's Birthday exhibition
as one of the prettiest sights of the year'. -
In consequence of all this, there was one
honor that was coyeted beyond all others in the
school -yes, even: beyond that .of standing
first in the clnss-rotm: this \was the place at the
head of the line which marched into the large,
airy gymnasium. 6n the long-expected night in
February. .Three weeks before that time, the
leader was chosen. Great excitement pre-
\ailed this yen_. for all knew the choice must lie
between Dora Eaton and Jean Young. They
had led the double lines and taken turns as sin-
gle leader during the year; for Miss Neal, the
gymnastic teacher, had often said there was no
choosing between them.
Over and over again it.floated on the school-
room air that the grand friendship would end
at last; many were the. curious eyes waiting to
see the break.
One afternoon, when the girls assembled in
the gymnasium, Miss Neal greeted them with:


" Young ladies, I am in a quandary as to the
choice of your leader, and so have asked my
four associates to help me. After the practice,
they will decide by vote. The decision will be
announced to-morrow"; and, with a signal to
the piano, Miss Neal took her seat. There was

clubs were swung, the wands "charged," and
the dumb-bells clicked. Few, indeed, were the
mistakes, for the class was well trained; but
two pairs of arms seemed moved by a perfect
mechanism: stamp and charge," circle and
click, seemed one with the music. The time


a subdued rustle of excitement as the long line was almost gone. As the last dumb-bell fell
of navy blue swung down the room. It .was into its socket, Miss Neal turned to the four
Jean's day for leading, but the marching was teachers beside her, asking with an expression
principally in double lines. Faultless in step of comic despair:
and turn, the two friends led their files. The "What is to be done? They are absolutely
VOL. XX.- 53.



equal." Then, raising her voice. Once around
the room, girls; single file."
The long line passed the platform, turned the
corer, and stepped briskly down the room.
As they neared the lower corner, the melody
of the march was changed; there was a mo-
ment's confusion as to the heavy beat. At the
same instant, Dora noticed a change in the
swinging of the skirt before her. The truth
flashed through her mind "Jean has lost the.
step!" Not one second did she hesitate; her
whisper came with the thought-"The step,
Jay!" and as they turned the corner, the cor-
rection was made, and Jean's little left foot fell
in perfect time to the heavy bear.
"Break ranks! came the call from the plat-
form. The girls crowded into the corridor,
leaving the five teachers to their difficult task.
"Did I say too much?" asked Miss Neal.
Those girls have soldier blood in them. I
hope some of you snaw some difference."
Three of the council confessed to indecision
but Mademoiselle Soule twinkled her little
black eyes behind her heavy gold-rimmed
"I would ask one question, Mees Neal. Is it
after your manner that the young ladies con-
verse during the walk ?"
Certainly not," answered Miss Neal.
'I would not be too certain," said Mademoi-
selle; but it did appear to me that Mees Eaton
did converse a word with Mees Young at the
last time of circuit."
None of the others had noticed, and Mad-
emoiselle was not certain. What was to be
"I would ask Dora Eaton herself, if she
were here," said Miss Neal.
As if in answer to her wish, Dora appeared
in the doorway.
Miss Eaton, will you come here one mo-
ment, please !"
Dora came forward.
"Miss Eaton, there is no need to conceal the
fact that the choice lies between you and Miss
Young. I wish to ask a question. Did you
speak to Miss Young during the practice ? "
Dora looked up with a quick gleam in her
gray eyes.
"Yes, Miss Neal, I did."

--Thank you," was the answer, spoken in
Miss Neal's heartiest tone. "I knew I could
trust yOu."
Dora picked up her algebra, which she had
left on the window-seat, and left the room.
There was an actual-tone of delight in her
% whisper, as she said to herself, "Now Jean will
have it, sure! "
Truly, love is blind. Dora gave never a
thought to Jean's mistake, without which she
had not trran-gresed herself.
The wrinkles of perplexity had just left Miss
Neal's forehead when, the door opening a sec-
ond time, Jean Young entered and came quickly
toward the platform.
"Miss Neal, I h.ai\ been waiting to speak
with you; but perhaps the others ought to hear,
too. I wanted to be sure that you saw me
break step in the last march. Dora corrected
me at once, and I thought you might have
ov\erlotked it."
"But if Miss Eaton spoke, she also did
"I kn.:w it; but if it had not been for my
mistake. she woul d not have done it."
"To tell. the truth; Miss Young. we had not
noticed your error; and I fear it will make a
difference in our decision"; and Miss Neal
wat.:hed the face before her closely.
Oh, then, Dora is to have it! May I tell
her?" .
There was no feigned gladness in that tone.
Miss Neal's keen eyes softened as she answered:
"I would rather it were kept a secret till
to-morrow. I wish there were two first places,
Miss Young."
And this was the selfish .young lady who
always cared more for her own honors than
for any one else's"!

The evening of the twenty-second had come
at last, and a merry confusion reigned in the
small room adjoining the gymnasium.
"Will it ever be eight o'clock ?" was the im-
patient query of more than one girlish voice.
Nell Madison, what does come after- the
second charge in the dumb-bells ?"
Oh, Jean, stop a minute, and do tell me
what exercise comes just before that parallel
circle in the clubs?"


How many counts before you give the
salute with: the wands ? "
I declare I an not going to think any more
about it, but trust to luck "
Such were some of the comments that turned
the small room into a miniiJtUre babel.
"Into line, young ladies!" and following
Miss Neal's order came a moment of confused
hurrying toand fro, then a breathless, throbbing
silence as the great clock struck its eight slow
strokes. Before the vibrations had quite died
away, the piano rang out the first chords of the
spirited "Leo" march, the door opened, and,
headed by Dora Eaton, the long line swung
into sight. Truly, one might have looked far
and wide for a prettier sight than those forty-
eight girls each clad in soft white flannel blouse
and skirt, while from every left shoulder hung
long loops and ends of red, white, and blue.
No wonder the admiring friends in the gallery
clapped again and again, as the exercises went
steadily on. First the dumb-bells, with the
rhythmical click of the Anvil Chorus"; then
the wands, with the pretty march which is a
military setting of the Virginia Reel"; last, and
most difficult of all, the Indian clubs. How per-
ilous an undertaking it seemed to the anxious
mothers' eyes, as the clubs twisted and circled
above the braids and curls! Even Miss Neal
gave a sigh of relief as the lines closed up at
the end of this exercise and marched from the
room to leave their weapons.
Once more the line is at the door. This is
the moment to which the leader has long
looked forward. A subdued hum of delight
greets Miss Neal as she comes quickly into the
room, for in her hand is a slender staff from
the eagle-tipped end of which floats the dain-
tiest of silken flags. Oh, you boys, who glory
in patriotic festivals, for the opportunities they
afford you for processions, do you ever think of
the envy lying in the hearts of your sisters, as
they stand by the roadside ? What would they
not give to march in the ranks, wield the drum-
sticks, carry the flaming torches, or, best of all,
the fluttering folds of the "red, white, and blue"!
But, alas! propriety and petticoats forbid such

indulgence of female patriotism. And now,
knowing that such feelings do exist, perhaps
you may understand the suppressed delight that
filled those girlish hearts as, to the ringing
strains of "John Brown," the line marched
down the room, headed by Dora carrying the
flag. Half-way across the foot of the gymna-
sium, the standard-bearer halted, then moved
one step forward; the two girls following took
their places behind, the three next back of
these, and so on till all were formed in a solid
half-diamond. The pretty mass of white gowns
and floating ribbons moved forward to the
center of the room! then the music suddenly
ceased, there was one moment's hush, and the
audience started to their feet as the clear
young voices sang the first notes of the Star-
Spangled Banner." How they sang it, till the
very roof seemed to thrill at the last repetition
of that soul-stirring line:

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And it was this that Jean had lost,-the thrill
of keen delight which rose from the holding of
those fluttering colors which.had been the in-
spiration of that glorious song, and now waked
the enthusiasm that made the echoes ring again.
A few minutes later, with ulsters closely but-
toned over their white flannel splendor, Jean
and Dora were walking silently homeward, be-
hind their friends. Dora gave a long sigh.
Jean turned quickly:
"What is the matter, Dee ? I thought your
happiness was complete."
Oh, nothing; only I cannot help wishing
that you could have had it, too."
"Well," said Jean, "if you want to know
the truth, I am just wondering why I don't
wish the same thing; but as surely as I stand
here, I can tell you, Dora Eaton, that I was
never more happy in my life than when I
marched behind you to-night. Is n't it funny ? "
"Funny?" and Dora gave a queer little
choke; then, forgetful of hand-shakes and slaps
on the back, she put both arms around her
friend's neck and gave her one hearty girl-kiss.




He is here!
Spink-a-chink /
Hark! how clear
Drops the note
From his throat,
Where he sways
On the sprays
Of the wheat
In the heat!
Spink-a-chink /

Is a beau.
See him prink!
Watch him go
Through the air
To his fair!

Hear him sing
On the wing,-
Sing his best
O'er her nest:
Spink-a-chink "

Linger long!
There 's a kink
In your song
Like the joy
Of a boy
Left to run
In the sun,-
Left to play
All the day.
Spink-a-chink /



FROGS are mainly stagnant pool, and they show a good appetite
juice. If they try to for soft, decaying water-growths. The fouler
make more than .a the pool, the happier the
short jour- tadpoles. As they are
ney away ., numerous, and thus de-
from mois- vour a great amount of
ture, in a matter that would make
i r drought, it very unhealthful to live near
i they will a stagnant pond, they are
/. perish for 4" really useful creatures.
want of ', In captivity they will gener-
water; and then their bodies will dry away. ally eat meat, whether good
The frog's bones are so soft that he scarcely or bad, as well as bread and
leaves any skeleton. bran dough; and, as a special
A frog meets with remarkable changes dur- relish, will sometimes lunch upon
ing his natural life. He begins as an egg and one another's tails.
hatches out as a fish. That The common frog gets his
is, a tadpole, or polliwog, at -final shape in the first, season;
first has gills, breathing water B but the bullfrog goes under the
alone. In his early days, mud for the -winter, while still a
however, the tadpole soon tadpole; and it takes at least
loses the outside part of his gills and breathes another summer, and some-
air; so that he has to come to the surface of times more, before he has
the water every few minutes, like a porpoise, to full right to be called
get a fresh gulp of breath. a frog. He is some
During the first part of his career, he swims four years from the
by sculling with his long tail. After a while -. egg in getting full
his legs begin to grow out, his tail be- _.; growth, and does
comes shorter and shorter, and when lie not become- old for
is a complete frog, he has nio :tal at .$/ about ten years more.
all, but swims by kicking. \VI'en lalf There are still a number of
frog and half tadpole, he still .s a peculiar things about a frog after
good deal of tail, and, in addition. he has outgrown his polliwog life.
big hind legs and mere sprout;, /.
for fore legs; so that he "i a
very funny-looking fellow. ..
A bullfrog-tadpole at this
stage seems "neither of ;
heaven nor of earth."
Again, the tadpole eats water-plants; but
when he becomes a frog, he feeds on animal
life. Tadpoles eat the green moss or "scum".
that we see so often on logs and plants in a FULL-GROWN FROG.


The frog does not breathe air into lungs, as
do most animals, for he has nothing to draw
it with. He has no ribs, no diaphragm, and
no real lungs; but a kind of sack instead. He
takes in a mouthful of air, and then saai'oi:s
it by means of muscles in the throat; but it
goes into the air-sack, and not into the stomach.
It is just as necessary for a. frog to shut li;i
mouth'to take a breath, as it is lr us to close
the mouth' with the lips or tongue in order to
swallow. 'This explains why a frog can be
suffocated to death if his mouth is kept open
in sofie way:
A remarkable thing about these creatures is
that -the larger part of the breathing is done
through the skin. In fact, it is said that this
supply of air is a necessary addition to that taken
in-by ordinary breathing, as the latter does not
supply sufficient air to support life in a frog.
Another peculiar thing about the skin of the
frog is its powerful absorption of water. This
is due,:, of course, to the numberless minute
pores with which :their skin is provided. It
has been proved that a frog can thus soak up
half its weight of water in an hour. 'The skin
of the stomach is most active in this way, and,
at the same time, is most often in contact with
moisture, such as mud, dewy grass, wet ground,
and leaves afford. As the skin perspires quite
as :freely as it, absorbs, it is easily seen why
contact with moisture.is so necessary. Besides
the loss from evaporation, there is the stopping
of :skin-breathing also, because the skin has to
be kept moist and soft, to absorb fresh air and
give off used air from the system. The soak-
ing of water is what gives the frog's skin such
a cold, clammy, and uncanny feeling when
handled. And it explains a strange thing.:
Though a bullfrog were poked with a red-hot
iron, it would not feel it enough to move out of
its tracks; for the moisture on the skin forms a
kind of film of vapor between it and the iron,
which it takes time to heat through; .and so
the frog would not feel pain from the heat.
Yet, if her water is dropped upon him, he will
instantly jump from pain, as this heat at once
strikes into the skin.
A frog has another safeguard against drying
up,-that is, a kind of interior sack for storing
water. Like the camel, it thus keeps a supply

which carries it over many a dry place, when
it would otherwise lose all its moisture and die.
The water is as pure and tasteless as that of
any spring.
In Australia, it is said, one species of frog
prepares for a drought in a wonderful way.
Sometimes the traveler suffering from thirst
\ill come to a bush. and,. digging into the
-fournd a loot or two, will rind a clay ball.
He cracks it open, and out jumps a frog!
Stranger still, inside the ball is found a good
drink of pure water! And with this the man
quenches his thirst.
As.to their condition during the winter sea-
son, our cold-blooded friends pass the time in
a comfortable iay, in a state of torpor called
The place selected seems anything but com-
fortable--a tomb in the mud in the margin or
bottom of a pond. Hibernation is a state of
entire or partial torpor. It seems like, sleep,
but is 'proved to be not really the same. In
torpor, the breathing. circulation of the blood,
digestion, are almost entirely stopped; but in
sleep these all go on. An animal is awakened
from sleep by a mere jostling; while in com-
plete torpor it wiil not be roused, even if sub-
jected to treatment usually fatal.
The frog is sustained, when he ceases to e1t,
by lobes of fat stored inside his body for that
purpose. This is another method of meeting
privation which our amphibious friends share
with the camel, whose humps are little else but
stores of'fat.
As to diet, the general rule is that frogs eat,
or are eaten .by, almost everything. Slugs,
water-bugs, grasshoppers, and other insects are
specially relished. There is a peculiar arrange-
ment for catching insects. The tongue is hung
by the outer instead of the inner end, so as
to flap forward and back like a flash, and
entrap its prey.
It happens that insects, curiously enough, dis-
appear for the winter and reappear in the spring
at just the times when the frogs hibernate and
come out again. Bullfrogs indulge also in
small fish, field-mice, and ducklings. They
will often eat their own tadpoles. While in
captivity they will learn to eat almost any food
given them.



