• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Rikki-tikki-tavi
 The three robbers
 Day-dreams on the dike
 A lesson in numbers
 When it's cold
 Tom Sawyer abroad
 Over the bridge to the king's...
 Where's mother?
 A member of the harnessing...
 The dime museum
 New Orleans
 Leaves and flowers
 Historic dwarfs
 The children of the plaisance
 In the country
 Toinette's Philip
 Misery & Co.
 Neil Wentworth's famous rush
 Teddy's wonderings
 Merrythought
 The singing shell and the...
 Brer fox in trouble
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 Pussy "good-morning"
 When we have tea
 Through the scissors
 The letter-box
 The riddle box
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: St. Nicholas
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00276
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
regular
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
 Notes
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00276
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
        Page 1
    Frontispiece
        Page 2
    Rikki-tikki-tavi
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
    The three robbers
        Page 13
        Page 14
    Day-dreams on the dike
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
    A lesson in numbers
        Page 18
    When it's cold
        Page 19
    Tom Sawyer abroad
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
    Over the bridge to the king's highway
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
    Where's mother?
        Page 32
    A member of the harnessing class
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
    The dime museum
        Page 38
        Page 39
    New Orleans
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
    Leaves and flowers
        Page 49
    Historic dwarfs
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    The children of the plaisance
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
    In the country
        Page 64
    Toinette's Philip
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
    Misery & Co.
        Page 72
    Neil Wentworth's famous rush
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
    Teddy's wonderings
        Page 78
    Merrythought
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
    The singing shell and the clock
        Page 84
    Brer fox in trouble
        Page 85
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
    Pussy "good-morning"
        Page 89
    When we have tea
        Page 89
    Through the scissors
        Page 90
        Page 91
    The letter-box
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
    The riddle box
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text

































I'f~

IC-


ON THE DIKE.
WHO KNOWS BUT MY LITTLE MAN MAY GROW TO BE A GRAND BURGOMEISTER SOME DAY

(SEE PAGE 17.)















ST. NICHOLAS.



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


RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI."

By RUDYARD KIPLING.


THIS is the story of the great war that Rikki-
tikki-tavi fought single-handed through the
bath-rooms of the big bungalow in Segowlee
cantonment. Darzee, the tailor-bird, helped
him, and Chuchundra, the muskrat, who never
comes out into the middle of the floor, but
always creeps round by the skirting-boards,
gave him advice; but still Rikki-tikki did the
real fighting.
He was a mongoose, something like a little
cat in his fur and his tail, but quite like a weasel
in his head and his habits. His eyes and the
end of his restless nose were pink; he could
scratch himself anywhere he wanted to with
any leg, front or back, that he chose to use; he
could fluff up his tail till it looked like a bottle-
brush, and his war-cry as he scuttled through
the long grass was: Rikk-tikk-tikki-tikki-tchk /
One day a high summer flood washed him
out of the burrow where he lived with his father
and mother, and carried him, kicking and cluck-
ing, down a roadside ditch. He found a little
wisp of soggy grass floating there, and clung to
it till he lost his senses. When he revived,
he was lying in the hot sun on the middle of a
garden path, very draggled indeed, and a small
boy was saying: Here 's a dead mongoose.
Let 's have a funeral."
"No," said his mother; "let 's take him in
and dry him. Perhaps he is n't really dead."


They took him into the house, and a big man
picked him up between his finger and thumb
and said he was not dead at all; and they
wrapped him in cotton wool, and warmed him
over a little fire, and he opened his eyes and
sneezed.
"Now," said the big man (he was an Eng-
lishman who had just moved into the bunga-
low); "don't frighten him, and we '11 see what
he '11 do."
It is the hardest thing in the world to frighten
a mongoose, because he is eaten up from nose to
tail with curiosity. The motto of all the mon-
goose family is, Run and find out "; and Rikki-
tikki was a true mongoose. He looked at
the cotton wool, decided that it was not good
to eat, ran all round the table, sat up and put
his fur in order, scratched himself, and took a
flying jump on the small boy's neck.
"Don't be frightened, Teddy," said his
father. "That's his way of making friends."
"Ouch! He 's tickling under my chin," said
Teddy.
Rikki-tikki looked down between the boy's
collar and neck, snuffed at his ear, and climbed
down to the floor, where he sat rubbing his
nose.
Good gracious," said Teddy's mother, and
that 's a wild creature I suppose he's so tame
because we 've been kind to him."


VOL. XXI.


No. I.






" RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI."


"All mongooses are like that," said her hus-
band. If Teddy does n't pick him up by the
tail, or try to put him in a cage, he '11 run in and
out of the house all day long. Let's give him
something to eat."
They gave him a little bit of raw meat. Rik-
ki-tikki liked it
r immensely, and
."? when it was fin-
ished he went out
S fj. into the veranda
\ "'1 and sat in the sun-
-' shine and fluffed
l' up his fur to make
it dry to the roots.
Then he felt bet-
ter.
S "There are
more things to
Find out about in
I I"l- thishouse,"hesaid
to himself, "than
S all my family
could find out in
all their lives. I
"HE CAME TO BREAKFAST HIDING shall certainly
ON TEDDY'S SHOULDER." stay andfind out."
Rikki-tikki gave up that day to roaming over
the house. He nearly drowned himself in the
bath-tubs; put his nose into the ink on a writing-
table, and burned it on the end of the big man's
cigar, for he climbed up in the big man's lap to
see how writing was done. At nightfall he went
into Teddy's nursery to watch how kerosene
lamps were lighted, and when Teddy went to bed
Rikki-tikki climbed up too, but he was a restless
companion, because he had to get up and attend
to every noise all through the night, and find
out what made it. Teddy's mother and father
came in, the last thing, to look at their boy,
and Rikki-tikki was awake on the pillow. I
don't like that," said Teddy's mother; "he
may bite the child." "He '11 do no such
thing," said the father. "Teddy 's safer with
that little beast than if he had a bloodhound to
watch him. If a snake came into the nursery
now-"
But Teddy's mother would n't think of any-
thing so awful.
Early in the morning Rikki-tikki came to


early breakfast in the veranda riding on Teddy's
shoulder, and they gave him banana and some
boiled egg; and he sat on all their laps one
after the other, because every well-brought-
up mongoose* always hopes to be a house-
mongoose some day and have rooms to run
about in, and Rikki-tikki's mother (she used to
live in the General's house at Segowlee) had
carefully told Rikki what to do if ever he
came across white men.
Then Rikki-tikki went out into the garden
to see what was to be seen. It was a large
garden, only half cultivated, with bushes of
Marshal Niel roses as big as summer-houses;
lime- and oranges-trees, clumps of bamboos, and
thickets of high grass. Rikki-tikki licked his
lips. "This is a splendid hunting-ground," he
said, and his tail grew bottle-brushy at the
thought of it, and he scuttled up and down
the garden, snuffing here and there till he
heard very sorrowful voices in a thorn-bush
It was Darzee, the tailor-bird, and his wife.
They had made a beautiful nest by pulling
two big leaves together and stitching them up
the edges with fibers, and they had filled the
hollow with cotton and downy fluff. The nest
swayed to-and
fro, and they
satontheedge
and cried.
"What is
the matter ? "
asked Rikki-
tikki.
"We are
very miser-
able," said .
Darzee. "One .', "
of our babies R ei 'f
fell out of the \
nest yester-
day and Nag
ate him."
,, H'm "
said Rikki-
tikki, that is "RIKKI-TIKKI LOOKED DOWN BETWEEN
very sad THE BOY'S COLLAR AND NECK."
but I am a stranger here. Who is Nag ? "
Darzee and his wife only cowered down on
the nest without answering, for from the thick






" RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI."


grass at the foot of the bush there came a slow
hiss-a horrid cold sound that made Rikki-
tikki jump back two clear feet. Then inch
by inch out of the grass rose up the head and
spread hood of Nag, the big black cobra, and
he was five feet long from tongue to tail.


"HE PUT HIS NOSE INTO THE INK."


When he had lifted one third of himself clear
of the ground, he stayed balancing to and fro
exactly as a dandelion-tuft balances in the
wind, and he looked at Rikki-tikki with the
wicked snake's eyes-that never change their
expression, whatever the snake is thinking of.
"Who is Nag?" he said. "I am Nag.
The great god Brahm put his mark upon all
our people, when the first cobra spread his
hood to keep the sun off Brahm as he slept.
Look, and be afraid!"
He spread out his hood more than ever, and
Rikki-tikki saw the spectacle-mark on the back
of it that looks exactly like the eye part of a
hook-and-eye fastening. He was afraid for
the minute; but it is impossible for a mongoose
to stay frightened for any length of time, and
though Rikki-tikki had never met a live cobra
before, his mother had fed him on dead ones,
and he knew that all a mongoose's business
in life was to fight and eat snakes. Nag knew
that too, and at the bottom of his cold heart
he was afraid.
Well," said Rikki-tikki, and his tail began
to fluff up again, "do you think that it is
right for you to eat fledgelings out of a nest ? "
Nag was thinking to himself, and watching


the least little movement in the grass behind
Rikki-tikki. He knew that a mongoose in the
garden meant death sooner or later for him
and his family; but he wanted to get Rikki-
tikki off his guard. So he dropped his head
a little, and put it on one side.
"Let us talk," he said. "You eat eggs.
Why should not I eat birds ? "
"Behind you! Look behind you!" sang
Darzee.
Rikki-tikki knew better than to waste time
in staring. He jumped up in the air as high
as he could go, and just under him whizzed by
the head of Nagaina, Nag's wicked wife. She
had crept up behind him as he was talking, to
make an end of him; and he heard her sav-
age hiss as the stroke missed. He came down
almost across her back, and if he had been an
old mongoose he would have known that then
was the time to break her back with one bite;
but he was afraid of the terrible lashing return-
stroke of the cobra. He bit, but he did not
bite long enough, and jumped clear of the
whisking tail, leaving Nagaina only torn and
angry.
Wicked, wicked Darzee !" said Nag, lashing
up as high as he could reach toward the nest in


x -








reach of snakes, and it only swayed to and fro.
Rikki-tikki felt his eyes growing red and hot
(when a mongoose's eyes grow red, he is angry),
and he sat back on his tail and hind legs like a
little kangaroo, and looked all round him, and
'' "



RIKKI-TIKKI WAS AWAKE ON THE PILLOW."

the thorn-bush; but Darzee had built it out of
reach of snakes, and it only swayed to and fro.
Rikki-tikki felt his eyes growing red and hot
(when a mongoose's eyes grow red, he is angry),
and he sat back on his tail and hind legs like a
little kangaroo, and looked all round him, and
chattered with rage. But Nag and Nagaina
had disappeared into the grass. When a snake
misses its stroke, it never says anything or gives


I I







" RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI."


any sign of what it means to do next. Rikki-tikki
did not care to follow them, for he did not feel
sure that he could manage two snakes at once.
So he trotted off to the gravel path near the


"'WE ARE VERY MISERABLE,' SAID DARZEE."

house, and sat down to think. It was a serious
matter for him. If you read the old books of
natural history, you will find they say that when
the mongoose fights the snake and happens to
get bitten, he runs off and eats some herb that
cures him. That is not true. The victory is
only a matter of quickness of eye and
quickness of foot,-snake's blow


against mongoose's jump,-
and as no eye can fol-
low the In:r:ion
of a snr!ik's
head whlLn 4


all the more pleased to think that he had
managed to escape a blow from behind. It
gave him confidence in himself, and when
Teddy came running down the path, Rikki-
tikki was ready to be petted. But just as
Teddy was stooping, something wriggled a little
in the dust, and a tiny voice said: Be careful.
I am Death!" It was Karait, the dusty brown
snakeling that lies for choice on the dusty earth;
and his bite is as dangerous as the cobra's. But
he is so small that nobody thinks of him, and
so he does the more harm to people.
Rikki-tikki's eyes grew red again, and he
danced up to the karait with the peculiar rock-
ing, swaying motion that he had inherited from
his family. It looks very funny, but it is so per-
fectly balanced a gait that you can fly off from it
at any angle you please; and in dealing with
snakes this is an advantage. If Rikki-tikki had
only known, he was doing a much more danger-
ous thing than fighting Nag, for the karait is
so small, and can turn so quickly, that unless
(Rikki bit him close to the back of the head, he
would get the return-stroke in his eye or his lip.
But Rikki did not know: his eyes were all red,
and he rocked back and forth, looking for a
good place to hold. The karait struck out,
Rikki jumped sideways and
/ / tried to run in, but the wicked
little dusty gray head lashed
Within a fraction of his shoul-
*. ,ir, and he had to jump over
:, ,,. the body, and the head fol-
Slowed his heels close.
f. Teddy shouted to the house:
". ", Oh, look here! Our
i mongoose is killing a


Y* i ; / ,


"'1 AM NAG,' SAID THE COBRA; LOOK, AND BE AFRAID!' BUT AT THE BOTTOM OF HIS COLD HEART, HE WAS AFRAID."

it strikes, that makes it much more wonder- snake"; and Rikki-tikki heard a scream from
ful than any magic herb. Rikki-tikki knew Teddy's mother. His father ran out with a stick,
he was a young mongoose, and it made him but by the time he came up, the karait had lunged


"A'
jid
ie f~





x893.] RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI. 7

out once too far, and Rikki-tikki had sprung, Teddy carried him off to bed, and insisted on
jumped on the snake's back, dropped his head Rikki-tikki sleeping under his chin. Rikki-
far between his fore-legs, bitten as high up tikki was too well bred to bite or scratch, but
the back as he could get hold, and rolled as soon as Teddy was asleep he went off for
his nightly walk round
the house, and in the
I--- dark he ran up against
SChuchundra,themusk-
i rat, creeping round
.. ..by the skirting-board.
Chuchundra is a
broken-hearted little
Sbeast. He whimpers
and cheeps all the
night, trying to make
7 up his mind to run into
S-" the middle of the room,
Sbut he never gets there.
"Don't killme," said
Chuchundra, almost
weeping. "Rikki-tikki,
don't kill me."
"Do you think a
snake-killer kills musk-
rats ? said Rikki-tikki
-- scornfully.
"HE JUMPED UP IN THE AIR, AND JUST UNDER HIM WHIZZED THE HEAD OF NAGAINA." "Those who ll
"Those who kill


away. That bite paralyzed the karait, and
Rikki-tikki was just going to eat him up from
the tail when he remembered that a full meal
makes a slow mongoose, and if he wanted all
his strength and quickness ready, he must keep
himself thin. He went away for a dust-bath
under the castor-oil bushes, while Teddy's father
beat the dead karait. "What is the use of
that?" thought Rikki-tikki -" I have settled
it all"; and then Teddy's mother picked him
up from the dust and hugged him, crying that
he had saved Teddy from death, and Teddy's
father said that he was a providence, and Teddy
looked on with big scared eyes.
That night at dinner, walking to and fro
among the wine-glasses on the table, he might
have stuffed himself three times over with nice
things; but he remembered Nag and Nagaina,
and though it was very pleasant to be patted
and petted by Teddy's mother, and to sit on
Teddy's shoulder, his eyes would get red from
time to time, and he would go off into his long
war-cry of "Rikk-tikk-tikki-tikki-tchk!/"


snakes get killed by snakes," said Chuchundra,
more sorrowfully than ever. "And how am I
to be sure that Nag won't mistake me for you ? "
There 's not the least danger," said Rikki-
tikki; "but Nag is in the garden, and I know
you don't go there."
My cousin Chua, the rat, told me-" said
Chuchundra, and then he stopped.
"Told you what ?"
H'sh! Nag is everywhere, Rikki-tikki.
You should have talked to Chua in the gar-
den."
"I did n't -so you must tell me. Quick,
Chuchundra, or I '11 bite you!"
Chuchundra sat down and cried till the tears
rolled off his whiskers. "I am a very poor
man," he sobbed. "I never had spirit enough
to run out into the middle of the room. H'sh !
I must n't tell you anything. Can't you hear,
Rikki-tikki ? "
Rikki-tikki listened. The house was as still
as still, but he thought he could just catch
the faintest scratch-scratch in the world,-






8 RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI." [Nov.
a noise as faint as a fly walking on a window- will go, but there is no need that we should
pane,-the dry scratch of a snake's scales on hunt for Rikki-tikki afterward. I will kill the
brickwork, big man and his wife, and the child if I can, and
"That's Nag or Nagaina," he said to him- come away quietly. Then the bungalow will
self; and he is crawling into the bath-room be empty, and Rikki-tikki will go. I will come
sluice. You 're right, Chuchundra; I should in the morning, Nagaina."
have talked to Chua." Rikki-tikki tingled all over with rage and
He stole off to Teddy's bath-room, but there hatred at this, and then Nag's head came
was nothing there, and then to Teddy's mo- through the sluice, and his five feet of cold
their's bath-room. At the bottom of the smooth body followed it. Angry as he was, Rikki-tikki
plaster wall there was a brick pulled out to was very frightened as he saw the size of the
make a sluice for the bath-water, and as Rikki- big cobra. Nag coiled himself up, raised his
tikki stole in by the masonry curb where the head, and looked into the bath-room in the
bath is put, he heard Nag and Nagaina whis- dark, and Rikki could see his eyes glitter.
pering together outside in the moonlight. Now, if I kill him here, Nagaina will know;
When the house is emptied of people," said and if 1 fight him on the open floor, the odds
Nagaina, he will have to go away, and then are in his favor. What am I to do ? said
the garden will be our own again. Go in Rikki-tikki-tavi.
quietly, and remember that the big man who Nag waved to and fro, and then Rikki-tikki
killed Karait is the first one to bite. Then heard him drinking from the biggest water-
come out and tell me, and we will hunt for jar that was used to fill the bath. "That is
Rikki-tikki together." good," said the snake. "Now, when Karait was
But are you sure that there is anything to killed, the big man had a stick. He may have
be gained by killing the people ?" said Nag. that stick still, but when he comes in to bathe in
Everything. When there were no people the morning he will not have a stick. I shall
in the bungalow, did we have any mongoose in wait here till he comes. Nagaina- do you
the garden? So long as the bungalow is hear me? I shall wait here in the cool."
empty, we are king and queen of the garden; There was no answer from outside, so Rikki-
and remember that as soon as our eggs in the tikki knew Nagaina had gone away. Nag
^ coiled himself down, coil
...X by coil, round the bulge
Sat the bottom of the
water-jar, and Rikki-tikki
Sc stayed still as death.
After an hour he began
to move, muscle by
muscle, toward the jar.
Nag was asleep, and
Rikki-tikki looked at
his big back, wonder-
.., ing which would be the
best place for a good
hold. "If I don't break
his back at the first
jump," said Rikki, "he
can still fight." He
IN THE DARK HE RAN UP AGAINST CHUCHUNDRA THE USKRAI'. looked at the thickness
melon-bed hatch (they may hatch to-morrow), of the neck below the hood, but that was
our children will need room." too much for him; and a bite near the tail
I had not thought of that," said Nag. I would only make Nag savage.






"RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI."






f-f4~ S~e~~


Tb 1z 1 .'i-- '-tf








"THEN RIKKITIKKI WAS BATTERED TO AND FRO AS A RAT IS SHAKEN BY A DOG."


"It must be the head," he said at last-
" the head above the hood; and, when I am
once there, I must not let go."
Then he jumped. The head was lying a
little clear of the water-jar, under the curve
of it; and, as his teeth met, Rikki braced his
back against the bulge to hold down the head.
This gave him just one second's purchase, and
he made the most of it. Then he was bat-
tered to and fro as a rat is shaken by a dog-
to and fro on the floor, up and down, and
round in great circles, but his eyes were red and
he held on as the body cartwhipped over the
floor, upsetting the tin dipper and the soap-
dish and the flesh-brush, and banged against
the tin side of the bath. As he held he closed
his jaws tighter and tighter, for he made sure
he would be banged to death, and, for the
honor of his family, he preferred to be found
with his teeth locked. He was dizzy, aching,
and felt shaken to pieces when something went


off like a thunderclap just behind him; and
a wind knocked him senseless and red fire
singed his fur. The big man had been wa-
kened by the noise, and had fired both bar-
rels of a shot-gun into Nag just behind the
hood.
Rikki-tikki held on with his eyes shut, for
now he was quiet sure he was dead; but the
head did not move, and the big man picked
him up and said: "It 's the mongoose again,
Alice; the little chap has saved our lives now."
Then Teddy's mother came in with a very
white face, and saw what was left of Nag, and
Rikki-tikki dragged himself to Teddy's bed-
room and spent half the rest of the night
licking himself to find out whether he really
was broken into forty pieces.
When morning came he was very stiff, but
well pleased with his doings. Now I have
Nagaina to settle with, and she will be worse
than five Nags, and there 's no knowing when






" RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI."


the eggs she spoke of will hatch. Goodness!
I must go and see Darzee."
Without waiting for breakfast, Rikki-tikki
ran to the thorn-bush where Darzee was singing
a song of triumph at the top of his voice. The
news of Nag's death was all over the garden,
for the sweeper had thrown the body on the
rubbish-heap.
"Oh, you stupid tuft of feathers!" said Rikki-
tikki, angrily. Is this the time to sing ?"
Nag is dead is dead is dead! sang
Darzee. "The valiant Rikki-tikki caught him
by the head and held fast. The big man
brought the bang-stick, and Nag fell in two
pieces! He will never eat my babies again."
"All that 's true enough; but where 's
Nagaina? said Rikki-tikki, looking carefully
round him.
Nagaina came to the bath-room sluice and
called for Nag," Darzee went on; "and Nag
came out on the end of a stick -the sweeper
picked him up on the end of a stick and threw


"For the great, the beautiful Rikki-tikki's
sake I will stop," said Darzee. What is it,
O Killer of the terrible Nag? "
"Where is Nagaina, for the third time ?"
On the rubbish-heap by the stables, mourn-
ing for Nag. Great is Rikki-tikki with the
white teeth."
"Bother my white teeth! Have you ever
heard where she keeps her eggs?"
"In the melon-bed, on the end nearest the
wall, where the sun strikes nearly all day. She
put them there weeks ago."
"And you never thought it worth while to
tell me ? The end nearest the wall, you said ?"
"Rikki-tikki, you are not going to eat her
eggs!"
Not eat exactly; no. Darzee, if you have a
grain of sense you will fly off to the stables
and pretend that your wing is broken, and let
Nagaina chase you away to this bush ? I must
get to the melon-bed, and if I went there now
she 'd see me."


DARZEE'S WIFE PRETENDS TO HAVE A BROKEN WING.


him upon the rubbish-heap. Let us sing
about the great, the red-eyed Rikki-tikki! and
Darzee filled his throat and sang.
"If I could get up to your nest, I 'd roll
your babies out!" said Rikki-tikki. "You don't
know when to do the right thing at the right
time. You 're safe enough in your nest there,
but it 's war for me down here. Stop singing
a minute, Darzee."


Darzee was a feather-brained little fellow
who could never hold more than one idea at
a time in his head; and just because he knew
that Nagaina's children were born in eggs like
his own,.he did n't think at first that it was fair
to kill them. But his wife was a sensible bird,
and she knew that cobra's eggs meant young
cobras later on; so she flew off from the nest,
and left Darzee to keep the babies warm, and


Sn~7





" RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI."


sing his song about the death of Nag. Darzee
was very like a man.
She fluttered in front of Nagaina by the
rubbish-heap, and cried out, Oh, my wing is
broken! The boy in the house threw a stone
at me and broke it." Then she fluttered more
desperately than ever.
Nagaina lifted up her head and hissed, "You
warned Rikki-tikki when I would have killed
him. Indeed and truly, you 've chosen a bad
place to be lame in." And she moved toward
Darzee's wife, slipping along over the dust.
"The boy broke it with a stone shrieked
Darzee's wife.
Well! It may be some consolation to you
when you're dead to know that I shall settle
accounts with the boy. My husband lies on the
rubbish-heap this morning, but before night the
boy in the house will lie still. What is the use
of running away? I am sure to catch you.
Little fool, look at me!"
Darzee's wife knew better than to do that, for
a bird who looks at a snake's eyes gets so
frightened that she can't move. Darzee's wife
fluttered on, piping sorrowfully, and never leav-
ing the ground, and Nagaina quickened her
pace.
Rikki-tikki heard them going up the path
from the stables, and he raced for the end of
the melon-patch near the wall. There, in the
warm litter about the melons, very cunningly
hidden, he found twenty-five eggs, about the
size of a bantam's eggs, but with a whitish skin
instead of shell.
"I was not a day too soon," he said; for
he could see the baby cobras curled up inside
the skin, and he knew that the minute they were
hatched they could each kill a man or a mon-
goose. He bit off the tops of the eggs as fast
as he could, taking care to crush the young
cobras, and he turned over the litter from
time to time to see whether he had missed
any. At last there were only three eggs left,
and Rikki-tikki began to chuckle to himself,
when he heard Darzee's wife screaming:
Rikki-tikki, I led Nagaina toward the house,
and she has gone into the veranda, and--oh,
come quickly- she means killing! "
Rikki-tikki smashed two eggs, and tumbled
backward down the melon-bed with the third


egg in his mouth, and scuttled to the veranda
as hard as he could put foot to the ground.
Teddy and his mother and father were there
at early breakfast; but Rikki-tikki saw that
they were not eating anything. They sat stone-
still, and their faces were white. Nagaina was
coiled up on the matting by Teddy's chair,
within easy striking distance of Teddy's bare
leg, and she was swaying to and fro, singing a
song of triumph.
Son of the big man that killed Nag," she
hissed, "stay still. I am not ready yet.
Wait a little. Keep very still, all you three.
If you move I strike, and if you do not move
I strike. Oh, foolish people, who killed my
Nag !"
Teddy's eyes were fixed on his father, and
all his father could do was to whisper, "Sit
still, Teddy. You must n't move. Teddy, keep
still."
Then Rikki-tikki came up and cried: "Turn
round, Nagaina; turn and fight!"
"All in good time," said she, without mov-
ing her eyes. I will settle my account with
you presently. Look at your friends, Rikki-
tikki. They are still and white. They are
afraid. They dare not move, and if you come
a step nearer I strike."
"Look at your eggs," said Rikki-tikki, "in
the melon-bed near the wall. Go and look,
Nagaina."
The big snake turned half round, and saw
the egg on the veranda. "Ah-h! Give it to
me," she said.
Rikki-tikki put his paws one on each side of
the egg, and his eyes were blood-red. "What
price for a snake's egg ? For a young cobra ?
For a young king-cobra? For the last-the
very last of the brood? The ants are eating
all the others down by the melon-bed."
Nagaina spun clear round, forgetting every-
thing for the sake of the one egg; and Rikki-
tikki saw Teddy's father shoot out a big hand,
catch Teddy by the shoulder, and drag him
across the little table with the tea-cups, safe
and out of reach of Nagaina.
"Tricked! Tricked! Tricked!" chuckled
Rikki-tikki. The boy is safe, and it was I-
I-I that caught Nag by the hood last night
in the bath-room." Then he began to jump






" RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI."


up and down, all four feet together, his head
close to the floor. He threw me to and fro,
but he could not shake me off. He was dead
before the big man blew him in two. I did
it! Rikki-tikki-tch-tck! Come then, Nagaina.
Come and fight with me. You shall not be a
widow long."
Nagaina saw that she had lost her chance
of killing Teddy, and the egg lay between
Rikki-tikki's paws. Give me the egg, Rikki-
tikki. Give me the last of my eggs, and I will
go away and never come back," she said, low-
ering her hood.
"Yes, you will go away, and you will never
come back; for you will go to the rubbish-heap
with Nag. Fight, widow! The big man has
gone for his gun! Fight!"
Rikki-tikki was bounding all round Nagaina,
keeping just out of reach of her stroke, his
little eyes like hot coals. Nagaina gathered
herself together, and flung out at him. Rikki-
tikki jumped up and backwards. Again and
again and again she struck, and each time her
head came with a whack on the matting of
the veranda and she
gathered herself to-
gether like a watch- ,''' '. I
spring. Then Rikki-
tikki danced in a
circle to get behir d



''^': :--?* 2,
'
Sheer, and
Nagaina
spun round to
Keep her head
to his head, so that
the rustle of her tail on
the matting sounded like dry
Leaves blown along by the wind.
"NAGAINA FLEW
DOWN THE PATH, He had forgotten the egg.
TBEHINTER'.K It still lay on the veranda,
and Nagaina came nearer and
nearer to it, till at last, while Rikki-tikki was
drawing breath, she caught it in her mouth,
turned to the veranda steps, and flew like an


arrow down the path, with Rikki-tikki behind
her. When the cobra runs for her life, she
goes like a whip-lash flicked across a horse's
neck. Rikki-tikki knew that he must catch
her, or all the trouble would begin again. She
headed straight for the long grass by the thorn-
bush, and as he was running Rikki-tikki heard
Darzee still singing his foolish little song of
triumph. But Darzee's wife was wiser. She
flew off her nest as Nagaina came along, and
flapped her wings about Nagaina's head. If
Darzee had helped they might have turned
her; but Nagaina only lowered her hood and
went on. Still, the instant's delay brought
Rikki-tikki up to her, and as she plunged into
the rat-hole where she and Nag used to live,
his little white teeth were in her tail, and he
went down with her- and very few mongooses,
however wise and old they may be, care to fol-
low a cobra into its hole. It was dark in the
hole; and Rikki-tikki never knew when it might
open out and give Nagaina room to turn and
strike at him. He held on savagely, and stuck
out his feet to act as brakes on the dark slope
of the hot, moist earth. Then the grass by the
mouth of the hole stopped waving, and Darzee
said: It is all over with Rikki-tikki! We
must sing his death-song. Valiant Rikki-tikki
is dead! For Nagaina will surely kill him
underground."
So he sang a very mournful song that he
made up on the spur of the minute, and just as
he got to the most touching part the grass
quivered again, and Rikki-tikki, covered with
dirt, dragged himself out of the hole leg by
leg, licking his whiskers. Darzee stopped with
a little shout. Rikki-tikki shook some of the
dust out of his fur and sneezed. It is all
over," he said. "The widow will never come
out again." And the red ants that live between
the grass stems heard him, and began to troop
down one after another to see if he had spoken
the truth.
Rikki-tikki curled himself up in the grass and
slept where he was- slept and slept till it was
late in the afternoon, for he had had a hard
day's work.
Now," he said, when he awoke, "I will go
back.to the house. Tell the Coppersmith, Darzee,
and he will tell the garden that Nagaina is dead."






" RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI."


The Coppersmith is a bird who makes a noise
exactly like the beating of a little hammer on a
copper pot; and the reason why he is always
making it is because he is the town-crier in an
Indian garden, and tells all the news to every-
body. As Rikki-tikki went up the path, he
heard his "attention" notes like a tiny dinner-
gong; and then the steady "Ding-dong-tock!
Nag is dead-dong! Nagaina is dead! Ding-
dong-tock! That set all the birds in the gar-
den singing, and the frogs croaking; for Nag and
Nagaina used to eat frogs as well as little birds.
When he got to the house, Teddy and
Teddy's mother (she looked very white still, for
she had been fainting) and Teddy's father came
out and almost cried over him; and that night
he ate all that was given him till he could eat
no more, and went to bed on Teddy's shoulder,
where Teddy's mother saw him when she came
to look late at night.
He saved our lives and Teddy's life," she
said to her husband. "Just think, he saved all
our lives."
Rikki-tikki woke up with a jump, for all the
mongooses are light sleepers.


"'IT IS ALL OVER.'"


Oh, it 's you," said he. "What are you
bothering for? All the cobras are dead; and
if they were n't, I 'm here."
Rikki-tikki had a right to be proud of him-
self; but he did not grow too proud, and he kept
that garden as a mongoose should keep it, till
never a snake dared show its head inside the
walls.


By OLIVER HERFORD.


/' HEY were three robbers; aye,
S' And they robbed a red, red rose;
And they came from out the sky,
And they went where no man knows.



, .? >'"'. One came-a robber bold-
And a sable coat he wore,
And a belt of dusty gold,
And he robbed her treasure-store;


















.2
/'


-, 4.
4' ,


V'4
(4


One came when the day was young,
And rent the curtain gray
Of mist that round her hung,
And he stole her pearls away;

One came when the day was dead,
And no man saw him pass;
And he caught her petals red
And threw them upon the grass.

Three robbers bold were they,
And they robbed a red, red rose;
And they came and went away,
And whither-no man knows.


V


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DAY-DREAMS ON THE DIKE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF HANS BRINKER."


THERE were five of them,-Dirk van Dorf,
Katrina van Dorf, Greitje Kuyp, Kassy Riker,
and Ludoff Kleef,-five stout little Holland-
ers, all well and happy, and all sitting in the
broad, bright sunlight-dreaming!
It was not so at first, you must know. They
had been trudging along the great dike, their
loose klompen beating the hard clay, laugh-
ing a little, talking less, yet with an air of good-
fellowship about them--these chubby little
neighbor children, who knew each other so well
that by a nod or a gesture, or throwing a quick
glance or a smile, they could take one another's
meaning and make two words do the work of
twenty. Their fathers and mothers were thrifty,
hard-working folk living in Volendam, a little
fishing-village hard by, built under one of the
dikes of the Zuyder Zee.
The children, being Hollanders, knew quite
well that the dike they were treading was a
massive, wide bank or wall built to keep back
the sea that was forever trying to spread itself
over Holland, though Holland by no means
intended to allow it to do any such thing. And
they knew also, as did all Volendam, that Jan
van Riper had been out over long in his little
fishing-boat, and that there had been heavy
winds after he started; also that his wife, who
was continually scolding him, was now going
about, her eyes red with weeping, telling the
neighbors how good and easy he was, and how
he would n't harm a kitten-Jan would n't!
They knew, moreover, that Adrian Runckel's
tulip-bed was a show; hardly another man in
the village had a flower worth looking at, if
you went in for size, color, and stiffness. They
kr': ., besides, that ever so many queer, flap-
ping and squirming things had been hauled in
that very morning by Peter Loop's big net-
oiil:,, he was dreadfully cross, and would n't let
a body come near it-that is, a little body.
Above all, they knew that the mother of Ludoff


Kleef was coming to join them as soon as she
could finish up her dairy-work, and get herself
and the children ready. All the party need
do was to keep along the dike and be good,
and take care of little Ludoff, and sit down and
rest whenever they felt like resting, and of all
things they were not to soil or tear their clothes.
So you see they were neither empty-headed nor
careworn, nor were they in any danger of fall-
ing asleep; yet there they sat, on the dike,
dreaming!
Kassy Riker was the first to glide into a dream,
though sitting close beside little Ludoff, who
wriggled, and wondered why his mother and
sister and baby brother did n't come. He
wanted to cry, but he felt in the depths of his
baby soul that Kassy would n't heed him if he
did; and as for the others, Greitje Kuyp was
gazing a thousand miles out to sea already;
Katrina van Dorf was so busy with her knit-
ting that she had forgotten there was such a
thing as a small boy in the world; and as for
big boy Dirk van Dorf, he was altogether too
grand a person to be moved by any amount of
howling. So little Ludoff amused himself by
watching a long straw that in the still air
hitched itself along till it wavered feebly on the
edge of the dike, uncertain whether to stay on
shore or start on a seafaring career. If the
straw had settled on any course of action,
Ludoff would have done the same; but, as it
was, Ludoff kept on watching and watching it
until, in the stillness, he forgot all about being
a little boy who wanted his mother; for was not
the straw whisking one end feebly, and turning
round to begin again ?
Meantime Greitje Kuyp gazed out to sea, the
great Zuyder Zee, wondering why any one
should think it was trying to come ashore and
do mischief. It was so quiet, so grand, and it
bore the big fishing-smacks so patiently, when
it could so easily topple them over! Mother


* Wooden shoes.
15









































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"FIVE STOUT LITTLE HOLLANDERS, ALL SITTING IN THE BROAD BRIGHT SUNLIGHT-DREAI


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DAY-DREAMS ON THE DIKE.


Swas patient and peaceful, too. Greitje, herself,
so went her day-dream, would be just like
Mother, one of these days: she would sew and
mend and churn and bake, only she would
make more cakes and less bread. Yes, she
would bake great chests full of cinnamon-
cakes,-kaneel koekjes,-such as they sold at
the kermess; and she would be, oh, just as good
and kind to her little girl as mother was to her,
and *

I'm not going to stay at home all my life,"
Kassy Riker was thinking or dreaming. "Some
day I shall keep a beautiful shop in Amsterdam,
and sell laces and caps and head-gear and
lovely things; and I '11 curtsey and sayja, n4yn-
Ieer, like a grand lady; and I'll learn to sing
and dance better than any girl at the kermess;
and I shall wear gold on my temples, and have
a lovely jacket for skating days; and every
month I'11 come back for a while, and bring
lovely things to Father, Mother, and the min-
ister; and *"

"I 've done full a finger-length of it to-
day," mused Katrina, as she pressed her red
lips together and worked steadily at the chain
she was weaving on a pin-rack for her father.
"It will be done by his birthday, and I'11 hang
his big silver watch on it when he 's asleep, and
then kiss and hug him till he opens his eyes.
Ah, how we all will wish him a happy day and
the Lord's blessing! And if he gives me a little
cart some time for my dog 'Shag' to draw, I think
I'11 fill it full of wet, shining fish and sell them
at the market-town. No; I '11 help Mother very
hard at making the cheeses; and I'11 fill the
cart with them; and soon Mother can have a
fine new lace cap with the money, and a silk
apron; and maybe I '11 be so useful to the
family that they '11 decide to take me out of
school; and then--and then I '11 work and
I'11 save, and save, till perhaps "

"Can that be Jan van Riper's boat?"
thought big boy Dirk, as he eyed a fishing-smack
just coming into view. "No, it's my uncle Cuyp's.
Like enough, Jan has landed somewhere and
put off to foreign parts, as he often says he will
when Vrouw van Riper's tongue gets too lively.


VOL. XXI.-3.


I would. I 'd like to go to foreign parts, any-
way. Lots of room for a fellow in Java; lots of
rich Hollanders there--we Hollanders own it,
they say; and there 's no reason a fellow like
me should n't grow to be a merchant and own
warehouses, and *"

So the dreams ran on, Greitje's, Kassy
Riker's, Katrina's, and Dirk van Dorf's,-all
different, and all very absorbing. Meantime the
straw had shown itself so weak-minded and tedi-
ous that little Ludoff had nodded himself into
a doze as he leaned against Greitje's plump
little shoulder. The time really had not been
long, only a few moments; for even a smooth sea,
a soft summer breeze, and five slow but ambitious
little Dutch natures could not have kept ten
young legs and ten young arms quiet any longer.
A great shout from the village came faintly
to the children's ears. Jan's boat was in
sight! The little folk were up and alert in an
instant. They turned about, to look back
toward the village,-and if there was n't
Ludoff's mother, Mevrouw* Kleef, erect and
smiling, coming briskly along the dike toward
them! How handsome she looked, with her
bright eyes and rosy cheeks, and the big lace
cap, the blue-and-black short skirt, and the low
jacket over the gaily-colored under-waist. Her
little Troide toddled beside her, taking two steps
to the mother's one, with deep blue eyes fixed
upon the line of familiar forms just risen from
the dike. The baby -it was a boy: one could
tell that by the woolen slaapmuts, or night-
cap, on his head, for the girl-babies in Volen-
dam never wear that kind-the baby, trig
and smart, gazed from the mother's arms at the
same five familiar little forms, and in a mo-
ment the children all were crowding around the
mevrouw.
Jan is back, is n't he ? asked Dirk.
"Yes, I suppose so," she answered carelessly.
The good woman was rather tired of her neigh-
bor Jan van Riper's frequent misbehavings and
false alarms.
"My, how warm the day!" she added, gently
setting the baby down on the turf beside her;
"and the dear child is as weighty as a keg of
herring!"
Oh, oh, the beauty! exclaimed the girls,


"Mcvrouw, Madam (pronounced Meffrouw).






DAY-DREAMS ON THE DIKE.


quite enraptured with the little one; while Dirk
and Ludoff doubled their fists, and pretended
,(to his great delight) they were going to pum-
mel him soundly.
"Yes," said the mother. "He's a bouncing
little man, and with a good head of his own.
I was saying to myself as I came along that I
should n't wonder if he should get to be a grand
burgomeister some day, and rule a city, and lift
us all to greatness-was n't I, my little one?
There, there, don't pull my skirt off, my Ludoff! "


Then looking brightly from one to another of
the group about her, Mevrouw Kleef asked:
"And what have you been about-you, Dirk,
Katrina, and the rest of you ? "
"Nothing," answered the children; but they
all looked very happy. Day-dreams linger
about us, you know, and light our way even
when they are half forgotten.
So the mother took up her little burgomeis-
ter, and, rosy and smiling, trod her way back to
the village, the children trudging after.


A LESSON IN NUMBERS.

By EMILIE POULSSON.

I HAVE a little lesson
In numbers, every day;
And, if you like, I '11 tell you
The kind I have to say-
I call them play.

There was a little pigeon,
And when he said Coo-coo!"
Another little pigeon
Close down beside him flew-
Then there were Two.

Two pretty ships were sailing
As grandly as could be;






A LESSON IN NUMBERS.

And "Ship ahoy!" another
Sailed out upon the sea -
Then there were THREE.

I had a pretty rose-bush
That grew beside my door;
T/ree roses bloomed upon it, I
And soon there came one more-
Then there were FOUR.

Four bees a-gathering honey-
The busiest things alive;
And soon there came another
From out the crowded hive.
Then there were FIVE.

Those last were rather hard ones-i
The roses and the bees;
But my mama says "Numbers
Get harder by degrees,"
Harder than these!





WHEN IT 'S COLD.

BY JOHN ERNEST MCCANN.

; needles are in your fingers and toes;
When icicles hang from the snow-man's nose;
When the frost on the pane makes sugary trees,
And wagon-wheels over the hard ground wheeze;
When the toughened old farmer flings round his arms
As if he 'd throw them across two farms;
When ears are rubbed, and noses are red,
And sheets are like ice in the spare-room bed;
When water-pipes burst, and wells freeze up,
And the tea is n't hot when it leaves the cup;
When stray dogs coming along the street
Never stand for a second on all four feet;
A When little boys cry if they have to be out,
And are heard for a full half-mile if they shout;
When the day is as clear as the thoughts that fled
Out into the world from Shakspere's head;
When the air about seems as still as a rock,
And a sudden noise is a sudden shock,
And the earth seems deserted, lonely, and old-
You are pretty sure that it's pretty cold!












TOM SAWYER ABROAD.

BY HUCK FINN. EDITED BY MARK TWAIN.


CHAPTER I.

Do you reckon Tom Sawyer was satisfied
after all them adventures? I mean the adven-
tures we had down the river, and the time we
set the darky Jim free and Tom got shot in
the leg. No, he was n't. It only just p'isoned
him for more. That was all the effect it had.
You see, when we three came back up the
river in glory, as you may say, from that long
travel, and the village received us with a torch-
light procession and speeches, and everybody
hurrah'd and shouted, it made us heroes, and
that was what Tom Sawyer had always been
hankering to be.
For a while he was satisfied. Everybody
made much of him, and he tilted up his nose
and stepped around the town as though he
owned it. Some called him Tom Sawyer the
Traveler, and that just swelled him up fit to
bust. You see he laid over me and Jim con-
siderable, because we only went down the river
on a raft and came back by the steamboat, but
Tom went by the steamboat both ways. The
boys envied me and Jim a good deal, but land!
they just knuckled to the dirt before TOM.
Well, I don't know; maybe he might have
been satisfied if it had n't been for old Nat
Parsons, which was postmaster, and powerful
long and slim, and kind o' good-hearted and
silly, and bald-headed, on account of his age,
and about the talkiest old cretur I ever see.
For as much as thirty years he 'd been the only
man in the village that had a reputation-I
mean a reputation for being a traveler, and of
course he was mortal proud of it, and it was
reckoned that in the course of that thirty years
he had told about that journey over a million
times and enjoyed it every time. And now
comes along a boy not quite fifteen, and sets
everybody admiring and gawking over his


travels, and it just give the poor old man the
high strikes. It made him sick to listen to
Tom, and hear the people say "My land!"
" Did you ever My goodness sakes alive!"
and all such things; but he could n't pull away
from it, any more than a fly that 's got its hind
leg fast in the molasses. And always when
Tom come to a rest, the poor old cretur would
chip in on his same old travels and work them
for all they were worth, but they were pretty
faded, and did n't go for much, and it was
pitiful to see. And then Tom would take
another innings, and then the old man again-
and so on, and so on, for an hour and more,
each trying to beat out the other.
You see, Parsons' travels happened like this:
When he first got to be postmaster and was
green in the business, there come a letter for
somebody he did n't know, and there was n't
any such person in the village. Well, he did n't
know what to do, nor how to act, and there
the letter .stayed and stayed, week in and week
out, till the bare sight of it give him a con-
niption. The postage was n't paid on it, and
that was another thing to worry about. There
was n't any way to collect that ten cents, and
he reckon'd the Gov'ment would hold him
responsible for it and maybe turn him out
besides, when they found he had n't collected
it. Well, at last he could n't stand it any
longer. He could n't sleep nights, he could n't
eat, he was thinned down to a shadder, yet he
da'sn't ask anybody's advice, for the very person
he asked for advice might go back on him and
let the Gov'ment know about the letter. He
had the letter buried under the floor, but that
did no good; if he happened to see a person
standing over the place it 'd give him the cold
shivers, and loaded him up with suspicions, and
he would sit up that night till the town was as
still and dark, and then he would sneak there
20





TOM SAWYER ABROAD.


and get it out and bury it in another place.
Of course people got to avoiding him and
shaking their heads and whispering, because,
the way he was looking and acting, they
judged he had killed somebody or done
something terrible, they did n't know what,
and if he had been a stranger they would 've
lynched him.
Well, as I was saying, it got so he could n't
stand it any longer; so he made up his mind to
pull out for Washington, and just go to the
President of the United States and make a
clean breast of the whole thing, not keeping
back an atom, and then fetch the letter out and
lay it before the whole Gov'ment, and say,
" Now, there she is-do with me what you 're a
mind to; though as heaven is my judge I am an
innocent man and not deserving of the full


steamboating, and some stage-coaching, but all
the rest of the way was horseback, and it took
him three weeks to get to Washington. He
saw lots of land and lots of villages and four
cities. He was gone 'most eight weeks, and
there never was such a proud man in the village
as when he got back. His travels made him
the greatest man in all that region, and the
most talked about; and people come from as
much as thirty miles back in the country, and
from over in the Illinois bottoms, too, just to
look at him- and there they 'd stand and
gawk, and he 'd gabble. You never see any-
thing like it.
Well, there was n't any way, now, to settle
which was the greatest traveler; some said it
was Nat, some said it was Tom. Everybody
allowed that Nat had seen the most longitude,


.... _- N.. .




"WE WENT OUT IN THE WOODS ON THE HILL, AND TOM TOLD US WHAT IT WAS. IT WAS A CRUSADE." (SEE PAGE 23.)

penalties of the law and leaving behind me a but they had to give in that whatever Tom was
family that must starve and yet had n't had a short in longitude he had made up in latitude
thing to do with it, which is the whole truth and climate. It was about a stand-off; so both
and I can swear to it." of them had to whoop up their dangerous ad-
So he did it. He had a little wee bit of ventures, and try to get ahead that way. That





TOM SAWYER ABROAD.


bullet-wound in Tom's leg was a tough thing
for Nat Parsons to buck against, but he bucked
the best he could; and at a disadvantage, too,
for Tom did n't set still as he 'd orter done, to
be fair, but always got up and sauntered around
and worked his limp while Nat was painting up
the adventure that he had in Washington; for
Tom never let go that limp when his leg got
well, but practised it nights at home, and kept
it good as new right along.
Nat's adventure was like this; I don't know
how true it is; maybe he got it out of a paper,
or somewhere, but I will say this for him, that
he did know how to tell it. He could make
anybody's flesh crawl, and he 'd turn pale and
hold his breath when he told it, and sometimes
women and girls got so faint they could n't stick
it out. Well, it was this way, as near as I can
remember:
He come a-loping into Washington, and put
up his horse and shoved out to the President's
house with his letter, and they told him the
President was up to the Capitol, and just going
to start for Philadelphia-not a minute to lose
if he wanted to catch him. Nat 'most dropped,
it made him so sick. His horse was put up,
and he did n't know what to do. But just then
along comes a darky driving an old ramshackly
hack, and he see his chance. He rushes out
and shouts: "A half a dollar if you git me to
the Capitol in half an hour, and a quarter extra
if you do it in twenty minutes! "
Done! says the darky.
Nat he jumped in and slammed the door,
and away they went a-ripping and a-tearing
over the roughest road a body ever see, and the
racket of it was something awful. Nat passed
his arms through the loops and hung on for life
and death, but pretty soon the hack hit a rock
and flew up in the air, and the bottom fell out,
and when it come down Nat's feet was on the
ground, and he see he was in the most desperate
danger if he could n't keep up with the hack.
He was horrible scared, but he laid into his
work for all he was worth, and hung tight to
the arm-loops and made his legs fairly fly-. He
yelled aind shouted to the driver to stop, and so
did the crowds along the street, for they could
see his legs spinning along under the coach, and
his head and shoulders bobbing inside, through


the windows, and he was in awful danger; but
the more they all shouted the more the nigger
whooped and yelled and lashed the horses and
shouted, Don't you fret, I 's gwine to git you
dah in time, boss; I 's gwine to do it, sho' !"
for you see he thought they were all hurrying
him up, and of course he could n't hear any-
thing for the racket he was making. And so
they went ripping along, and everybody just
petrified to see it; and when they got to the
Capitol at last it was the quickest trip that ever
was made, and everybody said so. The horses
laid down, and Nat dropped, all tuckered out,
and he was all dust and rags and barefooted;
but he was in time and just in time, and caught
the President and give him the letter, and
everything was all right, and the President give
him a free pardon on the spot, and Nat give the
nigger two extra quarters instead of one be-
cause he could see that if he had n't had the
hack he would n't 'a' got there in time, nor any-
where near it.
It was a powerful good adventure, and Tom
Sawyer had to work his bullet-wound mighty
lively to hold his own against it.
Well, by and by Tom's glory got to paling
down gradu'ly, on account of other things
turning up for the people to talk about first
a horse-race, and on top of that a house afire,
and on top of that the circus, and on top of
that the eclipse; and that started a revival,
same as it always does, and by that time there
was n't any more talk about Tom, so to speak,
and you never see a person so sick and dis-
gusted.
Pretty soon he got to worrying and fretting
right along day in and day out, and when I
asked him what was he in such a state about,
he said it 'most broke his heart to think how
time was slipping away, and him getting older
and older, and no wars breaking out and no
way of making a name for himself that he could
see. Now that is the way boys is always think-
ing, but he was the first one I ever heard come
out and say it.
So then he set to work to get up a plan to
make him celebrated; and pretty soon he struck
it, and offered to take me and Jim in. Tom
Sawyer was always free and generous that
way. There 's a plenty of boys that 's mighty












T. I
*" -r "r"x .. ,.



SI-' : -

" -


good and friendly when you 've got a good
thing, but when a good thing happens to come
their way they don't say a word to you, and
try to hog it all. That war n't ever Tom Saw-
yer's way, I can say that for him. There 's
plenty of boys that will come hankering and
groveling around you when you 've got an
apple, and beg the core off of you; but when
they 've got one, and you beg for the core and
remind them how you give them a core one
time, they say thank you 'most to death, but
there ain't a-going to be no core. But I notice
they always git come up with; all you got to
do is to wait.
Well, we went out in the woods on the hill,
and Tom told us what it was. It was a
crusade.
What 's a crusade ?" I says.
He looked scornful the way he 's always
done when he was ashamed of a person, and
says -
"Huck Finn, do you mean to tell me you
don't know what a crusade is? "


1 -L *r 0 D A COUPLE OF THOUSAND KNIGHTS
S c. '.. r THE WHOLE PAYNIM OUTFIT
I-. SEA." (SEE PAGE 24.)

SN.:,." I:-. I. I don't. And I don't care
t.. ni,.II -r. I ',.e lived till now and done
. Il'-L...ir L. An.'I i:l d my health, too. But as
-.:_.ii i:- .z .,, 1..i l me, I '11 know, and that 's
.."ii eri.'ii. I don't see any use in finding
*:'t tl-ir ; -i, .:l -!.:. i going up my head with them
\l' .!' Im 'n ~I't 1:i. .er have any occasion to use
'in l .ri U.. .;.: Lance Williams, he learned
i-.:.. r.iil I.: :taw here till one come and
dug hI giavc for him. Now, then, what 's
a crusade ? But I can tell you one thing before
you begin; if it 's a patent-right, there 's no
money in it. Bill Thompson he--"
Patent-right! says he. I never see such
an idiot. Why, a crusade is a kind of war."
I thought he must be losing his mind. But
no, he was in real earnest, and went right on,
perfectly ca'm:
"A crusade is a war to recover the Holy
Land from the paynim."
Which Holy Land? "
"Why, the Holy Land-there ain't but one."
"What do we want of it ? "
"Why, can't you understand? It 's in the
hands of the paynim, and it 's our duty to take
it away from them."
"How did we come to let them git hold
of it ? "
"We did n't come to let them git hold of it.
They always had it."
Why, Tom, then it must belong to them,
don't it? "
"Why of course it does. Who said it
did n't?"





TOM SAWYER ABROAD.


I studied over it, but could n't seem to git
at the right of it, no way. I says:
It 's too many for me, Tom Sawyer. If I
had a farm and it was mine, and another per-
son wanted it, would it be right for him to-"
Oh,' shucks! you don't know enough to
come in when it rains, Huck Finn. It ain't
a farm, it 's entirely different. You see, it 's
like this. They own the land, just the mere
land, and that 's all they do own; but it was
our folks, our Jews and Christians, that made
it.holy, and so they have n't any business to be
there defiling it. It 's a shame, and we ought
not to stand it a minute. We ought to march
against them and take it away from them."
"Why, it does seem to me it 's the most
mixed-up thing I ever see! Now if I had a
farm and another person-"
"Don't I tell you it has n't got anything to
do with farming ? Farming is business, just
common low-down business; that 's all it is,
it 's all you can say for it; but this is higher,
this is religious, and totally different."
"Religious to go and take the land away
from people that owns it?"
Certainly; it 's always been considered so."
Jim he shook his head, and says:
Mars Tom, I reckon dey's a mistake about
it somers-dey mos' sholy is. I 's religious
myself, en I knows plenty religious people,
but I hain't run across none dat acts like
dat."
It made Tom hot, and he says:
"Well, it 's enough to make a body sick,
such mullet-headed ignorance! If either of
you 'd read anything about history, you 'd
know that Richard Cur de Loon, and the
Pope, and Godfrey de Bulleyn, and lots more
of the most noble-hearted and pious people in
the world, hacked and hammered at the pay-
nims for more than two hundred years trying
to take their land away from them, and swum
neck-deep in blood the whole time-and yet
here 's a couple of sap-headed country yahoos
out in the backwoods of Missouri, setting
themselves up to know more about the rights
and wrongs of it than they did! Talk about
cheek! "
Well, of course, that put a more different
light on it, and me and Jim felt pretty cheap


and ignorant, and wished we had n't been
quite so chipper. I could n't say nothing, and
Jim he could n't for a while; then he says:
Well, den, I reckon it's all right; because ef
dey did n't know, dey ain't no use for po'
ignorant folks like us to be trying to know;
en so, ef it 's our duty, we got to go en tackle
it en do de bes' we can. Same time, I feel as
sorry for dem paynims as Mars Tom. De
hard part gwine to be to kill folks dat a body
hain't 'quainted wid and dat hain't done him
no harm. Dat 's it, you see. Ef we wuz to go
'mongst 'em, jist we three, en say we 's hungry,
en ast 'em for a bite to eat, why, maybe dey 's
jist like yuther people. Don't you reckon dey
is ? Why, dey 'd give it, I know dey would,
en den-"
- "Then what ? "
"Well, Mars Tom, my idea is like dis. It
ain't no use, we can't kill dem po' strangers dat
ain't doin' us no harm, till we 've had practice
-I knows it perfectly well, Mars Tom-'deed
I knows it perfectly well. But ef we takes a'
ax or two, jist you en me en Huck, en slips
acrost de river to-night arter de moon 's gone
down, en kills dat sick family dat's over on
the Sny, en burns dey house down, en-"
"Oh, you make me tired!" says Tom. "I
don't want to argue any more with people like
you and Huck Finn, that 's always wandering
from the subject, and ain't got any more sense
than to try to reason out-a thing that 's pure
theology by the laws that protect real estate! "
Now that 's just where Tom Sawyer war n't
fair. Jim did n't mean no harm, and I did n't
mean no harm. We knowed well enough that
he was right and we was wrong, and all we
was after was to get at the how of it, and that
was all; and the only reason he could n't ex-
plain it so we could understand it was because
we was ignorant-yes, and pretty dull, too, I
ain't denying that; but, land! that ain't no
crime, I should think.
But he would n't hear no more about it-
just said if we had tackled the thing in the
proper spirit, he would 'a' raised a couple of
thousand knights and put them in steel armor
from head to heel, and made me a lieutenant and
Jim a sutler, and took the command himself
and brushed the whole paynim outfit into the




7140 GEARY
SAN FRANCISCO
S1893.


sea like flies and come back across the world
in a glory like sunset. But he said we did n't
know enough to take the chance when we had
it, and he would n't ever offer it again. And he
did n't. When he once got set, you could n't
budge him.
But I did n't care much. I am peaceable,
and don't get up rows with people that ain't


CHAPTER II.

WELL, Tom got up one thing after another,
but they all had tender spots about 'em some-
wheres, and he had to shove 'em aside. So at
last he was about in despair. Then the St.
Louis papers begun to talk a good deal about
the balloon that was going to sail to Europe,


r40


"HE SAID HE WOULD SAIL HIS BALLOON AROUND THE GLOBE, JUST TO SHOW WHAT HE COULD DO." (SEE PAGE 28.)


doing nothing to me. I allowed if the paynim
was satisfied I was, and we would let it stand
at that.
Now Tom he got all that notion out of
Walter Scott's book, which he was always
reading. And it was a wild notion, because
in my opinion he never could 've raised the
men, and if he did, as like as not he would 've
got licked. I took the books and read all
about it, and as near as I could make it out,
most of the folks that shook farming to go
crusading had a mighty rocky time of it.
VOL. XXI.-4.


and Tom sort of thought he wanted to go down
and see what it looked like, but could n't make
up his mind. But the papers went on talking,
and so he allowed that maybe if he did n't go
he might n't ever have another chance to see a
balloon; and next, he found out that Nat Par-
sons was going down to see it, and that decided
him, of course. He was n't going to have Nat
Parsons coming back bragging about seeing the
balloon, and him having to listen to it and keep
quiet. So he wanted me and Jim to go too,
and we went.


TOM SAWYER ABROAD.






TOM SAWYER ABROAD.


