Front Cover
 Gretchen and Katchen
 Our wolves and foxes
 On a glacier in Greenland
 Jack Ballister's fortunes
 The real sun flower
 Recollections of the wild life
 That little girl
 A great traveler
 Too sharp for the Czar
 San Francisco
 The pigtail of Ah Lee Ben Loo
 The brownies in fairyland
 Tom Sawyer abroad
 Bachelor's button
 Ottar Birting
 The dreamer
 Toinette's Philip
 Mrs. Cecile Viets Jamison
 The true history of the flood
 The clever Parson
 A letter from bruin polar bear...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00281
 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: VID00281
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 482
    Gretchen and Katchen
        Page 483
    Our wolves and foxes
        Page 484
        Page 485
        Page 486
        Page 487
        Page 488
        Page 489
        Page 490
    On a glacier in Greenland
        Page 491
        Page 492
        Page 493
        Page 494
        Page 495
        Page 496
    Jack Ballister's fortunes
        Page 497
        Page 498
        Page 499
        Page 500
        Page 501
        Page 502
        Page 503
        Page 504
        Page 505
        Page 506
    The real sun flower
        Page 507
        Page 508
        Page 509
        Page 510
        Page 511
        Page 512
    Recollections of the wild life
        Page 513
        Page 514
        Page 515
    That little girl
        Page 516
        Page 517
    A great traveler
        Page 517
    Too sharp for the Czar
        Page 518
    San Francisco
        Page 519
        Page 520
        Page 521
        Page 522
        Page 523
        Page 524
        Page 525
        Page 526
        Page 527
        Page 528
        Page 529
    The pigtail of Ah Lee Ben Loo
        Page 530
        Page 531
        Page 532
        Page 533
        Page 534
    The brownies in fairyland
        Page 535
        Page 536
        Page 537
        Page 538
    Tom Sawyer abroad
        Page 539
        Page 540
        Page 541
        Page 542
        Page 543
        Page 544
        Page 545
        Page 546
        Page 547
    Bachelor's button
        Page 548
    Ottar Birting
        Page 549
        Page 550
    The dreamer
        Page 551
    Toinette's Philip
        Page 552
        Page 553
        Page 554
        Page 555
        Page 556
        Page 557
        Page 558
        Page 559
    Mrs. Cecile Viets Jamison
        Page 560
        Page 561
    The true history of the flood
        Page 562
        Page 563
    The clever Parson
        Page 564
        Page 565
        Page 566
    A letter from bruin polar bear to Tommy
        Page 567
        Page 568
        Page 569
        Page 570
        Page 571
    The letter-box
        Page 572
        Page 573
        Page 574
    The riddle-box
        Page 575
        Page 576
        Page 577
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


. .. ... ..




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APRIL, 1894.
Copyright, 1894, by THE CENTURY Co. Allrights reserved.



No. 6.

GRETCHEN and Kitchen, the two little maids,
Wear pretty white caps over tight flaxen
They 're clad like twin sisters from kerchief
to shoe,
And both have round eyes of forget-me-not

But Gretchen's in motion from morning till
She runs, and she skips, and she jumps with
While KLtchen won't move, even when she
is bid,
Because she 's a dolly of china and kid.

Said Gretchen to Kttchen, "We 're left all
We '11 just have a quiet good time of our
You '11 ride in your wagon to call on the cat,
To take her some cherries, and have a long

" In the vine-covered arbor the table we '11
And load it with cherries, all shining and
I '11 pick out the ripest from those on the
For sleepy Frau Green-Eyes, and you, and

"I '11 do all the talking for you and for her,
Since you, my poor Kitchen, can not even
'I never eat cherries, I thank you,' says she,-
And then there '11 be more for my Kitchen
and me!"

They called on Frau Green-Eyes, the sleepy
old dame,
And grave little Kitchen rode back as she
With never a spot on her kid finger-tips;
But gay little Gretchen had purple-stained


(Fourth paper of the series, Quadrupeds of North A ericaa.)


