Front Cover
 The story of a grain of wheat
 The prince's councilors
 The orchard on the hill
 The cricket kept the house
 Santo Domingo and the tomb...
 The rajah of Sarawak
 The pussy-cat bird
 Toinette's Philip
 The brave hussar
 Noshi and the morning-glory
 The white cave
 A seventh son
 Pine-knots versus pistols
 The way things vanish
 Fritz, the master fiddler
 Two bells
 Bessie's bonfire
 A tired little mother
 Sailor Fred
 Running for life
 A trusty guardian
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00274
 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: VID00274
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
    The story of a grain of wheat
        Page 883
        Page 884
        Page 885
        Page 886
        Page 887
        Page 888
        Page 889
        Page 890
        Page 891
    The prince's councilors
        Page 892
        Page 893
        Page 894
        Page 895
        Page 896
        Page 897
        Page 898
        Page 899
    The orchard on the hill
        Page 900
    The cricket kept the house
        Page 901
    Santo Domingo and the tomb of Columbus
        Page 902
        Page 903
        Page 904
        Page 905
        Page 906
        Page 907
        Page 908
    The rajah of Sarawak
        Page 909
        Page 910
        Page 911
    The pussy-cat bird
        Page 912
    Toinette's Philip
        Page 913
        Page 914
        Page 915
        Page 916
        Page 917
        Page 918
        Page 919
        Page 920
    The brave hussar
        Page 921
    Noshi and the morning-glory
        Page 922
    The white cave
        Page 923
        Page 924
        Page 925
        Page 926
        Page 927
    A seventh son
        Page 928
        Page 929
        Page 930
        Page 931
        Page 932
        Page 933
        Page 934
    Pine-knots versus pistols
        Page 935
        Page 936
        Page 937
    The way things vanish
        Page 938
    Fritz, the master fiddler
        Page 939
        Page 940
        Page 941
        Page 942
        Page 943
    Two bells
        Page 944
        Page 945
        Page 946
    Bessie's bonfire
        Page 947
        Page 948
        Page 949
        Page 950
        Page 951
    A tired little mother
        Page 952
        Page 953
    Sailor Fred
        Page 954
    Running for life
        Page 955
    A trusty guardian
        Page 956
    The letter-box
        Page 957
        Page 958
    The riddle-box
        Page 959
        Page 960
        Unnumbered ( 83 )
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


----- -----




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

\ HEN the springtime sun
is high, and the air is
soft and sweet, and
there is a song in the
Throat of every bird, and
the warm earth is mellow
for the seed of the sower,
it is one of the rare events of a lifetime,
if it is all new to you, to stand on some wide
American prairie while the husbandmen are
giving to the rich fields the grain which ere
many months shall be reaped, a precious har-
vest, to fill the garners of the hungry world. If
you have never thus stood upon a great prairie
lying many hundreds of miles beyond the hazy
line where the horizon melts away, you have
not yet begun to realize what vastness means:
not even the mountains nor the landless sea
can make you feel more deeply how big the
world is. And there are scenes of interest,
too, upon these wide prairies as well as among

the snowy mountains or on: the ocean -or in its
wonderful depths.
There was a day, and not so many years ago
either, measuring years by man's memory, when
a strong man, bearing a coarse sack, flung the
seeds of grain into the face of the west wind,
which blew them spitefully across the stubbly
dark ground. .Then a man drove a heavy team
rover the field, pulling a great harrow which
tucked the wheat-kernels underground. Some-
times the west wind blew still more spitefully,
and then the grain was uncovered, and the
seeding had to be done over again:
But in these modern days all this has changed.
As we watch the work of seed-planting to-day,
we shall be interested in making a contrast with
the work of thbse slow old days. Away out be-
fore us stretches what they call a platoon" of
seeders. These seeders are long boxes, hand-
somely painted, mounted upon wheels. From
each box, running down to the ground, are


No. 12.


slender rubber tubes about two feet long and Day after day the sun shines, and now and
an inch in diameter. The" horses which are then the rains come, and then how the thirsty
hitched to the seeders start up at last, and away roots do drink Sometimes across the wide
goes the long platoon across the field. The prairie a furious storm of wind and hail comes
wheat-kernels run down the tubes, not too fast, up, but the wheat roots are so deep and so

2 I7Z. '
'~- tt



but fast enough thoroughly to seed the ground.
A queer little iron plow, back of each tube,
covers up the tiny stream of grain; and there
it is planted, safe from the west wind, and yet
not so deep that the sprouting cannot come.
It would be interesting to know if the tiny
brownish kernel of wheat down there in the
warm earth really feels the strange forces of
nature at work, quickening its little body into
life, and sending from its heart a slender green
blade up to the bright sunshine.
And what a wonderful sight it is when a few
weeks have passed, and over all the prairie
land, so brown in the earlier spring, a beautiful
green carpet spreads miles upon miles away,
until at last, it joins the deep blue of the sum-
mer sky! So far away it spreads, one can hardly
realize there is anything else in the world but
grain-fields. On the big farms in Dakota and
Minnesota, some fields have several thousands
of acres-not much like the small stony-soiled
fields of the East!

strongly fixed that the grain is not often seri-
ously harmed. There are, however, times when
these storms destroy hundreds of acres of grain.
You should see the grain-fields along in
August. The rich juices that have been com-
ing up through the long green stems have fed
the kernels of wheat until at last they are quite
large--as grains of wheat are large. The myr-
iad nodding heads in the field have begun to
turn the most beautiful yellow-not a yellow
like the color of a sunflower, but a richer, more
golden hue. The scene is so fine, so inviting,
so like a great picture set in the round frame
of the sky. There is nothing to be seen but
the yellow waving grain. Far away in the dis-
tance, a mile or more, you can just see a tiny
speck which might be a stick or stone, for all
one could tell, but which is, in reality, a house
with a big, comfortable barn near it. It is so
hard to describe a wheat-field, it is such a wide,
unbroken level, with perhaps several thousands
of acres in it, with nothing for your eye to catch


I -

but this mass of
golden grain ri-
pening under the
blue summer sky.
As you look
closer at the tiny
speck which turns
out to be the dis-
tant farm-house,
you may see signs
of commotion.
There is evident-
ly something go-
ing on of a very
interesting nature. .
At last there come
toward us many
queer machines
drawn by two, `.
sometimes three,
horses harnessed. -
abreast, as Rus-
sians drive their
carriage-teams. '
Nearer and nearer .
come these noisy
machines, fully
twenty of them,
one followingclose 4 -
behind another.
These are the ma-
chines that cut
and tie up the
grain self-bind-
ers they are called,
machines which
are the result of-
mtich study and ...
work by inventive -
men. Down near
the ground a sharp
blade of steel, per-
haps five feet long
and a couple of
inches wide, with
keen-edged teeth,
is kept moving
back and forth by
the machinery of
the binder, cutting


the grain as neatly as a lawn-mower. In this
machine, the wheat, when cut, is carried up a
sort of rack or belt and thrown upon a platform
where a queer contrivance bunches it together,
and suddenly a stout cord is thrown around the
bunch, twisted into a knot, and away goes the
bundle of wheat tied up, as neat and taut as any
one could wish. A man who sits upon a high
seat drives the plump horses; the machine does
all the rest-cuts the wheat and binds it, and
tosses it off upon the stubble, ready to be stood
up in graceful shocks. Close behind each other

strong arms and pound out the plump kernels
upon the barn floor. The thresher's outfit is
quite extensive. First there is the big machine
itself, through which passes the grain-stalks,
heads, and all. The tight-bound bundles are
sometimes pitched up to a man with a keen
knife, who cuts the cords and feeds the loosened
grain into an iron throat set about with huge
teeth. More often, on the large farms, two
strong forks managed by a large derrick grasp
great mouthfuls of grain, and lift it up to the
machine's mouth, where it is automatically fed


moves the platoon of binders. Some days, when
a large field is cut into, it takes hours and
hours to go around it even once.
So the harvesters, or binders, keep at work.
After them come sun-browned men. who put
the grain into shocks, or, if it is to be threshed
out at once, load it on the great wagons and
haul it to the threshers. You would not easily
forget the thresher, such an- odd-looking ma-
chine it is. It is not at all such an appliance as
was once in use in the old, far-distant days when
men used to swing the wooden flails in their

to the thresher. The thresher's outfit includes
the machine itself, a steam-engine, a water-
wagon to supply the engine, and in some cases
a portable kitchen -a cooking-house on wheels,
where food is cooked for the twenty or twenty-
five men who are employed. Loudly whir the
wheels while the grain is being threshed about
on the inside of the big machine. One by one
the kernels are separated from their tiny husks;
they fall at last into little elevator-cups, and are
hoisted to the top of the machine to flow down-
ward through a smooth tube into the waiting



wagon. The plan used to be to pour the grain wheat is not as. high as the farmer thinks it
from measures, bushel by bushel, into sacks; should be, the wheat in bundles is drawn to
but on many of the large farms, where every the farm-house, or to some central point upon
the farm, and there
S. carefully built up into
round -stacks.
: .. ../After the threshing,
"' the grain is stored in
the bulging bins at the
farnm-house,. or in some
Scas._-- i dram n directly
to the cars on the rail-
l road track, which iso
built out to the farm
A MODEjN STORT usE tto haul away the
.. ,thousands and thou-
sands of bushels of
wheat.- Sometimes. a
single acre of ground
will produce thirty or
even thirty-fi~e bushels
of wheat,. ancdoften~the

moment of time is so precious, the grain is run
into the wagons and there measured. Often as
many as two thousand bushels are threshed in
a day.
It is an. interesting thing to note that the'
machinery is- fin entirely'by steam, the .-strong
engine near at hand furnishing the power.
This same engine, when the day's work. is done,
draws the thresher and all the thresher's outfit
to the next stopping-place, its broad wheels
enabling it to pass over all ordinary country
roads. It is a strange sight indeed, this puffing,
snorting steam-engine,
so different in shape

average throughout a county will be from fifteen
to twenty-two bushels per acre. So you see when
there are millions of acres of land to harvest,
there are many millions of bushels of wheat to
be carried. Sometimes there falls upon the re-
gions a "car-famine": the farmers cannot get
cars enough to ship their grain, and the rail-
roads seek-or should seek-by every possible
means to get cars for carrying wheat to the cities.
Along in late September the wheat, from a
farm in northwestern Minnesota,-we will say
from the region known as the Red River Val-

road engine, passing
along a dusty road in
the twilight of a sum-
mer day, pulling a big,
heavy threshing-ma- ... ..,
chine behind it, and
maybe a wagon or two '- ,.
besides. 'The fuel for
'the engine is almost STACKING WHEAT IN THE FIELD.
entirely straw the
straw which remains after the wheat-kernels ley,-starts for the East to encounter strange
have been threshed out. Sometimes, if the adventures. Miles upon miles the train rum-
weather seems favorable and if the price of blingly passes along, and at last, one fine crisp

preciate it. The grain is swiftly drawn
up in tin or zinc cups on an endless belt
to the top of the elevator, away up above
the smoky city near which the elevator
stands, and there, nearly 200 feet from
the ground, it is weighed. Then it is
carried in a neat little pocket fastened
to another endless belt, with hundreds
of other companion pockets, to one of
the many bins.in the elevator. Just think
of a building nearly as long as an ordi-
nary city block, twice as wide as an
ordinary street, 175 feet high, with a pas-
S senger elevator in it, all built of wood
with a slate roof and corrugated iron
sides--this whole immense building for
the storing of wheat, and nothing else !
Sometimes these mammoth elevators
catch fire and burn, and then the loss is
great, not only to the owners, but to the
world, for there is never too much grain.
An elevator burned between the cities
AT THE BACK OF THE MILLS. of Minneapolis and St. Paul a year or
two ago, and for more than eight months
day, halts alongside of an immense building. the fire did not go out in the smoldering
It is a great grain-elevator many stories high, wheat which lay under the debris many feet
with room to stoie 2,000,000 bushels of wheat thick.
-an amount so vast we cannot begin to ap- Before many days there comes a call from a




big city mill for wheat to grind. The mills huge mills, where the wheat is again weighed
which are situated in the city of Minneapolis on a pair of large scales, and soon after is car-
are among the largest in the world. A great ried upward in an elevator-cup similar to the
portion of the flour
which is used in the
world to-day is ground
in these mills. It would
make one's head swim
to try to comprehend
the figures which are
printed about the enor-
mous output of these
They are situated on
both sides of the Mis-
sissippi River, at the
Falls of St. Anthony, a
wide break in the river
which affords a mag-
nificent water-power,
one of the most power-
ful in the world. Some
of the mills are fitted
out with steam-engines,
too; but nearly all of
them depend on the
water from the river.
The falls afford the
power. The water en-
ters the mills on the
level of the river, falling
for eighteen or twenty
feet down upon the PACKING THE FLOUR.
water-wheels which turn- the machinery of the one on the belt in the elevator building. It
mill. These wheels turbine-wheels they are goes rapidly to the top of the mill, and then is
called -are generally set horizontally in a large sent swiftly down again into a snug, strong,
pit. Sometimes they are vertical; but in either box-like machine about five feet high and two
case the water, as it is allowed to rush in through or three feet wide.
a gateway, strikes against cups or pockets at the The noises on the inside of the mill are deaf-
outer edge of the wheel, causing this movable ening. One who has never been in a flouring-
edge to whirl with wonderful rapidity and force. mill of the largest size cannot realize what a pe-
After it has performed its mission, the water culiar lot of noises are made by the machinery.
rushes in a yellow, foaming flood out of small As soon as the wheat enters the machine from
sluiceways, and passes onward down the river the long spout which brings it down from the
to the distant Gulf of Mexico. upper floors, it falls between two rollers of
When the wheat-car reaches the mill to iron--" chilled" iron they call it, and very hard
which it is bound, it is drawn right through the iron it is, too. One of these rollers revolves
mill by the puffing engine. Below are three or rapidly, the other more slowly, in order that the
four stories, and above five or six more. separation of the coat, or bran, from the kernel
There is a narrow passageway between two may be more easily accomplished. The wheat



first passes between rollers separated just enough
to -allow the coat to be crushed. It is then
carried away up to the top of the mill again, to


a room where the sun vainly tries to shine in
through the flour-coated windows far above
the city's roofs. It next passes over a wire sieve
which separates the bran from the kernel proper.
This bran, which contains much of the flour
material, again passes down and is ground
once more, this process being repeated four
times, making five grindings, each one finer
than the one preceding it. Each time the,
fibrous or bran portions are more completely
separated, and at last the bran comes out a
clear, brownish husk with every particle of flour
The inside part of the kernel has meanwhile
been going through a very interesting process.
After the first grinding or breaking, it passes to
a big six-sided revolving reel covered with a
fine wire netting or sieve. Through this reel
the finer portions of the kernel pass, coming
out in what is called middlingss," a granulated
mass which goes back to the rollers for another
crushing. This process is repeated through five
reels, all but the first being of silk. The last one
has one hundred and twenty threads to the lin-

eal inch. The flour which comes
out of the fifth reel, while white
in hue, is yet not of the finest
or "patent" grade, but is classed as "baker's"
or second-grade flour.
The middlings above referred to are purified
by an interesting process. They are passed over
a fine wire sieve, through the upper part of which
a strong current of air is passed. This holds in
suspense the tiny portions of fibrous matter
which may have been in the flour, and at last,
after this process of middlings-purifying has
been very carefully carried out, the flour appears
a spotless, snowy white,-the "patent" flour, as
it is called. In the process of grinding in this
gradual and repeated way, the germ of the
wheat, a tiny particle about the size of a mus-
tard-seed, is separated from the white flour. It
is what one might call the life-part of the wheat.
If it were ground up, it would not leave the
patent flour so white and powdery, so it is
separated in one of the sievings, and passes
into the darker or lower-grade flour. It con-
tains, however, the best and most nutritious
part of the wheat.
The last thing that happens to the pulver-
ized kernel, before it is ready for market, is



the filling of barrels or sacks. Down
stories through a smooth tube comes the
or "patent" flour. Under the tube is thc
rel or the sack, as the case may be, and
begins to fill, a steel auger, just the size
barrel, bores down into the flour, pack
carefully and solidly beneath the broad b
Out into the'world the
finished flour goes at last.
Sometimes, when fierce-
eyed famine stalks abroad,
car-load after car-load of
flour is sent from these well-
stored mills to feed the fam-
ishing. Even now thou-
sands of peasants in Russia
are living upon flour
ground in these very mills.
Sometimes the mills get
full of fine, invisible dust
(flour-dust, as it is called),
and then there is danger
ahead. Once, several years
ago, in one of the great
Minneapolis mills, this fine
dust became very abun-
dant; some one lighted a
match, a terrible explosion
followed, the mill was de-
molished, and a number of
the men were killed outright.
The great building of stone,
many stories high, and
strong enough to last for
centuries, was thrown down
as a little child would over-
turn a pile of blocks. Very
fortunate it -was that the
terrible accident occurred
when there were compar-
atively few workmen in the mill. The t
care is now taken to keep the mills clear
fatal dust, and the floors are swept daily
The mills of Minneapolis have a great
city, grinding often 36,000 barrels of flot

day. One mill, or a series of mills owned by a
single firm, grinds up 40,000 bushels of wheat a
day, making 9000 barrels of flour. About four
and one third bushels of wheat make a barrel
of flour. The mills run night and day, and
several thousand men are employed in them.
From the day the wheat-kernel feels the first

. '



utmost quickening of life down in the warm, rich soil
Df this of the wide prairies, until it comes upon the
.y and tables of the rich and the poor to give them
strength for their toil, its history is one of many
capa- curious changes, its mission of enormous im-
ir in a portance to mankind.
W. S. Harwood.


As the-Prince and a Page
were coming from a game of
tennis, a net sb'oy ran along cry-
ing: "Extra-extra-a! Here
y' are; extra-a Ter'ble los' lie !"
"Boy! called the Prince.
Extra ? asked the boy.
"Yes, please," answered the
Prince, drawing a gold coin from
his purse.
I can't change that," said the boy.
Never nind the change," said the
Prince. The boy's eyes sparkled. He
hastily handed over two papers, and
ran off with the coin. shouting as before, while.
heads popped from windows and people tried
to find out the news without paying for it.
Meanwhile the Prince and the Page read
their papers.

By this time both had dropped the rackets
and were reading rapidly down the big print so
as to get.at the facts. The finer print told the
story in simple words.
The position of the Princess Paragon-at present
entirely unknown--is for-that very reason most alarm-
ing. With her Royal Father she this morning went
sailing in their private yacht. In spite of His Majesty's
well-known skill with tiller and tackle, he lost control
for an instant of the stanch little vessel, and, fearing the
worst, courageously jumped overboard and waded ashore,
intending to bring assistance to her Royal Highness, the
unfortunate Princess. Having lost one of his shoes in
the wet sand, His Majesty was so delayed by his efforts
to find it that the yacht had drifted beyond reach.of those .
on shore before the fishermen sent by the intrepid King
could reach the beach.

S- D;t .ctcd by his. loss, the King now most
gen:rou.ly offers his daughter's hand and.a
princel', d':...ry,' asohalf his Kingdom (subject
to a hiI.t ;rad -.:cond mortgage), to the noble
%oulth lho -h jll restore to him his daughter and
rhe i ,luabl. necklace of diamonds she wears.
Scr \\en o nd the quest to the young Prince
.nd the bra,.e youths of his court. Further
particulars in the regular edition this afternoon.
The boat, we learn, was fully insured.

"There!" said the Page, throwing aside the
paper. That 's just what I 'm looking for! "
What is that?" asked the Prince, as he
folded his paper and put it in 'his pocket.
"An opportunity to distinguish myself- to
become renowned!" said the Page, proudly.
"You shall have it," answered the Prince,
graciously. You have always served me well,
and .you play tennis nearly as well as I do."
(The score that afternoon was six sets love in
favor of the Page.)
"Then you are willing I should try this ad-
venture ? asked the Page, in surprise.
Certainly," replied the Prince. "I .shall
take you with me, of course."
Oh!" said the Page, in quite a different
tone. He had been surprised at the Princes
generosity, but now he understood it better.
Then he turned to the Princf and said, "When
shall you start?"
In a few days, I think," said the Prince, as
he stooped to pick up his racket. "It depends
on how long it will take to decide upon the
best plan, to get-things ready, and to pack up
my robes, and put my fleet in order."
"Indeed! ", said the Page. Then he added,
"As I 'm quite willing to go alone, because
I 'mn in a hurry, I think I won't wait. In fact,
I '11 start now."
Then, coolly turning on his heel, he walked


off down the street, leaving his racket where it
had fallen, and the Prince where he stood.
"His last week's wages are n't paid, either,'"
said the Prince to himself; "andI don't-believe
he '11 ever come back for that racket of his.
Reckless boy!"
The Prince picked up the racket and went lei-
surely home to the palace, where he was received
by two long lines of footmen, who bowed low as
he entered.
There were quail on toast for supper, and the
Prince was so fond of these little birds that he
ate seven of them. and was so busied over it that
he could not find time to say a word until he
was quite done. The Queen was telling the
King all about a new gown; and the King was
thinking how he could persuade the treasurer
that there was a little too much money instead
of much too little; and the Jester. was wonder-
ing what chance he might have to make a living
as a farmer; and the nobles were trying to at-
tract the King's attention; so there
was hardly a word spoken at the
table until the Prince was quite
through'with his seven small birds.
Then said the Prince:
"Oh, by the way, Papa, I al-
most forgot to ask you something.
Will you please tell -the treasurer
to give me three or four bags of
gold to-morrow? I 'm going to
take a little journey."
But the King at first paid no
S"What did you say?" he
asked, at length.
"You tell him," sug-
gested the Prince to
the Jester.
So the Jester


-.' li

gave the King a hasty outline of the news in
the paper, and told him that the Prince thought
of going in search of the Princess. The King
took little interest iti the story until there was
mention of the three or four bags of gold.
Then he awoke to animation.
"To be sure," he cried. "It-is-an excellent
plan. I will give you an order on th6 trea-
surer for six bags of gold, and I will keep the
rest so as to send out a search expedition for
you when you get lost."
The King knew the treasurer would not dare
refuse' the money for so worthy an object as the
rescue of a princess adrift. Even if the trea-
surer did not want to give up the money, the
people would never support an economy that
would keep the Prince from so worthy an expe-
dition. Indeed, the King's order was at once
obeyed, andcthe Prince began his preparations.
First the Prince: called a council of the wisest
of the court.
"I suppose you have all read the news about
the Princess ?" he asked, when
his councilors had assembled. t.
"Yes," they answered.- '
"I am desirous of- not mak- .,h
ing a blunder at the outset, and
so have resolved to secure the
assistance of the wisest men of
the kingdom. What, then, would
you advise?"
"It seems to me," said the
Chief Secretary, who was so.
venerable that his hair and
beard seemed turned to "
cotton-batting, "that we
ought first: to ascertain
whether the report is
A low murmur,





of assent arose from them all; and the Prince, The Prince thought the request was' very
accepting the suggestion, said: "Let us then ap- reasonable, and announced that the council
point a committee of investigation. Who knows 'would meet again-.in two days.. So they sep-
how to go about the appointing of a committee?" arated, and the Prince betook himself to the


After a brief pause for consideration, another tennis-courts again, this time, however, with
old courtier arose and said that he had a neigh- another page. The Prince found during the
bor who was skilled in such matters, and if they games that the former page's racket was a very
would take an adjournment for a day or two he good one; and this reminded him that the
would ascertain just how to go about it. owner of it had started to seek the lost Princess.


