Front Cover
 Toomai of the elephants
 When it snows
 Old Christmas
 The red dolly
 Tom Sawyer abroad
 Recollections of the wild life
 The owl's convention
 When the man in the moon was a...
 Cousin Lucrece
 General Sherman's bear
 Maid Bess
 Les petits sabots de Marie
 What pussy said
 The Christmas sleigh-ride
 New Orleans
 This is Sarah Jane Collins
 The house on the rath
 Toinette's Philip
 A cup of tea
 The best-loved of all
 When I was a-walking
 The German band
 Helen Keller's visit to the world's...
 How Ted marched with the regul...
 A Santa Claus messenger boy
 A dutch vamily
 An adventure with a Hackee
 Through the scissors
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00277
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00277
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
        Page 98
    Toomai of the elephants
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
    When it snows
        Page 111
    Old Christmas
        Page 112
        Page 113
    The red dolly
        Page 114
        Page 115
    Tom Sawyer abroad
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
    Recollections of the wild life
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
    The owl's convention
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
    When the man in the moon was a little boy
        Page 135
    Cousin Lucrece
        Page 136
        Page 137
    General Sherman's bear
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
    Maid Bess
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
    Les petits sabots de Marie
        Page 147
    What pussy said
        Page 147
        Page 148
    The Christmas sleigh-ride
        Page 149
    New Orleans
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
    This is Sarah Jane Collins
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
    The house on the rath
        Page 159
        Page 160
    Toinette's Philip
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
    A cup of tea
        Page 169
    The best-loved of all
        Page 170
    When I was a-walking
        Page 171
    The German band
        Page 172
        Page 173
    Helen Keller's visit to the world's fair
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
    How Ted marched with the regulars
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
    A Santa Claus messenger boy
        Page 184
    A dutch vamily
        Page 184
    An adventure with a Hackee
        Page 185
    Through the scissors
        Page 186
        Page 187
    The letter-box
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
    The riddle-box
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

_: ^ .^ ,#i

(SEE PAGE 109.)


Copyright, 1893, by THE CENTURY CO. All rights reserved.



KALA NAG, which means Black Snake, had
served the Indian Government in every way
that an elephant could serve it for forty-seven
years, and as he was fully twenty years old
when he was caught, that makes him nearly
seventy-a ripe age for an elephant. He re-
membered pushing, with a big leather pad on
his forehead, at a gun stuck in deep mud, and
that was before the Afghan war of 1842, and he
had not then come to his full strength. His

mother Radha Pyari,- Radha the darling,-
who had been caught in the same drive with
Kala Nag, told him, before his little milk-tusks
had dropped out, that elephants who were
afraid always got hurt: and Kala Nag knew
that that advice was good, for the first time
that he saw a shell burst he backed, screaming,
into a stand of piled rifles, and the bayonets
pricked him in all his softest places. So, be-
fore he was twenty-five, he gave up being


No. 2


afraid, and so he was the best-loved and the
best-looked-after elephant in the service of the
Government of India. He had carried tents,
twelve hundred pounds' weight of tents, on the
march in upper India: he had been hoisted
into a ship at the end of a steam-crane and
taken for days across the water, and made to
carry a mortar on his back in a strange and
rocky country very far from India, and had
seen the Emperor Theodore lying dead in
Magdala, and had come back again in the
steamer entitled, so the soldiers said, to the
Abyssinian war medal. He had seen his fellow-
elephants die of cold and epilepsy and starva-
tion and sunstroke up at a place called Ali
Musjid, ten years later; and afterward he had
been sent down thousands of miles south to
haul and pile big baulks of teak in the timber-
yards at Moulmein. There he had half killed
an insubordinate young elephant who was shirk-
ing his fair share of work.
After that he was taken off timber-hauling,
and employed, with a few score other elephants
who were trained to the business, in helping to
catch wild elephants among the Garo hills.
Elephants are very strictly preserved by the
Indian Government. There is one whole de-
partment which does nothing else but hunt
them, and catch them, and break them in, and
send them up and down the country as they
are needed for work. Kala Nag stood ten fair
feet at the shoulders, and his tusks had been
cut off short at five feet, and bound round the
ends, to prevent them splitting, with bands of
copper; but he could do more with those
stumps than any untrained elephant could do
with the real sharpened ones. When, after
weeks and weeks of cautious driving of scat-
tered elephants across the hills, the forty or
fifty wild monsters were driven into the last
stockade, and the big drop-gate, made of tree-
trunks lashed together, jarred down behind
them, Kala Nag, at the word of command,
would go into that flaring, trumpeting pande-
monium (generally at night, when the flicker of
the torches made it difficult to judge distances),
and, picking out the biggest and wildest tusker
of the mob, would hammer him and hustle him
into quiet while the men on the backs of the
other elephants roped and tied the smaller ones.

There was nothing in the way of fighting that
Kala Nag, the old wise Black Snake, did not
know, for he had stood up more than once in
his time to the charge of the wounded tiger,
and, curling up his soft trunk to be out of
harm's way, had knocked the springing brute
sideways in mid-air with a quick sickle-cut of
his head, that he had invented all by himself;
had knocked him over, and kneeled upon him
with his huge knees till the life went out with
a gasp and a howl, and there was only a fluffy
striped thing on the ground for Kala Nag to
pull by the tail.
"Yes," said Big Toomai, his driver, the son
of Black Toomai who had taken him to Abys-
sinia, and grandson of Toomai of the Elephants
who had seen him caught, "there is nothing
that the Black Snake fears except me. He has
seen three generations of us feed him and
groom him, and he will live to see four."
He is afraid of me also," said Little Too-
mai, standing up to his full height of four feet,
with only one rag upon him. He was ten
years old, the eldest son of Big Toomai, and,
according to custom, he would take his father's
place on Kala Nag's neck when he grew up,
and would handle the heavy iron ankus, the
elephant-goad that had been worn smooth by
his father, and his grandfather, and his great-
grandfather. He knew what he was talking
of; for he had been born under Kala Nag's
shadow, had played with the end of his trunk
before he could walk, had taken him down to
water as soon as he could walk, and Kala Nag
would no more have dreamed of disobeying his
shrill little orders than he would have dreamed
of killing him on that day when Big Toomai
carried the little brown baby in his arms un-
der Kala Nag's tusks, and told him to salute
his master that was to be. "Yes," said Little
Toomai, "he is afraid of me," and he took
long strides up to Kala Nag, called him a fat
old pig, and made him lift up his feet, one
after the other.
"Wah! said Little Toomai, "thou art a
big elephant," and he wagged his fluffy head,
quoting his father. "The Government may
pay for elephants, but they belong to us ma-
houts. When thou art old, Kala Nag, there
will come some rich Rajah, and he will buy thee



from the Government, on account of thy size
and thy manners, and then thou wilt have noth-
ing to do but to carry gold earrings in thy ears,
and a gold howdah on thy back, and a red
cloth covered with gold on thy sides, and walk
at the head of the processions of the King.

p ,/ qA

9' *: ~.'i
''i 'l'' l 1 l 7 '/' **' j '"' *' '

elephant-lines, one stall to each elephant, and
big stumps to tie them to safely, and flat, broad
roads to exercise upon, instead of this come-and-
go camping. Aha, the Cawnpore barracks were
good. There was a bazar close by, and only
three hours' work a day."


Then I shall sit on thy neck, 0 Kala Nag,
with a silver ankus, and men will run before
us with golden sticks, crying, Room for the
King's elephant!' That will be good, Kala
Nag, but not so good as this hunting in the
"Umph," said Big Toomai. "Thou art a
boy, and as wild as a buffalo-calf. This run-
ning up and down among the hills is not the
best Government service. I am getting old, and
I do not love wild elephants. Give me brick

Little Toomai remembered the Cawnpore
elephant-lines and said nothing. He very
much preferred the camp life, and hated those
broad flat roads, with the daily grubbing
for grass in the forage-reserve, and the long
hours when there was nothing to do except
to watch Kala Nag fidgeting in his pickets.
What Little Toomai liked was the scramble up
bridle-paths that only an elephant could take;
the dip into the valley below; the glimpses of
the wild elephants browsing miles away; the


rush of the frightened pig and peacock under
Kala Nag's feet; the blinding warm rains, when
all the hills and valleys smoked; the beautiful
misty mornings when nobody knew where they
would camp that night; the steady, cautious
drive of the wild elephants, and the mad rush,
and blaze, and hullaballoo of the last night's
drive, when the elephants poured into the
stockade like boulders in a landslide, found
that they could not get out, and flung them-
selves at the heavy posts only to be driven
back by yells and flaring torches and volleys
of blank cartridge. Even a little boy could be
of use there, and Toomai was as useful as three
boys. He would get his torch and wave it,
and yell with the best. But the really good
time came when the driving out began, and
the Keddah, that is, the stockade, looked like a

picture of the end of the world, and men had
to make signs to one another, because they
could not hear themselves speak. Then Little
Toomai would climb up to the top of one of
the quivering stockade-posts, his sun-bleached
brown hair flying loose all over his shoulders,
and he looking like a goblin in the torch-light;
and as soon as there was a lull you could
hear his high-pitched yells of encouragement
to Kala Nag, above the trumpeting and crash-
ing, and snapping of ropes, and groans of the
tethered elephants. "Mail, mail, Kala Nag!
(Go on, go on, Black Snake!) Dant do!
(Give him the tusk!) Somalo/ Somalo/
(Careful, careful!) Maro! Mar! (Hit him,
hit him!) Mind the post! Arre! Arne!
Hail Yai! Kya-a-ah !" he would shout, and
the big fight between Kala Nag and the wild




elephant would sway to and fro across the
Keddah, and the old elephant-catchers would
wipe the sweat out of their eyes, and find time
to nod to Little Toomai wriggling with joy on
the top of the posts. He did more than
wriggle. One night he dropped down and
slipped in between the elephants, and threw up
the loose end of a rope, which had dropped, to
a driver who was trying to get a purchase on
the leg of a kicking young calf (calves always
give more trouble than full grown animals).
Kala Nag saw him, caught him in his trunk,
and handed him up to Big Toomai, who
slapped him then and there, and put him back
on the post. Next morning he gave him a
scolding, and said: "Are not good brick ele-
phant-lines and a little tent-carrying enough for
you, that you must needs go elephant-catching
on your own account, little worthless ? Now
those foolish hunters, whose pay is less than
my pay, have spoken to Petersen Sahib of the
matter." Little Toomai was frightened. He
did not know much of white men, but Peter-
sen Sahib was the greatest white man in the
world to him. He was the head of all the
Keddah operations--the man who caught all
the elephants for the Government of India, and
who knew more about the ways of elephants
than any living man.
"What-what will happen?" said Little
"Happen! the worst that can happen.
Petersen Sahib is a madman; else why should
he go hunting these wild devils? He may
even require thee to be an elephant-catcher,
to sleep anywhere in these fever-filled jungles,
and at last to be trampled to death in the
Keddah. It is well that this nonsense ends
safely. Next week the catching is over, and
we of the plains are sent back to our stations.
Then we will march on smooth roads, and for-
get all this hunting. But, son, I am angry
that thou shouldst meddle in the business that
belongs to these dirty Assamese jungle-folk.
Kala Nag will obey none but me, so I must go
with him into the Keddah, but he is only a
fighting elephant, and he does not help to rope
them. So I sit at my ease, as befits a ma-
hout,-not a mere hunter,-a mahout, I say,
and a man who gets a pension at the end of

his service. Is the family of Toomai of the
Elephants to be trodden underfoot in the dirt
of a Keddah? Bad one! Wicked one!
Worthless son! Go and wash Kala Nag and
attend to his ears, and see that there are no
thorns in his feet; or else Petersen Sahib will
surely catch thee and make thee a wild hun-
ter a follower of elephant's foot-tracks, a
jungle-bear. Bah! Shame! Go!"
Little Toomai went off without saying a
word, but he told Kala Nag all his grievances
while he was examining his feet. No matter,"
said Little Toomai, turning up the fringe of
Kala Nag's huge right ear. "They have said
my name to Petersen Sahib, and perhaps and
perhaps- and perhaps- who knows? Hai!
That is a big thorn that I have pulled out! "
The next few days were spent in getting the
elephants together, in walking the newly caught
wild elephants up and down between a couple
of tame ones, to prevent them giving too much
trouble on the downward march to the plains,
and in taking stock of the blankets and ropes
and things that had been worn out or lost in
the forest. Petersen Sahib came in on his
clever she-elephant Pudmini; he had been pay-
ing off other camps among the hills, for the
season was coming to an end, and there was a
native clerk sitting at a table under a tree, to
pay the drivers their wages. As each man was
paid he went back to his elephant, and joined
the line that stood ready to start. The catch-
ers, and hunters, and beaters, the men of the
regular Keddah, who stayed in the jungle year
in and year out, sat on the backs of the ele-
phants that belonged to Petersen Sahib's per-
manent force, or leaned against the trees with
their guns across their arms, and made fun of
the drivers who were going away, and laughed
when the newly caught elephants broke the
line and ran about. Big Toomai went up to
the clerk with Little Toomai behind him, and
Machua Appa, the head-tracker, said in an
undertone to a friend of his, There goes one
piece of good elephant-stuff at least. 'T is a
pity to send that young jungle-cock to moult in
the plains."
Now Petersen Sahib had ears all over him,
as a man must have who listens to the most
silent of all living things--the wild elephant.


He turned where he was lying all along on
Pudmini's back, and said, "What is that? I
did not know of a man among the plains-drivers
who had wit enough to rope even a dead
This is not a man, but a boy. He went into
the Keddah at the last drive, and threw Barmao



there the rope, when we were trying to get
that young calf with the blotch on his shoulder
away from his mother." Machua Appa pointed
at Little Toomai, and Petersen Sahib looked,
and Little Toomai bowed to the earth.
He threw a rope? He is smaller than a
picket-pin. Little one, what is thy name," said
Petersen Sahib. Little Toomai was too fright-
ened to speak, but Kala Nag was behind him,

and Toomai made a sign with his hand, and the
elephant caught him up in his trunk and held
him level with Pudmini's forehead, in front of
the great Petersen Sahib. Then Little Toomai
covered his face with his hands, for he was only
a child, and, except where elephants were con-
cerned, he was just as bashful as a child could be.
Oho," said
", / ^ Petersen Sahib,
S." smiling under-
neath his beard,
S. "And where
didst thou teach
S" '" thy elephant
that trick? Was
it to help thee
to steal green
: Icorn from the
Sroofs of the
';, houses when the
to ears are put out
to dry? "
S "Not green
.- corn, Protector

melons, said
Little Toomai,
and all the men
sitting about
broke into a roar
."'1 h of laughter.
Most of them
had taught their
elephants that
e w trick when they

Oft tie Toomai was
i wAere boys. Lit-

hanging eight
fo eet up in the air,
and he wished
LONS,' SAID LITTLE TOOMAI." very much that
he was eight feet under ground.
He is Toomai, my son, Sahib," said Big
Toomai, scowling. "Heis a very bad boy, and
he will end in a jail, Sahib."
Of that I have my doubts," said Petersen
Sahib. "A boy who can face a full Keddah at
his age does not end in jails. See, little one,
here are four annas to spend in sweetmeats be-
cause thou hast a little head under that great


thatch of hair. In time thou mayest become a
hunter, too." Big Toomai scowled more than
ever. "Remember, though, that Keddahs are
not good for children to play in," Petersen
Sahib went on.
Must I never go there, Sahib?" asked Little
Toomai, with a big gasp.
"Yes." Petersen Sahib smiled again. "When
thou hast seen the elephants dance. That is
the proper time. Come to me when thou hast
seen the elephants dance, and then I will let
thee go into all the Keddahs."
There was another roar of laughter, for that
is an old joke among elephant-catchers, and it
means just never. There are great cleared flat
places hidden away in the forests that are called
elephant's ball-rooms, but even these are only
found by accident, and no man has ever seen
the elephants' dance. When a driver boasts
of his skill, and bravery the other drivers say,
" And when didst thou see the elephants
Kala Nag put Little Toomai down, and he
bowed to the earth again and went away with
his father, and gave the silver four-anna piece
to his mother, who was nursing his baby brother,
and they all were put up on Kala Nag's back,
and the line of grunting, squealing elephants
rolled down the hill path to the plains. It was
a very lively march on account of the new ele-
phants, who gave trouble at every ford, and who
needed coaxing or beating every other minute.
Big Toomai prodded Kala Nag spitefully, for
he was very angry, but Little Toomai was too
happy to speak. Petersen Sahib had noticed
him, and given him money, so he felt as a pri-
vate soldier would feel if he had been called
out of the ranks and praised by his comman-
What did Petersen Sahib mean by the ele-
phant-dance ?" he said, at last, softly to his
Big Toomai heard him and grunted. "That
thou shouldst never be one of these hill-buf-
falos of trackers. That was what he meant.
Oh! you in front, what is blocking the way?"
An Assamese driver, two or three elephants
ahead, turned round angrily, crying, "Bring
up Kala Nag, and knock this youngster of mine
into good behavior. Why should Petersen

Sahib have chosen me to go down with you
donkeys of the rice-fields? Lay your beast
alongside, Toomai, and let him prod with his
tusks. By all the Gods of the Hills, these new
elephants are possessed, or else they can smell
their companions in the jungle."
Kala Nag hit the new elephant in the ribs and
knocked the wind out of him, as Big Toomai
said, "We have swept the hills of wild ele-
phants at the last catch. It is only your care-
lessness in driving. Must I keep order along
the whole line ?"
"Hear him!" said the Assamese. We
have swept the hills! Ho! Ho! You are very
wise, you plains-people. Any one but a mud-
head who never saw the jungle would know
that they know that the drives are ended for the
season. Therefore all the wild elephants to-
night will but why should I waste wisdom on
a river-turtle ? "
"What will they do ?" Little Toomai called
Ohe, little one. Art thou there? Well, I
will tell thee, for thou hast a cool head. They
will dance, and it behooves thy father, who has
swept all the hills of all the elephants, to
double-chain his pickets to-night."
"What talk is this ? said Big Toomai. For
forty years, father and son, we have tended ele-
phants, and we have never heard such moon-
shine about dances."
"Yes; but a plains-man who lives in a hut
knows only the four walls of his hut. Well,
leave thy elephants unshackled to-night and see
what comes; as for their dancing, I have seen
the place where -Bapree-Bap! How many
windings has the Dihang River? Here is an-
other ford, and we must swim the calves. Stop
still, you behind there."
And in this way, talking and wrangling and
splashing through the rivers, they made their
first march to a sort of receiving-camp for the
new elephants; but they lost their tempers long
before they got there.
Then the elephants were chained by their
hind legs to their big stumps of pickets, and
extra ropes were fitted to the new elephants,
and the fodder was piled before them, and the
hill-drivers went back to Petersen Sahib through
the afternoon light, telling the plains-drivers to



be extra careful that night, and laughing when
the plains-drivers asked the reason.
Little Toomai attended to Kala Nag's supper,
and as evening fell, wandered through the camp,
unspeakably happy, in search of a tom-tom.
When an Indian child's heart is full, he does
not run about and make a noise in an irregular
fashion. He sits down to a sort of revel all
by himself. And Little Toomai had been
spoken to by Petersen Sahib! If he had not
found what he wanted, I believe he would
have been ill. But the sweetmeat-seller in the
camp lent him a little tom-tom,-a drum that
you beat with the flat of your hand,-and he
sat down, cross-legged, before Kala Nag as the
stars began to come out, the tom-tom in his
lap, and he thumped and he thumped and he
thumped, and the more he thought of the great
honor that had been done to him, the more he
thumped, all alone among the elephant-fodder.
There was no tune and no words, but it was
the thumping that made him happy. The new
elephants strained at their ropes, and squealed
and trumpeted from time to time, and he could
hear his mother in the- camp hut putting his
small brother to sleep with an old, old song
about the great God Shiv, who once told all the
animals what they should eat. I have forgotten
the native words; but it is a very soothing lul-
laby, and the first verse says:

Shiv, who poured the harvest and made the winds to blow,
Sitting at the doorways of a day of long ago,
Gave to each his portion, food and toil and fate,
From the king upon the guddee to the beggar at the gate.
All things made he-Shiva the preserver.
Mahadeo Mahadeo he made all,-
Thorn for the camel, fodder for the kine,
And mother's heart for sleepy head, 0 little son of

It goes on for ever so many verses, and Little
Toomai came in with a joyous tunk-a-tunk at
the end of each verse, till he felt sleepy and
stretched himself on the fodder at Kala Nag's
side. At last the elephants began to lie down
one after another as is their custom, till only
Kala Nag at the right of the line was left stand-
ing up; and he rocked slowly from side to side,
his ears put forward to listen to the night wind
as it blew very slowly across the hills. The air
was full of all the night noises that, taken to-

gether, make one big silence the click of one
bamboo-stem against the other, the rustle of
something alive in the undergrowth, the scratch
and squawk of a half-waked bird (birds are
awake in the night much more often than we
imagine), and the fall of water ever so far away.
Little Toomai slept for some time, and when he
waked it was brilliant moonlight, and Kala Nag
was still standing up with his ears cocked. Lit-
tle Toomai turned, rustling in the fodder, and
watched the curve of his big back against half
the stars in heaven, and while he watched he
heard, so far away that it sounded no more than
a pinhole of noise pricked through the stillness,
the hoot-toot" of a wild elephant. All the
elephants in the lines jumped up as if they had
been shot, and their grunts really roused the
sleeping mahouts. They came out of the huts,
rubbing their eyes, and drove in the picket-pegs
with big mallets, and tightened this rope and
knotted that till all was quiet. One new ele-
phant had nearly grubbed up his picket, and
Big Toomai took off Kala Nag's leg-chain and
shackled that elephant fore foot to hind foot,
and just slipped a loop of grass string round
Kala Nag's leg, and told him to stay still and
remember that he was tied. He knew that he
and his father and his grandfather had done the
very same thing hundreds of times before. Kala
Nag did not answer to the order by gurgling,
as he usually did. He stayed still, looking out
across the moonlight, his head a little raised
and his ears spread like fans, up to the great
folds of the Garo hills.
"Look after him if he grows restless in the
night," said Big Toomai to Little Toomai, and
he went into the hut and slept. Little Toomai
was just going to sleep, too, when he heard the
coir string snap with a little ting," and Kala
Nag rolled out of his pickets as slowly and as
silently as a cloud rolls out of the mouth of a
valley. Little Toomai pattered after him, bare-
footed, down the road in the moonlight, calling
under his breath, "Kala Nag! Kala Nag!
Take me with you, 0 Kala Nag! The ele-
phant turned, still without a sound, took three
strides back to the boy in the moonlight, put
down his trunk, swung him to his neck, and al-
most before Little Toomai had settled his knees,
slipped into the forest.



There was one blast of furious trumpeting
from the lines, and then the silence shut down
on everything, and Kala Nag began to move.
Sometimes a tuft of high grass washed along
his sides as a wave washes along the sides of a
ship, and sometimes a cluster of wild-pepper
vines would scrape along his back, or a bam-
boo would creak where
his shoulder touched it;
but between those times
he moved absolutely
without any sound, drift-
ing through the thick
Garo forest as though it
had been smoke. He
was going up hill, but i
though Little Toomai
watched the stars in
the rifts of the trees, he
could not tell in what
direction. Then Kala
Nag reached the crest of
the ascent and stopped
for a minute, and Little
Toomai could see the
tops of the trees lying
all speckled and furry
under the moonlight for
miles and miles, and
the blue-white mist over
the river in the hollow.
Toomai leaned for-
ward and looked, and
he felt that the forest
was awake below him-
awake and alive and
crowded. A big brown
fruit-eating bat brushed
past his ear; a porcu-
pine's quills rattled in
the thicket, and in the
darkness between the BOUGH
tree-stems he heard a
hog-bear digging hard in the moist warm earth,
and snuffing as it digged. Then the branches
closed over his head again, and Kala Nag be-
gan to go down into the valley-not quietly
this time, but as a runaway gun goes down a
steep bank-in one rush. The huge limbs
moved as steadily as pistons, eight feet to each

stride, and the wrinkled skin of the elbow-
points rustled. The undergrowth on either side
of him ripped with a noise like torn canvas, and
the saplings that he heaved away right and
left with his shoulders sprang back again, and
banged him on the flank, and great trails of
creepers, all matted together, hung from his


tusks as he threw his head from side to side
and plowed out his pathway. Then Little
Toomai laid himself down close to the great
neck lest a swinging bough should sweep him
to the ground, and he wished that he were
back in the lines again. The grass began to
get squashy, and Kala Nag's feet sucked and


squelched as he put them down, and the night
mist at the bottom of the valley chilled Little
Toomai. There was a splash and a trample,
and the rush of running water, and Kala Nag
strode through the bed of a river, feeling his
way at each step. Above the noise of the
water, as it swirled round the elephant's legs,
Little Toomai could hear more splashing and
some trumpeting both up-stream and down--
great grunts and angry snortings, and all the
mist about him seemed to be full of rolling,
wavy shadows. "Ai!" he said, half aloud, his
teeth chattering. "The elephant-folk are out
to-night. It is the dance, then."
Kala Naga swashed out of the water, blew
his trunk clear, and began another climb; but
this time he was not alone, and he had not to
make his path. That was made already, six
feet wide, in front of him, where the bent jungle-
grass was trying to recover itself and stand up.
Many elephants must have gone that way only
a few minutes before. Little Toomai looked
back, and behind him a great wild tusker with
his little pig's eyes glowing like hot coals, was
just lifting himself out of the misty river. Then
the trees closed up again, and they went on
and up, with trumpetings and crashing, and
the sound of breaking branches on every side
of them. At last Kala Nag stood still between
two tree-trunks at the very top of the hill.
They were part of a circle of trees that grew
round an irregular space of some three or four
acres, and in all that space, as Little Toomai
could see, the ground had been trampled down
as hard as a brick floor. Some trees grew in the
center of the clearing, but their bark was rubbed
away, and the white wood beneath showed all
shiny and polished in the patches of moonlight.
There were creepers hanging from the upper
branches, and the bells of the flowers of the
creepers, great waxy white things like convol-
vuluses, hung down fast asleep; but within the
limits of the clearing there was not a single
blade of green-nothing but the trampled
earth. The moonlight showed it all iron-gray,
except where some elephants stood upon it, and
their shadows were inky black. Little Toomai
looked, holding his breath, with his eyes start-
ing out of his head, and as he looked, more,
and more, and more elephants swung out into

the open from between the tree-trunks. Little
Toomai could only count up to ten, and he
counted again and again on his fingers till he
lost count of the tens, and his head began to
swim. Outside the clearing he could hear them
crashing in the undergrowth as they worked
their way up the hillside; but as soon as they
were within the circle of the tree-trunks they
moved like ghosts.
There were white-tusked wild males, with
fallen leaves and nuts and twigs lying in the
wrinkles of their necks and the folds of their
ears; fat, slow-footed she-elephants, with rest-
less, little pinky-black calves only three or
four feet high running under their stomachs;
young elephants with their tusks just beginning
to show, and very proud of them; lanky,
scraggy old-maid elephants, with their hollow,
anxious faces, and trunks like rough bark;
savage old bull-elephants, scarred from shoulder
to flank with great weals and cuts of bygone
fights, and the daked dirt of their solitary mud-
baths dropping from their shoulders; and there
was one with a broken tusk and the marks of
the full-stroke, the terrible drawing scrape, of
a tiger's claws on his side. They were standing
head to head, or walking to and fro across the
ground in couples, or rocking and swaying all
by themselves scores and scores of elephants.
Toomai knew that so long as he lay still on
Kala Nag's neck nothing would happen to
him; for even in the rush and scramble of a
Keddah-drive a wild elephant does not reach
up with his trunk and drag a man off the neck
of a tame elephant; and these elephants were
not thinking of men that night. Once they
started and put their ears forward when they
heard the chinking of a leg-iron in the for-