AT the head of the dog family, or Canidce,
in North America stands the big GRAY WOLF.
The whole continent is
GRAY WOLF. his, from farthest north
(C 'n s 'us gris"e-o-al'bus.) to as far south as Cen-
tral Mexico, excepting those regions from which
civilization has driven him out, or wherein men
have exterminated him.
In the days when buffaloes were many, guns
were few, and the deadly little poison-bottle
had never yet been fired at him, his cohorts
fairly swarmed throughout the plains region of
the great West, and fed fat on the buffalo, deer,
antelope, and elk. When his numbers were
great, the Gray Wolf changed the color of his coat
nearly as often as he did his post-office address.
Now, however, a white, black, or red specimen
is very seldom found within the United States.
When Audubon visited old Fort Union, at the
mouth of the Yellowstone River, he found this
species so universally white that he described it
as the WHITE WOLF; in Texas he found wolves
so red that he described them as the RED
TEXAN WOLF; and the BLACK WOLF of Flor-
ida and the South was described as a third
In British Columbia and Alaska both black
and gray wolves are found, and around Great
Slave Lake are found both these colors, and also
white wolves. In Texas the black, gray, and
red varieties all formerly existed; but, despite
these remarkable color variations, the wearers
all belong to the same species, of which the
Gray Wolf is the true type. The cold white-
and-black coloring, coarse, straight outer hair,
jet-black lips, and big, glittering white teeth
of the Gray Wolf give one who looks at him
a little shiver of repulsion much akin to fear.
But, despite his size and powerful teeth, he is
at heart a coward, and his attacks upon able-
bodied men have been very few indeed.
Of the very few instances of the Gray Wolf

attacking man, one is related by John Fannin
in the ever-interesting columns of Forest and
Stream, of a Mr. King, who was a timber-hunter
in British Columbia. Once, when traveling
quite alone through an immense forest, search-
ing for the best timber, and camping wherever
night overtook him, Mr. King suddenly found
himself surrounded by a pack of between
forty and fifty Gray Wolves. They thought
they "had him foul," and would lunch at his
expense; but they made one slight mistake.
Instead of being armed only with an ax, as
they supposed, he had a good repeating-rifle
and plenty of cartridges.
"Well," said Mr. King, the fight, if it
could be called one, lasted about half an hour.
Then a few of them broke away into the timber
and commenced howling, which had the effect
of drawing the rest after them, when the whole
band started away on the full jump, howling
as they went. I found sixteen of their number
dead, and probably not a few were wounded."
As a rule the Gray Wolf soon disappears from
settled regions. In the United States there is
probably not one wolf to-day where twenty
years ago there were fifty. The killing of the
ranchmen's cattle, colts, and sheep was not to
be tolerated, and a bounty was put on the Gray
Wolf's head, with fatal effect. More deadly
than the steel trap or the Winchester, the
strychnine-bottle was universally brought to
bear upon his most vulnerable point his rav-
enous appetite. Even during the last days of
the buffalo in Montana, the hunters poisoned
wolves by hundreds for their pelts, which were
worth from three to five dollars each. Now it is
a very difficult matter to find a Gray Wolf, even
in the wild West, and in Montana and Wyo-
ming they are almost as scarce as bears.
In the National Museum at Washington are
the skins of five baby Gray Wolves, whose birth-
day was April 8, 1893. They have round, puppy-