Suddenly stopping the game, he said to one
of his attendants:
On second thought, I think I ought not to
have sent after the man who knows how to ap-
point a committee. Suppose you go after the man
who went after him, and tell him to come back."
Away went the attendant, and the Prince
returned to the palace, resolved to prosecute
the search with vigor. The council was again
called together, and the Prince told them that
without waiting to verify the report of the loss
of the Princess, he meant to seek her at once.
"But in which direction will you go ?" asked
the Court Geographer.
Oh, in any direction!" said the Prince, in-
differently. "There is no telling -where- a. boat
may drift to."
In that case," said the Court Mathemati-
cian, smiling, "the chances are about one in
three hundred and sixty that you will hit upon
the right way. Let me show you."
So the Court Mathematician sent a page to
the kitchen for some beans. Away ran the boy;
only to return in a few moments with the report
that the cook wished to know whether he
wanted "a pint, or a quart, dr how many?"
"I want three hundred and sixty white ones,
and one black one," said the Mathematician.
This time the page was gone a long while.
When he returned, he explained that it took
the cook longer to count the beans than one
would think. That they had disagreed, and
had counted them twice, to make sure; and
then had to send to the grocer's for ,a black
bean, since there was none in the palace.
There was no need of that,' said the Mathe-
matician, impatiently. I can mark one of the
white ones, and it will do quite as well."
So the page ran to overtake the messenger
who had started for the grocer's, and mean-
while the Mathematician made an ink mark
on one of the white beans, put them all into a
hat, and shook them well. Now, draw one,"
he said, offering the hat to the Prince.
The Prince drew one. It was the marked bean.
"Well," he said, "what does that prove ?"
"It really does n't prove anything," said the
Mathematician, a little out of temper. "Try
again." So the Prince returned the marked
white bean to the hat, and, after they were well

shaken, drew again. This time he drew a plain
"You see," said the Mathematician, trium-
"What do I see ? asked the Prince.
"You did n't get the right one."
"But I did the first time," argued the Prince.
"All your experiment proves is that I may hit
it right the first time, and miss it the second, if
I should try again. But if I hit it right the first
time, I sha'n't have to try over again; so your
rule does n't apply. Is n't that so ?"
It does sound reasonable," answered the
Mathematician, who was honest though clever.
Perhaps you'd like to go home and try the
.-experiment for yourself," said the Prince, kindly.
The Mathematician borrowed the beans, and
went home, promising to send a written report
of his trials after a few days.
"Now that we have settled the mathe-
matical side of the question," said the Court
Meteorologist, "we can go at the problem
scientifically. Here is the way it appears to
me, your Royal Highness."
Then the Meteorologist unrolled a map and
pinned.it on the wall.
The present position of the lost Princess,"
said he, depends upon the joint action of the
winds and tides. The Gulf Stream has little or
nothing to do with the problem, as the boat
was abandoned beyond the sphere of its influ-
ence. The trade-winds for a similar reason
may perhaps be disregarded. There is no
question here of simoom or sirocco, and -"
"Maybe it would be as well to leave out the
things that- have nothing to do with it," sug-
gested the Prince, a little impatiently.
But how shall we know what to leave out
unless we go over them to see ? asked the
True," said the Prince; "but as that will
take some time, you might run over the list at
home and report to me, say, the day after
"I will do so," replied the Meteorologist,
rolling up his map and departing with an air
of great importance.
"I don't see," remarked the Prince, uneas-
ily, that we are making real progress."
There has been nothing but nonsense, so



far," said a bluff old Admiral. What I say is
to take a boat and go after the young lady in
shipshape style !"
The Prince was so much encouraged by this
direct way of putting the matter that he let the
undignified mention of the Princess pass with-
out reproof.
"And what would you advise? he asked
the Admiral.
"Take the fastest brigantine you can find-"
began the officer; but he was interrupted.
In a case of less importance," broke in the
voice of a portly Commodore, "I should not
venture to interrupt my superior officer. But
here the matter admits of no false hesitation
because of etiquette."
"What suggestion have you to make? in-
quired the "Prince.
"A brigantine," the Commodore said im-
pressively, "is an unreliable craft at best. I
say, take a frigate, at once."
"Pshaw!" broke in the Admiral explosively.
"Gentlemen," said the perplexed Prince, I
cannot presume to decide between you.. I am
a novice in these matters. Suppose you dis-
cuss the question fully, and report in writing ?"
When the naval officers had departed, there
were left only a few small fry who asked that
they might have a day or two to think the
whole matter over before committing them-
selves to a decided opinion. Upon their with-
drawal, the Prince found only the Jester.
"Perhaps," said the Prince, a little sarcas-
tically, "you have some advice to give ? "
Perhaps," replied the Jester; "but first I
have a plan to suggest."
"What is-that?"
"You might take a small army and go after
the page who started out to seek the Princess.
By the time you have come up with him, he
will perhaps have found her. Then you can
sail in and take her away from him, and bring
her home yourself. That's the way kings and
princes often do."
"But that seems hardly fair," said the Prince,
after a few moments' reflection.
"Of course it is n't fair," said the Jester;
"but it's your only chance. I have no doubt
he has found the Princess long ago."
"Do you think so?" asked the Prince.

No doubt of it," said the Jester. You
see, he did n't wait for any advice, but started
off at once."
Is n't advice a good thing? "
"Yes," said 'the Jester, "for lawyers and
councilors. They make their living by it. Ad-
vice is good, when it 's good; but the best
qualities are hard to find, and the time it takes
to find them is sometimes worth more than the
advice when found."
S"Then you would n't- advise me to take
advice?" said the Prince, thoughtfully.
My advice is," said the Jester, "don't take
mine, or anybody's."
Is n't that rather a difficult course to fol-
low?" asked the Prince, after a moment's
"Very,' the Jester agreed.
S"I think," the Prince went on, "that I shall
start now, and take my chances."
"'I '11 go with you," replied his companion.
So they started toward the palace gate; but
just as they reached it and had called for the
gate-keeper, there came a summons from with-
out. When the gate was opened there was
the Page. He seemed, weary, and his shoes
showed that he had traveled a long way on foot.
Did you find the Princess?" asked the
Prince, eagerly.
"Yes," said the Page, very calmly. "I
found her."
"Fortunate boy!" said the Prince, a little
"I don't know about that," said the Page.
"She was as cross as two sticks about having
been left to go adrift. It rained, you know;
and when I rowed out to the yacht, I found
that everything on board was soaking wet, and
she had n't had anything, to eat for two days,
and-my goodness!-she was hopping mad!"
"What did she say ? asked the Jester.
She said she 'd like to box my ears," said
the Page, earnestly. "Then I told her if she
was n't more polite I would n't rescue her.
That quieted her, quick! So then she did n't
say anything, but she looked, about as pleasant
as cold gravy. As soon as I towed the boat
ashore, she gave me some money and told me
to get along home. So I did, and I was glad
to get away. I did n't tell her who I was,



and I don't think she will ever find me. You
won't tell, will you? pleaded the Page, as he
"No," said the Prince, laughing. I won't

suppose I 'm entitled to the reward. Now,
can't you arrange it that you '11 marry the
Princess ? I think she '11 just suit you. She
is a fine-looking Princess, and I don't believe

~. I


tell. But perhaps you did n't treat the Prin- she meant to be cross. Do you think you can
cess with proper courtesy. No wonder she arrange it? It would be a splendid thing for
was out of humor, after being adrift so long." the kingdom, you know. It would unite the
I '11 tell you," said the Page, suddenly, two kingdoms, and there 'd be all sorts of ad-
"what we '11 do. I found the Princess, and I vantages. You can say that I went with your
VOL. XX.-57.




permission, you know, and that I 'm engaged
to be married, and would n't presume to aspire
to a prmicess's hand."
SIt 's a good suggestion," said the Jester;
"for otherwise there 'll be war, of course. The
other king will be bound to know why this
young man won't accept his daughter's hand,
and then there 'II be a lot of diplomatic corre-
spondence, ultmatums, protocols, and all sorts
of goings-on. If you don't mind, I think you
would do well to marry this Princess."
I don't mind at all." answered the Prince;
"and I think I 'Il write a letter to her this ~er\
day. But. how," he went on, turning to the
Page, did you come to be engaged? I
did n't know anything about it." .
"The fact is," said the Page. I 'm not
quite engaged. but there 's one of the mnids
of honor who will have me, I 'm sure. She
told me the other day- that she wished it was
leap-year every day; and I think that 's a dis-
tinct encouragement, don't you ?
His friend agreed that it was a marked ob-
You 'II be safe for a day or two." remarked
the Jester to the Page; "and meanwhile you
can be getting your clothes brushed and your
shoes mended. -The Prince will write to-da\."
Early on .the following morning, as the
Prince came don n to breakfast, he was told
that a deputation was awaiting him in the
Council-Room. "-Who are the ? lie asked.
"The Councilors with their reports," an-
swered the messenger.
S"But," said the Prince, "they are-"
Hush!" said the Jester; "let us not:lose
their words of wisdom,"
V" ery well," the Prince agreed, smiling.
So, the Prince, the Jester, and the Page
entered the room -where the Council were
assembled. All bowed profoundly.
"Your Royal Highness," began the Secre-
tatry, "in order to verify the report of the loss
of the Princess, I sent an inquiry to a friend of
mine who stands very high in favor at her
father's couit. It was thus worded: 'Is- the
Royal Princess absent from the Court? And
I have his' sealed reply: *' She.is not.'. That I
consider conclusive. Is it not?"
Yes," said'the Jester; "it is not." '

I have no doubt," said the Prince, that
your information is correct; and I thank you
lor your diligence."
The Secretary bowed and was seated.
I," began the lileteroliogit, have pre-
pared a list of the tlinz; that may be disre-
garded in the search. It contains 572 item',
with tvo appendices and voluminous notes:. I
ill read it."
"Never mind,". said the Prince, very gra-
ciously. "I will order it filed in the Roy.al
Archives. We will noi listen to the Mathema-
-- I have tried the bean-experiment several
hundreds of times," said the Mathematician,
iand have not yet succeeded in drawing the
marked bean. The formula of chances I have
worked out. I find that If Henry put;. 360
white beans into a hat, and John draws a cood
many times, no one can tell whether he will draw
the marked bean the first time, or not at all.' I
consider that an exact statement of the matter."
I am not prepared to dispute you," said the
Prince, "and I will ask leave therefore to ex-
press my indebtedness to you."
S\e," said the Admiral, speaking for himself
and the Commodore, I regret to say, have as
yet arrived at nothing more advanced than a
compromise. \e ha\e agreed to recommend
a squadron composed of equal numbers.of brig-
antines and frigates. Thus you will secure the
advantages of both forms of craft."
"A wise conclusion." said the Prince: "rand
I gladly offer to you both my fervent gratitude."
A few of the smaller fry of Councilors yet re-
mained to be heard, but the Prince announced
that he had bestowed upon each councilor The
Order of the Brazen Owl. But, as he was.
about to leave the room. the Councilors, after
a moment's consultation, begged permi-sion to
ask a que-tion. It \as granted.
"We should like to know what use Your
Highness wished to make of the information
we have furnished ?"
"To find the Princess who was lost," an-
swered the Prince.:.. -
Oh, yes," said the Councilors' spokesman.
We had forgotten what it was all about. But
it 's of no consequence now."
"No," said the Prince; "she is rescued."



Indeed ? said the Councilors, with polite
interest. Then they put on their cloaks, and
went their several ways, all reading their reports
to one another, and none listening.
The Prince and Princess were married soon

ship. The vessel is several days overdue, but un-
doubtedly will arrive in safety after the Admiral
and the Commodore have settled a little differ-
ence of opinion as to where they had better land.
The Page and the Maid of Honor are mar-


after, and the Page and the Maid of Honor
were best man and bridesmaid.
The Prince pensioned the Councilors and
sent them to America. They all sailed in one

ried, and keep a candy-store where they sell a
dollar's worth of candy for five cents. They
sent me the address, but you '11- be sorry to
learn that I have mislaid it.
Tudor Jenks.





GRANDFATHER'S home!-that dear old place,
A house with gables wide
Embowered in trees, a great red barn
With haystacks at its side,
A brook spanned by a rustic bridge,
A gloomy, rumbling mill,
And set against a dreamy sky
An orchard on a hill!

Oh, every summer I go there,
When school is out, to stay;
I look for hens' nests, drink new milk,
And tumble on the hay.

Grandfather is the best of men,-
He lets me start the mill,-
And oh, the pippins growing in
The orchard on the hill!

Grandmother's old, too, but so sweet!
She 's sprightly, though she 's gray;
She feeds the chickens, milks the cows,
And churns, 'most every day,
Such yellow butter! And her pies
The pastry-cupboard fill;
They 're made of yellow harvests from
The orchard on the hill.


Across the farm I love to run,
Through fields of grass and grain,
And fight the thistles by the brook,
The mulleins in the lane.
I love the dear old garden set
With rosemary, rue, and dill;
But best of all, and most of all,
The orchard on the hill!

Oh, the berries from the briers!
Oh, the melons green and gold!
We put them in the spring-house
To make them good and cold;
And from the beehives, now and then,
A honey-bowl we fill,
To sweeten our baked quinces from
The orchard on the hill.

At night Grandfather tells me tales
Of long and long ago,
Grandmother knits and knits and smiles
To see her stocking grow,
While all outdoors it is so calm,
SSo dusky and so still,
And then the moon rolls up behind
The orchard on the hill.

At nine o'clock we have our prayer,
And then I go to bed,
Away off in the darkest room,
And cover up my head,
'Most scared to death, and listen to
The lonesome whippoorwill
Calling to its mate across
The orchard on the hill.




'T WAS not as lonesome as it might have been;
A little sunbeam oftentimes looked in,
And played upon the hearth, and on the wall.
Your picture smiled at mine. But, best of all,
The cricket kept the house while we were gone,
And sung from dawn to dark, from dark to dawn.



S-MINGO is the
.... -~- Ig oldest city built
by Europeans
now standing in the
western hemisphere. It was founded by the
brother of Columbus, and is said by some to
have been named after their father, Domenico,
and by others to have received its name be-
cause it was on Sunday that the ship sent from
the north arrived there Santo Domingo
meaning "holy Sunday." Curiously enough,
its founding was the result of a quarrel.

On the northern shore of Hispaniola, as the
island of Santo Domingo was then called, was
Isabella, the first Spanish colony in the New
World. There, one day, a young Spaniard
named Miguel Diaz, one of the followers of
Columbus, stabbed a companion in a fight;
and, afraid of the anger of Columbus, he fled
into the mountains and went toward the south.
After wandering for some days, he came to a
river, and following it to where it emptied into
the sea, found a tribe of Indians called the
Ozamas. They had heard of the wonderful
white men who had landed on their island,

1 i :';.:
.,; ..
:-s ~ff
It; ~i~-irL- ..- :-wL~~LF~



and they received him with awe, but with
kindness and hospitality, and took him before
their queen, Zameaca, who was famous for her
beauty and gentleness. He had not lived long
with- them when Zameaca lost her heart to the
fair-faced Spaniard, and they were married.
For a time all went well, but Diaz soon tired
of the simple life; and his wife, to please him,
told him of gold to be found in the river Jayna,
and guided him to it. Diaz then went back in
haste to Isabella, knowing that the news of the
discovery would secure his pardon,-as it did.
He guided his avaricious companions to the
golden stream, and afterward to the mouth
of the Ozama River. There Columbus chose
the place for the town. It was begun in 1496,
and it was called Santo Domingo.
The Spaniards ill-treated and made slaves of
the simple Indians, and Zameaca, seeing the
evils she had brought upon her people, fled to
the mountains and was never heard of after-
ward. The new city grew and prospered un-
til the year 1502, when it was entirely destroyed
by a frightful hurricane, and was rebuilt on
the other bank of the river. There it stands
to-day, not much changed from the Santo
Domingo of four centuries ago.
It is very curious to go from one of our
cities, with its new, bright, tall buildings and
its broad streets alive with the hum and bustle
of business, to this sleepy old Spanish town,
where (on account of the earthquakes) the
houses are rarely more than one story high, and
are painted various colors-blue, green, brown
or red; where the narrow streets have side-
walks only three feet wide, and where nobody
is ever in a hurry; and to remember, as one
walks over the town, that those streets were
once trodden by Pizarro, who gathered there
the first money that enabled him to start on
the expedition that conquered Peru; by Cortez,
the conqueror of Mexico; by Ponce de Leon,
who discovered Florida; by Balboa, the first
European who saw the Pacific Ocean; by Ojeda,
who discovered Venezuela; and by Columbus
himself, and his brothers and his son, and the
companions of his voyages.
The city is situated just at the mouth of the
river, where once rode at anchor the caravels of
Columbus. It is on a bluff, and surrounded by

a massive wall which seems very formidable;
but it is crumbling, and the cannon were car-
ried away years ago. On the point at the
river entrance stands the Homenaje, or castle,
erected in 1506. It seems as solid and massive


as the day it was built, with its battlements and
walls and high signal-tower. All about it
are the barracks where, in the old days, ten
thousand Spanish soldiers lived-those strong
and hardy adventurers who conquered Mexico
and Peru. Now about a hundred San Domin-
goan troops are quartered there, and queer-
looking soldiers they are: all negroes, dressed
in a uniform of blue jeans trimmed with red
braid-ragged, lazy, impudent.
Landing at the Custom-house, the city is
entered by the Diego Gate, where the wall is
thirty feet high. Just inside, on the right, is a
roofless ruin, now a stable and chicken-house.
It was once the palace of the governor, Diego
Columbus, son of the great admiral. Walking
along the wall to the left, past old buildings,
the sun-dial of Columbus is to be seen. It is
still in use. From there the street leads to the
oldest church in the New World, built in 1507.
It contains a beautiful chapel and a curious old
pulpit. The pulpit rests on the open jaws of a
carved wooden snake rising from a coil upon
the floor. Back of this church are the ruins
of the first American university.
The principal building in the city is the
cathedral, which faces the great plaza or square
containing a fine statue of Columbus. It is a




large structure, shaped like a cross, and built in
1542. The interior is imposing. The lofty
arches, the great pillars, the carved altar, give
it an air of solemnity. In one of its chapels, set
into the wall, is the old mahogany cross which
Columbus placed on a hill near by. On the
right of the high altar is another chapel, small
and dark. At its end, stretched out on a tomb,
is the ghostly figure in white marble of some
old archbishop who lived long years ago. At
his feet, behind a dim lamp that always bums,
is a low door which leads into a dark vault
lighted only by a small and heavily barred win-
dow. In the center of the vault is a wooden
box, and in that a box of glass, and in that a
casket of lead
whichcontains --
all that is left '
of Columbus,
the renowned .
How this "-
after having
been unknown
for over three
centuries, is a
very curious
story. But first
let us see how
it came to be
in Santo Do-
mingo. E- .


was sixty years of age when he returned to
Spain from his last voyage. Queen Isabella
was dying. Ferdinand was indifferent to the
fortunes of the man who had added a world to
his crown. Columbus was worn out, his spirit
broken by his many disappointments, and his
great strength exhausted by the hardships of his
life. Poor, friendless, and alone, he died at
Valladolid, Spain, May 20, 1506, and was
buried in the convent of Saint Francis in that
city. A few years later his remains were re-
moved to Seville, and in 1541 were taken to
Santo Domingo and placed in the vaults of the
cathedral; and in the same church were buried
later the remains of his brother, his son, and
his grandson.
None of these
tombs seems
to have been
marked, or, if
they were, all
records of the
places were
lost. The city
was bombard-
ed by Sir
Francis Drake
in 1585, and
one of his can-
non-balls can
still be seen
buried in the
masonry of the




cathedral; and at this time the records were all
In 1795 Spain made a treaty by which Santo
Domingo was given to France; but it was
understood that Spain was to be allowed to
remove her most precious possessions, and
among these she included the remains of
Columbus. So, on December II, 1795, a
Spanish fleet arrived off Santo Domingo city,
and its admiral said that he had come for the
bones of the great discoverer. All the arrange-
ments were made, and everything was done
with much show and ceremony, for which the
Spaniards are famous. Tradition said that
Columbus rested in a vault on the right of the
high altar. There a vault was opened in the
great wall, and in it were found some slabs of
lead, which had originally been a coffin, but
which had fallen to pieces. There were no
marks nor inscriptions to tell that here were
the true tomb and casket of Columbus. But
tradition said that he was buried in that spot,


_ __ I



hence these must be his bones. Don Gabriel
de Aristizabel, the Spanish admiral, said they
were, and Don Francisco Fernando Portillo y
Toms, the archbishop, also said they were; and
that settled it, as there was nobody to say that
they were not. So they were put in a gilded box,
and this was placed in another box covered

with black velvet, and, with much ceremony,
this was borne out to the man-of-war "San
Lorenzo." The fleet sailed
away, and these remna n t_
of a coffin were placed
in the cathedral at
Havana, and thou-
sands have visited '_ .
the spot and
stood in front of
what they sup-
posed was the
grave of the great
navigator. When ,
this removal took
place there was
great opposition on
the part of the people "
of Santo Domingo, and a-ll
sorts of stories were told : one,
that the guardians of the cathe:ijl
had put the bones of Diego Columbus in

the place of those of Christopher Columbus. But,
as time went on, all this uncertainty was for-
gotten, and the world believed that Columbus'
bones were resting
ir, Ha vain..




One day, nearly a century after these events,
some repairs were being made in the cathedral
at Santo Domingo, when, quite by accident, a
vault was uncovered which proved to belong to
Don Luis, the grandson of Columbus. Then
the people recalled the long-forgotten story of
the substitution of some other coffin for that of
Columbus, and it was resolved to search thor-
oughly. On the right of the high altar another
vault was found. It was empty, being
the same from which the broken box
had been removed over eighty years
before. A further search revealed, next.
to this empty vault, and separated from
it only by a single thickness of bricks,
another which was found to contain a '
small box that nobody knew anything
about. The vault was immediately seal-
ed up. A few days later the seals were ,
broken, and it was opened in the pres-
ence of all the officers of the church and
of the state of Santo Domingo, and of
all the foreign consuls; and from it was
taken a small box made of lead which
was found to contain some human bones
and dust, a little slab of silver, two
screws, and a bullet.
The metal was dull and tarnished
with age. As one by one the inscriptions
were made out, it became certain that it
was the real coffin of Columbus. The
inscriptions were all in Spanish. On the
top was found this:

D. de la A. per A.

which stands for the words: Descubridor
de la America, Primero Almirante, mean-
ing: Discoverer of America, First Ad-
miral." On the inside of the cover was another
inscription :
Illtre y Esdo Varon
Don Cristoval Colon.