est, but it was Pudmini, Petersen Sahib's pet
elephant, her chain snapped short off, grunting,
snuffling up the hillside. She must have broken
her pickets, and come straight from Petersen
Sahib's camp; and Little Toomai saw another
elephant, one that he did not know, with deep
rope-galls on his back and breast. He, too,
must have run away from some camp in the
hills about.
At last there was no sound of any more ele-
phants moving in the forest, and Kala Nag
rolled out from his station between the trees


and went into the middle of the crowd, clucking
and gurgling, and all the elephants began to talk
in their own tongue, and to move about. Still
lying down, Little Toomai looked down upon
scores and scores of broad backs, and wagging
ears, and tossing trunks, and little rolling eyes.
He heard the click of tusks as they crossed other
tusks by accident, and the dry rustle of trunks
twined together, and the chafing of enormous
sides and shoulders in the crowd, and the inces-
sant flick and hissh of the great tails. Then a
cloud came over the moon, and he sat in black
darkness; but the quiet, steady hustling and
pushing and gurgling went on just the same.
He knew that there were elephants all round
Kala Nag, and that there was no chance of
backing him out of the assembly; so he set his
teeth and shivered. In a Keddah at least
there was torch-light and shouting, but here he
was all alone in the dark, and once a trunk
came up and touched him on the knee. Then
an elephant trumpeted, and they all took it up
for five or ten terrible seconds. After that, he
heard the dew spattering down from the trees
above like rain on the unseen backs, and then a
dull booming noise began, not very loud at first,
and Little Toomai could not tell what it was;
but it grew and grew, and Kala Nag lifted up
one fore foot and then the other, and brought
them down on the ground one-two, one-two,
as steadily as trip-hammers. The elephants were
stamping all together now, and it sounded like
a war-drum beaten at the mouth of a cave.
The dew fell from the trees till there was no
more left to fall, and the booming went on, and
the ground rocked and shivered, and Little
Toomai put his hands up to his ears to shut
out the sound. But it was all one gigantic jar
that ran through him this stamp of hundreds
of heavy feet on the raw earth. Once or twice
he could feel Kala Nag and all the others surge
forward a few strides, and for a minute or two the
thumping would change to the crushing sound
of juicy green things being bruised, but after
the boom of feet on hard earth began again.
A tree was creaking and groaning somewhere
near him. He put out his arm and felt the
bark, but Kala Nag moved forward, still tramp-
ing, and he could not tell where he was in the
clearing. There was no sound from the ele-

phants, except once, when two or three little
calves squeaked together. Then he heard a
thump and a shuffle, and the booming went on.
It must have lasted fully two hours, and Little
Toomai ached in every nerve; but he knew
by the smell of the night air that the dawn
was coming, and he would have fainted where
he was sooner than have cried out.
The morning broke in one sheet of pale yel-
low behind the green hills, and the booming
stopped with the first ray, as though the light
had been an order. Before Little Toomai had
got the ringing out of his head, before even he
had shifted his position, there was not an ele-
phant in sight except Kala Nag, Pudmini, and
the elephant with the rope-galls, and there was
no sign or rustle or whisper down the hillsides
to show which way the others had taken. Little
Toomai stared again and again.. The clearing
as he remembered it, had grown ever so much.
More trees stood in the middle of it, but the
undergrowth and the jungle-grass at the sides
had been rolled back. Little Toomai stared
once more. Now he understood the trampling.
The elephants had stamped out more room -
had stamped the thick grass and juicy cane to
trash, the trash into slivers, the slivers into tiny
fibres, and the fibres into hard earth.
"Wah!" said Little Toomai, and his eyes
were very heavy. Kala Nag, my lord, let
us keep by Pudmini and go to Petersen Sahib's
camp, or I shall drop from thy neck."
The third elephant watched the two go away,
snorted, wheeled round, and took his own path.
He may have belonged to some little native
king's establishment, fifty or sixty or a hun-
dred miles away.
Two hours later, as Petersen Sahib was eat-
ing early breakfast, his elephants, who had been
doubled-chained that night, began to trumpet,
and Pudmini, mired to the shoulders, and Kala
Nag, very foot-sore, shambled into the camp.
Little Toomai's face was gray and pinched, and
his hair was full of leaves and drenched with
dew; but he tried to salute Petersen Sahib,
and cried faintly: "The dance -the elephant-
dance! I have seen it, and-I die! As Kala
Nag sat down, he slid off his neck in a dead
But, since native children have no nerves



worth speaking of, in two hours he was lying
very contentedly in Petersen Sahib's hammock
with Petersen Sahib's shooting-coat under his
head and a glass of warm milk, a little brandy,
with a dash of quinine inside of him, and while
the old hairy, scarred elephant-catchers of the
jungles sat three-deep before him, looking at
him as though he were a spirit, he told his
tale in short words, as a child will, and wound
up with:
Now, if I lie in one word send men to see,
and they will find that the elephant-folk have
trampled down more room in their dance-room,
and they will find ten and ten, and many times
ten, tracks leading to that dance-room. They
made more room with their feet. I have seen
it. Kala Nag took me, and I saw. Also Kala
Nag is very leg-weary !"
Little Toomai lay back and slept all through
the long afternoon and into the twilight, and
while he slept Petersen Sahib and Machua
Appa followed the track of the two elephants
for fifteen miles across the hills. Petersen
Sahib had spent eighteen years in catching
elephants, and he had only once before seen
one of their dance-places. Machua Appa had
no need to look twice at the clearing to see
what had been done there, or to scratch with
his toe in the packed, rammed earth.
"The child speaks truth," said he. "All
this was done last night, and I have counted
seventy tracks crossing the river. See, Sahib,
where Pudmini's leg-iron cut the bark of that
tree! Yes; she was there too." They looked
at one another and up and down, and they won-
dered; for the ways of elephants are beyond
the wit of any man, black or white, to fathom.
"Forty years and five," said Machua Appa,
"have I followed my lord the elephant, but
never have I heard that any child of man had
seen what this child has seen. By all the Gods
of the Hills, it is-what can we say? and he
shook his head.
When they got back to camp it was time for
the evening meal. Petersen Sahib ate alone
in his tent, but he gave orders that the camp
should have two sheep and some fowls, as well
as a double ration of flour and rice and salt,
for he knew that there would be a feast. Big
Toomai had come up hot-foot from the camp

in the plains to search for his son and his ele-
phant, and now that he had found them he
looked at them as though he were afraid of
them both. And there was a feast by the
blazing camp-fires in front of the lines of pick-
eted elephants, and Little Toomai was the
hero of it all; and the big brown elephant-
catchers, the trackers and drivers and ropers,
and the men who know all the secrets of break-
ing the wildest elephants, passed him from one
to the other, and they marked his forehead with
blood from the breast of a newly killed jungle-
cock, to show that he was a forester, initiated
and free of all the jungles.
And at last, when the flames died down, and
the red light of the logs made the elephants
look as though they had been dipped in blood
too, Machua Appa, the head of all the drivers
of all the Keddahs,-Machua Appa, Petersen
Sahib's other self, who had never seen a made
road in forty years: Machua Appa, who was so
great that he had no other name than Machua
Appa,-leaped to his feet, with Little Toomai
held high in the air above his head, and
shouted: "Listen, my brothers. Listen, too,
you my lords in the lines there, for I, Machua
Appa, am speaking! This little one shall no
more be called Little Toomai, but Toomai of the
Elephants, as his great-grandfather was called
before him. What never man has seen he has
seen through the long night, and the favor of
the elephant-folk and of the Gods of the Jungles
is with him. He shall become a great tracker;
he shall become greater than I, even I, Machua
Appa! He shall follow the new trail, and the
stale trail, and the mixed trail, with a clear eye!
He shall take no harm in the Keddah when he
runs under their bellies to rope the wild tuskers;
and if he slips before the feet of the charging
bull-elephant, the bull-elephant shall know who

he is and shall not crush him. Aihai! my lords
in the chains,"-he whirled up the line of pick-
ets,-" here is the little one that has seen your
dances in your hidden places-the sight that
never man saw! Give him honor, my lords!
Salaam karo, my children. Make your salute
to Toomai of the Elephants! Gunga Pershad,
ahaa! Hira Guj, Birchi Guj, Kuttar Guj,
ahaa! Pudmini,-thou hast seen him at the
dance, and thou too, Kala Nag, my pearl


among elephants!-ahaa! Together! To Too-
mai of the Elephants. Barrao/"
And at that last wild yell the whole line
flung up their trunks till the tips touched
their foreheads, and broke out into the full sa-
lute -the crashing trumpet-peal that only the

, i
utS j' ,;

Viceroy of India hears, the Salaamut of the
But it was all for the sake of Little Toomai,
who had seen what never man had seen be-
fore-the dance of the elephants at night and
alone in the heart of the Garo hills!

In Old Song of Winter.)

IT snows! it snows! From out the sky
The feathered flakes how fast they fly!
Like little birds, that don't know why
They 're on the chase from place to place,
While neither can the other trace.
It snows! it snows! A merry play
Is o'er us in the air to-day!

As dancers in an airy hall
That has n't room to hold them all,
While some keep up, and others fall,
The atoms shift; then, thick and swift,
They drive along to form the drift
That, waving up, so dazzling white,
Is rising like a wall of light.

To-morrow will the storm be done;
Then out will come the golden sun,
And we shall see upon the run
Before his beams, in sparkling streams,
What now a curtain o'er him seems.
And thus with life it ever goes!
'T is shade and shine. It snows! it snows!


rJ0DW /1\PI



// '.S /7 A i 4 1, 1a1,l' H',-////l i c' l'l c7',r '. //II' ,1,/,' .
/I,../'. al' la ///._ / 't l'c.r,\ .I
I ,_ /ll l //'c' 7F. 1/ 7// It/ //'' /fl /ih'. //.ll' LJ/.<
i h;////I/ //' s1/1il ,7 ,t h c',r.'

The wind blew high on the pine-topp'd bill,
And cut me keen on the moor;
The heart of the stream was frozen still,
As I tapped at the miller's door.

found the frost and the flame, my dears, I found the smile and tear 1 I

r' i C "I
U- -- -w

I__ ~

Il. .. .' ,l

'" -- '


.. -." ;



I tossed them holly in hall and cot,
And bade them right good cheer,
But stayed me not in any spot,
For I 'd traveled around the year

To bring the Christmas joy, my dears,
To your eyes so bonnie and true;
And a mistletoe bough for you, my dears,
A mistletoe bough for you!

bring the Christmas joy,my dears,To your eyes so bonnie and true; And a

(For music complete, with words, see page 188.)
.. ..-o ~- -- f
al" e o,,h--
mistle-toe bough for you, my dears, A mis-tle-toe bough for youl

__. _t- t_ A---- --..-.--
I _, .
a- a

VOL. XXI.-- 5.




strange thing
happened at
our house the
other day.
Se Not that there
is anything un-
usual about
that, for curious
things have been
V2! occurring regu-
\ larly ever since
I came here to
live, which is ex-
actly three years
ago. I happen
to know the pre-
cise length of
time because I
have just had
my third birth-
day. They say that
I had two others be-
fore this, and of course it must be so. I suppose
grown-up people never make any mistakes, or
they would be a little more delicate in cor-
recting ours. The other day I told grandmama
an interesting thing that happened in heaven
the morning I came away, and she was very
severe with me on the subject of telling fibs.
What on earth a "fib" is, and why I should n't
have told it, is more than I can understand.
All that I have to say about the other birth-
days is this: that they could n't have been
celebrated with much pomp and festivity or I
should be able to remember them. Things
that are worth remembering are always re-
membered. I do not have any difficulty in
recalling my last birthday. I had a rocking-

chair, and a Noah's Ark, and a woolly dog, and
a frosted cake with three candles. I lighted
them myself, and when I stretched out my
hand to do it, nurse observed that my fingers
were dirty, and I was dragged out to be
scrubbed in the very middle of the party. The
only occasions when I am safe for a moment
from her eagle eye are those on which I play
in the park. Nurse has so many friends there
that I can be dirty a long time before she no-
tices it. Sometimes it is the policemen them-
selves who draw her attention to the state of
my hands. We love to play with the police-
men, nurse and I, and they always manage
to get through with their work, so as to have
nothing to do when we are in the park. If life
were all policemen and birthday parties and
frosting, I should like it. Mama allowed me
to pull off a large piece of frosting from the
birthday cake, and eat a little of it twice a day.
When the frosting is so much nicer than the cake
why do they not fill the pans with that, and
after it is baked spread a thin layer of cake
over it? But the same method is followed in
a great many other things, in which I look in
vain for rhyme or reason. For instance, they
give me a spoonful of jam on my bread, when
what I should like is a spoonful of bread on
my jam. They drop a lump of sugar in my
cup of milk and water, when I should prefer a
cup of sugar-lumps with a little milk and wa-
ter poured over them. They put me to bed at
the very most interesting part of the day. When
the drawing-room fire is bright, and the tall
lamps are lighted, and mama has on her love-
liest dress, and papa has just come home and
is dying to play "bear" with me-that is the
exact moment when I am seized by nurse and
carried struggling to my crib. I always make


a point of struggling; not that it alters the
course of things in the very least-for in point
of numbers I am only one to four, and a small
one at that. Still, I always struggle, because I
think it is better to make some slight manifes-
tation of individuality, or nurse will crush me
altogether by her tyranny.
But I was going to tell you about the
strange thing that happened in our house, and
I have been talking about everything else.
This is the way grandmama tells a story, and I
have caught the habit from her. When she
knits she likes to tell her reminiscences, and
sometimes she talks and talks till papa has to
say, Come to the point, mammy! and then
she says, "Where was I? Oh, yes!" I like
this way very much, and so I am going to
make believe you are interrupting me, and
telling me to come to the point, and now I
am going to say, "Where was I? Oh, yes!"
The strange thing is the appearance of a
new red dolly up-stairs in the nursery. Every-
body is playing with it, from grandmama down
to the cook. My hair has not been curled for
three or seven days (there is no cloud without
its silver lining): and nurse, instead of scrub-
bing my nose up and down when she washes
my face, simply rubs it down once or twice
absent-mindedly and flies off to the mysterious
dolly. I call it a dolly because I have n't de-
cided what else to call it. At first I thought
it was alive, because it cried and moved its
arms, and opened and shut its eyes, but then
so does Elsie Bennett's electric doll; and if it
is really alive, why does n't it walk and talk?
It might be a baby, but I am the baby in this
house, so that supposition is disposed of. It
must be a dolly, a huge, red, electric dolly;
but is n't it curious that all the grown-up peo-
ple play with it ? I have always thought that
only children cared for dolls, but here is grand-
mama, who is as old as anybody in the world,
and she is forever holding this dolly. I don't
believe she would even lend it to mama, for
all she preaches to me about selfishness; but
mama is not well now, and does n't care to
play with anything or anybody. The house,
when mama keeps her room, is as dreadful as
the park would be if the policemen were ever
too busy to play with nurse and me.

As far as beauty is concerned, this doll
does n't compare with Elsie Bennett's, or even
with some of mine, though I have n't a good
collection, because at Christmas time my
friends run to drums and trumpets and sol-
diers and tops. Elsie's dolls have beautiful
curly hair that sometimes comes unglued, and
peels off if you 're not careful. This dolly's hair
has evidently been unglued, too, but I suppose
when they can spare it they 'll send it away
and have it mended. I never can spare my
toys until they are broken, and then mama
says they are not worth mending, and had bet-
ter be given to the poor children. (Here is
another mystery to add to the long list of
things I have to look into when I am grown
up: exactly what are "poor children," and
why do they prefer broken toys to nice new
ones that do whatever it says on the corner
of the box?)
Perhaps they bought the red dolly not so
much for its beauty as for its splendid works that
never seem to get out of order. Elsie Ben-
nett's electric doll. performs some days, and on
other days it has to be put back in the box un-
til it feels in a better humor. This dolly did
just the same things each time I saw it: it
opened and shuit its eyes, squizzled up its red
face, clenched its fists, and cried. The crying
part was not particularly well done; that is, it
does n't compare with the way in which I cry
when I can't get what I want. There it goes
again! Papa must be playing with it; he is the
one who makes it cry best-and there is Elsie
Bennett's mother coming in at the side door.


THE mystery is solved. Mrs. Bennett in-
quired if I liked the new baby. What baby?"
I asked. "The little baby sister up in the
nursery," she answered. That is not a baby,"
I said decidedly; "that is a red electric dolly-
I am the baby !" "You were the baby day
before yesterday," she said, smiling in a particu-
larly offensive manner; but now that there is
another, you are mama's great boy."
It seems then that there can be more than
one baby in the same house: an idea that I
had never entertained. I don't see what is to


become of me. I used to keep them all busily
employed, and what do they propose to do
with me now ? A little less attention I don't
mind, for I cannot remember three more in-
teresting days than the three through which I
have just passed. I have been a good deal in
the kitchen with cook, and she allowed me to
knead dough-balls, and run my finger round the
edge of the cake-bowl and eat it off, and then
run it round many, many times more, until I
was quite ill. I have climbed up on chairs and
handled all the pretty things in the library, and
this, of course, was a comfort and pleasure; but
how about falling down on to the hard polished
floor, and lying there for hours unremarked,
though I yelled and yelled in a manner that

has never before failed to bring the entire fam-
ily to my feet ?. To be sure, I finally got up
by myself and found nothing at all the matter
with me, but that was simply my good for-
tune -it does n't alter the fact of their criminal
neglect. As to being put to bed, I had to sug-
gest it myself last night; and that, I consider, is
going a little too far.
"Mama's great boy!" It sounds rather at-
tractive, on the whole. It seems as if it might
mean trousers and a pony in course of time!
As I 've done every earthly thing there is to do
to-day, I think I '11 go up to the nursery (al-
ways providing the fat lady who lives there
now will let me in at the door), and ask to look
at the red baby squizzle up its face.




E went to sleep
about four
o'clock, and
woke up about
eight. Thepro-
fessor was set-
wz._ ting back there
at his end, looking glum. He pitched us
some breakfast, but he told us not to come
abaft the midship compass. That was about
the middle of the boat. Well, when you

are sharp-set, and you eat and satisfy your-
self, everything looks pretty different from
what it done before. It makes a body feel
pretty near comfortable, even when he is up
in a balloon with a genius. We got to talking
There was one thing that kept bothering me,
and by and by I says:
"Tom, did n't we start east ?"
How fast have we been going ?"
"Well, you heard what the professor said
when he was raging round. Sometimes, he said,




we was making fifty miles an hour, sometimes
ninety, sometimes a hundred; said that with
a gale to help he could make three hundred
any time, and said if he wanted the gale, and
wanted it blowing the right direction, he only
had to go up higher or down lower to find it."
"Well, then, it 's just as I reckoned. The
professor lied."
"Why ?"
"Because if we was going so fast we ought
to be past Illinois, ought n't we ?"
Well, we ain't."
"What 's the reason we ain't ? "
"I know by the color. We 're right over
Illinois yet. And you can see for yourself that
Indiana ain't in sight."
"I wonder what 's the matter with you,
Huck. You know by the color "
Yes, of.course I do."
"What 's the color got to do with it ?"
"It's got everything to do with it. Illinois
is green, Indiana is pink. You show me any
pink down here, if you can. No, sir; it's green."
"Indiana pink? Why, what a lie! "
"It ain't no lie; I 've seen it on the map,
and it's pink."
You never see a person so aggravated and
disgusted. He says:
"Well, if I was such a numskull as you,
Huck Finn, I would jump over. Seen it on
the map! Huck Finn, did you reckon the
States was the same color out of doors as they
are on the map?"
"Tom Sawyer, what 's a map for? Ain't
it to learn you facts?"
Of course."
"Well, then, how 's it going to do that if it
tells lies? That 's what I want to know."
"Shucks, you muggins! It don't tell lies."
It don't, don't it ?"
No, it don't."
"All right, then; if it don't, there ain't no
two States the same color. You git around
that, if you can, Tom Sawyer."
He see I had him, and Jim see it too; and
I tell you, I felt pretty good, for Tom Sawyer
was always a hard person to git ahead of. Jim
slapped his leg and says:
"I tell you dat's smart, dat-'s right down

smart. Ain't no use, Mars Tom; he got you
dis time, sho!" He slapped his leg again, and
says, My lan', but it was smart one! "
I never felt so good in my life; and yet I
did n't know I was saying anything much till
it was out. I was just mooning along, perfectly
careless, and not expecting anything was going
to happen, and never thinking of such a thing
at all, when, all of a sudden, out it come. Why,
it was just as much a surprise to me as it was
to any of them. It was just the same way it
is when a person is munching along on a hunk
of corn-pone, and not thinking about anything,
and alJ of a sudden bites into a di'mond. Now
all that he knows first off is that it 's some kind
of gravel he 's bit into; but he don't find out
it 's a di'mond till he gits it out and brushes off
the sand and crumbs and one thing or another,
and has a look at it, and then he's surprised and
glad -yes, and proud too; though when you
come to look the thing straight in the eye, he
ain't entitled to as much credit as he would 'a'
been if he 'd been hunting di'monds. You can
see the difference easy if you think it over. You
see, an accident, that way, ain't fairly as big a
thing as a thing that 's done a-purpose. Any-
body could find that di'mond in that corn-
pone; but mind you, it 's got to be somebody
that 's got that kind of a corn-pone. That 's
where that feller's credit comes in, you see;
and that 's where mine comes in. I don't
claim no great things,-I don't reckon I could
'a' done it again,-but I done it that time;
that 's all I claim. And I had n't no more
idea I could do such a thing, and war n't any
more thinking about it or trying to, than you be
this minute. Why, I was just as cam, a body
could n't be any cammer, and yet, all of a
sudden, out it come. I 've often thought cf
that time, and I can remember just the way
everything looked, same as if it was only last
week. I can see it all: beautiful rolling country
with woods and fields and lakes for hundreds
and hundreds of miles all around, and towns
and villages scattered everywhere under us,
here and there and yonder; and the professor
mooning over a chart on his little table, and
Tom's cap flopping in the rigging where it was
hung up to dry. And one thing in particular
was a bird right alongside, not ten foot off,


going our way and trying to keep up, but losing
ground all the time; and a railroad train doing
the same thing down there, sliding among the
trees and farms, and pouring out a long cloud
of black smoke and now and then a little puff
of white; and when the white was gone so
long you had almost forgot it, you would hear
a little faint toot, and that was the whistle.
And we left the bird and the train both behind,
'way behind, and done it easy too.
But Tom he was huffy, and said me and Jim
was a couple of ignorant blatherskites, and then
he says:
"Suppose there 's a brown calf and a big
brown dog, and an artist is making a picture of
them. What is the main thing that that artist
has got to do ? He has got to paint them so
you can tell them apart the minute you look at
them, hain't he ? Of course. Well, then, do
you want him to go and paint both of them
brown? Certainly you don't. He paints one
of them blue, and then you can't make no mis-
take. It 's just the same with the maps. That's
why they make every State a different color; it
ain't to deceive you, it 's to keep you from de-
ceiving yourself."
But I could n't see no argument about that,
and neither could Jim. Jim shook his head,
and says:
"Why, Mars Tom, if you knowed what
chuckleheads dem painters is, you 'd wait a long
time before you 'd fetch one er dem in to back
up a fac'. I 's gwine to tell you, den you kin see
for yourself. I see one of 'em a-paintin' away,
one day, down in ole Hank Wilson's back lot,
en I went down to see, en he was painting' dat
old brindle cow wid de near horn gone-you
knows de one I means. En I ast him what
he 's painting' her for, en he say when he git her
painted, de picture's wuth a hundred dollars.
Mars Tom, he could a got de cow fer fifteen, en
I tole him so. Well, sah, if you '11 believe me,
he jes' shuck his head, dat painter did, en
went on a-dobbin'. Bless you, Mars Tom, dey
don't know nothing. "
Tom he lost his temper. I notice a person
'most always does that's got laid out in an argu-
ment. He told us to shut up, and maybe we'd
feel better. Then he see a town clock away
off down yonder, and he took up the glass and

looked at it, and then looked at his silver turnip,
and then at the clock, and then at the turnip
again, and says:
"That 's funny! That clock 's near about an
hour fast."
So he put up his turnip. Then he see another
clock, and took a look, and it was an hour fast
too. That puzzled him.
"That 's a mighty curious thing," he says.
"I don't understand it."
Then he took the glass and hunted up
another clock, and sure enough it was an hour
fast too. Then his eyes began to spread and
his breath to come out kinder gaspy like, and
he says:
"Ger-reat Scott, it 's the longitude "
I says, considerable scared:
"Well, what's been and gone and happened
now? "
"Why, the thing that 's happened is that this
old bladder has slid over Illinois and Indiana
and Ohio like nothing, and this is the east end
of Pennsylvania or New York, or somewhere
around there."
"Tom Sawyer, you don't mean it!"
"Yes, I do, and it 's dead sure. We 've
covered about fifteen degrees of longitude since
we left St. Louis yesterday afternoon, and them
clocks are right. We've come close on to eight
hundred miles."
I did n't believe it, but it made the cold
streaks trickle down my back just the same.
In my experience I knowed it would n't take
much short of two weeks to do it down the
Mississippi on a raft.
Jim was working his mind and studying.
Pretty soon he says:
"Mars Tom, did you say dem clocks uz
right ?"
"Yes, they 're right."
"Ain't yo' watch right, too ?"
"She 's right for St. Louis, but she 's an hour
wrong for here."
"Mars Tom, is you trying' to let on dat de
time ain't de same everywhere ?"
No, it ain't the same everywhere, by a long
Jim looked distressed, and says:
"It grieves me to hear you talk like dat,
Mars Tom; I 's right down ashamed to hear




you talk like dat, arter de way you 's been
raised. Yassir, it 'd break yo' Aunt Polly's
heart to hear you."
Tom was astonished. He looked Jim over,
wondering, and did n't say nothing, and Jim
went on:
"Mars Tom, who put de people out yonder
in St. Louis? De Lord done it. Who put de
people here whar we is? De Lord done it.
Ain' dey bofe his children? 'Cose dey is.
Well, den! is he gwine to scriminate twixtt
'em ? "
"Scriminate! I never heard such ignorance.
There ain't no discriminating about it. When
he makes you and some more of his children
black, and makes the rest of us white, what do
y9u call that ?"
Jim see the p'int. He was stuck. He
could n't answer. Tom says:
"He does discriminate, you see, when he
wants to; but this case here ain't no discrimina-
tion of his, it 's man's. The Lord made the
day, and he made the night; but he did n't in-
vent the hours, and he did n't distribute them
around. Man did that."
Mars Tom, is dat so ? Man done it ?"
"Who tole him he could ?"
"Nobody. He never asked."
Jim studied a minute, and says:
Well, dat do beat me. I would n't 'a' tuck
no sich resk. But some people ain't scared o'
nothing Dey bangs right ahead; dey don't care
what happens. So den dey 's allays an hour's
diff'unce everywhah, Mars Tom? "
"An hour? No! It 's four minutes differ-
ence for every degree of longitude, you know.
Fifteen of 'em 's an hour, thirty of 'em 's two
hours, and so on. When it 's one o'clock
Tuesday morning in England, it's eight o'clock
the night before in New York."
Jim moved a little away along the locker, and
you could see he was insulted. He kept shak-
ing his head and muttering, and so I slid along
to him and patted him on the leg, and petted
him up, and got him over the worst of his feel-
ings, and then he says:
Mars Tom talking' sich talk as dat! Choos-
day in one place en Monday in t' other, bofe in
the same day! Huck, dis ain't no place to joke

- up here whah we is. Two days in one day!
How you gwine to got two days inter one
day? Can't git two hours inter one hour, kin
you? Can't git two niggers inter one nigger
skin, kin you ? Can't git two gallons of whisky
inter a one-gallon jug, kin you? No, sir,
't would strain de jug. Yes, en even den you
could n't, I don't believe. Why, looky here,
Huck, s'posen de Choosday was New Year's-
now den! is you gwine to tell me it's dis year
in one place en las' year in t' other, bofe in de
identical same minute ? It's de beatenest rub-
bage! I can't stan'it-I can't state' to hear tell
'bout it." Then he begun to shiver and turn
gray, and Tom says:
"Now what 's the matter? What 's the
trouble ? "
Jim could hardly speak, but he says:
"Mars Tom, you ain't jokin', en it 's so ? "
No, I 'm not, and it is so."
Jim shivered again, and says:
"Den dat Monday could be de las' day, en
dey would n't be no las' day in England, en
de dead would n't be called. We must n't go
over dah. Mars Tom. Please git him to turn
back; I wants to be whah -"
All of a sudden we see something, and all
jumped up, and forgot everything and begun
to gaze. Tom says:
"Ain't that the-" He catched his breath,
then says: "It is, sure as you live! It 's the
That made me and Jim catch our breath,
too. Then we all stood petrified but happy,
for none of us had ever seen an ocean, or ever
*expected to. Tom kept muttering:
"Atlantic Ocean--Atlantic. Land, don't it
sound great! And that's it-and we are
looking at it we! Why, it 's just too splendid
to believe!"
Then we see a big bank of black smoke;
and when we got nearer, it was a city -and
a monster she was, too, with a thick fringe of
ships around one edge; and we wondered if it
was New York, and begun to jaw and dispute
about it, and, first we knowed, it slid from under
us and went flying behind, and here we was, out
over the very ocean itself, and going like a
cyclone. Then we woke up, I tell you!
We made a break aft and raised a wail, and


begun. to beg the professor to turn back and
land us, but he jerked out- his pistol and mo-
tioned us back, and we went, but nobody will
ever know how bad we felt.
The land was gone, all but a little streak, like
a snake, away off on.the edge of the water, and
down under us was just ocean, ocean, ocean -
millions of miles of it, heaving and pitching and
squirming, and white sprays blowing from the
wave-tops, and only a few ships in sight, wal-


lowing around and laying over, first on one side
and then on t' other, and sticking their bows un-
der and then their sterns; and before long there
war n't no ships at all, and we had the sky and
the whole ocean all to ourselves, and the room-
iest place I ever see and the lonesomest.