The appetite of these voracious creatures is
in full vigor when they come out of their long
winter fast. Frogs, in fact (like the Chinese),
seem to do several things in a reversed way,
besides flapping the tongue out as just noticed;
for, contrary to the case
with man and most
other animals, the hot-
ter the season grows,
the hungrier they be-
come, till by July their
voracity is something
alarming. In the fall
(about September, in
England and our north-
ern States), frogs are
usually quite fat from
summer gorging. Then,
by another reversal of
the usual order of
things, the appetite falls
off, and they eat little
or nothing till going
into winter quarters,-
that is, the frog begins
fasting about a month
before its active season
ends. This seems a
queer way to prepare
for the winter.
Frogs are preyed
upon, in turn, by a host
of enemies. Among
them, there are fish,
snakes, hawks, owls,
herons, cranes, minks,
and other so-called
"varmints,"-- to say
nothing of boys. The
hind legs or "saddles"
of bullfrogs and other
large varieties are esteemed as a great table
delicacy. Their flavor has been described
as half-way between'that of chicken and soft-
shelled crab. Invalids will often relish them
when almost everything else is distasteful.
Frogs command good prices in the markets;
and, as they are not plenty, and are quite
shy, the demand is generally greater than the

They are caught in various ways. In the
United States a line, with hook and bait, or a
piece of red rag, is generally used. The line
must be kept in motion near the surface, to
imitate life, as a frog seizes only moving prey.


On the Potomac they are caught on dark
nights, from boats and skiffs, in the glare of
bull's-eye lanterns. The boat is paddled, or
drifted down, to a "nest" or group of noisy bull-
frogs. One man is in the bow, with the lantern
covered, and when the frogs are reached he
suddenly turns the light on them. Dazzled by
the bright glare thrown into their big bulging
eyes, they at first make no effort to escape, and




so are picked up with the hands, and put into
a bag alive. Sometimes the plan is varied, and
the man in the bow will carry a stick and whack
the frogs right and left with it, when they will
turn up their white stomachs on the surface,
killed or disabled. This is quicker work, but
does not enable the catchers to keep the game
so well for the market. The darker the night,
the better; so when the moon rises, the catch-
ers paddle home with their prisoners. The next

In New Jersey, last winter, great numbers of
frogs of various sorts were frozen into the ice in
a sudden cold snap. They were collected by a
farmer, to the amount of a full wagon-load, and
sent to the Philadelphia market. This was an
unusual occurrence.
Common frogs migrate regularly from the
water to the woods in spring, and back to the
water again in the fall. Sometimes bullfrogs
will leave a pond in which they are being fat-


morning they are sold in Washington, perhaps
at a dollar a dozen, though the price often
varies widely.
In Europe, frogs are sometimes taken at night
in the blinding light of torches held by men on
shore, while a comrade wades in with a basket
and net, and picks up the frogs as they gather
to look at the flames. Sometimes, in the day-
time, they are tolled by a decoy frog secured in
a glass jar. As they come in answer-to his cries,
they are dipped up with nets by the catchers at
the margin of the water.

tened for market, and at night cross overland
in a company to some other body of water,
much to the chagrin of the owner. This larger
kind of frog does not leave the water long, but
stays in it more than any of the other varieties.
When water has ,been scarce, they have been
known to leave a drying pond, and move over
to one with more water in it; and, on meeting
the occupying colony of bullfrogs, to fight a
pitched battle for many hours, to drive the de-
fenders out of possession.
Frogs are weather-prophets; they croak the





loudest before a rain. Tree-frogs are used in
Europe as barometers. When put in a glass jar
and provided with small plants and a little lad-
der, they will hide under the plants in wet
weather, and come out and climb the ladder
just before fair weather.
There are some things that are quite remark-
able, though perhaps already familiar to the
reader, in regard to the tree-frog, or tree-toad,
as it is sometimes called. Though it spends the
summer in trees, it lays its eggs in the water,
like other frogs and toads; and it stays under
the mud in a torpid state during the winter.
What a change the spring must bring to it,
when it crawls slowly out of a mud-hole, and
after stretching out its cold, cramped limbs,
climbs a tree, and leaps after insects in the top-
most branches! It is enabled to hold on to
the bark, not by claws, but by suckers on its

"? t'oe, which are covered
Sixth a ticky substance and
o adhere to the wood. lMust
r ,. readers iare l'anilir % ith the wonderful
.r pe:o.er the tree-l'rog has of" matching the
. ..>:I:tr cf the rhini._ it rerst on. tb, changing
the hue of it; -kin a!l th!e va:y fIrom gray t.:c
green. Thi- cannot fail to be a great protec-
tion to it; and, on the whole, we would rather
have the chances of this species than take the
risks which the water-frogs must, with enemies
all around them-in the air, on the earth, and
in the water.





I MET a little Elf-man, once,
Down where the lilies blow.
I asked him why he was so small
And why he did n't grow.

He ililhtly frowned, and with his eye
He looked me through and through.
SI 'm quite as big for me," said he,
"As you are big for you."


Author of "Lady Jane."

[Begun in the May number.]
PHILIP had not been to the studio for two
days, and Mrs. Ainsworth was very unhappy
over his absence. It was a week or more after
the conversation related in the last chapter, and
they had finally decided to leave the next day.
"I can't think what has kept the child
away," said Mrs. Ainsworth, complainingly.
"He knows we are going to-morrow, and
he would certainly be here unless something
serious has happened."
"I will go to Seline," said Mr. Ainsworth,
taking his hat. "If he has n't been there, I
will send her to look him up."
As he spoke he opened the door to go out.
There stood Philip, who was about to enter.
At first Mr, Ainsworth did not notice that Lily-
bel was hanging back in the shadow of the
door, and that he carried a bag and a large
basket; but he did notice that Philip looked
very pale, and altogether unlike himself.
As soon as Mrs. Ainsworth heard her hus-
band exclaim, "Why;'Philip! I was just going
to see what had become of you," she came for-

ward joyfully, but started back surprised when
she saw the boy's face. Then she noticed that
he was dressed in black and that around his
straw hat was a band of rusty crape, and that
his eyes, when he raised them, had the wide,
frightened look that one sometimes sees in a
lost, helpless animal. He seemed much older,
for the charming roundness and color of infancy
had vanished, and his cheeks were pale and
tear-stained; a few days of weeping and fasting
had changed him greatly. When he tried to
speak, his lips quivered, and the sobs which he
struggled to suppress almost choked him. In
one hand he carried a bundle tied up in a red-
and-yellow silk handkerchief; in the other, one
of Toinette's white wreaths, with the purple
motto, A ma Mere.
When Philip entered the room, Lilybel slipped
in behind him, and putting the basket on the
floor, he placed the bag beside it. Then he flat-
tened himself against the wall and stood with
his toes turned in and his arms hanging awk-
wardly, while he twisted his mouth into the
most lugubrious contortions and rolled his eyes
Mrs. Ainsworth saw nothing but Philip. For
a moment she looked at him pityingly; then




I MET a little Elf-man, once,
Down where the lilies blow.
I asked him why he was so small
And why he did n't grow.

He ililhtly frowned, and with his eye
He looked me through and through.
SI 'm quite as big for me," said he,
"As you are big for you."


Author of "Lady Jane."

[Begun in the May number.]
PHILIP had not been to the studio for two
days, and Mrs. Ainsworth was very unhappy
over his absence. It was a week or more after
the conversation related in the last chapter, and
they had finally decided to leave the next day.
"I can't think what has kept the child
away," said Mrs. Ainsworth, complainingly.
"He knows we are going to-morrow, and
he would certainly be here unless something
serious has happened."
"I will go to Seline," said Mr. Ainsworth,
taking his hat. "If he has n't been there, I
will send her to look him up."
As he spoke he opened the door to go out.
There stood Philip, who was about to enter.
At first Mr, Ainsworth did not notice that Lily-
bel was hanging back in the shadow of the
door, and that he carried a bag and a large
basket; but he did notice that Philip looked
very pale, and altogether unlike himself.
As soon as Mrs. Ainsworth heard her hus-
band exclaim, "Why;'Philip! I was just going
to see what had become of you," she came for-

ward joyfully, but started back surprised when
she saw the boy's face. Then she noticed that
he was dressed in black and that around his
straw hat was a band of rusty crape, and that
his eyes, when he raised them, had the wide,
frightened look that one sometimes sees in a
lost, helpless animal. He seemed much older,
for the charming roundness and color of infancy
had vanished, and his cheeks were pale and
tear-stained; a few days of weeping and fasting
had changed him greatly. When he tried to
speak, his lips quivered, and the sobs which he
struggled to suppress almost choked him. In
one hand he carried a bundle tied up in a red-
and-yellow silk handkerchief; in the other, one
of Toinette's white wreaths, with the purple
motto, A ma Mere.
When Philip entered the room, Lilybel slipped
in behind him, and putting the basket on the
floor, he placed the bag beside it. Then he flat-
tened himself against the wall and stood with
his toes turned in and his arms hanging awk-
wardly, while he twisted his mouth into the
most lugubrious contortions and rolled his eyes
Mrs. Ainsworth saw nothing but Philip. For
a moment she looked at him pityingly; then



she took him in her arms and drew him close
to her. "My poor child, my darling! Tell
me what has happened," she said tenderly.
Philip wiped his eyes and swallowed his sobs
resolutely. "MAamnmy is dead," he replied bro-
kenly, and-and I 've come to stay-with you."
"Your mammy is dead? Why, how -when
did it happen?" exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Ains-
worth at the same moment.
It was in the night. She went away while
I was asleep. She thought I might go and
leave her, but now she's gone first and left me,"
said Philip, making a great effort to control his
grief, and trying to tell his sad little story calmly
and clearly. "Mammy always got up early,
and when she did n't come to call me, I went
to her room, and she was lying in her bed
asleep. I tried to awake her and I could n't,
so I ran to the doctor's on the next block. He
came back with me, and he said-he said-
dear mammy would never wake again! She
had just gone away in her sleep, and she never
told me she was going-never said good-by or
anything. Then I went for Seline. I knew
Seline would come, because Pere Josef was
away. Pre Josef was a good friend to mammy;
she always. went to him when she was in
My dear, dear boy! why did n't you come
to us?" asked Mrs. Ainsworth, who was crying
in spite of herself. "We. would have done
everything for you."
"Well, mammy knew Seline. I did n't think;
I ran right to her, and she and Lilybel have
stayed with me ever since. We had the funeral
yesterday, out at St. Roch's- mammy always
said she wanted to be buried there. It's awful
quiet there. She had money in a box to pay
for everything,- I knew all about it; she
showed it to me once and told me it was to
bury her with,- and we had two carriages. Pere
Martin from St. Mary's Church went in one,
and Dea and I, with Seline and Lilybel, went
in the other, and -and I cut roses enough to
cover her grave, because dear mammy won't
want any more flowers!" and, overcome by the
thought that these were the last offices for the
departed, he hid his face on Mrs. Ainsworth's
shoulder and cried passionately.
At that moment there came a low growl

from the basket, followed by the wail of acat,
and the peeping and fluttering of fowls.
You jes' stop dat noise in dar!" cried Lily-
bel, sharply, at the same time giving the basket
an energetic, kick, which served only to in-
crease the tumult.
Mrs. Ainsworth started up surprised. "What
are those?" she asked, looking at Philip's
humble belongings.
"They 're mine," said Philip, wiping away
his tears. "Lilybel brought them. The puppy
and the kitten and six little chickens are in the
basket. Mammy raised the chickens-the hen
stole her nest and mammy found it; she
thought so much of them, and I could n't
leave them. These are P&re Josef's mice," -in-
dicating the bundle in the red-and-yellow hand-
kerchief,-" and this," glancing at the wreath,
"I want to keep always to remember dear
mammy by. I could n't leave them, so I
brought them this morning, and I 've got to
take them all with me."
Mr. Ainsworth smiled, but there was a lump
in his throat that was difficult to swallow. How-
ever, he said gently:
"Well, my dear boy, we will see presently
what we can do with your family of pets; but,
first, do I understand that you have. made up
your mind to go with us-that you have really
"Yes, sir; I mean to go. You know I said
I 'd go if it was n't for leaving mammy, but
now she 's left me and there 's nothing to
hinder; I can't live there without her. I have
no other home, now, and Pere Josef is gone. I
will go with you and stay until he comes back,
then he '11 tell me what I must do. Seline
has locked up everything. There 's nothing
there now to miss me but the Major and the
Singer, and I guess they won't forget me. I
guess they '11 be there when I come back.
Now," he added with a business-like air, and
quite as if everything was settled, "if you 'll
tell me where I can put those things in the
basket, Lilybel and I will let them out; and
there are my clothes"; pointing out the bag.
My best suit is in there, but I sha'n't wear
it now, because I 'm in mourning. Dea put
this crape on my hat; she had it when her
mama died. Was n't she good to think of it ?"