This stands for the Spanish words:

Illustre y Esclaricido Varon
Don Cristoval Colon,

which, translated, read: "Illustrious and fa-
mous man, Don Christopher Columbus."
But the silver plate was the most curious of

all. It had been fixed on the inside of the box,
for the holes were found in which the small
screws fitted. They had rusted away, and the
plate had fallen on the inside. The inscription

Ua pte de los r'tos'
del pmer Alte Dn
Cristoval Colon Dr.

was engraved upon one side of the plate; and


filling out the abbreviated words makes the full
text read:
Ultima parte de los restos
del Primero Almirante Don
Cristoval Colon Descubridor.

These words mean : "The last part of the re-
mains of the First Admiral, Don Christopher
Columbus, Discoverer."
On the other side of the plate were found
Spanish words meaning: "The urn of Christo-
pher Columbus."



For a long time the bullet was a mystery that
could not be accounted for; but in one of his
letters, written in the last year of his life, Co-
lumbus speaks of his wound having reopened.
There is no record of his having been shot, but
it is believed now that he was struck by a bullet
during some of the wars in which he was en-
gaged, before the discovery of America.
The casket has been examined and criti-
cized, but not the least item of proof has





SIT for my picture ?
Of course I
That I am hand-
some is not
Eh ? I should say
that I can
keep still.
'And now, look -
Well, how is -- :;
this?" -

.ever been brought out to show that it is not
So we are now almost certain that the un-
marked and broken slabs that were taken to
Havana belonged to some one else (probably to
Diego, son of Columbus); and we are glad to
believe that the bones of Columbus rest, after
all these centuries, in the spot where it is best
that they should rest-in the great cathedral
of his own little city of Santo Domingo.




U. S. Consul at Singapore.

IT was on the occasion of
the great sporting event of the
year at Sinigapore that I first
met that remarkable man,
Rajah Brooke of Sarawak.
He had come across in his
gunboat from his kingdom to
attend the races, and had
brought with him a gold cup bearing his arms,
which was offered as one of the prizes.
There were a dozen other dignitaries on the
grand stand and in the paddock, but the Malay
sultans and rajahs, arrayed in all the finery of
their native dress, held no place in my thoughts
beside the modest, gray-haired man who moved
so quietly about, shaking hands with old friends.
He possessed a history which was as romantic
and soul-inspiring as the wild careers of Pizarro
and Cortez; as charming as those of Robin-
son Crusoe and the Swiss Family Robinson; as
adventurous and tragical as those of Captain
Kidd or Morgan. And yet it was very unlike
the career of any. Like Pizarro, he conquered
a kingdom,-a kingdom of tropical jungle and
brown-skinned natives,-but, unlike Pizarro, he
conquered to build up and not to tear down.
Like Robinson Crusoe, the elder Rajah Brooke
landed on an equatorial island amid cocoanuts
and breadfruit, and built himself a home. Like
Morgan the pirate, he engaged in raids and
sea-fights in which no quarter was given; but,
unlike Morgan, he sought to crush piracy and
not to foster it. For this English rajah was
the nephew and the successor of the remark-
able man who, unaided except by his own feeble
means and his own indomitable will, had carved
a principality larger than the State of New York
out of an unknown island, reduced its savage
population to orderly tax-paying citizens, cleared
the Borneo and Java seas of their thousands
of pirate cruisers, and filled the harbors instead
with a merchant fleet engaged in a commerce
of nearly five millions a year.

A little later I was introduced to the rajah,
whose English title is Sir Charles Brooke,
G. C. M. G. I looked upon him almost as a
character out of a wild South Sea tale, come to
life. I found him unaffected, genial, and up
with the times. He was as familiar with the
provisions of our latest Silver Bill" as he was
with the details of the last head-hunting raid
on the frontiers of his own country. He was
dressed in an ordinary light tweed suit and black
derby hat, spoke with a clear, well-bred English
accent, but always slowly, as though wearied by
his early years of fighting and exposure to the
searching heat of the Bornean sun. Although
he was unpretentious, yet there was that in his
manner which caused one always to bear in
mind that one was speaking to the rajah.
A few nights afterward I met him at the
Government House at a fancy-dress ball; and
while the maskers--as cavalier and roundhead,
Arab sheik and Mohammedan hadji, ladies of
the court of Louis XIV. and Neapolitan fisher-
men, Swiss peasant girls and pirates, were waltz-
ing to the strains of the regimental band, I sat
down with the rajah in a cool recess, and
talked of Sarawak, of its people, its past, and its
future. He talked of political matters, and re-
lated to me an incident in the Chinese out-
break during the reign of his illustrious uncle.
I left the Government House that evening
carrying away a lasting impression of his abil-
ity, courtesy, and kindness. I understood, I
thought, how two such men might turn a tropi-
cal jungle into a tropical kingdom, .and do it in
one man's lifetime.
The life of the first rajah, Sir James Brooke,
K. C. B., K. C. M. G., LL. D.,t reads like a
romance such as Stevenson or Verne might
write. His was a wild, restless nature that in
his youth made him dissatisfied with the quiet
of his own English home, and with the even
tenor of the days about his father's vicarage.
He entered the English army, and was danger-

* Grand Cross.of the Order of St. Michael and St. George. t Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath,
Knight Commander of the Order of St. Michael and St. George,-Doctor of Laws.


ously wounded in leading a charge against a
detachment of natives in India. He gave up
his commission and retired on a pension about
the time he reached manhood.
A long and nearly fatal sickness did not quell
his thirst for adventure. He had hardly re-
gained his strength when he started out to ex-
plore India, Malaya, and China. He wrote a
valuable journal of his wanderings, and returned
home fired with the thought of exploring the
then unknown islands of the Pacific. The sight
of the millions of acres of rich, untilled land
that were embraced within the boundaries of
some of these islands populated by a race of
peaceful, indolent beings, and claimed by no
European power, raised in his mind dreams of
a great East-Indian Empire.
The death of his father left him with a prop-
erty worth one hundred and fifty thousand dol-
lars. In spite of the protests of his friends, he
very soon proceeded to fit out a small schooner,
manned and armed it, and sailed for Singapore,
and thence to the northwest coast of Borneo,
landing at Kuching, on the Sarawak River, in
A field of conquest and a hope of empire at
once dawned upon him. The province of Sara-
wak, a dependency of the Sultan of Brunei, was

governed by an old native rajah, whose throne
was menaced by the fierce, head-hunting Dyaks
of the interior. Brooke saw his chance, and' cast

his fortunes with the weak but rightful ruler.
After many marches with his little crew and an
army of natives through the almost impenetra-
ble rubber jungles, and after many hard-fought
battles, ,the rebels were dislodged- from their
forts and order was restored. The young gene-
ral then interposed between the combatants,
and protected the defeated from the revenge
of the victors, thereby winning the gratitude
of the former and the confidence of both sides.
. The sultan conceived a great liking for
Brooke, and finding that his native rajah could
not rule the province, he arranged that Brooke
should become Rajah of Sarawak, as an inde-
pendent ruler.
Upon his accession to power, Rajah Brooke
set about to reform abuses and build up the
country. He abolished military marauding, did
away with every form of slavery, established
courts, missions, and school-houses, and waged
fierce war against head-hunting and piracy.
Head-hunting was a remarkable and extra-
ordinary custom of the native Dyaks. They
strove to secure heads to decorate their houses,
much as the American Indian longed to go hunt-
ing for scalps. It was an ancient custom. No
Dyak woman would marry a man who could not
display, as a trophy, at least one human head.
Immense flotillas of head-hunting canoes would
sally forth from the rivers and cruise along the
coast, proceeding sometimes as far as 400 miles
from home. Often there would be 7000 war-
ribrs in a single expedition. They landed wher-
ever they saw a village, and slew man, woman,
child, and foe, carrying off their heads in triumph.
To-day head-hunting is practically stamped
out. Occasionally there appears in the local
papers an account of a small party of young
warriors breaking away into the interior, and
returning with their grim trophies; but the
strong hand of the rajah's government finds -
them out and inflicts just penalties.
Piracy had been for a century the curse of
the Java seas, but Sir James Brooke knew that
the future of his kingdom depended on its sup-
pression. Every island and harbor swarmed
with pirates. They lived in big towns, and
had fortresses and cannon. They were stronger
than any of the native rulers, and, knowing this,
defied them. Brooke began with the feebler



towns, conquering one after another; then burnt
them, and took possession of their swift out-
rigger canoes, increasing his forces from the
very pirates that he was exterminating, and so
worked relentlessly on. Combined with the
great qualities of a fearless fighter, he had the
noble faculty of winning the good
will and approval o:f hls foes;
to such an extent that all
through the strugile 1c.a

General of Borneo, Doctor of Laws by Oxford
University, and indeed was the lion of the hour.
He returned to Sarawak, accompanied by
European officers and friends, to carry on his
great work of civilization, and to make of his
little tropical kingdom a recognized power.
He died in 1868, and was carried
bnck to Erigland for burial,
and I predict that at no
d instant day a grateful

they fought hal:-lei: irt- people will rise up
edly, knowing thle ivhie mnd ask of England his
that they were really fighting body, that it may be in-
against their people's good. terred in the peaceful yellow
At the end of nine years sands and under the grace-
the last pirate stronghold fully waving palms of the
was taken, and the victor felt VL i /A4 ti. little nation of which he was
free to return home, pay his I the Washington.
friends a visit, and solicit THE PRESENT RAJAH. Sarawak has to-day a coast-
missionary aid to civilize the country. line of over 400 miles, with an area of 50,000
All England was awake to his great deeds, square miles, and a population of 300,000 souls..
There were greetings by enthusiastic crowds, The country produces gold, silver, diamonds,
banquets by boards of trade, and gifts of the antimony, quick-silver, coal, gutta-percha, rub-
freedom of cities. He was lodged in Balmoral ber, canes, ratan, camphor, beeswax, edible
Castle, knighted by his queen, made Consul- birds' nests, sago, tapioca, pepper, and tobacco;


all of which are loaded into big, lumbering
vessels by Chinese coolies, and shipped to
Singapore for transhipment to America and
The rajah is absolute head of the state,
but is advised by a legislative council com-
posed of two Europeans and five native Malay
chiefs. He has 'a navy of several small gun-
boats, and an army of a few hundred men, who
look after the wild tribes in the interior of
Borneo, and guard the coast-line from piratical
excursions; otherwise they would be useless,
as his rule is almost fatherly, and he is dearly
beloved by his people.
If the American boy who loves to read
stories of the most exciting kind will go to the
public library and get the "Life of the Rajah
of Sarawak," his desires will be gratified. The
fights with pirates of which he will read will
equal those of the bucaneers of the Spanish
main; the battles with bloodthirsty Malays

and savage Dyaks will outdo the stories of Bal-
lantyne and Kingston.
SThe true story of this building up of a king-
dom in thirty years out of a wilderness of jungle
almost equals the wildest careers of sensational
fiction, yet the untiring benevolence and philan-
thropy of its founder place his name alongside
those of great philanthropists.
Later in the evening, as I shook hands with
the slightly built, gray-haired man who had
inspired this sketch, I said, "Your Highness
should visit America. You know we are soon
to have a great World's Fair."
He looked up and smiled pleasantly, and
gave my hand a second pressure. "I should
like to \ isit your great country," he said. "Do
you know the debt of gratitude I owe her? "
I shook my head.
"The United States was the first country to
recognize the independence of Sarawak. Good-
night !"



TO-DAY when the sun shone just after the shower,
A song bubbled up from the lilac-tree bower,
That changed of a sudden to quavers so queer,
For a moment I thought something wrong in my ear.
Then I called little Herbert, and asked if he heard.
": Oh, yes!" he replied; "it's the pussy-cat bird."

The pussy-cat bird has the blackest of bills,
With which she makes all of her trebles and trills:
She can mimic a robin, or sing like a wren,
And I truly believe she can cluck like a hen;
And sometimes you dream that her song is a word,
Then quickly again-she 's a pussy-cat bird!

The pussy-cat bird wears a gown like -a nun,
But she 's chirk as a squirrel, and chock-full of fun.
She lives in a house upon Evergreen Lane,-
A. snug little house, although modest and plain;
And never a puss that was happier purred
Than the feathered and winged little pussy-cat bird.



Author of "Lady Jane."

[Begunn tie May number.]

Two elderly ladies sat in a handsome draw-
ing-room of a fine house on Madison Avenue,
in the city of New York. They were each not
far from seventy, but owing to their rich and
fashionable attire they did not look their years.
One was Mrs. Ainsworth, the mother of the
artist, the other a friend who had just returned
from a long residence abroad.
Mrs. Ainsworth, or Madam Ainsworth," as
she was always called, because of her having
lived a great part of her life in France, was a
handsome old lady, tall, stately, and somewhat
severe, with an inflexible expression, and clear,
steel-blue eyes, which seemed to pierce one like
gimlets when she looked at one with disfavor.
She was left, when quite young, a widow with a
large fortune and three children: Philip, the
elder and favorite son, was among the first to
enlist at the breaking out of the civil war, and
went to the front at twenty-five a captain in
his regiment, but never returned from the scene
of the conflict; Edward, the artist; and Mary,
Mrs. Van Norcom, who was now, like her.
mother, a rich widow, but with only one child,
a daughter, a little heiress to a large fortune
in her own right.
The old ladies were talking very rapidly and
very earnestly. They had not met for years, yet
they had been friends since their- schloldays,
and theirconversation was a jumble of reminis-
cences, histories of family affairs, and the cur-
rent events of the day.
And so Mary has gone to Nice for the win-
ter, and left the little heiress with you," said the
"Yes," said Madam Ainsworth, with a sigh.
"Poor Mary is a confirmed invalid. The doctor
VOL. XX.-58. 9

said she must go, and we could n't expose
Lucille to the dangers of a sea voyage and
a change of climate. You can't think what a
responsibility she is, she is such a frail child;
and just think of all that money, if :ny thing
should happen to her!"
It goes to some charitable institution if she
should not live to be twenty-one, does it not ? "
said the caller.
"Yes, that was John Van Norcom's strange
will. Of course he left Mary well provided for,
but we should not like all that money to go out
of the family, especially when a part of it was
originally our money. You know, after dear
Philip's death," here Madam Ainsworth sighed
more heavily, as she glanced at a beautiful por-
trait, on the wall, of a young man in an officer's
uniform, I divided what would have been his
between Edward and Mary. John Van Nor-
com and Philip were like brothers, and I felt
that Philip would want John to have the control
of his part; and John managedit well-he made
a great fortune by clever investments, and that
railroad doubled it."
"I hear Edward has really settled down to
an artist's life," remarked the friend.
"Yes. Poor Edwnrd!" her voice was quite
doleful, "he never had-any faculty for making
money, but an excellent one for spending it;
and Laura is a little-just a little-unconven-
tional." She hesitated slightly for the right
word. "She likes their wandering life. I 'm not
surprised at her; but Edward, where does he
get the Bohemian taint ?"
Oh! one does not necessarily'inherit these
tastes; they can be cultivated," replied the
friend. "I suppose the loss of their son has
unsettled them."
"Yes, it has unsettled their judgment. What
do you think they have done, and without con-
sulting me' "
3 .


"Really, I can't say. What have they done?"
asked the friend, leaning forward eagerly.
\\hy, my dear, they have alop/'ed a boy,
and a littlewaif at that-an orphan of whose
parents they know nothing. As nearly as I can
find out, he was a little street gamin. Edward
sent me a sketch of him, lar/ii.'/, selling
"Where did they find him?" i
"Oh," with a very bitter sigh, "in the South,
of all places. It is like opening an old wound
and, strange to say, the boy's name is Philip.
I think the name interested them in the first
place, and now Laura is really daft over the
child. She is quite foolish about him; says he-
is the image of my grandson, who was singu-
larly like nr poor Philip; that he is charming,
handsome, refined, and all that. But think of
it! The idea that a child of his class could re-
semble one of our family!"
Impossible," said the friend, gravely.
And the worst part of it is that they will
spend the winter with me. You know they
have had my house while I was away, and I
can't refuse them, as there is plenty of room
Sfor us all. In fact. I think they imagine it is
their home, they have lived here so much.
They have been in the mountains all the au-
tumn, and now they write (I had just read the
letter when you came in) that they will be
here this evening with that boy-and Lucille
here for the'winter! What am I to do? I
really don't want her to have a rough, common
boy for a companion. Mary would n't like it.
It is very annoying; However, I must make
tlWe best of it. I must keep Lucille away from
him, and I don't think it will be difficult; she is
a bor aristocrat, and so discriminating for a
child of her age. Mary has brought her up so
well; and her governess, Mademoiselle d'Alby,
is the granddaughter of a count, and so elegant;
and her maid is the orphan of a poor clergy-
man, and really a lady. The little heiress is
surrounded With the best. We will not have
any common, ignorant people about her; she is
so delicate and sensitive, she can't be too care-
fully shielded."
"I should like to see 'her," murmured the
friend, quite awe-stricken; "oshe must be like a
little princess."

"She is out taking her airing. I wish you
would stay until she returns. She is really
worth seeing."
At that moment the door was thrown open
by a very dignified servant in a neat livery,
and quite a striking group entered. First a
little girl of about eight years, dressed in a-rich
gray velvet coat trimmed with silver-gray fox
fur, a broad hat covered with feathers, silk
stockings, and patent-leather shoes. In one
hand, covered with a white chamois-leather
glove, she held a small muff on which was
'fastened a large bunch of lilies-of-the-valley
tied with a broad blue ribbon. She was thin,
fair, and slightly freckled; her mouth was wide,
her nose tip-tilted, her eyes small and light;
but her hair was beautiful. It was a dark au-
burn, and hung like waves of molten copper over
her velvet coat. Behind her walked a stately
middle-aged lady, dressed in rich black covered
profusely with jet.. Bringing up the rear came
a sweet-faced, refined-looking girl in the white
apron and neat cap of a maid. On her arm
she carried innumerable wraps of fur and cash-
mere, and by a broad blue ribbon she led
a small French poodle, as white and soft as
new-fallen snow; he wore an embroidered
blanket, and amid the silken hair around his
neck sparkled a gold collar set with brilliant,
and under his chin, tied with an immense bow
of ribbon, was a large bunch of lilies-of-the-
valley. The pretty creature was obliged to
hold his head well up when he walked, which
gave him a ridiculously haughty appearance,
while his fastidious little black nose sniffed the
air disdainfully.
When Madam Ainsworth. saw the child, she
went with the greatest solicitude to meet her.
One would have thought a..little princess was
making her entree, there was so-much ceremony.
"Why, my dear," said the old lady, taking
the child's small hand between both of hers,
you are back earlier than usual. Did n't you
enjoy your drive? Were you cold? Was 'Fluff'
troublesome ? I hope Mademoiselle and Helen;
kept plenty of wraps around you." Then she
added, as she led her across the room: "Here
is a dear old friend; will you come and speak
to her a moment before you go up-stairs ?"
'The child smiled coldly, and reached out a




gloved hand. "- I am very happy to see you."
she said, in a clear, high-pitched voice, and
with tile composure of a leader of society. '" I
think I have heard Grandmama speak of you.
You have just returned from abroad, have you
not ?"
Shall I remain until Mademoiselle goes to
her apartment ? asked the governess.
Does Mademoiselle wish Fluff to stay with
her?" asked the maid.
You may all go; I will come presently."
replied the little heiress, with a haughty turn
of her head. "And. Helen. take Fluff's coat
off, and give him a small-a very small-
piece of biscuit, and just ,..',.:, caramel." Then
she turned again to the visitor, and began a
conversation upon the topics of the day with
the digmty of a grown woman.
When she considered that she had discharged
her duty with propriety toward her grandma-
ma's friend, she bade the visitor a formal -ood
morning and walked haughtily from the room.
Both old ladies watched her admiringly : then
Madam Ainsworth said. -- Am I not right ? Is
she not a rare little creature ? "
** She 's remarkable, she 's charming," replied
the friend, warmly:; such intelligence, so gra-
cious, so lovely Dear, dear, what a sensati.-.n
she will make some day!"