AND it got lonesomer and lonesomer. There
was the big sky up there, empty and awful
deep; and the ocean down there, without a
thing on it but just the waves. All around us

was a ring, where the sky and the water come
together; yes, a monstrous big ring it was, and
we right in the dead center of it-plumb in the
center. We was racing along like a prairie fire,
but it never made any difference, we could n't
seem to git past that center no way. I could n't
see that we ever gained an inch on that ring.
It made a body feel creepy, it was so curious
and unaccountable.
Well, everything was so awful still that we
got to talking in a very low voice, and
kept on getting creepier and lonesomer
and less and less talky, till at last the
talk ran dry altogether, and we just set
there and thunk," as Jim calls it, and
never said a word the longest time.
The professor never stirred till the
sun was overhead, then he stood up and
put a kind of triangle to his eye, and
Tom said it was a sextant and he was
taking the sun to see whereabouts the
balloon was. Then he ciphered a a lit-
tle and looked in a book, and then he
Begun to carry on again. He said lots
S of wild things, and amongst others he
j said he would keep up this hundred-
mile gait till the middle of to-morrow
afternoon, and then he'd land in London.
We said we would be humbly thank-
He was turning away, but he whirled
round when we said that, and give us a
long look of his blackest kind one of
S the maliciousest and suspiciousest looks
S I ever see. Then he says:
"You want to leave me. Don't try
to deny it."
We did n't know what to say, so we held in
and did n't say nothing at all.
He went aft and set down, but he could n't
seem to git that thing out of his mind. Every
now and then he would rip out something
about it, and try to make us answer him, but
we das n't.
It got lonesomer and lonesomer right along,
and it did seem to me I could n't stand it. It
was still worse when night begun to come on.
By and by Tom pinched me and whispers:
Look !"
I took a glance aft, and see the professor tak-


ing a whet out of a bottle. I did n't like the
looks of that. By and by he took another drink,
and pretty soon he begun to sing. It was dark
now, and getting black and stormy. He went
on singing, wilder and wilder, and the thunder
begun to mutter, and the wind to wheeze and

wished he would start up his noise again, so
we could tell where he was. By and by there
was a flash of lightning, and we see him start
to get up, but he staggered and fell down.
We heard him scream out in the dark:
"They don't want to go to England. All


moan amongst the ropes, and altogether it was
awful. It got so black we could n't see him any
more, and wished we could n't hear him, but
we could. Then-he got still; but he war n't
still ten minutes till we got suspicious, and
VOL. XXI.-16.

right, I '11 change the course. They want to
leave me. I know they do. Well, they shall-
and now "
I 'most died when he said that. Then he
was still again,-still so long I could n't bear


it, and it did seem to me the lightning would n't
ever come again. But at last there was a
blessed flash, and there he was, on his hands
and knees, crawling, and not four feet from
us. My, but his eyes was terrible! He made
a lunge for Tom, and says, Overboard you
go!" but it was already pitch-dark again, and
I could n't see whether he got him or not,
and Tom did n't make a sound.
There was another long, horrible wait; then

there was a flash, and I see Tom's head sink
down outside the boat and disappear. He
was on the rope-ladder that dangled down in
the air from the gunnel. The professor let off
a shout and jumped for him, and straight off it
was pitch-dark again, and Jim groaned out,

" Po' Mars Tom, he 's a goner! and made a
jump for the professor, but the professor war n't
Then we heard a couple of terrible screams,
and then another not so loud, and then another
that was 'way below, and you could only just
hear it; and I heard Jim say, "Po' Mars Tom! "
Then it was awful still, and I reckon a per-
son could 'a' counted four thousand before the
next flash come. When it come I see Jim on
his knees, with his arms
on the locker and his
face buried in them, and
he was crying. Before
I could look over the
edge it was all dark
again, and I was glad,
because I did n't want
to see. But when the
next flash come, I was
watching, and down
there I see somebody
a-swinging in the wind
on the ladder, and it
was Tom !
"Come up!" I shouts;
come up, Tom !"
Hisvoicewas so weak,
and the wind roared so, I
could n't make out what
he said, but I thought
he asked was the pro-
fessor up there. I shouts:
No, he 's down in
the ocean! Come up !
Can we help you? "
Of course, all this in
the dark.
"Huck, who is you
hollerin' at ?"
"I 'm hollerin' at
D THE WIND SUNG AND Oh, Huck, how kin
you act so, when you
know po' Mars Tom 's-" Then he let off an
awful scream, and flung his head and his arms
back and let off another one, because there
was a white glare just then, and he had raised
up his face just in time to see Tom's, as white as
snow, rise above the gunnel and look him right



in the eye. He thought it was Tom's ghost,
you see.
Tom dumb aboard, and when Jim found it
was him, and not his ghost, he hugged him,
and called him all sorts of loving names, and
carried on like he was gone crazy, he was so
glad. Says I:
What did you wait for, Tom? Why did n't
you come up at first ? "
"I das n't, Huck. I knowed somebody
plunged down past me, but I did n't know
who it was in the dark. It could 'a' been you,
it could 'a' been Jim."
That was the way with Tom Sawyer-al-
ways sound. He war n't coming up till he
knowed where the professor was.
The storm let go about this time with all
its might; and it was dreadful the way the
thunder boomed and tore, and the lightning
glared out,, and the wind sung and screamed
in the rigging, and the rain come down. One
second you could n't see your hand before you,
and the next you could count the threads in
your coat-sleeve, and see a whole wide desert
of waves pitching and tossing through a kind
of veil of rain. A storm like that is the love-
liest thing there is, but it ain't at its best when
you are up in the sky and lost, and it 's wet
and lonesome, and there 's just been a death in
the family.
We set there huddled up in the bow, and
talked low about the poor professor; and
everybody was sorry for him, and sorry the
world had made fun of him and treated him so
harsh, when he was doing the best he could,
and had n't a friend nor nobody to encourage
him and keep him from brooding his mind
away and going deranged. There was plenty
of clothes and blankets and everything at the
other end, but we thought we 'd ruther take
the rain than go meddling back there.


WE tried to make some plans, but we
could n't come to no agreement. Me and
Jim was for turning around and going back
home, but Tom allowed that by the time day-
light come, so we could see our way, we would
be so far toward England that we might as

well go there, and come back in a ship, and
have the glory of saying we done it.
About midnight the storm quit and the moon
come out and lit up the ocean, and we begun
to feel comfortable and drowsy; so we stretched
out on the lockers and went to sleep, and never
woke up again till sun-up. The sea was spark-
ling like di'monds, and it was nice weather,
and pretty soon our things was all dry again.
We went aft to find some breakfast, and the
first thing we noticed was that there,.was a dim
light burning in a compass back there under a
hood. Then Tom was disturbed. He says:
"You know what that means, easy enough.
It means that somebody has got to stay on
watch and steer this thing the same as he
would a ship, or she '11 wander around and go
wherever the wind wants her to."
"Well," I says, "what 's she been doing
since-er-since we had the accident ? "
"Wandering," he says, kinder troubled-
"wandering, without any doubt. She 's in a
wind, now, that 's blowing her south of east.
We don't know how long that 's been going
on, either."
So then he p'inted her east, and said he
would hold her there till we rousted out the
breakfast. The professor had laid in every-
thing a body could want; he could n't 'a' been
better fixed. There was n't no milk for the
coffee, but there was water, and everything
else you could want, and a charcoal stove and
the fixings for it, and pipes and cigars and
matches; and wine and liquor, which war n't
in our line; and books, and maps, and charts,
and an accordion; and furs, and blankets, and
no end of rubbish, like brass beads and brass
jewelry, which Tom said was a sure sign that
he had an idea of visiting among savages.
There was money, too. Yes, the professor
was well enough fixed.
After breakfast Tom learned me and Jim how
to steer, and divided us all up into four-hour
watches, turn and turn about; and when his
watch was out I took his place, and he got out
the professor's papers and pens and wrote a letter
home to his Aunt Polly, telling her everything
that had happened to us, and dated it "In the
Welkin, approaching England," and folded it
together and stuck it fast with a red wafer, and



directed it, and wrote above the direction, in big
writing, "From Tom Sawyer, the Erronort," and
said it would stump old Nat Parsons, the post-
master, when it come along in the mail. I says:
"Tom Sawyer, this ain't no welkin; it 's a
Well, now, who said it was a welkin, smarty ?"
"You've wrote it on the letter, anyway."
"What of it? That don't mean that the
balloon's the welkin.'"
Oh, I thought it did. Well, then, what is a
welkin ? "
I see in a minute he was stuck. He raked
and scraped around in his mind, but he could n't
find nothing, so he had to say:
"Idon't know, and nobody don't know. It's
just a word, and it 's a mighty good word, too.
There ain't many that lays over it. I don't
believe there 's any that does."
Shucks!" I says. But what does it mean ?
-that 's the p'int."
Don't know what it means, I tell you. It's
a word that people uses for-for-well, it 's
ornamental. They don't put ruffles on a shirt
to keep a person warm, do they ? "
Course they don't."
"But they put them on, don't they ?"
"All right, then; that letter I wrote is a shirt,
and the welkin's the ruffle on it."
I judged that that would gravel Jim, and it
Now, Mars Tom, it ain't no use to talk like
dat; en, moreover, it's sinful. You knows a let-
ter ain't no shirt, en dey ain't no ruffles on it,
nuther. Dey ain't no place to put 'em on; you
can't put 'em on, and dey would n't stay ef you
Oh, do shut up, and wait till something 's
started that you know something about."
"Why, Mars Tom, sholy you can't mean to
say I don't know about shirts, when, good-
ness knows, I 's toted home de washin' ever
sence "
"I tell you, this has n't got anything to do
with shirts. I only -"
"Why, Mars Tom, you said yo'self dat a
letter "
"Do you want to drive me crazy? Keep
still. I only used it as a metaphor."

That word kinder bricked us up for a minute.
Then Jim says-rather timid, because he see
Tom was getting pretty tetchy:
Mars Tom, what is a metaphor? "
"A metaphor 's a-well, it's a-a-a meta-
phor's an illustration." He see that did n't git
home, so he tried again. "When I say birds of
a feather flocks together, it 's a metaphorical
way of saying-"
"But dey don't, Mars Tom. No, sir, 'deed
dey don't. Dey ain't no feathers dat 's more
alike den a bluebird en a jaybird, but ef you
waits till you catches dem birds together,
you '11 "
Oh, give us a rest! You can't get the sim-
plest little thing through your thick skull. Now
don't bother me any more."
Jim was satisfied to stop. He was dreadful
pleased with himself for catching Tom out.
The minute Tom begun to talk about birds I
judged he was a goner, because Jim knowed
more about birds than both of us put together.
You see, he had killed hundreds and hundreds
of them, and that's the way to find out about
birds. That's the way people does that writes
books about birds, and loves them so that
they 'll go hungry and tired and take any
amount of trouble to find a new bird and kill
it. Their name is ornithologers, and I could
have been an omithologer myself, because I
always loved birds and creatures; and I started
out to learn how to be one, and I see a bird
setting on a limb of a high tree, singing with its
head tilted back and its mouth open, and before
I thought I fired, and his song stopped and he
fell straight down from the limb, all limp like a
rag, and I run and picked him up and he was
dead, and his body was warm in my hand, and
his head rolled about this way and that, like his
neck was broke, and there was a little white
skin over his eyes, and one little drop of blood
on the side of his head; and, laws! I could n't
see nothing more for the tears; and I hain't
never murdered no creature since that war n't
doing me no harm, and I ain't going to.
But I was aggravated about that welkin. I
wanted to know. I got the subject up again,
and then Tom explained, the best he could.
He said when a person made a big speech the
newspapers said the shouts of the people made




I` l


the welkin ring. He said they always said that,
but none of them ever told what it was, so he
allowed it just meant outdoors and up high.
Well, that seemed sensible enough, so I was
satisfied, and said so. That pleased Tom and
put him in a good humor again, and he says:
Well, it 's all right, then; and we '11 let by-
gones be bygones. I don't know for certain

what a welkin is, but when we land in London
we 'll make it ring, anyway, and don't you
forget it."
He said an erronort was a person who sailed
around in balloons; and said it was a mighty
sight finer to be Tom Sawyer the Erronort than
to be Tom Sawyer the Traveler, and we would
be heard of all round the world, if we pulled



through all right, and so he would n't give
shucks to be a traveler now.
Toward the middle of the afternoon we got
everything ready to land, and we felt pretty
good, too, and proud; and we kept watching
with the glasses, like Columbus discovering
America. But we could n't see nothing but
ocean. The afternoon wasted out and the sun
shut down, and still there war n't no land any-
wheres. We wondered what was the matter,
but reckoned it would come out all right, so we
went on steering east, but went up on a higher
level so we would n't hit any steeples or
mountains in the dark.
It was my watch till midnight, and then it
was Jim's; but Tom stayed up, because he said
ship-captains done that when they was making
the land, and did n't stand no regular watch.
Well, when daylight come, Jim give a shout,
and we jumped up and looked over, and there
was the land sure enough,-land all around, as
far as you could see, and perfectly level and
yaller. We did n't know how long we 'd been
over it. There war n't no trees, nor hills, nor

and grabbed the glasses and hunted everywhere
for London, but could n't find hair nor hide of
it, nor any other settlement,-nor any sign of
a lake or a river, either. Tom was clean beat.
He said it war n't his notion of England; he
thought England looked like America, and
always had that idea. So he said we better
have breakfast, and then drop down and in-
quire the quickest way to London. We cut the
breakfast pretty short, we was so impatient. As
we slanted along down, the weather began to
moderate, and pretty soon we shed our furs.
But it kept on moderating, and in 'a precious
little while it was 'most too moderate. We was
close down, now, and just blistering!
We settled down to within thirty foot of the
land,--that is, it was land if sand is land; for
this was n't anything but pure sand. Tom and
me dumb down the ladder and took a run to
stretch our legs, and it felt amazing good,- that
is, the stretching did, but the sand scorched our
feet like hot embers. Next, we see somebody
coming, and started to meet him; but we heard
Jim shout, and looked around and he was fairly

cr- "


rocks, nor towns, and Tom and Jim had took it
for the sea. They took it for the sea in a dead
cam; but we was so high up, anyway, that if it
had been the sea and rough, it would 'a' looked
smooth, all the same, in the night, that way.
We was all in a powerful excitement now,

dancing, and making signs, and yelling. We
could n't make out what he said, but we was
scared anyway, and begun to heel it back to
the balloon. When we got close enough, we
understood the words, and they made me sick:
"Run! Run fo' yo' life! Hit's a lion; I kin



see him thoo de glass! Run, boys; do please
heel it de bes' you kin. He's bu'sted outen de
menagerie, en dey ain't nobody to stop him "
It made Tom fly, but it took the stiffening all
out of my legs. I could only just gasp along
the way you do in a dream when there 's a
ghost gaining on you.
Tom got to the ladder and shinned up it a
piece and waited for me; and as soon as I got
a foothold on it he shouted to Jim to soar
away. But Jim had clean lost his head, and
said he had forgot how. So Tom shinned
along up and told me to follow; but the lion
was arriving, fetching a most ghastly roar with
every lope, and my legs shook so I das n't try
to take one of them out of the rounds for fear
the other one would give way under me.
But Tom was aboard by this time, and he
started the balloon up a little, and stopped it
again as soon as the end of the ladder was
ten or twelve feet above ground. And there
was the lion, a-ripping around under me, and
roaring and springing up in the air at the lad-
der, and only missing it about a quarter of an
inch, it seemed to me. It was delicious to be
out of his reach, perfectly delicious, and made
me feel good and thankful all up one side; but
I was hanging there helpless and could n't
climb, and that made me feel perfectly wretched
and miserable all down the other. It is most
seldom that a person feels so mixed, like that;
and it is not to be recommended, either.
Tom asked me what he 'd better do, but I
did n't know. He asked me if I could hold on
whilst he sailed away to a safe place and left
the lion behind. I said I could if he did n't go
no higher than he was now; but if he went

higher I would lose my head and fall, sure. So
he said, "Take a good grip," and he started.
"Don't go so fast," I shouted. "It makes
my head swim."
He had started like a lightning express. He
slowed down, and we glided over the sand
slower, but still in a kind of sickening way; for it
is uncomfortable to see things sliding and glid-
ing under you like that, and not a sound.
But pretty soon there was plenty of sound,
for the lion was catching up. His noise fetched
others. You could see them coming on the lope
from every direction, and pretty soon there was a
couple of dozen of them under me, jumping up
at the ladder and snarling and snapping at
each other; and so we went skimming along
over the sand, and these fellers doing what they
could to help us to not forgit the occasion; and
then some other beasts come, without an invite,
and they started a regular riot down there.
We see this plan was a mistake. We
could n't ever git away from them at this gait,
and I could n't hold on forever. So Tom took
a think, and struck another idea. That was, to
kill a lion with the pepper-box revolver, and
then sail away while the others stopped to fight
over the carcass. So he stopped the balloon still,
and done it, and then we sailed off while the fuss
was going on, and come down a quarter of a
mile off, and they helped me aboard; but. by
the time we was out of reach again, that gang
was on hand once more. And when they see
we was really gone and they could n't get us,
they sat down on their hams and looked up at
us so kind of disappointed that it was as much
as a person could do not to see their side of the

(To be continued.)




- --







"' i

jiE~~l~ ~Cj


"~ ~C,


m gw~




SOME persons value their earlier recollections
and experiences much more than others do.
Many children are very inquisitive, and forget
the object of their apparent interest as soon
as they receive the information they seek; but
there are a few who have the gift of memory,
and store up truths pure and simple. One
would naturally think that this could be true
only among the children of the more ad-
vanced races. But we can say for the children
of uncivilized nations that they hear very little
from their parents that can be called instruc-
tion, what they receive coming direct from Na-
ture-the greatest schoolmistress of all. The
Indian children were keen to follow her instruc-
tions, and derived from her the principles of a
true and noble life according to the under-
standing of our people.
Of course I myself do not remember when
I first saw the day, but my brothers have viv-
idly recalled the time with much mirth; for it
was the custom of the Sioux that, when a boy
was born into a family, if there was a brother he
must plunge into the water, or roll in the snow
naked if it was winter-time; and if he was not
big enough to do either of these himself, water
was thrown on him. If the new-born had a sis-
ter, she must be immersed. The idea was that
a warrior had come to camp, and the other
children must display some act of hardihood.
I was so unfortunate as to be the youngest
of five children who, soon after I was born,
were left motherless. I had to bear the hu-
miliating name Hakada," meaning the piti-
ful last," until I should earn a more appropriate
and dignified name. I was little else than a
plaything for the rest of the children.
My mother, who was known as the hand-
somest woman of all the Nidowakanton and
Wahpaton Sioux, was dangerously ill, and one

of the medicine-men who attended her said:
"Another medicine-man has come into exist-
ence, but the mother must die. Therefore let
him bear the name 'Mysterious Medicine-
man.'" But one of the others noisily interfered,
saying that an uncle of the child already bore
that name, so to the Sioux I am still only
This beautiful woman, who had every feature
of a Caucasian descent, with the exception of
her luxuriant black hair and deep black eyes,
on her death-bed held tightly to her bosom the
boy, while she whispered a few words to her
mother-in-law. She said, I give you this boy
for your own. I cannot trust my own mother
with him; she will neglect him, and he will
surely die."
The woman to whom these words were
spoken was rather more enterprising and in-
telligent-looking than are most of the women
of her race. In stature she was below the
average, small and active for her age (for she
was then fully fifty). My mother's judgment
concerning her own mother was well founded,
for soon after her death that old lady appeared,
and declared that Hakada was too young to
live without a mother. She offered the sug-
gestion that I should be kept by her until I
should die, and then she would put me in my
mother's grave. Of course my other grand-
mother at once denounced the suggestion as
a very wicked one, and refused to give me up.
The babe was done up as usual in an upright
cradle made from an oak board two and a
half feet long and one and a half wide. On
one side of it was nailed with two brass-headed
tacks the richly embroidered sack, which was
open in front and laced up and down with
long buckskin strings. Over the arms of the
infant was a wooden bow, the ends of which
were firmly attached to the board, so that if
the cradle should fall, the child's head and face


would be protected. On this bow were hung
curious playthings--strings of artistically cut
and carved bones, and hoofs of deer, which rat-
tled when the little hands moved them.

In this upright cradle I lived, played, and
slept the greater part of the time during the
first few months of my life. Whether I was
made to stand against a pole or suspended
from the bough of a tree while my grandmother
cut wood, or whether I was carried on her
back, or conveniently balanced by another child
in a similar cradle hung on the opposite side
of the neck of a pony, I was still in that oaken
This grandmother, whose name meant Sweet
Wild Singer, was a patient woman, and also re-
markably industrious and active; although she
had already lived through fifty years of hard-
ship, she was still a wonder to the young

maidens in the art of embroidering with beads
and porcupine quills. She showed no less
enthusiasm over Hakada than she had felt when
she held her first-born, the boy's father, in her
arms. Every little attention that is due to a
loved child she performed with much concern
and devotion. She made all my little and
scanty garments and my tiny moccasins with
a great deal of taste. It was said by all that
I could not have had more attention had my
mother been living. She was a great singer.
Sometimes, when Hakada wakened too early
in the morning, she would sing to him some-
thing like the following:
Sleep, sleep, my boy; the Chippewas
Are far away-are far away.
Sleep, sleep, my boy; prepare to meet
The foe by day- the foe by day!
The cowards will not dare to fight
Till morning break- till morning break.
Sleep, sleep, my child, while still 't is night;
Then bravely wake then bravely wake!

The Dakota women were wont to cut and
bring their fuel from the woods, and, in fact, to
do most of the work. This of necessity fell to
their lot because the men must follow the game
during the day. Very often my grandmother
carried me with her, always engaged in a pre-
tended dialogue with me. While she worked
it was her habit to suspend me from a bough
or a wild grape-vine, so that the least breeze
would swing the cradle to and fro.
I have been informed by my grandmother
that when I was grown a little older and noticed
things more, I was apparently capable of hold-
ing extended conversations, in an unknown dia-
lect, with birds and red squirrels. Once I fell
asleep in my cradle suspended from a bough
five or six feet from the ground, while Sweet
Wild Singer was some distance away, gathering
bark for a canoe. A squirrel had found it con-
venient to come upon the bow of my cradle and
nibble his hickory-nut, until he awoke me by
dropping the crumbs of his meal. My disap-
proval of his intrusion was so decided that he
had to take a sudden and quick flight to an-
other tree, and from there he began to pour
(I suppose) his wrath upon me, while I con-
tinued in my objection to his presence so au-



dibly that my grandmother soon came to my (the thrush); he is singing for his little wife
rescue, and compelled the intruder to go away. He will sing his best." When in the evening
It was a common thing for birds to alight upon the whippoorwill started his song with vim, not
my cradle in the woods, further than a stone's throw from our tent in
My food was a troublesome question for the woods, she would say to me: "Hush! It
Sweet Wild Singer. I have stated, however, may be a Chippewa scout."
that she was an adept. She prescribed the fol- Again, when I wakened at midnight, she
lowing diet for me, and it was strictly carried out would say:
by herself. She cooked some wild rice and Do not cry! Hinakaga (the owl) is watch-
strained it, and mixed it with broth made from ing you from the tree-top."
choice venison. She also pounded dried veni- I usually covered up my head, for I had per-
son almost to a flour, and kept it in water fect faith in my grandmother's admonitions, and
till the nourishing juices were extracted, then she had given me a dreadful idea of this bird.
mixed in some pounded maize, which is usually It was one of her legends that a little boy was
browned before pounding. This soup of wild once standing just outside of a teepee (tent),
rice, pounded maize, and venison was my main- crying vigorously for his mother, when Hina-
stay. But soon my teeth came-much earlier kaga swooped down in the darkness and car-
than the white children usually cut theirs; and ried the poor little fellow up among the trees.
then my kind nurse gave me a little more va- Nor was this all. It was well known that the hoot
ried food, and I did all my own grinding, of the owl was commonly imitated by Indian
I have said that my adopted mother was scouts when on the war-path. There had been
a very industrious woman. She used to make a many dreadful massacres immediately following
great deal of maple-sugar, so that she kept some this call. Therefore it was wise to impress the
on hand almost all the year round, for special call of this bird early upon the mind of the child.
occasions, and for her grandchildren. How Indian children were trained so that they
happy I must have been when she offered me hardly ever cried much in the night. This was
the luxury of a stick of maple-candy which she very expedient and necessary in their exposed life.
herself had made purposely for me! She made In my infancy it was my grandmother's custom
the candies ingeniously by filling with maple- to put me to sleep, as she said, with the birds,"
sugar, ready to cake, the grooved bills of ducks and to waken me with them, until it became a
and geese, and also bells made of birch bark habit. She did this with an object in view. An
with a string in the center. She presented Indian must always rise early,-almost too
some candy to me whenever I was especially early, I think,- yet it was really a necessity.
good during the summer. In the first place, as a hunter, he finds his game
After I left my cradle, I almost walked away best at daybreak. Secondly, other tribes, when
from it, she told me. She then began calling my on the war-path, usually make their attack very
attention to natural objects. Whenever I heard early in the morning. Even when they are
the song of a bird, she would tell me what bird moving about leisurely, they like to arise before
it came from, something after this fashion: daylight, in order to travel when the air is cool,
"Hakada, listen to Sheckoka (the robin) call- and unobserved, perchance, by their enemies.
ing his mate. He says he has just found some- Therefore I was early accustomed to this habit
thing good to eat." Or, Listen to Oopeanlka of our people.
(To be continued.)