Mrs. Ainsworth's heart was deeply touched
by the simplicity and confidence of the child;
she could only clasp him to her and cry over
him, while her husband turned away to smile
and wipe off a tear at the same time-so
closely united in Philip were the
ludicrous and the pathetic.
The artist was at a loss
to know how to dispose
of the con-
tents of the
basket with-
out shaking
Philip's con-
fidence or

his feelings;
it was a matter
difficult to decide upon
in a moment. However, he
gained time by sending Lilybel
down to the court with the "happy
family" of animals, where the cobbler and
his wife took charge of them until some per-
manent arrangement could be made for their
safety and comfort. But Pare Josef's "chil-
dren" had come to stay. Philip would never
leave them behind, and Mr. Ainsworth knew
that the little cage and its tiny occupants would
have to travel with them wherever they went.


obliged to delay their departure a day or two,
in order to make some
new arrangements,
owing to this
sudden addi-
tion to their
family. In the


first place,
was not
quite suit-
able for a
r summering
in the Adi-
"SHE TOOK HIM IN HER where they
CLOSE TO HER." expectedto
months; and then there were the puppy, the
kitten, and the chickens to be disposed of, and
various other things to be settled.
They loved Philip very dearly, and enjoyed his
presence greatly; but now that he was thrown
entirely on their care and protection, they were
somewhat dismayed at the responsibility.



"He is a dear boy, and I am so happy to
have him," said Mrs. Ainsworth; "and yet, now
when he is really ours, I feel some misgivings."
"Yes, it 's a very serious matter to adopt a
strange child, especially one of whose parents
we know nothing," returned Mr. Ainsworth,
thoughtfully. I wonder what Mother will say?
I 'm sure she won't approve of it. You know
what strong prejudices she has, Laura."
But if it is a pleasure to us she surely won't
object. We have had sorrow enough, and if
this dear boy fills our empty hearts in the least,
or comforts us for the loss of our darling, she
ought to be thankful. In any case, I can't see
that we are obliged to consult your mother,"
added Mrs. Ainsworth, with some spirit; "we
are the ones to decide whether it is best or not."
"Certainly, my dear, it is entirely our affair.
It seems best it really seems best both for us
and the child. Poor forlorn little fellow! his
confidence in us is touching; and, Laura dear,
there are advantages in his having no kin. We
don't know who they might have been. They
might have made it impossible for us to have
him. Seline, who seems to have been some-
what in Toinette's confidence, says the boy is
an orphan, without doubt, and that no one has
ever attempted to claim him. Of course there
is a history and a mystery; but now that the old
nurse is dead, I don't see any way to find out.
If there had been a possibility of having him
while she lived, I should have tried to get the
secret from her, although Seline says she was
very 'close.' As it is, I think that we can
feel that he is entirely ours because he belongs
to no one else."
"And I am sure he came from good stock,
he has so many fine qualities; he is so truthful,
so brave, and so generous, and he has such a
plastic, gentle nature that we can mold his
character as we wish, and make his deportment
perfection in a short time," said Mrs. Ainsworth,
"He is a genuine child of nature," returned
Mr. Ainsworth. I don't know how an artifi-
cial atmosphere will affect him. I don't know
how he will develop, away from his simple
natural life, his flowers, his birds, his blue skies
and soft winds."
"Let us hope for the best," said Mrs. Ains-

worth, encouragingly. "If he does us no fur-
ther good, he at least has given me a new
interest in life, and that is worth something."
"It is worth everything, my dear. It means
life and hope to me as well as to you."
The next morning, after Philip had brought
himself and his belongings to Rue Royale,
Dea went early to the studio, but the boy had
already gone out, and Mrs. Ainsworth, who
was there alone, was busily engaged looking
over a package of boy's clothing which had
just been sent in for her inspection.
Dea stood beside her, and watched her with
great interest as she examined garment after
garment-such fine glossy jackets and trou-
sers, such dainty shirts and long soft stockings,
and shoes and hats that were marvels of per-
"Are these all for Philip?" asked Dea, in
her soft little voice, her eyes full of surprise
and pleasure.
"Yes, my dear. Do you think there are too
many? said Mrs. Ainsworth, with a smile.
"There are a great many. I 'm glad Philip
will have them; he will look so nice. I hope
he will have my crape on his new hat. When
he sees it he will think of me. I had it for
Mama; I would n't have given it to any one
Philip had gone out very early; and Mrs.
Ainsworth told Dea that he had asked to go
to St. Roch's, to plant some flowers from the
Detrava place on Toinette's grave.
"Well, I will go there and help him. I
often go there; my Mama is buried there, and
Toinette's grave is very near hers. It is so
peaceful there; there are no sounds -only the
leaves rustling and the birds that sing softly,
as if they .were afraid of waking those who
sleep there, I will go right away and help
Philip plant the flowers"; and with a gentle
"Au revoir," she slipped out as quietly as she
had entered.
When Dea reached the pretty little ceme-
tery, she stood still for a moment at the gate,
and looked sadly and thoughtfully toward the
shady corner where Philip was busily planting
the flowers, and carefully pressing the fresh
earth around them. They were Toinette's
favorites--violets, pansies, and the slender




amaryllis. He had placed a sweet-olive at
the head and a jasmine at the foot. "They
will bloom first in the spring," he thought;
"and she loved them so."
Near was another carefully tended grave.
It was covered with lilies and hedged around
with fragrant white roses. At the head of the
mound, under a glass shade, was an exquisite
figure in white wax. It represented the angel
of sorrow. The beautiful head was bowed,
and the white lips seemed to murmur a prayer.
Dea thought this little angel the most beautiful
memorial that ever was placed over a sleeping
The face resembled hers; and as she stood
with clasped hands above it, she too seemed
like an angel of sorrow. When Philip looked
up suddenly and saw her standing there, among
the tangle of roses, slim and pale, with soft,
downcast eyes, the thought of what he had lost
and what he was about to lose filled his heart
with sharp pain, and for a moment he gave
way to his grief in a passionate flood of tears,
kneeling in the long grass and covering his face
with his earth-stained hands.
In a moment Dea was kneeling beside him,
trying to comfort him with gentle words of
sympathy and love. "Don't! Philip, don't cry
so! It would hurt your mammy if she knew it.
You see, I don't cry over Mama's grave. Dear
Mama! she sleeps so sweetly there, and Papa's
beautiful angel always watches over her day
and night."
Oh, Dea, I 'm going away; I 'm going so
far, and there won't be any one to take care of
mammy's grave!"
"Yes, Philip, there will; I will take care of
it, and at All Saints' I will have the flowers dug
and the grass cut. Seline will help me; we will
do it together, and when you come back it will
be lovely here."
Oh, Dea! I want to stay here, after all. I
don't want to go; I can't go!" cried Philip,
with sudden regret.
"Yes, you must go, Philip. It will be best.
Seline says so, and monsieur says so; but you
must come back when Pere Josef returns.
Now you have planted all your flowers, come
into the chapel and we will, say a prayerrthere


Together the two children entered the beau-
tiful little ivy-covered chapel, and, with clasped
hands and reverent mien, knelt devoutly to say
their prayers.
And as Dea prayed the rosy light streamed
down from the stained window above and fell
over her, making her as radiant and beautiful
as the pictured saint before her. And it was
in that attitude, and with that sweet light over
her,. that Philip remembered her.

AT last they were ready to go. Everything
was arranged; all the difficulties overcome,
all obstacles surmounted. Mr. Ainsworth found
it very easy to persuade Philip to leave the
"happy family" with Dea; and Lilybel was
employed to carry the basket to its destination,
where Dea received it joyfully and introduced
its lively occupants to the little home on Viller6
This proved a satisfactory arrangement on
both sides. Philip was quite willing to leave
these objects of his affection with Dea, and Dea
was delighted to have something of Philip's
to care for. It was a bond of union between
them, and she was sure that it would prove a
happy one, providing Homo was inclined' to
share her favor with the new-comers-the
puppy and the kitten.
"I think Homo will be good to them," she
said hopefully to Philip, "although he is very
jealous sometimes; but he knows they are yours,
and he is so fond of you that I 'm sure he '11
let me keep them."
As to the wardrobe, Mrs. Ainsworth had
represented to the boy, without wounding
his pride, that the little garments he had al-
ways worn would be too thin for a colder cli-
mate, that he would outgrow them before he
returned, and so he had better give them to Lily-
bel, who would look very well in the best suit.
This Philip readily agreed to; he felt that he
owed Seline a debt of gratitude for many favors,
and in spite of Lilybel's unreliable character, he
secretly liked him. Therefore the bag and its
contents were transferred to the droll little
darky, who carried them off on his head as


proudly as though they had been the spoils
a conqueror.
Now they sat in the dismantled studio, wi
the unsettled air of pilgrims about to start fo6
on a new venture. Mr. Ainsworth, in his tray
ing outfit, was moving about restlessly; M
Ainsworth appeared tired and worried; wh
Philip, in his handsome new clothes, did i
seem quite so much at his ease, nor look nea
so picturesque, as he did in the homely garme:
he had always worn. Dea was there; she h
been with them all day, and they had invil
her to remain and go with them in the carrie
to the station. Now she sat beside Philip, vi
quiet and pale; from time to time she looked
him with a mingled expression of admirat:
and dissatisfaction. He did not seem quite
same boy in these strange new clothes;
could not feel so intimate with
him, and there was a little for-
mality in. her manner toward
him, although her heart was
very heavy at the thought of 'fl .''!
his going. Philip, now that the
time had actually come to start
on his first journey, was eager to !' .j
be off. He was pale and ex- "
cited; suddenly the tears would
start to his eyes, but he would
wipe them off bravely, while he
appeared to busy himself with
Pare Josef's white mice, who, in their c
door costume, the red-and-yellow handkerch
were quite as impatient as Philip, if one co
judge from the flurry and scurry going on w:
in the cage. They are very lively," s
Philip, peeping in at them; "they are play
Dea smiled a little, but said nothing.
was wondering how they could be so happj
such a time, and Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth w
thinking that the little pets were likely to
something of a nuisance on the journey.
At last the carriage was announced, mucl
the relief of all, and they started at once for
station. When they arrived there and step]
out on the platform, the first persons they
were Grande Seline and Lilybel anxioi
awaiting them.
Seline's good, dusky face was full of trou

and her eyes were suspiciously red. Lilybel, in
Philip's best suit, was grinning and rolling his
eyes extravagantly, while he
balanced on his head
a large paper box.
The moment
Seline saw Philip, .
she hurried to .
him, and took
him, new suit,
Pere Josef's ,


iut- "children," and all, in a broad embrace. My,
ief, my!" she sobbed, "an' yer really is goin' erway,
uld an' so hansome in yer new mournin'! My, my,
ith- chile! how yer aspects Ma'mselle Dea an' me's
aid goin' ter live when yer done gone ? "
ing But I '11 be back soon, Seline," said Philip,
bravely, as he disengaged himself from the old
She woman's clasp and wiped the tears off his
r at face. "I '11 be back soon,-won't I ?" and he
'ere looked appealingly at Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth.
be They nodded an affirmative, and smiled assur-
ingly. Next winter, if nothing prevents,"
Sto they said.
the "An', chile," continued Seline, somewhat
ped comforted by this promise, "I 's done made
saw yer a fine loaf of cake ter take erlong, 'cause I
isly don't know as yer '11 get cake whar yer goin',
an' I 's put some fried chicken in der box, an'
ble, a bag full o' pralines."

* Blindman's-buff.



Oh, thank you, Seline!" said Philip; he was
not ungrateful for such tangible proofs of good-
"Here, Lilybel, jes' let dat gen'l'man," indi-
cating the porter, "put dat box.in Mars' Philip's
seat; an', m'sieur," turning to Mr. Ainsworth,
"I hope you an' your madam,'"I take a bite of
dat cake an' chicken."
Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth thanked Seline
heartily, and wished her a kind good-by; then
they drew Dea to them and kissed her tenderly.
"Don't forget us, dear child; we will bring
Philip back soon," they whispered.
The last moment had come. It was time
for the train to start, and the last good-by must
be said. Philip took Dea's little hand with a
tremulous smile and a dry sob; he would not
cry then; tears would come later. I must get
on the train now, Dea; but stand right here
where I can see you, and don't cry when I 'm
gone. I 'm sure to come back soon." He spoke
hurriedly and hopefully. "I 've got to come
back to bring Pere Josef's 'children.' Good-by,

Dea.". Then he kissed her tremulously. Good-
by. Good-by, Seline. Good-by, Lilybel." And
without looking back, pale and excited, he
followed Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth into the
waiting car.
Seline put her handkerchief to her eyes and
sobbed, Dea hid her face in her hands, and
Lilybel sniffed and wiped his eyes on the
corer -of Seline's apron; and that was the
tableau Philip saw as the train rolled out of
the station.
When it was nearly gone from sight, Dea
looked up. She was very pale and her eyes
were quite dry, but her small face was full of
sorrow. At that moment she caught a glimpse
of Philip; he was leaning bareheaded from the
window of the car. Mrs. Ainsworth's arm was
around him, the wind blew the curls away
from his forehead, he smiled and waved his
hand. Then his beautiful boyish face became
only an indistinct blur; and so Toinette's Philip
went away from Dea's sight out into the wide,
wide world.

(To be continued.)