MR. AND MRS. AINSW'VORTH arrived, bag and
baggage, Philip and Pere Josef's children in-
cluded, an hour before dinner, and went directly
to their rooms on the third floor. Madam
Ainsworth had taken the apartments usually
occupied by her son and his wife, for the use of
the little heiress and her attendants. This inno-
vation did not please Mrs. Ainsworth, and she
sighed discontentedly as she mounted the extra
dliebt; and when she saw the small room, little
more than a closet, which had been carelessly
prepared for Philip, she looked indignantly at
her husband, and said in a low voice," This
show\ s plainly how we shall be received. I wish
we had gone to a hotel! 1
-' My dear Laura, Mother would never have
forgiven us had we done soi Let us make the

best of it, and not resent her unkindness,
Philip will be very comfortable here, and I like
our rooms as well as the lower ones."
Mrs. Ainsworth did not so much object to.
the change, only that she saw in it an indication
that made her anxious and unhappy.
I dread your mother's seeing Philip," she
said, when they were ready for dinner. If she
treats the poor child coldly and se\ erely, he will
feel it, for I have found out that he has a v\er'
sensitive nature. Have you noticed how lie
shrinks from anything that is harsh and un-
pleasant ?"
'-Don't borrow trouble, my dear," replied
AIr. Ainsworth. soothingly. Let the boy make
his own way with her.' He is so handsome and
winning. Then perhaps she will- see, as I do,
his likeness to my brother when he was a child.
Why, often, this summer, when Philip has been
with me in the fields and woods, I have fancied
myself a boy again, so vi-idly has lie brought
back the memory of our happy childhood. If
Mother can only see him as I do, his future is
safe. You know Philip was her idol: to her he
was simply perfection; but I-I was always
faulty." And lIr. Ainsworth sighed a little
sadly at the memory of past injustices which he
had forgiven, but not forgotten.
Madam Ainsworth, elegantly dressed, was
walking impatiently up and down the drawing-
room, waiting for dinner to be announced.
When Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth, with Philip
between them, entered the drawing-room, they
were prepared for a very cold reception. The
old lady retreated to her chair and sat upon it
as an offended queen might sit upon her throne;
her face was severe, her eyes were like points
of steel. She allowed her son to kiss her, then
turned her cheek, with a cold "How do you
do, Laura?-" toward her daughter-in-law.
Mr. Ainsiworth flushed a-little and his voice
was tremulous as he said, Mlother, this is our
adopted son-another Philip; I hope you will
love, him. My dear boy, this lady is my.mo-
ther; I 'm sure you '11. be as fond of her as
you are of us."
Philip came forward readily, and held out his
hand with a friendly smile.
Madam Ainsworth put up her lorgnette and
looked at the boy steadily and severely; then



she reached him the tips of her fingers, while
she said sharply: "So this is the new mem-
ber of your family ? Where is the resemblance
I 've heard so much about? This boy is very
brown; my grandson was fair."
Philip shrank back as though he had re-
ceived a blow; instinctively he felt the hostility
of the old lady's attitude; he looked surprised
and grieved, and his lips were tremulous.
Mrs. Ainsworth put her arm around him pro-

tectingly and said with unusual tender-
ness, Come, my dear, let us look at
the pictures while your papa talks with
Madam Ainsworth.
"This," she continued in a low voice,
stopping before the portrait of the young
man in an officer's uniform, is Mr. Ainsworth's
brother, who was killed in the war. Your papa
thinks you are like what he was at your age; he
told me so before I ever saw you."
In the six months that had passed since

Toinette's Philip became Philip Ainsworth, the
boy had changed somewhat. The aging pro-
cess that had begun with his first sorrow had
continued, and now all the chubby infantine
look was gone from his face; he was taller and
thinner, and his outdoor life among the moun-
tains had browned his rosy skin and added a
more mature color to the delicate tint of his
cheeks. He was a handsome, manly boy, a little
shy at times, but never awkward or ill-bred; his
adoptive parents had never had
cause to blush at any silly shy-
ness or rudeness on his part.
As far as one could perceive
from his deportment, he might


have been born to the purple; and, as Mr. Ains-
worth had said, he was a child that any one
could love. To say that he had never regretted
his old life would not be true. There had been
times through that delightful summer when he



had felt a little hore;ick, a yearning for his
mammy and the old garden: a longing for
Dea, for Seline, and even Lilybel. At times
he pined for the Major and the melodious
notes of the Singer; often and often he fan-
cied that he heard among the Northern forests
a little brown bird twitter its low musical
notes. "Sometimes he would go away.by him-
self and lie down under a tree and cry a little
because the voices of nature were strange to
him; but he would comfort himself by talking
to Pere Josef's children," who were a never-
failing source of amusement. "We will go
home soon," he would say confidently. Pere
Josef will be back. It will be spring, and we
will smell the sweet olive and jasmine." But he
never breathed his regrets to any one besides
the "children"; he was always bright and
happy, because he was always occupied and
amused; the newness of a life of ease and luxury
had not worn off, and he had not yet felt the
restraints of a higher civilization.
While Mrs. Ainsworth and Philip were still
looking at the pictures, the little heiress entered,
followed by her governess. When the boy
glanced up at her, he thought that she looked
like a large doll he had seen one Christmas
in a shop-window. Lucille was dressed in a
blue silk frock covered with filmy white lace.
Like the doll, she wore blue silk stockings,
and the neatest little shoes with narrow straps
buttoned around her ankles. In one slender
hand she carried the bunch of lilies-of-the-
valley that she had worn on her muff during
her drive. She had been taught that it was
an indication of high breeding to be polite to
every one, so after she had welcomed her uncle
and aunt with great formality, she went directly
to Philip, and gave him the tips of her fingers
in exactly the manner of her grandmother, as
she said, in her little artificial voice, How do
you do ? I am very happy to see you." Then
she stood off, and scrutinized him from under
the copper-colored fringe that covered her
Philip was not in the least disconcerted, but
rather amused. It was as if the doll had
stepped down from the shop-window and said,
"How do you do?" So he began to chatter
in the most cordial way, and even felt a desire

to pull a strand of the copper-colored hair to see
if the "-doll" viould resent the liberty; but he
restrained himself because Madam Ainsworth
was looking at him severely, and she even
frowned at him. She did not like to see the
little heiress and the little waif walking out to
dinner side by side.. "This. will never do," she
thought; "I sha'n't encourage any intimacy."
So she put them at opposite sides of the table.
There is a sort of freemasonry between chil-
dren which makes them understand one another;
In spite of Lucille's haughty airs, Philip felt
very friendly toward her, and from time to time
he looked across the table and smiled at her
as she sat in state beside her governess. He
thought it very amusing that.the fine 1.dy next
to her treated her with so much deference. that
Helen in a white cap stood behind her chair,
and that the stately butler in livery bent almost
double when. he spoke to, her.
Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth had been living in
fashionable hotels all summer, and Philip had
become accustomed to formal service and more
or less ceremony; but he had never seen, any-
thing like this dinner. -He could scarcely eat,
so busy was he watching the movements of
the butler and the airs of Lucille. \\ hen the
butler. changed -his plates, he thanked him
audibly, and gazed up in his face as if he. \ere
an old friend; and the butler,.although he
looked like a wooden man, .was thinking to
himself, "Clever little chap I 'd like to smile
back at 'im, if I dared." And Philip felt that
the butler was a friend. In fact, so well did he
like him, that he tried to be helpful in little
ways. He smiled pleasantly at him as he
changed the plates, until Madam Ainsworth
looked at him so severely, and the fine lady
in the glittering jet frowned so, and even his
papa and mama made little signs of displea-
sure. He only meant to be kind, but perhaps
after all he was not behaving quite properly at
so grand a dinner. Then he wondered if it
was like this every day, and he thought how
tired he should get of seeing the butler change
the plates so many times. However, he was
glad when at last it was over and he was in the
drawing-room again. Then he thought of the
"children" all alone in his room, and won-
dered if the red-haired little girl would like to



see them: even though she looked like a doll,
he was sure she would be pleased with Pere
Josef's "' children." So he watched his chance,
and while the elders of the party were looking,
over some of his papa's sketches, he boldly
approached Lucille, and ask her if she would
like to see Phre Josef's "children."
"Children!" she exclaimed, raising her
haughty little head and looking at him with
cold surprise. "Where .are they ?"
"They 're in my room, in a cage."
"In a cage! What do you mean? \hat
are they ? .
"They are little mice.--dear little white
1" Mice! little mice! Oh, oh!" And her
voice sounded quite shrill and unnatural, while
her little blue feet were drawn up under her in-
.a nic e.:
"Mice! Where? Whatis it, darling? What
has frightened you?' She is quite pale. Run,
lMademoiselle-run for my vinaigrette!" cried
Madam Ainsworth, excitedly.
Oh, Grandmama, he:says he has them in
his room. Just think---mice in his room! And
he wants to bring them here! Don't let him
bring them here."
"No, no; indeed, he sha'n't. Edward, take
him away; he has given Lucille a dreadffll
shock. Take him away immediately!"
Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth were almost con-
vulsed with laughter at the absurd scene, and
Philip did not understanding the least what had
happened, nor why they led him so hastily from
the room.
He has gone now, darling. Do you feel
better? Dear me, what- a strange boy! I
shall have to request your uncle not to bring
him into the drawing-room again if he talks
about such things as mice." Then she added
to herself. But what can one expect of a little
waif, a little street gamin! It is just as I
thought: I must keep Lucille away from him."
When Philip reached the door of his, room,
he turned to Mrs. Ainsworth and said in a puz-
zled voice, Mama, did she, or did n't she, want-
to see Pere Josef's 'children' ?'"'
"She didn't want to see them, my dear. She
is afraid of them, and you must not speak of
them to her again."

A FEW mornting;s after hik arrival in New
York, Mr. Ainsworth was in his, studio busily
engaged in finishing his picture for the Acad-
emy exhibition. It was the study of Philip
and Dea, his little New Oileans models, and it
was very natural and charming.
He thought it better in color than anything
he had ever done; and he was longing to have
the opinion of an art critic, when the door was.
opened, and the one of all others whon- he
most wished to see entered briskl\. He was
atall, dark man with a foreign air and a de-
cidedly foreign accent.
MIr. Ainsworth turned in his chair, and hold-
ing all his implemen-t itn one hand, held out
the other cordially. W\hy, Detiava, b':o- are
you? The very man I wanted to see. Take a
chair, and tell me what you think of this."
Hard at it, eh, my friend? -Someithing
good, I see." And the visitor laid his hat and
stick on the table, and leaning over t-he arri't's
shoulder, looked critically at the picture..
Excellent, my friend, excellent!" he said
heartily. It ': admirable in composition, and
there's feeling in it: the pose -is natural, and the
color fine. Interesting little subjects, pictur-
esque--very. Where did you pick them up-?"
"Oh, in that artists' El Dorado, New Or-
leans !"
""You were there all winter, were you not?"
S- Yes; I went to stay a month, and I stayed
"Yo:u like it, then ?"
"Very much. An odd old toyv n, droi, sy and
dull, but full of color, and no end of material
for a painter."
"I have always meant, to go there. I ought
to go: I have a little pr,:oerty there..Oneof our
family settled there many years ago, and nm de
-quite a fortune, but the most of it was 1.:.it
through the war. However, there were none
of that branch left to inherit it, and the remnant
came to me. I have nev er been able to sell it,
and it 's.been more trouble than profit. I think
I '11 go some day and look after it."
"I would, if I were you," returned Mr. Ains-
worth. "You would enjoy the place. It 's



an artists' paradise compared to these busy
Northern cities."
"Well. 'what did you pick up there in the
way of curios? I 'm told that one sometimes
happens on a good piece."
SYes, there are some old Spanish and French
things well worth having. I got that cabinet
and -his chair; rather good, are n't they ? -Oh,
but here is a little curiosity, an example of ex-
quisite modeling." And AMr. Ainsworth jumped
up with alacrity, and taking Quasimodo from
the cabinet, he set the remarkable little figure
on the table before the visitor. There What
do you think of that?" he asked with satis-
Mr. Detrava looked at the little object si-
lently for a moment; then he said in a subdued
voice," I had a brother who did that kind of
thing remarkably well. It reminds me of his
work." Then he took the little figure from the
table to examine it more closely, and on dthe
base he saw engraved, in tiny letters, Victor
Hugo fecit, as artists sign their work. "Why,
Ainsworth, how strange! Victor Hugo-my
brother's name. Who made this?"
"The father of my little model, there." point-
ing to the picture. "The child was selling
images on the street, and I bought it from
her. A very sad case, as near as I could find
out. The artist was ill aid poor-so wretch-
edly poor! I bought a number of his things,
all subjects from Victor Hugo's works. The
little girl -,as named Dea, and she had an old
dog she called Homo. It was really interest-
ing, so.original and pi'i turesque."
"See here, Ainsworth." said Mr. Detrava, af-
ter a moment of deep thought; "I believe the
man who modeled that figure is my brother
Victor. I liavte been looking for him for the
last eight years. It was a fancy of my mother's,
who was an ardent admirer of the great French
writer, to name him Victor Hugo. He was a
strange, dreamy character, and from childhood-
he had this peculiar talent. My father wanted
to make a -culptor df him, but he had no am-
bition. When he was a little over twenty-one
he married my sister's governess. You can im-
agine the result:, offended parents on one side,
pride and a stubborn will on the other. One
fine day, without a word of farewell, he took his

wife and started for America, and from that
time we lost every trace of him. My father re-
lented, and tried to discover his whereabouts,
but he never succeeded. And since my resi-
dence in New York I have spared neither rime
nor money in my etforti to find him. This is
the first clue," with a glance at Quasimodo;
and I think it will lead to something.'"
"" I am sure it will," returned Mr. Ainsworth.
"Everything agrees. The artist in wax came
from France about eight years ago. The child
was named Dea for her mother. Her father
simply called himself Victor Hugo, dropping
his last name. I think there can be no doubt.
I feel confident that he is your brother."
"And you say he is poor, miserably poor, and
ill; and I ha e plenty. I must start at once and
follow this clue. Can you give me directions
so that I. can find him when I reach New
Orleans ?"
He lives on Viller6 street; I never heard
the number, but I think I know how you can
find it," replied Mr. Ainsworth. Then he told
Mr. Detrava about Seline. If you can find the
old woman, she will assist you, and possibly
Dea might be with her. I am sure there will
be no difficulty when you are once there."
After Mr. Detrava had written all the direc-
tions very carefully in his memorandum-book,
he examined the picture again with a great:deal
of interest.
"What a delicate, sweet-faced child! Poor
little thing, how hard it has been for her! If I
find her, and she is my brother's child, I mean
to take care of her for the future. I feel inter-
ested in her already.. How lucky that I hap-
pened in here this niorning. Ainsworth! I in-
teiidedl to start for Paris next week; instead, I
shall start for New Orleans. I can't rest until
I know.: So good-by, my friend. I shall see
your artists' paradise sooner than I expected,
and I trust my journey won't be in vain."
Good-by, and good luck," replied Mr. Ains-
worth, heartily; and as Mr. Detrava reached the
door he added, If you remain in New Orleans
all winter, you may see me there. If nothing
happens, I intend to be there when the jasmine
and orange-trees are in bloom."
"Ah, well, we may meet there, then. Au
revoir, my friend, and not good-by."

(To be continued.)



El ,1



F's l.t
~-w #


*:.^ 'y



THIRTY thousand Austrians were ranged in grand review.-
Mounted on their chargers proud, all soldiers good and rrue.
Joyously the tumbling bells throbbed on the summer air,
S And loyally the people cheered that marginal sight so fair.

* ". From out the thirty thousand a thousand wheeled away,
The chosen warriors of them all-the flower of that array,
A regiment without its peer, well proved in deathly strife,
W\'ho prized their spotless honor as dearer far than life.

Their high-bred steeds were galloping, the matchless horsemen-swept
S Before their sovereigns, in review, hose hearts with hope upleapt.
But as the line came dashing up, there echoed to the sky
Above the thunder of the hoofs, a mother's piercing cry!

And every heart ceasedbeating, in dumb and helpless fear,
But still the swift steeds' iron hoofs were coming ever near,
While just before their fatal tide, that mother's little child
Gazed fearless on the dread array, and clapped her hands and smiled.

But see! Out from the charging line a stalwart hussar leapt
Far forward on his horse's neck; and. clinging there, lie swept
His strong arm out, and caught the child, nor slackened he his speed,
Nor lost the pace, nor broke the line,. for doing of the deed.

A thousand voices rent. the air in- rapturous acclaim.
A hundred thousand joined to swell the hero's sudden fame.
As safely on his saddle-bow the laughing child was seen,-
,Her fair hair dancing on the wind, a glittering, golden sheen!

How proudly .gleamed the soldier's eye asby the royal stand
SHe saw the cross of honor gleam there in his sovereign's hand;
And-oh, what joy the hussar feelff!-the emperor bends down,
And fixes on that valiant breast the cross .of high renown!

W' e:do not know the hussar's name, nor.js there any need;
SWe know him as the brave hussar who did this gallant deed:
A man as true and tender as he was strong and brave-
-. Who had no thought of self, but dared a little child to save.

(From the Japanese.)


IT was the rosy flush of dawn
In beautiful Japan,
When through the ancient garden ways
Came little Noshi San-
Her strapped and lacquered wooden shoes
A-clicking as she ran.

The dainty thief smiled up at her,
With velvet eyes of blue.
Uncertain, little Noshi stood
Debating what to do;
Then sudden raised her empty pail
And to a neighbor flew.

"Gift-water, friend, I crave," she said;
For in the night a vine
Has seized my bucket; and so fair
Its fragile arms entwine,
I could not rudely tear them off-
Pray let me fill with thine."

She stooped beside the mossy well,
Beneath a gnarled pine,
And would have drawn, but that she spied
A morning-glory vine,
Which in the night the pail had wreathed
In exquisite design.



[Begin in the November number.]
THERE was a careful watch' kept in camp
that night, the greater part of the vigilance being
exercised by Yip, for that good dog's mind was
disturbed about something. Once he made a
rush and was absent for some time in the bush,
but he came back with a wagging tail and a
satisfied expression of countenance. Perhaps
the next best watch was kept by Ned and
Hugh, a little before dawn. Marsh was on
sentry duty, and he was sound asleep, trust-
ing to Yip, when Ned and Hugh slipped
quietly out of camp. Ned carried a traveling-
bag, and Hugh had a small portmanteau.
They were gone for only about half an hour,
and they came back empty-handed.
No, Hugh," said Ned, as they got to the
camp; it 's all right. That's where he told us
to leave them, between the two grape-trees."
"I hope nothing has happened to him,"
said Hugh. "He 's a daring fellow, and ready
to run any risk."
"Boys," asked the baronet, "did you see
him? Was he there ?"
He was n't there, Father," replied Hugh,
"but we left the things."
"Well," said their father, we '11 have an early'
breakfast, and then we.'ll go and see. I 'd like
to know just what that blast did to the cave
and the mountain." -
Before breakfast was ready, Lady Parry and
Helen came out of their tents. They seemed to
be in a state of expectation.
Come, Ned and Hugh! said Sir Frederick,
as he finished his coffee. "Are the horses
ready? Bob, we may be gone only a short
time, or we may be out till noon. Keep a
sharp lookout. Don't be uneasy, but on no ac-
count must any of you leave the camp."
It was plain that Sir Frederick was making

an effort to appear cool and unconcerned, what-
ever the reason might be. He recovered his
composure, however, the moment he and the
boys were in the saddle.
"Tom Gordon runs a great risk," he mut-
tered, as they rode out into the forest.
"I hope not, Sir Frederick," remarked Ned
Wentworth. "He 's very savage-looking, you
"That 's the strong point," said the baronet.
Then suddenly he cried out:
"Tom Gordon! Is it possible?"
There, between the grape-trees, on the ground,
lay the luggage Ned and Hugh had carried out.
Beside it lay a lot of little leather bags. In front
of them stood a tall man and near by were
tethered seven horses.
The man was dressed from head to foot in
clothing as stylish and as costly as Sir Frederick
Parry could provide.
"Well, Sir Frederick," he replied laughingly,
"what do you think? Do they fit?"
"They fit perfectly," replied the baronet.
"I am a little awkward yet," said Tom; "the
stockings and the boots are especially strange.
I '11 get used to them, but they '11 hurt my
feet for a few days. : I must n't try to walk
But that head of hair! The sooner I play
barber the better. I 've brought a pair of
Do your best," said Tom. My neck may
depend upon having my hair properly cut!"
Sir Frederick dismounted, and the tangled
hair fell to the ground in masses.
I will make it as close a cut as mine," said
th'e baronet. How shall I trim your beard ?"
"Cut off all my whiskers, and I '11 wear only
mustaches. Change my face all you can."
"What do you think of that, Ned?" ex-
claimed Sir Frederick, as the long, shaggy, red
beard was shorn away.
"Think?" said Ned. "Why, he would n't


know himself, and nobody would dream he is
the same man. He 's not a bad-looking sort
of fellow, now," he added, with a laugh.
The barber processes went on to their com-
pletion, and then Mr. Thomas Gordon stood
still to be looked at.
"It's a success! exclaimed the baronet.
"Hugh," said Ned, "he is n't the same man."
"No, Ned, he is not!" said Sir Frederick.
"But, Tom, tell me, where did you get all

It 's all here," said Tom. You know I
told you I had some bags sunk in the ruin-a
heavy horse-load of nuggets. I went there and
got them out. Then I found the horses of that
gang picketed by their camp. That told me
what had become of the owners. I just took
them to the cave and loaded them up. The
horse-blankets you and the boys gave me
helped me make packs. Some of the loads are
heavy-more than they ought to carry far."


those horses? What have you been doing?
How about the blackfellows ?"
Why, you know how it is with them," re-
plied Tom. "They never stay where they 've
done such a piece of work as they did yester-
day. They 're far enough away-the few
that 's left of them."
"Why, were any of them knocked over?"
asked Sir Frederick.
I can't say," said Tom. I did n't try to
find out how many. I think they had a fight
among themselves. What I wanted was to
keep clear of them."
But these bags?" said the baronet.

"We can put part of it in the wagon," said
Sir Frederick. "But how about the blast ?"
You must go and look at that, after break-
fast," said Tom. It 's only five or six miles,
going straight. Now we '11 load up and go in."
"It 's the best plan we can adopt," said the
Lady Parry and Helen were uneasy after the
baronet and the boys had ridden away. They
grew more and more uneasy and fidgety every
minute, until at last Bob McCracken shouted:
"There they come!-and Mr. Thomas Gor-
don is with them!"
Yes, there he is!" exclaimed Helen.


A very important cavalcade came plodding
into camp. It was headed by Sir Frederick
Parry, side by side with a stately, elegantly
dressed gentleman,.-a man iho : seemed as
large as, the baronet. Behind them rode the
boys, urging along several heavily laden pack-
Helen," whispered Lady. Parry. "I never
expected to see him look like that, I 'm sure.
It is really wonderful!"
"How changed he is! Helen answered.
SIn' another minute the riders had dis-
imounted, but Lady Parry said:.
Tom, come into the tent Come in, Fred
and Helen! I:can't speak to hinm out here."
-" Bob." said the baronet, before he disap-
peared, Mr. Thomas Gordon has not i.hd his
l. A" l right, sir!. Yes, sir," said- Bob, d.irting
toward the coffee-pot and the friing-pan.
"G'Get: me some more wood. boys."'
A few minutes later he remarked to them::
Did ye ever see the like o' the Gordons
and Parrys ? They '11 all dress up and shave
clean, out in the bush, as:if it was at 'the
Grampings., There 's Mr. Thomas Gordon;
now, ,right from the mines, and he looks as if,
he 'd stepped out of-a. bandbox!":
Within the tent there had been greetings.
and even tears; and at last Sir *Frederick re-
marked to his wife:
"My dear, Ned's idea will work perfectly,
if we can go straight through to England."
S"I amn sure I do not wish to stop a-needless
hour anywhere," she said; "not even at the
I have no doubt," said Tom Gordon, "that
Ned's entire plan is the safest for me."
"His entire plan?" asked Helen. "What
is it, Uncle Tom? "
"Why, Helen," he replied. "I wish to see
England again, of course, but it .will'not do
for me to ,stay there. Ned is going there with
me, as soon as he can. get the consent of his
father and mother. We can see all we wish to
see, and then we leave for the United States."
Do you see, Maude?" asked her hus-
band. "Nothing could be better. As for
America, not only will he be entirely safe

with his really large capital. They have some
of tie largest and finest sheep-farms in the
world, in their western States and Territories:
not equal to ours, of course-not like the
Grampians; but then you could make a farm
to satisfy yourself very well, Tom."
Ned says I could start a new city, or go
to Congress." said Tom, laughing. I shall
indeed have capital enough to start on. Some-
thing like half a million, counting it in dollars."
"Couuntt in dollars, of course," said Sir
Frederick, smiling. You 're going to America !
Come to breakfast, now, and then if you 're
sure the woods are clear, we '11 go to see what
your bla-ring-powder and dy-namite did for that
"I think ne are perfectly safe in going."
said Tom; "and, wh ilt e aere gone, the men
can get thins ready for a start. I can pilot
you to the Grampians."
The men iere left in charge of the camp,
witi instructions to take down the tents, pack
the wagon. and make ready for mov ng.
\Ve can make quite a journey before dark."
said Sir Fredenrck, "and we '-e been here long
"Indade we h.iae, sir," said Bob, heartily.
The ladies had many quesntons to ask as
they rode along, and Toni told them his ex-
perieices. At last, after a: long ride through
the forest, they came. out again on the river
-" -Why !" exclaimed Helen. "This is. here
Ned Wentworth found, me; when I was lost.
Yip found me here, too."
"I wanted to loqk up-stream from this
point," said Tom. "Yes, there 's a cleft in
the hill. There always was a sort of deep
gorge there, I think, where the stream came
out from the chasm. Listen!"
"It sounds like a waterfall," said Sir Fred-
erick. :" Was there one there ?"
"No, there was not," said Tom. "We
must ride to the front door of my house. I
want to see how it is."
They rode rapidly for so warm a morning,
and it was. still early when they came out near
the great tree.
Look! exclaimed Tom. Can't you un-

there, but he can step into business at once derstand, now, Sir Frederic
k ?