.f A ,tW


(With Illustrations by F. S. Church.)

HERE, girls and boys, is a story for you-
Not the ancient story
Of old Mother Morey,
Or Jack defiant
Who killed the Giant,
Or anything ever heard before,
O'er and o'er, from years of yore,
But a story that 's nice, unique, and new!

Once on a time, long, long ago,
A wise old Owl to the trouble went
Of trying a queer experiment.
He called a Convention of Birds, to show
How each the previous day had spent.
It appears but a whim,
But it seemed to him
It would be a novel, agreeable way
To pass the long midsummer day.

,So the birds came flocking from far and
Fanning the morning atmosphere,
Some -in wonder and more in fear,
For Owls, it is clear, I may tell you here,

Not only catch and eat poor mice,
But birdies also, and think them nice.

So the Finches and Thrushes
Flocked out from the bushes,
And the Snipe and the Sandpiper came from
the rushes;
And, leaving awhile her pendent nest,
The Oriole came
Like a winged flame;
And the Cedar-bird with his tufted crest,
And the Humming-bird like a living jewel,
And the ravenous Shrikes so fierce and cruel,
And Cuckoos with black and yellow bills,
Larks, and Martins, and whistling Plover,
And more than here can be mentioned over
Of Sparrows, and Swallows, and Whippoor-
wills !

So the Owl he perched on a dead oak limb,
And, assuming an air austere and grim,
Adjusted his goggles to keep the light
From his sensitive eyes (for the Owl is quite
As blind as a bat by day,--or blinder);




Looked -over his docket by way of reminder
(A docket 's a list of cases in court
That have yet to report);
Then said he, "Let me see!"
(A very odd phrase from him to fall
When we think he hardly could see at all!)
"Let me see!" said he;
"Let the court be still!"
(Here the Woodpecker tapped three times
with his bill.)
"Let Mrs. Redbreast cease her sobbin';
And, Sheriff Magpie, bring in the

Then the Owl arose and looked around-
For he is renowned for seeming profound,
And gave a precursory Hem!" and
And asked in a magisterial way,
" Robin, where were you yesterday?"
"Well," said the Robin, politely bobbin',
"I 've been a-robbin'-"
And meek as a flower beginning to wilt, he
Did appear guilty.
"Stealing, your Honor, several berries
From Widow Jones, and a few ripe cher-

Then the Owl he
And shrugged his
his wing.

winked his large round

shoulder and stretched


" For,

're a jail-bird; then," was his reply;
Robin, this is a serious thing,
you must in future in Sing-Sing sing!
Though it grip as hard as an iron claw,
Wrongdoers must learn to respect the

" Next! said the Owl, as he rolled his head;
Let the work be sped!
Gay Mr. Jay, just step this way.
And what were you doing yesterday ?"
"Learning like you to be good and wise!"
The Jay replies.
But the Owl he only winked his eyes.

5 Learning your lesson,
eh? What was that?
To steal the meat of
the farmer's cat?
Or peck the eyes of the
sleeping bat ?"
"Learning my alpha-
i bet," answered the
"A hard, long column,
beginning with A "
) And how far did you
get," said the Owl,
"'ONLY TO J." "I pray?"
"Only to J," said the laughing Jay;
"I 'm ashamed to say,
Only to J!"
Then the Chipping-bird chippered, the Cat-
bird mewed,
And a scene of general mirth ensued;
They thought it absurd that so clever a
Had n't even got down to K!

SKeep on," said the Owl; "'t is very proper
To fill with grist your mental hopper;
Great things from small beginnings grow,
As I am here this day to show!
Where is the Wren?
Yes," said the Owl, oh, where and when
Shall I ever get hold of that troublesome
Wren ? "

"I am here," said the Wren, as she sprang
from her nest,


Where her five brown eggs had been warmed
by her breast,
But she fluttered and shook
With a frightened look,
Like a lily that trembles above a brook,
While she modestly said,
As she bowed her head,
"I beg the Court's pardon,
But in yonder old garden


My eggs will grow cold if deprived of their
"Enough!" said the Owl, "I will take the case
Of your friend, the Bluebird, in your place."

But the Bluebird only could mope and muse;
He suffered, it seemed, from a fit of the blues.
And indeed it is true,
He did appear blue -
Blue as a fleck of April sky,
Blue as a dab of indigo dye,
Or blue as the laws of the Nutmeg State
Of 1638!
But the Owl, with a leer
I can't imitate here,
Said, "The case to my mind is suspiciously
And as to the law I am somewhat perplexed,
Decision 's reserved till Friday next!"

Being called by name,
Next the Yellow-bird came.
"And where," said the Owl, "have you been
of late ?
By your heaving breast
You seem distressed.
Pray what to the Court have you to state? "
Then the poor meek bird began to tell
How, ever since she left the shell,
She had n't been quite like other birds
(And she seemed to sigh as she spoke the
She said that each one of her
Playmates made fun of her,
And would n't accept her offers of amity,
But tittered and twittered at her calamity-
The Crow cawed at her, the Mocking-bird
mocked her,
In a way that made her ashamed, and
shocked her,
And drove her at last to see the doctor!

"And what," asked the Owl, "was your
complaint ?
Were you lame, dyspeptic, asthmatic, or
faint ?
I hope it's not local,
Affecting your vocal
Attainments; your song,
Though not very strong,
Is pleasing. I hope you '11 recover ere long."
And the Yellow-bird answered, beginning to
For shame, "I 've a touch of the jaundice,
I think;
For, as you may discover,
I am yellow all over -
Indeed, as any one may behold,
As yellow as cowslips, butter, or gold!"
"I excuse you," the Owl said; "don't stay,
For it might be catching!-don't come this

Who next in order might appear,
Can only be conjectured here;
For at this critical point the talk
Was interrupted by a Hawk!-
A great, grim, gray and cruel thing,


x893.] THE OWL'S CO:

Sharp of talon and strong of wing,
Who, swooping from his forest height,
The whole Convention put to flight.

What a terrible time, as he came near,
Of hurry and worry and flurry and fear!
They fled together, or fled alone,
Like leaves of autumn, whirlwind-blown,
Hither and thither,
They did n't care whither,
For little time was there to pause;
In this merciless game of hide-and-seek
They could only cry and clamor and shriek:
" Get out of the way of his barbarous beak!
Beware of his talons his great big claws "


While everywhere in the tumult flew
Feathers yellow, and brown, and blue.
And the story ends by saying: Here
A boy who had long been watching
With bow and arrow, sent a dart
That pierced the tyrant through the heart!

And so, whene'er I chance to view
A bird with plumage all askew-
With topknot torn, or broken wing,
I say to myself, "Alas! poor thing,
'T is very clear to my apprehension,
That you have been to The Owl's Con-



WHEN the man in the moon was a little boy,
All the mountains were little hills,
The oceans were tiny little lakes,
The rivers were little rills.
The elephants were the size of mice,
The eagles the size of bees;
The robins were the size of gnats,
There was only grass for trees.
There were no isthmuses, straits, or capes,
No islands or promontories;
And the fairy godmothers kept the schools,
And taught riddles and fairy stories.


HERE where the curfew
Still, they say, rings,
Time rested long ago,
Folding his wings;
Here, on old Norwich's
Out-along road,
Cousin Lucretia
Had her abode.

Norridge, not Nor-wich
(See Mother Goose),
Good enough English
For a song's use.
Side and roof shingled,
All of a piece,
Here was the cottage of
Cousin Lucrece.-

Living forlornly on
Nothing a year,
How she took comfort
Does not appear;
How kept her body,
On what they gave,
Out of the poorhouse,
Out of the grave.

Highly connected?
Straight as the Nile
Down from "the Gard'ners" of
Gardiner's Isle

(Three bugles, chevron gules,
Hand upon sword),
Of the third lord.

Bent almost double,
Deaf as a witch,
Gout her chief trouble-
Just as if rich;
Vain of her ancestry,
Mouth all agrin,
Nose half-way meeting her
Sky-pointed chin;

Ducking her forehead-top,
Wrinkled and bare,
With a colonial
Furbelowed air;
Greeting her next-of-kin,
Nephew and niece-
Foolish old, prating old
Cousin Lucrece.

Once every year she had
All she could eat,
Turkey and cranberries,
Pudding and sweet;
Every Thanksgiving,
Up to the great
House of her kinsman was
Driven in state.



'? I


VOL. XXI.- 18-19.

. t""I



i "M

k C9tm


Oh, what a sight to see,
Rigged in her best!
Wearing the famous gown
Drawn from her chest-
Worn, ere King George's reign
Here chanced to cease,
Once by a forebear of
Cousin Lucrece.

Damask brocaded,
Cut very low;
Short sleeves and finger-mitts
Fit for a show;
Palsied neck shaking her
Rust-yellow curls,
Rattling its roundabout
String of mock pearls.

Over her noddle,
Draggled and stark,
Two ostrich feathers -
Brought from the ark;

Shoes of frayed satin,
All heel and toe,
On her poor crippled feet
Hobbled below.

My! how the Justice's
Sons and their wives
Laughed; while the little folk
SRan for their lives,
Asking if beldames
Out of the past,
Old fairy-godmothers,
Always could last?

No! One Thanksgiving,
Bitterly cold,
After they took her home
(Ever so old),
In her great chair she sank,
There to find peace:
Died in her ancient dress-
Poor old Lucrece.



IN the early spring of 1866, I was ordered
by the Honorable Secretary of the Navy to go
to Detroit, Michigan, and assume command of
the United States revenue steamer "Dix," then
preparing for a cruise on the upper lakes. My
instructions were to proceed to the head waters
of Lake Superior, and there await the arrival,
from St. Paul, of General William T. Sherman,
U. S. A., and his staft, and to place my com-
mand under his direction while he was visiting
the frontier fortifications. We left Detroit late
in May, and the early part of June found us
anchored in the beautiful Superior Bay, Min-
nesota. At that time there were no railways
nearer to this part of Lake Superior than St.
Paul, and although several Indian agencies
and post-traders were established, the region

about was inhabited almost solely by Chip-
pewa Indians, with a few Cherokees and
On the day after our arrival, General Sher-
man made his appearance, accompanied by his
staff, and they were received with all honors.
The General was one of the most delightful
and entertaining men it has been my pleasure
to meet-extremely kind and considerate of
others, full of anecdote, and always interesting.
We visited a number of the coast fortifica-
tions in the region, and arrived finally at Grand
Portage. Soon after coming to anchor here, we
received a call from the Indian agent, who in-
formed us that the Indians would like to have
a talk with General Sherman,-of whom they
had often heard,--that he might tell the "Great



Father at Washington their wishes. The Gen-
eral expressed his willingness to grant their re-
quest, and the next morning was appointed for
the interview. On reaching the shore, we
were escorted by the agent to the place of
meeting, where we found several old chiefs, a
goodly number
of young In-
dians, and, as it
seemed, all the
squaws and pa-
pooses in the
country, assem-
bled to greet us.
The squaws
and many of the
old men were
sitting around
a camp fire,
with the princi-
pal chief stand-
ing in the mid-
dle. Stepping
forward, he
shook hands
with us, and
then, through
an interpreter,
informed the .
General that he
was a very good
andpeaceful In-
dian, and that
his people also
were very good
but very poor,
and wanted the
" Great Father
at Washington "
to send them some blankets and pork. The
General replied that as soon as he returned
to Washington he would say a kind word for
them. We took seats assigned us in the cir-
cle, and were treated to cooked venison, after
which the pipe of peace was handed round,
each one taking a puff or two from its stem.
Presently, from the rear of the camp, an old
chief approached leading a young black bear.
Walking up to General Sherman, he stated that
his people wished to present the bear to him,

and hoped the General would receive it. The
General's kindly disposition would not permit
him to decline the gift, so it was graciously
accepted. But at the close of the ceremonies,
and after the Indians had gone, came the im-
portant question: What was to be done with

1\ I,


y:-r- -


'Lu> -


Bruin? General Sherman frankly said he did
not want him.
The other officers declining the gift, the Gen-
eral turned to me, and being very fond of ani-
mals I promptly accepted the bear. I hoped
to tame him, and really anticipated much plea-
sure with my new-found friend. Little did I
realize all that was in store for me! We soon
returned to the ship, Bruin was tumbled on
board, the anchor catheaded, and we were once
again at sea." Bruin was known as General







Sherman's Bear," and allowed to roam about at
his own sweet will. He was quiet for the first
few days, and seemed to be taking in the situa-
tion, and laying plans for the future. I was
determined that, if possible, we should be the
best of friends; and as he was very fond of
sugar, I concluded to cultivate his friendship
by this means. In a short time Bruin discov-
ered that I kept myself supplied with lumps of
sugar, and he was constantly trying to get his
head into my pocket. Often, when I was sit-
ting in a camp-chair, he would walk up on his
hind legs, and, placing his big black paws
against me, beg for sugar or candy, and he
was not at all pleased when he failed to get it.
He soon made himself perfectly at home, and
went about everywhere investigating the ship.
The sailors taught him many tricks, and really
made him more troublesome than he otherwise
would have been. His great game with them
was a sort of "tug-of-war." He would clutch
one end of a rope with his paws and teeth, and
a sailor the other, both pulling with all their
might; and if Bruin happened to be the success-
ful contestant, he would show his delight by

putting his head between his legs and rolling
about the decks like a ball. He found no diffi-
culty in going up and down a common rung-
ladder, but a pair of stairs was quite another
matter. Usually, after going down very care-
fully for a step or two, he would become dis-
couraged and tumble to the bottom with a
growl. Bruin's scent was acute, and very soon
he discovered that the sugar-bowl and molasses-
pot were kept in the pantry at the foot of the
steps. He also learned that the colored steward
was very much afraid of him. Standing up-
right on his hind legs, he would growl and
rush into the pantry, and with a cuff of his paw
drive out the steward, upset the sugar-bowl, and
grabbing what he could of the contents, hurry
on deck to escape the punishment which he
knew would follow.
It was now midsummer, and very warm.
The doors and skylights were open.
One afternoon I was entertaining a few
friends in my cabin. Some simple refreshments
(including a large bowl of sugar) were placed
upon the table, and Bruin soon discovered
this fact from the deck, through the sky-



light. He growled once or twice, but I
paid no attention, never dreaming he would
attempt to get into the cabin by a short route.
The "sweets," however, were more than he
could resist, and before we realized what he
was about, Bruin dropped through the open-
ing, square upon the table, knocking over the
glasses, cake-basket, and sugar-bowl! There
was a stampede among my friends; they
rushed to the rear of the cabin. The old
steward, half frightened to death, made for the
deck, while Bruin, with his mouth full of sugar,
ran into my state-room. He was inclined to be

Cap'n, dat b'ar gwine ter kill somebody
yet, fo' sho. I knows dem b'ars down south.
Dey was very dange'ous, en dey kills lots ob
folks. Best send dat b'ar off, Cap'n! "
But we had little fear the bear would do
serious harm. One sultry night in July, when
all hands except the watch on deck were
quietly sleeping, one of the ward-room officers
aroused his messmates by making the most
unearthly sounds, groaning and crying for help.
Suddenly he had waked to find an oppressive
weight resting upon his chest. He called to
his companions, and then reaching out he felt

a little ugly, but a few sharp raps from my cane the long, soft fur of Bruin. The bear had no
were sufficient to drive him on deck. Being idea of being disturbed, and growled very de-
assured that the danger was passed, the steward cidedly when driven out. I was sitting upon
returned to restore things to rights, remarking the quarter-deck one morning, when Bruin
as he did so : came up in his usual affectionate way, and pla-


cing his. paws on my lap, began pulling at my
brass buttons. Fearing he would tear the coat,
I raised my hand to push him back. Quick as
a flash, he seized my hand and put his sharp
teeth through the fleshy part of it between
the thumb and finger not a serious bite, but
it angered me, and I laid hold of Bruin with
one hand and a belaying-pin with the other,
and before he could escape had dealt him
two or three good blows. Shaking his head,
he scampered aloft, where he remained the
entire day. I called the steward to dress my
wound, and when the old negro saw the in-
jured hand, and learned it was the bear's doing,
he gave expression to his views at once:
Did n't I tol' you so, Cap'n ? I jes' sho' dat
b'ar he kill somebody yet. You best shoot
him now, Marse Cap'n; shoot him now I
neber likes dem b'ars. After all yer gwine
done fo' him, feedin' him sugar en 'lasses, en
den he gwine ter bite yer like dis He had
ought 'r be shame' ob herself "
Poor Bruin was always getting into trouble.
His inquisitive nature led him to investigate
more than was good for himself or the sailors.
Although they were very fond of the "black
rascal," as the men called him when he aroused
their anger, they were getting tired of the end-
less trouble he gave them. They liked his
pranks, and laughed heartily when he knocked
one of them over in his efforts to make them
play, or when he attacked the steward or cook
on deck while they carried dishes. He capped
the climax, however, one quiet afternoon, while
prowling under the topgallant forecastle, by
capsizing a pot of tar hanging from a beam
overhead, and in tumbling over the buckets
and coils of rope, he fell into a half-barrel of
"slush." When discovered Bruin was a fear-
ful sight. The sailors were convulsed with
laughter, although they realized that an extra
amount of labor was again in store for them.
They attempted to capture him before the
decks were covered with grease and tar; but
the poor beast, frightened, no doubt, by the
excitement which prevailed, rushed frantically
about, dodging his opponents. He knocked
over the cabin-boy, and capsized the old quar-
termaster, and finally bethought himself of the

rail. Before the men could hold him, Bruin was
safely aloft, leaving the rigging and sail-covers
in a terrible condition. The crew, now thor-
oughly disgusted, determined to petition me to,
cage Bruin. I was reading in my cabin when
all this took place, and knew nothing of the
affair until the old steward, brimming with
laughter, came down to tell me.
Cap'n, dat yere General Sherman's b'ar,
he be'n playing' de mischief dar forward. He
did n't kill nobody, but he pretty nigh kill'
one ob de boys, en he jes' play de mischief
dar forward. Cap'n, guess you done wid dat
"Where is the bear now ?" I asked.
Oh, he 's up 'loft! "
I made up my mind not only to cage Bruin
at once, but to send him ashore somewhere. I
ordered the ship's carpenter to make a strong
wooden box with iron rods for the front; and
Master Bruin was soon locked up, never more
to frolic about decks. General Sherman and
party had returned to Washington, so I could
not consult them.
Thinking the matter over, the idea sug-
gested itself of writing to the commissioners of
Central Park, New York, and inquiring if they
would like the bear for the zoological garden.
This I did, and a reply soon came thanking me
for the offer and accepting the bear. We had
returned to Detroit, so I saw the manager of
the Wells Fargo Express Company, and he
kindly agreed to forward the bear to New York
free of charge. To console Bruin on the jour-
ney, a large canvas bag, filled with sweetened
corn-bread, was nailed to the cage, and on the
outside of the bag I had painted in black let-
ters: "Food for Bear. Please feed hourly!"
It was not without a feeling of regret that
I thus parted with Bruin. Mischievous as he
was, I knew I should miss his companionship
and friendly morning salutation.
A few days later I received another letter from
the commissioners informing me of his safe ar-
rival, and saying that he had been placed in the
" Garden of the Bears." No doubt Bruin has
been a source of amusement to many, both old
and young; but few, I fancy, are aware that
he once belonged to General Sherman.

-)irirI,. t rei'i n I' ,, r, r_.-- r1,,- Third.

Under the beecies, 1 stiff and tall,
The Squire's coach, ''1 and his horses brown,
Bore their master from London Town:
From London Town, where a week before
The coach had stopped at a palace door,
And poor John Peter, in waistcoat fine,
Had sat and gaped at Queen Caroline.

Now, from the Court where people press,
The Squire, his wife, and their daughter Bess,
Weary, perchance, yet merry withal,
Were on their way home to Willoughby Hall.
The Squire was testy, and toss'd about,
Grumbled because his pipe was out.
My Lady's sleep was placid and sound,
And visions came, as the wheels went round
(Visions that stay'd when dreams were gone),
Of a purple silk and a gay sprigged lawn.
c *- ^ .

,I ,h,

Bess, in her mantle of paduasoy,
Hugg'd to her bosom a fine new toy -
A slender whip with a silver head,
To startle her pony, dappled "Ned."
Now with each passing white mile-stone
The little maiden had gayer grown,
Till, in spite of the bitter freeze,
SShe begged to sit by the coachman, please!"
So with joy at her novel ride,
Prattled and laughed at John Peter's side.

Sudden, from out the trees near by
Standing dark againstt the sunset sky,
Six black figures on horseback sped
Close on the coach. Ere a word was said,
A pistol was cocked, and a voice cried, "Stop!"
(Poor John Peter was ready to drop,
Cried out Mercy!" and made such a fuss
They threatened him with a blunderbuss !)
The Squire, he blustered; the Lady screamed -
Something had happened that nobody dreamed:
Nobody thought they should have to fight
Six great robbers that very night,
SEven though, just the week before,
Highwaymen halted a coach-and-four!

The Squire was gagged ere his sword was out,
All the packets were tumbled about;
The footman ran without staying to fight;
Poor John Peter was stiff with fright!
The Lady fainted in dire distress.
j Nobody thought very much about Bess--
She had not stirred, nor screamed, nor made
Sign to show that she felt afraid;
But safe in her place, she bolder grew,
For the wise little maid saw what to do.

The robbers were careless, sure of success
(Nobody counted on little Bess).
She, who saw while the moments sped
A robber move from the horse's head,
Seized the whip, pushed the coachman back,

, ,V \z.-, ., j.

Hitc Br. -ii frir a oinling thw. ._
Up tint hi; r1..-e %I0h a snort vl sconr
(This is how it was told next morn),
Flung out his hoof (so the papers said),
Hit a robber and broke his head!
Then was off with the speed of the wind,
Leaving the robbers all behind! --
Off like mad o'er the snowy course,
Ere a robber could mount his horse!

How My Lady hugged Bess and sobbed!
How John Peter told who was robbed!
How the Squire, with pride and glee,
Cried, "She did for 'em, trouncingly!"
How old Janet, the nurse, cried "Jack!
What a marcy ye all came back!"
How maid Bess, at her father's side,
Carved the pudding at Christmas-tide-
The great big pudding with every plum
Worthy of little Jack Homer's thumb!
How her grandam and cousins five
Pledged her "the pluckiest girl alive."
The longest words could not tell it all,
The joy and the laughter at Willoughby Hall.




Lj J


(A story for translation.)


MES petits sabots! Mes petits sabots !."
s'ecria la petite Marie, battant ses mains. Sa
mere avait ouvert la porte de 1'armoire, dans
laquelle 6taient, avec d'autres tr6sors, la robe de
bapteme de Marie, et la premiere paire de sabots
qu'elle n'avait jamais port6e. C'6tait un plaisir
rare de voir ces effects, car la porte de cette armoire
n'6tait pas souvent ouverte. Marie pensait qu'il
n'y avait rien de plus joli que cette petite robe de
mousseline blanche, et les sabots, qui 6taient le
travail de son pere. Elle n'6tait jamais fatigue
de les regarder, et de les admirer.
Et ils 6taient r6ellement bien jolis, car son pere
6tait un ouvrier tres habile; il avait pris un soin
particulier en fabricant les premiers souliers de
son premier enfant. Ils etaient de bois de h&tre,
le meilleur bois pour sabots, parcequ'il est tres
16ger, tres ferme, et tient les pieds secs malgre
la pluie et la neige. Ils talent tr~s bien travaill6s,
6tant sculpts tout autour du bord, montrant les
petits bas rouges et bleus, qui faisaient un joli
contrast avec la couleur jaune du bois et un bou-
ton de rose A demi-ouvert sur le cou de pied.
"Nous allons au bois aujourd'hui," dit sa mire,
"pour voir papa faire les sabots. II va faire une
paire de sabots pour la petite Louise." "Pour la
petite Louise !" s'ecria Marie. "Quoi! la petite
Louise! Mais, elle ne peut pas encore se tenir
debout "Oh elle marchera tres bien avant
1'6t6," dit la mire, "et alors les sabots seront tout
pr6ts pour les lui mettre aux pieds." Quand elles
arriv&rent au bois, le pere s'approcha d'elles, et
les conduisit dans un endroit ot elles pouvaient
contempler la scene du travail sans 6tre exposees
au danger d'etre blesses par la chute des arbres.

Deux hommes forts abattaient les arbres, d'autres
les sciaient en longueur, et puis les divisaient en
quarters. Alors commenga le travail reel de
sabots. Un homme tailla d'abord grossierement
la forme des sabots avec une hache; un autre
ouvrier fit le trou pour Ie pied, en creusant avec un
instrument point qu'on appelle cuiller. Alors on
donna les sabots au pere de Marie pour les finir.
II ne prenait pas autant de peine pour les aiutres
que pour ceuxde Marie. i: 'F:i.,,:-:,,:..= qui
6taient faits de la plus grosse parties del'arbre ot le
bois est rude, il les travaillait sans fagon, ne faisant
que les unir etlespolir. Surceunx 3 r.-:: -:'n. .
ciselait une rose ou nne primerire- Les salbots dm
dimanche pour les jeunes :1 .:5. il les biredait em
sculpture decoupde tout autour do bmIrdL llR y ema
avait aussi pour les petits bergeis qui tifnitt awvk
leurs troupeaux, et encore *. *rin. .: p eitts p utuur
les jeunes dcoliers, et d'autres enca e n .... _i, a1..i
pour les tout petits .enfants. Ceo-d-i IIlanitie Iks ail-
mirait beaucoup, quai'.~i. i a nfe ifls t pas a~tmi
polis que les siens.
Cette paire est, pour Louise,"' dtitt sm onie
a Marie. "Quelle fleur famnt-ill rne je ttaille
Marie pensa un moment, et dit:
Un lis. Louise est come u n Ili~s, elfe estt is
blanche et si delicate."
Son pere fut embarrassed pour a manmti att
alors sculpta une fleur, et .,.u .-i i ,Eil. mae fitt pisl
exactement come un lis, Marie addmliiia Ibtali-
Et ainsi les sabots furentt finish, et ~r feummrs
jusqu'a ce que les petits -.e:J, ftiisaenst asset gnands
pour les porter.


BESSIE with her kitten
Sitting on her knee-
" Pussy, dear, now won't you
Try to talk to me?
Yes, you pretty darling,
I am sure you could


Say a little something
If you only would.
Now, I 'II ask a question,
Answer, Pussy -do!
Whom do you love the very best ?"
And Pussy said: "M--you."

(A story for translation.)