It was a noble big balloon, and had wings
and fans and all sorts of things, and was n't like
any balloon you see in pictures. It was away
out toward the edge of town, in a vacant lot,
corer of Twelfth street; and there was a big
crowd around it, making fun of it, and making
fun of the man,-a lean pale feller with that
soft kind of moonlight in his eyes, you know,-
and they kept saying it would n't go. It made
him hot to hear them, and he would turn on
them and shake his fist and say they was ani-
mals and blind, but some day they would find
they had stood face to face with one of the
men that lifts up nations and makes civiliza-
tions, and was too dull to know it; and right
here on this spot their own children and grand-
children would build a monument to him that
would outlast a thousand years, but his name
would outlast the monument. And then the
crowd would burst out in a laugh again, and
yell at him, and ask him what was his name be-
fore he was married, and what he would take to
not do it, and what was his sister's cat's grand-
mother's name, and all the things that a crowd
says when they 've got hold of a feller that they
see they can plague. Well, some things they said
was funny,-yes, and mighty witty too, I ain't
denying that,-but all the same it war n't fair
nor brave, all them people pitching on one, and
they so glib and sharp, and him without any gift
of talk to answer back with. But, good land!
what did he want to sass back for ? You see, it
could n't do him no good, and it was just nuts
for them. They had him, you know. But that
was his way. I reckon he could n't help it; he
was made so, I judge. He was a good-enough
sort of cretur, and had n't no harm in him, and
was just a genius, as the papers said, which
was n't his fault. We can't all be sound: we've
got to be the way we 're made. As near as I
can make out, geniuses think they know it all,
and so they won't take people's advice, but
always go their own way, which makes every-
body forsake them and despise them, and that
is perfectly natural. If they was humbler, and
listened and tried to learn, it would be better
for them.
The part the professor was in was like a boat,
and was big and roomy, and had water-tight
lockers around the inside to keep all sorts of


things in, and a body could sit on them, and
make beds on them, too. We went aboard,
and there was twenty people there, snooping
around and examining, and old Nat Parsons
was there, too. The professor kept fussing
around, getting ready, and the people went
ashore, drifting out one at a time, and old Nat
he was the last. Of course it would n't do to
let him go out behind us. We must n't budge
till he was gone, so we could be last ourselves.
But he was gone now, so it was time for us
to follow. I heard a big shout, and turned
around-the city was dropping from under us
like a shot! It made me sick all through, I was
so scared. Jim turned gray and could n't say a
word, and Tom did n't say nothing, but looked
excited. The city went on dropping down, and
down, and down; but we did n't seem to be
doing nothing but just hang in the air and
stand still. The houses got smaller and smaller,
and the city pulled itself together, closer and
closer, and the men and wagons got to looking
like ants and bugs crawling around, and the
streets like threads and cracks; and then it all
kind of melted together, and there was n't any
city any more: it was only a big scar on the
earth, and it seemed to me a body could see up
the river and down the river about a thousand
miles, though of course it was n't so much. By
and by the earth was a ball-just a round ball,
of a dull color, with shiny stripes wriggling and
winding around over it, which was rivers. The
Widder Douglas always told me the earth was
round like a ball, but I never took any stock in
a lot of them superstitions o' hers, and of course
I paid no attention to that one, because I could
see myself that the world was the shape of a
plate, and flat. I used to go up on the hill, and
take a look around and prove it for myself, be-
cause I reckon the best way to get a sure thing
on a fact is to go and examine for yourself, and
not take anybody's say-so. But I had to give
in, now, that the widder was right. That is, she
was right as to the rest of the world, but she
war n't right about the part our village is in;
that part is the shape of a plate, and flat, I take
my oath!
The professor had been quiet all this time, as if
he was asleep; but he broke loose now, and he
was mighty bitter. He says something like this:






TOM SAWYER ABROAD.


Idiots! They said it would n't go; and
they wanted to examine it, and spy around and
get the secret of it out of me. But I beat them.
Nobody knows the secret but me. Nobody
knows what makes it move but me; and it 's
a new power-a new power, and a thousand
times the strongest in the earth Steam's fool-
ishness to it! They said I could n't go to
Europe. To Europe! Why, there 's power
aboard to last five years, and feed for three
months. They are fools! What do they know
about it? Yes, and they said my air-ship was
flimsy. Why, she's good for fifty years! I can


AND HERE WAS NIGHT COMING ON

sail the skies all my life if I want to, and steer
where I please, though they laughed at that,
and said I could n't. Could n't steer Come
here, boy; we 'll see. You press these buttons
as I tell you."
He made Tom steer the ship all about and
every which way, and learnt him the whole
thing in nearly no time; and Tom said it was


perfectly easy. He made him fetch the ship
down 'most to the earth, and had him spin her
along so close to the Illinois prairies that a
body could talk to the farmers, and hear every-
thing they said perfectly plain; and he flung
out printed bills to them that told about the
balloon, and said it was going to Europe. Tom
got so he could steer straight for a tree till he
got nearly to it, and then dart up and skin
right along over the top of it. Yes, and he
showed Tom how to land her; and he done
it first-rate, too, and set her down in the prairies
as soft as wool. But the minute we started to
skip out the Professor
says, No, you don't! "
and shot her up in the
air again. It was aw-
ful. I begun to beg,
and so did Jim; but
it only give his temper
a rise, and he begun to
rage around and look
wild out of his eyes,
and I was scared of
him.
Well, then he got on
to his troubles again,
and mourned and
grumbled about the
way he was treated,
and could n't seem to
git over it, and especi-
ally people's saying his
ship was flimsy. He
scoffed at that, and at
their saying she war n't
simple and would be
always getting out of
order. Get out of
order That graveled
him; he said that she
could n't any more get
out of order than the solar sister.
He got worse and worse, and I never see
a person take on so. It give me the cold
shivers to see him, and so it did Jim. By and
by he got to yelling and screaming, and then
he swore the world should n't ever have his
secret at all now, it had treated him so mean.
He said he would sail his balloon around the






TOM SAWYER ABROAD.


globe just to show what he could do, and then
he would sink it in the sea, and sink us all
along with it, too. Well, it was the awfullest
fix to be in, and here was night coming on!
He give us something to eat, and made us
go to the other end of the boat, and he laid
down on a locker, where he could boss all the
works, and put his old pepper-box revolver un-
der his head, and said if anybody come fooling
around there trying to land*her, he would kill
him.
We set scrunched up together, and thought
considerable, but did n't say much-only just
a word once in a while when a body had to
say something or bust, we was so scared and
worried. The night dragged along slow and
lonesome. We was pretty low down, and the
moonshine made everything soft and pretty,
and the farm-houses looked snug and homeful,
and we could hear the farm sounds, and wished
we could be down there; but, laws! we just
slipped along over them like a ghost, and never
left a track.
Away in the night, when all the sounds was
late sounds, and the air had a late feel, and a
late smell, too,-about a two-o'clock feel, as
near as I could make out,-Tom said the Pro-
fessor was so quiet this time he must be asleep,
and we 'd better-
"Better what?" I says in a whisper, and
feeling sick all over, because I knowed what he
was thinking about.
"Better slip back there and tie him, and
land the ship," he says.
I says: "No, sir! Don't you budge, Tom
Sawyer."
And Jim -well, Jim was kind o' gasping,
he was so scared. He says:
Oh, Mars Tom, don't! Ef you teaches him,
we 's gone--we 's gone sho'! I ain't gwine
anear him, not for nothing' in dis worl'. Mars
Tom, he 's plumb crazy."
Tom whispers and says: "That 's why
we 've got to do something. If he was n't
crazy I would n't give shucks to be any-
where but here; you could n't hire me to
get out,-now that I 've got used to this bal-
loon and over the scare of being cut loose
from the solid ground,-if he was in his right
mind. But it's no good politics, sailing around


like this with a person that 's out of his head,
and says he 's going round the world and then
drown us all. We 've got to do something, I
tell you, and do it before he wakes up, too,
or we may n't ever get another chance.
Come! "
But it made us turn cold and creepy just to
think of it, and we said we would n't budge.
So Tom was for slipping back there by himself
to see if he could n't get at the steering-gear and
land the ship. We begged and begged him not
to, but it war n't no use; so he got down on his
hands and knees, and begun to crawl an inch
at a time, we a-holding our breath and watch-
ing. After he got to the middle of the boat
he crept slower than ever, and it did seem like
years to me. But at last we see him get to the
Professor's head, and sort of raise up soft and
look a good spell in his face and listen. Then
we see him begin to inch along again toward
the Professor's feet where the steering-buttons
was. Well, he got there all safe, and was
reaching slow and steady toward the buttons,
but he knocked down something that made a
noise, and we see him slump down flat an' soft
in the bottom, and lay still. The Professor
stirred, and says, What 's that ? But every-
body kept dead still and quiet, and he begun
to mutter and mumble and nestle, like a person
that 's going to wake up, and I thought I was
going to die, I was so worried and scared.
Then a cloud slid over the moon, and I
'most cried, I was so glad. She buried her-
self deeper and deeper into the cloud, and it
got so dark we could n't see Tom. Then it
began to sprinkle rain, and we could hear the
Professor fussing at his ropes and things and
abusing the weather. We was afraid every
minute he would touch Tom, and then we
would be goners, and no help; but Tom was
already on his way back, and when we felt his
hands on our knees my breath stopped sudden,
and my heart fell down 'mongst my other works,
because I could n't tell in the dark but it might
be the Professor, which I thought it was.
Dear! I was so glad to have him back that
I was just as near happy as a person could be
that was up in the air that way with a de-
ranged man. You can't land a balloon in the
dark, and so I hoped it would keep on raining,





TOM SAWYER ABROAD.


for I did n't want Tom to go meddling any
more and make us so awful uncomfortable.
Well, I got my wish. It drizzled and drizzled
along the rest of the night, which was n't long,
though it did seem so; and at daybreak it
cleared, and the world looked mighty soft and
(To be co;


gray and pretty, and the forests and fields so
good to see again, and the horses and cattle
standing sober and thinking. Next, the sun
come a-blazing up gay and splendid, and then
we began to feel rusty and stretchy, and first
we knowed we was all asleep.


I7-F"C 1DI


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C-10CPCi wP


'II


4$-.-. I





- ~ -


By
VIRGINIA WOODWARD CLOUD.


OVER the bridge to the King's highway
They throng and they jostle, young and old,
With bustle and with hurry; for 't is market-
day,
And the mist from the river riseth cold.

Over the bridge they speed, the noisy folk,
With chaises, with barrows, and with carts;
The 'prentice in his cap, and the dame in her
cloak,
And the baker with his fresh-made tarts;


The friar with his book, and the jester with
his bells,
The vender with red apples for his stands,
The maid who buys, and the master who sells,
And the little lass with blossoms in her hands.

Oh, the violets smile like her sweet blue
eyes,
As dawn on the river stealeth down;
But nobody heeds them and nobody buys,
For 't is market-day in yonder busy town.


Nt- `~


- i!





OVER THE BRIDGE TO THE KING'S HIGHWAY.


Over the bridge they have sped them one and
all,
She watches, and she nods, and under-
stands;
For they are so great and she so small-
This little lass with blossoms in her
hands!


Iii."

- ---


Will they stop? Nay, nay! they are grand,
they are great,
She nods, and she smiles, and understands;
They have no time, while the court doth
yonder wait,
For a little lass with blossoms in her hands.

'14












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Over the bridge to the King's
highway j_ -
They are riding in the noontide --
sun,
The lords and the ladies, the courtiers gay,
A-gleaming and a-glancing every one.

(> ^^^


Oh, they flash and they dart past her sweet
blue eyes,
The merry, the courtly, and the sage;
She sees the lance that lights, and the feather,
too, that flies,
And the lagging of the little foot-page.


She knows how the page with his lagging lit-
tle feet
Would fain for a wee rest stay;
They have journeyed so far, they have ridden
so fleet,
The noble, the kingly, and the gay!






OVER THE BRIDGE TO THE KING'S HIGHWAY.


Then swiftly the leaves of her vio-
lets blue
Are brushing his wan, pale 'N
face,-
Oh, my blithe little lass, the court
hath need of you, '..'
Of the gift, and the giver, and
the grace! *- .t4
~- .i' t

Just a pause, just a smile from
her bonny sweet eyes- ,
And the river, how it laugheth i '
to the sands;
For the tired little page like a !'
winged bird he flies i, I
A-bearing dewy blossoms in his
hands! '-,' i ]

Over the bridge in the noontide '
bright
They have sped like an arrow
from its bow;
The little lass a-shading her eyes
for the sight, -
The little page's plume sweep-
ing low.

SAnd, oh, the river sings, not of
Nay, they haste while the
mands;
i 'T is a song of the lagging of
And a little lass with blosso

i'







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S. ,' "-






--.'4,,, :: -'-- -J


courtier or sage -
great court cori-

a little foot-page,
ims in her hands.


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WHERE'S MOTHER?


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A MEMBER OF THE HARNESSING CLASS.
(A Thanksgiving S/ory.)

By SUSAN COOLIDGE.


IT was the day before Thanksgiving, but the
warmth of a late Indian summer lay over the
world, and tempered the autumn chill into mild-
ness more like early October than late Novem-
ber. Elsie Thayer, driving her village cart
.rapidly through the "Long Woods," caught
herself vaguely wondering why the grass was
not greener, and what should set the leaves to
tumbling off the trees in such an unsummer-
like fashion,-then smiled at herself for being
so forgetful.
The cart was packed full; for, besides Elsie
herself, it held a bag of sweet potatoes, a siza-
ble bundle or two, and a large market-basket
from which protruded the unmistakable legs
of a turkey, not to mention a choice smaller
basket covered with a napkin. All these were
going to the little farmstead in which dwelt
Mrs. Ann Sparrow, Elsie's nurse in childhood,
and the most faithful and kindly of friends ever
since. Elsie always made sure that Nursey "
had a good Thanksgiving dinner, and generally
carried it herself.
The day was so delightful that it seemed al-
most a pity that the pony should trot so fast.
One would willingly have gone slowly, tasting
drop by drop, as it were, the lovely sunshine
filtering through the yellow beech boughs, the
unexpected warmth, and the balmy spice of the
air, which had in it a tinge of smoky haze. But
the day before Thanksgiving is sure to be a
busy one with New England folk; Elsie had
other tasks awaiting her, and she knew that
Nursey would not be content with a short visit.
Hurry up, little Jack," she said. You
shall have a long rest presently, if you are a
good boy, and some nice fresh grass-if I can
find any; anyway, a little drink of water. So
make haste."
Jack made haste. The yellow wheels of the
cart spun in and out of the shadow like circles
VoL. XXI.- 5.


of gleaming sun. When the two miles were
achieved, and the little clearing came into
view, Elsie slackened her pace: she wanted to
take Nursey by surprise. Driving straight to
a small open shed, she deftly unharnessed the
pony, tied him with a liberal allowance of
halter, hung up the harness, and wheeled the
cart away from his heels, all with the ease
which is born of practice. She then gathered
a lapful of brown but still nourishing grasses
for Jack, and was about to lift the parcels
from the wagon when she was espied by Mrs.
Sparrow.
Out she came, hurrying and flushed with
pleasure,- the dearest old woman, with pink,
wrinkled cheeks like a perfectly baked apple,
and a voice which still retained its pleasant
English tones, after sixty long years in America.
Well, Missy dear, so it 's you. I made
sure you 'd come, and had been watching all
the morning; but somehow I missed you when
you drove up, and it was just by accident like
that I looked out of window and see you in
the shed. You 're looking well, Missy. That
school has n't hurt you a bit. Just the same
nice color in your cheeks as ever. I was that
troubled when I heard you wa'n't coming home
last summer, for I thought maybe you was ill;
but your mother she said 't was all right and.
just for your pleasure, and I see it was so.
Why,"- her voice changing to consterna-
tion,-" if you have n't unharnessed the horse t
Now, Missy, how came you to do that? You
forgot there was n't no one about but me.
Who 's to put him in for you, I wonder ? "
Oh, I don't want any one. I can harness
the pony myself."
Oh, Missy, dear, you must n't do that. I
could n't let you. It 's real hard to harness
a horse. You 'd make some mistake, and then
there 'd be a accidentt"





A MEMBER OF THE HARNESSING CLASS.


"Nonsense, Nursey! I 've harnessed Jack
once this morning already; it 's just as easy to
do it twice. I 'm a member of a Harnessing
Class, I 'd have you to know; and, what's more,
I took the prize!"
"Now, Missy dear, whatever do you mean
by that? Young ladies learn to harness! I
never heard of such a thing in my life! In my
young time in England, they learned globes and
langwidges, and, it might be,
to paint in oils and such,
and make nice things
in chenille."
"I '11 tell you
all about it; but
first let us carry
these things up to
the house. Here's
your Thanksgiv-
ing turkey, Nursey,
-with Mother's
love. Papa sent $
you the sweet
potatoes and the
cranberries, and
the oranges and
figs and the pump- '
kin-pie are from '
me. I made the
pie myself. That 's
another of the use- --.
ful things that I -
learned to do at "'HURRY UP, LITTL
my school."
"The master is very kind, Missy; and so is
your mother; and I 'm thankful to you all. But
that 's a queer school of yours, it seems to me.
For my part, I never heard of young ladies
learning such things as cooking and harnessing
at boarding-schools."
Oh, we learn arts and languages, too,-
that part of our education is n't neglected.
Now, Nursey, we '11 put these things in your
buttery, and you shall give me a glass of nice
cold milk, and while I drink it I '11 tell you
about Rosemary Hall-that's the name of the
school, you know; and it 's the dearest, nicest
place you can think of."
"Very likely, Miss Elsie," in an unconvinced
tone; "but still I don't see any reason why


they should set you to making pies and har-
nessing horses."
"Oh, that 's just at odd times, by way of
fun and pleasure; it is n't lessons, you know.
You see, Mrs. Thanet-that 's a rich lady who
lives close by, and is a sort of fairy godmother
to us girls-has a great notion about practical
education. It was she who got up the Har-
nessing Class and the Model Kitchen. It 's the
dearest little place you ever saw, Nursey, with
a perfect stove, and shelves, and books for
everything; and such bright tins, and the
prettiest of old-fashioned crockery! It 's
just like a picture. We girls were always
squabbling over whose turn should come
first. You can't think how much I
learned there, Nursey! I learned to
make a pie, and clear out a grate,
and scour saucepans, and"-
counting on her fingers-" to
make bread, rolls, minute-bis-
Scuit, coffee-delicious coffee,
Nursey good
p. -, soup, creamed oys-
Z2 ters, and pumpkin-
S- '.m -.". pies and apple-
pies! Just wait and
Syou shall see."
She jumped up,
ran into the but-
tery, and soon re-
turned carrying a
E JACK!' SHE SAID." triangle of pie on
a plate.
"It is n't Thanksgiving yet, I know; but
there is no law against eating pumpkin-pie the
day before, so please, Nursey, taste this and see
if you don't call it good. Papa says it makes
him think of his mother's pies when he was a
little boy."
"Indeed and it is good, Missy dear; and I
won't deny but cooking may be well for you to
know; but for that other-the harnessing class,
as you call it,- I don't see the sense of that at
all, Missy."
Oh, Nursey, indeed there is a great deal of
sense in it. Mrs. Thanet says it might easily
happen, in the country especially,-if any one
was hurt or taken very ill, you know,- that life
might depend upon a girl's knowing how to









A MEMBER OF THE HARNESSING CLASS.


harness. She had a man teach us, and we
practised and practised, and at the end of the
term there was an exhibition, with a prize for
the girl who could harness and unharness quick-
est, and I won it! See, here it is."
She held out a slim brown hand, and dis-
played a narrow gold bangle, on which was
engraved in minute letters, "What is worth
doing at all, is worth doing well."
Is n't it pretty ? she asked.
"Yes," doubtfully; "the bracelet is pretty
enough, Missy; but I can't quite like what it
stands for. It don't seem ladylike for you to
be knowing about harnesses and such things."
Oh, Nursey dear, what nonsense!"
There were things to be done after she got
home, but Elsie could not hurry her visit.
Jack consumed his grass heap, and then stood
sleepily blinking at the flies for a long hour
before his young mistress jumped up.
Now, I must go," she cried. Come out
and see me harness up, Nursey."
It was swiftly and skilfully done, but still
Nurse Sparrow shook her head.
"I don't like it! she insisted. "'A horse
shall be a vain thing for safety'-that 's in
Holy Writ."
You are an obstinate old dear," said Elsie,
good-humoredly. "Wait till you 're ill some
day, and I go for the doctor. Then you '11
realize the advantage of practical education.
What a queer smell of smoke there is, Nur-
sey!" gathering up her reins.
S"Yes; the woods has been on fire for quite
a spell, back on the other side of Bald Top.
You can smell the smoke most of the time.
Seems to me it 's stronger than usual, to-
day."
"You don't think there is any danger of its
coming this way, do you ?"
Oh, no! contentedly. I don't suppose
it could come so far as this."
But why not ? thought Elsie to herself as
she drove rapidly back. If the wind were
right for it, why should n't it come this way ?
Fires travel much farther than that on the
prairies-and they go very fast, too. I never
did like having Nursey all alone by herself on
that farm."
She reached home to find things in unex-


pected confusion. Her father had been called
away for the night by a telegram, and her
mother-on this of all days-had gone to bed
disabled with a bad headache. There was
much to be done, and Elsie flung herself into
the breach and did it, too busy to think again
of Nurse Sparrow and the fire, until, toward
nightfall, she noted that the wind had changed
and was blowing straight from Bald Top, bring-
ing with it an increase of smoke.
She ran out to consult the hired man before
he went home for the night, and to ask if he
thought there was any danger of the fire reach-
ing the Long Woods. He guessed" not.
"These fires get going quite often on to the
other side of Bald Top, but there ain't none
of 'em come over this way, and 't ain't likely
they ever will. I guess Mis' Sparrow 's safe
enough. You need n't worry, Miss Elsie."
In spite of this comforting assurance, Elsie
did worry. She looked out of her west win-
dow the last thing before going to bed; and
when, at two in the morning, she woke with
a sudden start, her first impulse was to run to
the window again. Then she gave an excla-
mation, and her heart stood still with fear; for
the southern slopes of Bald Top were ringed
with flames which gleamed dim and lurid
through the smoke, and showers of sparks
thrown high in air showed that the edges of
the woods beyond Nursey's farm were already
burning.
"She '11 be frightened to death," thought
Elsie. Oh, poor dear, and no one to help
her!"
What should she do? To go after the man
and waken him meant a long delay. He
was a heavy sleeper, and his house was a
quarter of a mile distant. But there was Jack
in the stable, and the stable key was in the
hall below. As she dressed, she decided.
How glad I am that I can do this! she
thought as she flung the harness over the pony's
back, strapped, buckled, adjusted,-doing all
with a speed which yet left nothing undone
and slighted nothing. Not even on the day
when she took the prize had she put her horse
in so quickly. She ran back at the last mo-
ment for two warm rugs. Deftly guiding Jack
over the grass that his hoofs should make no





A MEMBER OF THE HARNESSING CLASS.


noise, she gained the road, and, quickening
him to his fastest pace, drove fearlessly into
the dark woods.
They were not so dark as she had feared
they would be, for the light of a late, low-
hung moon penetrated the trees, with perhaps
some reflections from the far-away fire, so that


"SHE EVEN DROVE


wake up, you need n't think it," she muttered
sleepily.
But when Elsie at last shook her into con-
sciousness, and pointed at the fiery glow on
the horizon, her terror matched her previous
unconcern.
Oh, dear, dear!" she wailed, as with


.-._- -L -

- I O L HH-A -
, -ONE- .L WH-E-RET. O' W'


B'Y ONE PLACE WHERE THE WOODS WERE AFIRE."


she easily made out the turns and windings of
the track. The light grew stronger as she ad-
vanced. The main fire was still far distant, but
before she reached Nurse's little clearing, she
even drove by one place where the woods were
afire.
She had expected to find Mrs. Sparrow in an
agitation of terror; but behold, she was in her
bed, sound asleep! Happily, it was easy to get
at her. Nursey's theory was that "if anybody
thought it would pay him to sit up at night
and rob an old woman, he 'd do it anyway,
and need n't have the trouble of getting in at
the window"; and on the strength of this
philosophical utterance she went to bed with
the door on the latch.
She took Elsie for a dream at first.
"I 'm just a-dreaming. I ain't a-going to


safe. Now, Nursey,


trembling, suddenly stiff
fingers she put on her
clothes. I 'm a-go-
ing to be burned out!
It 's hard at my time
of life, just when I had
got things tidy and com-
fortable. I was a-think-
ing of sending over for
my niece to the Isle of
Dogs, and getting her
to come and stay with
me, I was indeed, Missy.
But there won't be any
use in that now."
"Perhaps the fire
won't come so far as
this after all," said the
practical Elsie.
"Oh, yes, it will!
It 's 'most here now."
"Well, whether it
does or not, I 'm going
to carry you home with
me, where you will be
tell me which of your


things you care most for, that we can take
with us-small things, I mean. Of course we
can't carry tables and beds in my little cart."
The selection proved difficult. Nurse's af-
fections clung to a tall eight-day clock, and
were hard to be detached. She also felt
strongly that it was a clear flying in the face
of Providence not to save Sparrow's chair," a
solid structure of cherry with rockers weighing;
many pounds, and quite as wide as the wagon.
Elsie coaxed and remonstrated, and at last got
Nursey into the seat, with the cat and a bundle
of her best clothes in her lap, her tea-spoons
in her pocket, a basket of specially beloved
baking-tins under the seat, and a favorite
feather-bed at the back, among whose bil-
lowy folds were tucked away an assortment of







A MEMBER OF THE HARNESSING CLASS.


treasures ending with the Thanksgiving goodies
which had been brought over that morning.
I can't leave that turkey behind, Missy
dear-I really can't!" pleaded Nursey. "I 've
been thinking of him, and anticipating how
good he was going to be, all day; and I
have n't had but one taste of your pie.
They 're so little they '11 go in anywhere."
The fire seemed startlingly near now, and
the western sky was all aflame, while over
against it in the east burned the first yellow
beams of dawn. People were astir by this time,
and men on foot and horseback were hurry-
ing toward the burning woods. They stared
curiously at the oddly laden cart.
"Why, you did n't ever come over for me
all alone! cried Nurse Sparrow, rousing sud-
denly to a sense of the situation. I 've be'n
that flustered that I never took thought of
how you got across, or anything about it.
Where was your pa, Missy,-and Hiram?"
Elsie explained.
Oh, you blessed child; and if you had n't
come I 'd have been burned in my bed as like
as not! cried the old woman, quite overpow-
ered. "Well, well! little did I think, when you
was a baby and I a-tending you, that the day
was to come when you'were to run yourself into
danger for the sake of saving my poor old life!"
"I don't see that there has been any partic-
ular danger for me to run, so far; and as for sav-
ing your life, Nursey, it would very likely have
saved itself if I had n't come near you. See,
the wind has changed; it is blowing from the


north now. Perhaps the fire won't reach your
house, after all. But, anyway, I am glad you
are here and not there. We cannot be too
careful of such a dear old Nursey as you are.
And one thing, I think, you '11 confess,"--Elsie's
tone was a little mischievous,-" and that is,
that harnessing classes have their uses. If I
had n't known how to put Jack in the cart,"
I might at this moment be hammering on the
door of that stupid Hiram (who, you know,
sleeps like a log!) trying to wake him, and
you on the clearing alone, scared to death.
Now, Nursey, own up: Mrs. Thanet was n't so
far wrong, now was she ? "
"Indeed no, Missy. It 'd be very ungrate-
ful for me to be saying that. The lady judged
wiser than I did."
Very well, then," cried Elsie, joyously. "If
only your house is n't burned up, I shall be
glad the fire happened; for it 's such a triumph
for Mrs. Thanet, and she '11 be so pleased!"
Nursey's house did not burn down. The
change of wind came just in time to save it;
and, after eating her own Thanksgiving turkey
in her-old home, and being petted and made
much of for a few days, she went back none
the worse for her adventure, to find her goods
and chattels in their usual places and all safe.
And Mrs. Thanet was pleased. She sent
Elsie a pretty locket with' the date of the fire
engraved upon it, and wrote that she gloried in
her as the Vindicator of a Principle, which fine
words made Elsie laugh; but she enjoyed being
praised all the same.


'I,


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F I
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"THIS, ladies and gents, is the tattooed man,"
The lecturer, with a cough, began.
"The aborigines' spear an' dart
Has made him a livin' work of art;
Just notice, please, how they pricked in there
'Washin'tun crossing' the Delaware.'


















/, / ,'/ i \\\



"'A LIVING' WORK OF ART!"

II.
"Now this here lady, the weight of who
Is just five hundred an' eighty-two,
Is as pleasin' a conversation'lisht,
Ladies an' gents, as could be wished.
Saturday week, at half-past one,
She 's to marry the livin' skellytun.


"'SHE 'S TO MARRY THE LIVING' SKELLYTUN."'

III.
"Next is the midgets, an' their son
As big as his pa an' ma in one;
When he 's as naughty as he can be,
They never take him upon their knee,
An' trounce him, an' send him off to bed -
Kind words are what they use instead.















ilTHEl I MillDGETS AND THEIR SON.lll
THE MIDGETS AND THEIR SON.


" ~
c-
Jc--~






THE DIME MUSEUM.


"These are the famous Texas gi'nts,
Twins who could give Goliah points;


"'NEITHER IS DONE A-GROWIN' YET.'"


The height of this one is eight foot four,
An' that one can go him a half-inch more:
Ladies an' gents, please don't forget
Neither is done a-growin' yet.