ON a branch railroad of less than a hundred
miles, running through several counties and
over a mountain-range in southern Pennsyl-
vania, it began to snow at daylight one January
day, and snowed steadily the whole day.
Night was ushered in amid a somber falling
of snow. Out of the darkness a shrieking
wind sprang up. The falling flakes and fallen
snow were blown hither and thither in clouds.
Old men shook their heads, saying it would be
the deepest snow of the winter, and heavy drifts
might be expected.
The next day dawned to reveal snow in
every direction, lying in ridges or waves, in
some places a foot deep, in others ten feet.
Fences had disappeared from view. Though

it had ceased to fall, a raw icy wind fitfully
blew up clouds of snow.
A trackman brought word to Summit Station,
on top of the mountain, that Long Cut, three
miles dowvn along the side of the mountain,
was full of snow to its top-level. The cut was
several hundred yards long and as high as a
passenger-car. The railroad did not possess
such a thing as a steam snow-plow.
Train No. 28, going east, arrived an hour
late at Summit Station, and found orders to
remain there until the road was opened. A
crew of workmen had been sent early in the
morning to open Long Cut. A second crew
started for the cut to help the others.
After a wait of almost two hours, word came




that the crews at the cut had made no head-
way. For every shovelful taken out one was
blown back.
At last came a despatch from the Superin-
tendent: Let train No. 28, J. Jack, engineer,
try to open Long Cut, double-heading with
engine No. 7."
Engine No. 7 was at Ridgmont, two miles
to the west. It soon reported at Summit. The
train was made up: J. Jack -known to every

" -^ " f;**.


lever in his hand, was increasing the speed each
second. The "double-header" flew along. It
was at the cut. A wall of snow was before
it. The engines jumped at it with tremendous
force, tearing a great hole through. The snow
was thrown into the air in huge chunks, falling
on men of the working-crew a hundred feet
away. The snow was pushed aside, jammed
and piled against the sides of the cut, and over
it. White clouds of snow went flying through

P -0

-1~ KMnl~~:; ~~~ii~
~' M~;-TSr?
t'i 4


one as "Jack in front with his engine, then
engine No. 7, and three coaches. It was a
few minutes before the stroke of noon. Every-
thing was in readiness. At the order, Jack
with his train pulled away, and passed out of
sight in a whirl of flying snow.
Three quarters of a mile from Long Cut,
Jack gave several vicious jerks at the whistle,
and its hoarse shrieks broke on the cold air.
The working-crews at the cut, hearing the
whistle, hurried to get as far away from the
track as possible.
The two engines were carrying every pound
of steam that they could. Jack, with the throttle-
VOL. XX.-54.

the air. On and on, into the cut, plowed the
"double-header." It was moving a little slower,
but it was moving; and the snow was being
hurled from the cut. Two thirds of the cut
had been pierced before the engine stopped.
When the "double-header" leaped into the
wall of snow and went plunging through it,
every pane of glass in the cab of the front en-
gine was shattered. Pieces of glass went fly-
ing over and around Jack and his fireman.
Through the broken windows followed snow as
though pitched from great shovels.. When the
engines came to a stop, Jack and the fireman
were covered with snow where they sat. There




was still a great white wall ahead. It must
be cut through.
They succeeded in backing the train. It
was cleared of snow, so as to be able to run
freely. Again the "double-header" started
under full steam down into the cut; again it
flew at the white wall ahead; again the snow
was hurled into the air; again the flying masses
beat .upon engineer and fireman, half burying
them. But when the engines were a second
time brought to a stop, the drift had been
pierced through.
The "double-header" stood half out of the
cut. The train was robed in dazzling white.
Soon black streaks were seen on the boilers,
as the snow melted and ran off. A vapor
from the melting snow went up. The wheels
were solidly packed with snow. Snow was
pushed and jammed into every portion of
the machinery that it could reach. The
force of the plunge through the great drift

had pushed the cab of the engine several
inches out of place.
The train was cleared again, the cab was
hammered back into place, and everything
made ready for the trip ahead. No glass for
the cab could be obtained until at the end of
the run. Jack, engineer of train No. 28, faced
the icy wind, in the open cab.
At the end of the run, Jack left the engine in
the yard, in charge of those who would make
the repairs. Chilled, stiff with cold, hungry,
and tired, he sought his home. His baby
girl met him with a happy shout: "Here's
Papa! Papa's come! Oh, Papa, how glad I
am to see you! I 've been waiting so long."
Through the snow-drift, at the order of
others, for the sake of others, at the risk of
self, and the only notice of it a quickly forgot-
ten newspaper item published the next day:
The eleven-o'clock train, A. M., yesterday was four
hours late, because of a snow-drift in Long Cut.

C E-;

C' -
- -':- -_ _


In the mountains of the Western States, where the times, a single engine is helpless; and a half dozen
snowfall is often exceedingly heavy, drifts form upon locomotives must be coupled behind a huge snow-plow,
the railways so as to block them completely. At such and driven again and again to the attack.








[Begun in the November number.]
TOM has been gone nearly two hours!" the
baronet exclaimed. "He ought to be back,
unless he and Ned are in trouble. Maude, we
cannot stay here. Be brave, now, my dear.
You and Helen must each take one of Tom's
extra revolvers. Come, Hugh. We may have
to fight our way."
I 'm ready, Father," said Hugh.
Thicker grew the smoke as they hurriedly
made their way to the burrow.
YYip Yip! was the sound they heard in
advance of them when they entered the burrow.
"I 'd forgotten the dogs!" exclaimed Sir
Frederick. "They can help in a fight, but
they -may make it more difficult for us to con-
ceal ourselves."
They would be valuable help in a tussle,"
said Hugh, as he scrambled along to the door.
Hardly had he opened it before Yip squeezed
past him, followed by the hounds; and Hugh
sprang out after them.
"There they go! he said. "They did n't
wait a second. What are they after? "
I can't imagine," said his father, as he
stood up. He then stooped again to help out
Lady Parry. "The dogs have gone, my dear.
I am almost glad of it."
Oh, I am so glad to get a.breath of fresh
air!" she said. "Helen, how very pale you
"I .was all but stifled, Aunt Maude," said
Helen. "I shall soon feel better. Hark, Uncle
Fred! .What 's that ?"
Sir Frederick replied, "I believe we are out
only just in time. Now we shall see what will
be the effect of the explosion. Tom told me
that he had several kegs of blasting-powder."
All around them was the circle of thick

bushes before the front door of the cave. Over
their heads arose the giant height of the great
tree. Along the slope above them, as they
looked, the fire was sweeping fast before the
north wind, so that the smoke of it did not
reach them. Suddenly all the air was filled
with a dull and thunderous roar, while a puff
of dense, white vapor burst out of the hole
between the roots, through which they had but
just emerged.
"What a crash that was!" remarked Sir
"Aunt Maude, look !" screamed Helen.
"The rocks up yonder are springing into the
air! "
"Only a few fragments," said the baronet.
"But it was a heavy report; I wonder what
damage the explosion will do."
"That's a large piece," said Hugh, pointing
to a fragment which came rolling down the
slope. "Look, Mother, look!'"
Lady Parry had been frightened by the. re-
port, and she was now crouching, white and
silent, with her hands at her ears, as if she
feared to hear another explosion.
"That 's all there is of it, dear," said Sir
Frederick; "but I '11 shut the door tight.-
What a smell of gunpowder "
Now 's our best time, Father," said Hugh.
We can get out into the woods."
"That's a good suggestion," said the baro-
net. "Nobody will be thinking of us."-
Lady Parry clung to her husband's arm, but
Helen seemed disposed to hold the very large
revolver she was armed with, quite ready to
point at something. She and Hugh led the
advance, and he too showed a keen vigilance
that did him credit.
They halted in the first clump of bushes that
would conceal them from their enemies. Ow-
ing to the smoke and foliage, it was useless to
look back.


"Yip Yip! Yip! ip" came from the woods.
There was Yip, and there were the hounds, and
close behind them were Ned and the cave-man,
who looked wilder than ever.
"Here you are, and I am thankful," he ex-
claimed. "We thought you were out, when we
saAv the dogs. This way, as quick as you can !"
"We got out just in time," said the baro-
net. ",What a blast it was "
There's no time to spare," said Gordon.
"They 're all around us. Hear that' "
It was nothing but a series of calls in several
directions, as if separated men were trying to
find one another, and get together. They were
repeated, but at a great distance, as the Parry
family hurried forward.
"Why, here are all the horses!" said Sir
Frederick, in surprise; "and all saddled!"
"Now, mount!" said the cave-man. Just as
they were starting, he suddenly added, "Wait
a moment! Hear that!"
It was the crack of a rifle. Then there was
another call, and another, as if the distant rob-
bers were seeking one another anxiously in the
smoky gloom. Then there was more firing.
They have been separated, somehow, and
the blackfellows are after them," remarked the
cave-man. "I don't believe they '11 ever get
together again. That was the triumphant.shout
of the blackfellows We must hurry, now, but
we're really almost safe."
Lady Parry and Helen had already started
their horses. Sir Frederick and Tom Gordon
and the boys followed them.
"Steady!" said Gordon, "and keep well

IT was yet an hour or more before sunset,
when the four men who were in charge of Sir
Frederick Parry's camp were once more stand-
ing in a group together upon the bank of the
river. They were eagerly discussing what
seemed to them even a greater puzzle than
the three dingoes on the log.
"Brand," said Marsh, "this river 's giving
"It 's gone down more than a foot, in less
than no time," replied Brand.
"It 's going down and down, boys," ,said
Bob McCracken. "Don't I wish Sir Frederick

was here! If the river runs dry, we '11 have to
go home if it 's only to save the horses."
Something or other, to all appearance, had
indeed cut off the customary supply of water
from that swift mountain-stream, and it was
shrinking to almost nothing in its rocky bed.
Nothing could be done, so they stood and
watched the subsiding water. A loud, cheery
shout suddenly rang out in the camp behind
them, and they all turned instantly.
"Hurrah! shouted Bob. "It 's Sir Fred-
erick and all of them! "
The others tried to shout, but they were
too much surprised even to cheer, and they
sprang forward eagerly to meet the returning
There were: endless questions and answers,
and at the end.of it all there was a confused
idea among the men that the Parry family had
gone a little too far into the woods and had
been hiding to keep out of the way of danger-
ous blackfellows.. No mention was made of the
cave-man, ard he had not arrived with the rest.
Bob McCracken set himself to cooking all
the supper the camp could provide, with Yip
and the hounds dancing around everywhere as
if they were glad to get back.,
Sir Frederick went to the wagon, and, while
the men were too busy to notice him, he carried
a large portmanteau into his 'tent. Theni-he
went back and brought a smaller portmanteau,
and he and Lady Parry and Hugh and Helen
and Ned remained in that tent until supper-
time. It looked somewhat as if they might
be holding a family council.
They did not have time for a very long con-
ference before the voice of Bob McCracken
respectfully informed them that supper was
"Yes, sir," he added, as the baronet came
out of the tent, "and that river, sir, is running
again as full as ever, sir."
There was much discussion about the peculiar
conduct of the stream; but Bob was probably
right when he suggested: "Yes, sir; I reckon
something' was chokin' it for a spell, sir, and
then'let go."
"Oh, Helen," exclaimed Lady Parry, '"it is
so good to get back to camp and to a tent, and
to feel safe!"




"I wish we were all the way home, at the
Grampians," said Helen, "with Uncle Tom,
"Hush, dear!" exclaimed her aunt. "We
must n't speak of him yet. We shall not stay

So it was that, even before supper was over,
one of the men was saying emphatically: -
"It's the first we 've heard of Mr. Thomas
Gordon. Probably Sir Frederick knew what
he came into the Woods for all the while.


at- the Grampians after we get there. We
shall set out at once for England."
"Maude," said Sir Frederick, "Ned thinks
we should speak of Tom, now, freely, and not
let his arrival be too great a surprise to the
men. Let them expect him. I am going to
follow his idea."
"So will I," she replied. "I think Ned's
idea very sensible. It will keep them from ask-
ing too many questions afterward."
Ned is certainly thoughtful," said the

There was a kind of puzzle about it before we
knew about Mr. Gordon. He 's to wait for
Mr. Thomas Gordon till some time to-morrow."

Ned and Hugh were questioned a little after
supper, but the men never dreamed of ques-
tioning the baronet, and Hugh in reply to their
questions said that his uncle had been mining,
and was now coming back to the Grampians.
As Sir Frederick seldom talked about his plans,
the men saw nothing remarkable in the arrival
of the new-comer.

(To be concluded.)





''-"~- ~


~=_ i



._ 1--


WHEN a child is in perfect health, the pulse,
which is only the little register of the beating
of the heart, beats from ioo to no times per
minute. A grown person's pulse beats in health
from 68 to 72 times per minute, somewhat
more slowly in old age than in the prime of life.
When sickness comes, especially those forms of
illness which we call fevers, the heart begins to
throb more rapidly, and the little pulse in the
wrist keeps up a hurried accompaniment.
Ever since medicine, the practice of medicine,
became one of the scientific studies of the world,
the physicians have made a special study of
the pulse; for it was to them the first and the
universal token that the body was, or was not,
in perfect health. But it was discovered long
years ago that the little register could not al-
ways be depended upon to tell the truth. There
were many things, so the physicians discovered,
that might influence the movement of the heart,
so, while they found a great deal in the pulse
that helped them to tell what was the matter
with people, they found also that it frequently
was misleading.
About twenty-five years ago, an added way
of judging the condition of sick people came
into use. It had been vaguely understood for
a long time, but it had not been made available
for the general use of the doctors of the world.
It was discovered that every person had a cer-
tain temperature, called a normal temperature,
and that this temperature in healthy persons
was always the same. Wherever you might
go-among the Lapps of the icy north, or un-
der the equator at the mouth of the Amazon
-you would find the temperature of people's
bodies the same, varying not more than a frac-
tion of a -degree.
If you take a thermometer on a hot sum-
mer day, and watch it until it runs up under the
influence of the sunshine to 98.4, you will see
it, when it reaches that point, at the exact tem-
perature of your body, if you are in normal
health. Your temperature may fluctuate a frac-
tion above or below 98.4, according to the time
of the day or night, but it never varies to any

extent until fever or some other kind of dis-
ease sets in. Then the temperature begins to
do what the pulse would not do-tell just how
dangerously sick the person is. And one of the
strange things about it is that it does not vary
many degrees from this normal point of 98.4, no
matter how ill the patient may become. If
there is a high fever, it may run up to 104 or
o15, and sometimes to o16, but it seldom stays
at this last point for any length of time. If it
goes up to io8, the good physician who is
watching at the bedside of the sick person
concludes that death will soon put an end to the
suffering. Sometimes, as in cases of cholera, it
may drop several degrees below 98.4, but it
seems to be impossible for it to change many
degrees from the normal point. There are cases
recorded where the temperature ran up to 11o 2
or 12 and the patient recovered.
The pulse, on the contrary, may change
many beats, and still the sick person will not be
in danger of death. But, as a rule, if the tem-
perature reaches ro8 or 109 death soon follows.
A tiny thermometer, called a clinical ther-
mometer, is used to .indicate the temperature.
It is placed under the tongue, or close to the
skin in the axilla, or arm-pit, and left there for
a few minutes. By an ingenious arrangement
the mercury in the slender glass tube is self-
registering, so that you may tell how high it was
any time after the temperature is taken, if the
mercury is not disturbed.
The pulse increases or diminishes its throbs
as the heart-beat changes; the temperature goes
up or down only as the vital heat of the body
changes. The pulse is the register of the emo-
tions as well as of fever; it tells of our joys and
sorrows, and it beats in sympathy with the rapid
movements of vigorous exercise; the tempera-
ture is the steady, never-failing recorder of vital-
ity. The one may change its movements as
swiftly as the sunshine chases the clouds on an
April day; the other changes not until dread
disease marshals his forces for the fierce battle
between life and death.
W. S. Harwood.

i(Ani. O Leged.