MES petits sabots! Mes petits sabots !."
s'ecria la petite Marie, battant ses mains. Sa
mere avait ouvert la porte de 1'armoire, dans
laquelle 6taient, avec d'autres tr6sors, la robe de
bapteme de Marie, et la premiere paire de sabots
qu'elle n'avait jamais port6e. C'6tait un plaisir
rare de voir ces effects, car la porte de cette armoire
n'6tait pas souvent ouverte. Marie pensait qu'il
n'y avait rien de plus joli que cette petite robe de
mousseline blanche, et les sabots, qui 6taient le
travail de son pere. Elle n'6tait jamais fatigue
de les regarder, et de les admirer.
Et ils 6taient r6ellement bien jolis, car son pere
6tait un ouvrier tres habile; il avait pris un soin
particulier en fabricant les premiers souliers de
son premier enfant. Ils etaient de bois de h&tre,
le meilleur bois pour sabots, parcequ'il est tres
16ger, tres ferme, et tient les pieds secs malgre
la pluie et la neige. Ils talent tr~s bien travaill6s,
6tant sculpts tout autour du bord, montrant les
petits bas rouges et bleus, qui faisaient un joli
contrast avec la couleur jaune du bois et un bou-
ton de rose A demi-ouvert sur le cou de pied.
"Nous allons au bois aujourd'hui," dit sa mire,
"pour voir papa faire les sabots. II va faire une
paire de sabots pour la petite Louise." "Pour la
petite Louise !" s'ecria Marie. "Quoi! la petite
Louise! Mais, elle ne peut pas encore se tenir
debout "Oh elle marchera tres bien avant
1'6t6," dit la mire, "et alors les sabots seront tout
pr6ts pour les lui mettre aux pieds." Quand elles
arriv&rent au bois, le pere s'approcha d'elles, et
les conduisit dans un endroit ot elles pouvaient
contempler la scene du travail sans 6tre exposees
au danger d'etre blesses par la chute des arbres.

Deux hommes forts abattaient les arbres, d'autres
les sciaient en longueur, et puis les divisaient en
quarters. Alors commenga le travail reel de
sabots. Un homme tailla d'abord grossierement
la forme des sabots avec une hache; un autre
ouvrier fit le trou pour Ie pied, en creusant avec un
instrument point qu'on appelle cuiller. Alors on
donna les sabots au pere de Marie pour les finir.
II ne prenait pas autant de peine pour les aiutres
que pour ceuxde Marie. i: 'F:i.,,:-:,,:..= qui
6taient faits de la plus grosse parties del'arbre ot le
bois est rude, il les travaillait sans fagon, ne faisant
que les unir etlespolir. Surceunx 3 r.-:: -:'n. .
ciselait une rose ou nne primerire- Les salbots dm
dimanche pour les jeunes :1 .:5. il les biredait em
sculpture decoupde tout autour do bmIrdL llR y ema
avait aussi pour les petits bergeis qui tifnitt awvk
leurs troupeaux, et encore *. *rin. .: p eitts p utuur
les jeunes dcoliers, et d'autres enca e n .... _i, a1..i
pour les tout petits .enfants. Ceo-d-i IIlanitie Iks ail-
mirait beaucoup, quai'.~i. i a nfe ifls t pas a~tmi
polis que les siens.
Cette paire est, pour Louise,"' dtitt sm onie
a Marie. "Quelle fleur famnt-ill rne je ttaille
Marie pensa un moment, et dit:
Un lis. Louise est come u n Ili~s, elfe estt is
blanche et si delicate."
Son pere fut embarrassed pour a manmti att
alors sculpta une fleur, et .,.u .-i i ,Eil. mae fitt pisl
exactement come un lis, Marie addmliiia Ibtali-
Et ainsi les sabots furentt finish, et ~r feummrs
jusqu'a ce que les petits -.e:J, ftiisaenst asset gnands
pour les porter.


BESSIE with her kitten
Sitting on her knee-
" Pussy, dear, now won't you
Try to talk to me?
Yes, you pretty darling,
I am sure you could


Say a little something
If you only would.
Now, I 'II ask a question,
Answer, Pussy -do!
Whom do you love the very best ?"
And Pussy said: "M--you."



-C~ ..

'P ~L




,; r "'



THEY started from the old farm-gate,
The happiest boys alive,
With Rob, the roan, and Rust, his mate,
And Uncle Jack to drive;
The .snow was packed, that Christmas-time,
The moon was round and clear,
And when the bells began to chime,
They all began to cheer.
Chime, chime, chime, chime,-such a merry load
Sleighing in the moonlight along the river road!

They passed the lonely cider-mill,
That 's falling all apart;
The hermit heard them on the hill,-
It warmed his frozen heart;
They cheered at every farm-house gray,
With window-panes aglow,-
Within, the farmer's wife would say,
"Well, well, I want to know!"
Chime, chime, chime, chime,-such a noisy load
Speeding by the homesteads along the river road!

The river shone, an icy sheet,
As o'er the bridge they flew;
Then down the quiet village street
Their Christmas horns they blew;
The sober people smiled and said,
"We '11 have to give them leave
(Boys will be boys!) to make a noise,
Because it 's Christmas Eve!"
Chime, chime, chime, chime,-such a lively load
Scattering songs and laughter along the river road!

But now it 's growing hard to keep
Awake, and now it seems
The very bells have gone to sleep,
And jingle in their dreams.
The lane at last,-the farm-gate creaks,
And Grandma cries, "It 's Jack!
Why, what a peck of apple-cheeks
These boys have brought us back! "
Chime, chime, chime, chime,-such a hungry load,
Rosy from the Christmas ride along the river road!



e4 '.,

: IF-'

ZC^g. CHi ifI.R, N l,:,\
.. N ...... ( irle -,n :.
f ha- e l e in a gre.,t
many large cities, but
I cannot think I have
ever seen one so green with
trees or so full of song-birds
and flowers. All summer the
magnolia magnolia grandillora, great-flowered
magnolia, a forest tree-opens its large white,
delicate tulips of ravishing fragrance among its
glossy sea-green leaves so high in air that only
a stout-hearted boy can climb to and pick
them. When its bursting seed-cones drop to
the pavement and scatter their shining coral
seeds, little girls with needle and thread string
these seeds into necklaces whose perfume is

,: ,t finii thin l.ai ,I tic ii.,'I I do not
:iiv theicy : |.-ij.jir.i..it_- rlic :, c:et odors;

\\e nmtLt re -. to[o tell hail ther flowers,
noti nr.re thin rirentni thne ...iler, the pome-
cr-initie-, tjl; C( c .i:, nile. ti.., : ii:,, sm ine,
rhic ;, ?,t ,*] ,- tle n]i..ir i.j i hriii ,. i ..:.3e un-
:'i i -i fill- the '-. r ,'i inlni,-r ._ enings
when the qtars :-henm ..,nh m,:,: hit'. aiind still,
n.-t mni.:ch jarth r i.,v Ihl A .c el files, nor
,ui ', -,*, tiuh],i,:i ::- \\e lC.iy r' .-t ',1ii 1l even
upon the orange-blossoms. Yet there is one of
Flora's lesser gems which we must not leave
untold: not the bride's, but the children's flower
-the frail, sweet-scented little red, white, and
yellow trumpets of the "four-o'clock." How
many thousand garlands of these blossoms the
little girls of New Orleans string in a single
summer afternoon, I have not the statistics to
tell. And then there is the china-tree, whose
large bunches of tiny purple flowers, having
exactly the odor of heliotrope, the girls can-
not get unless the boys climb the trees, break
off the sprays, and drop them down. Some
boys-even some very respectable boys-prefer

4 "


,j Qi


not to do this! Later in the year they climb
the same trees and fill their pockets with the
green china-berries, which make the best wads
you ever saw for popguns. These, fortunately,
last but a short while, whereas there is no time
of year in New Orleans when one may not
gather roses and violets in the open air, and
without having to be beholden to boys for
Oh, yes, children have good reason to love
New Orleans. Its climate, the doctors say, is
kind to babies. It is true, one can never go
sleighing there, and a day of good snowballing
comes only about once in ten years; but then
neither can one get his ears or toes frozen, ex-
cept by going to one of the big ice-factories
and paying to have it done.
The nature of the soil, too, has advantages
and attractions. Almost everywhere except
along the river-bank or in its bed, and often
there as well, it is a tenacious dark-blue clay.
In old times men used to build adobe houses of
it, mixing Spanish moss through it as plasterers
mix hair in their plaster. An excellent soft
red brick is made of it in vast quantities in
the often very picturesque brick-yards along the
river. This soil, moreover, makes the best mud-
pies I have ever seen; while, rubbed on the
clothes of an ordinarily bright boy, it can be
made to procure
him more old-
fashioned family
thlra-,iinr-, tli.i
:.n, ,thrr m u,- I
'I, ,, I

bI -


This brings us naturally to the subject of
fishing. The New Orleans boy rarely fishes in
the Mississippi. Pot-fishers take its ugly buf-
falo-fish, huge "blue-cats and mud-cats,"
with trot-lines, and wharf-rats" have some luck
with the hand-line at the edges of wharves; but
as for fishing with the pole for small fry-I '11
tell you: I once saw a boy-same boy again?
yes!--tie a railroad spike to forty feet of small
line and cast the iron into the river from the
stern of a steamboat lying at a wharf for re-
pairs. That swirling, boiling current floated
the spike! Imagine dropping into those waters
without a line and with one's clothes and shoes
on! But that is what a great many persons,
some dear little children among them, had to
do one winter morning,- I think it was a New
Year's day,-when five of those great steam-
boats burned to the water's edge in a few min-
utes, like so much straw or shavings. Some
were saved by men in skiffs, while others were
never seen again. I know a man who, when a
youth, saw that whole river-harbor one day
dotted with drifting steamboats and ships,
burning and sinking; but that was--as the
old black women who sell pies and "stage-
planks" (gingerbread) on the landings would
say-"in de enju'ih' o' de waugh."
No, the right sort of New Orleans boy, the
sort that reads ST. NICHOLAS (or would if he
were not a Creole), fishes in Lake Pontchartrain
when he can afford it,-the lake is five or six
nmile- Ir,:m the city's main streets,-and some-
lirmes c:- i hes that handsome and delicious pan-
isli,. tl-e~ cr.aker, and even, though more rarely,
cIl, sheic.-rlad. They are so named because
tle c:-.,iket makes a little croaking noise as he
ol.:,unces about in your fishing-boat,
:ri.l the sheepshead has a face whose
i.rofile is like that of a sheep's, and
.onie true teeth that show with his

n .iith shut. The lake is thirty miles
wide and over forty long, so that as
; one looks across it he sees only
'- sky and water meet and vessels.
S sink below or rise above the blue
horizon. Away back in the geo-
logical ages, before anybody's aunt
was born, the Mississippi River
used to run through this lake.


But New Orleans boys have other fishing-grounds. With
one's father or uncle along, Harvey's Canal, the Con-
pany Canal, Lake Cataouach6, are good, better, best.
On a pinch, there are plentyof fun and quite enough
fish still nearer by; for in all the suburban regions, .
where the live- -
oaks spread their
brawny, moss- i
draped arms, where
the persimmon
drops its yellow ..
fruit, and the wild .,-
S acacia spreads rit-

,S. ^ ilslK ,rl,:s .i.
INDI:" -" d fldls Tm .r F [
Sthe air with
thl.ir odor, the
1Al.zin is crisscrossed with
.ir.-iiing-ditches of all sizes, most of them un-
arinted by sewage; and in their sometimes
TE .ArE, l ,_l,_-ar, sometimes turbid waters are the sun-
SIh. the warmouth, and other good fish.
Even for girls-who, somehow, can't learn to
6;h poor things!-there is in these harmless
\\twaers the loveliest crawfishing.
I once knew a boy-yes; same !-to catch
pretty sun-perch in one of these big ditches,
p.-:k them alive in some fresh Spanish moss
\i el wetted, put them into a covered tin bucket,
carry them three miles in the hot summer
weather, turn them into a tiny pond at his
home, and keep them there-I forget how long,
but for more than a year. They subsisted upon,
J and gradually exterminated, a minute species
THREE NONPAREILS. of shell-fish which he had earlier introduced,




and which from two or three specimens had
increased to thousands. One pretty fact about
the sun-perch is that he marries. Yes, these
fish mate in pairs as birds do. They even
have a simple sort of sandy nest. One of the
pleasantest things I ever observed in all my
boyhood was one of the beautiful little creatures
hovering over the bright depressed spot in the
clean sand at the bottom of some cool, shallow
water, which was its nest, fanning it with its
gauzy fins, whirling, backing, darting, and
guarding it against all enemies.
But that really has nothing to do with New
Orleans, except that our wandering into it thus
only tends to show, I think, how very near to
dear Mother Nature New Orleans is, for a city:
especially the children's part of it. I was near
forgetting to say that there are also snakes in
those ditches: one must be candid. But they
are-what shall we say?-diffident and retir-
ing. Even when one of them pokes his tongue
out at you, that only means, "Hello, sonny, I
used to know your grandma! If, when you
are fishing, you jerk up your line, thinking you
have got a fish, and you find it 's nothing but
a mere four-foot snake, all you have to do is to
drop everything and walk away rapidly. Still
it is well to notice where you step. Snakes, too,
go in pairs, and you don't want to tread on one
snake while walking away from another. The
Voodoos consider it a sign of bad luck. Under-
stand me, a Louisiana boy never runs from a
snake. I once knew a boy-?-yes!-who
made it a rule never to part company with a
snake till he had killed it. Once, near the New
Shell road, seeing a large snake, and keeping
his eyes on him sharply while he stooped to
take up a stick, he grasped, instead, another
snake! Both these snakes got away, and the
same may be said of the boy. Some of the
hardier lads of my acquaintance used to have
a neat trick of catching a live snake by the tail,
twirling him around as one would twirl a sling,
and popping his head off as we pop a whip.
The fact of the snake being venomous did not
deter the boy or save the serpent. But this
sport, while injurious to the snake, is not morally
helpful to the boy, and I do not recommend it.
I could name many other amusements, com-
mon in New Orleans, of which boys in Northern
VOL. XXI.-2o.

towns seem to know but little. Out of that city,
for instance, I have never seen the blow-gun.
These are sold by Choctaw Indians, mostly at
the market-houses. The butchers, hucksters,
fruiterers, and bakers of New Orleans, you
must understand, are almost all gathered into
market-houses distributed at convenient some-
times not too convenient-points throughout
the city; and people with market-baskets on
their arms throng the gas-lighted aisles of these
long depots of supply at very early morning
hours. Any early-rising New Orleans boy or
girl will promise to be good if father or mother
will take him or her along when going to mar-
ket before breakfast. There is always a delight-
ful uproar in these places in the hour of dawn;
a bewildering chatter of all the world talking at
once, mostly in German and French: a calling
and hallooing, a pounding of cleavers, a smell
of raw meat, of parsley and potatoes, of fish,
onions, pineapples, garlic, oranges, shrimps, and
crabs, of hot loaves, coffee, milk, sausages, and
curds, a rattling of tins, a whetting of knives, a
sawing of bones, a whistling of opera airs, a
singing of the folk-songs of Gascony and Italia,
a flutter of fowls, prattling and guffawing of ne-
groes, mules braying, carts rumbling-it is great
fun! Most of these market-houses have some
part of their flagged floor left without roof; and
here, in pathetic contrast with all this hurry and
noise, one may almost always find, squatted
on the flags among the baskets of their own
deft weaving, a few Indian women and children,
gentle, silent, grave, bareheaded, barefooted,
and redolent of the bay-leaves, sassafras root,
and medicinal herbs they pile before them for
sale. If there are men with them, they are likely
to offer for your purchase blow-guns. A blow-
gun is six feet of brake-cane, the joints burned
out smooth with the red-hot end of a rod of
iron wire. Its foot-long arrow is very slender,
headless, and feathered with cotton lint, and is
blown through the gun by the breath. They
say Audubon, the great naturalist, who was a
Creole, used to get some of his smallest birds
by means of a blow-gun. I am not sure I get
that sentence logically correct: I suppose the
birds were not his till he had got them; but any
enterprising boy will see what I mean. I am
told that of late years the popularity of the

blow-gun has been largely transferred to that
fiendish thing made of a forked stick and a rub-
ber strap, so terrifying to grandmothers and so
justly denounced by big sisters, and known in
New Orleans by the ribald name of nigger-
shooter. I hope I have been misinformed.
The brake-cane furnishes another plaything.
If all the rain that falls in New Orleans within
a year were to fall in one big shower and not
run off as it fell, it would cover the whole
ground to the depth of more than five feet.
Even as it is, the rains come down so quickly
and run off so slowly that one may often see
many of the granite-paved streets in the heart
of the city overflowed by an hour's rain, so that
the sidewalks-still known there by the old
French military name of banquettes-will be
several inches under water. You may wonder
how, in such cases, the floods are prevented
from overflowing cellars; but this is done by
the following simple device: They don't have
any cellars. Neither are there any underground
sewers in the city for carrying off this rain-
water. It runs off- always from the river-
bank and toward the swamp-by open gut-
ters, one at every sidewalk's outer edge. And
so there is almost always some water in sight,
clean or unclean, in whatever street one may
be. Now, with a simple thick joint-length of
brake-cane for a cylinder, open at one end and
the joint at the other end pierced by a small
vent-hole, and with a stick for a plunger, a soft
rag neatly wrapped around one end to give
suction, you have a syringe, or "squirt," that
will throw a stream of water upon a cat or dog,
or a playmate's trousers, as much as forty feet
away. A singular thing about this home-made
toy is that its owner (or borrower) always thinks
he can sit on the street curbstone and squirt it
with frantic enthusiasm for an hour without
getting his own clothes wet, though he always
gets them so. But the climate is mild, the
clothes do not cost him anything, and so he
tries, tries again, remembering, as all good boys
should, that perseverans omnia vinces /
Throwing the lasso used to be a favorite
sport in New Orleans, those who were without
lassos taking the part of wild cattle, to add to
the fun. Boys sometimes acquired great skill
in the use of the lariat.

"Noyaus" is a game whose charms ought
to be known beyond New Orleans. Noyaus,
you understand, are peach-stones: fully half
the terms of the playground, in New Orleans,
are French. Noyaus is played by standing at
a taw and trying to toss the peach-stones into
a hole in the ground close against some fence
or wall. The game is interestingly intricate.
The noyaus that fall outside the hole must be
flipped in with thumb and forefinger.
The boys of New Orleans are great trappers
of song-birds. During several months of the
long summery year they take thousands of or-
chard-orioles, cardinals, indigo-birds, and non-
pareils in trap-cages.
This trapping of birds is cruel play and very
one-sided, for a large proportion of the poor
little prisoners die. If fellows must get their
sport out of things that fly, why don't they find
it in things that need their help to fly, as birds
certainly do not ?
There, for instance, are kites. But the lads
of New Orleans can truly reply that this beau-
tiful and harmless pastime is nowhere else in all
our country so widely resorted to as in their
city. I have seen more kites in the air on one
day in New Orleans than in seven years any-
where else.
A far finer phase of the sport is the flying of
kites of great size. And still another is the fly-
ing of lantern-kites by night. When it is real
kite-time one may often see half a dozen of these
phantom lanterns moving about in the soft
summer air, and the kite, thread, and tail are
entirely invisible.
This is all I have room to say about New
Orleans. If you have any doubts as to the ac-
curacy of anything I have stated, I trust you
will go and see for yourself. Then my very
mistakes will have had their value; for if you
have but the art of seeing and telling what you
have seen, your own account of things will
be more interesting to you than I can reason-
ably hope this is. A romantic light from the
crescents of the Delta City shall linger in the
firmament of your memory long after the
suns of your childhood and youth have set,
as, gently resting under the twinkling sky of
aged years, you count the shooting-stars of
happy reminiscence.



(A story founded on fact.)


PROBABLY you never heard of Sarah Jane
Collins. It would be surprising if you had.
But I really feel that for the encouragement of
small, unknown women, the world should hear
of Sarah Jane, and of the way in which she con-
quered Santa Claus.
Sarah Jane Collins, at the time of this memo-
rable achievement, was toppling to her ninth
year. She was not heavily burdened with
knowledge-not even when compared with
other little nine-year-old girls. But she had
learned one thing which stuck to her small mind
like a bur. This was that Christmas is a time
when Santa Claus simply rampages around
shedding gifts upon children.
For some unaccountable reason, he had
never shed any of his bounty on Sarah Jane.
She had expected, witnessed, and survived
several Christmas days, not only without a sin-
gle present, but without so much as a single
card or note of regret from Santa Claus to atone
for this absolute neglect. This might have
shaken the faith of some small girls in the old
Saint's being as generous as he is said to be.
But it had not that effect on Sarah Jane.
However, she felt there was something wrong
somewhere -or why did she not get Christmas
presents? If he supposed that she did not care
about them why, then the Saint was sadly
mistaken. Sarah Jane's soul was filled with a
desire for Christmas presents.
This little girl lived in Barrytown with her
mother and her brother John, who was eleven
years old, but several years younger for his age
than Sarah was. The chief industrial activity
in Barrytown is coal-mining. John had an in-
terest in a coal-mine. He was a "picker." As
the coal comes streaming down the chute in the
breaker the pickers snatch out the slate, as peo-
ple do not like to buy coal and find large in-
combustible chunks of slate mingled with it.

When John came home from picking, a stranger
could not have told him from a black boy. He
was, in fact, a very black boy; but I mean that
any one would have imagined that he was a
child of African descent. But you could n't
expect John to sit handling lumps of coal all
day in a place where the air is thick with flying
coal-dust, and come out looking like a white
The Collins family lived on the outskirts of
the town, and beyond them were the coal-
breakers, and heaps of culmm," and hills. In
fact, the Collins mansion was on the crest of a
hill. It was a wooden house two stories high;
but it had a spare room, and that was rented to
a Mr. Sullivan, who worked in the mine, of
course, and who paid one dollar a week for his
Well, it was getting on toward Christmas.
The river was frozen over, the culm heaps wore
white robes of snow, and the streets afforded
splendid coasting. Sarah Jane, sliding wildly
down the hill in a warm glow of delight, was
really a much worthier subject for a sonnet than
many that poets select. But in her small per-
son lurked this memory of past Christmases,
barren of gifts, and the remembrance was like
a skeleton at the feast. When she and John
made excursions through the business streets
of the town, the shop-windows, stored with
the things from which Santa Claus replenished
his sleigh, brought home to Sarah still more
strongly the past unfitness of things.
Although there was no selfishness or vanity
in her nature, she never for a moment saw any
reason why she should n't have presents. It
was simply an oversight on Santa Claus's part.
They lived so far out on the skirt of the town
that the good Saint might be unaware that
Sarah Jane Collins had waited there through
several Christmas days--forgotten. It was


only his unfortunate ignorance of her where-
abouts that had led to her passing such fruit-
less Christmas days; that was all.
But Sarah Jane, with a most logical appreci-
ation of the situation, argued that his ignorance
had been quite enough to cause her to be over-
looked in the past, and would doubtless prove
sufficient this Christmas, unless she could bring
herself to the good Saint's notice. So, about
four days in advance of the eventful day, she
presented herself before her mother and showed
that worthy woman a small note.
Mother," said Sarah Jane, here 's a letter
which I 've written to Santa Claus. But I
don't know how to get it to him."
"Sarah Jane! why have you written to
Santa Claus?" exclaimed poor Mrs. Collins.
"So that he '11 know where I am and bring
me my presents," said Sarah Jane, with the
greatest gravity.
Shall I read what you 've written to him ?"
asked her mother, with a troubled look.
Sarah Jane handed the sheet of white note-
paper to her mother, who read, in large, labo-
riously formed letters, this communication of
her daughter to Santa Claus:

December 21 92.
DEER SANTA CLAUS: I now take the pleasure of rit-
ing to you to ask you if you would please remember me
on Chrismas eve and my little brother because we are
very poor and I have no papa to send any dollars but I
will try and pay you bak when I grow a big woman and
I am satsfyed with anything that you wish to bring me
Deer Santa Claus. I have seen your stores and I think
you have lots of pretty things in them and I would like
to get something. We hold our Christmas on monday
Deer Santa Claus because we have sunday Scool on
Chrismas day and our teacher says we must keep sunday
so we don't have no school for a whole week and so my
mama says we can say our Chrismas day is on monday.
Deer Santa Claus, Please remember the right howse, it
is the howse nearest going up to the school and ours is
the only chimly on the whole block for my brother was
out looking. This is the address, Deer Santa Claus.
401 Blank Street.

Mrs. Collins held the letter in her hand
and looked at her small daughter. The letter
was addressed simply to Mr. Santa Claus."
"Will I just drop it in the letter-box?"
asked Sarah Jane, eagerly.

"I will attend to that for you, Sarah," said
her mother. Mrs. Collins was somewhat dis-
tressed; but she had in her mind's eye some
very kind people who, she thought, would
know Santa Claus's address if she showed this
letter to them.
So Sarah Jane intrusted the precious missive
to the care of her mother. That good wo-
man soon after put on her best shawl and
bonnet, and went to a house where lived two
young women whom she knew. They had
very pretty faces and, what is better, very kind
hearts. Mrs. Collins gave them the letter.
They were much affected at Sarah Jane's di-
rect appeal to Santa Claus, and when Mrs.
Collins started on her way back it was with
the comforting thought that Sarah Jane would
not be left out this year.
She reported to the eager young correspon-
dent that the letter had been sent on its way.
Then life took on new and rosy meanings.
for Sarah, and she almost counted the hours.
Sarah frequently asked her mother if she
thought Santa Claus could possibly miss the
house. It would be trying if Sarah Jane's let-
ter were to bring the old gentleman around
their way, only to unload the gifts intended for
her at a neighbor's house !
One day, as Mr. Sullivan was going to his
room to remove the coal-dust which he had
brought back with him from the mine, Sarah
approached him in the small passageway and
Mr. Sullivan, will you please clean out the
chimney so when Santa Claus comes he can
get down easily? I will mend and brush your
clothes for a week if you will."
And Mr. Sullivan, who had a very large
heart though he lived in such a small way,
grinned and said, Shure, I '11 make it so clean
that the would Saint would just love to slide down
it!" And if he did not clean the chimney
with quite such scrupulous care as he might,
it was because he knew Santa Claus was not a
man to be balked in his gift-bearing course by
a little soot in the chimney. Sarah religiously
fulfilled her part of the contract, mending and
brushing Mr. Sullivan's clothes every day with
heroic fidelity.
Johnny Collins also was infected with the




feverish delight with which Sarah Jane looked
forward to the great day. She told her brother
she had informed Santa Claus that they both
wanted gifts. When Mrs. Collins saw her
daughter casting glances at the clean chimney,
she well knew what picture was in Sarah's
On the evening of Sunday, Sarah went to
her bed at her wonted hour for retiring, and
tried to compose herself to sleep as quickly as

.* /, .

* p -' .

usual. She feared that if Santa Claus were to
come and find her awake he would take flight
at once. Sarah Jane was convinced that the
good old Saint could n't make a present while
anybody looked on, because his generosity was
of so modest a kind.
It was not easy to fall asleep, but at last
Sarah was in the Land of Nod. When Mrs.
Collins passed through the room, she saw the
small girl with her hands folded outside the
coverlet, and her eyes closed in slumber.

But she noticed that there was something
on the headboard, and she stepped softly to
the side of the bed to see what it was.
There, carefully pinned above the sleeping
child, was a big sheet of light wrapping-paper, on
which Sarah had neatly printed in large letters:


She could hardly re-
frain from a laugh at
the picture of her art-
less little girl sleeping
so soundly with this
'., label affixed above her,
',. as if she were an ex-
',;". hibit in some fair. The
,. /.,. bright notion of Sarah
V'. was clearly apparent:
Santa Claus should
have no excuse for neg-
lecting her this Christ-
mas. She had not left
him a loophole for- es-
cape. Those words
-- told him clearly and
unmistakably that this
was Sarah Jane Col-
lins." After her letter
to him, this identifica-
tion was the only thing
-- necessary.
Sarah awoke at a
very early hour, and
S sitting up in her bed,
listened to hear if there
was a sound of fairy-
like sleigh-bells, or if
there was a sliding noise in the chimney. She
heard nothing. A glance at the bed showed her
that it was not strewn with presents. She put
back her hand to feel if the paper which she had
prepared for the perfect enlightenment of Santa
Claus was in its place; and then, thinking that
she must give him every opportunity, she put
her head back upon the pillow, and with great
determination went to sleep again, and dreamed
she was in a room full of presents, and that
they were all for her and Johnny.