V.
"Ladies an' gents, in this here cage
Is the greatest wonder of all the age:


THE WHAT-IS-IT.

The What-Is-It, which, as you may know,
Is puzzlin' all the professors so.
It 's gone in the box now, but don't fail
To take a look at its trailing' tail.


Ji --- ---


"'DOWN INTO THE THEATORIUIM'"


"These are the cannybuls, brought hence,
Ladies an' gents, at great expense.
Sixty-seven, I 'm grieved to state,
Is the number of persons they have ate;
They're chained, so there ain't a thing to fear,
But the babies had better not go too near.
















// ; ) \ \\ \\
"'THEY RE CHAINED, SO THERE AIN'T A THING
TO FEAR.'"
VII.
" Now, thankin' you kindly, if you '11 come
Down into the theatorium,
You '11 see a performance that's simply great
Of' Uncle Tom's Cabin, Up to Date,'
With the 'riginul Little Eva, an'
A pack of bloodhounds from Turkistan! "




















OLD SPANISH HOUSES, NEW ORLEANS.


NEW ORLEANS.

BY GEORGE W. CABLE.


MOST of those who go to New Orleans in
these days of haste reach it by rail. If they
come by any of the three routes that lie through
Mississippi or Alabama, they run for a long time
through an undulating country, wild in a most
gentle way, and covered with towering pines in
almost unbroken forests.
Then they come to flat lands, pine-barrens, sea-
marshes, quaking prairies, and tangled swamps
of tupelo and dwarf palmetto, or of cypress- the
lofty kind that is not evergreen. These great
cypresses, with their perpetual drapery of Span-
ish moss (which I have gathered eight feet
long), are very dreary in winter, but solemnly
beautiful in the eight months of spring's green
and summer's purple haze and golden glow.
Or on some warm spring day, with Mobile at
their backs, they emerge upon the low shores of
Mississippi Sound, at the great delta's eastern
corner, and spin out across Grand Plains, that
are robed in green rushes, belted by the blue
sky and bluer gulf, garlanded like a May-queen
with mallows, morning-glories, and the flower-
de-luce, and cuirassed in the steel and silver of
salty lakelets and ponds.
But those who come from these directions
meet one drawback: they must enter the town
through its back yard, so to speak. But pres-
ently the river-front is reached,-the levee, the
sugar-sheds, the shipping, the long steamboat-
landing,-- and the city's commercial life is before


you, and you leave the train at the foot of Canal
street, the apple of New Orleans' eye.
Some visitors to the city approach it by
steamboat, coming down the Mississippi River.
These, by the time they arrive, are familiar
with sugar-plantations, negro-quaiters, planters'
homes, islands of willow and cottonwood, and
the fascinating hurly-burly of the steamboat's
lower deck, where the black roustabouts laugh
and sing while performing prodigious labors.
Others, but they are a very few, arrive by ocean
steamer, through the world-renowned Eads jet-
ties. These have to ascend the river's hundred
or so miles where it runs below the city, east-
ward-not south -to empty for all time its
myriad tons of red and yellow Rocky Moun-
tain sand into that ever-quaking sieve,- the
wonderful blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
These travelers by the great steamers have
seen no end of rice-fields and sugar-houses, groves
of orange, and plantation avenues of live-oak and
pecan trees. They have come by the remains
of Forts Jackson and St. Philip, which Farragut,
on that ever-famous April night in 1862, ran
past with his wooden ships while the thundering
forts were trying to make remains of him. And
they have come round English Turn, a bend in
the river where Bienville, the founder of New
Orleans and "Father of Louisiana," once met
some English explorers, and induced them to
turn back by telling them something very much






























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2w- Awl












ANMM


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FAIR.\GUT'S FLEET PASSING THE FORTS BELOW NEW ORLEANS. (FROM "BATTLES AND LEADERS OF THE CIVIL WAR : THE CENTURY CO.)


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.'F- Q-


I


i






42 NEW ORLEANS' [Nov.
the last battery between him and
them. And lastly, they have steamed
by the old battleground where, on
,i,. the 8th of January, 1815, Andrew
.. ,. Jackson and his Kentuckians, Ten-
'- nesseeans, and Louisiana Creoles, all
,.<,4, .'- -"-- .; Indian-fighters and bear- and deer-
-'. a- "^i. hunters, taught the military world
the value of straight aiming and
sharp shooting. If you should ever
'' 4 be leaving New Orleans for the
S; : North, no route is so delightful as
This one, down the river, across to-
Sward Havana, through the Straits of
S Florida, and up the Gulf Stream.
'" '' My first visit to New Orleans was
., .-' 4 ''r."v ^ by none of these ways: I arrived
;.'... there for the first time on the occa-
':,*' sion of my birth. I have it from mem-
S. bers of my family that I came up
through the ground from China.
"THE HOUSE'S GARDEN AND GROUNDS WERE BOUNDED BY ORANGE-TREES." However that may be, I could
like a fib,-English Turn, where, nearly a cen- hardly have looked around-when -I learned
tury and a half later, the frenzied people of New how to do so without being interested in my
Orleans first saw the masts and yards of Farra- neighborhood. The house's garden and grounds
gut's fleet, and the flash of his guns as he silenced were bounded four-square by an unbroken line-




















LD A T. ,' V I O A N IAT -STRET, -I
,j ,.4r ,,irir, -.-. .... .' ..
~ ~ .. .,... .* -. ..










On: A V'


OLD PLANTA-IO -ON AU T R .







NEW ORLEANS.


a hedge, almost,- of orange-trees, in which the
orchard-oriole sang by day and the mocking-
bird all night. Along the garden walks grew the
low, drooping trees of that kindest-to good
children of all tree-fruits, the fig; though many's
the time and many 's the fig-tree in which I 've
made my mouth sore-so sore I could n't laugh
with comfort-through eating the fig, by the


stands, without any special history of its own,
on a very small fraction of the lands given to
those priests by the French king. In front of
it is Annunciation Square, from whose northern
gate one looked down a street of the same
name.
From New Orleans' early days, Annunciation
street was a country road, fronted along its


IN THE BUSINESS DISTRICT. ST. CHARLES STREET AND ST. CHARLES HOTEL.


dozen dozen, with its skin on, rather than lose
three seconds to peel it. Even when time is n't
money, often it's figs.
In later years, when the history of this region
became as true a delight to me as its fruits, I
learned that Louisiana owes the orange and the
fig to a company of French Jesuit Fathers who
brought them to New Orleans very soon after
the city itself was born, and while it was still a
tiny, puny thing of mere cabins, green with
weeds and willows, and infested with musk-
rats, mosquitos, snakes, frogs, and alligators.
The house of which I speak stood, and still


western side by large colonial villas standing in
their orangeries and fig-orchards, and looking
eastward, from their big windows, across the
Mississippi River. Though they stood well back
from the river-bank, they were whole squares
nearer it than they are, or would be, now: the
river has moved off sidewise. Ever since the
city's beginnings, the muddy current has been
dumping sand and making land along that
whole front. Now, instead of the planter's car-
riage toiling through the mire, one meets in
granite-paved Annunciation street, and others
to the east of it, the cotton-float with its three-







NEW ORLEANS.


or four-mule team and its lofty load of bales
destined for, or from, the compress." For it is
the cotton-compress whose white cloud of steam
and long, gasping roar break at frequent inter-
vals upon the air, signifying, each time, that one
more bale of the beautiful fleece has been
squeezed in an instant to a fourth of its former
bulk, and is ready to be shipped to New or Old
England, to France, or Russia, for the world's
better comfort or delight. I could tell you of a
certain man who, when a boy, used to waste
hours watching the negro "gangs" as, singing
lustily and reeking to their naked waists, they
pressed bale after bale under the vast machinery.
Yes, he would be glad to waste an hour or two
more in the same way with you, even now, when
time has come to be infinitely more than either
figs or money. Don't miss the weird, inspir-
ing scene, if ever you go to New Orleans.
Moving down Annunciation street from the
square, something like a mile away one reaches


not its end but its beginning; for here it comes
toward us out of another and much more noted
thoroughfare, whose roadway ever swarms-
Sundays and dog-days excepted -with floats
and drays. Even street-cars often have to beg
their way by little, and its noisy sidewalks are
choked with the transit of boxes, crates, and
barrels of the city's wholesale trade in things
wet and dry for the table, the sideboard, and
the luncheon-basket. For this is Tchoupitoulas
street.
As Annunciation street leaves it, it dives in
among cotton-presses, junk-shops, and tobacco-
warehouses, and comes out among ship-wharves,
storehouses of salt and of ice, piles of lumber,
staves, and shingles, wood-yards, flatboat-land-
ings, fleets of coal-barges, sawmills, truck-gar-
dens, and brick-kilns, and at length, miles away,
escapes into the country and up the great bends
of the ever-winding river. It was once the
road to and through the village of the Tchou-


A BIG LOAD OF COTTON.


[Nov.


~ "-'i ~J-' ;
r
J







NEW ORLEANS.


VIEW ON CANAL STREET.


pitoulas subtribe of Indians, the town's first and
nearest human neighbors. It starts nearly at a
right angle from the river end of Canal street,
now the fairest and most popular avenue of New
Orleans.
We have come to Canal street no sooner than
every one does who visits New Orleans at all.
One seeks it as naturally as he seeks the eye
of a person to whom he would speak. Canal
street is the city's optic nerve. Upon Canal
street all processions and pageants-a delight-
some word to New Orleans ears-make their
supreme display. Here any street-car you find
will sooner or later bring you, if you should ever
get lost in a town so level, long, and narrow that
you are never for five minutes out of sight of
the masts in the harbor. Here are the largest
and finest retail stores of the kinds our mothers
and sisters love to haunt; here are the chief con-
fectioners, too. From here the cars start which
carry their thousands on heated afternoons to
the waterside resorts of Lake Pontchartrain,


some four or six miles away northward; and
here is the dividing line between the New Or-
leans of the Anglo-Saxon American and that of
the Creole.
Like all the cross-streets of the Crescent
City," Canal street sleeps-they nearly all do a
great deal of sleeping, or drowsing at least-
with the levee for its pillow. I mean the land is
lower than the river when the waters are up,
and the levee is an embankment along the river's
margin, thrown up to keep the Mississippi in
its own bed and let New Orleans sleep peace-
fully on hers.
What enormous quantities of freight are
here, in rows and piles! Bales, barrels, and
casks, without or with tarpaulin covers to shield
them from the rain of sunbeams even more than
of water-drops. Scores of little flags of many
colors and devices flutter over them. These are
to enable the negroes who unload the boats to
sort their burdens as directed by the stevedore,
who stands at the gang-plank to see the mark








NEW ORLEANS. [Nov.


LUGGERS IN THE MISSISSIPPI.





NEW ORLEANS.


Samsons. Sometimes the orders sound like
imprecations:
"Go to de red hand! Go to de black heart!
Go to de green moon! Go to de black flag! "
This levee was once a battle-field. That was
years ago, though since the great civil war. It
was a real battle, with infantry and artillery,
and many were killed and wounded, and a
State government changed hands as a result of
it; but though men are quite willing to tell you
of it if you ask, not even those who won the


4.,


deep, then stand still against it, and the next
moment spring forward with a peal from their
parting gun and the courtesying down-run of
all their bunting, and speed away, while the
black deck-hands, massed about the jack-staff,
sing defiance to weariness and fate. All along
the city's front for miles, as they pass, men and
boys pull out in skiffs to take the waves" which
rise in the wakes of their great paddle-wheels;
for a Mississippi River side-wheeler "tears the
river wide open," as they say. In the warm


ii I


:4


JACKSON SQUARE AND THE CATHEDRAL. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)


battle say much about it without being asked
now; for it was that worst of all kinds of fight-
ing, called factional strife, and the levee offers
so many pleasanter themes.
When the afternoon hour is nearly five, as
the lofty steamers' deep-toned bells begin to toll,
and their towering funnels pour forth torrent
clouds of black smoke, hundreds gather along
the levee's front to see the majestic departures
of the vast yet graceful crafts. One after an-
other, with flags and pennants streaming, they
back out from the landing, turning their bows
up-stream, fall away for a few moments before
the mighty current of a river one hundred feet


months many fellows swim out instead of row-
ing; but, believe me, the "Father of Waters" is
dangerous enough even for a skiff; it is no fit
place for a swimmer.
This description applies mainly to the "upper
levee "-that is, the part above Canal street. The
lower has other features. It begins at Canal
street with the "lower steamboat landing." Here,
about and under the sugar-sheds, the State's
great sugar and molasses crop is mainly handled.
Near the French market, beyond, lie the
steamships that run to New York. And here
is that picturesque scene, the Picayune Tier,
where the Spaniards' and Sicilians' luggers,


.,..
t
7-i- _7~1_~1(1






48 NEW ORLEANS. [Nov.
many of them with red sails, huddle together, tering one single "Have some?" to the boys
unloading across one another's half-decks their who stand about with flattened stomachs and
cargoes of oysters, melons, garlic, egg-
plants, sweet-peppers, pecans, and '
oranges. Just beyond it begins the
long crescent of the "lower shipping," ...:
both steam and sail. Much of this is V--,
from Liverpool, Havre, or Hamburg, %
coming after cotton, cotton, cotton; but -
much, too,- brigs, barks, barkantines, i '
with hulls white, blue, or green is from. -
the Mediterranean, the Peninsula, "the ---
Bay of Biscay, O," and the Antilles, bring- .
ing lemons, olives, almonds, prunes, '
wines, cordials, raisins, sardines, .
cocoanuts, bananas, cof- '
fee, cacao, dates, .
and cinnamon,
yet never ut- _










'f "'' watering mouths,-There!
That boy's got a banana!-
j-lC C'atch him!-Who?--He 's a
half-mile away, and still going; earn-
ing his banana by the sweat of his legs.
'ThJs I Let us turn back to the French market.
For there is beautiful, quaint old Jackson
Square, and behind it the twin spires of
XX"'", St. Louis Cathedral, both of them just
-' ) 'l i"' where Bienville staked out the ground
:' AI. for them a hundred and seventy-five years
S ."rj '-I"'. ago. He called the square (and it was
,,'.," ',,:, so called for more than a century) the
P" lace d'Armes. The plan was for six
S, streets to run behind the square parallel
..-. with the river-bank, with six crossing
them at right angles on the square's left,
and six- others doing the same on its
right, the whole having the levee in front
and a wall of earth and palisades on the
A PICTURESQUE FRONT IN THE FRENCH QUARTER. other three sides. Certain streets even






NEW ORLEANS.


yet show by their names where this old wall and
its moat were,- Canal street, Rampart, Espla-
nade,- making what is still called the vieux
carr6," the old square. This is but a slender frac-
tion of the present Creole New Orleans below
Canal street; but it is the old, the historic Creole
Quarter; and there was not much more than
this even when Claiborne, the young Virginian,
was the first governor of the State of Louisiana,
and Andrew Jackson, the savior of New Or-
leans, parleyed, in yonder room whose windows
still look out upon the old square, with Lafitte,
the pirate of the Gulf of Mexico, and accepted
his aid to drive back the British invader. Now
the long, thin city stretches up and down the
bends of its river-harbor twelve miles and more,
and promises ere long to have a quarter of a
million inhabitants.


Just behind the "vieux carr6," and facing
Rampart street midway between Canal and.
Esplanade, just as Jackson Square faces the
levee, is a piece of public ground whose pres-
ent name of Congo Square," as somebody says,
" still preserves a reminder of its old barbaric
pastimes." For here it is where the Creoles'
slaves, when this was outside the town gates,
used to dance their wild dances, Bamboula and
the Calinda. Here, for many years, was Caye-
tano's circus and many a bull-fight. Here is
where Parson Jones preached, and where Bras
Coup6 was lassoed. You do not know them?
It does n't matter; they were only friends of
mine; but I hope you will know them some-
time, when you are grown older.
Children love New Orleans,-and, next
month, I will tell you why.


LEAVES AND FLOWERS.

BY S. F. H.


The leaves have turned from green to red,
From red to sober brown,
And left the branches overhead,
And softly fluttered down.


And flowers in woodland dell and wold,
Are covered warm and deep;
And, snugly sheltered from the cold,
Have safely gone to sleep.


MOUSE OUTSIDE TO MOUSE INSIDE: "EXCUSE ME, BUT COULD I TROUBLE YOU
TO HAND ME OUT A PIECE OF THAT CHEESE?"


VOL. XXI.-7.













HISTORIC DWARFS.

BY MARY SHEARS ROBERTS.


III. NICHOLAS FERRY (BEBa).

FAR away in eastern France, under the
shadow of the great Vosges Mountains, lived,
a century and a half ago, a worthy couple
named Ferry. They were strong and healthy
young peasants, and for a time they had dwelt
together quite contentedly. The husband tilled
his field of flax while the wife milked her goats
and made her famous cream-cheeses.
One bleak November morning in 1741 there
was born at the Ferry cottage a little boy-so
little indeed that all who saw him wondered
how such a wee mite of humanity could even
breathe. He was not quite eight inches long,
and he weighed less than a pound; and yet he
was thought a very pretty and perfect infant.
The appearance of this tiny stranger created
great excitement all through the village. No
one so tiny had ever been seen before, and all
the good dames crowded into the cottage, fill-
ing it so full and chattering so loudly that it
was a marvel the little fellow was not killed
outright; and indeed it was no easy matter to
rear "B6b6" till he grew up-if such a mani-
kin could ever be called grown up. His mouth
was so tiny that it was difficult to feed him;
but his kind grandmama finally hit upon a plan
of giving him goat's milk through a quill, and
after that he did very well.
Of course, all the little linen shirts and dresses
for babies were many times too large, and had
it not been for a good-natured girl who gave
her doll's clothes, B6b6 would have been left
(like our own Flora McFlimsey in the ballad)
with nothing to wear.
The work of dressing and undressing him
was very difficult. He was such a fragile little
toy that his father, with his big rough hands,
was afraid to touch him lest he might break a
tiny leg or arm, or pinch off a few fingers and


toes altogether; so B6be was quite a mother's
boy, and it took her some time to get used to
handling him. She made a little bed for him
in one of his father's wooden shoes, lining it
with tow; and in this humble cot the child
slept as soundly and as sweetly as if he were a
high-born baby of ordinary size in a satin-lined
cradle.
When he was about a month old, there was
sent to him from the town of Nancy a hand-
some china dish holding a tiny pillow of fine


BtEB CRADLED IN HIS FATHER'S WOODEN SHOE.


white linen stuffed with softest down. On this
B6b6 was placed when carried to the church to
be christened.
Never was there such a christening in the
town before. The whole village turned out
and joined the procession, and the children
were so anxious to see this mite baptized that
the priest had to stop more than once and
wave back the crowd of inquisitive faces
before he could go on with the ceremony.
But it was finished at last, and the Ferrys' eld-
est son had a right to the name of Nicholas,






HISTORIC DWARFS.


though most people called him B6b6 to the
end of his life.
Nicholas grew very slowly, and when he was
only six months old he had the smallpox. The
little fellow was quite ill, but he recovered,
owing to his mother's tender care.
He did not begin to talk until he was a year
and a half old, and even then he could speak
only a few words. When he was two years
old he made his first attempt to walk, and his
proud and delighted mama carried him to the
village shoemaker and ordered a pair of shoes
for B6b6. At first the man only laughed at
her, but at last she induced him to measure the
child's foot. It was just one inch and a half
long. After a great deal of trouble a pair of
shoes were fashioned to fit. Such shoes!-they
must have looked like doll's pumps.
Naturally, B6b6 became an object of great cu-
riosity, and people traveled long distances to see
him. Although his diet now consisted of vege-
tables and bacon, he managed to keep well and
grow up straight and shapely a charming lit-
tle figure. He was good-looking too, on a
small scale, in spite of a few blemishes that the
cruel malady had left on the pretty little face.
At this time Louis XV. and his wife, Marie
Leszczynski, were king and queen of France.
Marie was the daughter of Stanislaus, once
King of Poland, but at the time of his daugh-
ter's wedding only an exiled monarch who had
lost his crown and had very nearly lost his
head-and the Leszczynski family was in very
straitened circumstances.
I suppose the King of France thought it did
not look very well for his wife's father (and an
ex-king) to be a wanderer and an outcast on the
face of the earth; and besides, the old man kept
writing the most annoying begging letters to
the Court of France; so, when the treaty be-
tween Charles VI. of Austria and Louis XV.
was made, it was agreed that, although Stanis-
laus should abdicate the throne of Poland, he
should still be called King, and furthermore,
he should be put in possession of the duchies of
Lorraine and Bar.
So it was in the grand duchy of Lorraine,
and therefore as a loyal subject of King Stanis-
laus, that our little Nicholas first saw the light
of day; and by the time he was six years of age


the old King had established a brilliant court at
Luniville, where he kept house in right regal
style.
From the earliest times court dwarfs had
shared with fools and jesters the favors of
crowned heads and nobles, and the class had
not yet died out. Indeed, no well-regulated
court in Europe could at this time be found
without one or more tiny men or women-and
Stanislaus was particularly partial to the pygmy
race. As soon as he heard of B6b6 he was anx-


-


v- ,' ^ : '- :, '



I I




BBiC CARRIED TO COURT IN A BASKET, BY HIS FATHER.

ious to see him, and great excitement prevailed
in the Ferry cottage when word was brought
that the King had sent for young Nicholas.
Catherine arrayed him in a little peasant cos-
tume, the best she could afford, and shed tears-
as she bade him adieu. He measured just
twenty-two inches and weighed exactly eight
pounds, so his proud and happy father popped
him into a little basket and set out for the pal-
ace at Lun6ville.
The arrival was duly announced, and the
poor bewildered peasant marched into the royal
presence with the basket still hanging on his
arm. The courtiers and fine ladies about the






HISTORIC DWARFS.


King all tittered and giggled at the awkward
bearing of Ferry, but when the cover of the
basket was raised and the sprightly little Nich-


NICHOLAS FERRY (BBEB).
REDRAWN BY PERMISSION FROM "LES NAINS ET LES GIANTS"
BY ED. GARNIER.

olas sprang out, a cry of admiration sounded
from all sides.
B6b6 pleased the King so much that he filled
the basket with good things and loaded Papa
Ferry with presents before he sent him home.
As for little Nicholas, his Majesty announced
that he was too pretty a manikin to be wasted
in the seclusion of a village-he should stay at
court; so poor Ferry, as he trudged back to his
lonely home, was left to console himself with
dreams of the greatness in store for his son.
-As for B6b6, his fortune was made, according to
the notions of those times. He was to be a
king's favorite, and to live in a palace.
Great was the grief of the loving mother
when her husband returned without her little
B6b6. To be sure, by this time she had two
other children, but there was nothing remark-
able about them, and B6b6, tiny as he was, was
the mother's pet. She grieved so much that
she determined to go and see him, and, if pos-


sible, induce the King to allow her to bring him
home again.
Now B6b6 had a very poor memory. He
could never recollect for forty-eight hours any
event, however remarkable; so when, after a
week's absence, his mother arrived to see him,
he had totally forgotten her--a poor return
for all the tender care she had lavished on him.
But B6b6 had a better excuse than have most
people who in prosperity refuse to recognize the
friends of humbler days, for the little fellow's
mind was really not strong; nature had stinted
him in intelligence as well as in stature.
The manikin looked so fine in his gay court
suit of blue satin and silver lace that the poor
woman could scarcely believe this was her little
Nicholas-her own B6b6, as she still fondly
called him. But memory would not waken, and
she turned from the palace weeping, while he
pirouetted about in his tiny high-heeled shoes
with their diamond buckles, and threw kisses
after her from his slender jeweled fingers.
B6b6 soon grew accustomed to the luxuries
of the court, and became very fond of the King,
whom he always called Sweetheart." His
intellect, however, continued very weak; he
could not, it seemed, distinguish between right
and wrong, and he had no reasoning powers at
all. But he could dance very well and sing a
little in a flute-like voice, and he was always
ready to play jokes with the courtiers.
The King, who earnestly wished B6b6 to
learn to read, appointed the Princess of Tal-
mond to teach him; but it was utterly impos-
sible to make him see the difference between
one letter and another. He became very fond
of his teacher, however, and developed an ex-
tremely jealous disposition. One day, after
giving him a lesson, she picked up a little pet
dog and commenced to caress it. In an in-
stant B6b6 had snatched it from her arms, and
before she had time to stop him, he threw it
out of the window. Then he turned and stamped
his foot, while his eyes filled with angry tears as
he passionately exclaimed:
"Why do you love him more than me?"
At this time B6b6 must have been a very
engaging little fellow. He had beautiful brown
eyes, and light golden hair, and he was so
vivacious, gay, and graceful that everybody






HISTORIC DWARFS.


loved him,-notwithstanding his fits of jeal-
ousy,-and he became the toy and plaything
of the court.
The Russian Empress, who also was very
fond of dwarfs, took a great fancy to B1b3
when she saw him at Lun6ville, and at the
end of a visit she was paying to Stanislaus, she
attempted to carry off our little hero without
saying "by your leave" to either him or the
King. Just before quitting the palace one of
her maids of honor snatched up the dwarf and
attempted to stuff him into a pocket of her
sable cloak; but B6be, who was highly indig-
nant at such treatment, called out at the top of
his tiny lungs, "Sweetheart! Sweetheart!" till
at last the wee voice was heard, and he was
rescued more dead than alive.
Soon after this, Stanislaus started off on a trip
to Versailles to visit the Queen, his daughter,
taking his little friend with him. Everywhere
they went 6b6b attracted a great deal of atten-


inches, called out, Sweetheart! Sweetheart!
here's another beautiful lady trying to put me
in her pocket!" And King Louis, who had
heard the story of the Russian Empress, was
so much amused and so well pleased with the
dwarf that he ordered a beautiful little house
to be constructed for him.
This small building was made complete in
every particular, and it was placed on wheels,
so that it could be moved from place to place.
The rooms were all finished in white and gilt,
with parquet floors, just like those in the big
palace at Versailles, and they were fitted with
furniture duly suited to B6b6's size. In this
tiny mansion he had a little greyhound about
as big as a squirrel, and a pair of turtle-doves
the size of canary-birds.
Afterward, at a big banquet given during
their visit to Paris, B6b6 went through the usual
performance of court dwarfs. A huge pie was
set on the table (who ever heard of a dwarf


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"BBiSl, STANDING ON TIE DINNER-TABLE, COURAGEOUSLY RECEIVED THE FUSILLADE OF SUGAR-PLUMS AND BON-BONS."


tion, and everywhere the ladies smothered him
with kisses and bonbons.
One day a celebrated beauty belonging to
King Louis's court snatched him up and tried
to place him on her knee, but B6b6, whose
memory seems to have increased faster than his


that was not at one time or another of his
life served up in a pie ?), and from it sprang
the manikin, dressed in a military costume
and carrying a tiny banner, which he waved as he
marched round the table paying many compli-
ments to the amused guests. After this he re-






HISTORIC DWARFS.


turned and stood sentry near his pie till time
for dessert. Then the King gave the signal for
a regular attack directed against B6bd. All the
guests joined in the bombardment, and he
courageously received the fusillade of sugar-
plums and bonbons till. the courtiers tired of
the sport, and B6b6 found leisure to eat the
missiles on the battle-field.
After they had returned to Lorraine, another
dwarf, named Boruwlaski, came to visit King
Stanislaus. This little fellow was a few inches
shorter than B6bd, and was called "Joujou."*
He was very bright and intelligent, and though
B6b6 at first appeared to have great affection for
him, he soon became jealous of the new-comer
because King Stanislaus paid him so much
attention.
One day, after Joujou had been talking with
the King, his Majesty turned to B6b6 and said:
"You see, B6b6, what a difference there is be-
tween Joujou and you. He is amiable, cheerful,
and well informed, while you are nothing but a
little machine."
To these unkind words B6b6 made no reply,
but his face showed that he felt them deeply.
Watching his opportunity, as soon as the
King had gone he seized his little rival by the
waist and tried to push him into the fire; and
if Stanislaus had not heard the scuffle and
come quickly back, I am afraid there would
have been a tragedy in the palace at Lund-
ville. B6b6 was punished and made to beg
Joujou's pardon, though he did this very
reluctantly.
There was another dwarf at the court of
King Stanislaus,-a little girl named Th6rese
Souvray, who was born in the same province
as B6b6, and was some years younger than he,
and about the same height. In 1761 a mar-
riage was arranged between this pair of mid-
gets, but Bi6b died before the happy day.
Little Th6rese, however, lived to a good old
age, and took the name of her intended hus-
band. When she was ten years old she was


exhibited as a curiosity in Paris, and in 1822
we hear of her at the age of seventy-three,
thirty-three inches tall, lively, gay, and dan-
cing the dances of the period with her sis-
ter, Barbe Souvray, two years older and eight
inches taller.
B6b6 died very young. At the age of fif-
teen he began to decline; he lost all his gay
spirits, and became bowed and crooked like an
old man. He grew more and more sorrowful,
and only at rare intervals, when they used to
carry him out and place him on a bench in
some sunny corner, would his spirits revive,
and for a short space he would seem like the
B6b6 of happier days. But these moments be-
came fewer and briefer, and it was soon evi-
dent to all that the little fellow had not long
to live. The King sent for Madame Ferry to
come and take care of her son, and he passed
his last days lying on his mother's knees; for
even then he was not so large as a four-year-
old child.
Toward the last his mind grew clearer, and
he said a great many clever and sensible
things, but this was the last flash before the
little candle went out. He died on the 9th of
June, 1764.
He was deeply regretted by Stanislaus, who
lived but two years longer than his favorite
dwarf. Before the King died he caused to be
erected at Luneville a beautiful tomb to the
memory of B6b6, bearing an epitaph in Latin,
which read, in part, as follows:

Here lies
NICOLAS FERRY, Of Lorraine,
A Sport of Nature,
Remarkable for his small stature.
Died, June 9, 1764.