(An Old Spanish Legend.)

WHILE the Caliph sat in council,
Bowed his minister before him,
Saying: "Master, the pavilion
That you ordered to be reared,
Overlooking all the valley
And the river's silver winding,
Cannot stand where you have placed it,
Till the hill of farms be cleared."

"Buy the farms!" the Caliph answered.
But the minister, still kneeling,
Bowed again, and said, My master,
There is one who will not sell.
'T is a widow, and her cottage
Was the homestead of her fathers;
She will keep it though its value
More than thrice in gold we tell."

Laughed the Caliph in derision;
Spake he to a stalwart captain:
"With a file of arm6d ,soldiers
Drive the widow from the land.
It were strange if one weak woman
Could defy her lord and master!-
Those who will not do my bidding
I will smite with heavy hand !"

Then he turned to other matters
Better worth consideration.
And the soldiers with their captain
Burned the cottage to the ground.
While the homeless, weeping widow
Clasped her children to her bosom,
Left her fathers' ruined homestead,
And a humbler shelter found.


:: --

-.-I ~ *,.

_. ..

Quickly rose the gay -
F.- iihon : ^-^..
Gilded I'nopies and
Overarc thing courts here
Slanted down in golden gleams;
Arabesques of scarlet ribbons
Tempt the dreaming eye to wander
In and out the carven network
That a spider's weaving seems.

Fountains sparkle upward gaily,
And the fluttering silk curtains,
With the plashing of the waters,
Mingle in a lazy tune.
Here the Caliph and his courtiers
Loved to pass the leisure hours,
Stretched at ease upon their
-In the drowsy summer noon.

But there came a righteous Cadi
To hold court; and all the people
Praised his justice and his wisdom,
For he gave to each his due.
So the widow sought the Cadi,
And he listened to her trouble
Till his heart was moved within
When he found her story true.

"Be thou patient," was his counsel;
"I will try to bring thee justice;
But the Caliph is our master,
And I dare not cross his will.

Lea e thy righteous cause to Heaven.
God is guardian of the helpless,
And though men seek only evil,
hall their hands his laws fulfil."

Long he pondered what was wisest:
And one day to the pavilion
Came the Cadi with a donkey
Bearing but an empty sack.
Gaily laughed the wondering
When he saw the judge
Driving slow the long-eared
With the bag upon its back.

You have brought me all your
And your counselor comes with
';. you!"
Quoth the Caliph to the Cadi,
Smiling with indulgent mirth.
But the Cadi, with composure,
Bent sedately to the Caliph,
As he humbly begged
To remove one sack
of earth.



"Surely!" said the puzzled ruler.
So the Cadi plied the shovel,
Filled the sack in solemn silence;
Packed it close and tied it tight.
Then he brought the patient donkey,
Stood him near, and tried to load him;
But he could not raise the burden,
Though he tugged with all his might.
Now the Caliph was a warrior
Trained to arms; and all his muscles
Were as supple as-the tiger's--
Firm as steel of temper tried.
"Stand aside!" he cried out proudly;
"Men of law are weak as women.
Let me lift the burden for you!"
So the Cadi stepped aside.
Quickly bent the smiling Caliph,
Grasped the sack and tried to raise it,-
Back and shoulders heaved together
In a long and sturdy strain;
On his brow the sweat-drops sparkled.
Thrice he smilingly attacked it,
Thrice he vowed that he would raise it;
But his efforts were in vain.



Then the Caliph lost his temper;
"Cadi! cried he, "why this folly ?
Dost thou dare to mock thy ruler?
If thou dost beware of me! "
Then the Cadi turned upon him.
" No, my lord," he answered bravely;
"I am not your lordship's jester;
I have dared adm;onisk thee!-
"If thou canst not bear this burden,-
If this sackful thus o'erloads thee,
Lo, there comes a day of judgment
For the wronged one, soon or late!
When the widow cries for justice,
This broad field will press upon thee.
Caliph.! canst thou then endure it-
All this great wrong's guilty weight ?."
For a moment frowned the despot,
While the, Cadi calmly faced him.
Then he groaned and beat his bosom,
Hid his face, and turned away!
So the widow's wrongs were righted;
Twice tenfold was she requited,
For the field with its pavilion
Was restored to her that day.




MAlTIN FROBISHER, a Yorkshire man and an English navigator of Queen Elizabeth's day,
greatly desired to distinguish himself.
The only thing in the world that was left yet undone whereby a notable mind might be
made famous and fortunate, he thought, was to find a northwest passage to India-a favorite
dream of his time.
For years he sought means. At last he obtained command of two small barks, sailed west-
ward, and discovered the bay in Baffin's Land, near Hudson Strait, which we call Frobisher
Bay. He thought it was the desired passage. Some black earth he brought back was called
gold, and excited all England. Many people, including Queen Elizabeth, hastened to furnish
him a fleet; and he sailed a second time, and returned with shiploads of the supposed ore.
But it proved to be worthless.
Again he was equipped. This last time a colony went with him. The Queen threw "a
chain of faire gold" about the neck of Frobisher, as he set sail upon his third voyage, in 1578.
His lieutenant, George Best, describes the expedition, in quaint language, as follows:

WE departed from Warwick, the one-and-
thirtieth of May.
The second day of July, early in the morn-
ing, we had sight of the Queen's Foreland,*
and bore in with the land all day. And, pass-
ing through great quantity of ice, by night we
entered somewhat within the Straits; perceiv-
ing no way to pass further in, the whole place
being frozen over from the one side to the
We were forced to stem and strike great
rocks of ice, and, as it were, make way through
mighty mountains. By which means some of
the fleet, where they found the ice to open,
entered in, and passed so far within the danger
that it was the greatest wonder of the world they
ever escaped safe, or were ever heard of again.
And one, the bark Dennis," received such a
blow that she-sunk down in sight of the whole
fleet. However, shooting off a piece of great
cannon, new succor of other ships came so
readily unto her crew, that the men were all
saved with boats.
This was a more fearful spectacle for the
fleet, that the storm which followed threatened
them the like fortune.
For there arose a sudden tempest; which,
blowing from the sea directly up the Straits,

brought all the ice to seaward of us, upon our
backs. So that, being thus compassed on
every side, sundry men with sundry devices
sought the best way to save themselves.
Some, where they could get :a little berth of
sea-room, did take in their sails and lay adrift.
Some moored anchor upon a great island of
ice, under the lee thereof. And some were so
fast shut in, that they'wereT ain to submit them-
selves to the mercy of the:unmerciful ice.
But, as in great distress men of best valor
are best to be discerned, so it is greatly worth
noting with what invincible mind every, cap-
tain encouraged his company; and with what
labor the careful mariners and poor miners un-
acquainted with such extremities, to the ever-
lasting renown of our nation did overcome the
brunt of these so extreme dangers. For some
even upon the ice, and some within, upon the
sides of their ships, having poles, pikes, pieces
of timber, and oars in their hands, stood al-
most day and night without any rest, bearing
off the force and breaking the sway of the ice
with such incredible pain and peril that it was
wonderful to behold. Which otherwise, no
doubt, had stricken quite through and through
the sides of the ships. For planks of timber
more than three inches thick, and other things

* Perhaps what is now known as Resolution Island.


of great force and bigness, were shivered and sea-room. Where to their greater comfort they
cut in sunder at the sides of our ships. enjoyed the fellowship one of another. Some
And amidst these extremities, whilst some in mending the sides of their ships; some in
labored to save their bodies, others of more setting up their topmasts, and mending their
milder spirit sought to save their souls by devout sails and tacklings; some complaining of their

C' v. 7 -.\'t, v -
*.t4*,~''" Q'
1,~~ 't.
1: .. fl.' .



prayer and meditation; thinking by no other
means possibly than by a divine miracle to
have their deliverance. So that there were
none that were either idle or not well occu-
pied. And he that held himself in best secu-
rity had but little hope.
Thus all the gallant fleet and miserable men
remained all the night and part of the next
And, when they were all well-nigh exhausted,
it pleased God with his eye of mercy to look
down from heaven, giving them the next day
a more favorable wind at the west-northwest;
which did not only disperse and drive forth
the ice before -them, but also gave them more

ship's prow borne away; some in stopping the
-leaks; some in recounting their dangers past,
spent no small time and labor.
And now the whole fleet sailed out to sea-
ward, resolving there to abide until the sun
might consume, or the wind disperse, the ice
from the channel of their passage. And, there
being a clear space off the shore, they took in
their sails and lay adrift.
The seventh of July, as men nothing yet dis-
mayed, we cast about toward the coast, and had
sight of land, which rose in form like the land
to the north of the Straits.* Which some of the
fleet, and those not the worst mariners, judged
to be North Foreland.t Howbeit, other some

* What is now Frobisher's Bay. t Now Hall's Island.




were of contrary opinion. But the matter %was
not well to be discerned, by reason of the thick
fog, which a long time hung upon the coast,
and of the filling snow, thich yearly altercth
the form of the land and taketh away often-
times the mariner's marks.
And by reason of the dark mi-ts, which con-
tinued the space of- twenty idays, this doubt
grew the greater.
For, whereas w\e thought ourselves to be
upon the northeast side of Frobisher's Straits,
we were now.carried to the southl-westrard of
the Queen's Foreland; and, being deceived by
a ssift current coming from the northeast, were
brought to-the southwestward of our course
man\' more miles than we did think possible.
Here we made a point of land which some
mistook for a place in the Straits called Mouni
And here, truly, it was wonderful to hear the
noise and see the rushing that the tides do
make in this place, with so violent a force that
our ships. lying broadside to it were turned
round about even in a moment, after.the man-
ner of a whirlpool; and the noise of the stream
no' less to be heard afar off than the waterfall
of London Bridge.
The General, with the captain and master of
his ships, being all in doubt of their course,
began to question the pilots, and sent his pin-
nace. to hear each man's opinion, and espe-
cially the opinion of.James Bean, master of the
"Annie Francis," who was known to be a skil-
ful mariner, and to have.been there the year
before, and to have well observed the place,
and drawn out charts of the coast.
But this matter grew the more doubtful. For
Christopher Hall, chief pilot of the voyage,
delivered a plain and public opinion in the
hearing of the whole fleet, that he had never
seen the aforesaid coast, and that he could not
recognize it for any place of Frobisher's Straits.
Some desired to discover some harbor there-
abouts, to refresh themselves, and re-form their
broken vessels for a while, until the winds might
disperse the ice!
Others, forgetting themselves, spoke more un-
dutifully, saying: They had as lief perish when
they came home as to perish amongst the ice."

'The General, not opening his eyes to the
peevish passion of any private person. but
chiefly respecting the accomplishment of the
course he had undertaken, wherein the chief
reputation andfame of a general and captain
consisteth, and calling to his remembrance the
short time he had to provide so great number
of ships their loading, determined to go on and
recover his. port, or else there to bury himself
with his attempt.
In the meantime, whilst the fleet lay thus,
without any certain resolution what to do, there
arose a sudden and terrible tempest at the
south-souitheast, whereby the ice began mar-
velously to -gather about us.
In the storm, being on the six-and-twentieth
of July, there fell so much, snow, with such
bitter cold air, that we could scarce see one
another, nor open our eyes to handle our ropes
andsails, the snow being.above half a foot deep
upon the hatches of our ships.
Which did so wet through our poormariner's
clothes that he who owned five- or six shifts sof
apparel had scarce one dry thread to his back.
And all this wet and coldness. together with
the overlaboring of the poor men amidst the
ice, bred no small sickness among the fleet.
Which somewhat discouraged some of the men,
who had not experienced the like before; every
man persuading himself that the winter there
must needs be extreme, where they found so
unseasonable a summer.
The General, notwithstanding the great storm,
holding his own former resolution, sought by
all means possible a shorter way to recover his
port. And where he saw the ice never so little
open, he got in at one gap and out at another.
And so himself valiantly led the way before, to
induce the fleet to follow after; and, with in-
credible pain and peril, at length got through
the ice, and upon the one-and-thirtieth of July
recovered his long wished port, and came to
anchor in the Countess of Warwick's Sound.t
Here all greatly rejoiced, and welcomed one
another after the manner of sailors with can-
non. And when each had considered his sundry
fortunes and perils past, they highly praised
God; and, all together, upon their knees, gave
him due, humble and hearty thanks. And

t A small inlet on the southern side of Frobisher's Bay.

* A bill on Hall's Island.


Master Wolfall, a learned man, appointed by
Her Majesty's Council to be their nunister, made
unto' them a godly sermon, and putting them
in mind of the uncertainty of man's life, willed
them to make themselves ready, as resolute
men, to enjoy and accept thankfully whatever
adventure divine providence should appoint.
The General spent no time invain. But, im-
mediately at his first landing, called the chief
captains of his council together, and consulted
with them for the speedier execution of such
things as then they had in hand.
As first, for searching and finding out good
mineral for the miners.
Then, to give good orders, to be observed
by the whole company on shore.
And, lastly, to consider for the erecting of
the fort and house for the use of those who
were to abide there the whole year.
The first of August, the captains were com-
manded to bring ashore unto the Countess's
island all such gentlemen, soldiers, and miners,
as were under their charge; with such provi-
sions as they had of victuals, tents, and things
necessary for the speedy getting together of
ore and freight for the ships.
The muster of the men being taken, and the
victuals, with all other things, viewed and con-
sidered, every man was set to his charge. The
miners were directed where to work, and the
mariners discharged their ships.
Upon the second of August was published
and proclaimed upon the Countess of War-
wick's Island, with sound of trumpet, certain
orders by the General and his council, ap-
pointed to be observed of the company during
the time of their abiding there.
In the meantime, whilst the mariners plied
their work, the captains sought out new mines;
the gold fingers* made trial of the ore; the mari-
ners discharged their ships, and the gentlemen,
for example's sake, labored heartily, and honestly
encouraged the inferior sort to work. So that
small time.of that little leisure that was left to
tarry was spent in vain.
The ninth of August, the General with his
council began to consider and take order for
the enriching of the house or fort for them that
were to inhabit there the whole year.