"The top of the hill is gone!" said the
"My house is gone," exclaimed Gordon.
"The whole cave has fallen in. When I was
here last night, I could only get in far enough
to reach my gold."
The roof fell in ? asked Hugh.
"Yes," said. Tom, "and filled the deep
chasm. It made a great gorge-what the Yan-
kees call a cation. Everything was ready to
tumble, and the blast and the fire did the
business! That stream won't run underground
any more at least: at this point."
"'Aunt Maude!" shouted Helen. Look!
Look under the tree-right at Uncle Tom's
front door!"
"I declare," exclaimed Tom. I knew the
water inside must be setting back and rising,
but I did n't expect that. Splendid spring it
makes, too."
Hurrah !" shouted Hugh.. "Ned, see it
burst out !?'
There, indeed, bubbling and gushing, was a
'fine young rivulet, forced out at the burrow
between the roots of the tree. It had easily
pushed away the bark door, and now it poured
forward, seeking a channel for its further
"It '11 turn all this forest into a swamp for a
while," remarked Sir Frederick.
"The chasm is gone," replied Tom, "but
that spring won't run a great while-only till
the river has plowed its new channel among
the rocks and rubbish."--
Suddenly Tom Gordon cried :
." Follow me! Quick! There is danger! "
They wheeled their horses and followed him,
as he dashed away; but he rode only, a short
distance before he pulled in and turned his
head toward his former home.
"We got away only just in time," he said.
"See that? I could see that the roots had
been loosened, but the water has been under-
mining them all night. The tree always leaned
a little southerly. It's coming, now!"
The party were silent, looking expectantly
at the vast bulk of the forest king.
The great tree was swaying, tottering, and
the air was full of a strange, groaning, tearing
sound, that grew louder until it burst into a re-

port like that of a cannon. In another instant
there was an awful crash, and the very earth
shook as the gigantic trunk came thundering
down. The big trees of common kinds that
it fell among splintered like dry reeds. Its out-
reaching roots tore up the soil in all directions,
and their rugged mass stood up, over the deep
cavity left behind them, like the side of a small
"That is one of the grandest sights I ever
saw!" said Sir Frederick. "It is really, sub-
lime. But Tomr, we brought you out of that
cave only just in time."
Somehow or: other," said Tom, "a great
many things happen only just in time. I don't
quite understand, yet, why I came to be out
here at all, or what brought you here. It's a
Is n't it time we went to the camp ?" asked
"I think so, Tom," said the baronet. The
sooner we are at the Grampians, the better for
all of us."

Several months later, the same party that
had gathered in Sir Frederick Parry's tent that
morning in the Australian bush, were gathered
again in a breezy, open-windowed drawing-
,room of a stately country-seat. They were in
the ancient English home of the Parry faniily.
Well, Ned," said Lady Parry, I am sorry
you must go home, but I 'm glad you and
Tom have had time to see England."
"I 'm so glad I have seen it," said Ned.
"It's a great country, and I 'm coming over
again, some day."
There was some general conversation, and
then Sir Frederick remarked: "Ned's plan
has worked perfectly, Tom.. I don't see why
you need go to the States. Why can't you
stay here'?"
"Stay here?" said Tom Gordon. "Why,
you are going back to Australia, just to see
your sheep-farm again, and to be where there 's
plenty of room. It 's just so with me. I 've
got to live in a new country, to be comforta-
ble. I 'm going away out west when I get
to America,-to some place where 'there are
Mountains, and forests, and mines. I want
some Indians, to take the place of the black-



fellows. There will be wolves there, too, and
deer, and buffaloes, instead of kangaroos."
You can open as large a sheep-farm as you
wish," said Sir Frederick.
Hugh had been looking out of a window,
across a closely cut lawn upon which deer
were feeding.
"Ned," he remark-
ed, it does seem so
unnatural to have
regular hot January
weather right in the
middle of July, with a
warm breeze from the .
south, instead of from
the north. I want to
get back to Australia,
where things come in I'-
their regular season.
What are you going
to do, first, after you
get home ? "
"Oh," said Ned,
'"Father and Mother
are there, long be-
fore this. I 've got
to go to college, but
I 'm going west, first
thing, with Mr. Gor-
don, to see him set-
"By the way,
Maude," said Tom.
"I 've attended to
that; I have settled
enough on Ned to set
him up handsomely
for life. He is all
the boy I have, you
They had known
that Tom Gordon in- .
tended to make pro- ._::' ;.
vision for Ned, and
they all were de-
lighted, excepting Ned himself. He was silent,
until Helen Gordon said to him: "I am so
glad of it, Ned! But I am not going back to
Australia. I 'm not to go to college, exactly,

but I 'm to be put into a boarding-school for
two or three years, and then I am going to
live with my father in India."
Oh, Helen!" said Ned. It seems as if
that were further away than Australia, but I
know it is n't. Well, then, as soon as I get


through college, I will come to India, unless
you are in Australia by that time."
"Will you, Ned?" said Helen. "Do come!"
I will surely come!" said Ned.


- ,. -


go 'way;
--'- bee spring,
Sgo'w ay 'Say
_. It, Hipp. ,
Quick, now, be-
fore I go for a
switch o' the cur'n'
Currant] bush."
The tone was much kinder than the words,
and the speaker's appearance was in keeping
with the tone. She had a plump, good-natured
face, and her figure was such that, as her b oys
sometimes told her, "it took longer to go 'round
her than it would to jump over her." Sahe
wore a gingham frock and sunbonnet, both of
a large plaided pattern and of a cut not likely
to make her seem less stout than she wa. d
She held in hers the unwilling hand caf her
youngest son, with which she tried to knead
the slightly swollen wrist of his elder brother.
Hiram, who had caught a bumblebee to see
whether it had a white face or not, and had
found our to hib sorrow.
Hiram. or "" Hire," as thev- called him. made
up a pitiful face, whereupon his mother gripped
more tightly the limp hand she held, and
scrubbed away %%ith it harder than ever.
"If you had only put your hand and your
mind onto it both at once in the first place,
Hippy," she said, "an' kep' a-sayin', "Bee-
sting, go '\ ay,' as I told you to, it never 'd 'a'
swelled up like this. What 's the use of your
bein' a seventh son if you--" '*
"I wish I was n't!" wailed Hippy, rubbing
across his.eyes the sleeve of his one available
arm, and pulling back in a half-hearted way as
if his courage failed to second his inclination.
"Now, Hippy," exhorted his mother, I do
hate to break off the cur'n" branches to whip

you with,-just nowi too. when they 're hangin'
in ropes of green cur'n's; but if you make me
do it,--mind what I say,- not one spoonful of
cur'n' jell' do you get next winter."
She waited a minute for this argument to
take effect, and then connnued:
Come, nowi. just lay your hand on, this way,
and keep a-sain,' Bee-sting, go 'way; bee-sting.
go 'w.ay' like a good boy."
Her illustration made the performance seem
more ridiculous than ever in the boy's matter-
of-fact little brain. He looked ashamed, drew
his breath quickly, but did n't attempt the
miracle of healing.
\ell, if I must, I must." said his mother
despairingly. and started toward the currant
bushes. Then Hippy beuain to bestir himself.
exhibiting a wit and skill born of his need.
Seizing a basin of water that stood handily
near, lie dashed its contents upon the ground.
and in a twinkling made up a mud poulnce.
of which tears \iere one ingredient, using his
nimble little hands to gather and mold it.
He had no time to be gmngeirly and no in-
clination, for lie took to the soil as naturally
as a mole.
Before the mother came back, Hire's wrist
was covered with the wet mud, spatted and held
in ,l.ice 1,y Hip's lands, which looked them-
selves like a pair of little mud poultices.
She had got very near before the little fellow
began to mumble sobbingly and with a very
red face,- it is fair to say that only shame had
prompted his disbdiience,-"Bee-sting, go
'way, bee-sting, go 'wa-a-ay."
"It feels better now, Mother," said Hire,
hastily, for he was not an ill-natured boy, and
was willing to. save his brother from any pun-
ishment now that he had seen him reduced to
a becoming state of submission. Besides, the
mud really had a soothing effect, and perhaps,'
28 -

~ Oei~,

"2)eakB rd

too, Hire had not at any time suffered so much He whistled to his dog, called out, "It's all
pain as he had imagined, right now, Mother! and, though his motions
So Hippy's sentence was softened to a half- were generally leisurely, before she could come


hour's treatment of his brother's wrist, with now
and then a repetition of the magic words, and
his mother, Mrs. Half, went into the house.
But the good angels did not desert our hero
in this trying hour; for, in less than five minutes,
Hire, sufficiently recovered "to view the land-
scape o'er," saw a woodchuck come out of its
home under a huge rock, on the hillside in an
adjoining field.
VOL. XX.-59.

out to verify his statement he was over the
fence and half-way up the hill.
Hip took up the basin, filled it with water,
and set it upon the wash-bench that stood by
the kitchen door. He dabbled a while in it,
and, as he wiped his hands upon the towel,
sighed in a grieved way.
His mother looked wistful, and came and
put her arm about him. She drew him down.



upon the bench, .and began to talk to him in a
half scolding, half petting way.
Now, Hippy, only see what a fuss you 've
made, an' how you 've got us all worked up just
fur nothing' 't all. You might jus' as well have
cured that bee-sting in the first place as to have
kep' Hire a-sufferin' an' me a-worryin' all this
If it hurt him so much, why did n't he put
salt or mud or something on it himself? sug-
gested Hippy, with mournful petulance.
"Oh, now, Hippy! It was n't the mud that
cured him; you know well enough it was n't.
A seventh son always has the gift of healing' and
other things besides. I should think you 'd be
proud of it, instead of trying' to deny it an' shirk
the trouble. And, Hippy," trying to pat the
little fellow back into cheerfulness, "I expect
you to make us all rich yet. I don't expect
to live on a hired farm forever. Why, I said
to your father last week when we heard this
place had changed hands, 'If it could only
have. stayed as 't was a few years more, Hippy
-could have bought it for us.' I expect my
seventh son to grow up to be a great doctor,
and buy us a farm and put a mansion on it as
big as Judge Gifford's."
Has n't Hire got to help ?"
"Now, Hippy, I am ashamed of you-al-
ways wantin' Hire to do something Why,
can't you see the lot was n't laid upon Hire?
He's only the sixth son. Now, I expect that
you will put Hire through college."
Mrs. Half never planned for the education of
her seventh son, believing that the physician,
like the poet, "is born, not made."
If Hire wants to go to college, Mother,"
argued Hippy, "why does n't he begin to get
ready for it now? Fellows that go to college
have to do lots of hard sums; why does n't
Hire begin to work very hard at the easy
ones? Now, I don't want to go to college, I
just want to be Father's hired man; but I can
beat Hire all to pieces at the school lessons."
"Oh, Hippy! That's no fault o' his no,
nor any merit o' yours. Lessons an' sums an'-
things come easy an' natural to you because
you 're the seventh son."
Here Ann Jane, the "help,", wheeled a churn
out under the arbor. Hippy looked sad, know-

ing well what was expected of him. He soon
had the dasher going in good earnest, however,
only he muttered:
I wish I 'd been some other number!-then
I would n't have had folks expecting me to cure
their warts and bee-stingsand chills and every-
thing, when I don't know any more about it
than they do themselves."
His father came round the corner of the
"What 's the matter with Hippy?" he asked,
noticing the cloud upon the lad's usually cheer-
ful face.
"Why, here he's been an' saved his brother's
life, for aught I know," explained Mrs. Half,
"an' now he 's mad about it. Hire got stung
on the wrist, an' his arm was a-swellin' an'
a-swellin', an', if it had kep' on, it would have
been as big as his -body before night; an'
then, jus' as likely as not, his body would have
begun,-an' there 's no known' what the end
would have been."
"Father," said Hippy, appealingly, I did n't
do any more than Hire could have done if
he 'd had a mind to try. I don't feel as if I
had any "special gifts,' as Mother calls 'em."
"Now, Hippy, you have, I tell you; you
have, an' I don't want to hear you say you
have n't. Why, once, when you was a dear
little baby, I had an awful sore throat,-'t was
the quinsy,-an' I really thought I should suffo-
cate to death, till it struck me about you; an'
I jus' held you up close an' took your little
hand an' laid it on my throat an' kept it there,
an' in the morning' I was 'most well. You see,
the virtue worked out through your hand into
my neck an' cured me."
Hip looked a little bored,-he had heard the
story so often,- and he looked wounded in
spirit; for the belief that he had unusual powers
was, from his point of view, a crying injustice
involving calls upon him which he could not
meet; but the only expression he gave to these
emotions was to splash down the dasher rather
more vigorously than was necessary.
"You forget to mention, Mother," said Mr.
Half, mildly, "that you gargled your throat
with brewer's yeast that night, and bathed it
with liniment, and tied a piece of salt pork be-
hind your ears, and "




'"That's nothing' to do with it, Father: nothing'
at all. An' how you can find pleasure in denrin'
the gifts of your o-n son is more 'n I can com-
prehend. Now, look at those chickens yester-
day. Nine or ten of'erm were moping around
with distemper, an' I Cully expected to lose
the whole flock. Hip goes down after supper
an' tends to 'em a little, and this morning' there
was n't a sick chicken in the yard. How do
you 'count for that?"
"I ascribe it," settling himself for a little
humorous talk on .a frequently disputed sub-
ject, to the kind heart and the thrift of our
seventh son. If you or I had had. the time,
or Hire had been willing to take the trouble, to
catch.each of those.chickens and rub its head
with olive-tar, as Hippy did, the same result
would have followed."
"Humph l" ejaculated Mrs. Half, disdain-
fully, rising to retire-from the scene of strife
Her husband watched her amusedly as she
stepped up into the kitchen door, expecting her
to turn and .add another argument.. He was
not disappointed. .
'"I s'pose now," she said, "you '11 try to make
out that he does n't know before anybody else
when any of the stock is ailin', an' how to doc-
tor 'em: an' that he does n't know jus' where to
go to find any wild herb that I or any of the
neighbors want; an' that he does n't know all
about every livin' thing that flies or walks or
creeps or burrows. Yes,- an' he. can tell when
.a storm 's coming' on better 'n the almanac; an'
he can stand clear out by the gate an' tell the
time o' day more exact than the clock."
No, Mother, I won't deny that he 's got as
sharp a pair of eyes in his head, an' as good a
stock of perseverance and common sense, as any
boy in the .county; and I do wish, Mother,"
persuasively, "you could spare him to go and
help me plant that corn in the corner lot. The
hired man has gone .home with. the: chills.
Can't Hire do the churning ?"
".There you are, Father," exclaimed Mrs.
Half, her good nature returning with her tri-
umph; "now ain't that a clear come-over to my
side of the argument? Why don't you take
Hire yourself? .Oh, you know well enough!
Whatever you may say, you know that Hippy
has special gifts and everything prospers under

his hands. Hire 's no good to chum. Seems
as if the thing 's bewitched when he gets hold.
The butter won't come for him, anyhow."
"'T would come for him. Mother, as quick
as 't would for any one if he 'd keep the dasher
going," murmured Hip, longing to go with his
father, for he loed the fields and his father, too.
Here Anin Jane accommodatingly came to
the rescue and "guessed she could manage";
so Hip set off with his father, only stopping at
the woodshed long enough to throw a pick and
a shovel into a wheelbarrow which he trundled
along before him.
Hire, sprawling upon the boulder that roofed
the woodchuck's abode, espied the pair setting
out, remembered it was churning-day, and qui-
etly slipped-iway to a neighbor's.
Hip, trudging along in his father's wale.,
had .reached i .tLh garden gate when his mother
called, Hippy4on He turned promptly, a
suspicion:of a smile twitchi.g at the corners of
-his mouth, and walked back. She came a step
or two to meet him, took his face bOAveen her
hands, and gazed affectionately into his eyes
until a laugh danced there.: Then she released
him with a little love-pat. Not a word was said,
but the boy rejoined his father with a lighter step,
and the mother went happy to her duties._ :.. |
A better boy than my little Hippy never
breathed the breath of life," she said to Ain
Jane; but I do have to be right up an' down
with him once in. a while, or he 'd never de-
velop .his gifts."
Poor woman! She had mourned. oveirfive
baby graves in the old churchyard; and no won-
der that she had watched and coddled her sixth
son till she had well nigh spoiled him; -and no
wonder that when the seventh would n't be
spoiled,-was "as independent as a lord," and
began to wait upon himself as soon as he could
toddle, every one of his baby tricks was a new
proof of her faith in the, old superstition that a
seventh son is born to do great works-works
in the art of healing, the story runs, so Mrs.
Half had inflicted upon her innocent baby the
name Hippocrates.
Still, in her eyes this art of healing was only
one of many "special gifts." possessed by her
child of wonderful promise; and Hippy found,
as many an older person has done, that even, a



good reputation has its drawbacks. -His it was
hard to support; but his efforts to do his best
made him so observing and painstaking that he
acquired many odds and ends of knowledge
and skill that served him quite as' well as a
magic gift.

Father and son worked harmoriiously toge-
ther until the corn was dropped and covered.
Then, having been rewarded with "the rest of
the day to himself," Hip sped away with his
barrow to the edge of the woods. where a brook
gurgled leisurely toward the valley below.
The boy stood a moment, watching the water
glide along through the little canal'he.had dug-
to turn it a while from its course; and then,
pitching his hat upon a stone and tucking his
sleeves into a right roll above his elbows, he
went to work with pick and shovel in the old
bedl.of the stream.
SFor an hour or more heworked patiently and
eagerly, picking away the stones and roots and
soil, shoveling them into the barrow, and emp-
tying them right and left. iBut after a-while he
encountered a large kock. He pried and tugged.
and strained at it .until his strength was ex-
hausted; then, panting, he leaned back against
the wall of the cavity he had dug. As he wiped
the perspiration from his forehead, never once
taking .his eyes from his stubborn adversary,
some one spoke.
"What civil-engineering design is this, young
man ? "
Hip started like one awakened suddenly.
A man seated upon a rock was. regarding
him with a smiling face. He was a very fine-
looking, gentleman. Hip thought. :and.the boy
instinctively raised a hand toward the place
where his hat might-have been.
"I 've been sitting here. about ten minutes,"
said the stranger, "and you have been too
absorbed in your work to notice me. What 's
your scheme?" .
"Well, sir,'' said Hip, planting his two hands
upon the bank behind him and lifting himself
to a seat upon it, "there 's a dreadful lot of
churning to do at -our house, and I 'm going
to make this brook fall perpendicu-lar-ly," stum-
bling. over the big word, and. make it turn a
wheel and do the churning." /

:" Pretty good idea that," said the man, lbok-
ing amused. -" Whose boy are you, anyway ?
Mr. Halt's."
I Mr. Half who hires this farm?"
"Yes, sir.".
"Well, I 'm Mr. Lane, the man who has just
bought it. I did n't want it," musingly, but
my mortgage took it. I've just run up from
the city to see what .my pig-in-a-poke is like,
and, as far as I 've gone, I consider the land
somewhat scrubby."
Mr. Lane knew more of stocks than of farm-
ing, and he turned over a stone or two with his
foot in a dissatisfied manner.
--Oh, it 's a grand place! cried Hippy, talk-
ing warmly in defense of his beloved farm.
"Of course this woods is rough, but it '11 be just.
fat when it 's cleared; and just over that knoll
there 's a stretch of beautiful land, as level as
a floor and as mellow as-"
His flow of eloquence was interrupted :by
the rustle of a black snake that, probably routed '
by Lane from a 'retreat.under the stones, was
hurriedly seeking a more retired locality. Hip
without ceremony assisted his snakeship, taking
him by the tail and flinging him across the
" That's a natural product of my hfrm, I sup-
pose," said Lane, with a shrug.
Oh, lie 's harmless," said Hip; -"in .fact,
he 's useful-catches mice"; then, returning to
the subject at heart, "I .only wish Father could
have bought this farm."
"I:wish so, too," said Lane in a half joking
tone, absently picking among some low weeds
at his side.
"Look out!" The next instant the boy's
stout little boot was where the man's hand had
been, but planted firmly upon the head of a
serpent; and the man was pinching up the flesh
upon one hand where two, tiny beads of blood
showed that the reptile's fangs had entered.
Frantically seizing the injured hand, Hip set
his teeth about the wound and began to draw
the venom out. He spat it out and repeated
the process again and again; and when, with
a long breath, he relinquished the hand, it was
ornamented with a great blue spot,-the result
of the strong suction.
That 's a red adder!' In. great excitement




Hip pointed to the squirming reptile. "I 'd shivery" when he thought of the adder, and
rather be bitten by a rattlesnake! for that reason, probably, did not mention the
"So bad as that ? asked Lane, with a shiver, adventure to his father or his mother.
"Yes, but I I
think you 're all right
now. I would n't be
afraid if I were you. You
see, your hand is n't the
least bit swelled."
They had killed the ''I
snake, and were both --- I,
somewhatrecoveredfrom "" I
their fright, when Lane I i
asked abruptly: I "
"What's your name ? ,,
Hip dropped his eyes. \ '.'
"Hippocrates," he said; ) N ,
then added in apology,
"Mother named me that
because I am a seventh
son. You know, he was i I
an old doctor,-a Greek /
one, I think. But I am' .-- .. '
not a bit different from"' -.
other boys." I. -, : .; I '
"A little different, I 4f 'U
think," said Lane, as he
lifted the limp viper upon I ..:.
a stick and wrapped it in '1 I I Ni 1
thick folds of newspaper. / ',
He shook hands with 'X "I*
Hip, thanked him, and ,

parcel gingerly at arm's -.
length. 7
Our hero went home .. -
feeling a general shaki- -
ness that he could n't
understand. He left his .
supper almost untasted,
and in the night they -
heard him tossing and
muttering in his sleep.
He's overtired," said
his father. "He has
worked like a Trojan at I THINK YOU 'RE ALL RIGHT NOW, SAID HIPPY."
that water-power pro-
ject. It is n't a bad plan either for a youngster Two days passed. Hip sat by the brook,
to contrive. I must turn to and help him." complacently watching it do the churning.
The next morning the boy was still "all "Too-oo-oot! A single blast upon a horn.