In the Museum of the Facult6 de M6decine,
at Paris, is a wax model which represents B6b6
at the age of eighteen; and his little arm-chair
and statue form part of a celebrated collection
in the same city.


* Plaything.






























By CLARA DOTY BATES.


THE little girl Alice, who, once upon a time,
gave chase to a white rabbit across a field,
and when it popped down a large hole under
the hedge, followed it, and found herself in
Wonderland, really did not come upon any
more curious and extraordinary things than
could be seen any day upon the Midway Plai-
sance at the Columbian Exposition.
She found talking puppies and mice and
caterpillars and pigeons, but in the real Won-
derland of the Plaisance the people, and what
'they had and what they did, were quite as
queer. The Plaisance was, at the outset, a
very commonplace boulevard between two
parks. It even grew weeds and thriving rank
prairie-grass. No one thought of finding it
either amusing or picturesque. One only
'thought of passing over it to get, as quickly
as possible, to the more attractive park beyond.
But when the wizard's wand touched it, it
straightway became enchanted.

THE ESKIMO.
Then throngs of singular people hurried to
inhabit it. They came from every quarter of
the globe, with every sort of household belong-
ing, and settled down and began to take root.
The North Pole folk started first. Labrador
gathered together a little handful of her fur-clad


families, put them aboard ship, and sent them
over the cold seas and across thousands of miles
of winter lands to pitch their huts for the season
of the Fair under Chicago oaks. They launched
their sealskin "kayaks," or canoes, upon the la-
goons of the park; ranged their komitics,"
or sledges, along their banks; penned their
wolfish-looking dogs; tethered their reindeer;
made themselves at home, and began to enjoy
themselves in true arctic fashion.
Pomiuk, their boy prince, entered at once
upon a career of penny-gathering. He was a
real prince of a tribe with a terrible name-
Kikkertasoak.
This Eskimo prince did not look much like
the royal children in the story-books, but was
stubby, sturdy, black-haired, and swarthy-skin-
ned with a good deal of red underneath, mak-
ing his cheeks look very much the color of a
smoldering coal. From first to last he re-
garded the whole Exposition as tributary to
his pocket. There was one game his people
amused themselves with a good deal, which
might be called crack the whip." A coin
was stuck upon edge in the center of a wide
space, and the players ranged themselves at
a distance from it corresponding to the length
of their whips. These were of braided walrus-
hide, flexible, snake-like, coiling things, im-


___






THE CHILDREN OF THE PLAISANCE.


PRINCE POMIUK AND THE NICKEL.


mensely long. The one who dislodged the
money from the earth with the tip of his lash,
won it. Their lifelong practice in driving dog-
teams enabled them to hit a mark with ex-
quisite accuracy. Pomiuk's lash was much
shorter than the others-not more than twelve
feet in length. He would play at that game for
hours together. When lookers-on grew inatten-
tive, and no more money seemed forthcoming,
he would cry out in very understandable Eng-
lish, Put up a nickel! Put up a nickel "
Meantime, the native life about him went
on. "Pussay" drove the dogs in harness. He
roused them to their task by a quick cry of
" Ho-bro! When the ready creatures crowded,
and tangled their straps and strings in their


efforts to get as far as
possible from his wal-
k "' i_ rus-thong, he shouted,
". "Oosht! Oosht!"
.v -The "doak," or rein-
Sdeer, pulled their sledges
\ in winter, and in summer
were hitched to light carts.
They had Tommy Deer
for teamster. One could
well believe St. Nicho-
S las could drive his team
\ of eight over the roofs
S of the land in a single
night-to say nothing of
4 stopping at all the chim-
ney stations to deliver
"i packages-the reindeer
are so built for swiftness
\ and endurance. Their
S branching antlers must
Sbe made for the special
r, purpose of casting intri-
i cate shadows in the
moonlight upon the snow,
otherwise they might be
considered top-heavy and
a burden.
Mollie, one of the lit-
tle Eskimo girls, was
better-mannered than
Pomiuk, and cared as
much for her lean, black
American kitten as he
did for nickels. She wore trousers too, and
hated to be called a girl. Her little sister
hushed a precious rubber doll to sleep as ten-
derly as if she were civilized.
Three children were born to these people
after they came to Jackson Park--"Christo-
pher Columbus," "Columbia Palmer," and an
unnamed little girl who died. The mothers do
not carry their babies in their arms, but stow
them away in a wide hood at the back of their
upper garments. This roomy hood makes a
safe and cozy cradle for the dark-skinned in-
fant, and it is a pretty sight to see the beady-
bright eyes of a newly waked young Eskimo
peering out from his comfortable nest on his
mother's shoulders.


r~37 dS





THE CHILDREN OF THE PLAISANCE.


THE LAPLANDERS.


A sweltering day in midsummer could hardly
be called a pleasant one for the other snow-
born people--the Lapps. King Bull, their
chief, in his low, bare, rude hut, with his wives
and many children about him, might have been
looked upon as a regal figure in his own land
of ice and midnight sun. But with his reindeer
vest cast aside, and exhibiting his sealskin sus-
penders throughout a blistering midsummer
day, he was in no wise regal. Yet he is a great
man at home, owning twelve thousand rein-
deer. The leather cradle swung from the
rafters of the hut, or the branch of a small tree,
with tassels of bright beads hanging down over
its hood for the infant Princess Bull to play
with, hardly suggested that it had ever brought
slumber to kings. Yet in
Lapland twelve thousand
reindeer mean imperial
wealth and power.
The heat made mockery '
of the lines of slim snow- -
shoes stacked up against ,, ... '
'the fence, the cumbrous --.-. ,
fur robes hung out like
clothes upon a line to dry, .'
and the clumsy, trough- ''
like sledges standing about" '
as if waiting to take a
family party out for a ride I
upon the glacier. An '
obliging youth repeatedly
strapped on his skee-shoes
and ran about the inclo- i
sure, to show how fast he
could go when shod with '.
these narrow strips of
board; but he looked as 4 "
if he would presently be ''
melted..
The Lapland dress was '
peculiar in shape, young .
and old, men and women,
wearing bell-flaring skirts
very like the latest fashion
in our own land, except shorter. Their reindeer
were not so trim and well groomed as the Eski-
mo team. When a reindeer baby was born in
VOL. XXI.-8.


the village, soon after their arrival, many of
the Plaisance people called to offer congrat-
ulations. Turkish and Arabian orchestras
serenaded, dancing-girls sent sweetmeats, and
the Dahomeyans tried to get a peep at it over
the wall. But the reindeer mother cared only
for her Lapland moss, and to pitch the dogs out
of the corral when they became too inquisitive.
There were other young reindeer in the flock,
and they looked like rather tall, rusty lambs,
but had lovely lustrous eyes and patient faces.

THE BOISTEROUS DAHOMEYANS.

In extreme contrast to the people of the
snow-lands were their neighbors, the Daho-
meyans, from the Guinea coast of West Africa.
They brought with them dried palm-leaves to


-._._ _



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SI.-


Z iI p,


















A LAPLAND BABY'S NAP.
thatch their globe-shaped bark huts, and plenty
of long dried native grass for the bunchy fantas-
tic girdles which they wore about their hips.






THE CHILDREN OF THE PLAISANCE.


One felt inclined to walk their streets rather gin-
gerly, for so much rustling herbage was sug-
gestive of snakes, which they worship in their
-own country. It had taken them two months'
constant journeying to get to the Plaisance from
the cane-brakes of their home. How differ-
ent from their accustomed freedom was this
confinement in a small bark inclosure, to be-
come a wild show for millions of people!
Black as the shades of night they were,-black
and gaunt, with broad noses and immense
shocks of kinky wool. They were quite in na-
tive fashion as to dress if they had but a wisp
of bright cotton cloth twisted about them, and
a rush topknot. And bare feet and legs were


LITTLE DAHOMEY BOY, AND HIS PLAYTHINGS.
of no account so long as they had beads. And
such a noisy crowd they were! There was
never an hour in the day when they were not
pounding upon wooden kegs, and yelling in
shrill excited voices. No wonder their one
baby cried. Yet he did not cry because of
the noise, but because a stranger picked him
up from behind a bamboo paling where he was
playing with his little brother. Floods of tears
ran down his distorted little face, and he
screamed "Mammy! Mammy!" Mammy, sit-
ting in the door of her hut, did not even look
up, and the little brother grinned, showing
beautiful white teeth. On a broad platform


under an awning there was'a mimic war-dance
going on; the Amazons, their fierce woman
warriors, had bound a man-probably an Ash-
antee hand and foot. His comrades were
trying to rescue him. The warlike women
flew at them with hatchets, flourished swords,
gesticulated, and acted in such a ferocious and
bloodthirsty manner that a looker-on felt his
blood curdle. The drummers beat their wooden
kegs, making a perfect bedlam, but little Daho-
mey's yell of Mammy!" could easily be heard
through it all. One would have thought mur-
der was being done; but, put once more behind
his paling in the dirt, he laughed. He gave
good promise of becoming fully as boisterous
and turbulent as his savage kindred.
No one has a name in Dahomey. In child-
hood a brand is burned upon the cheek, and
this tattoo is the only naming.and christening.

THE GENTLE JAVANESE.
Imagine a playhouse village made of baskets,
and you have the Javanese settlement. It had
a basket-fence all about it, wrought out of split
bamboo. This did not in the least hide the
nest-like homes within. On the contrary, it'
offered constant temptation to peep through
its wide meshes to see what might be going
on along those glaring white roads and be-
hind those rush-lace-screened verandas. Dolls
might live there, or possibly real children just
for play,, but what odd homes for grown-up,
busy people doing genuine, humdrum work!
It is a curious idea to weave houses just as
kindergarten children weave bright-colored pa-
pers. Yet that is the way the little brown
people from Java make theirs.
They came to the Plaisance, and set to work
in an easy-going, cheerful manner, as if they
had never heard the word "hurry." In the
semi-idleness which they are used to in their
far-off, lovely and fertile island, they whittled
out the frames for their dwellings, braided the
walls in gay-colored mosaics, thatched the low
roofs, and outlined their slant lines with black
cocoanut fiber. They set up the hummingest
little corn-stalk weather-vane that ever whirled
a merry tune to the wind. As they worked,
the ground was strewn with a rubbish of dried
palm and chips of bamboo; but a gang of men







1893.] THE CHILDREN OF THE PLAISANCE. 59
times they ate their rice and curry with strips
of tin torn from old tomato-cans. But if that
S- were not expeditious enough, a little black hand
and five fingers made a very proper spoon.
..- They drank their coffee from cups made of

.., ". H bawith bamboo leaf held in place by a bit of
twine.
0;" Like Chicago!--very good Chicago!" was
their chief conversation.
_oIn the center of their town stood the chapel.
Near it was a small thatched pagoda. This
was the house of Claas," the four-year-old
baboon. Claas was the terror of the Plaisance.
He looked like a very short and slight, very
long-armed, very hairy, and very homely, brown
old man. His upper lip formed more than half
his face. His eyes were close-set and small, and
his expression stupid and evil. Day in and day
out he swung by one hand round and round an
upright pole, chewed at a part of his bedclothes,
A JAVANESE GIRL.

followed them everywhere I
with a sort of palanquin, '_- _
or litter, upon which they '-''
placed the odds and ends, .
and carried them off. In I ____-
that way all was kept as __ '--
clean as a swept floor. 'II I
These Java people were tj Jvns
very much the color of 's m -
their own coffee. They II
were the gentlest, thrifti- I -
est, most cordial and ami-
able little creatures that
ever reared a city out of -,-~-.
straws. They dressed in -
fragments of bright cot- ;" *l'~' -
ton, with bare feet thrust
into small-toed sandals, '-"
the soles of which flapped j '
at every step. They had
a way of taking these off ,
for comfort, while they '.
squatted cross-legged at
breakfast or dinner upon
their verandas, and the A TOP FOR THE JAVANESE BOY.
shoes were strewn about among their dishes. and seemed to be thinking sadly over his own
The floor was their table, and the Javanese pal- strange fate.
ate did not seem to be disturbed by trifles. Some- The Javanese musical instruments are made






THE CHILDREN OF THE PLAISANCE.


mostly of bamboo. They also played
upon a pipe, or whistle, which was about
three feet long and six inches across.
This sounded like the hollow roar of a
lion. Another was a bundle of tubes of
different lengths, which covered the
small boy who carried it like a big sad-
dle. A log hewn out, with two strings
stretched across it, served as a drum. A -
zither of sixteen strings and a mandolin
of two completed their outdoor band,
while inside one could hear other music
made by gongs of wonderfully pure and
beautiful tone. i
These gentle people had much of s
sorrow in Plaisance land. Antonia lost
her baby, and afterward died of grief



,I_ -










A CHINESE ACTOR.

for it. The funeral procession, passing through
the fantastic street of the Plaisance, received
the awed reverence of the motley inhabitants.

THE "CELESTIAL KINGDOM."
China came to the Plaisance with a tea-pot in
her hand. Two beautiful little girls, Rosie and
Sophie, and two chubby, diminutive, almond-
eyed boys, made one forget the every-day laun-
dryman type which has hitherto given us our
ideas of the people of the Flowery Middle
Kingdom. In their pretty native costumes the
S little girls were as sweet as the tea-blossom itself.
Their jet-black braids were lengthened out with
skeins of crimson silk, and there were bunchy
little rosettes at each side of the head. There
was a wondrous refinement in the clear pallor of
their complexions. Celestial is a fitting word
A CHINESE MOTHER AND BABY. to describe the serene gentleness of their faces.





THE CHILDREN OF THE PLAISANCE.


In the tea-house the
tradesmen and docile
venders of the steaming
cups showed equal re-
finement. The fragrant
drink was from fifteen
to twenty-five cents a
cup. One of the per-
suasive attendants, in a
quilted coat, was asked
what made the differ-
ence in price. He an-
swered, Little more
boilee water." That was
a childlike admission
indeed. Little more
boilee water should
make a difference!
Their joss-house bore
tiny bells hung at every
corner of its square tur-
reted tower. The theater
had two hundred actors,
who played an endless


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ARAB DONKEY-BOY : LOOK OUT FOR MARY ANDERSON'! "


drama called Prince


giving the Child to its Mother." Gongs were
beaten all day, with a rattle of small drums and
the clanging of cymbals.

THE LAND OF THE ROYAL CHRYSANTHEMUM.
Japan, too, came to the Plaisance, though
less a stranger than many others. She built a
lacquer town upon the Wooded Island. The
houses were neatly and wondrously fashioned,
with movable panels, sliding walls, flower-pots,
matting, and gorgeous gilded decorations.
The bazaars for trade were upon the Plaisance.
Shaven coppery polls and tags of black hair
characterized the Brownies that built them.
They had hardly any eyes at all-mere little
oblique slits through which shone black beads.
They wore awkward wooden clogs, or were
shod with straw sandals fastened with a leather
thong passing between the first and second
toe. Their garments had a huddled effect-
tight trousers and loose blue blouses with a large
red cross upon the back. The cross was the
workmen's trade mark. They seemed like
Brownies, indeed; for they depended upon the
good old motive power of muscles to do all
their work. While great steam-cranes were lift-


ing for other nations, and they could have had
the aid of all our modern mechanical ingenuity
if they had wished it, they chose literally to
shoulder their burdens and plod on after their


"SOUROR," THE SOUDANESE DANCING BABY. (SEE PAGE 63.)






THE CHILDREN OF THE PLAISANCE.


own slow custom. It was odd to see them
strain and tug, each one seeming to work apart
from every other, yet each furthering to the ut-
most the general design. Their houses were
not built from the ground up,, but from the
top down. Their rafters were not nailed or
pegged together, but tied deftly with some
vegetable thong. When nails were driven, it
was with repeated nice blows with a tiny
hammer, instead of with one or two strong di-
rect strokes. It was considered a blemish if
a nail-head was left in sight. But, with all
the pottering of these pygmies, they did accom-

-f -- '


THE CAMELS IN CAIRO STREET. (SEE NEXT
plish the most artistic buildings and gardens
that were ever seen upon the shores of Lake
Michigan. Their gardeners brought twenty
miles of landscape into a single flower-bed;
then they set out tea-plants and native blossom-
ing shrubs and trees. The vandal geese from
the Lagoon were quick to find out this feeding-
ground of imported dainties, and came up out
of the water and pulled up whatever dainties
they craved. As soon as they were discovered


in their marauding, they were shut up; other-
wise Japan would have had hysterics.
Children could now and then be seen loll-
ing over balcony rails, where No Admittance "
kept out the wandering visitors. They were
soft, smiling young things, ready to shake hands,
but not inclined to speak. Were they home-
sick for their top-spinning and kite-flying, for
cherry-blossoms and chrysanthemums, and for
a ride in a jinrikisha ?

THE EGYPTIANS.
A little boy of six years was perched upon
an unfinished wall where Cairo street" was to
be. He looked down with grave, bright, curi-
ous eyes, and said to every passer, Hello!"
This was Egypt's first effort at English greeting.
It meant Good morning," How do you do ?"
SGood-by," or any other necessary conversa-
tion. When the "street"
was completed and thrown
open to visitors, Cairo daz-
zled the Plaisance with a
A gorgeous procession. Bare-
ifooted Arab and Soudanese
Youngsters led it. They
paced with slow, fantastic
steps to a dumb pantomime
of their own music. In their
i l .. hands they bore stringless
.i tl. m andolins, on which they
II1' i' pretended to thrum, holding
111 them aloft, with their tur-
2'Li baned heads thrown back.
Although their striped cot-
ton slips were dirty and
faded, to them they were
triumphal robes. Behind
them came the bedizened
PACE.) camels, with bits of mir-
ror shining in tinseled setting on their scarlet
saddle-cloths, and with strings of bells dan-
gling from their bridles against their knees.
These jangled at every awkward step. Pres-
ently the boys in the lead fell to turning somer-
saults. The camel-riders each beat two drums,
one on either side of the saddle. "Toby"
whipped up his tiny donkey, "Yankee Doodle."
Swordsmen stopped the whole cavalcade to let
drive at each other with make-believe ferocity.


''
''
dli~ I ~
--~-,
---
a$~'?~bc~-~






THE CHILDREN OF THE PLAISANCE.


Wrestlers, in leather breeches, formed frequent
rings and had a test of strength; and priests
chanted sacred songs. It was like circus day
in a small town, only that instead of shoals of
small boys swarming after the chariots, here
were throngs of men and women moving like a
river on either side of the grotesque parade of
Egyptians, Arabs, Nubians, and Soudanese.
Cairo street supplied rare entertainment--
astrologers, snake-charmers, conjurers, native
dancers, camel-riding, donkey-riding, and shops
of every kind.
At one end were spread upon the pavement
loose hay-ticks, upon which the velvet-nosed
camels knelt in homely patience to receive
their loads of laughing boys and girls. The
terrific heave forward when the camel's hind
legs were straightened preparatory to his get-
ting up, and the equally violent pitch backward
when his fore legs were got into walking po-
sition, sent shouts of merriment from morning
to night up and down the ancient canvas walls
with their latticed windows and overhanging
balconies. The ships of the desert" moved
as if always in the trough of the sea. Then
there were cries of "Look out! Look out!"
from Toby, the donkey-boy. Achmet, his con-
frere, was wont to add a little to that cry. His
was, "Look out-look out for 'Mary Ander-
son'! (So he had named the donkey).
Souror was the Soudanese dancing baby.


She was very cunning, as she twisted her curly
head, wriggled her small body, and stamped
her bare feet or her red American shoes.
One woman, in a curious costume, with a
beautiful crimson in her dark cheeks, carried
a restless baby in her arms. A passer held
out a friendly finger to the child, and asked,
"Where ? "Bethlehem," answered the baby's
mother.
THE MEDLEY OF NATIONS.
Germany, with her Black Forest dwelling,
her moated castle of the olden time, gave
good music rather than any novel element to
the Plaisance. The Irish villages showed in-
dustries; the Moorish, bazaars; Constantinople
street, a mosque from the top of which the
muezzin called to prayer; Dutch East India,
jugglers and snake-charmers; and the Bedouins,
an encampment where life on the desert was il-
lustrated, the women baking unleavened bread
upon inverted pans, and cooling water in skins,
as when on a caravan journey.
However dress, customs, or complexions may
differ, and whether the home is a snow hut
near the Pole or a Javanese wicker dwelling,
fathers and mothers love and care for their lit-
tle ones the world over; and in this universal
love for children there was a certain kinship
between each and all of these diverse dwellers
in the Plaisance Wonderland.







--




''
wI '"', '/ '"


"A HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO YOU!"


X893.]







































IN THE COUNTRY.

BY FRANK H. SWEET.


SUNSHINE for the robin's song,
Night for the whippoorwill's;
The morning hours
For the scent of flowers
And joyous chirps and trills;
And all the day from dawn till night
For warbling birds and flowers bright.


Dark hours for the whippoorwill,
Light for the robin's voice;
And all the time
For lilting rhyme
That makes the woods rejoice;
And all the time and all the hours
For song of birds and bloom of flowers.












TOINETTE'S PHILIP.

By MRS. C. V. JAMISON.
Anthor of "Lady Jane."


[Begun in the May number.]

CHAPTER XX.
THE POOR DOLL FAINTS.
As the winter passed away, and the days of
early spring approached, Philip began to show
signs of restlessness, and anxiety for a change.
Mr. Ainsworth had spoken of going south in
March, and Philip counted away the weeks,
until that usually rude month, coming in like
a lamb instead of the traditional lion, brought
soft sunshine, with a hint of spring in the air.
One day when Philip was taking his lesson
in drawing,--for he had begun a regular course
of study early in the winter, and was making
such rapid progress that Mr. Ainsworth was
delighted,-he looked up suddenly and said,
with a touch of anxiety in his voice, "Shall we
start soon now, Papa? It 's March, and you
said we should go in March."
"Why, Philip, are n't you contented here?
I 'm sure it 's very pleasant. I don't feel like
going while this fine weather lasts."
"But, Papa, it 's time for Pere Josef to be
back, and I must be home when he gets back."
"Why is it so imperative that you should be
there as soon as he is?"
Because I have his children,' and I must
take them to him. He only left them with me
while he was gone, and it would not be right to
keep them after he gets back; and then there is
something I want to ask him."
"What is it, Philip? What do you want to
ask him ? "
"About my father and mother. Mammy
said he would tell me, and she said he had
some papers for me."
"Really, did she tell you that?" exclaimed
Mr. Ainsworth, excitedly. "Why did n't you
let me know of that before, Philip ? "
"I did n't think of it, Papa, and it would n't
VOL. XXI.-9.


have been any use while he was away; but now,
if he 's back, I want to see him awfully, to ask
him that question."
"So do I, my dear boy. I will write to the
priest at St. Mary's- Pere Martin, is n't he
called?-he can tell me whether Pere Josef has
returned, or where a letter will reach him."
Yes, Pare Martin will know," replied Philip,
eagerly; "and can't you ask him about Dea ?"
he added softly. I 'm anxious about Dea.
I 'm afraid her money is all gone, and that she
can't sell any of her father's little figures. I
want to go back to help her."
My dear, I have some good news for you
from Dea," said Mr. Ainsworth, smiling tenderly
as he looked at the boy's flushed, earnest face.
"I wanted to let your mama know first-it
makes her so happy to tell you pleasant things;
but I won't keep you waiting. I had a letter
this morning from Mr. Detrava. You remember
I told you about my friend who started some
time ago for New Orleans with the idea that
Dea's father was his brother, for whom he had
been searching a long time. Well, he was right.
The artist in wax is Victor Hugo Detrava, the
only brother of my friend and heir with him
to a handsome fortune in France. So Dea is
well provided for; her uncle is unmarried, and
from his letter I can tell that he is charmed with
his lovely little niece."
Philip's face was a study of various emotions,
surprise and joy predominating, while he listened
to Mr. Ainsworth. I 'm so glad that Dea has
some one to take care of her," he exclaimed,
when the artist had finished his pleasant story.
" And she is rich! Now she can buy her father all
the books he wants, how happy she will be! I
wish I could see her to tell her how glad I am."
"You shall, my dear Philip. If Pere Josef is
back we shall start for the South within a week
or two."






TOINETTE'S PHILIP.


Philip was in the highest spirits. To be back
in his old home, to see Dea and Pere Josef-
oh, it was delightful to think of. He laughed and
chattered incessantly, and was so excited over
the good news that he could hardly attend to
his lesson. He had not been happy lately.
However, he did not care now; he was going
away from them-he was going home, and he
was so merry that Lucille was more indignant
than ever.
"It's no use," he thought to himself; "she
won't ever like me, and she treats me worse
than she does Fluff. I 've got to get even
with her. I 've got to have some fun before
I go."
One day, when she returned from her airing,
very much excited because Gladys Bleeker had
bowed coldly to her when they met in the
park, Philip was in the butler's pantry alone,
huddled behind the partly closed door, with
an air of great secrecy. Suddenly a piercing
shriek came from the hall not one, but a suc-
cession of shrill screams which filled the house
and brought Madam Ainsworth to the head
of the stairs, pale and trembling with terror.
Mademoiselle had jumped on to a chair, hold-
ing her skirts around her in a most undignified
fright. Lucille was scrambling on to the hall
table, her hair and feathers in the wildest
disorder, her eyes wide with fear, while from
her parted lips issued cries which might have
been heard a block away.
The only brave one of the party seemed to
be the maid, Helen, who was pursuing a tiny
white object gliding along at the other side
of the hall, which she was trying to belabor
with an umbrella. But her efforts were in vain;
she could not hit it, and it slipped away and
disappeared through a narrow opening in the
door of the butler's pantry.
"What is it-what is the matter? Lucille,
darling, are you -hurt? cried Madam Ains-
worth half-way down-stairs.
The mice, the white mice," shrieked Lu-
cille. "They 're in the hall, they 're running
all over the floor. Oh! oh! I 'm so afraid."
"Les souris, lespetites souris, elles sontpartoul! "
added Mademoiselle, hysterically, as she drew
her skirts closer around her.
"Where are they? Oh, where are they?


Are they running up the table-legs ?" cried
Lucille, fairly dancing with terror.
"Sont-el/es sous la chaise ?" gasped Made-
moiselle.
"They 're gone," cried the victorious Helen,
flourishing the umbrella. "They ran into the
butler's pantry."
"Shut the door quickly, before they get out,"
called Madam Ainsworth, as she rushed to
Lucille and clasped her nervously. My dear,
my darling! oh, oh, you are faint! Run and
get my vinaigrette. Quick! quick! fetch some
water; the poor child is unconscious," cried the
old lady, as Lucille-furs, feathers, and all-tum-
bled, a limp bundle, into her grandmama's arms.
Yes, the poor doll had really fainted, after
all; she was a frail little creature. There was
a terrible commotion; she was laid, pale and
crumpled, on the drawing-room sofa; and the
coachman, who was at the door, was despatched
for the doctor.
Philip, not dreaming of such a tragic ending
to his bit of mischief, felt as guilty as an assas-
sin, as he stuffed a small white object into his
pocket and hurriedly wound up a long black
thread.
He was terribly frightened at the result of
his effort to get even with Lucille. He felt
that he had surpassed himself, and, without
waiting to know the awful consequences of his
practical joke, scuttled away to his room, where
he threw himself on his bed, laughing and cry-
ing at the same time.
When the little heiress had somewhat recov-
ered,-which was very soon, and long before the
doctor arrived,- Bassett walked gravely into
the drawing-room, his face as placid and impen-
etrable as a mask, and calmly asked what had
happened.
"Why, they went into your pantry, Bassett,"
said Madam Ainsworth, excitedly. She was
kneeling by the sofa, rubbing the thin hands of
the child, who had revived very suddenly from
her unconscious condition, and was sitting up
sipping a cordial from a tiny glass.
"What, Madam? What went into my pan-
try?" asked Bassett, rubbing his hands with a
puzzled expression.
"Why, the mice. Helen saw them run in
there, and you must have seen them."






TOINETTE'S PHILIP.


"I did n't see any mice in my pantry, an' I've
just come from there. If you '11 hallow me to
say it, Madam, there 's some mistake."
"What! Do you mean to say that they did
not'go in there-Philip's white mice, that he
turned loose into the hall on purpose to frighten
Miss Van Norcom? "
Bless me! no, Madam. Master Philip's
white mice never put a foot in my pantry."
I saw them, or I 'm sure I saw one; perhaps
it was only one," said Helen, her bright eyes
twinkling with mischief.
I saw them running all over the floor,"
declared the governess, emphatically.
Oh! I saw them climbing up the table-legs,"
wailed Lucille.
"If you '11 permit me, Madam, I '11 venture
to say that them little innocent animals of
Master Philip's hain't never been out of their
cage."
"How dare you say such a thing, Bassett!
Do you suppose that Miss Van Norcom and the
others are mistaken ? exclaimed Madam Ains-
worth, sharply.
By no means, Madam. If I may be allowed
to suggest, perhaps hit was what is called an
hoptical illusionn" returned the old man,
blandly.
"Nonsense, Bassett! It was that trouble-
some boy's mischief. It is getting unendura-
ble."
Will you hallow me to go to Master Philip's
room, Madam? If the little animals are not
there in their cage, I '11 hadmit they are 'id in
my pantry," and Bassett bowed and marched
out as gravely as he had marched in.
In a few moments he returned with an un-
mistakable look of triumph on his placid face.
Hit 's just as I expected, Madam. Them lit-
tle animals are 'uddled hup together, sound
asleep, in their cage; and Master Philip is there
'ard at work a-studyin' of 'is Latin."
"It is certainly very strange," said Madam
Ainsworth, looking mystified; "but I am not
convinced. You can go to your pantry, Bas-
sett; and when Miss Van Norcom is better I
will investigate the matter."
Bassett bowed very low, and went out with a
little spring in his step, and a merry twinkle in
his dull old eyes. "Bless my 'eart!" he mut-


tered as he closed the pantry door, and gave a
long sigh of relief, "I 've saved the little
pickle this time; 'e 's safe if my young lady's
young lady don't peach. She sees 'ow it is, an'
she's too good to blow on the pretty little chap,
so I think 'e 's safe to get out of a bad scrape."