SBut there was not enough of drink and fuel,
to serve one hundred men, which was the num-
ber appointed.
Then Captain Fenton offered himself to re-
main there u ith iri\r. men.
Whereupon they ci.used the captains and.
masons to come before them, and demanded
in what time they would build a house for sixty men. They.required
eight or nine weeks, if there were timber. suffi-
cient; whereas now they had but .six and
twenriy days in all to remain in that country.
Wherefore it was fully agreed upon, and re-
solved, that no habitation should be there this
On the twenty-fourth, the General, with t %o
pinn.-ces, went to Bear's Sound,- to see if 'he
could encounter and capture any of.the niaives.
For sundry times they showed themselves
busy thereabouts, sometimes' with seven or
eight boats in one company: as th.uilgh they
minded to encounter with our company, whiidh
was working there at the mines .in no great
numbers. But when they perceived any of our
ships, being belike more amazed at the appear-
ance of a ship and a greater number of men,
they did never show themselves again there at
all. Wherefore our men sought with their pin-'
naces to compass about the island, supporing
to intercept some of them. But having, belike,
some watch in the top of the mountain, they
conveyed .themselves secretly away, and left
behind them in their haste a great dart, t which
we found near to. a place of their caves.
Therefore, though our General was very de-
sirous to have taken some of them into Eng-
land, they, being grown more wary now by
their former losses, would not at any time come
within our reach.
The thirtieth of August, the masons finished
a hut of lime and stone to the end that we might
prove against the next year whether the snow
could overwhelm it, the frost break it up, or the
people dismember it. And, the better to allure
these savage and uncivil people to courtesy
against other times of our coming, we left therein"
divers of our country toys, as bells and knives,
wherein they specially delight; also figures of
men and women in lead, men on horseback,

* Refiners or assayists. t A harpoon, probably.

rSE .


looking-glasses, whistles, and pipes. Also in the
house was made an oven, and bread left baked
therein for them to see and taste.

*. .,'." .. ' r- ^ .
"Y. -' aL,.: .'-. ;'5'..t a
,, , .,, ., , .. ,. ,' '


Also here we sowed pease, corn and other
grain, to test the fruitfulness of the soil against
the next year.
The fleet now being in good readiness, the

'S VOYAGES." 863

General, calling together the gentlemen and
captains to consent, told them he was very
desirous some further discovery should be at-
tempted. And that, with God's help, he would
not only bring home his ships laden with ore,
but also meant to bring some certificate of a
further discovery of the country.
Which, after long debating, was found a thing
very impossible; and so it was decided to
return homeward.
For the frost every night was so hard con-
gealed, that if by evil hap the ships should
long be kept back by contrary winds, it was
greatly to be feared that they would be shut up
fast the whole year; for which we being alto-
gether unprovided, it would have been our utter.
The last day of August the whole fleet de-
parted from the Countess's Sound; and, thanks
be to God, all the fleet arrived safely in Eng-
land about the first of October, some in one
place and some in another.
There died, in all this voyage, not above
forty persons. Which number is not great, con-
sidering how many ships were in the fleet, and
through what perils and adventures we passed.


BEYOND the shadows lies Twilight Town,
Where wee heads nod and lids shut down
Over black eyes, blue eyes, gray, and brown;
And through a gap in the city wall
Is a beautiful spot where sunbeams fall
And dance for aye, through tree-tops tall.
Hush, baby! Soft and slow,
Soft and slow, let us go
Through the shadows to Twilight Town.

Soft as the wind through rippling wheat,
When the sun's last rays and the shadows
Sounds the patter of thousands of little feet.
Through the gap in the wall, on their dimpled
The babies creep under the waving trees,

On the grass of the kingdom "Do-as-you-
Hush, baby! Soft and slow,
Slow, slow, let us go
Through the gap in the wall of Twilight

In Twilight Town all things are fair,
The music of waterfalls in the air,
And bright wings flitting here and there;
And through the wall is the Dream Hill, bright
With the thoughts that please wee ones at
Dancing in rings on cobwebs light.
Hush, dearie Mother knows -
Soft, slow, baby goes
To fair Dream Hill in Twilight Town.

Maud R. Burton.




WHILE every lad and lassie in the -land
knows and has read all about the famous old
Liberty Bell, now exhibited at the World's
Fair, too little is known of the origin and
growth of America's dearest emblem--her
flag. William Penn's city-Philadelphia-is
gemmed with many historical landmarks, but
none should be more dear to us than that
little old building still standing on Arch
street, over whose doorway is the number--
239. For in a small back room in this prim-
itive dwelling, during the uncertain struggle
for independence by the American colonies,
was designed and made the first American flag,

known as the "Stars and Stripes," now respected
and honored in every quarter of the world, and
loved and patriotically worshiped at home.
The early history of our great flag is very in-
It is a matter of record that during the early
days of the Revolution the colonists made use
of flags of various devices.

It is nowadays generally accepted as a fact
that the final idea of the Stars and Stripes as a
national flag was borrowed from or suggested
by the coat of arms of General George Wash-
ington's family.*
The first definite action taken by the colo-
nies toward creating a flag, was a resolution
passed by Congress in 1775, appointing a com-
mittee of three gentlemen- Benjamin Frank-
lin and Messrs. Harrison and Lynch-to con-
sider and devise a national flag. The result of
.the work of this committee was the adoption
of the "King's Colors" as a union (or corner
square), combined with thirteen stripes, alter-
nate red and white, showing that although
the coloiiies united for defense against Eng-
land's tyranny, they still acknowledged her
The first public acceptance, recognition, and
salute of this flag occurred January 2, 1776,
at Washington's headquarters, Cambridge, Mas-
sachusetts. The name given to this flag was
"The Flag of the Union," and sometimes it
was called the Cambridge Flag." The design
of this flag was a combination of the crosses
of St.- George and St. Andrew in a blue field
in the upper left-hand corner, bordered by
thirteen stripes for the thirteen colonies.
But in the spring of 1777 Congress appointed
another committee "authorized to design a suit-
able flag for the nation."
This committee seems to have consisted of
General George Washington and Robert Morris.
They called upon Mrs. Elizabeth Ross, of Phil-
adelphia, and from a pencil-drawing by Gen-
eral Washington engaged her to make a flag.
Mrs. "Betsy" Ross was a milliner whose prin-
cipal customers were the Quaker ladies. She
came from good colonial stock. The story
goes that during this call at that little old build-
ing at 239 Arch street, Philadelphia, General
Washington, after explaining his drawing to
Betsy Ross, directed that the stars should be

* See article entitled, The Origin of the Stars and Stripes," in ST. NICHOLAS for November, 1883.


under the act which pro-
Svided for stripes alternately
red and l hite. with a union
S of thirteen white stairs in a
field of blue. This act read
s foiil lov s: -" Resolved, TIh at
the flag of the United States
S be thirteen stripes, alternate
red and t white: that the
union be thirteen st.rs. white
in a blue field. representing
S a new constellati..:tn."


-- .'A

-- -
.,I_,P ,., 'r r c. l E-F-ii, ti--T i ML. i i --
tHi'H ',, FIiH V TT.; .,%) E TPiiEL r,.. I .,2

six-pointed rones. lMrs. Ross objected to thi.
and argued that the stars in the sky seemed
to have but five points. Following her argument
by a practical deni:ontrratio:n, she folded ai piece
of I.pap er, andr with single cihp o, the scissors
cut out a perfect five-pr.:.ited star. This n 's
t':,o much for the committee, and without fur-
ther argument Betsy Ro:, prevailel.
This flag, the -first of a number she made, was
cut out and completed in the back parlor of her
little Arch street home.
It was the first legally established emblem,
and was adopted by Congress June 14, 1777,
VOL. XX.-55.


Words in those days were few- actions
were rapid, and spoke loudly. In May, 1777,
Congress made an order on the Treasury to pay



j IL




7- '. -T .





I it -a::'ii 2




Mrs. Ross 614, 12s. 2d. for flags for the fleet
in the Delaware River, and a contract to
make all Government flags.
Because of the admission of Vermont and
Kentucky, the flag was changed by an act of
January 13, 1794, which provided that after
May i, 1795, the flag of the United States
should consist of fifteen stripes and fifteen stars.
But in 1818 the flag was established as
thirteen horizontal stripes, alternately red and
white, the union to consist of twenty stars-;white
in a blue field, one star to be added to the
union -on the admission of every new State.;
such addition to be made on the 4th day of
July succeeding such admission. This flag
went into effect July 4, 1818, and remains the
present regulation national emblem of the
United States of America.
Some description of the symbolism of the
colors in the flag is not without interest.
Red is supposed to represent courage and
Divine love; White, integrity of purpose, truth,
and purity; Blue, steadfastness, and loyalty.
The quaint two-and-a-half-story dwelling
on Arch street for more than two hundred
years has withstood time and the elements,
and though threatened with destruction from.
fire and modern building innovation, still
stands an eloquent monument to Betsy Ross
and to the American flag.
The very bricks of this old house came over
as ballast in the hold of the Welcome" (Wil-
liam Penn's ship), and were placed in position
under the supervision of William Penn himself.
The exterior of this house is so small, and
one is surprised, upon entering, at the com-
paratively large rooms.













- -

liiii Iiii iii iir i ii iiii lm iil liiiiII


So far as possible its present owner (for the
valuable national landmark does not belong to
the United States or to the State government)
has kept the place in the same condition as
when Betsy Ross lived there.
The quaint window-panes, the narrow stair-
ways, the locks and hinges, the old cupboard,
the fireplace and doors, in fact everything in
the old abode suggests a time and life long
gone by.
On the first floor there is a room almost
square. Its entrances and exits are through
four doors, which are nearly as wide as the
sides of the room.
The little room overlooking the side yard,
known as the "back parlor," is the Mecca to
which many thousand visitors come yearly; for
here it was that Betsy made the American flags.
The picturesque mammoth fireplace, with
the plaster chipped and the brick showing,
would delight the eyes of any collector of
Over the fireplace in one of the rooms is a
line of tiling pictured with old castles and
pastoral scenes.
In the attic room is a square hole, leading
to a false floor above just about large enough
to afford an excellent hiding-place for a fugi-
tive patriot who might ,have had little time
to stop and argue with the Redcoats.
The walls of this old home are very sub-
stantially built, and the floor-joists protrude
through the walls and make their appearance
on the outside of the house.
One wonders, while looking through the
quaint rooms, and peering into the old cup-
boards, about its former owner, Betsy Ross.

In these pictures of flags, white is left white, red is shown by vertical lines, blue by horizontal
lines, green by diagonal lines, and yellow by a dotted space.



A .






Elizabeth Griscom (or, as it was formerly spelled,
Griscombe) was the eighth child of Samuel and
Rebecca Griscom. She was married three
times-to Mr. Ross, to Mr. Ashburne, and to
Mr. John Claypole, or Claypoole. Samuel
Griscom, her father, was the grandson of An-
drew Griscom, who came to Philadelphia from
Yorkshire in 1682, and who is known in his-
tory as the builder of the first brick house in
Philadelphia. Samuel was a Friend, and lived
for many years on Arch street, between Third
and Fourth streets. He was a ship-builder and

house-carpenter, and assisted in the erection of
Independence Hall. So much for Betsy Gris-
com's family. As Betsy Ross, the widow, she
lived for a long time in the old house before
and after the Revolution, conducting a dress-
making and millinery business. She won for
herself the name of being the finest needle-
worker in America, and this, and the high re-
gard General Washington had for her, led the
Congressional committee to consult her about
the flag that was destined to become the sacred
national emblem to all loyal Americans.




IN daytime, as I go about,
I hear my thoughts speak plainly out;
They bid me run and laugh and shout
And have all sorts of fun.
And when the lessons have been said,
They straightway put it in my head
To play again till time for bed,
Which comes when day is done.

At nighttime, quite the other way,
I never once have heard them say
That they 'd like me to go and play;
They are so still, you see.
For if they speak, it is so low
I cannot hear, and so I know
How noiselessly they come and go
While making dreams for me.


1;4W 1
-. C- C
:"' ..4


- ;. k
I' I~i{
*- ___ 'J~


.-':- I



"GOOD-BYE, Summer!" and "Good-bye, girls
and boys !" Soon shall these words resound more
or less audibly all over the country-side. But what
then? "Welcome, Autumn! Welcome home, dear
boys and girls!" make the other and pleasanter
half of the tune, which before long shall sing itself
in hundreds and thousands of human hearts.
So, young folk who are coming back to town from
sea and forest, and young folk who live in the coun-
try all the year round, and young folk who have had
only their youth to brighten an entire summer of
city streets (with city skies, too, thank Heaven 1)-
all of you in this aid other favored lands have good
schools waiting for you, and ambition in your stout
little hearts, and room for lots of learning and wis-
dom in your clever little heads. And your Jack con-
gratulates you, and wishes you success and joy.
And he knows what study is, too, if any one
does-for do not nearly all Jacks-in-the-Pulpit
stand knee-deep in the very best school in the
world (if you only knew it) -the growth and grasses
of the fields and brook-sides ?
SHo, there I thought to-day's assemblage seemed
unusually large; and now the dear Little School-
ma'am tells me of the right welcome thousands
who have come in under the Boston banner !
Welcome to you a hearty welcome to you, my
new friends The Little Schoolma'am and'Deacon
Green join in these salutations; and we hope all
of you bright wide-awakes will like ST. NICHOLAS
and his happy crowd.
Three cheers for the new-comers, my children !
Good! let them see that you are not half-asleeps,
at any rate, and that both ranks belong to the one
great and beloved family of readers, listeners, and
thinkers! And now let us consider.
MY poor, dear bitten ones,-whoever and wher-
ever you may be,- don't blame this too warm

weather for everything These mosquitos, now-
perhaps you have savagely thanked the rising ther-
mometer for their company, when really your
wrath might have been less unfairly turned upon
the falling barometer. Your damp day is an en-
courager of mosquitos; and, in fact, they like
coldness, too, if the wind is not blowing. It makes
them boom and sing with joy. Learned men, I
am told, have puzzled their brains over the power
of insects to withstand the cold of even an arctic
winter. Butterflies,", says the Deacon, have
been found flitting joyously about in very cold
regions"; and the mosquitos of Greenland and
Alaska, he declares, are known to be among the
finest and liveliest specimens of that engaging
variety of man-eater ever seen. One would say
that a winter of Greenland weather would freeze
out the very possibility of any new mosquito ever
coming into life; but it agrees with the race, and
in that regard rivals even New Jersey itself.