That meant Hip. Two blasts meant Hire, and
three their father.
I wish a hundred blasts stood for me!" said
Hip, impatiently, starting homeward; "then
they would n't call me so often."
Bolting into the kitchen, he was abashed to
see again his acquaintance of the woods, but
Hippy put his hand into the offered one. Lane
held it fast, settled back into his chair, and said:
Well, my boy, I 've had that reptile among
the scientists. They call it by a longer name
than you do, but I doubt whether any of them
has a readier sight acquaintance with the species
than you have. You 've a cut near your lip,
I see," drawing the boy closer; "according to
what they tell me, it's a good thing that was n't
there the other day."
"It was there, sir, but I put my finger over
it while I drew the poison out of your hand."
Lane shuddered and glanced at the parents.
"Young man," he said, taking a folded paper
from his pocket, I have two boys of my own
at home, and as good a daughter as ever lived.
They and their mother have been talking toge-
ther, and they 've come to the conclusion that

my life is worth a farm to them. So, as you
gave me my life, I have conveyed this farm to
you, Hippocrates Half. Your father is your
guardian. He will run your farm, but I shall
make him promise to give you six years at the
He rose, put his hand upon the boy's head,
bent it back, and looking earnestly down into
the honest, wondering eyes, said:
"The more knowledge you can stow into
this busy brown pate of yours, my boy, the
more will the accident of being a seventh son
avail you."
After a few formal arrangements with the
parents, Lane took his leave.
Mrs. Half first recovered from her surprise.
"Now, Father," she cried triumphantly, "see
what it is to be a seventh son! "
With a stretch and a yawn Hire tilted his
chair against the wall and said:
"Well, Mother, seventh sons have gifts, of
course; but they have to work too hard to
develop 'em. I 'm satisfied to be a sixth."
The father put his hand lovingly on the
shoulder of his seventh son, and said nothing.





THE battle of Camden, South Carolina,
fought on the morning of the i6th of August,
1780, ended disastrously for the American arms.
Among the prisoners captured by the British
was Humphrey Hunter, a lad fresh from the
school of Liberty Hall, at Charlotte.
After being kept seven days in a prison pen
near the battle-field, the prisoners were conveyed
about sixty miles further south to Orangeburg.
The whole State being in British hands, and
indeed the Southern colonies being considered
as conquered and reannexed to the crown, the
captives were allowed freedom so long as they
kept within a not very well defined portion of
the town.
Humphrey Hunter had been robbed of his hat
and coat on the morning of the battle, and for
three months went without either. Cold wea-
ther coming on, he started one day for a house
in the suburbs, for the friend who lived there
had promised to give the boy prisoner a coat.
Humphrey was not aware of going beyond his
prison bounds till he met a mounted Tory,
armed with sword and pistols. The soldier
halted him, and ordered him back to town to
be punished for breaking his parole.
In vain did Hunter attempt to explain or
*to excuse himself. He pleaded his ignorance
*of the limits, and his need of a coat. The only
replies were threats, abuse, and prods from a
s- sword ,to hasten his steps.
The military rule of those days was severe,
and especially so at the British posts in the
South. The captive, knowing that his punish-
ment would be humiliating and cruel, deter-
mined to escape, even at the risk of his life.

They came to a spot where some trees had
been felled. Close by the road lay the trunk
of a large pine, and around it were numbers
of half-burnt lightwood (pine) knots, the re-
mains, doubtless, of a camp-fire.
Humphrey dashed from the road, cleared
the log at a bound, caught up two heavy pine-
knots, and turned at bay. Nor was he a mo-
ment too soon. The Tory had drawn from its
holster one of his ponderous horseman's pistols,
and cocked it. But our young Whig was an
expert thrower, and in his hands the fire-har-
dened pine-knots were dangerous weapons. At
the same instant that Humphrey threw a pine-
knot, the soldier drew his pistol; but when he
fired, a moment later, the heavy ounce-ball flew
wide of its mark.
The Tory now drew the other pistol and
leaped his horse over the log, determined to
come to close quarters and finish the combat
with his last shot. Humphrey with equal
promptness also jumped across the tree-trunk,
thus keeping the log between them. This ma-
noeuver- was repeated more than once. Mean-
while the horseman was so belabored with pine-
knots that his second and last shot failed to
take effect.
His sword was useless, owing to the fact that
young Hunter kept ever on the side of the log
beyond sword-reach.
At length a well-directed knot emptied the
saddle and stretched the Tory on the ground.
Hunter then sprang upon him, seized his sword,
and forced a surrender on the following terms:
The Tory bound himself to make no mention
of the duel or the cause which led to it, and


also promised not to inform on any other pris-
oner for a like transgression. Upon this condi-
tion Humphrey returned the sword, and agreed
never to breathe a word of the combat or its
But secrecy was harder to keep than it
seemed. The riderless horse had galloped on
to headquarters, and caused alarm. Nor was
suspicion lessened when the horseman arrived
on foot in a very forlorn and battered plight.

escape with several companions on Sunday
night. A hundred and fifty miles of Tory-
infested roads lay between the fugitives and the
North Carolina border.
But, lying hid in the woods during the day
and traveling only by night, they eluded pur-
suit, and on the ninth day they crossed the
Catawba River, and reached a place of com-
parative safety. During their flight they had

subsisted entirely on



A searching investigation followed. The
unique duel had taken place on Friday even-
ing. Early on Sunday morning, orders were
issued by Colonel Fisher, commander of the
post, requiring every prisoner in town to ap-
pear at the court-house on Monday at noon.
Hunter, seeing the reason for the order and
knowing that he would be identified, made his

corn taken from the
fields by the road-
side; they ate it raw,
the danger of recap-
ture being so great
that they dared not
kindle a fire.
After resting but
a few days at his
mother's house, Hum-
phrey again took the
field as lieutenant of
cavalry. At the bat-
tle of Eutaw Springs,
the last important
engagement at the
South, Lieutenant
Hunter displayed
great gallantry, and
was slightly wounded.
A little later he wit-
nessed the reduction
of Orangeburg, and
had the satisfaction
of finding among the
captured arms the
identical sword of his
roadside battle.
The war being now
over, he returned to

school, and after graduation studied theology
and entered the ministry. As there was then
a great scarcity of physicians, he also acquired
some knowledge of medicine.
For inore than forty years he lived to min-
ister to the souls and bodies of his fellow-men,
honored and respected for his charity and no-
bility of nature.


''" s;'~~,~-"f~~

queer old wife was Tidgehy Nan,
A funny old wife was she,
A wearisome wife for a Sailor man,
-As the Sailor man told me .
He never could make her understand.
When a storm raged fiercely on. the land,
It miqht not rage at sea.
She hun [ in a dangling, dangerous place,
Where the wind could sweep it free ,
The old brass Kettle had served her race
Full well for a century,
And whenever a terrible storm took place,
. She hurriedly climbed the tree :
I thank the powers that give me race,
. To $wing in this settle .said she .;
For how cold I stay in a safer place
And my man in peril be ?
But, the funniest fact of this curious case,
-As the Sailor man told me, -
Was, when she swunq in that dangerous place
It was deadly calm at sea.

I I~





AcROss the flowing river,
On a pretty little hill,
There rests a little city,
And a busy little mill.

And everything that goes that way
Doth small and smaller grow;
The people on the long curved bridge,
The boats that move so slow.
III. .
I am sure that in the little streets
A tiny people walk;
I am sure that everything is neat
And small, and clean as chalk.

And some day I will go there, too,
And live in a tiny house;
And own, perhaps, a little horse
No bigger than a mouse.
But not for some time yet; because
A small child went from here,
And ere she 'd reached the other side
I saw her disappear!
Elizabelt Chase.


ritl the astr-sibbler

(The Story of a Fortunate Misfortune.)


A LONG time ago, in fact several years before
there was any such thing as time, there lived a
sturdy miller and his wife in a cottage at the
edge of a great black forest near the village of
Weisnichtwo, in the southeast corner of the
kingdom of Niemandweis, just this side of the
other end of nowhere.
This worthy couple had one son, Fritz, a
funny little tow-headed fellow with big blue
eyes, rosy cheeks, and baggy little trousers that
he could almost turn around in. He was a
queer little chap, too; for when the other boys
played along the dusty highway and narrow
street with whoop and halloo, Fritz crept
quietly away to the field or forest, where,
among the kaiserblumen or the fern, he
would sit alone for hours, singing baby-songs
to the brook as it babbled out of the woods,
and making quaint little tunes for the lambs
to play to-tunes that sounded like the wind
in the pines, the birds calling in the tree-tops,
or the stream rippling down the rocks to the
water-wheel at the mill.
"Father," said he one day, "when I grow
up I will be a master-fiddler and make music
on the fiddle."
"Stuff and nonsense!" said his father; but
he bought him a little yellow fiddle at the next
kermess, and let him play it all day long.
It was surprising how soon Fritz could draw
melody out of that Swiss-pine box with his

stubby bow! He made it fairly laugh and
cry and sing and gurgle and whistle and
hum, until the birds flew down from the tree-
tops and hopped about him; and the lambs
came and lay down at his feet; and mother-
sheep rubbed their noses
against his knees; and the
marmots peeped from
among the
rocks; and
the rabbits
paused in
the thick
grass with
ears; and
the brown
bees buzzed about his head. None of them
were afraid, for Fritz seemed one of them-
But he grew up,-as healthy boys will do,
who eat good meat, and sweet brown bread,
and amber honey with creamy milk as rich as
nectar,-and he fiddled better and better every
day, until at last he said: Father, I fiddle too
well for Weisnichtwo. These dull villagers care
only for the drone of the dudelsack and a bawl-
ing song with their muddy beer. I must go
out into the world and seek my. fortune."
So he took his cap and his fiddle, was blessed
by his father and kissed by his mother, waved a



farewell to Weisnichtwo, and went out into the
At first he fiddled merrily as he went along,
and thought to fiddle himself into a fortune
soon. But no one stopped to listen; no one
seemed to care whether he fiddled or not; and,
no one of-
fering to
pay for his
music, he
might fair--'
died him-
self into
the poor-
house if
one angry
rated him soundly for scaring the geese with his
"nonsensical noise." After that Fritz indignantly
tucked his unappreciated fiddle under his
arm and trudged on silent and discouraged.
"Oh, dear!" he sighed wearily, "if they
won't let me fiddle, how can I ever find my
fortune ? I wonder where it can be."
So he began to ask the passers-by,
"Good sir,"-or "madam," as the case
might be,- "have you seen my fortune ?"
Some laughed at him. Some told him
to mind his business. Others were too busy
hunting their own fortunes to pay him any
attention whatever. And at last, in one
rough village, they called him a silly dunder- -
head, and pelted him with mud and stones
until he took to his heels and ran off. All out
of breath as he turned
into the cross-road, he
tripped over a stone and
fell flat upon his fiddle
with a dreadful crunch.
And when he picked it
up out of the dust it was
spoiled beyond all hope
of repair, with one peg
bent up, and one peg
down, and one this way,
and the other that, while
the neck was twisted
hopelessly awry. AND DISCOURAGED."

Oh, my fiddle, my little fiddle, my dear
little fiddle, it is ruined!" he sobbed; and,
clasping the spoiled instrument to his breast,
he limped ruefully on, hardly caring where he
went or what became of him, and only know-
ing that his beloved fiddle would never make
sweet music again.
Just at nightfall he came to the city of the
king, and wandered through the gloomy streets
heedless of them all.
"Hullo, Master Fiddler!" called some rev-
elers beside a cozy inn. Come fiddle for us,
and we will pay you well! "
I do not care to play-pay or no pay," said
Fritz bitterly, as he clutched his ruined fiddle
to his bosom and passed on.
"What ?" cried the amazed revelers, "a
fiddler who will not fiddle for pay And the
little boys took up the shout, and followed him
down the street, crying, "Look, here is a fiddler
who will not fiddle for pay!" And all the

people stopped to see; and many came out of
their houses, hearing the cry; and soon the
narrow way was so crowded that the king's
carriage could not pass, and.a footman came
to learn the cause of the blockade.
It is a fiddler who will not fiddle for pay "
yelled the gamins in the gutter.
"Indeed?" exclaimed the king. "Then he
must surely be a great fiddler! Tell him he
may come to my palace and play."
But Fritz thought only of his poor, twisted
fiddle, and replied, "I do not care to play, king
or no king! "
"Dear me!" cried his Majesty, surprised;
"this must be a very fine fiddler, indeed, who


does not fairly jump at the chance to play be- smiling, he hastily filled his ears with cotton
fore a king. I surely must hear him! and began to play.
So he sent his coach and a regiment of gren- Such a shrieking, such a squeaking, such a
adiers to bring Fritz to the palace, or to take wild, ear-piercing scream as came out of that
him to prison if he would not play-for he gave crooked fiddle! Ugh-h-h-h!
him his choice, being a magnanimous king. Why, even the sparrows under the palace


Then Fritz was at his wit's end. His clothes eaves jumped out of their nests, flew over the
were torn, his fiddle was spoiled,- but there was fence, and never came back again; the king's
no way to escape; so in sheer despair he faced pet cat crawled under the cellar door and
the music like a man. "If the king willhear me yowled with fear; while, for a moment, para-
play, he shall!" said he grimly, as he climbed lyzed with amazement, the courtiers sat mo-
into the coach and was whirled to the palace. tionless and dumb!
"So," said the king, "you are here, are you?" They had never heard any such music as
Yes," replied Fritz, as he looked that before. It set their teeth on edge,
about; "I believe I am." made their flesh creep, and raised
"Then call the court," cried the king; goose-flesh on the very marrow of
"we will have some first-class A No. i their shivering bones But there
music! But where are your notes?" stood Fritz, placidly playing away as
"This fiddle does not play by note," if he were producing the sweetest
faltered Fritz; which was very true- sounds in the world. And had not
it certainly did not! the king himself said that this fiddler
"Ah," whispered the king to the was a genius? Certainly he had!
vice-chancellor, what did I tell you ? And since the king had said it, it must
This fellow is a genius--he does not be so. Consequently, every man Jack
fiddle by note." of them was afraid to say he did not
"Yes," whispered the vice-chan- like it. And no one dared to admit
cellor, "he must indeed be a genius "FRITZ BEAN TO that he saw nothing lovely in it, for
-just see how very shabby he is! PLAY." fear he would appear more stupid
But, Oh, dear groaned Fritz to himself, than his neighbor. So they all clasped their hands,
"it is all up with me!" And then, with his and, turning to each other, cried in one ecstatic
heart clear up in his throat, though outwardly voice, Oh, this must be a new school of



music--it must be a new school! Is n't it
overpowering -is n't it forceful is n't it
thrilling- is n't it just too utterly ne-plus-ultra
for anything!"
"Ah," said one,
it is n't every-
body who can
have taste for
such music! "
No, indeed,"
answered an-
other; "one
should know
how to listen!"
And then
they all listen-
"'IS N'T IT THRILLING!'" ed with rapt
attention and clasped hands, while they fairly
squirmed, and longed for the roof to fly off, the
walls to fall in, the floor to blow up, or some-
thing-or anything, oh, anything!-just to
stop that horrible noise!
Now it happened that, seven years before,
the Crown Princess Hilda's favorite wax doll
had fallen head first into the royal soup-tureen
one day at dinner; and the soup, being hot, had
melted off her nose. Whereat, after one wild
burst of childish grief, the princess had been
seized with profound grief, and had gone into
deep mourning for her disfigured darling, re-
fusing to be comforted, and had never smiled
again. The court physician had given her po-
tions and powders until she was pale as a


ghost. She had traveled to all of the fashion-
able watering-places for change of air until she
was worn to a shadow. Fabulous rewards had

been offered for anything to break her sorrow,
but in vain. Her sorrow remained unbroken.
There, attended by a favorite maiden, and
with a trusty grenadier within call, upon a
raised dais at the end of the great hall, a
fragile little waxen princess in gloomy black,
brown-haired and hazel-eyed, she sat so deeply
wrapped in melancholy that nothing seemed
to move her.
But at the first shriek of Fritz's crooked fiddle
she jumped with surprise and looked up with a
sudden sparkle in her heavy eyes. And as she
listened to the squeaking, screaming, shrieking
squeal, a gleam lit up her face, she cast one
quick look around the vast audience all in its
rapt attention, and falling back into her chair
broke into a peal of uncontrollable laughter.
Oh, my !- oh, my !- oh, my! she cried,

holding her sides; "it sounds like a little pig
under-a-gate! and she laughed until the
tears ran down her face.
Oh, the scene of wild excitement that ensued!
The king tossed his crown up to the ceiling,
the lord high chamberlain fell over two small
pages trying to dance a jig, the whole court
rolled off their chairs in delighted surprise, and
the court physician had three conniption fits in
rapid succession behind the Japanese screen-1
for the melancholy spell was broken, the prin-
cess was cured, and his high-salaried situation
was at an end!
Then the king fell upon Fritz's neck and
kissed him, to his great embarrassment; and
the courtiers, delighted that the fiddling had

942 :






stopped, cheered until they were hoarse, crying,
"Long live Fritz, the Master-Fiddler! And
the populace out-
side, hearing the
shout, took up the
cry until they were
twice as hoarse:
"Long live Fritz,the
Master-Fiddler!" al-
though they had not
the slightest idea
what it was all about
-which made no
difference at all with
the populace.
And now, Sir Master Fiddler," exclaimed the
king, when the hullabaloo had stopped; "since

you have cured the princess, -of course you will
marry her."
Shall I ? stammered Fritz, blushing like a
girl. "Why ? "
"Because that is the way I am going to
have this story end," said the king, firmly.
"And I am not going to have it spoiled by
any nonsense!"
"Well," said Fritz, thoughtfully, rubbing his
chin; "if I must, I suppose I must-but," he
continued uneasily, "I would like to ask the
princess one thing before the wedding takes
"What is that ? asked the princess, smiling
up into his face.
"Will-will- will,"
he stammered bash-
fully -" will you marry
me? "
"Yes," replied she,
shyly dropping her dark
eyelashes, and laying
her little hand confid-
ingly upon his broad
shoulder; "but -"
But what ? cried
Fritz anxiously.
You must never--" FRITZ AND THE PRINCESS.
"What?" gasped Fritz, turning pale with
"Play that horrible fiddle around the house!"
Oh! !" ejaculated Fritz, with a smile of relief
that spoke volumes, as he removed the cotton
from his ears; "I promise you I never will."
And he never did.





THE rooms of the students in a certain col-
lege were strangely decorated. The usual fur-
niture was to be found in them, but here and
there one saw strange objects. Perhaps over a
mantel would hang a neatly painted warning,
" Keep off the grass"; against the door would
be a board marked, Exit for passengers"; on
a bedroom door would appear Dentist," and
about the walls and in corners were door-
knockers, street-numbers, a gilt wooden key, or
other bits that were neither bought, borrowed,
nor given to the student occupiers.
No room was richer in such spoils than that
of Arthur Bell, an athletic member of the
Sophomore nine; but when he returned to col-
lege at the beginning of his Junior year, all
these "trophies" were solemnly taken down
and never replaced.
It might have been supposed that Arthur
Bell considered them beneath the dignity of a
Junior. But that was not the reason why he took
them down; indeed, other Juniors were not so
particular. The real reason was to be found in
something thathad happened during the preced-
ing vacation. The conversion of this Bell boy
was due to what we may call a namesake-a
bell-buoyhe spent some time with one dark night.
Arthur owned a canoe, in which he cruised

about the coast of the island where his father
owned a cottage. It was at some distance from
the village, where a few families of fishermen
still carried on a diminishing business.
Not far from the island there was a danger-
ous reef, and just over the reef a bell-buoy was
anchored. When the wind was right, the irreg-
ular beating of the bell could be heard, and
Arthur made up his mind that the tongue of
that bell would make a very nice addition to
the collection of oddities in his college room.
The attraction that the bell-tongue had for him
came from the fact that he could take it only at
night. Was n't it stealing-and might it not
cause the loss of a vessel ?" Well, yes,-but
some Sophomores do not think of such things.
They prefer to call these exploits "pranks."
So one night he crept out of bed, dressed
himself in flannel shirt and knickerbockers,
made his way to the wharf, and succeeded in
launching his canoe without being seen. It was
a quiet, starlight night, with hardly a ripple on
the water. There was just enough wind to fill
his triangular sail, and he moved steadily out
toward the buoy. He had taken its bearings
carefully, a few days before, and sailed by a
pocket compass.
There was nothing exciting about the voy-


age. He reached the buoy without trouble,
fastened the painter to one of the rods that held
the bell, and stepped carefully upon the flat-
topped buoy. Then, with a pair of pincers, he
reached up inside the bell, and tried to unfasten
the tongue. He found this hard to do. It was
fastened with thick wire twisted tight, and he
worked leaning down and reaching up into the
bell. This constrained position made him tired,
and he had to stop often to rest. Besides, he
had to hold the clapper for fear it would ring,
and attract attention on so quiet a night. In
reaching over, and working at the clapper, and
in straightening up again, Arthur made the bell-
buoy rock considerably, and when he finally
loosed the wire, he turned around to find that
his canoe had worked loose and drifted away.
He did n't say anything, but he sat on the buoy
with his legs in the water, and looked at the
canoe as it sailed peacefully into the distance.
He did not cry: he was a Sophomore. But he
could not see any humor in the situation. It
had lost all the fun out of it.
"A body of land entirely surrounded by
water," thought he to himself. Then he no-

ticed that the wind was freshening, and he
reflected that he was not in the safest situation
in the world if there should happen to be a
storm, or even a squall. He did n't relish call-
ing for help, for it was hard to think of explain-
ing how he had come to be in so ridiculous a
situation; but he did not dare risk his life to
save his pride.
He began to shout, but soon saw that his
voice could not reach the shore. Then he re-
membered the bell. Turning half about, he
seized the- clapper.
Clang! Clang! Clang!" went the bell. To
Arthur the sound seemed deafening, but he
knew it was faint enough on shore. For fully
two hours Arthur rang the changes upon the
bell, and upon his own folly.
Luckily, he was heard. It happened that an
old skipper was coming home late from a trip
down the coast, and he heard the rapid strokes
of the bell. Some of his crew thought him
foolish, but he persisted in rowing out to the
bell-buoy. So Arthur was brought home; and
he told his story like a man.
"You '11 have reason to say a good word


Voi. XX.-60.


for the bell-buoys!" said the skipper; "but I
might have thought nothing of all your clang-
clang, if it had n't been for the fine moonlight
night I once spent on a.buoy myself. I did n't
go to do mischief, either!"
Arthur was glad it was dark.
Mine was a whistling-buoy," the skipper
went on. My mate and I went out to repair
it, and our boat worked adrift, too. You can't
be too careful to tie a good knot when you 're
hitching to such a frolicsome craft. Anyway,
there we were, and the whistle bent, so it
would n't sound. I tell you, we worked hard
to get it straight again. And when it began to
whistle once more (for there was something of
a sea on) we were glad, though we did n't see
at first that we were much better off. We had


nothing to show a light with; and it was a
moonlight night, too. But after a while my
mate-who was a clever fellow-took off his
sea-jacket and wrapped it around the whistle;
Then, whenever she 'd give a blast, he 'd
tighten and loosen the coat so as to make the
whistle go 'to-o-o-o!' Well, the lighthouse-
keeper must have been sharp enough to notice
this, for pretty soon we saw the boat coming
with him and his father. Maybe we were n't
glad to see them! That 's all,-but that 's
what saved you, young fellow! I guess you
won't want any more bell-clappers."
No, sir! said Arthur.
And that is the reason why one college stu-
dent changed the decorations of his room at the
beginning of his Junior year.







(A True Story.)