CHAPTER XXI.
PHILIP PLEADS FOR THE "CHILDREN."
AFTER dinner Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth and
Philip were alone in the drawing-room. The
doctor came and spoke lightly of Lucille's
ill turn, prescribed a simple sedative, and went
away smiling to himself at Madam Ainsworth's
highly colored description of the dreadful shock
his little patient had received. She had been
put to bed, and her grandmother would not
leave her even to take her dinner; and as Made-
moiselle was required to be in constant atten-
dance, there was no one at the table but the
three who were now together in the drawing-
room.
Mr. Ainsworth was looking troubled, Mrs.
Ainsworth annoyed, and Philip strangely sub-
dued. The high spirits had vanished, he was
pale, and there was a suspicion of tears about
his eyes; he was trying to read, but from time
to time he glanced furtively from Mr. to Mrs.
Ainsworth, who were discussing the event of
the afternoon.
"It is absurd the way Lucille is encouraged
in her silly fancies," said Mrs. Ainsworth, with
some irritation in her voice.
But it was not only Lucille, my dear; they
all say they saw something," returned Mr. Ains-
worth, warmly. "They could not all be mis-
taken; they could not all be the victims of
'an hoptical illusionn' as Bassett said. Helen
declares that she saw something, and Helen is
not one to indulge in nerves.' "
I don't know; I can't explain it. I only
know Philip had nothing to do with it, nor the
'children' either," said Mrs. Ainsworth, decid-
edly. I was in Philip's room just before the
outcry, and the little creatures were asleep in
their cage, just as Bassett said. It is so unrea-
sonable of your mother to suppose that Philip
would let the mice out and risk losing them just
to frighten Lucille."




TOINETTE'S PHILIP.


"Mama, may I go to my room?" asked
Philip, coming forward for his good-night kiss.
Certainly, my dear, if you wish to. You
look pale; are n't you well? "
"I 'm well, thank you, Mama; but-but
I 'm tired."
Don't be unhappy, my dear, about this fool-
ish affair. I 'm sure we shall be able to con-
vince Madam Ainsworth, when she is calmer,
that you had nothing to do with it."


.. ,;.:" i l' :''; Ii ,.:: 'il"i' ;;l II. 1 ';, '" ', ;
I "I i I i


LUCILLE WAS SCRAMBLING ON TO THE HALL TABLE."
Philip hesitated a moment, with an appealing
look at Mrs. Ainsworth, and then, kissing her
again with much warmth, he went out silently.
The two remained in deep thought for some
time; then Mr. Ainsworth said with conviction:
" Philip knows more about this than we think
he does. I can tell by his manner that he has
something on his mind."
"My dear, you are becoming strangely like


your mother with your absurd suspicions," ex-
claimed Mrs. Ainsworth. How could the
mice be asleep in their cage and be running
about the hall at the same time ? I 'm not sur-
prised at your mother's unreasonableness: she
dislikes the poor boy, and takes every means of
showing it by her unkind accusations. But for
you to suspect Philip,-you who know how
truthful he is!"
Did he say he knew no-
thin jbut it?" asked Mr.
i, -A i t:, cautiously.
SI ,:i.l not askhim. I would
n.- t hiltr him so much as to
I 11 !;irI think that I doubted
4 i I :.rd. All he said was
r i i the mice were not
:oit of their cage, and
I know he spoke the
truth."
'' "Well, Laura,
'' we won't discuss
it any more; but
1 if I find that
S Philip is keeping
anything back, I
shall be greatly
disappointed in
S him -for he 's
Stnot the boy I
y
Sa ."1 thought he was."
There is no
li mason why he should
S eep anything back,"
i:',, "'2 I' joined Mrs. Ains-
i. :rth firmly, determined
I i ', t.,k ie nd Philip to the last;
'""i It -, ry brave, and not at
fill l t i-id t ell the truth. He is
always willing to bear the consequences of
his little pranks. He is never malicious, only
mischievous; and where others would laugh at
his harmless tricks, your mother treats them as
if they were crimes. If you listen to your
mother, she will succeed in turningyou against
the poor little fellow. Even now I think you
have changed toward him: he does not interest
you as he did."
"Now, my dear, you are unjust. I have not
changed; I love Philip dearly, but I am not





TOINETTE'S PHILIP.


blind to his faults, and I do think he is a
little-just a little--malicious toward Lucille.
Would n't it be better to speak to him gently,
and warn him not to play any more practical
jokes on that nervous, foolish child? Mother
is so displeased, it will end in making trouble
between us if it goes on, and you must see
how unpleasant that would be."
"If I should reprove Philip, it would be
treating the matter seriously; and it would be
equivalent to admitting that I doubted his
word. I am not disposed to make mountains
out of mole-hills. The only thing for us to do
is to take the boy away as soon as possible.
We can never be happy here with him; your
mother's dislike to him is unaccountable." And
Mrs. Ainsworth got up and paced the floor,
flushed and indignant.
"Don't excite yourself, Laura dear," said
Mr. Ainsworth, soothingly; "as soon as we
hear that the priest is back, we will start for
New Orleans, and we may learn something
from him about the boy that will relieve us of
all responsibility."
Mrs. Ainsworth said no more, but she felt
very dissatisfied and unhappy. Already her
assumed duties were pressing rather heavily
upon her, and for the first time she regretted
that they had been so hasty-that they had
not considered more seriously the importance
of the step they had taken.
The next morning, quite early, Madam Ains-
worth heard a timid knock at her door; and
on opening it she was surprised to see Philip
standing there very pale but very resolute. It
was the first time that he had intruded upon
the privacy of her apartment, and she felt that
the visit must therefore betoken something of
importance.
The boy's blue eyes were timid and appeal-
ing in expression, although his lips were firm,
his shoulders erect, and his manly little figure
full of courage.
"If you please, Madam, may I come in?
I want to tell you something," he said in a very
gentle, subdued voice.
Certainly, come in," replied Madam Ains-
worth, coldly. I 'm very busy this morning,
but I will listen to what you have to say "; and
she seated herself with dignity at her writing-


table, and began opening her letters with a
business-like air.
"I want to tell you about yesterday," said
Philip, his face crimsoning and his lips quiver-
ing. "It would n't be right not to tell you. I
would have told last night only for Mr. Butler.
I don't want you to blame him; he was n't to
blame, he did n't know about it. I hid behind
his pantry door, when he was out. He did n't
even help me make it;, he never saw it. You
won't blame him, will you ? and Philip looked
imploringly into the severe face before him.
Oh, Bassett was not an accomplice, then ?"
said Madam Ainsworth, a touch of sarcasm in
her voice.
He did n't know until after it was done, but
he said he would stand by me. I don't mind
for myself,- you can punish me good,- but
poor Mr. Butler Bassett, I -like him, and I
don't want him punished."
Oh, I see! You are great friends," said the
old lady, grimly. "Well, go on with your in-
teresting developments; I don't in the least
understand what mischievous tricks you were
up to."
Philip winced a little, but he pulled himself
together, determined to tell the whole truth.
Why, you see, Lucille was so cross to me that
I wanted-I wanted to pay her off. I wanted
to frighten her, but I did n't want to make her
ill. I would n't hurt her for the world; I
would n't hurt any girl, even if she did-even
if she did curl her 1ip at me, so I just thought
it would be fun to make something like a
mouse run across the floor."
Then there truly was something," exclaimed
Madam Ainsworth, triumphantly.
"Yes, there was; they did see something,
but it was n't one of the children.' "
"What was it? asked the old lady, impa-
tiently.
"Why, it was a mouse, but not a live mouse.
I made it out of wool, and put on a little tail
of tape, and the two eyes were jet beads off
of Mademoiselle's fringe. I tied a long black
thread to it and put it in the hall just where
Lucille would see it when she came in, and
I made it jump quickly by jerking the thread,
and when I had frightened them well I pulled
it into the pantry. Helen tried to kill it with






TOINETTE'S PHILIP.


the umbrella, but she could n't get a hit at it.
Then Lucille fainted, and Mr. Butler came in
and told me to run up the back stairs. So
you see that was why I said it was n't one of
the 'children' "; and Philip drew a long breath
of relief now that he had unburdened his con-
science, and waited timidly for the result of his
confession.


now that I did it. I 'm very sorry that it made
Lucille ill. And I came to ask you to for-
give me."
"Forgive you! Indeed I shall do nothing of
the kind. I shall insist on your being punished
severely. You must be taught that you can't
trifle in this way with me," said Madam Ains-
worth, indignantly.


" SUDDENLY MADAM AINSWORTH STARTED FROM HER CHAIR AND LOOKED AT THE BOY
ALMOST IN TERROR."


Really, really!-what deception, what false-
hood! exclaimed Madam Ainsworth, angrily;
"and Edward has boasted of the boy's truth-
fulness."
It was n't a falsehood," returned Philip,
proudly; "I never tell lies. It was only a-
a mistake. It was because I went in Mr. But-
ler's pantry, and I did n't want him blamed-
that's why I did n't tell at first. I 'm very sorry


"Well, I don't mind," replied Philip, bravely.
"You can punish me; only, please don't blame
Mr. Butler."
"I shall settle with Bassett at my leisure, and
I shall order him to take those little vermin out
of the house immediately."
"What vermin? You don't mean Pere Jo-
sef's 'children,' do you ?" asked Philip, in a
horrified voice. "They 're not vermin; they're


[Nov.






TOINETTE'S PHILIP.


just as good and quiet, and they 're neat, too.
I keep their cage as clean as can be. Oh, you
don't mean that they must go! "
I certainly do. I have had enough trouble
since you brought the horrid little things here.
I shall give the order to have them taken away
at once. I don't care what becomes of them,"
and Madam Ainsworth turned toward her table
as if she had settled the matter definitely.
Oh, Madam, please don't send them away.
I can't let them go. Pere Josef left them in
my care. Oh, please, please don't!" and Philip
in an agony of entreaty laid his hand on Ma-
dam Ainsworth's arm, and looked into her
face imploringly.
"It 's no use to make a fuss. I will not
allow them to stay in my house; that is final.
Now you may go. I 'm too busy to be troubled
with such nonsense." And the indignant old
lady shook-off the little hand angrily.
Poor Philip he had never dreamed of such
a dreadful punishment; he was desperately in
earnest now, and entirely overcome by fear and
sorrow, he burst into tears, and clasping his
hands passionately, made a last, most pathetic
appeal.
They 're so little! They don't know any one
but me; they '1l be afraid of strangers; they
may starve, they may get lost, and they can't
find their way home; and what will Pare Josef
say when he sees me if I don't bring his chil-
dren' back ? I promised to take care of them,
and I can't if you send them away. I love them
so, they are so little and cunning, and they love
me. They 're all I 've got to care for. Don't
send them away, please don't! We 're going
home soon; please let them stay with me till we
go! Oh, please do, and I '11 be so grateful.


I '11 try to be good; I won't tease Lucille again.
I '11 be so glad if you '11 let them stay! "
Suddenly Madam Ainsworth started from her
chair and looked at the boy almost in ter-
ror. Something in his pitiful pleading voice
pierced her to the heart. It was a note of
childish sorrow that she had heard long ago,
and it softened her instantly. Hot tears sprang
to her eyes, and for a moment she could not
regain her self-control. At length she said, in
a voice that trembled in spite of her effort to
make it sound harsh:
"There, there, child!-that will do. Don't
go on as if you were insane. If your heart is so
set on those horrid little creatures, keep them,
and oblige me by never speaking of them again.
Now wipe your eyes and go to your room, and
in the future try to treat Lucille properly."
Oh, thank you, thank you! cried Philip,
rapturously, a sudden smile breaking over his
face like a ray of sunlight in the midst of rain.
" I '11 never forget how good you are, and you
won't blame Mr. Butler, will you?" he added
anxiously.
"I '11 consider it," she said; "he deserves to
be reproved, but for your sake I may overlook
his fault." Madam Ainsworth had never be-
fore spoken so gently to the boy. At that
moment she longed to take him in her arms
and hold him to her heart, but she allowed him
to leave the room without any further indica-
tion of favor. The proud old soul felt that
she had made concessions enough for one day,
so she resolutely held herself in check-only
thinking as her eyes followed the happy little
fellow: It certainly is very strange. The boy
quite unnerved me. I really felt for a moment
as though he belonged to me."


(To be continued.)


1893-1










ISERY & CO


By J. R. SMITH.


MISERY loves com-
pany. Misery is a brin-
c-.n..- -~- died cat, and Company is
a big Newfoundland dog.
They were raised, and lived very happily
for some years, in a shanty high up on the
rocks of a vacant block in Harlem; but times
have changed with them now, and they are in
a fair way to become tramps in the wide world
of unclaimed cats and dogs.
Some days ago the people of the shanty
were forced to move away, and a blacksmith's
shop was built upon the rocks; then a wagon-
load of large steam-drills was hoisted up and
piled alongside of it; and in a few months a


would have be-
gun before now if
it were not for the
children in the neighborhood, who have so
far kept them supplied with bones and pieces
of meat and bread-for Company is one of
those great, big good-natured dogs that would
not harm a mouse, and he has made many
friends among the little boys and girls near
by, whom he is always ready to play tag with,
or even to ride around upon his back.
During school hours Misery and Company
pass their time very quietly together, wonder-
ing what has become of their owners, and wan-
dering about over the rocks in search of them.


-COE, LET US TAKE A WAL

L COME, LET US TAKE A WALK."


row of tall modern houses will stand in the
little shanty's place.
When the owners moved away, they left Mis-
ery and Company all alone to take care of
themselves as best they could; and their trial


At night they crawl under the shanty, and Mis-
ery curls herself up close against Company and
goes to sleep, as a kitten does with its mother.
Company is always first to wake up in the
morning, but he is careful not to disturb Mis-





MISERY AND CO.


ery until she begins to stretch herself and is
ready to rise; then she walks around him,
rubbing herself against him and purring, as if
to say, Come, let 's take a walk"; and they
start off together, side by side, for a ramble be-
fore breakfast.
As Company's legs are very long, Misery
finds it hard work to keep step, and it is very
funny, as they are trotting along together, to
see Company looking down sideways at Mis-
ery with a great deal of admiration, but still
in a reproachful sort of way, as if he were say-
ing, Why don't you keep step ? "
Although Company never minds however
roughly the children may play with him, he is
very jealous and uneasy if any one of them
tries to catch Misery; he will then give a gruff
kind of a bark, which the boys and girls all


"WHY DON'T YOU KEEP STEP?"

understand very clearly to mean, "That 's my
cat, and you must be very careful of her."


NEIL WENTWORTH'S FAMOUS


BY ETHELDRED BREEZE BARRY.


"HOORAY! hooray !
G. A.! G. A.!
Grantonville Academee-i-a! "

THE school-cheer rings out across the play-
ground, and is echoed by the old stone walls
of the Academy. The big boys stamp and
shout, and the small boys dance and scream,
but accomplish little save giving themselves
sore throats. In the middle of the playground
VOL. XXI.-Io.


is a swaying mass of boys in canvas jackets;
good fellows, all of them, with kind hearts and
generous souls, yet each one feeling an intense
longing and desire to tear his opponent to pieces
and demolish him generally if it will in any way
help his side to gain possession of the ball in
the center of the group. As it sways one way
or another the crowd on the fences becomes
excited, and the "rah-rahs" resound again and


RUSH.


-- ~

~2- -


p-rs
--r------~






NEIL WENTWORTH'S FAMOUS RUSH.


again. Occasionally a favorite will be cheered,
and cries of Go it, Harvey!" "Hooray,
Wentworth! or Mind yourself, Warder! "
are added to the general din.
"Stumpy Wentworth is the best man we
have," remarks one onlooker, enthusiastically.
"I '11 wager Warder can beat him," says
a young gentleman in a Norfolk jacket. He
carries a whip in his hand and a straw in his
mouth, and there is a neat little horse tied to
a tree down by the janitor's house. It is Wil-
ling, the school sport.
"Oh, no! Wentworth can walk all over
Warder," responds Dodson, the first speaker.
"There's not a rusher like him this side of the
river, and- Rah, rah, rahr -look there; will
you!" and the crowd becomes a shouting, cap-
tossing mass of excited boys; for away in the
middle of the playground the scrimmage has
suddenly broken up, and one figure, with torn
stocking and bare head, is making for the far-
ther goal with the ball under his arm. After
him come the others, some close on his heels,
others edging off toward the sides, but the sturdy
legs keep on their way and cover the ground at
a sprinting rate. He is a thick-set, broad-shoul-
dered fellow. His way seems clear enough,
but now the goal-keepers rush forward and,
in a tough and solid little group, strive to
oppose him.
"Swerve, Wentworth!-dodge 'em! dodge
'em! is the advice yelled after him by the
excited spectators. But Wentworth cannot
swerve: dodging is not in his line. Harrison
there can keep a whole crowd in play by his
twists and doubles, but Wentworth must keep
straight ahead when once he is started. So
he settles his head well down, squares his
shoulders, and rushes right into the middle of
the goal-keepers. They clutch at him and try
to stop him, but he shoots past them, and in a
minute has made a touch-down behind the
goal, and the game is won.
"Rah, rah, rah!" shriek the boys. Rah,
Wentworth, rah, rah, rah!" They break up
into little groups and run across the playground
toward the school-house, where the hero of the
hour is sitting on the pump-trough bathing a
bleeding nose with somebody's grimy handker-
chief, kindly lent for the occasion.


"That was great, old man!" cries Dodson;
and Willing adds, Finest thing I ever saw.
He 's a trump, Dodsey, I must admit." And
the chums move off.
It was only a practice game, to test the
strength of the team before facing the High
School, and we would have you understand,
kind reader, that theirs is supposed to be the
best school team in the county, yet we hope and
expect next Saturday to "jump on them with
all four feet," as our captain puts it, if they are
three years our senior, and wear apologies for
mustaches. And if our hopes and expectations
are realized, we shall be the champion team of
the county.
Although young for the position of "half-
back," Neil Wentworth fills it admirably. He
has always been a favorite with his schoolmates,
and now his popularity has been heightened by
his plucky rush, as is shown by the way in
which they cluster and crowd around him on
the strip of lawn dividing the school from the
janitor's house, where his pony is hitched, a
chunky, cobby little creature like his master.
The pony has been using his idle time in try-
ing to pick a quarrel with Norton Willing's
graceful thoroughbred, and challenging him,
with gleaming eyes and frisky back hoofs, to
"Come over here and have it out!" Neil
.slips into the saddle, and pony and master pass
through the gate while the school-cheer is
raised again:

"Hooray! hooray
G. A.! G. A.!
Grantonville Academee-i-a! "

Over the smooth road-bed speeds Neil, his
head filled with thoughts of the coming Satur-
day. As he turns in at the gate he meets his
mother, who looks relieved upon seeing him.
Oh, Neil!" she begins, but stops short at
sight of her son's battered visage. Why, my
dear boy, have you been fighting? Just look
at your nose!"
"That is more than I can do, Mother," re-
sponds Neil, lightly; "but I can guess pretty
well what its appearance must be without mak-
ing myself cross-eyed. No, I have not been
fighting; I have been playing foot-ball."
Oh, Neil, Neil! I wish you would give up


[Nov.





NEIL WENTWORTH'S FAMOUS RUSH.


foot-ball; it is such a savage game. I have
been watching for you for over an hour; your
father wants you to go somewhere for him."
As the boy turns to go in she stops him once
more.
"Your stocking is badly torn. Did you
know it?"
He squints at his sturdy calf over his shoul-
der, and remarks quietly:
"Oh, yes! 'Peanuts'-I mean McDermot
-tore it in a scrimmage. He had on spiked
baseball shoes, and was disqualified."
Mrs. Wentworth sighs.
4' Oh, my dear boy, must you play such wild-
Indian games to be happy? I am constantly
expecting you to be brought home killed. But
run up to your father now; he is waiting."
Neil bounds up the stairway, and then steps
more quietly as he nears the study door. His
father, a gray-haired, gray-bearded man with
hollow cheeks and bent form, is pacing the
floor. As he turns to meet his robust son they
make a queer contrast.
I have been looking for you, Neil. Where
have you been ? "
"At the school, Father, playing foot-ball."
"Humph, foot-ball!-when I have been
waiting and waiting for you to attend to a
most important matter for me!"
Neil heartily apologizes, but his father laughs.
good-naturedly and bids him sit down; and
Neil seats himself beside a table covered with
maps, drawings, and drawing instruments, for
his father is a railroad-builder and contractor.
Now, Neil," he begins, "give me your full
attention, for this is a most important matter,
and will stand no botching. Now listen:
"We are, as you know, building a new road
to connect the New York and H- with the
Grantonville branch, and there are about one
hundred or one hundred and fifty men em-
ployed on it. Mr. Falconer is the overseer of
the gang, and he lives, temporarily, in that little
house about a mile and a half this side of the
new road. Perhaps you know the house; it is
on the Gloucester Pike not far from the old
mill-dam that burst two or three years ago ? "
Neil nods, and his father goes on:
"This is pay-day, and I promised Falconer
to meet him at this house with the men's money.


I find I am unable to go, as my cough has been
increasing all day, and so I must send you; for
if the men should not get their wages, there
would be trouble. Now I am going to give
you three hundred dollars, and you must be
careful not to lose it. Take Thomas with you
in the carryall or buggy, for there have been
several men discharged lately, and they have
been hanging about in the woods for the last
few days. If they saw you alone they might
be up to some mischief, knowing you are my
son, and thinking you might have the money
about you. Now go at once, and drive quickly;
for I should like Falconer to have this as soon
as possible. Put the' money in the inside
pocket of your vest, and give Falconer this
note. Don't lose a moment, or Falconer will
not get to the railroad in time; and hurry back,
for I shall be anxious."
Neil takes the money and the note and runs
down the back stairs and across the garden to
the stable, where his pony still stands in the
shed. He calls loudly for Thomas, but one
of the maids tells him that the coachman has
gone to the blacksmith with both horses.

PART II.

"WELL, there is no use crying over spilled
milk, Rollo," Neil says to the little cob. "You
and I must go alone." He vaults into the sad-
dle, and they clatter out of the stable-yard and
down the street. It is a long road he has to
travel; yet, tired as he is with his day's play, he
enjoys it, for the November air is keen and
bracing. He rides rapidly and freely, giving
the little nag his own way, so that they swerve
merrily from one side of the road to the other;
for Rollo has not been playing foot-ball, and
has a great deal of curiosity. But his inquiring
mind soon gets him and his master into trou-
ble, for, seeing a squirrel dart down the bank at
the side of the road, he attempts to follow it,
and, before Neil can pull him up, is flounder-
ing among the briers and loose stones in the
dried-up bed of the old mill-race.
"Well, if you are n't cranky! What on
earth did you come down here for-Hello,
what 's this?"
For Rollo has stumbled slightly. Then,






NEIL WENTWORTH'S FAMOUS RUSH.


with a low whinny, he sticks his fore leg out.
Neil dismounts and feels it, but is not wise
enough to know what is the matter., and he leads
the limping horse up the embankment and along
the road. It is slow work, for Rollo refuses to
do more than creep, and makes the most of his
affliction, so that the short distance between him
and Falconer's cottage seems a mile to poor
Neil. As he nears the door, the overseer's wife
runs out to meet him.
Oh, Master Wentworth, did you come from
your father? Mr. Wentworth did n't come, and
so my husband has gone on to the railroad.
He supposed he would find your father over
there. He was dreadfully flustered. Won't
you come in and rest awhile? "
Neil draws a long whistle. "Here is a pretty
kettle of fish! he exclaims. "I can't come in,
thank you. Father was unable to come this
afternoon, so he sent me with a note to Mr.
Falconer, and now you say he is gone, and I
have missed him." He walks along the path-
way and looks up the road. With hard riding
he might overtake the overseer, but his horse
is disabled, and that is out of the question.
There is no way of getting the money to the
men unless he walks; and he thinks of what his
father told him about the discharged employees
lurking about in the woods. He has read in
the newspapers time and again how desperate
these men become, and one thrilling account
which made a deep impression on him at the
time, comes forcibly into his mind,- of a fore-
man who was waylaid in a lonely spot, beaten,
and robbed of the pay of three hundred men,
which he carried with him. He thinks for a
moment.-The men must have their money;
his father had said there would be trouble if
they did not get it, and he is the only one who
can take it to them, and the road through the
woods is the only way, so he turns back to the
house.
I think I will go on and overtake him," he
announces to the woman who stands waiting in
the doorway, "if you will be so good as to
keep my horse until I send for him. It is only
a mile and a half, and I can easily get to the
railroad by half-past five."
"Well," she says, reluctantly; only I don't
like your goin' through the lonely woods so


late in the afternoon. There are tramps there,
some says. Is it anything special? "
"Yes, it is. My father gave me some direc-
tions for Mr. Falconer." He thinks it best not
to mention the money. If your son could rub
down Rollo for me I 'd be very much obliged
to him. I don't believe he is much hurt, and
I '11 send Thomas over for him this evening."
So he turns away. He has little fear of meet-
ing the men; had he been driving they might
have been attracted by the sound of the wheels,
but, as Falconer has gone on before, they will
hardly interfere with him. He tries to put
them out of his mind, and turns all his mind
toward his foot-ball success. The ground is
firm and hard beneath his feet, and as he steps
briskly along his thoughts are reveling in a
boyish day-dream of a long line of conquests
at foot-ball: first of all the Academy Team
made County Team through his efforts. And,
I regret to say, the prospect is more enticing
than that of any scholastic achievement would
have been.
A crackling of the bushes beside him puts an
end to his vision, and he turns sharply about to
face an Italian in laborer's clothes.
"Whata time is it, ifa you please ? says the
man, coming forward.
"The usual beginning," thinks Neil, with a
little thrill of pleasurable excitement along his
backbone. Then he says aloud: I have n't
my watch with me; sorry I can't oblige you."
"You Meestare Wentworth hees son ? con-
tinues the workman.
"I am. What can I do for you? "
The Italian's face darkens.
"Meestare Wentworth he taka ma moneys
away from me."
"I am sorry to hear it," says Neil with ex-
cessive politeness, anxious to keep in the man's
good graces. I shall ask him to pay it back
to-morrow."
He tries to pass on, but the Italian says
angrily, "You goa too fast!" and stepping
briskly forward he clutches Neil by the shoul-
ders, but the boy breaks away from him and
runs down the road a little distance. When he
looks back the Italian has vanished, and all is
still.
"That fellow means mischief," he thinks, "or





NEIL WENTWORTH'S FAMOUS RUSH.


he would not have given in so easily"; and he
walks cautiously on.
Just ahead of him the pike makes a sudden
bend, and when he reaches the elbow he sees
four men (one of them the Italian) standing in
the middle of the roadway, about a hundred
yards away. Neil sees it all: the Italian and
his comrades have made a short cut through
the woods with the intention of heading him
off. What to do he does not know. Turn
back he will not; besides, they could easily run
through the woods and head him off again.
He might take to the woods himself, but four
of them, who know the neighborhood far better
than he, could easily trap him and run him
down, for, as I told you, Wentworth is no
dodger. His only chance lies in passing them
where they stand, by strategy or force. Sud-
denly a bright thought strikes him: Why not
"rush ? He has beaten his way through the
school goal-keepers, and are these workmen,
who have been loafing for weeks, likely to
prove any tougher than the young athletes who
have been training constantly all the fall? To
be sure, the game is.more serious, for, should
they manage to stop and hold him, he knows
perfectly well his life may not be worth six-
pence. They suspect (if they do not know)
that he has the money with him, and if they
are desperate enough to rob they might never
let him go free to inform on them afterward.
Besides, Neil valiantly makes up his mind that
they never shall have the money unless they do
kill him first.
Never did Wentworth prepare for a foot-ball
tussle as carefully as he prepares for this-per-
haps his last-rush. He pulls up his stockings
and tightens his belt, while vivid pictures of
home and school life pass before his eyes: his
father, with his pale and thoughtful face; his
mother's plump and trim-looking little figure;
the baby with her yellow curls; and the dear
old school with its crowds of merry boys on
the playground. And in his ears rings the
advice an old player gave him when he first
entered upon his foot-ball career:
"Remember, it is not merely brute strength
that wins a game, but the scientific use of your
strength. And keeping your wits about you
is half the battle."