RUBY CARVER, Augusta, Me.; Isabel M. Kearny,
Brooklyn, N. Y.; George S. Seymour, Washing-
ton, D. C.; Helen C. McCleary, Brookline, Mass.;
and another Helen-Helen G. Elliott, Tarrytown-
on-Hudson, N. Y., sent the only absolutely correct
versions of the Misspelled Tail," published in
the April number, that have been received by
the Little School-ma'am. And of the corrected
copies sent there were nineteen that were per-
fect in spelling. The fourteen (besides the five
already named) who sent copies so good that the
.Little Schoolma'am wished me to give the writers
special notice, are: Lillian Hale, Florence Worth-
ington, Ellen Parker Day, Richard D. Badger, Julia
Brecht, Helen M. Wheeler, Gertrude Hardy, M.
Eloise Schuyler, Charlie Scott, Irene Francis,
Grace E. Oliver, Helen C. Bennett (four Helens !),
Edward H. Lorenz, Henry Wallace.
E. McW., M. G. M,, and E. M. D. each made
one mistake; and these others made but few:
I. W. S., H. B. S., E. G., E. P. M., F. L. De C.,
Katherine M. A.
Miss Helen C. McCleary, who is named above,
sends with the corrected version this pleasant little
letter and another Misspelled Story:

DEAR JACK: In response to the Little Schoolma'am's
suggestion in the new July number, I herewith send a cor-
rected version of Mrs. Corbett's funny poem. I am one
of the young folks, indeed, but as I finished school last
year, perhaps I am too old to send an answer; but I
wanted to try it for the fun of the thing, and I dare say
I have made some mistakes. I inclose a little piece of the
same sort, which I found in a book of games, and I
thought you might like to see it, although it may not be
a novelty to you. I do not know who wrote it. Mrs.
Corbett's poem is jolly. Sincerely, H. C. M.

"A RITE suite little buoy, the sun of a grate ker-
nel, with a rough about his neck, flue up the rode
as quick as eh dear. After a thyme he stopped
at a gnu house and wrung the belle. His tow hurt




hymn, and he kneaded wrest. He was two tired
two raze his poor pail face. A feint mown of pane
rows from his lips. The made who herd the belle
was about to pair a pare, but she through it down
and ran with awl her mite, for fear her guessed
wood knot weight. But when she saw the little
won, tiers stood inn her eyes at the site. 'Ewe
poor deer! .Why due you lye hear? Are yew
dyeing?' 'Know,' he said, 'I am feint two the
corps.' She boar hymn inn her arms, as she aught,
too a room where he must be quiet; gave him
bred and meet, held cent under his knows, tide
his choler, rapped hymn warmly, gave hymn sum
suite drachm from a viol till at last he went fourth
as hail as a young horse. His ayes shown, his
cheek was as red as a flour, and he gambled a
hole our."
TALKING of spelling reminds me that I have
here a query from the dear Little Schoolma'am :
What five-syllabled word is spelled in full, and
correctly, with only five letters ? One of these (its
only vowel) is used five times. Two of its conso-
nants are used twice, and the rest only once.
DEAR j '.kK.-N-THE -PULFiT: I hl.c read
in Kate F'.,'.,'s ii;':;, h. ,..u
some remarkable [ate.
ments about batia-
nas. That Fpper i
says they are
to become a
useful article

to manufacturers. Out of them can be made a sort of
bread-flour, also sausage and beer; and from the peel
alone comes ajuice which, properly handled, yields a good
indelible ink and an excellent kind of vinegar. The
fiber of the peel is yet to be turned to advantage, she says,
in making a cloth which is said to have great strength
and beauty. I thought this news concerning the banana
would interest boys and girls, and set them a-thinking.
Yours respectfully, CALEB C-.

Thank you, Master Caleb. Up to this date I
fancy most young folk have supposed the best use
one can make of a banana is to eat it, and the worst
use is to leave the peel lying upon sidewalks,
and so set unwary old gentlemen off on a sliding
frolic before they could make ready for it. Now
every mouthful of this rather unwholesome fruit
(if I 'm rightly informed) will have a new interest,
beside doing valuable service to the doctors.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: In the January number
of ST. NICHOLAS is a picture of a Galapagos tortoise
ridden by rabbits, that has amused my little daughter very
much, because we have a picture of the same kind of
tortoise with my little girl herself on its back. The pic-
ture was taken about four years ago, in Hilo, the largest
city of the island of Hawaii. The tortoise has
-.'', li'.:d there ir a garden for fit. \ear d, and
'. halt he gr:,n vi-onti r, arn.j men uHilo
S.;i-:.o" ha'.e, -a; children, ridden upo:,n its
r k tI,:;. It is a hug, creature, weigh-
ii;g, I ah..uld think, fi.: hundred
f, oundS. H re is e pic-
rur':. \\ill y,:u fpleae show
It to i our hipp. c %:i'vd of
N. ',ung folk I
N. J. M.

H'E- .H,
I. : .'.'" "

s-'^ -.?-, ,, ..

^ '; -7 .-7 -

--.. .-,,


(A Dutch Child-song.)

A QUEER old woman dropped down from t
With a herring-skin dress and clam-sh
She dropped down by the Zuyder Zee,
And a long, strong broom in her hand had s

:he No rain comes
down, the
ell fields are dry "
The old woman solemn-
ly shook her head:
he. I '11 sweep I '11 sweep! "
was all she said. i

Then the neigh-
bors came, and
they yelled and
they cried:
"Old woman! old woman!
your broom put aside!
You have swept the wind
away from the mill--
The corn is not ground, the
wheels stand still!

The old woman solemnly shook her
"I '11 sweep--I '11 sweep!" was all
she said.
Then the neighbors all came round in a row:
" Old woman! old woman! we can't live so!
You have swept the clouds all out
of the sky-







The old woman solemnly shook her head:
I '11 sweep I '11 sweep !" was all she said.
Then the neighbors came, and shrieked
in a breath:
" Old woman! old woman! you '11 starve
us to death!
You have swept the fish all out of
the sea-
No herring, nor sprat, nor salmon
catch we!"
The old woman
solemnly shook
her head:
"I '11 sweep I '11
sweep !" was
all she said.

Then the neighbors came, and brooms had
Man, woman, and child had brooms that
Big brooms and little, and short

The old woman solemnly shook her head:
"I '1l sweep-I '11 sweep!" was all she said.

They swept the old woman out from the land;
Over the dikes, and over the sand,
From Haarlem lake and the Zuyder Zee,
They swept, till they swept her out to sea.
The old woman solemnly shook her head:
"I 'l sweep-I '11
^ sweep was all
,,-_ she said.

7 _



And now the rain comes dowh to the
And the wind comes up, and the wheels
go round;
And the fish come swimming up to the
And there the old woman is'seen
no more.
The old woman solemnly
shook her head:
"I '11 sweep-I '11 sweep!"
was all she said.

But the seamen sail from the harbor's
They sail to the north, and they sail to the
And when they come back to land, they
- say
They met the old woman still sweep-
ing away.
/" The old woman solemnly shook
her head:
I '11 sweep -I '11 sweep "
was all she said.

,~- N

~-~c }-= Ji)







She sweeps the waves up mountain-high;
She sweeps the clouds down out of the sky;
And she warns the ship with uplifted hand-
No wonder the skipper puts back to land.
The old woman solemnly shook her head:
"I '11 sweep--I '11 sweep!" was all she said.

'2 2

- A': j

- C-i






THE more
the merrier! .-::
When you boys and girls ..; "
are off for a picnic or an excursion, and
are marching gaily along, how gladly you \el-
come.another crowd of youngsters, as they join your column
at the head of the street all, like yourselves, on pleasure bent, and all ready to unite heartily in the
same.quests, ;the-same songs and jollify.' Well, we of ST. NICHOLAS are rejoicing, this month, in just
such an event as that. Have we not all these months and years been making pleasant excursions, and
eagerly enjoying, as we progressed with song and story, the changing scenes along the way- some-
times wandering aside into the wider fields of Literature, venturing now and then into the vast and
wonderful domain of Science, peering into the tempting vistas of Art, and often stopping with a thrill
to admire mankind's great achievements in the practical workaday world?
They have been very happy years, and we are all of us the better for the inspiring glimpses that
have been opened to us in so many directions.
And now a turn of events has suddenly brought us a welcome host of recruits -another happy and
eager crowd, a throng of "Wide-Awake young folk, who have been traveling, all this time, a road so
nearly like our own it seemed only natural that, sooner or later, the two should have come together.
So, with this September issue, the beautiful Boston magazine joins forces with ST. NICHOLAS.
Meantime, the good Saint has a message for us all. To the readers of WIDE-AWAKE he extends the
heartiest of welcomes, while to us he accords the happy privilege of doing all in our power to atone for
the loss of their long-time favorite and benefactor, so well-beloved and honored.
In truth, if a fresh spirit of youthfulness should come in with the new crowd, ST. NICHOLAS will be
all the happier and younger, too, despite its twenty years. Time, you know, does not always make
old age; and the new leaf in the top of a giant oak is as young as the new violet that opens far down
at the base of the tree.
Also you, each and all, can well understand that with every single individual who takes it up -
whether coming alone, or as one of a throng-a magazine may begin a new life, for your printed page
is truly alive only when it attracts and holds an interested reader.
So, good friends, companions and life-givers, new or old, little or big, again we greet you on this
special occasion, and avow our love and loyalty to you, one and all.


DEAR EDITOR: In the June number of your maga-
zine the writer of "A City of Groves and Bowers"
expresses a belief that the custom of egg-rolling on
Easter Monday exists only in Washington. Now, as this
belief may tend to convince many that such is actually
the case, I wish to let the readers of ST. NICHOLAS know
that the custom exists all over the south of Scotland, and
inEngland, too, with the exception of the large towns.
I have seen hundreds of children rolling many-colored
eggs down the slopes of the hills in the outskirts of Edin-
burgh, and also on Bruntsfield Links in the town. The
custom of "egg-picking" exists here also, and did exist
in my grandmother's childhood, and before then, too; for
I find the custom spoken of in an old volume about Edin-
burgh, published last century. As to its origin, I know
nothing, but any Episcopal clergyman will tell you its
significance. They say that it is connected with the resur-
rection; the breaking being the opening of the sepulcher
of the chicken. This I can understand as being the first
meaning when England was newly converted from hea-
thendom; for the clergymen add to their explanation the
statement that instead of being fresh and hard-boiled
ready for eating, the children of those days used to get
the eggs as nearly hatched as possible, so as to liberate
a live chicken. I remain yours truly, T. C. F- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for several
Years, and cannot tell you how delighted I am to see you
every month.
I am eleven years old, and I was born and have lived
nearly all my life in Valparaiso; but I have been to the
United States, and spent a very happy year there; during
which short time I almost forgot how to speak Spanish,
and when I came back I had it all to learn again.
During the revolution here two years ago, I went with
my papa and mama to Peru. When we came back to
Valparaiso, after the war was over, we went one day to
Placillo, where one of the battles was fought; it was
very sad to think of all the poor men that were killed
there. We gathered maidenhair ferns and flowers on
the battle-field.
We see many strange things out here in South Amer-
ica. While we were in Peru, we saw some of the graves
of the old Incas; they must have been a queer people,
because they used to bury all sorts of things with them;
I have several curious huajas, a kind of pottery which
the Incas used to make.
Your affectionate reader, ELENA C- .

EARLINGTON, KY., June 5, 1893.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Last Friday week the people
of our town were much excited over a wonderful mirage
which appeared at 7:15 P. M. a little west of the north
horizon. At 3:40 a cyclonic cloud was seen in the north-
west, and at 3:50 a high wind came; a few minutes after,
the rain poured in torrents. Within an hour the water-
gage showed that three fourths of an inch of rain had
fallen. Low-hanging clouds and showers continued until
6:30, then breaks came in the black clouds to the west
and north. Suddenly, at about seven o'clock, a bright
band of gold and silver light appeared, and there was
seen a winding wiver with trees and bluffs along its banks,
and as the people looked two black masses came in view,
and then two smoke-stacks, and the masses proved to

be smoke pouring from a steamer which soon passed
swiftly across the golden band. As our people looked
and wondered, soon a black cloud settled upon the
picture of the Ohio River fifty miles away. The memory
of it will not soon fade from the minds of our citizens.
Sincerely, SUE R. B-.