OH, Grandma, why won't you let me go
down to the oak-trees this afternoon and get
some acorns? You know you said I might
some day. The boys are going in a little
while, and I want to go with them. Do say
yes, Grandma dear!"
It was a glorious September afternoon, and
Bessie Field's seventh birthday. She had come
the day before with her grandmother from'the
city to spend a few days with her cousins on
Uncle John's big farm. There were five of the
cousins: Will, Frank, and George, little Mary
and baby Rob. The three oldest were real
country boys, barefooted and sunburnt, dirty
and happy, and always .ready for a good time.
They were all devoted admirers of brown-eyed
Bessie, who was an only child, but not wholly
SWhen she came to visit them, they could
never do enough for her entertainment. The
orchard was ransacked for the reddest apples
and ripest pears. They scratched their bare
legs and hands gathering the largest berries,
and drenched their trousers catching shiners
and polliwogs, all for Bessie. On the other
hand, Bessie entered into all their sports with
great delight, and was seldom scared unless
by an unusually big snake; so they all got on
beautifully together and had a very jolly time.

Now, Bessie's grandma had promised to
make her an acorn tea-set such as Grandma
used to play with when she was a little girl,
and this was why Bessie was so eager to gather
the acorns. For the tea-set it was necessary
to have two kinds of acorns: the large ones
with flat, shallow cups, and the small ones with
rounder, deeper cups. The shallow acorn-cups
made the saucers; and the smaller ones made
the tea-cups. Then Grandma knew how to
make a charming tea-pot from a big acorn by
adding a nose and handle from a burnt match,
and by cutting off the top to make the cover.
The pitcher was made by putting on handles
in the same way, cutting off the top, and scrap-
ing out the inside of the nut. When completed,
one of Grandma's tea-sets was fit for a fairy
queen, and it was no wonder that Bessie was so
eager to have one for her own.
It was her birthday and a lovely day; and
Bessie. saw nothing to hinder her going with
the boys after the coveted treasures. But
Grandma saw with different eyes. As she
'looked out of the window, across the garden
and orchard toward the oak grove, she saw
bright flames leaping up from behind the trees,
and blue smoke curling up and spreading far
away toward the horizon; and she hesitated
about giving her consent.


"Well, dearie," she said, after a moment,
which seemed at least a quarter of an hour
to Bessie, "I would like to have you get the
acorns; but I see they are burning brush in the
pasture, and you will have to go through the
pasture to reach the trees. If anything should
happen to you, your mother would never forgive
me for letting you go. I think you had better
wait till to-morrow. Then the fires will be out.
One day won't make very much difference."
But, Grandma," said Bessie, "I won't go
near the fires. I '11 go through the pasture
just as fast as I can run, and I won't even
look at the fires!"
Just here came a pattering of bare feet on
the stairs, and in another moment in rushed the
boys, all out of breath, and all talking at once.
Their hands were full of peaches and flowers,
and at first it was impossible to make out what
they were saying.
One at a time-one at a time!" said
Grandma. "Let Willie speak first."
"Oh, Grandma, we 're going to take a jug
of molasses and water down to the men in the
pasture! It 's so hot working over the fires,
they're thirsty; and we want Bessie, to go with
us. Do let her go, Grandma."
"Oh, yes, Grandma! I won't go near the
fires-truly I won't!" pleaded Bessie, with the,
tears gathering in her eyes as she hugged
Grandma around the- waist,
No, we won't let her go near the fires," said
Willie; "I '11 take care of her, and-oh, the
acorns are as thick as bees down in,the grove!"
The children begged and coaxed till Grandma
finally consented; and then they started, the
boys with the jug, and Bessie with a basket, all
promising to be very good and obedient.
When they reached the orchard there were
birds' nests to be shown to Bessie; and further
on they came across the hollow trunk of a tree
where some field-mice had a nest; then Rover,
the dog, scented a woodchuck in a stone wall;
and altogether it was some -time before they
reached the pasture,-so long, in fact, that the
children had almost forgotten about Grandma's
charge to them and their solemn promises.
The boys started toward the men with their
jug, while Bessie stopped to gather some cat-
nip for her pet kitten. She had picked quite a

bunch when the boys rejoined her, and all
were soon busy picking up the shiny brown
nuts, which lay abundantly scattered on the
mossy turf beneath the big, shady oaks. After
filling the basket with carefully selected speci-
mens; Willie began filling his pockets with the
smaller acorns, which, he assured the others,
were almost as good to eat as chestnuts. Bes-
sie tried one, but found it far too bitter for her
taste, and threw it away in disgust. The boys
then picked up their somewhat battered straw
hats, Bessie gathered together her catnip, and
they started back through the pasture on
their way home, intending to have Grandma
make the tea-set before supper-time.
So many things had attracted their attention
since the children left home that they had
wholly forgotten their promise, and stopped just
a moment to watch the flames dance and crackle
and then disappear amid the smoke, only to
break out again merrier and brighter than ever.
A big bonfire is such a fascinating sight!
The temptation was too strong for Frank. His
black eyes danced till they seemed livelier than
the flames: At last he said:
"Oh, let 's get some sticks and each make a
little pile of them, and play that we are burning
brush, too!"
The suggestion was no sooner made than all
four began to gather a pile of sticks and leaves.
Then Willie said:
"I 'm going to get a stick from the big fire
and light mine, and then smother it with moss
and leaves, and roast some of the acorns."
"So am I," said Frank.
And so am I," said, George.
"Light mine, too," said thoughtless Bessie.
"All right," said the boys.
Soon there were four little bonfires burning
brightly on the edge of the woods. Each of
the children was working with might and main
to smother a tiny blaze. Willie went into the
woods a little farther than the others to get
more moss for his pile.
Bessie at last succeeded in smothering her
fire so that not a flame escaped, and as she
watched the pretty smoke creeping out from
the edges, she clapped her hands, saying: "Oh,
boys, just see how nicely I have smothered my
fire !" Then she turned around to look at the




others, and as she did so a sudden puff of wind
brought forth the flames with a leap, and they
seized the back of Bessie's dress. In a moment
her skirts were ablaze, and she shouted to
Willie who came running from the woods
and threw his coat about her. Fortunately
Grandma had taken off the gingham dress

which Bessie had worn in the morning, and Gra
put on instead a brown-and-white dress of gravel
wool. Fortunately, too, Bessie threw her hands which
behind her and rolled her skirts tightly to- old la
gether, and so succeeded in putting out the about
flames; but her poor hands were sadly burnt, that v
and the back of her dress was almost entirely art, b
gone. If she had started to run, Bessie per- cared
haps might never have seen her grandma solemn
again. As it was, she was burnt enough to that i

keen pain; but that was not half so hard
r as the thought that she had disobeyed
h, what will Grandma say?" sobbed
nt Bessie. I did n't mean to .be so
ty. Grandma 'll never trust me again, nor
e me any more. Oh, dear! oh, dear If
I had only minded
her and gone right
-' straight home! "
The boys stood
looking at Bessie
for a moment, then
Frank and George
burst out crying,
while Willie picked
up Bessie's basket
and tried to com-
fort her by calling
her attention to a
white rabbit skip-
i ping across the path
just in front of them.
But Bessie cared
not for rabbits nor
acorns. She was
S-'-" thinking of some-
thing far more se-
Bessie and the
boys left the bonfires
to their own destruc-
Stion, and the roasting
acorns to burn to a
cinder. Such a melan-
choly procession of naughty
Children slowly making their
way along the little path lead-
ing from the pasture to the farm-
house never was seen there before.
.ndma met them at the door, and listened
y to their pitiful story of disobedience,
was told with all frankness. The wise
dy said never a word of blame, but set
making the acorn tea-set, and finished it
'ery night. The tea-set was a work of
ut its charm was gone. Bessie never
to play with it, and acorns brought a
n look to her face for a long time after
unfortunate birthday.





.9 'fid r


GOOD days to you, my friends! -bright, soft,
and ruddy October days. They are coming apace,
and in their name your Jack greets you, wishing
you completeness and the joy that is better than
Now we '11 proceed to business- first stating, by
request of the Little Schoolma'am, that the five-
syllabled word of five letters given out mysteriously
from this pulpit last month is ABRACADABRA. You
will find it in all first-class dictionaries, I am told.
Now, dear fifth-readerites and upward, I take
pleasure in calling your attention to a letter from
Brother Stacy on
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Once I went to the
Chinese theater in San Francisco, and it seemed to
me that nothing could be more painfully unmusical
than the din made.by the so-called musicians, who
sat on the stage and played upon their noisy instru-
ments at intervals during the entire performance.
To my ears it was only a series of jarring noises -
no melody, no harmony. Every person of our
party felt as I did about it, and we were surprised
when the interpreter assured us that the music was
not a burlesque, but was "very fair of its kind,"
and, to the Chinese mind, compared most favorably
with that made by our own orchestras.
But judge of my astonishment on learning,
later, through "The Encyclopedia of Anecdotes,"
that there are upward of five hundred journals in
China consecrated exclusively to the musical art !
And not only this, but that almost all the principal
(or capital) cities contain two or more theaters
for operas!
Well, all I can say is, I should like to go to China
and hear Chinese music there, with my own ears.
Now, who can tell me whether Chinese/music,
as heard in China by travelers from Europe or

America, is at all like the Chinese music that is
given at the Chinese theater in San Francisco?
Yours truly, JOEL STACY.

AND here is something about
MY DEAR JACK: I saw a very funny scene the other
day, and I think it is worth describing to the little girls
and boys who read ST. NICHOLAS.
We- a merry party were driving through the coun-
try, on top of a big coach, when a flock of sheep ap-
peared on the road before us. One little lamb with its
mother had lingered behind the rest, and, before we could
stop him, our naughty dog flew at the poor little lamb
and began to bite and shake it terribly. We could not
get to the rescue, and the frightened lamb was in great
danger. Then a very funny thing happened. Four pigs,
standing by the fence, suddenly rushed up, and for a
moment there was dreadful confusion. Barks and squeals,
and pigs, dog, and lamb created great consternation; but
the pigs soon drove the dog away, and the baby lamb
was saved. Now, did you ever think that igs would do
so kind a deed? A constant reader, K. C. H.

THE dear Little Schoolma'am has laid upon this
pulpit a small book sent out by the American
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ani-
mals. It is composed of questions to be asked by
teachers, friends, or relations, as the case may be,
and answers to be recited by young folk either in
the words given, or in words to the same effect.
Now, the dear Little Schoolma'am thinks the les-
sons contained in this book are in the main well
worth your learning; and, therefore, she requests
me to show you a couple of them as samples.
Here they are:
Q. Do you know what a check-rein is?
A, It is a rein fastened to a part of the harness, so as
to hold the horse's head back.
Q. Is the check-rein of any use in driving the horse ?
A. No; it is of no use at all.
Q. If the horse stumbles, does not the check-rein keep
him from falling?
A. Not any more than it would keep us from falling,
if we were to have our heads fastened back with a strap.
Q. Does the check-rein help the horse in any way?
A. No; it only tires his neck and hurts his mouth.
Q. Does it do any other harm ?
A. Yes; when his head is held back by a check-rein,
he cannot lean forward to pull his load.
Q. If he cannot lean forward, how can he pull?
A. He is obliged to strain his legs, and that hurts
Q. What do you think of check-reins ?
A. They are useless and hurtful, and it is a cruel thing
to use them.

Now we '11 jump over to the 48th week, and land
Q. What does the Bible say about the ant?
A. It says, "Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider
her ways, and be wise."
Q. What is a sluggard?
A. A lazy person.:


Q. Why should lazy persons. consider the ways of the
poor little ant ?
A. Because the ant is so industrious.
Q. At what does the ant work so hard?
A. It works hard all summer gathering food for the
Q. Is it right to step on a little ant if we can avoid it ?
A. No; we should not like a great giant to put his
foot on us and crush us to death.
Q. Sometimes we find an ant-hole, where the ants are
going in and out; is it right to trample it down?
A. No; we should not like a great giant to trample
our houses down about our ears.


LITTLE JUMBO is not an elephant,
as you may plainly discover by look-
ing at him in the picture I show you
to-day. In fact, it is possible that just
because he is so small, sprightly, and
light of weight, so unlike his famous
namesake, he is called Jumbo for the
fun of the thing. His master, Mr.
Meredith Nugent, drew his portrait on
purpose for you, my good ST. NICH-
OLAS friends. Furthermore, he sends
you this true account with his best

Such a cross little model as Jumbo
I had never known. He scolded contin-
ually, and all my efforts to soothe him
were in vain. Even sugar seemed to sour
his disposition. He scolded when eating,
and when not eating. If I placed anything
near his cage, he would jump to the wires
-still scolding-as though he meant to
break through them. Only a few days be-
fore I bought him he was a free squirrel
leading a rollicksome life in the woods.
Poor fellow, what wonder he was indignant
at finding himself a prisoner!
Well, one afternoon I opened his cage
door and offered him the freedom of my
studio, of course expecting to have a very
lively scene. Visions of upset vases,
broken windows, and general disorder
stimulated my curiosity. I wanted to see
just how much mischief he could do. The
cage door open, Jumbo leaped nimbly to ,
the floor, and surprised me by behaving
in the gentlest manner possible!
After he had run about for a little while,
I reached for a paper bag of hickory-nuts
lying near me. Jumbo ran forward im-
mediately, jumped into my lap, took a
hickory-nut from my fingers, and hid it
under the bookcase. Standing up, I shook --m--
the bag quite briskly; in a moment Jumbo
was running up my side to my shoulders,
and again took a nut from my fingers. Now he did
not scold at all, but was perfectly amiable,- truly a strong
contrast to his former self. He kept taking nuts from
me until almost every corner of the studio contained one.
Finally a rug in the middle of the floor struck him as the
best place under which to hide them, and the manner in
which he patted the rug down after hiding each nut was
very comical. He finally grew tired of this fun, and,
jumping into my lap again, looked into the bag, and, I

think, concluded it was too much work to conceal all the
rest, for he patted the paper down over the nuts and
started on a tour around the room. Unfortunately, I
opened the bag to take another nut out for him, and the
sharp little fellow, hearing the noise, ran swiftly to me,
and, seeing the paper bag open, bit my hand. I jumped
up and ran across the studio with the bag, but he was
after me. As quickly as I could, I dropped the bag upon
the table, and then the angry little fellow was satisfied.
After this he pattered around the room at his own
sweet will, examining chairs and tables, occasionally stop-
ping to give an extra pat to the rug under which most
of his nuts were hidden.

On one of Jumbo's excursions he climbed up the dra-
pery to the top of the low bookcase, and, seeing a globe
of goldfish on it, was soon upon the glass rim. Here he
made a very pretty picture. First he put his paws into
the water and washed them, then he washed his head;
and, after enjoying himself in this way for some time, he
took a long drink and departed. Later, when he visited
his cage to see that all was well, I quickly closed the
door, and Jumbo's afternoon excursion was over.




( For Very; Little, Folk.)
WHEN Nita heard her mother say, I am really overworked, and all
tired out! she shook her curly, head, and sighed, Me, too, Mama !"
And no wonder! Her mother has only four children, while Nita has
sixteen. She looks very young, does she not, to have such a large family?
for this is Nita, in the picture. She says she has to work "all-day-
long!" There are Nita's six grown-up children, and then:come Medora,
Selina Polly, Mungo Park (Papa named him), and the twins, Pinky and
Winky, and Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. (The last three are black,
and ino one could tell one from the other, but it does n't matter.)
Then there are Seraphina, and Jim and Jam, another pair of twins,
and Mr. and Mrs. Wobblechin, and the Red Rover, and Bridget, the cook
doll, and Gwen, the Welsh dairywoman. There is the baby, too,-I forgot
her,-and that makes seventeen. And all these dolls have to be fed and
clothed, and put to bed, and taken up again. They are always put to bed;
but sometimes they don't get taken up for a good while but then-one can
always havethem sick, so that does n't count. Jim and Jam have had the
fever ten times, and once Jim had it so badly that his legs came off. Yes,
that was something like a fever. Papa is a doctor, and he said he never had
such a case as that in all his days.
Now, when this picture was taken, Nita had just been having a dreadful
time with Selina Polly. Selina had the ammonia in the back of her head,"-
Mama thought it was a crack, caused by dropping her on the hearth, but
Nita said it was ammonia, and of course it must have been; and her neck
began to ",get all wobbly," Nita said, and, it was perfectly dreadful. Nita
had n't had a wink of sleep for three whole nights, and she had n't tasted a
morsel of food; for how could she eat when her child was in that state, with
her strength all wasting away, hour after hour. So, at last, after walking up
and down the nursery for about a week, or it might be a fortnight, Nita just
lay down for a minute on the cushion, one afternoon before she was made ready
for tea, because she thought the change might be good for Selina Polly. It was
a very hot day, but Nita was not sleepy-"not one single tiny bit of a scrap!"
she told'nurse. So, then-nothing: happened for a good while, and then
nurse said it was tea-time, and told Nita that she had had a good nap.
This shows how foolish even the best of nurses sometimes are; for how
could she really suppose that a mother would take naps, when her child's
head was in danger of falling off?




? iirb
.r~-~ ~~8~8Bs R


5.. 3
~J~:~i~a i

lin -- -

EE our laddie, where
S By the boats upon
See his sunbrowned cheeks
That the tailor
Well his cunning science kn
Fred's whole make-up clear
From his hatband to his to
He 's the sailor.

See the jaunty sky-blue sack
Open collar, rolling back;
Mark the genuine Sailor Ja
In the pinch
Of his waist so neat and tr
Note the hat without a bri
And a tar you '11 reckon h
Every inch.

And with what con-
summate art
Doth the youngster
play the part!
See the mimic roll
(dear heart!)
In his walk.

And you 'd wonder
where he picks
(Skipper Fred of four
feet six)
Up the funny little
Of his talk.



e he stands "Want a boat, marm?" hear ';
Sthe sands. him cry,
and hands. With a twinkle in his eye.
Easy now, you girls; stand by!
lows, Now, Mama,
ly shows Don't be frightened; here 's a craft
es Snug and taut, marm, fore and aft -
Avast crowding there, abaft!"
Cries our tar.

When he grows a man, says he,
ck A Fleet-captain he will be,
And he '11 navigate each sea
im; Of old ocean;
m, Rival Cook and La P6rouse,
im Bring back shells and cockatoos,
Spears, and clubs, and bark canoes--
That 's his notion.

Can I tell with pen and
How his little brothers
Fred of sailor-boys the
__ pink -
Call him "Cap'n"?
How he orders them
about -
While they think, I 've
not a doubt,
That a Nelson he '11 turn
--- May it happen!

*. *.~4 o -~

4~5=-~I~L-- j


c-~6"rae a.



THE pound-wagon is well known to the dwellers
in San Francisco and its neighboring city, Oak-
land. It is a common.wagon, with a large slatted
cage on it. The drivers and attendants, usually
three persons, are Spaniards or Mexicans. It is
their business to lasso all unlicensed dogs which
they find in the streets, and take them to the
pound-house, which is close to the bay. Some of the
dogs are redeemed on the payment of five dollars,
and a few are sold, but the majority are drowned.
The passage of the wagon is always -v
watched with interest. One cannot but
feel sympathy for the poor creatures.
It is curious how dogs learn to know
the wagon and to express distrust of it.
One day, in Oakland, passers-by on
Broadway were attracted by the loud
and persistent barking of a dog which
stood on the seat of a wagon. Many
paused to ascertain the cause, and
saw the pound-wagon traveling
just in front of that on ---------
which the dog stood.
One pleasant morning,
in San Francisco, not long
ago, a lady had made a
call on a neighbor, carry-
ing her poodle-dog, Nina, in her
arms. As she passed out of the
gate on her return, she put Nina
on the sidewalk. The pound-
wagon was near, but the lady did
not see it ill a man, lasso in hand,
ran past her and threw the rope.
"Ruin,Nina run! she shriek-
ed; and Nina obeyed.
A household pet, as tenderly cared for as a baby,
Nina had never known a danger like this. On
ran the little dog, the man in close pursuit. She
crossed a street, running under a wagon; he had
to go around it, and thus the dog gained on him.
They turned a corner, and the lady, who ran breath-
lessly after, lost sight of them. On they went, and
finally Nina's owner met the pound-man on his
return, empty-handed. Nina had escaped!
The lady continued her search with many mis-
givings: the dog had never been alone in the street
before. The anxious owner passed several children
on their.way to school.

"Have you seen a little white poodle-dog in this
streett- she asked of one group.
Oh, yes, and it was running as fast as it-could,"
came the answer.
The search was continued, but no Nina appeared.
Then the lady questioned a little girl.
"Yes, indeed," said the child. It had a blue

-~ 5


ribbon on its neck, and it was running so fast I
thought it was mad, and I ran to the other side
of the street."
After a long chase, the lady was rewarded by
finding Nina at the head of a flight of stone steps,
close to a front door, more than a mile from the
place from which she had started. She was evi-
dently too much exhausted to go 'farther. Her
owner took her up and carried her home.
The little poodle was sick for several days.
When a little better, Nina was let out into the yard
one morning. The wise little creature soon came
running back, and barked for the door to be
opened. A boy had come into the yard, with a long
rope in his hand. Ropes meant danger to Nina.


One sunny afternoon, in Oakland, passers-by
saw the pound-man in chase of a little terrier.
Up Seventh street went the two, and on to Broad-
way, the "shopping" thoroughfare of the lovely
little city. Just as the pursuer swung the rope, sure
of his prey, the terrier turned into the entrance of
a large store, where lay a huge mastiff, and fell
down panting beside the big watch-dog.

The pound-man paused. The big dog looked
at him, and put its huge paw gently over the
poor little creature that had sought protection
from the man.
The pound-man was paid a certain sum for each
captured dog. But he was afraid of the big dog,
and so he left the pair together and returned to his



MORE than forty years ago, in eighteen hundred masters the benefit
and fifty-one, I visited a party of friends in the for it; I was held pi
Bendigo gold-fields in Australia, where I was cor- but sit down and wai
dially welcomed. Among the valued possessions to come to my relie
of my friends was an English mastiff which be- an hour later,
longed to one of the gentlemen, long absence /
The good understanding between myself.and the
mastiff appeared to have become so well established
during the evening, that on the next day I left
the claim where my friends were at work,
to fetch a kettle of tea from the tent,
without the least misgiving as to my
reception by him.
Rex," who was always allowed to
run loose, came forward to meet
me. He allowed me to stroke his
head, and, so far as I could see,
showed no interest in my move-
ments as I entered the tent and
took a drink of the tea. But when
I started to leave the tent, with the
kettle in my hand, imagine my as-
tonishment when I saw the supposed --
friend Rex facing me, and showing
his teeth in a very threatening way.
I put down the kettle, seated myself on
the edge of the camp-bed, and spoke -
to him. He wagged his tail and looked
so friendly that I thought I must have made
a mistake about his intentions. Not at all.
The moment I attempted to leave the tent
with the kettle, I had reason to know that -
Rex's broad grin was no mere notion, but, on the
contrary, a real sign that he was true to his trust REX OBJECTS T.
as he understood it. friends to suspect t
I talked to him again, set down the kettle, and by Rex. I bore th
attempted to leave without it. Still Rex objected, ful zeal, and in a fe
He had his doubts, and determined to give his come and go, and t

of them. There was no help
risoner, and could do nothing
it patiently for one of the party
f. No one came until nearly
by which time my
had caused my



hat I was being held prisoner
e dog no grudge for his faith-
:w days found he would let me:
ake whatever I wished.