Then he starts toward the men on a trot,
while they, unable to divine his purpose, are
uncertain as to what they had better do, and
stand watching him in perplexity. Within
twenty yards of them he increases his speed
and bears down upon them. Now they seem
to understand, for they string themselves out
across the roadway, and, with shouts and ges-
ticulations, try to head him off. Head him off?
They might as well attempt to stop a whirl-
wind or a locomotive. They think he will
dodge, but he never swerves to right or left.
His practised eye tells him which is the weak-
est man, and he makes for him with a steadi-
ness and a fearlessness that surprise the ruf-
fians. But they are desperate men, who do
not intend to let him outwit them, and as he
meets them they rush together in a group and
clutch at him.
"It is science against brute force," thinks
Neil exultantly, and he wonders at himself for
being so cool. The Italian is nearest to him,
and as he tries to stop him, he remembers a
little trick by which he has "downed" more
than one player on the school-house grounds.
Placing his open palm on the man's forehead,
he gives his head a sudden backward twist
which takes his breath away and throws him
heavily to the ground. The others are upon
Neil in an instant, and one, a burly Hungarian,
clasps him about the waist. It means life or
death now, and Neil's heart beats fast, but he
keeps his wits about him. Grasping his adver-
sary by the hips as they stand face to face, he
leans slightly backward as though about to fall;
then, with a sudden unexpected turn, making
himself a pivot, he swings the clumsy fellow
around, and in an instant has him underneath.
Now he leans quickly forward, and as the Hun-
garian unclasps one hand to save himself from
the inevitable fall, Neil springs away and bounds
along the road. Seeing the two men thrown,
the third hesitates and lets Neil pass him, and
now only one man is ahead. Our hero, in-
stead of attempting to dodge him, butts into
him with such force that the man almost loses
his balance, and lets him go. He has out-
witted four men, and has not struck a single
blow.
As he runs over the hard road they hotly


1893-]






NEIL WENTWORTH'S FAMOUS RUSH,


pursue him, but he knows they have no chance
once he is ahead. Stones rattle about him and
angry voices follow him, but the danger is past.
Fortunately they have no pistols, and the knife
which the enraged Italian hurls after Neil falls
harmlessly to the ground ten or twelve feet
behind him.
Fifteen minutes later Neil hands the money
to the despairing Falconer, who is just on the


point of telling the men that Mr. Wentworth
has not come, and that they must go home
without their wages.
Neil Wentworth is captain of a college foot-
ball team now, and his fame as a rusher is wide-
spread. Many an exciting run has he made
while thousands applauded; yet in all his ca-
reer no rush stands out with such startling dis-
tinctness as the one on the old Gloucester Pike.


TEDDY'S WONDERINGS.

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.


I WONDER if there 's anywhere
A little fairy flock
So small a grain of sand seems like
A great big piece of rock?


THE MALICIOUS SPOON: "OH, WHAT A DOSE I 'VE
JUST GIVEN THE BABY! "


I wonder, too, when I 'm a man,
And not a little tike,
If I shall have the luck to be
The sort of man I like.


THE FRIGHTENED BOTTLE: "GREAT CESAR! I 'VE
SWALLOWED MY CORK!"















Y(PRRYTH9UGfHT(
FIS^qTP de~


I. NAN AND MERRYTHOUGHT."

"DEAR Merrythought! How can I let you
go !-how can I let you go!" And thirteen-
year-old Nan sobbed and cried and ran into
the house, while Farmer Katchpence turned
to look pityingly after his daughter, saying:
"Poor young one! she did love the critter,
and she ought ter keep it; but the folks down
in Boston will have Thanksgivin', and what
would, Thanksgivin' be without turkey, I 'd like
ter know ? And then there 's the money-we
must have the money! and this consideration
sealed the fate of Merrythought; and up went
Nan to her little room to bawl it out by her-
self," as big brother Jack said, with an air of
what he called dignity.
In the garret window of an old farm-house,
away up amid the hills of Vermont, sat Nan,
not sobbing and crying, but truly "bawling it
out by herself," as Jack had said. Here was
Merrythought, the pet that she had watched
over, tended, and loved all the summer, called
to meet a tragic end which we can believe
never occurred to him, but did cast a shadow
over the loving heart of Nan. Somehow she
had fdlt that when November came, perhaps
Merrythought would be spared; there might be
enough without him. But that great American
factor, How much is he worth?" had taken
hold of the Vermont farmer, and since Merry-
thought was a little better in every way for the
good care Nan had given him, it was felt that


TRUE STORY



By L. J. SANDERSON.


he was worth more than any of the other turkeys.
He met his end with Turkish fortitude, and
Nan-poor Nan!-was trying to bear it with
equal fortitude down below the sobbing and
bawling.
II. THE NOTE.

I 'LL do it! Yes, I willdo it," thought Nan,
and she hunted about in the dim old room to
find something to write upon; but nothing was
to be found except brown wrapping-paper, for
stationery was a luiury unknown to the farmer's
family.
With a stubby pencil Nan wrote on the
brown paper these words:
This is Merrythought, my pet turkey. I have taken
care of him all summer. I feel awful bad to have him
go. He is sweet, and tender, and nice, Ino, but I wud
like to no for sure if he eats well, and how much money
you had to pay to get him. Please will you rite and
tell me. NAN KATCHPENCE, Upland, Vermont.

Down the stairs Nan glided, for she was
lighter of heart now, and into the kitchen she
went, for she was the eldest girl in a large
family, and the little maid of all work. There
was no time for loitering at this busy season,
and down sat Nan amidst the heap of turkeys
waiting for the finishing touches of her deft
hands. Each separate feather plucked from
Merrythought was a separate tug at her heart-
strings; but the bawling had turned to bravery,
for was n't there something waiting in her
pocket to travel away with the brightest, bon-
niest, and best of all turkeys? When the






MERRYTHOUGHT.


golden moment came, as come it always does
when we are bent on loving deeds, Nan's hand
tenderly tucked beneath one of Merrythought's
wings, the crumpled, brown-paper note.

III. MERRYTHOUGHT THE POSTMAN.

"OcH, shure, Missus! what cur'us thing is
this the known' burrd's brought under his
arrm!--nately done up wid brown paper!
Och! och!" And Bridget stood in the din-
ing-room door where innocent Merrythought
lay on a platter, with the mysterious crumpled
brown-paper note beside him.
Mrs. Goodheart took the crumpled paper,
read what Nan had written, and said, "There's
no harm, Bridget; it is only a note about the
turkey from the little girl who had it for a
pet. I will keep it till Mr. Goodheart comes
to dinner."
A few hours later, at a bountifully spread
table in this beautiful house sat the genial Mr.
Goodheart and his good wife. Beside his plate
lay the crumpled note. "Ah, what 's this, my
dear? and he read the scribbling upon the
brown paper. "Well! well! Ha,, ha!" and
he laughed heartily. "Nan has an eye to
business; we must look into this matter after
Thanksgiving, if Merrythought 'eats well,' as
no doubt he will after all the loving care he
has had."
Thanksgiving Day had come. .Folks big
and little had gathered around the table where
Merrythought, handsomely browned and gar-
nished, lay in state, "the observed of all ob-
servers." All knew the story of far-away Nan
and her pet, and all were anxiously waiting to
know if Merrythought "eats well." Skilfully
the genial host cut first a wing, then a leg,
next the breast, and now the merrythought,
which the two little folks hung up to dry, for
by and by they would wish all sorts of good
things for little Nan upon this tiny bringer of
good luck.
After much chattering and laughing, Mrs.
Goodheart said, "Who '11 write to Nan?" And
one said, Oh! I don't like to write," and
another said, "I can, but I do hate to write,"
and another said, "I know who '11 write the
best letter"; and it was agreed that Auntie, who


could write a letter "with her eyes shut," as
one of the boys said, should write what the
children wanted to know. "Ask her how old
she is," said one. "Ask her how many bro-
thers and sisters she has," said another, and
what they are named." "Tell her he made a
mighty good dinner." "Ask if she goes to
school and church, and what kind of games
she plays." "Tell her we want to know all
about her, and how sorry we are she had to
give up her pet; but tell her he 'eats well'-
oh, he eats beautifully." Tell her how sorry
we are that he did n't have four legs instead
of two, because there was so muchy-much on
a leg." "Tell her we '11 keep the merrythought
till she comes after it"-and Auntie's head
whizzed and buzzed with ideas which flew
from all directions. But soon the letter was
on its journey to make glad the sad heart of
little Nan.

IV. A LETTER FOR NAN.

THERE was a great bustle and commotion at
the home of Farmer Katchpence the week fol-
lowing Thanksgiving. A neighbor had gone
four miles to town early in the morning, had
collected the letters and done the errands for
the neighborhood, and on his return stopped
outside the gate and called, "Nan! Nan!
Where be yer ?-where be yer ? The postmaster
says he thinks this must be yours, but no one
in the village can understand it. Mebbe it's a
mistake, but sartain that 's yer name." It was
almost an unheard-of thing for the Katchpence
family to have a letter. "They don't seem to
belong to anybody," some one had said; and
true it was that an excitement prevailed which
we, who receive letters daily from the hands
of the letter-carrier, cannot understand.
Nan left her floor-mopping to take the letter.
The father, mother, and all the children gath-
ered about her; each in turn took the letter,
looked at the writing, the post-mark, the stamp,
the six lines which reached from the Boston
postmark to the postage-stamp, felt it, turned it
on the other side, then back again, and looked
at Nan, and wondered how she could have a
letter written on such beautiful paper, and
bearing the mark of Boston; but there was the






MERRYTHOUGHT.


fact, Nan's name written in full, and there was
no other Nan Katchpence in Upland. Nan
trembled with excitement. She sank down,
saying, "It is from Merrythought. I knew I
should hear from him! and then she confessed
to the family how she had hidden the brown-


match, and in each right-hand corner a "brand-
new stamp never used before," as Jack, poor
fellow, said a little enviously, for he had never
had anything, from the crown of his head to
the soles of his feet, that had n't been used
before ?


NAN READS THE LETTER FROM BOSTON.


paper note beneath the turkey's wing. She
opened the letter, each taking a turn at the
reading, and Nan first laughed and then cried,
so happy was she to know Merrythought had
fallen among such kind folk.
All was gladness in the farm-house now-
father and mother and all were so proud of
Nan's Boston friends; and friends they were, for
had they not asked her to come to Boston
some time-when she had been to school a
little longer, and could spell well and write
better; and had n't they sent her the beautiful
paper with pictures on it and envelops to
VOL. XXI.-II.


Little Nan studied hard at school, and the
letters that she wrote to Boston were showing
signs of it; the words were written more evenly,
and the spelling was more correct, than in the
Thanksgiving letter. And each time she wrote
she tried so hard to have it just right; and she
was writing often in these days, for there came
to her many tender messages and loving
thoughts at Christmas-time, and later on, at
Saint Valentine's and Easter, pretty handker-
chiefs, ribbons, and cards. And when the
warm days came, two pretty summer gowns
and a "love" of a hat were sent to Nan.





MERRYTHOUGHT.


Every one was glad for little Nan; all the
neighbors shared in her happiness; the post-
master felt somehow as if he were the cause
of her happiness, because he handled all those
welcome letters and parcels first.
And one glorious day, as Nan's father re-
turned from the village, where he had been to
sell butter of Nan's own making, he bore in his
hand the letter which contained the money for
Nan to go to Boston. Could it be possible
that she-Nan, who had never had anything,
nor ever been anywhere-held in her hand
an invitation to visit those kind friends, and the
money to buy her ticket to Boston ? Was she
asleep and dreaming, or was it really true ?

V. NAN'S WONDERFUL VISIT.

A LITTLE crowd had gathered about Nan at
the railway-station-" the butcher, the baker,
the candlestick-maker," the postman, the vil-
lage doctor, and the village parson.
The long train came around the curve and
stopped in front of the station. The leave-
taking, that deep wrenching to all true hearts, is
over, and Nan, who has never before seen the
inside of a railway-car, is whirled out of the vil-
lage away from home and friends to the great
city of her hopes and dreams; and the new
friends who gave Merrythought so warm a
welcome will welcome her, too. In the gray
twilight of an October day, the stately Mr.
Goodheart was pacing backward and forward
in the railway-station, awaiting the arrival of
the Vermont train. Soon the puffing, pulling,
and tugging of the heavy engine told him it was
close at hand, and eagerly he watched the pas-
sengers one by one: the tall, slim lady with the
tired baby; the short, happy-faced mother with
two rosy-cheeked children; the pale, weary-
looking man; the bustling big man with a big-
ger valise, umbrella, cane, and overcoat, with
the air of Clear the track, for I am coming ";
tall folks, short folks, thick folks, thin folks, old
folks, young folks, children in arms, and chil-
dren out of arms,-all hurried by. Then at
the end of this motley procession appeared a
girl, bewildered and frightened, walking slowly
as if uncertain which way to go.
Poor Nan had never seen so many people in


all her life. More than there are in our whole
town," thought she. The kind friend hastened
toward the girl, who was clad in a plaid woolen
gown, a shawl pinned about her shoulders, and
a tam-o'-shanter on her head. Her clean but
ungloved hands were clasped tightly about a
large cardboard box tied with a strong cord,
which contained all the wardrobe the child
possessed.
"Are you my little friend Nan, who loved
Merrythought so much?" asked Mr. Good-
heart, and all Nan's fears vanished, and will-
ingly she gave herself up to his keeping. On
arriving at the home, she was warmly greeted
by the good lady of the house. It was all so
new and strange-these beautiful furnishings,
these lovely dishes with the painted flowers just
as they grew in Upland, this very table where
Merrythought had been admired and eaten on
Thanksgiving Day; and beside her plate lay the
merrythought, gilded and tied with a blue rib-
bon. All the good wishes that the children had
wished for little Nan on Thanksgiving Day,
when they decorated the wishbone, had come
to pass.
Nothing but happiness came to Nan for the
next month. Day after day passed in seeing
new places and things: churches, art galleries,
and fairs, things new and things old, all in turn
were visited; and the shops, oh! the shops-
shops for books and shops for boots, shops for
toys and shops for candy, shops for trunks
and shops for clocks, shops little and shops
big; and Nan was whirled up and down in the
elevators till her eyes and brain were so daz-
zled and bewildered that at last she said she
could n't tell whether elevators were going up
or down.
Then followed the days with the dressmaker.
A navy-blue serge trimmed with darker velvet
and the loveliest of buttons, a pretty jacket to
match, and a jaunty little hat, with kid gloves--
yes, real kid, such as Nan had read about away
up in Upland, but never had expected to see,
much less to wear on her own hands -and many
of the dainty little things which are precious
boons to girlhood, had now been added to
Nan's wardrobe.
The home letters were very few, for Nan had
said in one of them: I can never write it all;






MERRYTHOUGHT.


you must wait till I get home, for it will take
all winter to tell it."
One afternoon Mrs. Goodheart took her to
see The Old Homestead," and Nan fairly
reveled in- appreciation. of country life shown
on a Boston stage. It seemed to her it must be
real, for did n't she know just such an Uncle
Josh" up in Upland ? Even the beautiful lights
and the crowds of well-dressed people, the music
and the shifting of the scenes, and the curtain
with the "beautiful picture rising up and
down," could hardly convince her that it was
only "make believe."


VI. NAN'S HOME-COMING.

AND all too soon came the time when Nan
must say good-by. A little trunk fastened with
straps and lock had taken the place of the box
secured with a string, for her wardrobe now was
sufficient to fill the trunk; and in one corner
there was carefully put, by Mrs. Goodheart's


own hand, when Nan was not looking, the
"dearest little clock" which Nan had wished
for so much when they had been out among
the shops. Many pretty little things had been
tucked away in the corners for the. other chil-
dren at the Vermont home; and the little shawl
which Nan had worn when Mr. Goodheart had
found her at the station was carefully folded
over all.
At last all was ready, the good-bys were
said, and Nan was speeding back to the
Katchpence home.
But was not all life brighter and happier for
her ? Was there not around each daily duty a
golden halo ? Was not the dull routine made
beautiful by happy memories which lifted her
above the commonplace? Had not all the
care and affection bestowed upon Merrythought
returned to her with interest such as she had
never dreamed of? And is not all her life made
more beautiful through her warm-hearted de-
votion to one of God's weak creatures ?


A GO-AS-YOU-PLEASE RACE.









The Singing Shell and
the Clock.
ear the nursery clock a sea-shell lay,
Singing away day after day;
The little clock stood stiff and straight,
And it talked away at a terrible rate.
"They say that the sea-shell talks said he,
"But a poor sort of song its song must be,
For although it lies so very near
Not a murmur nor sound I hear.

"Perhaps', said a vase that stood close by,
"You do not listen, and that is why."
'ZLsten.!W7stn! hy Vase'"it said,
"I've just been listening straight;
ahead;
I hear most things from the mantle-shelf, L? _I'XI/
Because I don't talk much myself;
I hear when they scrub the nursery-floor,
Or close the shutters,or bang the door,
And a poor sort of song that song must be"
Said the clock' that is not heard by me"'
And still the clock talked straight along, '
And still the sea-shell sang its song ;
Softly it sang, and sweet and true,
But you ha to listen before you knew._-: _
K.Pof / ,






































BRER FOX IN TROUBLE.

BY TUDOR JENKS.

I DREAMED twelve owls in the jury-box,
And a bear with silken gown and wig,
Were trying a most unhappy fox,
Watched by a dog who was fierce and big.

Three monkeys grave, with pen and ink
And papers spread upon the table,
Wrinkled their brows and tried to think;
For they were lawyers, grave and able.

Then straightway it occurred to me
How matters might be changed around,
If the case about honey or mice should be,
And the jury or judge in the dock were found.

The bees could tell tales of old Judge Bear,
And the mice and frogs of those pompous owls,
Till neither one would ever dare
To speak of foxes or of fowls!







JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


Now is the crackle time of year, my friends,
when the bright reds and yellows of October have
taken on sober tints of gray and russet, and juicy
blades and pliant stems grow stiff,
While, studded with sheaf and stack,
The fields lie browning in sullen haze
And creak in the farmer's track.

But there is plenty of life, somewhere. Squirrels
and a few-ah, how few !-birds are about, and
there are warm days when the air softens until
it seems almost that summer may yet come back.
Hear the song that Mr. Frank H. Sweet has sent
to this pulpit:
Up in the top of a walnut-tree
Squirrels are having a jubilee,
And bright and gay
They frisk and play
And hold their harvest holiday;
And show their thanks
In squirrel pranks
For gathered nuts they 've stored away.

Hear also what your friend M. F. B. has sent
you:
'T was on an autumn morning,
The world seemed chill and bare,
A sense of bright things dying
Hovered on the air.
The wind it fell a-sighing,
And I said "Woe is me!"
There came a merry answer-
Chick-a-dee-dee !
Among the golden birches
The song rang blithe and clear,
In spite of leaves a-falling
And the lonesome time o' year.
I felt ashamed of sorrow,
And laughed in sudden glee;
Back came a joyous echo -
Chick-a-dee-dee /


Now we will turn our attention to
A LIVING HERCULES BEETLE.
MY birds have brought me great news. They
got it from the Central Park sparrows, and it is
confirmed by stately labeled birds behind wire
fences, as the latest information from the Natural
History museum.
The Hercules IBeetle, you may know, is not only
the largest member of the Coleoptera or beetle
family, but it is the largest insect known. Being
so distinguished, and consequently not at all com-
mon, it is seldom seen here excepting in the dried
state, as specimens in the glass cases of learned
collectors. But at last a real live Hercules Beetle
has come to town. It was caught (as the Little
Schoolma'am learned from the New York Tribune)
in the island of Dominica in the West Indies, and
brought by a sailor to the professor of entomology
at the Natural History museum in New York. It
is not a very pretty fellow,- no bug six inches
long with gray wing-covers and a black head
armed with a long horn lined with bristles, and
another long horn growing out of its body, can
be very charming,-but it certainly is interesting,
and is well worth seeing, if one does n't go close
enough to it to get a nip from the cruel horns.
These, I am told, grow in such a way as to form a
pair of strong nippers, with which Mr. Hercules
Beetle can pinch a piece out of one's flesh before
one can say "Jack Robinson."
Any of you, my hearers, who happen to have
the Century Dictionary in your pockets may find in
its pages a fine picture of this mammoth beetle.

HERE is a story from our friend the Rev. J. A.
Davis. It is a remarkable incident, but brother
Davis assures me that it is strictly true in every
particular :
A CANINE CASABIANCA.
"Spot" was a Brooklyn dog, without noted an-
cestors or pedigree; but he had something better-
a worthy character. He might pass as a kind of
Casabianca among dogs.
Each morning before going to business in New
York his master conducted family worship, to
which Spot" was admitted, though ordered to
take his seat on a chair and remain quiet until his
master should tell him to come down. The dog
learned to obey, and would not desert his place no
matter who called, or what inducement was of-
fered, until his master allowed him to move away.
One morning the master was suddenly sum-
moned away, and Spot" was forgotten. All that
day the poor fellow kept his place; now sitting,
again standing, then, for a change, lying down,
but never leaving the chair. His mistress tried
to convince him that it would be all right; and
the children tried to persuade him that his master
had forgotten to permit him to leave his place;
" Spot" remained where he had been ordered to
stay.
When the owner returned at night, and was
told of the dog, he hurried to the room to see
what Spot" would do. The dog was on the chair







JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


waiting for his master, whose steps he recognized,
but he did not offer to jump to the floor. Wag-
ging his tail 'as though he would wag it off, the
dog waited for the command that should set him
free. When it was given, there was a streak of
dog between the chair and feet of the master.
Then, at his owner's feet, "Spot" gazed up into
the face of the man with a look that said plainly,
"I obeyed, Master, but it has been a hard day.
Please do not let it happen again." .
THE LITTLE GIRL WITH A COMPANY FACE.
ONCE on a time, in a far-away place,
Lived a queer little girl with a company face,
And no one outside of the family knew
Of her every-day face, or supposed she had two.
The change she could make with wondrous celerity,
For practice had lent her surprising dexterity,
But at last it chanced, on an unlucky day
(Or lucky, perhaps, I would much better say),
To her dismal dismay and complete consternation,
She failed to effect the desired transformation!
And a caller, her teacher, Miss Agatha Mason,
Surprised her with half of her company face on,
And half of her every-day face peeping out,
Showing one grimy tear-track and half of a pout,
Contrasting amazingly with the sweet smile
That shone on her "company" side all the while.
The caller no sooner had hurried away
Than up to her room the girl flew in dismay;
And, after a night spent in solemn reflection
On the folly of features that can't bear inspection,
She came down to breakfast, and walked to her place,
Calm, sweet, and serene, with her company face.
Thenceforward she wore it, day out and day in,
Till you really might think 't would be worn very thin;
But, strange to relate, it grew more bright and gay,
And her relatives think 't was a red-letter day
When the greatly astonished Miss Agatha Mason
Surprised her with half of her company face on.
MINNIE L. UPTON.
THE FLOWER-PICKERS.
FEW of the people who live in the great
island of Australia have ever seen a flower-picker,
although they may have lived for years beneath
the lofty trees upon which this little bird builds its
pretty nest. The fact is the flower-picker lives so
high up among the topmost twigs of the tallest
trees, and is so small, and so seldom descends even
to the lower branches, that, in spite of its rich scar-
let breast, it never attracts notice, and, indeed,
cannot often be seen by the naked eye at the dis-
tance from the ground at which it usually builds
its nest. Sometimes a person standing beneath
one of the great trees growing upon the bank of a
creek or river, where these birds are to be found,
will hear a pretty, warbling song, unlike any he
ever heard elsewhere; but unless he knows the
habits of the bird, and is a skilful hunter, he can
scarcely hope to catch a glimpse of the singer
snugly hidden away among the thickly growing
leaves far above him.
The nest of the flower-picker is very beautiful;
it is made of the cotton-like linings of the seed-pods
of Australian shrubs and is perfectly white, so that,
as it swings in the breeze, it looks like a snow-ball
hanging on some wild vine or climbing plant.
There is another kind of a flower-picker that lives


in the island of Borneo. The little birds belonging
to this species, unlike their timid Australian cou-
sins, make their homes in low brushwood, and are
so fearless that they will allow themselves to be
almost touched before they take flight. The Ma-
lay people, who live in the part of Borneo where
these birds are found, call them "sparks," because
the male bird, when darting about among the
bushes, really looks as bright as a flash of fire.
The nest of the flower-picker of Borneo is about
the shape and size of a goose-egg. It is built of
fine green moss and a sort of brown silky mass
of threads or fibers from a plant, and lined with a
few small feathers. One of these nests was found
in a tree that was cut down. All the nestlings but
one were killed by the fall.
Mr. Motley, who tells us all we know of the bird,
took the one little bird that was left alive, and suc-


THE AUSTRALIAN FLOWER-PICKERS AND THEIR NEST.
ceeded by great care in bringing it up, feeding it
first on rice and bananas. As soon as it was strong
enough it was placed in a small cage. Although
very restless, never being for a moment still, it was
quite tame and fearless, and would sit upon the fin-
ger without trying to fly away; and although its
whole body, feathers and all, might have been shut
up in a walnut, it would peck at a finger held out
to it with great fierceness.
It is strange that two birds so much alike as the
flower-pickers of Australia and those of Borneo
should differ so in disposition and habits.









































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PUSSY'S "GOOD MORNING."

'"I THINK YOU ARE A POLITE LITTLE CAT TO COME AND WISH ME GOOD MORNING!"' (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
(ENGRAVED BY PERMISSION FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY BRAUN & CO. OF THE PAINTING BY E. MUNIER.)


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PUSSY'S "GOOD-MORNING."


ONE night, just as Mabel was being put to bed, she told her nurse that
she heard a soft "Scratch, scratch! at her door. The nurse said she did
not hear it at all. But Mabel said, "Hush! Now listen." Both kept very
still, and plainly heard the sound again. Nurse opened the door, and there
was a little kitten, who looked up saying "Mew !" and then walked in, lift-
ing her paws high at each step.
"Why," said the nurse, "that is the kitten that came to the kitchen door
to-day. The cook thought her so gentle and pretty that she gave her some
milk and let her stay. She has come up to see you. Maybe she was some
little girl's pet."
"Will you keep her for me till to-morrow ?" Mabel asked, as the little
kitten came purring about her feet.
"Yes," said the nurse.
Next morning, when the nurse came to dress Mabel, the kitten came with
her, and jumped up on Mabel's lap, saying, Mew, mew !"
"What does she mean?" Mabel asked.
"She means 'Good-morning, Mabel; I 'd like my breakfast,'" said the
nurse, smiling.
But just then the kitten looked at Mabel's canary, "Dick," and said, "Mew,
mew, mew !" very fast.
Then Mabel laughed, and said:
"I think you are a polite little cat to come and wish me good-morning,
and you shall have some breakfast. You can't have my canary, Pussy;
but I '11 give you a big bowl of bread and milk."
And the kitten had the bread and milk as soon as Mabel finished her own
breakfast.
Perhaps the kitten did not mean that she wanted to eat the canary, for
before long the kitten and Dick, the canary, became good friends.




"WHEN WE HAVE TEA."

By THOMAS TAPPER.
IN winter-time, when we have tea, In summer-time, quite otherwise,
We have to light the lamp to see; It seems he's always in the skies;
The days are cold, the winds blow strong, The weather's warm, he likes to stay,
The sun's afraid to stay out long. And so we have our tea by day.
VOL. XXI.- 12. 89








PUSSY'S "GOOD-MORNING."


ONE night, just as Mabel was being put to bed, she told her nurse that
she heard a soft "Scratch, scratch! at her door. The nurse said she did
not hear it at all. But Mabel said, "Hush! Now listen." Both kept very
still, and plainly heard the sound again. Nurse opened the door, and there
was a little kitten, who looked up saying "Mew !" and then walked in, lift-
ing her paws high at each step.
"Why," said the nurse, "that is the kitten that came to the kitchen door
to-day. The cook thought her so gentle and pretty that she gave her some
milk and let her stay. She has come up to see you. Maybe she was some
little girl's pet."
"Will you keep her for me till to-morrow ?" Mabel asked, as the little
kitten came purring about her feet.
"Yes," said the nurse.
Next morning, when the nurse came to dress Mabel, the kitten came with
her, and jumped up on Mabel's lap, saying, Mew, mew !"
"What does she mean?" Mabel asked.
"She means 'Good-morning, Mabel; I 'd like my breakfast,'" said the
nurse, smiling.
But just then the kitten looked at Mabel's canary, "Dick," and said, "Mew,
mew, mew !" very fast.
Then Mabel laughed, and said:
"I think you are a polite little cat to come and wish me good-morning,
and you shall have some breakfast. You can't have my canary, Pussy;
but I '11 give you a big bowl of bread and milk."
And the kitten had the bread and milk as soon as Mabel finished her own
breakfast.
Perhaps the kitten did not mean that she wanted to eat the canary, for
before long the kitten and Dick, the canary, became good friends.




"WHEN WE HAVE TEA."

By THOMAS TAPPER.
IN winter-time, when we have tea, In summer-time, quite otherwise,
We have to light the lamp to see; It seems he's always in the skies;
The days are cold, the winds blow strong, The weather's warm, he likes to stay,
The sun's afraid to stay out long. And so we have our tea by day.
VOL. XXI.- 12. 89


































THE SENATE PAGES.

OF the one hundred and ten appointments under the
sergeant-at-arms of the United States Senate, those of
the pages only can be said to be non-political. No boy
can be appointed a page of the Senate who is not twelve
years of age; and no boy can continue as a page who
is sixteen years of age at the beginning of a session
of Congress. It is a lucrative position, and few of
the boys are not sorry when their term has ended.
Usually, four of the boys who are graduated from the
page's position at the beginning of a session are ap-
pointed riding-pages. Their selection depends on their
records for efficiency and faithfulness. The page on the
floor of the Senate draws $2.50 a day during the session
of Congress. The riding-page receives $2.50 a day the
year around, and has a horse to ride. His duties keep
him out of doors a great part of the time, carrying mes-
sages between the Capitol and the departments. The
position is considered more desirable than that of a
page. Speaking of their work, the Washington Star
says: "The page's life is a pleasant one. He must be
on duty at nine o'clock each morning, but the serious
business of the day does not begin until noon, when the
Senate meets. Before that time he arranges the files of
the Congressional Record and the bills and reports on
the desks of the senators who have been assigned to
him. There are sixteen pages and eighty-eight senators,
so none of the pages has very much to do. The morning
hours are not all working hours. There is a gymnasium
in the basement of the Capitol, furnished especially for
'their use. They exercise their arms and their chests
there every morning; their legs get plenty of exercise
through the day. "-New York Evening Post.