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am going to describe a lit-
tle trip I had in Mexico. Our destination was the little
village of San Fdlipe, where the miners live who work
in the mine that supplies the Mexican International
with coal and coke. It is a typical Mexican village;
there is not a two-storied house in the whole village, and
the houses are made of adobe with thatched roofs, and
they have no floors, and are very dirty. One day when
we were going along the street, we heard a great talking
in one of the houses, and we looked in, and it was a
Mexican school-house, and the children were all study-
ing aloud, and it sounded very funny. Once we
were eating our dinner and a crowd of Mexican boys
collected around the car window, and we gave them some
olives and other strange dishes, and they tasted them
and turned up their noses. Although we were only
seventy-five miles from the Rio Grande, I came back with
the impression that I had seen the interior of Mexico.
Remain ever your constant reader, '

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about a fair
some little friends of mine and I had in May. We were
all under thirteen years of age. We worked all winter
for it, and on the 29th it took place, and we cleared
$195.oo. Don't you think that was good ? We gave the
money to the Fresh Air Fund.
We have taken ST. NICHOLAS for five years, and we
all enjoy it very much.
I am yours truly, E. S. P- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is a new country which
has been open for settlement but a few years. Now the
Indians are all around the town, and they come in to
trade their cayuses, or Indian ponies, for food or what-
ever they need. Their language, which is called Chi-
nook, I have learned.
The other day I was taken over the Columbia River to
watch some cattle branded. Three mounted men armed
with rawhide lariats would drive a cow into the corral
and then rope each leg and throw her. Then they tie
her to a post and the branding iron is applied. The
poor cows bellow and kick, but they cannot help them-
selves. The deer and mountain-goats abound in the
mountains, and some time ago I was taken hunting. We
stayed in a very old log cabin, and I enjoyed myself very
much. The other day, three or four gentlemen and ladies
and myself drove to thie Indians' allotment and to see the
country. They have quite a town, and some of the
houses are fairly good. We went to their church, too, for
they are very devout. It is a fine building, and the
walls are covered with pictures of Bible scenes. I have
taken you for five years, and enjoy you very much.
Your constant reader,
C. K F-.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am an army girl seven years
old. I live in Fort Sam Houston, Texas. I go to school
in San Antonio, and I am in the Second Reader. I like
to go to school in winter, but I do not like to go in the
I have lived in many posts, but I 've lived in this post
longer than I 've lived in any other. There are a great
many children here, and we have a good time with hops
and picnics.
I have two brothers and a sister older than I am, and
my oldest brother has taken ST. NICHOLAS ever since
he was four years old. I enjoy all the stories very much
since I can read them myself. We are going very soon
to Fort Reno, Oklahoma.
Your little reader, KATE D. H-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I greet you as an old friend,
for I took you two or three years ago, and now take you
again. I always have been interested in you.
I am going to school here at Waltham, Mass., though
my home is in New York; and there are several inter-
esting historical facts connected with its neighborhood
that are noteworthy. Paul Revere, in his famous ride,
galloped "fast and furiously" down an old wood-road
which ran along the site of one of our dormitories. The
road in close proximity to the school grounds, which
leads up to Lexington (about four and one half miles dis-
tant), was that on which the brave Minute Men joined
their comrades on the way to Boston in pursuit of the
British under Lord Percy. An old lady who died a few
years ago could remember standing by her father's fence
and watching the panting Minute Men go trotting by.
Lexington also is not without many things of historical
interest in and around it, among which may be mentioned
two large field-pieces placed in the center of the town
green; they were captured from the British. A white
stone at one end of the green marked where Lieutenant
Parker, with a handful of men, withstood the redcoats
for over an hour. At the entrance of the green is a small
tree planted by General Grant, in 1876, to commemorate
his visit there. Part of the town hall is devoted to Rev-
olutionary relics, and some exceedingly interesting ones
may be seen. A walk of about half a mile will bring one
to a cemetery, with a stone cannon in the center, mark-

ing the spot where one of Lord Percy's cannon was sta-
tioned. If the walk is continued a little farther, about
the most interesting place of all may be seen: it is the
headquarters of Lord Percy-a small brown Dutch-
roofed house with a tablet on the front describing it. It
is very little changed, and is occupied by an appreciative
family who do all they can to preserve it. Many other
interesting features of historic fame are all over Lexing-
ton, such as cannon-riddled houses, and houses of famous
Minute Men; and altogether it is an essentially historic
town. I remain your interested reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : We (my brother and myself)
have taken you for the last six months.
I am twelve years old, and my brother is nine years
old; our birthdays come in April, just two weeks apart.
We live in the mountains, and the town is called
"Meeker" for the Indian agent who was killed here
at the same time Colonel Thomburge was killed in 1879.
My mama has camped on the ground where Colonel
Thomburge and his troops were attacked by the Ute
Indians; it is eighteen miles from Meeker, on a small
stream called Milk Creek.
We have lots of fun in the winter, sleigh-riding and
sliding down hill, and hooking on" with our sleds.
There are many deer and elk here in the summer, but
they all leave for the winter. We also have plenty of
trout in the streams.
We lived on a ranch awhile, and my brother and I
went ridingwith Papa quite often; my brother went deer-
hunting with Papa, too.
Yours truly, DAISY F--.

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: "Pansy," Frances
C. R., Anna G. S., Bertha C. D., H. Dorothy G., Mary
E. H., Josephine C. S., Marguerite D. N., Thomas G.,
Helen G. E., Galt S., Lesley A. F., Alfred E. D., Regi-
nald C. B., Lucile C., James R., Jamie, Kate, and Fred,
Emily C. O., Viola McK., Clarence D., Mabel E. A.,
Helen and Lillie, Mary E. C., Reba L. H., J. H. MacD.,
P. J. H., Dorothea M. D., Edith W. M., Elizabeth L.,
Frances M. S.

n ,




Box PUZZLE. Upper Square: i. Love. 2. Open. 3. Vend. ILLUSTRATED METAMORPHOSIS. Go oat, coat, cost, cast, cart.
4. Ends. Side Square: i. Ends. Neat. 3. Dare. 4. Stew. CUBE. From i to 2, leopard; I to 3, leisure; 2 to 4, divided;
Lower Square: i. Stew. 2. Tile. 3, Else. 4. Week. Front 3 to 4, evolved; 5 to 6, present: 5 to 7, palaver; 6. to 8, trilled; 7
4 to 7, stew. to 8, reduced; I to 5, loop; 2 to 6, dent; 4 to 8, deed; 3 to 7, Emir.
PI. In shining blue the aster wild ZIGZAG. H6tel des Invalides. Cross-words: I. Helot. 2. cOlon.
Unfolds her petals fair; 3. haTed. 4. fanEs. 5. drilL. 6. gliDe. 7. grEet. 8. iSlam. g9. Im-
The clematis, preaching, seeks bue. io. aNnul. rz. caVil. 12. dryAd. r3. loyaL. 14. drain.
To clasp and kiss the air; r5. haDes. 16. fEign. 17. Spite.
The biit pppy ant er head WORD-BUILDING. A, am, man, main, matin, inmate, miniate,
And adds her voice to swell the song
AnAid t th ripeni he song intimate, intimated, intimidate.
That August's here again. COMBINATION DIAMONDS AND SQUARES. Seven-letter Diamond:
1. P. 2. Hip. 3. Hiram. 4. Pirates. 5. Paten. 6. Men. 7. S.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Whittier; finals, Tennyson. Cross- SINGLE ACROSTIC. Third row, Meissonier. Cross-words: I. ar-
words: I. Wainscot. 2. Harangue. 3. Incision. 4. Trillion. 5. Top- Mory. 2. drEams. 3. flight. 4. siSter. 5. neStle. 6. shOwer.
heavy. 6. Inspects. 7. Eldorado. 8. Rogation. 7. caNdle. 8. shield. 9. shEars. ao. boRder.
HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Preface. Cross-words: i. Samples. WORD-SQUARES: I. I. Clamp. 2. Legal. 3. Agile. 4. Malta.
2. Sprig. 3. Beg. 4. 5. Fad. 6. Facet. 7. Emperor. 5. Pleas. II. I. Coat. 2. Ogre. 3. Arcs. 4. Test.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the a5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JUNE NUMBER were received, before June 15th, from "The McG.'s"-Josephine Sher-
wood-Mama and Jamie-L. 0. E.-Chester B. Sumner-E. M. G.-Alice Mildred Blanke and Co.-Jessie Chapman-"Uncle
Mung"-Ida Carleton Thallon Bessie and Freddie Ida and Alice Rosalie Bloomingdale Zada Dow.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JUNE NUMBER were received, before June i5th, from Stuart, Emma Schmitt, 2- Mary L.
Thomson, I- Helen and Almy, 3-Charlotte E. Scovill, Ammon High, Stubbs S., x-Paul Reese, it-Mary R. W., I-
L. H. K., 3 -" John Halifax." i -" Broncho Harry," 2 L. Wiles, I G. B. Dyer, ii Carrie Chester, x -" Mama," zz Maude E.
Palmer, ii H. M. Landgraff, 3 -"The Peterkins,"rr -Minnie and Lizzie, i Geo. S. Seymour, 7- Virginia S., i-Alice M. Parks, i -
William E. Verplanck, 3- No Name, Cleveland, I Laura Storrs Hopper, --Dot, Harriet E. Strong, 2 Constance Trowbridge, 3-
Florence and Lorraine, 3- Beatrice House, James R. J. Kindelon, Milton S. Garver, 2--" Lovenita," 3 -" Piggy H.," i- Hat-
tie Sterling, 2- Helen C. McCleary, x Gertrude Hughes, --Clara Mayer, Anna Dunn, 2-Arthur W. Crisp, 2-"The Diction-
aries," 8- Hazel, Julia, and Beatrice, 4 F. W. Patterson, x- Gussie and Flossie, 4- Violet Jonstone, 2- Stephen O. Hawkins, ir -
Melville Hunnewell, 8-"Midwood," Ir--"June," 8- Lillian A. Macdonald, 2- Edna May Winchester, 2- No Name, Littleton,
Col., 9-Elizabeth McConnell, 2-" Merry Family," 4- Gail Ramond, io--" Three Blind Mice," 8- Arthur Barnard, 8--Vincent
V. M. Beede, 3 Maud and Dudley Banks, 9 -" We Girls," 9 Mama and Charlie, ir Jo and I, ro- Laura M. Zinser, 7-" Suse,"9 -
A. J. Johnson, 3--Angus T. Duncan, 9.

MY central letters, reading downward, spell the most
popular of the Hindoo divinities.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Strangling. 2. A famous city. 3. A
falsehood. 4. In hour-glass. 5. An exclamation. 6. To
raise to distinction or notice. 7. A kind of candy.
D. G.


II 12

10 -* I .. 4

6, unaffected; from 7 to 8, a beverage; from 9 to 8, an
island in the Egean Sea; from 9 to iO, a play; from II
to IO, extreme; from tI to I2, is not suitable.
All of the letters represented by the numbers may be
found in the words United States." H.

WHEN the names of the authors of the following quo-
tations have been rightly guessed and placed one below
another, the seven initial letters will spell the surname
of an English chemist and natural philosopher of great
eminence who was born in September, 1791.

I. Vessels large may venture more,
But little boats should keep near shore.
2. A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty
Is worth a whole eternity in bondage.

3. Cowards may fear to die; but courage stout,
Rather than live in snuff, will be put out.

4. The man forget not, though in rags he lies,
And know the mortal through a crown's disguise.

5. Truth has such a face and such a mien,
As to be loved needs only to be seen.

6. Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
S Make me a child again, just for to-night!
7. At thirty, man suspects himself a fool;
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan.

FROM 2 to I, runs swiftly; from 4 to I, rends; from
6 to I, the east wind; from 8 to x, falls gradually; from
1o to I, otherwise called; from 12 to I, critical trials;
from 13 to 2, flies aloft; from 13 to 12, is used up; from
3 to 2, images; from 3 to 4, motionless; from 5 to 4, im-
plied, but not expressed; from 5 to 6, yours; from 7 to

MY primals name a distinguished author, and my
finals, an historic town.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Moral. 2. A maxim. 3. Con-
sumed. 4. Anything preserved in remembrance. 5. A
nickname often given to a young colored man. 6. A
carnivorous animal. 7. One of a race that has no fixed
habitation. "BETSY TROTWOOD."

9 8



I ALL of the words de-
scribed contain the
i same number of letters.
When rightly guessed and
placed one below another, in
the order here given, the cen-
tral letters will spell the name of
a popular American novelist who
was born and who died in the
month of September.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Greater in number, quantity, or
extent. 2. Easily broken. 3. A punctuation-mark.
4. Cheerless. 5. Covered with fine particles. 6. Hav-
ing great height. 7. A fresh-water fish. 8. A law or
rule. 9. To crush into small fragments. 10. A mas-
culine name. Ii. Honorable fame. 12. Ghastly pale.
13. Having a low price in market. 14. A beverage.
15. Extending far and wide. 16. A proportional part
or share. 17. A military station where stores and pro-
visions are kept. 18. A whim or fancy. 19. Perforates.
L. W.

EHT shuh fo brelsum sters poun het reath;
Eht slocud rea tills, sa fi ni tinsel glibsens;
Dan eth fost dwins hatt weeps eht fangdi fisled
Heav ni rithe shipwers gonesmith fo cragsines.
Galon eth robdres fo eht study doar
Eth vilesyr stelith-wond si glithly grindfit;
Dan flagchune scolor weeps eth cadpanels ero,
Kile gimac curipest no eht snacva stifling.


AN American man of letters:


ALL of the words described contain the same num-
ber of letters. When these -are rightly guessed and
placed one below another, in the order here given, the
zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell
what Alexander the Great replied when asked t6 whom
he left his empire.

CROSS-WORDS: I. A number. 2. To bend. 3. A
domestic animal. 4. An exclamation. 5. A large animal.
6. Alarge bird. 7. A number. 8. A poisonous serpent
of Egypt. 9. To lay a burden upon. 10. Profound rever-
ence. II. An old game. 12. Part of a circle. 13. A
label. 14. For what reason. 15. To cook in boiling
lard. L. W.

0 17 2
7 I8 29
8 19 30
9 20 31
10. 21 32
II 22 33

From I to 12, a sorceress; from 2 to 13, a small ani-
mal; from 3 to 14, a claw; from 4 to 15, to exalt; from
5 to 16, intense pain; from 6 to 17, an aromatic spice;
from 7 to 18, retains; from 8 to 19, a village of Surrey,
England; from 9 to 20, proportion; from Io to 21, a
nut; from II to 22, to afford.
From 12 to 23, an organ; from 13 to 24, mold; from
14 to 25, to push gently; from 15 to 26, a bird; from 16
to 27, a river of France; from 17 to 28, to furnish with a
fund; from 18 to 29, a philosopher of a certain school;
from 19 to 30, a maxim; from 20 to 31, hatred'; from 21
to 32, to tend; from 22 to 33, takes off.
From I to II, a famous novelist; from 12 to 22, and
from 23 to 33 each, name a work written by him.

I .4

S *

3 2

CROSS-WORDS: I. A musical instrument. 2. Towed.
3. To go at an easy gait. 4. A city of Switzerland. 5. To
From I to 2, an allegory; from 3 to 4, a weapon .of
war. "LADY BELL."



*i _., .,. w

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