Sc a t DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : You have been coming to me
A CARD, signed simply "Reader," calls attention to the fact hat in for only six months, but I love you very dearly, and I
the article, "The Boyhood of Edison," is a statement giving the im- hope I can have you for many years more. I live in the
pression that Port Huron is on Lake Erie, instead of on the St. Clair south of France, in a country where the sky is always
River. We are glad to correct it, and we thank our correspondent, blue and the sun always bright. The flowers grow all
winter; there are many orange and lemon trees, which
b.o at +th amtomfimA flnnrorc nnrl OrTn r z nrl rinp fr-mit

IN addition to the answers already acknowledged by Jack-in-the-
Pulpit, he asks us to say that we have received creditable corrections
of the verses called "A Misspelled Tale" from the following young
lexicographers: R. Stuart Adams, Verney Leigh Herder, Katharine
F. Worcester, Mabel S. Geenen, John Jay Burtch, Dora F. Here-
ford, Sibyl S. Van Pelt, Lizzie A. Schilling, Margaret D. Buck-
ingham, Nellie Gray, Maud E. Banks, Nellie Louise Schilling,
Britamart L. Andres, Daisy B. Allen,. Elizabeth C. Grant, Helen C.
Ezekiel, and Anna L. Oothout.
SThe last writes that her teachers made the verses a spelling exer-
cise in school.

Readers of the "Selections from Hakluyt's 'Voyages,'" recently
printed in ST. NICHOLAS, will be interested in a short summary of
his life. Born in 1553, in Herefordshire, England, he attended
Westminster School, and Oxford, becoming a lecturer on Geography
in the University. He introduced the use of globes and other aids to
geographical study into English schools. He wrote and published
several books relating to travel and discovery, and is especially
known for his great work, "Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traf-
fiques, and Discoveries of the English Nation," published in 1598
with the assistance of Sir Walter Raleigh.
He was a clergyman, and was appointed Prebend of Westminster
Abbey. He died in 1616, and was buried in the Abbey.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You have been a member of
our family for a long time. My sister and I are your
devoted readers, and should hate to give you up. Per-
haps it would be interesting to you to hear something of
Powhatan's Chimney, built by some Dutchmen sent
from Jamestown., It has now fallen, but it stood in
sight of the old place at which I was borri. It was built
mostly of sandstone, and the fireplace was so large that
a good-sized breakfast-table could be set in it. It was
on Werowocomoco Creek, running by my grandfather's
home into York River.
I remain your devoted reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I don't think you have had a
letter from the Friendly Islands before. Our old king is
dead; he was more than ninety years of age, and used
to be a great warrior.
If you come to see me I am afraid I cannot give you
the food you are used to; but you can have plenty of
pigs, fowls, yams, rumalas (sweet potatoes), breadfruit,
bananas, and other things, and in the evening I will
"tuki kava for you.
We have a school for European children, and I have
won prizes for mathematics and swimming.
Your loving friend, MARTHA S- .

I lived in America three years ago, and I liked New
York very much. I wish I could go back to stay. I
think my letter has been long enough, and I must not
trouble you any longer. I am a French girl by birth,
but American by heart. LUCIENNE D- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am going to tell you about
a speckled Hamburg rooster that we once had. He
had no brothers or sisters, and so we brought him into the
house and fed and petted him. When he grew older he
became very handsome, and was the most amusing bird
I ever saw. We would dress him up in doll's clothes,
and wheel him about in a doll's carriage. He would
walk about the house, and was very fond of picking flies
off the windows that reached down to the floor. One day
I was crying on the stairs, and he hopped up beside me
and began chuckling away, as though trying to comfort
me, and asking what I was crying for. Another time
some ladies came to see Mama, and as she was not in the
room, Cockolorum Jinks" (for that was his name) came
strutting into the room and sat down on a chair, with his
feet stretched out in front of him (the way he always sat
on a chair). When Mama came into the room, he jumped
off the chair, gave a loud crow, and strutted out of the
room as though he had done his duty. At another time
a gentleman came to visit us. When he rang the door-
bell, Cockolorum Jinks heard him, and came around the
corner of the house, and evidently did not like his appear-
ance, and also knew that he was a stranger. He thought
the gentleman should not be there, so he began flying at
his feet and biting them, the gentleman striking at him
with his umbrella, until Mama heard the noise and came
to the door, and 'Cockolorum Jinks, thinking there was
no more need of fighting, walked off. He would always
attack strangers in this way.
He lived a very solitary life, for none of the other
chickens would associate with him; and when he did go
near them, they would fight him. I suppose they thought
he was too civilized. MARGERY M. G-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been twice in Colorado.
Arriving at Colorado Springs, we took a train for Manitou.
It is a pretty place, hemmed in on all sides by mountains,
with many springs and pretty flowers.
Going a mile further, to Iron Springs, Pike's Peak is
plainly in view. Some days we see travelers, who are
going up the mountain pass by the hotel, on donkeys or
horses. The little burros they have out there are very
cunning, though rather slow. Going out from the stable,
they poke along until their faces are turned home, and
then they begin to trot. I have ridden on them several


times, and think it great fun. On these hot summer days
I wish I was there again.
Going back to Denver, we took an observation-car for
Georgetown. They are something like open horse-cars.
At the stations, little boys and girls have specimens to
sell that they have gathered from the silver-mines.
I went into a mine at Silver Plume, called the Mena-
dota. We were given lamps, and with a guide entered
the long tunnel. It has but one shaft, a little below.
On each side of the tunnel little streamlets of water run,
while in the middle is a plank walk. The miners gave
us some specimens of the silver.
While I traveled in Colorado, I collected quite a num-
ber of wild flowers, which I have now in a book. The
prettiest, I think, are the mariposa-lilies.
Your interested reader, LOUISE C. P--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am going to tell you about
the nice times we (that means my brother and myself)
have in summer. We spend it on a farm in New Jersey
called" Meadow Burn Farm." In the haying-time we ride
on the loads of hay from the meadow to the barns, then
we ride back in the empty cart. We also have lots of
fun playing in the hay-mow. Last year, while playing
there, I fell down through the opening right between the
heads of two cows. I remain your faithful reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My three brothers and I have
had ST. NICHOLAS sent us for the last seven years by
an aunt in America, and we are very much interested in
the letters we see from all parts of the world. We have
not seen one from Paisley yet, so I thought I would
write and tell you about a grand open-air concert we
had here last week. It was given by a chorus of over
six hundred voices, assisted by an instrumental band, in
a beautiful glen at the Braes of Gleniffer, about a mile
from Paisley, to an audience of twenty thousand. The
chorus is -called the "Tannahill Choir," after one of
Paisley's principal poets, some of whose beautiful songs
Scotch people think second only to those of Burns.
This was the seventh concert The first was held at
the Centenary of Tannahill, when the program consisted
entirely of his songs; and the proceeds of that and the
next three concerts, derived from the sale of the pro-
grams, were devoted to a statue of the poet, which is now
erected. The last two concerts were for a Burns statue.
The proprietor of the grounds has had fine walks made,
with rustic seats, stiles, and bridges, for the use of the
people, with an amphitheater of seats made of the nat-
ural turf, and in the sloping sides of the glen, for the
singers; and on the concert day has flags and red
bunting all along the roads. .What more graceful way
can a poet be honored in his own country than by hav-
ing his songs sung by his own townsmen in the very
place where he composed many of them ?
Hoping this is not too long, I am your interested
reader, JESSIE B.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My home is in Dinard, France,
but this summer we have been traveling in Germany.
Aix-la-Chapelle is a very'old town; it dates from Charle-
magne, who is worshiped here like a saint. In the cathe-
dral is shown his tomb and an old chair in which he
used to assist at mass. In this chair many Emperors of
Germany have been crowned. The pulpit is of gilded
silver, incrusted with precious stones. The people of
the town are so proud of it that they cover it with a
wood cover, because they are afraid of its being spoiled.

We are soon starting for Heidelberg, which I think I
shall like better than Aix, for here one has to drink hot
sulphur water, which I think is very disagreeable.
At home I go to a day-school with my friends. We
are only twelve and know each other well, so we enjoy
our school very much. We do English, French, draw-
ing, music, and German, which I find pretty hard. We
have three black French poodles, which I love very
much. I wanted to bring them, but Mama would not
let me. Ever youth constant reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We live in Cincinnati in winter
and come here in the summer. I like the place very
much, as it is on the Atlantic Ocean.
Several days ago Father was out on the gallery and
called for me to look out, and to my amazement I saw
the torpedo-boat Cushing going at about twenty knots
an hour.
Day before yesterday I looked out of the window, and
what should I see but a strange-looking craft; and, tak-
ing our field-glass, I saw it was a ship that had a square
mainsail and regular jib. Father found out it was the
Viking ship. The next day I took up the New York
Herald, and read that it was from Bergen, Norway, and
had started April 30. She is a very fast boat, her average
speed across the ocean being from eight to nine knots
per hour, and in favorable winds eleven.
I am your devoted reader, BUCKNER W. A- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two little girls twelve
years old, and live in Trenton during the winter. We
are not sisters, but very dear friends. We like you very
In this city there is a very interesting old church. It
was built in the early part of the eighteenth century.
During the Revolution it was used as a hospital for
the British soldiers. The communion service was pre-
sented to the church by Queen Anne; it is very curious.
We must say good-by. We remain your faithful readers,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first time I have
written to you. I am a little boy eleven years old. My
younger brother Percy and I came from Sioux City, Ia.,
sixteen months ago, to live with our grandmother. You
have come to us for about half a year. I have a great
many books, but I enjoy reading your stories best of all.
My father sent you to me for my birthday present, and I
am very much interested in The White Cave."
Your interested reader, RALPH S. L--.

WE thank the young friends whose names here follow
for pleasant letters received from them: Herbert M. T.,
Kate S. M., Jessie S. E., Louise C., Hannah L., Bar-
bara, Dorothy W., Frank K., H. Randolph L., Willie
R. F., Cornelia B. P., Erma E. T., Guy B., Katherine T.,
Claudia M., Emily M. W. P., Mary I. A., Tonie E.,
Marion S., M.W. G., Mary M., Loraine J., Edna G. S.,
Stella L. S., Margaret P., Britamart L. A., Harriet B.
H., Walla Y., Louise Gwynne B., Helen M. C., Adele
R., R. R. N., Jean N. A., Lillian W., Josephine C.,
Caroline C., and Ted W. C.




HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Krishna. Cross-words: i. choKing.
. PaRis. 3. fit. 4.'S. 5. aiHa. 6. hoNor. 7. carAmel.
STAR PUZZLE. From 2 to x, scuds; from 4 to I, tears; 6 to r,
Eurus; 8 to i, sinks; ro to I, alias; 12 to i, tests; x3 to 2, soars;
13 to is, spent; 3 to 2, idols; 3 to 4, inert; 5 to 4, tacit? 5to 6,thine;
7 to 6, naive; 7 to 8, negus; 9 to 8, Delos; 9 to io, drama; xx to
no, ultra; xx to 12, unfit.
QUOTATION PUZZLE. Faraday. i. Franklin. 2. Addison. 3. Ra-
leigh. 4. Akenside. 5. Dryden. 6. Allen (Elizabeth Akers).
7. Young (Edward).
DoUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Emerson; finals, Concord. Cross-
words: x. Ethic. 2. Motto. 3. Eaten. 4. Relic. 5. Sambo. 6. Otter.
7. Nomad.
CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Centrals, James Fenimore Co..per. Cross-
words: i. major. 2. frAil. 3. coMma. 4. blEak. 5. dli'l). 6. loFty.
7. brEam. 8. caNon. 9. grind. ao. SiMon. tx. glOry. 12. luRid.
13. chEap. 14. coCoa. x5. brOad. x6. quOta. 17. dePot. r8. frEak.
19. boRes.
DOUBLE DIAGONALS. From i to 2, fable; from 3 to 4, saber.
Cross-words: i. Flute. a. Marry. 3. Amble. 4. Basle. 5. Shine.

ZIoZAG. "To ie m..ia w.t thy Cross-words: I. Ten. a. bOw.
3. caT. 4.-, !H 5 Ell, i- .Mu twO. 8. aSp. Tax.
io. aWe. iz. loO. zs. aRc. gs. Tag.. Y4. wHy. ia, frY
PIL The hush of slumber rt t: up.-... the earth,
The clouds are still i in .lkm blessing;
And the soft winds that sweep the fading fields
Have in :hiir uwhi.pcr '.om-hinfg fl .lr .oaIng,
Along the b..r.lrJ-.. rhI h ..l t:jra
The silvern rhi ila-., l, i-.. tlht!i' rij riiitg:
And changeful colors swivp rs' I; ]i..i].e n'er,
Like magic pictures or. the .;al a5 shifting.
ANAGRAM. James Fenimore Cooper.
TIlPItr Ac~r.'nT, Fim I to xI, Win, Thackeray; from to
a, Henry Esmond ". frim 23to33, The Newcomes," From z to
z, In.:h; 1.a 3. mtOLts.? 3 to L4, talon; 4 to s, hiur: to I,
agony; 6 to 17, clove; I t.. rt, kepm; 8 to ig, Ecih:lrn; 9 to se,
ratio; ro to 21, acorn; ln t. -1, yel.l. 12 tO 23. lel: 3i; to 24,
earth; 74 to 25, nudge; i I.. tr-, i 6 r.. I6 to 27, nine ; 27 tO i2,
endow; IS to 29, stoic; 1p to 3o, motto; ao to 31, odiur ; tr tIo 3
nurse; 22 to 33, doffs.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the m ig..irs.t, Iirit be rmt-'dlt r..i laici ihjl the st h of CeiC mr.nlt, and Ghould
be addressed to ST. NIcHOLAS Riddle-Box," care of THr C r.'.va.h- ',..., 3 ...I S.ii ceentnti Slt., Nev \,rL. City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUttl.Lr. wI re r.c-i*.... h.'.re Jiil(l i-0i.i. (i.iti ,,i..1.-l. iio l ru., J Arthur Gride.-
Maude E. Palmer-"The McG.'s"-Three of"The W'.. Ii.- "--E 1 I; --Hl.r,: C. M. lki.r =-* The Plr is "-- B. i and
G. T.-" Toodles"-Alice Mildred Blanke and Co.-'- N.,.rO..:,- C'u r.. "-1.1.i C..rl-.l a. (' I1 l.. --* O.ludei "- IGal Rlimond RIe a.h
Bloomingdale-Chester B. Sumner-A. H. andR.--l mrl. i.abl-. in, Frn. --.-" In. i "niv'-**- George A.-" Maine and Minnesota"-Eva and Bessi N- I'anl .P'lI..lelrt i.; L E .-- I Ucl 1ung '-- l..mmTy Trnilll .Is
" Wareham"-Paul Reese-Jessie Chapman- Blanche :,nd Fred Ida and Air: Nskic and ril..ddl. N. NIan, -llthe, K.ii'.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUtMBs were received, befor- J.ily Ipl!. iI.-.r, Edlhil IT. Smith, i Kirtty Sill Sar, 4-
Katliryn Lyon, 3-Edward B. Dingle, x-L. H. K1, --Katharine Moti..rrk id '-. A. G.irdiir. r H:.;,. H.,ring, i -.lia,
Elizabeth, and Miss Wicks, 2-J. S. T. and J.. D.B., -M. M. M., No rNa.m. IOranr .:, I. -i* 1i Uri.r.i,.rrie:, a len
Schneider, 2-Helen Lovell, 2- RobntL El.Ir-ilge Willbri, x-Dot, 2--Cra W I-Hilen rern.:rr. 3- l.il. t ,aid tMai. I-
"Daughter ofthe Revolution," 4 Frank jI.T D.rid -. lariii V. TiSern. I .mlri. t [Il. li ane, and Pennocl:, -
"Uncas," Charlie and Harriet Harmon. I E.:-Ai.: irint, i -H-1l.:n C. Ei.:lci.., r -** 'lt.4'-.h.. ,- '.lh V'rihtl.l LLt." A& Sel.i -
ling, i-"Morleena Kenwigs," a D,' Ird T.I. i -:. ;M 7 Gr-.'..; Sl-..- --* Fe.--. lind Mic. 51tlillJ Hlnneinwel l, -
Jack. T-Mary Lewis, %-ManNii -ad Pti.ie yW., -** 'e il," 7 Pliius ..Il sIdie. E-J.. .nd I. L[iir, ."I. Zi1 er, 1Thi.
Twilight Owls," s. _______


I. BEHEAD to instruct thorriughiy, and leave a little
stream. 2. Behead a lively sincee o" the Hligih-nd.?-r
of Scotland, and leave a fis 3. Behead to .;aiean, andJ
leave a measure for cloth. 4. Behead marked with spots,
and leave a fruit. 5. Behead an occurrence, and leave
an outlet. 6. Behead a knot, and leave a lIri' premr.
Th- behleadeCd leitr.er -Rr l 1spl the name ranr(-c a cLi.'.lte 1
in.li-h po-t c rth.- rsert-nteih cenrurt..

s" l M -.=,Ezu. ^. -

.4it gol

INSERT the name of a United States coin wherever a
coin is shown in the illustration. How will the sentence
then read?

A MAN of world-wide fame:


I Am ti.ii--.1 of sixty letters, and aM a --itfkilnrei
fiom th a r kttc- of Benjamin FVrauikhi.
My 46-24 is an exclamation. My 30-40-60 is that
which serves to solve --..- .i-: anl. known or difficult,
M( i; .-5z-3-tis temper of mind, MYf 57-13-21-33 is
'nBi:...: -iiilt shoes, My .I'O-3-7-5- is a joint on

which anything turns. My 49-42-51- 44-4--4-23 is an
American imiudpi.-iunr that LmIn hi' tued .11 thil- rate of
twelve liuri'Jrel ,bivi per minute. My II-58-47-z7tI7-
19-55 is pompous. My' 4L-12-25-3-r0-36 is dulL My
j3t-J6-3-6-59-, ii L., dir,t.i iand '.nltrtol. My 45-20-
53-22-4-2-4-37 i- oif .irirAl value or iiJrItlaire. _My
9-31I-2 )i6--(3- 4-2I-5i Is- the official slai 'of Meri.Iry.


'TIE protl.rn i- to I-li.ng.' IteP given word to another
ghi-n '.ru.r', ;, l'-rii; ri.- h it.et-i at a time, each altera-
tion making a n7-rr. F'r-J. b. ir a ritaber of letters being
always the same, and the letters remaining always in the
same order. Example; C'lii.r,- LAMP to FI~r in fur
moves. Answer: lamp, lame, fame, fare, fire.
I. Change rrT to stow in eleven moves. II. Change
ie to DEW in eleven moves. II. ~ri gn w L V': to rHOPE
in eight moves S. MR F. W.

4 *


Acmos: i A hollow place in the earf. 2 (5 letert ).
An old word meaning alliance. 3 (9 lernrw-. A.nw.nr
instruments of war. 45 lcnkssr-.. ice exception. 5 A
Dowxwanx; I (2 letters). One third of a breakfast
beverage. 2 (4 letter). 'i.'. |.irt .i..g by the contralto
voice 3. An ecclesiastk".,I gnT.nar,. 4, An old word
meaning erst. 5 (3 letters). Obtained. 6 (3 lat-r).
A CseMp, BCHA 3. D.



CRoss-woRDS: I. A maker or seller of chemicals or
drugs. 2. The broad part of an oar. 3. To annex. 4. In
filter. 5. To request. 6. One who lives on the labors
of others. 7. Round, water-worn, and loose gravel and
pebbles, such as are common on the sea-shore.
The central letters, reading downward, will spell the
name of one who was called "Father of the Constitution."
L. W.

"-' -

ALL the wbrds7.pictured contain the same number of
letters. When rightly gue &i.l and placed one below the
other,-in ;the order numbered, the diagonal (from the
upper le rt-hand letter to the lower right-hand letter) will
spell the name of a French dramatic poet.


ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below
another, in the order here given, the ig-es. beginntfl -iat
the upper left-hand corner, will spoll a Lil[e ppula.;i
given to Major-General John C. Fr6mont. 3
CROSS-WORDS: I. The port from which Colunmbus set
sail. 2. A bundle of sticks. 3. A maxim. 4. Lt'rl.i-r.
5. Soft, downy feathers. 6. A series of links ,ur, r r -.
7. One who gives or bestows. 8. To concede as true
9. To dispossess by law. o10. An agreeable odor. in To
darken or obscure. 12. Dexterity in manual employ-
ment. 13. Force or power of any kind. 14. To strug-
gle against. 15. Pertaining to a countryvery flmoes a

ancient times. 16. To speak foolishly. 17. Resembling
an egginshape. 18. Bitterly ;i iitintr. 19. Abegging
monk. 20. Supplicate. 2A Aiu',ci.illiin name. 22.. A
vessel similar to a cutter. 23. An unfeeling or coarse
person. 24. To make into a law. 25. To express grati-
tude for a favor. 26. The scale. 27. To writhe. 28. Low,
vulgar language. 29. Small bottles.


5 ... ..... 6

3- ----4

7 8 .. .

FROM I to 2, one of the United States- front'I to
,'anrlering frcm plnce to place ilitout any settled
tsabitation: from 2 to 4, rt quh.;:r: ti'fom 3 to 4, to tread
under i.oot: Ironm I to b. partakcri; froml 5 to 7, to give
a kern edge .:o; from 6 t to S. to Lbutle along ; from 7 to
8. to relate the p.ariCiear. of; from I to 5. large covered
S\% giin:s; roin 2 to 6, to throw lightly; from 4 to 8,
Otherwise; from 3 to 7, gaunt. B. B.


INITIALs, a hero, good and brave;
Finals, the land he fought to save.
I. Wee birds that build beneath the eaves,-
With plumage brown as autumn leaves.
2. A charming poetess, whose verse-
Sad and sweet stories doth rehearse.
3. A precious stone we now must find,
Costly and handsome of its kind.
4. A peerless knight of Arthur's court,
Who many famous conibats fought.
5. A Spanish name for maidens fair,
In other countries somewhat rare.
6. A beauteons flower the spring discloses,
'T is neither tulips, pinks, nor roses.
7. A bloody battle -.uit L teen
oanndheads and I. .i.:r,, I ween.
S. His arrow, shot with aim untrue,
By accident his sovereign slew.
9. A Roman king at eve would rove,
To meet this nyIph, in sylvan grove.
io. 'E.'t.ntri v, .'ve a watcbhm.r, j;ir,
I. '. 3.h 4i y., or darkest r.h.
n w '.. 1. whoe tawny spot
"i.': .il,"': :'..fl. "uachages niot."

L 1i. fr .:.. ; .-...r '11 ir.. At .. A follower

s rt li A ir I I... I. .' i :l,: ..| l
to a longer Bfle,
IL Tebalndleof as ythe, z. iltyrr. 3. i T.'
toptyofahomhe, 4, As esnasihonts 5, -A mons-
ttas in celWaAt CAtLtES t. B.

iTe 'D v=mas ass5 MW VO 1.-


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