She got up at seven o'clock, and went all
through the small house. There were no
marks of Santa Claus. She scanned the
opening of the chimney to see whether there
were any indications of his having tried to get
down there; but there was nothing anywhere
to show that he had come near the house.
Her small countenance was very rueful, and
after breakfast she and Johnny held a consulta-
tion. Could Santa Claus have gone astray?
Or had he not received her letter? Sarah Jane
felt like sitting down and having a good cry, if
it was Christmas day. There were tears in her
voice when she sought Mrs. Collins to see
whether her mother could offer any reason-
able excuse for this sad delay on Santa Claus's
Why, my dear," said Mrs. Collins, cheer-
fully, you told him that you had Monday as
your Christmas day. This is only nine o'olock,
Monday morning, and so there is a great deal
of time left for him to come in. But you and
Johnny can go to the Sunday-school concert
this afternoon- and don't fret; I feel sure that
he will come."
Mrs. Collins, in fact, knew from the kind
young ladies who were so well acquainted with
Santa Claus that he would surely come that af-
ternoon. If there had been any doubt of it, she
would not have spoken so confidently to Sarah
Jane. As it was, the little girl and Johnny
went to the concert and enjoyed it very much.
They ran quickly home, however, and Sarah
was in a tumult of agitated hopes when she
burst into the house. And the front-room door
was just a little ajar, as if some visitor had not
quite closed it after him. Sarah Jane pushed
the door wide open, and flew into the room
with a cry of delight.
There in the corner stood the most beautiful
little Christmas tree !
The wax tapers on it were shining like stars,
and festoons of white pop-corn were wreathed
from bough to bough, as if the tree had traveled

through a snow-storm. Then the presents!-
there were things in bright-colored paper tied
with pretty ribbons in a way so dainty and co-
quettish that it was surprising an old man like
Santa Claus could have done it.
Oh, how full and beautiful that Christmas
tree looked to Sarah Jane, who danced with
delight before it, her eyes shining, and her
whole face one broad, happy smile Then, al-
though it was hard to leave the lively spectacle
even for a moment, she ran up to her mother,
who was seated quietly in the other room, and
"Oh, Mama, he 's been here. Did n't you
hear him? Come in and see the tree "
She grasped her mother's hand and hurried
her into the next room. And after they had
looked at the brilliant tree, and enjoyed it
thoroughly, Sarah Jane had to go and get
Mr. Sullivan, that he, too, might enjoy the
beautiful sight.
"It 's mine," said Sarah Jane to him, rather
grandly, standing as tall as she could-"mine
and Johnny's. I wrote Santa Claus a letter
for it."
"Shure he 's a foine, daycent would man!"
said Mr. Sullivan, with great consideration.
But he did n't come down the chimney,"
said Sarah Jane, animatedly. Don't you see
that tree is too big for the chimney ? "
"And after my cleaning it so fine, and you
a-mendin' me clothes fur a whole week! cried
Mr. Sullivan.
Oh, that 's all right!" returned Sarah Jane,
He came in at the door with it," said
Johnny. "The boys at the mine told me he
could open any door he wanted to."
But no matter how he came -he had come.
And there was the proof of it that gay, lumi-
nous tree. And the presents were so exactly
what Sarah wanted that she exclaimed to her
mother," He must have known me. But was n't
it lucky I sent him that letter ? "

158 "



Now Lanty McClusky had married a wife,
For the ease of care and the joy of life,

And bought him a bit of a farm also,
With hillocks aslope and hedges arow,

But never the shade of a house thereon;
So Lanty, of course, must build him one.

And of all the sites he needs must -choose
The beautiful rath the fairies use

When they dance together beneath the moon
'To the mad light lilt of the crooked shoon.

In spite of warning, in face of fear,
He set his hearthstone and rooftree there,

For Lanty he was a headstrong man,
And always ended what he began.

So the good folk now may dance no more;
But Lanty must settle the piper's score.

For it 's only a craven who can sin
Against his manikin kith and kin.

The house is finished, the bride brought home,
And fiddler and friends to the warming come.

The music was fine, the folk were free
With the restless foot and the lifted knee;

And if there were sorrows, they must drown,
While the dance went merrily up and down.

When sudden a noise was heard outdoors-
A cracking of timbers, a heaving of floors,

A splitting of rafters, a wrenching of beams,
And above it a sound like the sound in dreams,


When it 's only wind out under the eaves,
In a midnight dance with the vagrant leaves.

But Lanty had heard the riving boards,
And he knew the fairies were out in hordes.

The music stopped, the dance stood still,
And the listeners heard a piping shrill

And tiny voice commanding plain,
" Come, good folk, work with might and main.

"The gentry have suffered a grievous thilig;
A thief has ruined our dancing-ring:

"It 's up on the morrow before the day
I '11 be, removing my house away:

"And I'll thank you kindly, and keep my word."
With that such a clapping of hands was heard!

And a "Bravo, Lanty! Build between
The two white-thorns above the boreen."

Then a shuffling sound of tiny feet,
Like dust when the wind goes up the street,

With another cheer of right good will,
And the little gentry were gone from the hill.


"For Lanty has stolen our ancient right,
And his house must fall before midnight."

But Lanty is out at the doorway then:
"I ask your pardon, gentlemen,

" For building on any place you own;
But if to-night you '11 let me alone,

As Lanty had promised, so he did;
And digging the cellar where they bid,

Between the two white-thorn trees old,
What should he find but a pot of gold!

For it 's only an honest man can win
The heart of his manikin kith and kin.



Au hor of "Lady Jane."

[Begen in te May number.]

MARCH came and went, and Mr. Ainsworth
did not go south. After hearing from Pere
Martin that Pere Josef had not returned, and
was, as far as he could learn, in the interior of
New Mexico, the artist felt that there was no
hurry, as a letter might not reach the priest for
months. So he lingered in his pleasant studio
until April grew old, and verdant young May
took her place.
Philip was bitterly disappointed, although he
made no complaint; however, it was more
bearable because Pere Josef was not there, and
Dea did not need him. His mind was relieved
of its anxieties, and he could wait more pa-
tiently. Besides, life to him was pleasanter than
it had been: Madam Ainsworth was less severe
since the confession, and at times almost kind,
and Lucille was less disdainful to him. Still
their relations were not at all cordial.
On the day when the little heiress caused such
a commotion by fainting at the sight of a wool
mouse, Philip understood that she was not a doll,
but that she was a frail little girl made of the
most delicate and fragile clay, and as fine and
transparent as a soap-bubble that a breath of
wind could blow away. That rather absurd little
scene had taught him several important things.
First, that a little heiress may be more refined
and sensitive than is a child of poverty, and
that what are precious treasures to the humble
are very offensive to the higher r classes" (quot-
ing from Bassett); that a little waif must never
try "to get even" with a little aristocrat unless
he wants to experience serious defeat; that there
are the proud and the meek, and that the proud
instead of the meek inherit the earth; that the
kingdom of the meek is not of this world; that
VOL. XXI.-21. e

a life of simple, honest poverty is very different
from a life of wealth and fashion; and that
among the worldly, things are not called by the
same names, nor judged by the same standards,
as they are among the children of nature.
All these contradictions in life became slowly
apparent to the intelligent mind of the boy.
He had never thought of such things with
Toinette and Pere Josef, but now living seemed
a very different and much more complicated
condition than it had then. Philip was a child
of nature, but he was also something of a little
philosopher: he could not see either necessity
or reason in some of the ceremonious usages
around him. These amused him and made
him sad at the same time: such as Bassett
holding open the door and bowing so humbly
when Madam Ainsworth entered; or the chang-
ing the plates a dozen times at dinner; or the
taking off one handsome suit of clothes to put
on another just to dine in. He could not un-
derstand why his fine slippers were not just as
good to wear in the drawing-room as were his
patent-leather shoes, nor why every one stood
up until Madam Ainsworth was seated, nor the
reason for various other formalities which Mrs.
Ainsworth told him indicated good breeding.
He believed in being polite to every one,
even to the servants; in being strictly truthful,
obedient, and generous- Toinette had taught
him all those things; in emptying his pockets
for a beggar where Lucille would refuse a
dime; in taking the part of an oppressed small
boy, or a hungry, weak dog; in feeding any
starving cat in the neighborhood, and strewing
the window-sills with crumbs for the freezing
sparrows; in taking off his hat when he spoke
to a woman; in offering his seat promptly to
any one who stood in a public conveyance; in
carrying a baby or a basket for a weary mother,
or in doing any kindness prompted by a noble,
sweet nature.


But it was not always right, in this fashion-
able world, to follow the promptings of his own
heart. At almost every turn he was reproved
and repressed for what appeared to him a
trivial thing; and this moral pruning and train-
ing had set him to thinking seriously. He
rebelled secretly against this hothouse culture.
Like the vines in his old sunny garden, he
wanted to climb to heaven free and untram-
meled. He grew pale and thoughtful, and
began to look old for his age; he was not
developing well under the influence of this
When the trees budded in May, and the
grass grew green in the park, he brightened
visibly. Every spare moment was spent there;
he liked to get away by himself, and brood in
the green shadows. He thought much of his
past, and he lived over and over the old days
that now seemed farther away than ever. His
disappointment was deeper than any one
guessed. He had trusted implicitly in Mr.
Ainsworth's promise to take him home in
March, and the easy way
in which it was evaded
shook his confidence for
the first time.
How do I know," he
thought, that they will
ever take me back ? Per-
haps I shall never see
Dea again, or Pare Josef, -' .
and the poor 'children' h '
may have to stay here al-
ways." '.
But after a while his'
disappointment wore off; '
the beauties of the park
consoled him the cool, '
shady spots, the sunny
slopes; and the birds-
yes, these strange birds
came to him; he had not
lost his power of wooing
these children of the air. "HE L
They were unknown to him by name, and they
were, he found, neither so rich of plumage nor
so sweet of song as his Southern friends, but he
loved them and welcomed them. Already they
knew his peculiar whistle, and would come at

his call, to fly down to him and hover about
him fearlessly.
Often on sunny afternoons in June, when
Madam Ainsworth and Lucille were driving
through the shady avenues of the park, they
would see Philip lying at full length under a
tree, his hat thrown aside, his hair tangled, his
face flushed and happy, unmindful of the throng
of human beings who might pause to gaze at
him as he watched his feathered friends flutter
and circle about him.
I think the boy must have gipsy blood in
him: just see how uncivilized he looks!" Madam
Ainsworth would exclaim indignantly.
"I hope he won't see us and recognize us
before all these people," Lucille would say, as
she turned her haughty little head in another
direction, and shrugged her shoulders disdain-
There was no danger of his recognizing
them. Philip saw nothing but his blue sky,
his birds, and his green trees; and perhaps his
thoughts were hundreds of miles away. Again

r 4'

_- : '.; 4,


he was Toinette's Philip, setting out pansies
in the old garden, while the Major and the
Singer fluttered around him; or he was kneel-
ing in the little chapel near the shrine of St..
Roch, with Dea beside him, in the sweet rosy



light, while she softly whispered her simple
Sometimes he would hide his face in the
grass and shed a few silent tears because those
dear places were so far away that there was
nothing left him but the memory of them.
Early in July, Mrs. Van Norcom returned
from abroad, and took the little heiress and
her attendants away with her to Newport.
Shortly after, Madam Ainsworth followed, and
Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth and Philip were left
alone in the great, silent house. Mr. and Mrs.
Ainsworth did not intend to neglect their
adopted son, but Mrs. Ainsworth was not well
and was confined most of the time to her room,
and Mr. Ainsworth spent his leisure hours
in his wife's company, for her indisposition
forced them to remain in the city. And this
was another disappointment to Philip, who had
hoped again to see the forests and mountains
where he had passed the previous summer.
However, he had the "children," the park, his
drawing, and his books, although he was not
as fond of the latter as he should have been.
The tutor whom he had during the winter said
his pupil was very intelligent and obedient, but
that he did not like to study, and that he did
not like Latin and mathematics. The tutor
feared Philip would always be deficient in those
useful branches of learning.
Nature was Philip's favorite book, and art
and poetry themental food he preferred; dry
and abstruse studies wearied and disheartened
him, and he was glad when his tutor went
away for the summer, and left him free to
spend his days as he pleased.
Sometimes he would smuggle the "children"
out for a holiday, and the genuine pleasure he
took in displaying their accomplishments to all
the little ragamuffins in the park fully repaid
him for the risks he ran. Mr. Ainsworth had
objected to his taking them out: he did not
like to see the boy, surrounded by a crowd of
gamins, exhibiting his white mice.
"He looks like a little vagrant," he would
say discontentedly to his wife. "When he is
with that class of children, he seems to be-
come one of them. It is astonishing how
many such traits develop in him from day to
day. Sometimes I fear he will not improve."

He is growing older," Mrs. Ainsworth
would return, with a sigh. "The charm of in-
fancy is gone, and he is in the transition state
between child and boy,-hardly an interesting
age; but in spite of his little faults he has a
beautiful nature. I hope we shall be able to
do our duty by him, but sometimes I have seri-
ous misgivings. I am doubtful about the wis-
dom of trying to substitute a strange chff8 in
the place of one's own flesh and blood."
"Well, it 's too late to think of that now,
Laura. It seemed best when we did it, and
we must not shirk the responsibility. We can't
always control our feelings, but we can always
do right." And so the conversation ended
without the satisfaction that they had come to
any decision on a subject that was more or
less troublesome.
Early in September another rival came to
take the place of Lucille, and in many respects
a more formidable one than the little heiress.
Mrs. Ainsworth had a fine little boy; he was
named Edward for his father, and his'appear-
ance was hailed with great joy. Madam
Ainsworth hurried from Newport. An elderly
French nurse was engaged, and the little
stranger was installed in Lucille's apartment
with all the ceremony due to an heir of the
When Philip first saw the child he turned
quite pale, and his eyes were wet with tears
as he stooped and kissed the pink cheeks ten-
derly, and said, with a smile, He 's very small,
but I 'm sure I shall love him, and I mean to
take care of him when he is older."
Mrs. Ainsworth had dreaded the ordeal of
the first meeting. She feared Philip might
show some jealousy; but the sweet manner of
the boy quite satisfied her, and made her very
When Bassett spoke of Philip's nose being
out of joint, the boy laughed, and rubbing his
finger over that small feature declared that it
was as straight as ever. "I guess there 's
room enough for both of us in this big house,
and it '11 be jolly by and by when he can run
about and play with Pare Josef's children.'
I '11 bet ie won't scream when he sees them."
Madam Ainsworth was as fussily fond of the
new-comer as she was of Lucille. It had been


a great sorrow to her that there was no one
of the blood to inherit the name as well as the
money. She could not bear to think that the
little waif would be the only Ainsworth in the
future, that a boy she could never love would
be her only grandson. This baby had come
to make her last days happy and peaceful, and
a little prince was never received with greater
rejoicing than was the tiny pink being who,
watched with loving care, lay sleeping in his
lace-trimmed cradle.
Philip heard and saw all these demonstrations
of satisfaction unmoved. It is true his blue
eyes grew deeper and more serious, while his
face thinned and paled daily. When the au-
tumn winds blew rough and piercing, he com-
plained of the cold, and Bassett noticed that
he had a harsh little cough, but nobody else
noticed it. The old butler gave him hoar-
hound drops, but Philip handed them over to
the first small beggar he met, while he drew
his thick little ulster closer around him, glad
that winter had come, for this winter they
would surely take him home. Mrs. Ains-
worth's lungs were delicate, and already they
were talking of going south in the spring. It
must be soon now," Philip said to himself, as
he counted away the weeks, hoping and wait-
ing cheerfully.

ONE day in January, Madam Ainsworth
came down-stairs, wrapped in furs from head
to foot. She was going out for an airing, and
as she stepped into the hall she was surprised
to see Philip sitting before the open fire. He
had drawn a large leather-covered chair close
to the fender, while he leaned back against the
cushion with closed eyes and folded hands.
There was something touching in the boy's
languid position and pale, tired face. Madam
Ainsworth thought him sleeping; but when he
heard her step, he started to his feet, a little
confused and flushed.
"Why, Philip," she said kindly, "are you
cold, that you get so near the fire?"
"I was a little cold-not very," he replied,
trying to smile brightly.

Have you been out to-day ?" she asked.
Looking at him closely, she noticed for the first
time how thin he was.
"No, Madam; I have n't been out. I had
no lessons to-day, but I 'm going for a walk
by and by."
"Would n't you rather go for a drive ? Get
your fur coat and cap, and come with me."
It was not the first time during the winter
that Madam Ainsworth had invited Philip to
drive with her. Since Mrs. Van Norcom went
away she had no one to drive with her every
day, and, rather than to go alone, she sometimes
took Philip. Mrs. Van Norcom had decided
that her health was much better abroad, and
in consideration of that she concluded to make
Paris her permanent home; therefore she, Lu-
cille, the poodle, the governess, and Helen had
left New York soon after the arrival of Mrs.
Ainsworth's little boy. Madam Ainsworth
would have accompanied them had it not
been for her interest in her little grandson,
who, after all, was of greater importance than
the little heiress.
When she invited Philip to go out with her,
the boy rather indifferently went for his coat.
He did not much care for this ceremonious
drive. The park was very dreary now: the
trees were leafless, there was not a vestige of
green, and in all the shady places were little
patches of snow. The ponds were frozen over,
and his birds were gone. They had flown
away south, where he longed to follow them.
As they drove up the avenue near to the
entrance of the park, Philip's attention was
attracted by a group of boys gathered around
a forlorn, ragged little negro. The black mite's
back. was turned toward Philip, his fists were
crammed into his eyes, and he was boo-hooing
loudly. There had been a fight, and evidently
the little ragamuffin had had the worst of it.
Philip was interested instantly, and turned to
stare at the group. Suddenly he started to his
feet, and almost shouted: "It is-it is Lilybel!
Thomas," he cried, seizing the colored coach-
man by the arm, "stop, and let me get out.
It 's Lilybel, and those boys are ill-treating
him. Stop, and let me go, quick!"
Thomas drew up his horses shortly at the
imperative command, and without a word to



Madam Ainsworth, Philip sprang out of the
carriage, and rushed into the group of boys.
The old lady did not know what had hap-
pened until, almost overcome with surprise and
mortification, she saw the boy push through the
throng, who scattered right and left, and clasp
-yes, actually clasp-the hands of the worst-


the fine carriage and hurry toward them, they
scattered instantly, and left Philip and Lilybel
the center of a crowd of curious spectators.
At first the little negro did not recognize
Philip, who almost deluged him with a stream
of questions-" Where did you come from?
How did you get here? When did you come?
Is Seline with you?" and the like, to
which Lilybel replied, still whimpering
and rubbing his eyes:
"Is 't you, Mars' Philip? My, my! I
did n't know 't war you-an' a coat on
like a b'ar. I's done be'n a-huntin' ev'ry-
char I,-r er; : n' v..hat g,':od clo'es yer
got''' and Lil tel l.:,ked at his old
Iri!:nd a-i:lniringly, while
he shivered as


looking specimen of colored humanity that she
had ever seen.
Thomas, with a knowing grin, turned and,
touching his hat, looked at his mistress inter-
"Yes," she said faintly, "go on quickly; the
boy must be insane.".
When the group of rough-looking gamins saw
the handsome, well-dressed boy spring from

much from his joy and excitement as from the
"How did you get here?" repeated Philip,
excitedly; "tell me how you came here."
"I done cum in one o' dem big steamboats.
My ma she gwine ter whip me good 'ca'se--
'ca'se I los' her money. I jes' tuk it ter go ter
er cirkus an' buy some ginge'-pop, an' my ma
she war awful mad; she say she war gwine ter



shake me till I could n't stan', so I jes' run away
an' hid on one of dem bu'stin' big steamboats;
an' I was sick--I was awful sick." And Lilybel
sniffed again at the thought of the miseries of
his voluntary sea voyage.
Oh, Lilybel, you did wrong," said Philip,
reprovingly. "What will poor Seline do ? "
"My ma? I aspects she 's glad 'ca'se I 's
dade; she t'inks I 's dade, 'ca'se I frowed my
jacket an' hat inter der ruver, so she 'd t'ink
I 's drownedd"
"Why, Lilybel, how wicked! I 'm sorry
you were so wicked," cried Philip, greatly
shocked at the depravity of his friend. "But
when was that? How long ago? Tell me
all about it."
Oh, it war las' fall. I 's be'n yere more 'n
a year, an' I's be'n looking' fer yer all der time."
"Where have you been living ever since?"
questioned Philip.
"Over dar," pointing toward the East Side,
"with a colored lady what keeps a boardin'-
house; an' she 's awful mean. She whip me
good 'ca'se I pick up some money on der floor
an' did n't guy it ter her. I foun' it, I did; an'
it war mine. She whip me, an' war er-gwine ter
send fer a p'leeceman, so I run erway, an' I 's
be'n er-lookin' fer you, Mars' Philip."
"Dear me! what a hard time you 've had,
Lilybel," said Philip, sympathetically; "but the
money was n't yours because you found it."
Yes, it war, Mars' Philip. I found' it; I
did n't stole it."
Philip felt that it was useless to try to make
Lilybel understand the difference between meum
and luum; so, looking pityingly at the fluttering
rags and broken shoes, he said; "Well, come
home with me. I '11 ask my mama to give
you some clothes. Don't cry any more; I '11
take care of you. Come on with me."
And Philip, hailing a passing car, ushered
Lilybel into it, and got in himself, as proudly as
though his companion were dressed in purple
and fine linen.
An hour afterward, Philip, all energy and
animation, rushed into Mrs. Ainsworth's room
without even the ceremony of knocking. Oh,
Mama," he cried joyfully, "Lilybel is here! "
"Who is Lilybel ?" asked Mrs. Ainsworth,
surprised and puzzled. She had quite forgotten

the name of the droll little darky who had
brought the basket when Philip came to stay
with them.
"Why, Mama, don't you remember Seline's
Lilybel ? demanded Philip, in a hurt voice.
Oh, yes, I remember now : the little colored
boy in New Orleans."
"Yes, that's the one; he's here, and he has n't
any clothes; he 's ragged and cold. I found
him in the street; he ran away and came here on
a steamer, and he 's been looking for me. Some
boys were fighting him because he had n't any
one to take his part; they hit him after he was
down. Don't you call that mean to hit a fellow
after he 's down? But when they saw me, they
ran away like cowards. If they had n't, I would
have paid them off."
Oh, Philip Would you engage in a street
fight ? asked Mrs. Ainsworth, with some dis-
gust in her voice.
Yes, Mama, I would, if I saw any boy, espe-
cially Lilybel, imposed upon. But say, Mama,
may I give Lilybel some of my clothes -I've
got so many; and may I ask Mr. Butler to give
him some dinner; and can he stay here? "
"Stay here! Philip, why that is impossible.
We have nowhere to put him; and even if we
had, we should have to get Madam Ainsworth's
permission first."
"But he can go in the stable with Thomas.
If I ask Thomas, he will take care of him."
Mrs. Ainsworth looked distressed. Really,
my dear, I don't know what to say until I ask
your papa. You can give the boy the brown
suit you wore last winter, and you may ask Bas-
sett for some food for him; but as to his staying
here I can't give you an answer now. However,
you can take him to the stable for the present."
Philip ran away joyfully to search his ward-
robe, and before another hour Lilybel was trans-
formed into a respectable-looking boy, and
Thomas had consented to allow him to share
his quarters if Madam Ainsworth made no ob-
That evening there was a sound of revelry
in the stable. Philip disappeared directly after
dinner, and Bassett was seen to slip out the back
way with something in a basket covered with a
napkin. Lilybel was in clover, and Philip was
happier than he had been for a long time.


MADAM AINSWORTH did not consent, neither
did she positively refuse, to allow Lilybel to be-
come an inmate of the stable. She simply re-
garded the matter as something beneath her
consideration. For some time everything went
on peacefully, and Philip was delighted with
the excellent conduct of his friend. The only
objectionable feature in the arrangement was
that, in spite of Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth's orders
to the c.murary, Philip I.enr m...s of, is rim.: in
the stable- ..ir! hi- fun lin l tile [r r Kt.; n.. d t
friendly Tli:omi ho, i o.n:i:-t, not c\ tlya ,
conduci'.e t[:, re :iiri.nnr an.:l gooJ mnInllti ,
but there %. as Ii 'i-c rinar *n jbo'it [he
small ra-.::i! thiIt Plilip wouldd ni.t re-
sist. He hI.1 n.-t inrtnd r.. be ihs-
obedienr, t..lt ilni:ost Le- re lie
was awar.- ir he i c;r ...'; r
tingbno I :;n a 1 tl'e .:- .. i- CC
roomchirttrng ib:ur .
his old hom,,, .'
Dea, and ,.'
Seline. '"

it was due to transition,-a transition from af-
fection and interest to neglect and indifference,
from his soft, sunny South to the cold, austere
North, from a simply natural life to one of hot-
house culture and ultra-civilization. He was a
transplanted wild-flower, and the experiment
had not worked well; he did not thrive in the
rich parterre of his new garden.
One day Philip asked Lilybel if he would like
to go home. The little negro grinned and said,


Mrs. Ainsworth, happy and satisfied in her
new motherhood, did not see that the boy was
starving for affection, and that his distaste for
his books and even his drawing, his lassitude
and indifference, were the result of failing health.
She noticed how thin and pale he was, but she
thought he was growing too fast, that his condi-
tion was due to the transition period which she
had spoken of. And she was right in one way:

"Yas, Mars' Philip." Then he added very de-
cidedly: "But I ain't er-gwine ter go t' New
'leens in no steamboat; I 's er-gwine ter walk."
Oh, but it 's too far to walk," returned
Philip. "I guess it would take more than a
week to walk there." He had a very vague idea
of the distance.
"I could git lots o' lifts on dem freight-
trains," returned Lilybel, eagerly; "but I 's


'feared ter go alone. Mars' Philip, why don't
yer run away an' go too ? "
Oh, I would n't run away. I want to go aw-
ful, but I would n't run away. Besides, there 's
no need of it: my papa and mama are going to
take me soon, and you can go with us. I guess
Seline will be glad to see you."
Lilybel hung his head and grinned an affir-
mative, although he was not quite sure that his
"ma" would receive him with rapture.
Shortly after this conversation, and about the
time when Philip thought his long-cherished
hopes were near to being realized, Mr. Ains-
worth was suddenly called away on very urgent
business in the far West, connected with a rail-
road in which not only Madam Ainsworth, but
also the little heiress had large interests, and
again Philip saw the vision of his old home
fade away into an indefinite future.
About this time Lilybel struck up a sudden
intimacy with a bootblack older than himself
and of doubtful character, and he would have
introduced his new chum into the select society
of the stable had Thomas allowed him to do
so. However, Lilybel spent much time with
him, and would remain away for days together.
When he returned he would be half clothed,
dirty, and hungry. This was a severe tax on
Philip's wardrobe as well as on his patience;
but this was not the worst. Often, after these
sudden departures, some little thing would be
missed by the servants -a spoon or fork by
Bassett, a little money by the cook, or some
of the kitchen-maid's jewelry.
Gradually Lilybel had worked his way into
the house- into the kitchen, the pantry, up the
back stairs to Philip's room; and one day,
when Madam Ainsworth found him gravely
examining the articles on her toilet-table, she
said she could endure no more. The visit
to her room accounted for the disappearance,
some time before, of a valuable ring. The boy
was a thief, and he must go, or she would send
for an officer to arrest him.
Philip was in a dreadful state of terror. The
thought of Lilybel being sent to prison was unen-
durable. He could not believe his prot6g6 was
guilty, but he took him aside and lectured him
severely, gave him a fresh supply of clothes and
some of his pocket-money, and bade him go

out and find a place where he could earn his
bread and meat.
Lilybel promised humbly to do as Philip told
him; but in a week he was back, hanging
around the stable in a most forlorn condition.
When Philip was secretly called out to him,
the little rascal was sniffling and shivering with
cold. His warm jacket was gone, and he had
got rid of his shoes. It was freezing, and the
little beggar's bare feet made Philip's heart
ache; he was in despair, not knowing what
to do with his troublesome dependent. There
was only one thing that he could think of, and
that was to beg the soft-hearted Thomas to
smuggle him into the stable again until he
could find some way out of the dilemma.
"I 's mos' starved, I is," was Lilybel's first
complaint when he was once more installed in
the comfortable stable.
Oh, Lilybel, what did you do with the
money I gave you?" said Philip, in a discour-
aged voice. "Why did n't you get something
to eat?"
"I is, Mars' Philip. I's got can' peaches an'
But why did n't you get bread and meat ?"
"'Ca'se I likes can' peaches an' sardines der
What could Philip say to such reasoning?
Again Bassett was taken into the boy's confi-
dence, and again the kind old soul stood by
his little friend, and secretly, and with many
misgivings, furnished food for the hungry
In the house nothing more was heard
of Philip's troublesome prot6ge, and Madam
Ainsworth congratulated herself that she had
got rid of a nuisance-when, one day, as she
approached the entrance to her home, she was
surprised to see a crowd of men and boys
around the steps. Her first thought was of fire
within; but no, their attention seemed to be
centered on something without. When Tho-
mas drew up hurriedly before the door, and
she made her way through the tightly packed
throng, she saw with horror a sign on the upper
step. It was made of the top of a pasteboard
box, and on it was rudely printed with shoe-
blacking: "Wite mise ter sea five sents a site."
Beside the sign was Lilybel, in one of Philip's


best jackets, and near him sat the shoeblack
holding the cage that contained Pare Josef's
"children," while he set forth in a loud voice
the many accomplishments of the tiny creatures,
who, frightened by the strange crowd, raced
and scampered about the cage with astonishing
Madam Ainsworth almost fainted. Thomas,
disperse the crowd," she gasped, as she made
her way up the steps, "and take these away!"
indicating the cage, the sign, and Lilybel.
To the credit of Philip, we will say that he
was with his tutor, and knew nothing about the
exhibition. It was entirely a business arrange-
ment between Lilybel and the shoeblack.