A WORD OF FORTY-TWO LETTERS.
THE English language is called one of the most
difficult of acquirement by foreigners; but it would seem


Under this heading will appear from time to time brief
selections from newspapers and similar sources current
bits of anecdote and information, of especial interest to
young folk.


that the German was especially invented to try the
printer's patience. There is a druggist's prescription
something like collodion, to be used to prevent scarring
after certain operations, but in Germany they call it
Kazbolquecksilberguttaferchpflastermull- thirty-nine let-
ters. Still we for once outdo them with the chemical
name for the drug hypnol-manotrichloracetyledimethyl-
phenylpyrazalon-forty-two letters, not one of which
must be skipped if we would convey a clear idea of the
substance described.-NAew York Independent.

THE HORSE AS A REASONING ANIMAL
"IT is a mistaken idea that none but human beings can
reason, and that dumb animals have not that power,"
said Professor Albert A. Palmer of Buffalo. "I am
fully prepared to demonstrate that the animals inferior
to man have reasoning faculties, and that what is gen-
erally termed instinct plays an important part in their
doings and actions.
"Let me give a single example. I have a friend
named Downing who owns a number of valuable race-
horses. One is a horse known as 'Speedwest.' A day
or so before a race in which the horse is entered he gen-
erally sends him out on the track mounted by a stable-
boy for a little preparatory work. This horse will not
take kindly to his work, and no amount of persuasion
with whip or spur can get him away from a common
canter. I noticed this peculiarity in the animal, and
one day suggested to Downing that perhaps the horse
knew that he was not expected to race, and for that
reason could not understand exactly what was required
of him. I prevailed upon him to dress the stable-boy
in the colors usually worn in a race, and try the horse
again. He did so, and the boy was placed in front of
the animal for a moment that he might see the colors.
The result was that when the boy mounted again the
horse broke at the word of command and set off at a
long, swinging gallop, which he increased to a run, fin-
ishing the work under a strong pull. Another stable-
boy was put up without the colors, and the horse refused
to leave the loping gait at which he started out. A sec-
ond time the colors were used, and again the animal set
out at a rate of speed calculated to break a record.







THROUGH THE SCISSORS.


"What do you call that, instinct or reasoning? I
contend that the horse had a rational faculty which he
exercised at will. He knew that without the colors lie
had nothing in particular to gain by exerting himself for
a swift run. When the colors were put on, the horse
reasoned that there was some object in view. He rea-
soned that he was already prepared for a race, and made
his pace accordingly without being urged."-St. Louis
Globe-Democrat.

HE WOULD BE RESPONSIBLE.

A MINISTER of a prominent New York church, who
was about to leave home for a few days, was bidding
good-by to his family.
When he came to Bobby he took the little fellow in
his arms and said: Well, young man, I want you to be
a good boy, and be sure to take good care of mama."
Bobby promised, and the father departed, leaving him
with a very large and full appreciation of his new and
weighty responsibility. When night came, and he was
called to say his prayers, the young guardian expressed
himself as follows:
0 Lord, please protect papa, and brother Dick, and
sister Alice, and Aunt Mary, and all the little Jones
boys, and Bobby. But you need n't trouble about
Mama, for I 'm going to look after her myself."-Boston
Budget.

PROPORTIONS OF OUR FLAG.

IT was recently asked of the public-school children that they
should give the exact proportions of the American flag. It was very
reprehensible of them not to do so. I have tried cyclopedias, officers
of the navy, and various lights of the educational world, but all in
vain, and I cannot find out. Pray enlighten me. C.

Answer.-It is not surprising that public-school
children could not meet the demand for information as
to the dimensions of the American flag. That does not
belong to the educational routine. It is a kind of know-
ledge which must be acquired in the practical part of
life. The Eagle has answered the query as to the pro-
portions of a flag many times. If a flag is 8 feet long
each stripe should be 4 inches wide, which would give a
width of 4 feet 4 inches to the flag. The union should
cover 7 stripes, and be one third the length, or 32 inches
wide. If the flag is 6 feet long it should be 3j feet
wide.-Brooklyn Eagle.

AN ANCIENT YANKEE NOTION.

WE are indebted to Pompeii for the great industry of
canned fruit. Years ago, when the excavations were
just beginning, a party of Cincinnatians found in what
had been the pantry of a house many jars of preserved
figs. One was opened, and they were found to be fresh
and good. Investigation showed that the figs had been
put into jars in a heated state, an aperture left for the
steam to escape, and then sealed with wax. The hint


was taken, and the next year fruit-canning was intro-
duced into the United States; the process being identical
with that in vogue at Pompeii twenty centuries ago.-
American Druggist.

NOT FOR TRANSLATION.
THERE was a young girl in the choir
Whose voice rose hoir and hoir,
Till it reached such a height
It was clear out of eight,
And they found it next day in the spoir.
-Detroit Free Press.

FROM ONE LITTLE BROWN SCHOOL-HOUSE.
A MAINE man has looked up the records of thirty-six
boys who about fifty years ago went to the little brown
school-house in Sanford. All have become prosperous
and excellent citizens. Four are prominent lawyers;
one a successful Boston physician; thirteen prosperous
merchants; one a wealthy Kansas farmer; one is su-
perintendent of the Life-saving Department at Washing-
ton; one is an officer in the United States Navy; and
five are bankers. Four have been mayors of their cities,
and seven, all leading citizens, still live in Sanford.-
New York Sun.
"H'YAR 'XTRA "

As showing how fearfully and wonderfully made the
Russian newsboy must be, the following are specimens
of the papers he cries out on the streets of St. Peters-
burg and Moscow: Wjedomosty Gradonatshalstwa, Olo-
netzkija Goubernskija, Pskojfsky Gorodskoi Listok, Jeka-
terinoslawsky Listok, Wostotshuoje Objaafienij, Estland-
skija Goubernsk Wjedomosty.-New Haven Palladium.

SIBILANT SILLINESS.

SWEET Sarah Sawyer's sickly sister Susan sat singing
swiftly. Squire Samson Seward's son Sam strolled,
smoking, sorrowfully seeking sweet Susan. Suddenly
spying sad Susan sitting singing, Sam slouched slowly,
stealing sunflowers, scaring sweet Sarah. Susan, start-
ing, screeched:
Sam, stop stealing sunflowers; seek some stale
sandwiches! "
Sam seized several, swallowed seven, sank slowly,
sighing, "So seasick."
Sweet Sarah sauntered slowly. Seeing Sam so seasick,
she said:
"Sister Susan, sprinkle some smelling-salts."
She sprinkled some salts, singing sweet songs. Sam
survives," spake Susan. She sobbed silently. Sam said:
Susan, stop sobbing."
She stopped, shivered, sneezed suddenly--so suddenly
Sam shuddered. Somewhat startled, Susan said:
"Sweet Sam, sing some sad Sunday-school songs."
Sam sang successfully.-Utica Herald.

















THE LETTER-BOX.


WE thank our correspondent for this kindly letter.
The mistake referred to has already been corrected in
the Letter-Box of last month.

PORT HURON, MICH.
EDITOR ST. NICHOLAS, NEW YORK, N. Y.
DEAR SIR: Port Huron has reasonable cause for
complaint with ST. NICHOLAS for violent removal made
by Miss McCabe, author of the article on Edison in
your August issue. Residents who have been here
longenough to get the "lay of the land," as well as of the
contiguous waters, have always supposed that the lake
we are able to see from our sky-scraper buildings to the
northward was called Huron." Miss McCabe says
Port Huron is situated on the shores of Lake Erie.
Possibly we might consent to the removal were it not
for the fact that Lake Erie is comparatively narrow and
shallow, while Lake Huron is broad and deep, and its
cool waters render the summer climate on its banks
most delightful. Under the circumstances, we must
enter decided objections to the removal, and hope that
you will intercede with Miss McCabe to place us back
again at the foot of Lake Huron, where we have lived
and flourished during the past half-century or more.
Yours most sincerely,
L. A. SHERMAN.


WE have received thirteen corrected versions of the
second misspelled story, entitled Sound versus Sense,"
which was given in "Jack-in-the-Pulpit in the Septem-
ber number; and, as ten out of the thirteen are absolutely
correct, we think that our young folk must have been
studying their spelling-books earnestly since they sent
corrected versions of the first misspelled story. The
names of those who sent correct copies are: "Almy,"
Katharine C. Hodge and Emma D. Howell, Cora R.
Egan, J. Hanson Coburn, Maude C. McCoy, Mary C.
Smith, Myra Fishback, Katharine Egbert, Laura G. San-
ford, Henry Wallace, Ernestine Taylor, Mary B. Hillyer,
Hildah Underhill. Virginia S. J., Clara M. E.,B. B. D.,
and Jennie B. M. also sent copies that had only a few
slight errors.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I suppose that very few of the
members of your congregation have ever seen a quarter,
or twenty-five-cent piece, of gold.
I have one in my possession coined in California in the
year 1875. It is a minute octagon, bearing on the ob-
verse an Indian's head somewhat similar to those on
the cents of the present issue; thirteen stars in the field,
and the date 1875. The reverse, or back, bears 4 at the
opening of a wreath, and the word Dollar," and the ab-
breviation Cal." within the wreath.
Yours truly, CHARLES WILLARD L- .


WE have received many hearty letters from Wide
Awake readers, and we gladly print these three:

CHICOPEE, MASS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken Wide Awake a
great many years, and although I can no longer call my-
self a child, I still enjoyed reading it.
Now, as a Wide Awake friend, I most cordially greet
you, ST. NICHOLAS; for you are now dear because you
represent dear little Wide Awake.
Your greeting to Wide Awake recruits is so hearty
and sincere you do not seem like an intruder, but a dear
old friend, who is going to keep on taking us, together
with your happy followers, on more of the pleasant ex-
cursions into the realms of Delight, Knowledge, and
Brotherly Love. I remain sincerely yours,
HELEN G. C-.



DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My uncle sent me the Wide
Awake. I have been away all summer, and had a very
nice time. Good-by, long life to the Wide Awake ST.
NICHOLAS," from RUTH C. H- .



INDIANAPOLIS, IND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have just read in your Sep-
tember number of the Wide Awake joining with you.
I took the Wide Awake last year. Like others of your
readers, I have been in Mexico, and have attended a
Mexican school. We were in Parral, a little town in the
State of Chihuahua, 800 miles from the city of Mexico.
There are plenty of burros there; they are used a great
deal in the mines. My brother tried to ride one, but it
was so stubborn he had to have three boys to go be-
hind and whip it. Ever your constant reader,
FLORENCE A. G-.



READERS of the Letter-Box will be interested in this
clever and amusing verse written by a little girl of ten.
It is entitled
ODE TO MY MOTHER.

You and I are lonely
For our father dear;
But, although we miss him,
We would n't have him here:
For we want him to go bathing
In the shining Eastern sea,
And grow a great deal stouter
Ere he comes to you and me.
ELSIE LYLE.






THE LET]


LES MELtZES, CHAMPEL, GENEVA.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little American
girl, eleven years old. My papa is in the navy. We have
just come from the Navy-yard in San Francisco. I saw
a letter from a little girl there, but she went away just
before we came. While I was there, I had quite a lot of
pets; they were as follows: nine cats, a mustang pony,
a monkey, two guinea-pigs, a hedgehog, two parrots, two
quail, a humming-bird, a Spanish squirrel, two rabbits,
a coon, three dogs, and a wild canary. All that I have
now is a puppy, whose name is Puck Bijou." While I
was crossing the ocean on "La Bourgogne," I met Clive
Mapes, a nephew of our dear editor. Good-by, from
your little friend, MARY M- .


PLANT TREES!

ALL young folk in America should consider it a duty
to plant a young tree in some bare spot, whenever prac-
ticable. Every homestead has room for at least one
an oak, an elm, or a walnut. But do not put it in a cor-
ner; a tree needs plenty of ground, and has its own way
of showing gratitude for ample space.
We reprint from The Century AMlagazine a poem by
Mr. H. C. Bunner: for we want our young folks to en-
joy it in their own magazine.

THE HEART OF THE TREE.
(Afn Arbor-day Song.)
BY H. C. BUNNER.

WHAT does he plant who plants a tree?
He plants the friend of sun and sky;
He plants the flag of breezes free;
The shaft of beauty, towering high;
He plants a home to heaven anigh
For song and mother-croon of bird
In hushed and happy twilight heard -
The treble of heaven's harmony -
These things he plants who plants a tree.

What does he plant who plants a tree ?
He plants cool shade and tender rain,
And seed and bud of days to be,
And years that fade and flush again;
He plants the glory of the plain;
He plants the forest's heritage;
The harvest of a coming age;
The joy that unborn eyes shall see -
These things he plants who plants a tree.

What does he plant who plants a tree?
He plants, in sap and leaf and wood,
In love of home and loyalty
And far-cast thought of civic good-
His blessing on the neighborhood
Who in the hollow of His hand
Holds all the growth of all our land -
A nation's growth from sea to sea
Stirs in his heart who plants a tree.



SAYBROOK POINT, CONN.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I will write you a seaside
letter, where I am having a jolly summer.
Saybrook is an old Puritan town. John Winthrop
founded it and named it for Lord Say-and-Seal and


TER-BOX. 93

Lord Brooke, who owned the grant of land here. The
old cemetery is very quaint, the tombstones bearing
many a curious legend, some in verse. Lady Fenwick
was the first white woman who died here. She died in
1648. Her quaint tombstone, centuries old, still bears the
date. Some of the stones have such funny names on
them, such as Submit," Temperance Ann," and others
as queer. It is such a dark, lonesome spot, I must ac-
knowledge I don't like to pass it alone, not even in day-
time. This place was the first home of Yale College, and
a large mound is shown to preserve the memory of it.
What I really want to tell you most is very remarkable.
As I was digging down deep near the beach, I dug up
an old coin, which we polished up and found it was dated
1740, with Britannia" around a woman sitting; on the
other side, "Georgius II. Rex" surrounding a head of
George the Second. I value it highly, because I believe
one of those old Puritans lost it, for it was two and a
half feet below the surface.
Dear ST. NICHOLAS, you have been a great friend of
mine ever since I could read, and my dolls used to be
named after the girls in your stories. I am now eleven
years old, and you are just as delightful as when I was
six. I often hope that when I am grown up I can write
stories you will publish. Your constant reader,
MARY AUSTIN Y-



MILLIS, MASS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Mama has taken your lovely
magazine in a club for fifteen years. We have a good
many volumes bound, and we all value them very highly.
I have two sisters, one older and one younger than myself,
and I thought you might like to hear about a letter my
oldest sister received when she was a little girl. She
wanted Mama to write to Santa Claus for her, so Mama
wrote:

DEAR MR. ST. NICHOLAS, my Mama tells me,
That of all folks ridiculous, you 're the funniest to see:
With your little round face, and your jolly red nose,
And wherever you come from, nobody knows."

Mama left the note on the dining-room table with pen
and ink beside it, and the next morning there was a note
from Santa Claus there too; but it was written with ink
of a different color, and the letters were made in such
queer shapes we knew Santa Claus must have written it.
This was his answer:

"Where do I come from? What is it to you,
So that I fill your stocking, and my wife fills your shoe?
But still, as you 've asked me, I deem it but fair
To answer you truly, I come from Nowhere."
Very truly yours, ARTHUR HALE W- .




CHICAGO, ILL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wonder how many of your
readers have ever seen a ship launched. I went to see
one launched a few months ago, and it was perfectly
beautiful. The ship was launched at South Chicago,
and we went there on the ship "Arthur Orr," which
started from down-town. It was a delightful trip, as
the day was very warm.
Miss H., whose father is the president of the World's
Fair, christened the ship that was to be launched. Just
as she broke a bottle of champagne on the bow and said
the words, "I christen you Manitou,' the ropes which
held it were loosened, and the Manitou glided grace-






THE LETTER-BOX.


fully into the water. For a moment I thought the ship
could not steady itself, for a monstrous wave swept over
it, and it seemed to lie right on its side. The effect it
presented is indescribable, but it looked perfectly beauti-
ful. But as the boat became steady the thousands of
people who had watched it cheered and clapped amid
the whistles of the Arthur Orr and several other boats.
We hope soon to make a trip -on the Manitou, which
runs up north as far as Mackinac and back twice a
week. Your friend and constant reader,
MAYROSE B-.




FORT SIDNEY, NEBRASKA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We (my brothers and sisters
and myself) have taken you for twelve years. We spent
the last three years at Fort Russell, Wyoming, and every
month ST. NICHOLAS was more and more welcome. We
are for the present at Fort Sidney, Nebraska. We take
a great many drives here, and although the country is
not very pretty, it is quite interesting. There are a great
many ranches, which are cultivated in corn and grass.
The most attractive sight at this post is the beautiful
avenue of cottonwood trees, which have been growing
here for a number of years and have attained an immense
height. One of the companies here is an Indian com-
pany, and one of their amusements is beating on a drum
for many hours a day. When the troops went out on
their practice march, we went out to see their camp. We
went to one of the companies to see their arrangements
for supper; they had a good fire on the ground, and were
cooking large quantities of hash in a Buzzacott oven.
Over another fire were hanging a number of iron kettles,
some containing hot water and others coffee. I am your
devoted reader, KATHARINE E-- .


THE SNOWFLAKES.

IN the nights of chilly winter,
When the stormy breezes blow,
When the rivers all are frozen,
And the ground is white with snow;

When the sleighing-bells are ringing,
And the wind is howling loud,
Then the little snowflake fairies
Fall from out the stormy cloud,

Landing on the hills and meadows,
On the squirrels pay a call,
Hushing all the trees to sleep, so
Soft and silently they fall:

Flying this way, flying that way,
Not allowed a bit of rest,
For the lively wind is blowing,
And he likes them whirling best.
PHILLIS D- (thirteen years old).



WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Teddie G., La
Reine L., Eva G. H., Kate G. H., Grace C. H., Forrest
C., Edith and Ethel E., Mabel R., Mildred C., Fred N.
S., Virginia C. G., Robert J. S., Jr.,E. H. K., Gladys W.,
Bertha W., Charles S., E. T. McG., Walter W., A. S. D.,
C. W. S., Emily R., Helen P. M., Lowell C. F., Addie M.
B., E. W. T., Marjorie B., Elfie J. C., Martha H. E.,
Lilian W., F. D. B., Karl and Flossy W., Hazel M. S.,
Walter S. W., Alice and Emile B., Edith E. D., Elizabeth
M. M., Flossy Laura C., Carrie T. F., Clara M. E., Laura
G. S., and Edna S. C.


SHOCKING.
These are neither Albinos nor Museum Freaks. They are the three hardy sons of Neighbor Smith, who belong to the Eureka Foot-ball
Eleven. Their sisters are horrified at the change in their personal appearance.












I>M- ,


ITHE: RIDDLE BOX


_ 62
~ J-----*a.----


'ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN
BEHEADINGS. Dryden. Cross-words: r. D-rill. 2. R-eel.
3. Y-ell. 4. D-apple. 5. E-vent. 6. N-ode.
COIN PUZZLE. Millicent said, "I met a doll arrayed in white
agleam with gold." "Mill" i "cents" ai"d i me" t a "doll ar"
rayed in whit e eagle" am with gold.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "Diligence is the mother of good luck,
and God gives all things to industry."
AN ARROW. Across: I. Cave. 2. Liage. 3. Crossbows. 4. Taste.
5. Fort.-- ANAGRAM. Christopher Columbus.
METAMORPHOSIS. I. Fast, fact, face, lace, lane, sane, sand, send,
seed, sled, slew, slow. II. Ice, ace, are, ore, ode, odd, add, aid, did,
din, den, dew. III. Fear, dear, deer, deed, heed, held, hold, hole,
hope.
CUBE. From I to 2, Vermont; I to 3, vagrant; 2 to 4, tremble;
3 to 4, trample; 5 to 6, sharers ; 5 to 7, sharpen; 6 to 8, shamble;
7 to 8, narrate; I to 5, vans; 2 to 6, toss; 4 to 8, else; 3 to 7, thin.


THE OCTOBER NUMBER.
HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Madison. Cross-words: I. cheMist.
2. blAde. 3. aDd. 4. I. 5. aSk. 6. drOne. 7. shiNgle.
ILLUSTRATED DIAGONAL. Racine. i. Ribbon. 2. sAndal.
3. piCkax. 4. chairs. 5. ermiNe. 6. circlE.
ZIGZAG. "Pathfinder of the Rocky Mountains." I. Palos.
2. fAgot. 3. moTto. 4. litHe. 5. flufF. 6. chain. 7. doNor.
8. aDmit. 9. Evict. o1. aRoma. II. clOud. 12. craFt. 13. mighT.
14. figHt. 15. GrEek. 16. pRate. 17. Ovoid. 18. aCrid. 19. faKir.
20. praYs. 21. HiraM. 22. sloOp. 23. brUte. 24. eNact.
25. Thank. 26. gAmut. 27. twIst. 28. slaNg. 29. vialS.
POETICAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, William Tell; finals,
Switzerland. Cross-words: I. Wrens. 2. Ingelow. 3. .apis lazuli.
4. Launcelot. 5. Inez. 6. Anemone. 7. Marston Moor. 8. Tyr-
rell. 9. Egeria. ro. Lantern. II. Leopard.
WORD-SQUARES. I. I. Manes. 2. Arian. 3. Nitre. 4. Earal.
5. Snell. II. i. Snath. 2. Nitre. 3. Attic. 4. Trial. 5. Hecla.


To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER were received, before August i5th, from "M. McG."-Paul Reese-
Four of The Wise Five"- Mama and Jamie Dorothy Day E. M. G.- Ida C. Thallon -Josephine Sherwood L. 0. E.- Gail
Ramond -" Block Island "- Katharine Moncrief-" Tommy Traddles "- Jo and I Amy Ewing -" Wareham "-" Uncle Mung "-
Maud and Dudley Banks-Zada Daw.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER were received, before August i5th, from John Merchant, 2- Alice Mildred Blanke
and Co., io- Jeanne M. H., 2- Lucie Hegeman and Elsie Moyer, I Herbie J. Rose, i May and Nannie, 6 Irene Thompson, i -
"H. M. Myself," 5 -J. W. D., 2-Amy Hope B., 2- Carrie Chester, I -Mabel E. A., M. S. M., 2-R. R. N., 5-" The
Egyptian," 2- George McCloskey, r Margaret Crocker, 2 Grace Shirley, I J. V. M., 2- F. M. B., 2- M. J. P., 8 Albeit S.
Reese, 2 Bobby Wallis, I Theodore Goldsmith, 2 Ruth M. Mason, i E. Padelford Taft, i Clara M. Upton, 5 Laura M. Zin-
ser, 5 Worcester Bouck, i Edwin Rutherfurd, I -" Punch and Judy," 3 Grantknauff, i Clara Mayer, L. H. K., 2 Geo. S.
Seymour, 6 Eva and Bessie, 5- Boys of Church Home, Johnstown, Pa., 5 -" Three Blind Mice," 5-Tabitha McGeorge, 5- Mel-
ville Hunnewell, 4-Jessie Chapman, 7-" The Highmount Girls," 9- Helen C. McCleary, io -" Two Berkshire Girls," 4 -L. Hutton
and V. Beede, 8 June, 9.


HIDDEN FISHES.

1. O PA! Have you brought home my big, ruby ring ?
2. As Tom was passing, a piece of paper chanced to
fall on the floor.
3. If another hoop will make the tub as strong as ever,
please put one on.
4. Will you ask at every house if Molly has passed by ?
5. If you put some drab on it over the blue, it will look
better.
6. I never saw beef so lean and tasteless.
7. If Percival has had a suitable vacation he should
resume work.
8. Here is a tangle ready for you to undo.
9. If you want news of Ma'abar, Belle can give it to
you.
zo. If you let the car pass, you cannot have a ride.

ANAGRAM.

A FAMOUS artificer:
.BEN CUT NO EVIL LINE.

CENTRAL ACROSTIC.

ALL the words described are of equal length. When
these are rightly guessed and placed one below another,
in the order here given, the central letters, reading down-
ward, will spell the name of a British officer of Revolu-
tionary fame.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A small sailing-vessel used only for
pleasure-trips. 2. A mammal peculiar to Mexico and


South America. 3. The smallest mammal in existence.
4. A windlass. 5. Flatters meanly. 6. Egg-shaped.
7. An inhabitant of the southern part of Asia. 8. Bands
or girdles. 9. Animals of the hog kind. o1. Celerity
of motion. HERBERT SIDDONS.
PI.

ROE thees owl domesaw shang a pells
Hatt slodh a gretans, otecip crahm:
I hare ti ni eht raf blowcel,
Sa vatrang latcet kese eth fram.
Ene ni thees kaleb brovemen sayd
Theer 's snagdels rof eht thare hatt shede.
Het sharm ot em on golom scoveny,
Hothug eht gery storf eb no eht swede.

HEXAGON.







* .


I. A SOFT mineral. 2. Surfaces. 3. Looked askance.
4. A popular candy. 5. An old word meaning to imi-
tate. 6. To dig. 7. To cast a sidelong look.
CHARLES B. D.






THE RIDDLE-BOX.


PRIMAL
ACROSTIC.

S ALL the words de-
scribed contain the
S samenumberofletters.
When rightly guessed,
S and placed one below
Sthe other,the initial let-
ters will spell a char-
/ acter in one of Dick-
ens's works.
CROSS-WORDS
I. An herb often
used as a sea-
soning. 2. A
L' \ country in Asia.
3. A water-
/ nymph. 4. Juve-
-- nility. 5. Com-
pact. 6. A
country of Europe. 7. A guillemot. "TILLIE."
WORD-BUILDING.
I. A LETTER. 2. A masculine nickname. 3. Conclu-
sion. 4. To cause to go in any manner. 5. Separates
into parts with force or sudden violence. 6. Those
who live on the labors of others. 7. Considers atten-
tively. 8. Instruments used for beating. 9. Very
heavy. "THREE BLIND MICE."
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I AM composed of a hundred and three letters, and am
a quotation from Coleridge.
My 70-24-13-11-53-55 is to seesaw. My 34-5-50-
80-31-95-48-20-26-88 is promising. My 85-62-67 is a
coxcomb. My 83-58-39-73 is furnished with shoes. My
16-28-o10-41-44-91 is anything that brings good luck.
My 98-90-60-1o3-65 is search. My 97-9-7-75-22 is
darkness. My43-25-2-63-2I is banter. My 77-37-45-
100-33 is decreased. My 29-81-86-69-94 is uproar. My
27-19-93-18-52 is an aromatic substance mentioned in
the second chapter of St. Matthew. My 79-15-84-30-71
is odor. My 89-1-56-99-46 is to taunt. My 10-51-92-
3-102 is to dwarf. My 61-95-49-82-76-38 is a poem
of fourteen lines. My 59-36-47 is a feminine name. My
35-78-14-87 is clean. My 54-6-57 is to strike gently.
My 12-64-4-23 is elevated. My 72-17-40 is a prefix
signifying negation. My 66-6S-74-42-8-32 is a shiny
fabric. E. M. H.
WORD-SQUARE.
I. A VEGETABLE growth. 2. A large organ of the
body. 3. An old word meaning "to look at." 4. Snug
places. 5. A ringlet. CHARLES B. D.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
MY primals, reading downward, spell certain things
which grow downward; and my finals, reading upward,
spell certain things which grow upward.
CROSS-WORDS (of unequal length): I. Gems. 2. A
gem of a bright blue color. 3. A variety of quartz of a


purple color. 4. An aluminous
mineral of a rich blue color. 5. A
metal, coming into general use, re-
markable for its lightness. 6. A steep,
rugged rock. 7. A volcanic rock
formed of consolidated cinders. 8.
Space of time between any two events.
9. Baked clay. Io. The highest moun-
tain in the world. II. Rocks which
split readily into thin plates, w. J.

HOUR-GLASS.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Bestows liberally. 2. To pain
acutely. 3. A beverage. 4. In hour-glass. 5. An ani-
mal. 6. One who scatters seeds. 7. Pursuing.
My centrals, reading downward, spell what often may
be found by the waterside. A. B. G.
DIAMONDS CONNECTED BY A CENTRAL
SQUARE.


.4.....








I. UPPER DIAMOND: I. In defalcates. 2. To ask
alms. 3. An East Indian princess. 4. Honors con-
ferred by universities. 5. A visitor. 6. Encountered.
7. In defalcates.
II. LEFT-HAND DIAMOND. I. In defalcates. 2. To
strike gently. 3. A Turkish governor. 4. Secures firmly.
5. Robbery. 6. An insect. 7. In defalcates.
III. CENTRAL SQUARE: I. A difficult question. 2. A
pigment. 3. A bundle of grain. 4. To rub out. 5. To
relate.
IV. RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In defalcates. 2. Part
of a locomotive. 3. An artificial watercourse. 4. A per-
son affected by excessive enthusiasm. 5. To lave. 6. A
false statement. 7. In defalcates.
V. LOWER DIAMOND: I. In defalcates. 2. A light
moisture. 3. An evil spirit. 4. Pertaining to the femur.
5. To harass by pursuit and barking. 6. A term of
negation. 7. In defalcates. F. W. F.


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