When Madam Ainsworth ferreted out the
truth that Lilybel was again installed in the
stable, and that Philip was aware of it, her
indignation knew no bounds, and for a mo-
ment she came near turning her son's adopted
son and the "children" out of the house
Again, as he had done a year before, Philip
was obliged to plead for the innocent "chil-
dren," but this time with less pleasant results.
The crisis had come, and there was no tempo-
rizing. Lilybel at least must go, and go perma-
nently. As to the fate of the poor children,"
Philip was for a time left in a state of harrow-
ing uncertainty.

(To be continued.)



PHCEBE brings the tea-pot, the tea is all a-steam;
Dolly brings the pitcher filled with golden cream.
Rhoda has the dainty cups rimmed about with blue,
And Polly brings the pretty spoons shining bright as new.
The Baby trips along behind, looking very droll;
And she, the sweetest of them all, brings the sugar-bowl.

VOL. XXI.- 22.

ct: ,


THREE new dolls sat on three little chairs,
Waiting for Christmas day;
And they wondered, when she saw them,
What tthe little girl would say.

They hoped that the nursery life was gay;
And they hoped that they would find
The little girl often played with dolls;
And they hoped that she was kind.

Near by sat an old doll neatly dressed
In a new frock, black and red;
She smiled at the French dolls-"As to that,
Don't feel afraid," she said.

The new dolls turned their waxen heads,
And looked with a haughty stare,

As if they never had seen before
That a doll was sitting there.
" Oh, we 're not in the least afraid," said one
"We are quite too fine and new;
But perhaps you yourself will find that now
She will scarcely care for you."
The old doll shook her head and smiled:
She smiled, although she knew
Her plaster nose was almost gone,
And her cheeks were faded too.
And now it was day; in came the child,
And there all gay and bright
Sat three new dolls in little chairs-
It was a lovely sight.
She praised their curls, and noticed too
How finely they were dressed;
But the old doll all the while was held
S Clasped close against her breast.

S. Katkarine Pyle.




WHEN I was a-walking one day, one day,
I met a wee laddie a-crying away.
"Wee lad, and what's the matter?" quoth I;
Why do you cry and cry and cry?"
"Alas!" he sobbed, "I've lost a penny
Just given me by sister Jenny! "
"Then dry your eyes," quoth I, "nor trouble;
Here are two pennies-I make it double."
The wee lad smiled with pleasure plain,
But soon began to cry again.
What, what! said I, "and still a-sighing ?
Now what's the matter,--with all your crying?"
Alack, good sir!" quoth he, quoth he,
If I had n't lost one, I 'd now have three!"


,,^NE Pqkl



THE German band, in the noonday heat,
Stopped on a corner of the street.
Birkenheimer and Mederwurst
With comets under their arms were first;
Next Schmidt with a clarinet that shone;
Then Hans Von Beck with a great trombone;
While after them there would always come
Little Dutch Fritz with his big bass drum;
And, as the gathering crowd he eyed,
Birkenheimer, the leader, cried:
Vier-finf-led her go!"
Then woompety-woompety-woomp they went,
And folks, wherever they took their stand,
Would always say, when they heard them play,
There was nothing to equal the German band!




Windows flew open at the sound,
And rollicking children waltzed around;
The organ-grinder across the way
Fled with his monkey in wild dismay;
Wagner and Meyerbeer's pleasing tones
Mingled with those of Smith and Jones;
Cheeks swelled to cracking and eyes popped
As bars of music were put to rout.
They gasped a moment for breath, and then
Birkenheimer cried out again:
Ein -zwei drei so!
Vier fiinf-led her go! "
Then bingety-bingety-bing they went,
And folks, wherever they took their stand,
Would always say, when they heard them
There was nothing to equal the German band!

Mrs. Alderman Hogan from her flat
Threw down a dime when they passed the
Mrs. Rafferty never gave a cent,
For it was the day that she paid her rent;



The little Rooneys, who shared alike
In a copper, the gift of their uncle Mike,
Whispered something, and then began
To look for the hoky-poky man;
And Birkenheimer, who shook his head
While counting the proceeds, once more said:

Vier-flinf-led her go!"
Then bangety-bangety-bang they went,
And folks, wherever they took their stand,
Would always say, when they heard them play,
There was nothing to equal the German band!


[WE are indebted to Mr. John P. Spaulding of Boston, and to Helen Keller herself, for permission to print her
letter to Mr. Spaulding, which is here given; and her teacher, Miss Anna M. Sullivan, has kindly sent an interesting
introductory note to accompany the letter. The story of Helen's life has already been told to readers of this mag-
azine in the notable article Helen Keller," written by Mrs. Florence Howe Hall, and printed in ST. NICHOLAS
for September, 1889.-EDITOR.]

IN the letter from Helen Keller here printed,
you will read in her own words that she spent
three weeks in Chicago during the Exposition,
"and had a perfectly splendid time." Thousands
and thousands of American young folk will
share her enthusiasm as they recall the delight-
ful days at the wonderful show, when, seeing it all
and hearing all about it, they took in pleasure
and information at every turn. But little Helen

Keller can neither see nor hear. Everything is
a blank to her until an impression can be made
either through her imagination or through the
deaf and dumb language of the hands and fin-
gers; and even then, in Helen Keller's case,
the words are not seen but felt by her own palm
and fingers as they lightly hold the hand that is
making these signs of words and letters.
The president and the managers of the Ex-


position were exceedingly kind to her, and did
all in their power to make her visit pleasant
and instructive. So widely is she known, and
so general is the interest in her, that wherever
she went she received loving attention. The
task of describing things to her was. made
lighter by the helpful sympathy of the chiefs of
the departments. They gladly permitted her to
pass her fingers over the exhibits whenever it
was possible, and cheerfully gave her all the in-
formation they could. Of course I interpreted
everything to Helen by means of the manual
alphabet. She was allowed even to climb upon
the great Krupp gun, and its workings were ex-
plained to us by one of the German officers.
Everywhere the show-cases were opened for
her, and rare works of art were given to her
for examination.
At the Cape of Good Hope exhibit the great
doors were unlocked, and Helen was admitted
to the realm of diamonds, where everything was
carefully explained to us about the precious
stone: how it is mined, separated from the
matrix, weighed, cut, and set. Wherever it
was possible she touched the machinery, and fol-
lowed the work being done. Then she was
made very happy by being allowed to find a
diamond herself-the only true diamond, we
assured her, that had ever been found in the
United States.
But the French bronzes afforded her more
pleasure than anything else at the Fair. The
picture which she presented as she bent over
a beautiful group, her eager fingers studying
the faces or following the graceful lines of the
figures, in her effort to catch the artists' thought,
was the most touching and pathetic I have
ever seen. And, strange as it may seem to
those who depend upon their eyes for the plea-
sure which they derive from works of art, this
little blind girl, who has not seen the light since
she was nineteen months old, rarely failed to
divine the thoughts which the artists had
wrought into their work.
Constant practice, indeed, has given to
Helen's sense of touch a delicacy and precision
seldom attained even by the blind. Sometimes
it seems as if her very soul were in her fingers,
she finds so much to interest her everywhere.
People frequently said to me at the Fair: "She

sees more with her fingers than we do with our
eyes." And in one of her letters she says, I am
like the people my dear friend Dr. Holmes
tells about, with eyes in their fingers that spy
out everything interesting, and take hold of it
as the magnet picks out iron-filings.'"
Descriptions are to Helen what paintings are
to us; and her well-trained imagination gives
the light and color. One evening, as we sat in
a gondola, I tried to tell Helen how the thou-
sands of tiny electric lights were reflected in
the water of the lagoons, when she asked:
" Does it look as if a shower of golden fish had
been caught in an invisible net? Is it any
wonder that Dr. Holmes says of her, "She is
a poet whose lyre was taken from her in her
early days, but whose soul is full of music ?
So we see, pathetic as Helen's life must
always seem to those who enjoy the blessings
of sight and hearing, that it is yet full of bright-
ness and cheer, of courage and hope.
Sweet Helen, when I think of thee,-
With sightless eye and sealed ear,
Yet pining not in misery,
But with a spirit full of cheer,
Seeing with inward vision clear
The loveliness of earth and sky,-
I blush that mortals blessed as I
So little see, so little hear!


HULTON, PENN., August 18, 1893.
MY DEAR FRIEND: Teacher is very tired,
so I will take upon myself the pleasant duty
of writing to you. I know you are impatient
to hear all about our visit to the World's Fair.
We spent nearly three weeks in Chicago, and
had a perfectly splendid time. We thought of
you very often, and wished that you were with
us, enjoying everything as much as we did.
It was all so grand and marvelous. I am sure
the world has never seen anything half as
beautiful as the Dream City of the West, and
I feel very proud and glad that this dream of
loveliness has been realized in our own dear
country. Of course it would be impossible
for me to tell you in a letter all that we did,
felt, and saw while we were in Chicago; for
we saw innumerable wonders, the works of


man in every country and in all times: mar-
vels of invention; wonderful treasures of skill
and patient industry; and beautiful works of
art, which made us feel, when we touched them,
that the artist's soul was in his hand when he
created them.
We approached the White City the first time
from the lake side, and got our first impression
of the Fair from the peristyle. It was a bright,
clear day; the sky and water were a perfect
blue, making a most beautiful setting for the
Dream City, crowned by the glistening dome
of the Administration Building. Then we
moved slowly up the Court of Honor, pausing
every now and then while the teacher de-
scribed the beautiful scene to me: the groups
of noble buildings; the lagoons dotted with
fast-moving boats; the stately statue of the
Republic; the fluted columns of the peristyle;
and, beyond, the deep, deep blue lake. Oh,
how wonderful it all was Our day was most
delightfully spent in getting a general idea of
the Fair, and trying to understand the new
world in which we found ourselves. Late in
the afternoon, when the day was almost done,
we stepped into a gondola, and made the trip
through the lagoons. The burning sun, as he
sank westward in his golden car, threw a soft
rosy light over the White City, making it
seem more than ever like Fairyland. When
it was quite dark the illuminations began, and
the fountains were all lighted up. Teacher
described everything to me so vividly and
clearly that it seemed as if I could really see
the wonderful showers of light dart up into the
sky, tremble there for an instant, sink and -fall,
like stars, into the depths of the lake. But,
dear friend, the most delightful days must end;
for little girls will get sleepy and tired, even
in Fairyland. While the White City was yet
crowded with eager sight-seers, we returned to
our hotel through the Midway Plaisance, a
most bewildering and fascinating place, the
Home of the Nations. We were greatly
pleased to see all those foreign people we had
read about in history, gathered together in one
place, at peace with one another, and appa-
rently happy in their new homes. At the en-
trance to the Arabian house we saw a dear
little baby boy in his mother's arms, and we

stopped a moment to speak to him. He
greeted us with a bright smile, and looked up
at the strange faces with surprised pleasure.
"Where was the baby born? ". we asked the
mother. "In Damascus," was the reply.
Those words made me start. That far-away
city, with its strange Oriental life, seemed very
near indeed. I felt like sitting down beside
the gentle woman who had the lovely baby,
for there were many questions which I wished
to ask her; but it was late, and to-morrow with
new opportunities and delights was hastening
toward us. So I bade the little Oriental good-
by, and went away, feeling as if I had really
been to Damascus.
In the days that followed we spent many
most enjoyable hours in the Plaisance. Old
Vienna, and the Japanese and Irish villages,
were very interesting and instructive. I did
not like the Turks very well, but the Japa-
nese were gay and amusing. Of course we
rode in the Ferris Wheel. Just think of being
swung two hundred and fifty feet in the air!
No, I was not at all afraid. I liked it. I also
rode on the ice-railway, and had a sail in the
great Whaleback, and enjoyed them both very
much; but I must not stop to tell you about
these things when there is so..much of greater
interest which I wish to tell you, for I saw
a great many of the most wonderful and beau-
tiful things at the Fair. Every one was very
kind to me. The president of the Fair gave
me permission to examine all the exhibits. Was
not that exceedingly kind? Nearly all the
exhibitors seemed perfectly willing to let me
touch the most delicate things, and were good
about explaining everything to me. A French
gentleman showed me the wonderful French
bronzes. I think they gave me more pleasure
than anything else at the Fair: they were so
lifelike and beautiful to my touch. Dear Mr.
Bell went with us himself to the Electrical
Building, and showed us some of the historic
telephones. Dr. Gillett went with us to the
Liberal Arts and Woman's Buildings. In the
former I visited Tiffany's exhibit, and held the
beautiful Tiffany diamond, and touched many
other costly and rare things. I sat in King
Ludwig's arm-chair, and felt quite like a queen
when Dr. Gillett told me that I had many duti-



ful subjects. At the Woman's Building w
the Princess Maria Schaovsky, of Russi
very kind lady. We also met a lovely
eyed Syrian lady. She had such a be-
soft hand, and spoke English perfectly.
Bell and Professor Put-
nam explained the cu-
rious and interesting
things in the Anthro-
pological department
to me. I was especially
interested in the Peru-
vian relics and all that
was told to me about
them. At the time of
the discovery of Amer-
ica, it seems, Peru, like
Mexico, was inhabited
by Indians who were
considerably advanced
in civilization, and who
were governed by a
race of princes called
Incas, whose domin-
ions extended along the
Andes from the United
States to the southern
part of Chile. The life
and achievements of
this strange and almost
forgotten people, as
they are revealed to us
by their pottery, imple-
ments, and sacred al-
tars, are very interest-
ing, and I should like to
knowmore about them.
We spent one very pleasant afternoon
Rabida, which is modeled after the mon
in Spain here Columbus, weary and hi
sought and received shelter for himself a
little son four centuries ago. The kind
detained him for several months, and, b
ing interested in his dreams of discovery
him letters to persons high in authority.
several years of failures and hardships
length returned to La Rabida, bearing a
order that the people should provide hir

vessels and supplies for his journey. When he
came back from America he again visited the
monastery, bearing the news and trophies of
his discovery.
There is a great deal more about which I


in La would like to write, but I fear my letter is get-
astery ting too long, so I will say good-by for the
hungry, present.
nd his We are having a delightful time here, resting
monks and enjoying all the beauty of the place. The
ecom- country has especial attractions for us after the
, gave heat and excitement of Chicago. I do not
After know when we shall leave, but I am anxious
he at to see the dear ones at home.
royal Lovingly, your little friend,

VOL. XXI.- 23.




TED and George were sitting perched on the
fence near the corral. One was whittling, and
the other was punching holes in a strap.
"What are you going to do with that?"
asked Ted.
I 'm going to swing my canteen with it,"
answered George.
"What will you do with a canteen? You
are n't going to march."
Oh, I 'm not, eh? Well, I just am." Ted
stared, and George went on. "You see, Ted,
I 'm bigger than you; I 'm fourteen, and Papa
says I can keep up with the men."
The younger boy resented this.
"I 'm strong, anyway, if I am only eight;
an' I can keep up with you."
"Yes, you might if you did n't have any-
thing to carry; you 're pretty strong for a little
kid. But you see I am going to lug a canteen,
and a knapsack, and my Flobert rifle. You
could n' do that, you know."
"Yes, I could,-that is, if you don't go too
far. How far are you going? "


Oh, 'bout ten miles the first day," an-
swered George, squinting through a hole in
the leather, and exaggerating the distance by
two miles, to.add to the effect. "Yes, 'bout
ten or 'leven miles. Not much of a walk for a
big fellow like me, but it would be too much
for a little kid like you-a little kid like you-
a li-it-tle ki-id li-ike you-ou-ou !" he sang, with
an exasperating ring of conscious superiority in
his voice.
"It would n't, either," retorted Ted. I
could do it."
"You could, could you ? But you won't-
you would n't dare try it."
"I will try it," said Ted,-" that is, if mama
will let me," he added on second thoughts.
And he scrambled to the ground, with bliss-
ful disregard of stocking-knees and splintered
Ted's sorrel bronco was grazing near, and
the little boy was on his saddleless back in an
instant, and tearing off at a dead run. A ner-
vous recruit held his breath as Ted went over


logs and ditches, but the older soldiers only
watched him admiringly, knowing that nothing
could unseat the Captain's boy."
Ted drew up before his father's quarters, and
ran into -the house shouting, Mama Mama! "
Finding her in the garden, without pausing for
breath he began: "Please, Mama, can't I go ?
George says I 'm not strong enough; but it's
not far-only ten miles. I can, can't I ?"
Can what, Ted dear? Come, calm your-
self, and don't switch the heads off those asters.
Can you do what? I don't understand."
"Why, this: You know that the infantry is
ordered off, and is going to march to-morrow
morning. George 's papa is a 'doughboy'-
that's what we cavalry fellows call the infantry-
men-and he is to go; and he is going to let
George march along with the men. May n't
I march, too? It is. n't far-only ten miles
the first day, and the ambulance will come
back from the camp. I can ride back in that
at night. May n't I-please?"
Do you think you could walk that far,
Ted ? was the reply. "I think it is not more
than eight miles, but I doubt if my boy could
stand the midsummer heat for so many hours.

S tle a kid-but I 'm not,

GEORGE." you could do it. What
you make up your mind to, you are sure to do.
Yes, you may go," said his mother.

Ted thanked her joyously, and hastened
back to George with the news that he was
going. George said he was very glad, and
called him old fellow," and the golden-haired
little cavalryman felt very important, indeed;
he felt that he had grown at least two inches,
and he strode to and fro accordingly.
It was quite early the next morning when the
companies started off to the sound of the fife
and drum,-hardly more than eight o'clock, and
the sun had not yet made itself felt. Ted and
George were with the privates, determination
and pride showing in every line of their bright
young faces. Each had a canteen slung over
his shoulder, a knapsack on his back, and his
Flobert rifle at "shoulder arms." There was
nothing but water in those canteens, nothing
but hardtack and fried bacon in those knap-
sacks. Their mothers had suggested lemonade
and sandwiches, but the boys had scorned the
idea; they would carry only what the soldiers
carried, and claim no luxuries besides.
It was very nice for the first mile or two,
then the rifles began to feel heavy, and they
put them at support." They both wanted a
drink, but an old soldier told them that they
must not touch water on the
march, or they would "play
out." So they closed their
lips and tried not to mind
the heat and dust; but it was
-,- a severe test, and George, it
S must be owned, gave in first.
I I" I can't stand it any longer; I must
have just a sip of water," he told the
S old soldier.
So the boy took a long draught and fell
into step again. Ted ground his teeth and put
temptation from him; it was very hard, but by
and by he did n't mind so much, though he
was very hot. He walked mechanically, and
grasped his Flobert nervously.
Soon George actually gave a groan and ex-
claimed, "Well, I can't stand this canteen any
longer; it 's too heavy. You carry it, Smith;
will you, please? "
The soldier took it and then turned to the
little cavalryman, whose bright curls were moist
and dull with the dust. "Shall I carry yours
too, old man ? "


"No, thank you; I guess I can keep it,"
gasped he, and he trudged bravely along.
That youngster has plenty o' grit," muttered
Smith to the man next him in the line.
At the end of the fifth mile, George turned
his rifle and knapsack over to the soldier, but
still Ted held tight to his. He was quite pale

marched seven miles in the scorching Arizona
sun. George dropped under a tree and took a
long drink from the canteen. Ted drew a long
breath, a quivering breath, and then -every-
thing grew black.
When he came to, there was a corporal bend-
ing over him and bathing his face. He was


now, and there were blue rings under his eyes;
but he politely refused all offers of aid, for the
words a little kid like you echoed in his ears,
so he kept step as at first. Then came the big
boy's crowning humiliation. He had to take
the hand of the soldier next to him to keep up.
Ted felt a great longing to stop and fling him-
self down upon the ground, but he choked back
what was nearly a sob.
At last came the welcome halt. They had

in Smith's arms, and surrounded by quite a
group of soldiers. You were just a little tired,
Ted, and you went to sleep," the corporal told
him; and then, drawing George aside, he whis-
pered to him, If you ever let that brave little
fellow know that he fainted, I '11 make things
lively for you!"
You see, George, it was very hot," said Ted
a little later. But I did pretty well for a 'little
kid,' and a cavalryman at that, did n't I ? "



- -. o

-tftM ,'
- p .r~~


~b~-. ~

~Ya .a :

.-. ? -, --


-cY1~JT L'



YOUR JACK has talked with you so often of the
holly with its bright red berries, and the mistletoe
with its waxen white ones-and of Christmas carols,
and waits, and Yule logs, and all sorts of delightful
things pertaining to the coming day of days, that
this time there should be a change. Therefore is
he content heartily to wish you, one and all, this
good thing: a bright, beautiful, merry Christmas,
ample in itself, but most rich in the comforts and
joys you may give to others, and poor only in such
thoughts and feelings as are not worth having at
any time o' year.
Now, my rosy runners and tumblers, my skaters,
sliders, coasters, and snowballers, my bicyclers,
pitchers, and good-timers !- what say you to enter-
ing the United States navy just far enough to hear
this true account written for you by Ensign Philip
Andrews? He calls it
WHO would think that a rooster could become a
great pet on board ship? But on the flag-ship
"Chicago," the man-of-war which last spring
traveled almost six thousand miles to get home for
the Columbian naval parade, there was a rooster
that was the pet of all the men on board ship. He
was bought in the West Indies, on the way to
Montevideo, and was intended for the Christmas
dinner; but his great cheerfulness, as shown by his
hearty crowing in the most unseasonable weather,
won him his life.
After his liberty had been given to him, and he
had become fairly tame, he noticed one day another
very proud rooster in a polished brass ventilator
which stands on the quarter-deck. He immedi-
ately put on his proudest air; then, noticing that
the other rooster did the same, he stepped closer
to inquire, and soon found himself glaring pug-
naciously at that other fellow, who seemed quite

as defiant as himself. From looks it came to blows,
and soon our rooster was indignantly fighting his
own reflection. Occasionally he would strike the
ventilator a very haid blow with his bill and be
thrown back much astonished, only to return to
the attack when he noticed that his enemy appa-
rently retreated.
This was kept up at intervals for several weeks,
until the rooster learned that more hard knocks
than glory were to be got by keeping up the feud.
Even now, after many months on board, he occa-
sionally renews the attack, but in a half-hearted
way, as if he knew he was doing something silly.
His name is "Dick," and when there is food
ahead he answers to it like a gentleman. At
Ensenada, in the Argentine Republic, the Chi-
cago lay alongside the dock in the Grand Canal,
and Dick was allowed to run on shore and pick up
what he could find. He never strayed far from the
gangway, and would come proudly strutting back
when called on board by one of the men.
He is a very pugnacious bird, and in Ensenada
started a fight between a dog and himself. The
combat, witnessed by the whole ship's company,
while productive of no harm to either side, was a
most amusing sight, and consisted of dashes at the
dog with occasional real blows on the part of the
rooster, and much barking and running about on
the part of the dog.

DEACON GREEN tells me that buffaloes are every
day becoming more and more scarce. The larger
herds which once roamed our western country are
gone, and even stragglers are very few. Before
many years their great shaggy heads will quite dis-
appear from the plains unless the hunters, to a
man, consent to spare their lives.
Buffalo-robes," I am informed once were sold
in the West for a dollar apiece. They are now worth
twenty dollars or more; and a stuffed buffalo-head
cannot be bought for less than seven or eight times
that sum."
The buffaloes -poor fellows !-probably are not
as much elated by this fact as the hunters may sup-
pose. You see, it is a poor consolation for the loss
of one's life and freedom, to have one's very expen-
sive head stuffed and hung up against a wall.

DEAR JACK: There is a question I should like to have
answered-one that has tried our family for a very long
while. Of course the dear Little Schoolma'am has
heard it before, but many of your readers may not be
familiar with it.
It is this: Would it be possible for a man to walk
around a tree on which is a squirrel, without walking
around the squirrel ? I think it would; but many do
not agree with me. My reasons for believing that the
man does not walk around the squirrel are: first, if
they begin to move at the same time, and move at the
same relative rate of speed as they are facing each other,
their position toward each other is not changed-and
they have neither of them been around the other; for
would n't it be impossible to get around i .-- ;rh.
out changing your position toward it? Secondly, as


the man has never gone past the back of the squirrel,
or even seen it, and as the dictionaries' definitions of
" around" are encircling," "encompassing on every
side," and the man has not encircled the squirrel on
every side (he has not been behind him), therefore the
man has not been around the squirrel.
Yours respectfully,

What say you on this matter, my hearers? I
never tried to run around a squirrel myself, though
many a squirrel has run around me. Think out
an answer to C. L.'s query, if you can; and if you
cannot do this, my birds suggest that some fine
day you and a lively squirrel take a trial trip to-
gether into the subject.

HERE comes your good friend J. C. Beard--
this time, as usual, with a new picture drawn for
you from life, and an account of its subject, also
written for you, my dear crowd of beholders and
MONKEYS, as a rule, certainly as we in America
know them,--are not distinguished for good man-
ners, beauty, or tidiness, and surely not for ele-
gance or grace. Yet now we have a new species
to consider: a monkey possessed of all these good
qualities, yet playful and active as any of its frisky
kindred. For its introduction we are indebted
to Dr. Abbott, of Philadelphia, who discovered
it recently at Mount Kilima-Njaro, in the east-
ern part of equatorial Africa, and brought back to
America the fine specimens which are shown in

t .

this picture. Not only are these monkeys neat,
quiet, and well-behaved, but they are among the
most beautiful of animals, and they are said to take
the greatest care not to soil or to injure the beau-
tiful coat of long hair with which they are adorned.
The drapery of silky, silvery-white hair begins at
the shoulders, extends along the sides of the body,
and meets over the lower part of the back. When
the animal springs swiftly from one bough to an-
other the floating of this beautiful mantle gives it
the appearance of being winged. The chin, throat,
temples, sides of the head, and a band above the
eyes are also white; the rest of the body is covered
with soft, glossy, jet-black fur. The tail, which is
unrivaled by that of any other monkey in the world,
is fringed with pure white hair that glistens like
spun glass, and the hair gradually increases in
length as it approaches the tip, where it droops
like a festoon of silvery grasses.
The five brought here by Dr. Abbott and pre-
sented to the Smithsonian Institution are with one
exception, it is believed, the only specimens that
have ever been seen outside the native home of the
animal. The caudatus, as this species has been
named, belongs to a remarkable genus of so-called
thumbless monkeys which have in the last ten
years furnished millions of victims to the goddess
Fashion. Their beautiful skins have been so greatly
in demand for robes, capes, and muffs that the
whole race is in danger of extinction. The species
most valued for this purpose is Colobus guyereza
of Abyssinia, a species nearly related to the cau-
datus, and resembling it considerably, though not
nearly so beautiful.

.WYIS-. ., ..



GooD morrow, my lads and maidens;
Good morrow, kind people all!
I 'm bidden by dear old Santa Claus
To make you a little call.


And, knowing your gracious courtesy,
I leave you a card to say:
"Remember the little ones of the poor
On the bountiful Christmas Day!"



'ERE 's all our leetle vamily--
Myzelf and zisters two.
Big Rychie's eyes don't open vide,
And leetle Katzie's do.

Katzie 's zo zlow and plump-y!
And Rychie 's grown zo tall!
But all the zense she has n't got
You vood not miss at all.

Ve 'd be a vunny family
If it vos not for me;
For I 'm the only boy ve have,
And zmartest of the three.

41 1. -=


GooD morrow, my lads and maidens;
Good morrow, kind people all!
I 'm bidden by dear old Santa Claus
To make you a little call.


And, knowing your gracious courtesy,
I leave you a card to say:
"Remember the little ones of the poor
On the bountiful Christmas Day!"



'ERE 's all our leetle vamily--
Myzelf and zisters two.
Big Rychie's eyes don't open vide,
And leetle Katzie's do.

Katzie 's zo zlow and plump-y!
And Rychie 's grown zo tall!
But all the zense she has n't got
You vood not miss at all.

Ve 'd be a vunny family
If it vos not for me;
For I 'm the only boy ve have,
And zmartest of the three.

41 1. -=

(A Story in "Dictionary Language.")


BEING easily exsuscitated, and an amnicolist
fond of inescating fish and broggling, with an
ineluctable desire for the amQlition of care, I
took a punt and descended the river in a
snithy gale. The water being smooth, I felt I
could venture with incolumity, as I was fa-
miliar with the obuncous river.
Having broggled without result, I rowed to-
ward an eyot, intending merely to quiddle,
when I suddenly saw a haokee. Wishing to
capture him, I decided to circumnavigate and
take him unaware. Landing, I derned myself
where I could see the hackee deracinating
grass. He discovered me and skugged behind
a tree, occasionally protruding his noll.
Seizing a stick, I awaited the caput. When
the neb appeared, I feagued him. The hackee,
which is pedimanous, tried to climb the bole.
He seemed sheepish, and I suspected him of
some michery, especially as his cheeks seemed
ampullaceous. I caught him by the tail, and
he skirled. Though he was sprack, I held on
with reddour, and tried finally to sowle him.
The hackee looked soyned and tried
to scyle. I belabored him and
he cleped, making vigor-
ous oppugnation, and
evidently longing
for divagation. /

Then a pirogue approached" and an agricultor
landed. This distracted the hackee and I sowled
him, but dropped him because he scratched so.
I vowed to exungulate him when caught.
Borrowing a fazzolet, I tried to yend it over
the hackee's head, as a means of occecation.
The agricultor aided. He was not attractive,
seeming crapulous and not unlike a picaroon.
He had a siphunculated dinner-pail, which
looked as if he had been battering it while pug-
ging. But with a stick and some string he
made a gin, and tried to make the hackee bis-
son. This caused quinching by the hackee,
who seized the coadjutor's hallux. Thus exas-
perated, the agricultor captured the hackee,
without any migniardise; but he glouted over
the bite, and his rage was not quatted until
the hackee was a lich. Carrying it to the
punt, I sank into a queachy spot, which
delayed me until the gale obnubilated the
While removing the pelage, I found the
lich somewhat solid because the swinker had
feagued the hackee, an so I ended
the lich away, went to market,
and supped upon a
spitchcock, and
a hot bisk.


VOL. XXI.-24.



SANTA CLAUS'S letters begin to pour into the general
post-office as early as December I, and the flow increases
daily. Mr. E. P. Jones, of the dead-letter department,
who takes charge of all the mail addressed to the merry
old gentleman, says he never saw anything like this
year's work before. Mr. Jones ought to know, for he
has handled Santa Claus's mail for the past twenty
A very general notion prevails, Mr. Jones says, among
young folks who have occasion to communicate with
Santa Claus, that his home is in this city, despite the
fact that he is constantly pictured driving a reindeer to
a sledge over a snow-bound country covered with fir-
trees. For this reason nearly all of his letters go through
the local post-office, and are forwarded by Mr. Jones and
his able assistants to the Washington dead-letter office,
where, it is presumed, they are opened by Santa Claus's
private secretary.
The letters come from all over the country. It is
curious to note that most of them come from places out-
side of New York. Perhaps the reason for this is that
there are so many Christmas charities in this city that
the fear of Santa Claus not putting in an appearance at
the appointed time is not so keenly felt here as in some
other places.
It is interesting to look over Santa Claus's mail. Of
course you cannot open it, any more than you would be
allowed to open the mail of any other private or public
citizen. The addresses are so curious, and written with
such evident pains, and the parenthetical remarks, which
are often added as a last reminder on the envelops, so
appealing, and there is such an air of confidence and
sincerity about them all, that it is not necessary to exam-
ine the contents for entertainment.
Santa Claus, Mr. Jones says, is an idol worshiped by

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

the rich and poor alike, as you would very soon know
if you glanced over his mail. The letters come in all
sorts of envelops, and some of them in none at all.
There are delicately tinted letters with crests on the
back, from children who plead for a pony or a carriage;
and there are the letters of another sort, from desti-
tute little ones, who plead with good Mr. Santa Claus for
a stocking full of candy or a rattle for the baby. The
granting of these widely different requests would afford
equal satisfaction to either receiver, as it would, no
doubt, to Mr. Claus also.
Eighteen letters for Santa Claus were received at the
New York post-office one morning. No two were di-
rected exactly alike. The first was the most direct, and
was the only one in which a definite address was given.
Here it is:
444 Cherry street,
New York.

This was written in a scrawling hand, but the number
was quite plain. It was probably the only one of the
lot that did not go directly to the dead-letter office.
There was the name, a definite number on a definite
street in a definite city, and in the lower left-hand corner
was the regular United States two-cent postage-stamp.
So the letter was given to the proper carrier, who took it
to the Cherry street address. When it came back this
legend was stamped in red ink across the face:


There is something realistic in the word "removed."
It shows at least that the post-office folks are not skeptical
in the belief that Santa Claus had his home at 444 Cherry
street. If this be true, some young persons will think it
was very careless in the old gentleman not to leave his
new address. But he is so busy at this time of the year
that he may have forgotten it.
One letter, dated at Haverstraw, was addressed like
this on a thick, creamy envelop:

P. S.- If not called for by Xmas, please return.

"* --"I


This was the only one in which Mr. Claus was ad-
dressed familiarly. But perhaps he and the writer are
old friends, which does not seem improbable, judging
from the quality of the envelop and the seal on the
back. The letter will have to be sent to Washington
with the others, if not called for, owing to the absence
of a return address.
The majority of the letters are addressed strangely.
There are numerous variations in the spelling of Claus,
and not a few, probably Germans, write it with a K.
Here are two examples:

New York City.

This is dated from Stanfordville, N. Y. It is not quite
so fervent as the next:

Bring this to Dear Santa

Such a touching appeal as this the postmaster thought
he could not fail to respond to.
Sometimes, when the envelop is carelessly sealed, or
when there is no envelop at all, the missive being held
in shape merely by the stamp, it comes apart and the
contents are disclosed. Under these circumstances it is,
the authorities think, perhaps permissible to read them.
Under any other, there would be a manifest impropriety
in prying into the confidences of these youngsters.
There was one such letter this morning. It came
folded and turned down at one corner, and the stamp
was placed so as to hold the folded corner down. It read
as follows :
DEAR MR. SANTA CLAUS: I only want a pare of skates
for Crissmas and if it aint cold a sled will do My old ones
bust. If they aint no snow I would like anything you
think of.' My mamma says you are poor this year.
Yours truly, C- N--.


THE chronicles of the Pilgrims, describing their arri-
val in Cape Cod bay, in December, 162O, refer briefly
to the first Christmas spent by them in America; and
what was done in Plymouth village the next Christmas is
described in the quaint language of Governor Bradford:

On ye day called Christmas-day, ye Govr. called
them out to work (as was used), but ye most of this
new company excused themselves and said it went
against their consciences to work on ye day. So ye
Govr. told them that if they made it matter of conscience,
he would spare them till they were better informed. So
he led away ye rest and left them, but when they came
home at noon from their work, he found them in ye
street at play, openly, some pitching ye barr, and some
at stoole-ball, and such like sports. So he went to them

and took away their implements and told them that was
against his conscience, that they should play and others
work. If they made ye keeping of it mater of devo-
tion, let them kepe their houses, but there should be no
gaming or revelling in ye streets.


IN connection with the holly, which figures so con-
spicuously in all our Christmas decorations, we find a
quaint old conceit chronicled, that every holly bough
and lump of berries with which you adorn your house is
an act of natural piety as well as beauty, and will, in
summer, enable you to relish that green world of which
you show yourself not unworthy. In Germany and
Scandinavia the holly, or holy tree, is called "Christ's
thorn," from its use in church decorations, and because
it bears its berries at Christmas-tide. The loving senti-
ment imprisoned in the holly bough and translatable
into every language can hardly be more happily ex-
pressed than in Charles Mackay's verses, Under the
Holly Bough":
Ye who have scorned each other,
Or injured friend or brother,
In this fast-fading year;
Ye who by word or deed
Have made a kind heart bleed,
Come, gather here !
Let sinned against and sinning
Forget their strife's beginning,
And join in friendship now;
Be links no longer broken,
Be sweet forgiveness spoken,
Under the holly bough.

To Germany the civilized world is indebted for one of
the most enjoyable of all Christmas delights, the Christ-
mas tree. This custom was little known in England
before the marriage of Queen Victoria, and was, we be-
lieve, introduced by the late Prince Consort. We call
it a gift from Germany, and yet, behind the quaint fig
ure of Kris Kringle, coming from the snowy woods,
with the tree rising high above his genial shoulders,
laden with gifts and glittering with lanterns, as he sud-
denly invades the lowly German cottage on kindly er-
rand bent, we see the yet more ancient toy pine-tree,
hung with oscilla, which boys and girls in ancient Rome
looked for on the sixth and seventh days of the Satur-
nalia. But we who are not antiquaries are content to
accept these pretty customs, come whence they may, and
to improve on them if we can. A wide gulf is fixed be-
tween the Puritanic days, when Christmas was frowned
upon as a remnant of evil superstition, and to-day, when
nothing is too rare or good for the making of our homes
bright and our sanctuaries beautiful in honor of the
Author of the Christian Feast. Wherever civilized
man is found, there, in one'form or another, we find
the tokens of adoration and gratitude.
New York Evening Post.


PERHAPS the title and meaning of the poem, "The
House on the Rath," may not be quite clear to all our
readers without a word of explanation. The rath is
a ring-shaped mound where fairies are supposed by the
Irish peasantry to hold their dances.
The term "boreen," which occurs later in the same
poem, is explained in the dictionary to be a shortened
form of the Irish word blthar, a road (pronounced biker),
with the ending in (pronounced een), meaning little.
The word boreen, therefore, means a little road, or nar-
row lane.

many letters from your readers that
I feel as though I should write also
and tell you how delightful I think
your magazine is.
I have taken you for many years,
and I don't think I could get on with-,
out you. I have just come home
from a visit to the beautiful" White
City," and I feel as though I have
seen the world. The grounds are
lovely, and I think the buildings
handsomer than anything I have
seen in Europe. I felt so proud
as I walked through the rows of
State buildings and saw the "Old
Liberty Bell" in the Pennsylvania
building! I can see it every day,
as I walk down Chestnut street;
but out there, guarded by men, I
felt it my duty to push my way in
and get a peep at the old bell.
On Pennsylvania day the Fair
was crowded to see our gallant City
Troops; and the Old Liberty Bell
looked its best with the Stars and
Stripes flying overhead. I look
forward with the greatest pleasure
to the coming of ST. NICHOLAS,
and it is a great delight when I
see you waiting for me when I
have come from school.
Always your devoted reader,

the oldest, and the only girl of a
family of six. Just think! -five
others, and all of them boys !
We live right in the midst of an
orange orchard, and so we have as
many oranges as we care to eat.
The orchard is irrigated almost
every three months, and though

the boys enjoy it, Mama does n't, because every boy, ex-
cept the baby, is sure to come from playing in the orchard
with damp feet and very muddy clothes.
No one knows that I am writing, and if this letter is
published, they will be very much surprised. Wishing
you a long and prosperous life, I am (like the little girl
in the February number),
Your "ever reader,"

WE are sure our readers will enjoy Miss Virginia
Woodward Cloud's charming song "Old Christmas,"
which is printed on page 112 of this number; and we
gladly give space here to the full score of the music.


tossed them holly in hall and cot, And bade them right go

_-_-- qg- =---= =---- = -=

stayedme not in an yspot, ForI'dtravel'daroundth,


bring the Christmas joy,my dears, To your eyes so bnnuie

.. : _-r

mistle-toe bough for you, my dears, A mis-tie-toe bough
^ --


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a young American girl
from New York, and my two sisters and I are at a French
boarding-school. We came to Geneva to study French.
I think Geneva is one of the most charming places I
ever saw; the lake is such a wonderful blue, and the lateen
sails are so picturesque. On our way to Geneva we
stopped at Heidelberg, where we saw some students with
their faces marked with scars which they had received in
duels. One day last August we went up the lake with
our parents to Chillon. We went through the castle of
Chillon, and saw the stone pillar to which Bonnivard was
chained for six years, and the place where his feet had
worn the stone away; we saw the names of Byron, Vic-
tor Hugo, Shelley, and several other well-known writers
cut in the walls and pillars. We also saw the bedrooms
of the old Dukes of Savoy. It was a very interesting
visit. We took ST. NICHOLAS for several years in
America, and we have it sent to us here. It seems like
a bit of home, and we enjoy-your lovely stories so much.
Your sincere well-wisher,

-i summer in a beautiful camp on theedge
of Lake Asquain. I have been at Pine-
Od cheer, But hurst (that is the name of the camp)
four years. There are four little chil-
dren here, counting myself. There are
two boys and two girls. We have a
great deal of fun going in bathing. My
- brother is teaching me how to swim.
We go on picnics, and have such fun!
We can see the "lone pine" that Mr.
Whittier wrote about. We go on hay-
S-- rides. Sometimes we get covered by
the hay: then we all scramble. I am
year To ten years old. Your little reader,
NINA B. F- .

S DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken
you only one year, but am very fond of
--^ you. I like "The White Cave" best,
and also like "From Montresa to San
Mateo," in the July number.
..d I was eight years old the 17th of July,
andrue; a and my brother was five the same day.
He says a good many funny things; the
other day he said he felt of the cat's
We had a big rain here last week,
which is so unusual that we enjoyed
_.wading in the mud and water. It has
not rained much for two years.
I -' I look eagerly for your coming every
month, and hope you '11 always come.
Your devoted reader and friend,
RoY M. W-

for you

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.
PHILIS DAMAIN (thirteen years).

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have spent my summer holi-
day at the quaint old island of Nantucket, where I went
fishing on the jetty and saw the eels whisking through
the rocks as they passed my hook; and if fishes wore
coats, I would say they were laughing in their sleeves
at the thought of being caught by a city boy. I went to
the county fair, and as I am no judge of cattle I will let


them pass, and tell you about the foot-race and the po-
tato-race. The boys that ran took off their shoes, some
took off their stockings, and some ran with their heavy
boots on; but the winner, when he got to the goal, was as
white as a sheet from running so far and fast.
Then there was a potato-race; ten boys competed for
that, and each one carried a pail. There were ten piles
of potatoes, ten potatoes in each pile, and a boy stationed
at each pile, so as to see that the boy did not take more
than one potato at a time. Then a man dropped a bag,
and they all started off at full speed, but after a few po-
tatoes were taken, they began to run slower.
SAfter the race was finished, a cart came with some
lemonade for the boys. Then they had a "free-to-all
race" of horses, and it was very exciting. The man
that won was a New Bedford man, and he had a carriage
with pneumatic tires, and a fine black horse.
Yours truly, ARTHUR S- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, eleven years
old. We have taken you long before I was born. I
think you are the very nicest magazine I know of.
I will tell you that I have a dear little fox-terrier.
She is very gentle with the family, but any one else that
comes in the house she takes a hold of their toes and

trips them up. A very funny thing happened the other
day. I was going out driving with my pony Stella "; I
did not want Lallah," the little dog, to come with me, so
I put her upon a chair at ten o'clock, and at one o'clock,
when I got home, I heard something crying. I went
out, and there she was on the chair. I had told her not
to get down, and she was afraid to disobey me.
I am your devoted reader,

WE have received a special budget of interesting and
neatly written letters from a number of pupils of the
District School of Germantown, California. Each letter
is accompanied by a corrected version of the misspelled
tale printed in "Jack-in-the-Pulpit" in ST. NICHOLAS
for September, and the names of the writers are: A. A.
Rehse, F. E. Lutts, Henry Runge, Henry Henricksen,
Dora Jansen, Lena Runge, Amanda Lohse, Minnie
Schluter, Martha Hill.

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Emma F. 0., Ger-
trude J., Sadie G. N., Veronica S., Linda S., Etta T.,
G. A. L., Elsie C., Ethel H. L., Bessie B., Margaret M.,
Verne H. P., F. K. M., James V. M., Julia E. H., Ha-
zel K., Ruth W., H. F. S., Nellie H. McC., Marguerite
and May, Edith L. V.

TEDDY: "Wait Wait! I'll be down in a minute!"


HIDDEN FISHES. I. Opah. 2. Perch. 3. Bass. 4. Skate. 5. Bo- WORD-BUILDING. E, Ed, end, send, rends, drones, ponders,
nito. 6. Sole. 7. Shad. 8. Angler. 9. Barbel. Carp. pounders, ponderous.
ANAGRAM. Benvenuto Cellini. NUMERICAL ENIGMA. Language is the armory of the human
CENTRALACROSTIC. Cornwallis. Cross-words: yaCht. 2. slOth. mind, and at once contains the trophies of its past, and the weapons
3. shRew. 4. wiNch. 5. faWns. 6. ovAte. 7. MaLay. 8. beLts. ofits future conquests.
9. swine. xo. haSte. WORD-SQUARE. I. Plant. 2. Liver. 3. Avise. 4. Nests. 5. Tress.
PI. O'er these low meadows hangs a spell DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Stalactites; finals, Stalagmites.
That holds a strange, poetic charm: Cross-words: I. Stones. 2. Turquoise. 3. Amethyst. 4. Lapis-
I hear it in the far cowbell lazuli. 5. Aluminium. 6. Crag. 7. Tufa. 8. Interval. 9. Terra-
As vagrant cattle seek the farm. cotta. o1. Everest. Ii. Slates.
E'en in these bleak November days HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Willows. Cross-words: I. Showers.
There's gladness for the heart that heeds. 2. Sting. 3. Ale. 4. L. 5. Dog. 6. Sower. 7. Chasing.
The marsh to me no gloom conveys, DIAMONDS CONNECTEDBYA CENTRAL SQUARE. I. i. D. 2. Beg.
Though the grey frost be on the weed Begum. 4. Degrees. 5. Guest. 6. Met. 7. S. II. F. Pat.
HEXAGON. x. Talc. 2. Areas. 3. Leered. 4. Caramel. 5. Sem- 3. Pasha. 4. Fastens. 5. Theft. 6. Ant. 7. S. III. I. Poser.
ble. 6. Delve. 7. Leer. 2. Ochre. 3. Sheaf. 4. Erase. 5. Refer. IV. I. F. 2. Cab.
PRIMAL ACROSTIC. Tiny Tim. Cross-words: i. Thyme. 2. In- 3. Canal. 4. Fanatic. 5. Bathe. 6. Lie. 7. C. V. I. F. 2. Dew.
dia. 3. Naiad. 4. Youth. 5. Thick. 6. Italy. 7. Murre. 3. Demon. 4. Femoral. 5. Worry. 6. Nay. 7. L.
C. B. S. AND OTHERS: Any one, whether a regular subscriber or not, is at liberty to send puzzles to the Riddle-box. Those that
cannot be used will be returned, if a stamp is inclosed.
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 SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, before September r5th, from Helen Gertrude Carter-
L. O. E.-Helen McCleary Mama and Jamie-" M. McG."-" The Wise Five" and Bessie -" Infantry "-Josephine Sherwood -
Ida Carleton Thallon Uncle Mung- Chester B. Sumner-Paul Rowley-Paul Reese -" Highmount Girls "-G. B. Dyer- E. M.
G.-Jo and I.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER were received, before September x5th, from Eva Lavino, I--Florence Guil-
landers, i--Carrie Chester, 2- Elaine S., 3-" Stubbs Isabel," i--David Asch, i-Grace Isabel, i Laura Sanford, i--Edna M.
Barrows, i Jennie Wiles, 3-" Massachusetts," -" Lady Clermont," I Maud E. Palmer, 9 -"Allan-a-dale," L. H. K., i -
Ruth Henry, i Mama and Helen, i- M. Louise Davis, i K. C. H., Geo. S. Seymour, 3- M. A. H., 4- Helen Herbert, 3-
Eleanor O. and Nettie D., I Floy and Elsie, i Two Little Brothers, 3 Robin T., 8 Eloy, 2 Adele S., i Clara M. Ebert, I- J.
Hanson Coburn, i Eva and Bessie, 8 Betty C., I Helen and Almy, I Leonard and Kathie Worcester, 2 Mama and Sadie, 5 -
Margaret Buckingham, i--Gail Ramond, 8-Vincent V. M. Beede, 5-Edwin Rutherford, i--Ethel et Cie, 7-"Morleena Ken-
wigs," 7-Hubert L. Bingay, 7-Jessie Chapman, 9- Marion and May, i-Eric Ross Wainwright, 2-Emelie G. Stevenson, i.


MY primals and finals, when read in connection, spell
what we hope to give our readers henceforth.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length): -I. To collect into a
mass or heap. 2. A certain popular game at cards. 3. A
Norwegian poet and dramatist. 4. A famous city of
India. 5. Moral. 6. To disconcert. 7. The middle
name of an American essayist and philosopher. 8. To
abolish. 9. The Australian bear. o1. Passages out of


CREMBEDE prods on wake, gritlenen rate,
Yb rou donf semrum hispymates sanerend;
Ron form het freptec cleric fo eht yare
Nac veen triswen saltery megs eb drapse.


ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When these are rightly guessed and placed
one below another, in the order here given, the zigzag,
beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell a name
given by the old Greeks and Romans to the Rock of
Gibraltar and the opposite mountain of Jebel Zatout.
CRoss-WoRDS: I. To repair clumsily. 2. A mascu-
line name. 3. A beautiful white flower. 4. To utter
harsh rebuke. 5. A lady beloved by Petrarch. 6. A
place arranged for playing the game of tennis. 7. En-
dangers. 8. To vaunt one's self. 9. A made-up story
intended to enforce some useful precept. Io. In advance.
II. To cut off. 12. A map. 13. A garment worn by

the ancient Romans. 14. To treat with contempt.
15. Very cold. 16. A tropical fruit. 17. A cavalry
sword. M. D. G.



I 2

5 6


FROM I to 2, marked by a wound; from I to 3, up-
braided; from 2 to 3, hung loosely downward; from
4 to 5, half of a military company; from 4 to 6, an asso-
ciate in business; from 5 to 6, pertaining to a nodule.


I. I. MYSELF. 2. A verb. 3. Wickedness. 4. A
symbol. 5. Resounds. 6. Curves made by the inter-
section of two arches. 7. Awakening. 8. Cleaning by
friction. 9. Feasting noisily.
II. I. A consonant. 2. A conjunction. 3. A deer.
4. Mere repetition. 5. An elector. 6. Hidden. 7. One
who envies. 8. A war-vessel, ranking next below a
frigate. GEORQE S. S.



I. I. IN chase. 2. The cry of
a sheep. 3. The Spanish for
"Saint." 4. Consumed. 5. In
II. I. In chase. 2. A town
l' of Germany. 3. The last name of a per-
sonage beloved by children. 4. A drink-
ing-cup. 5. In chase.
The two central letters of the foregoing diamonds will
spell the name of a gracious personage.


A FAMOUS explorer:

AN American man of letters:


SAID a mighty magician in Beloochistan,
"I will mold a composite, historical man."

I. First, he copied the square, unmistakable chin
Of the man who war, peace, and hearts was first in.

2. The lips were the traitor's, sent as was fit,
As Dante relates, to the uttermost pit.

3. Above, the long nose of a player he set
That struck the piano-and won him a bet.

4. A king's eye he made in one side of the head
With an arrow stuck in it-the king was found dead.

5. Its mate was the giant's of mythical story
Which blazed from his forehead alone in its glory.

6. One ear was that man's in revenge for whose pain
Great Britain was forced to declare war with Spain.

7. And the other, the ear that was cut off in wrath
But restored by a miracle, free from all scath.

8. A part of the hair was his who was hung
In an oak, the far depths of Ephraim among.

9. But seven locks once were that hero's so bold
Who of lion and honey a riddle once told.

Io. And he added the forehead of the giant of old
Which was struck with a stone by the boy from
the fold.

II. And the tongue was that Greek's who discoursed
well of yore,
Not always to men, but to waves on the shore.

12. He modeled the skull from the Frenchman renowned,
Whose brain was the heaviest -doctors have found.

13. The neck was like one topped by no head at all
Outside of the Banqueting-House at Whitehall.

14. The body was that cf the man who .once cried,
"Make way for Liberty," made it-and died.

15. At one side was a beautiful arm whereon lay
A deadly asp sprung from a fatal bouquet.

16. And, queerly attached, was that mad actor's hand
That once pulled a trigger and saddened a land.

17. On the other side hung an arm, wrinkled and old,
That defended our flag once, as Whittier told.

18. And its hand was the man's whose signature free
"King George might decipher from over the sea."

19. One leg was a wooden one, silver strips round it,
In the grave of an old Knickerbocker he found it.

20. The other a Norman, once kissed in a pet,
And managed its owner, a king, to upset.

And how was this puppet historical dressed?
In garments quite motley it must be confessed.

21. On its head was that thousand-year-old iron crown
By two monarchs worn, each of mighty renown.

22. In its toga a score of wide rents had been made
By the dagger that round Pompey's statue had played.

23. But gaily a mantle was over it thrown,
That the foot of a queen had once trodden upon.

24. On the leg that was royal a traitorous boot
That carried despatches completed the suit.

The historical man was then placed on a throne,
As motley a figure as ever was known;
He is sitting there still, my informant so states,
With a mystified air and a mouthful of dates.


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