like heads, are sixteen and a half inches in
length from nose to tail-tip, and are covered
with soft, woolly hair of a smoky brown color.
In mind and manners, the COYOTE, PRAIRIE
COYOTE. is simply a wild dog. Like
(Ca'nis la'trans.)
(Cis la'ts.) the tramp that he is, he
loves to prowl around the outskirts of civiliza-
tion, and live actually within sight of his human
foe. So long as he can keep out of fair rifle-
range he is satisfied, and
looks upon the whole
world as his lawful prey.
Even when fired at, he
does not mind it much,
but usually trots off
leisurely, carrying his
head on a line with his
body. He stops every
now and then to look
back at the shooter,
tempting him to waste
another cartridge. Per-
haps a Coyote can run
fast, but I believe it '
would take a cannon
on every hilltop to
make him do it. Once,
in Pryor's Gap, four of .
us set to work deliber-
ately with our rifles to
persuade a certain Co-
yote to run fast. Did he 0
do it ? Not a bit of it!
although we sent noise
and lead enough in his
direction to have scared
ten men twenty miles.
Personally the Coyote
is merely a small and
timid gray wolf with a
few brownish markings,
midway in size between the big gray wolf and
the red fox. The reddish-brown markings are on
the legs, and the upper half of the face in front
of the eyes. Otherwise, when at his best his
general appearance is black and white. Like
all wolves and foxes, he has two kinds of hair.
The hairs of the long and coarse outer coat
are usually tipped with black, sometimes giving

him a black collar across his shoulders, and a
blackish tip to his tail. In summer his coat
is threadbare and dingy, but in fall and winter
it is thick, clean, and bright. The finest speci-
men I ever collected is the male in the National
Museum group, whose measurements are as
follows: Length of head and body, 3 feet I 3
inches; tail, I foot 4 inches; height at the
shoulders, i foot 84 inches. As usual with
quadrupeds the female is somewhat smaller.


The young are from five to seven in number,
and when in their fluffy, brownish-yellow coat
look very much like young red foxes, except
that their noses are not so sharp. The little
fellows shown in the illustration were shot on
June 8, I886, in front of their mother's den
in the side of a rugged coul6e in Montana, and
were then about two months old.


Iof Gra Wolf


The scent of the Coyote is not nearly so sharp
as his eyesight, else how could any sage grouse
or broad-bill duck nest in coyote-land without
being promptly found and eaten ? As to game,
he kills all kinds of small ground game, young
deer, and antelope. His specialty, however, is
feeding upon dead carcasses of large animals,

hear the Coyotes around our camp set up a
great barking in chorus at the first signs of day-
break, just when the roosters begin to crow on
the farm. It is a wild and uncultivated kind of
a bark, ending in a falsetto howl, and resembles
the cry of the jackal of India more nearly than
any other sound I ever heard.

Drawn from a mounted group
A COYOTE FAMILY. in the U. S. National Museum.

either wild or tame. This being the case,
when on our buffalo-hunt in Montana, in 1886,
we got many fine Coyotes for our collection
by putting around the buffalo carcasses nu-
merous bits of lean meat duly charged with
strychnine. The ranchmen and cow-boys of
the West have slaughtered tens of thousands
of Coyotes in this way, to protect their young
calves and sheep, and also to make money from
pelts and bounties.
The barking habit of the Coyote is very dog-
like, and his old name of Barking Wolf is very
appropriate. When collecting mammals in Wyo-
ming, it was a very common thing for us to

But Sir Coyote is cute. He knows exactly
the distance that constitutes fair rifle-range, and
he knows just as well whether the stranger is
armed as does the stranger himself. When
hunting in the Shoshone Mountains in 1889, I
wanted to kill a Coyote for a special purpose,
but never once succeeded in getting a fair shot,
even at 200 yards. For ten days we banged
away industriously at every one we saw, but
never touched a hair. Finally, at Corbett's
ranch, I left the expedition, and started north
by stage, leaving behind me rifle, revolver,
knife, and even scissors. Just two hours after I
had said good-by to my shooting-irons, and




taken the buckboard stage," we saw a Coyote
ahead of us, close to the trail. Seeing us com-
ing, he selected a soft spot, sat down within
thirty yards of the trail, and waited for us.
We drove up, stopped as we got opposite
him, and still he did not run. That villain sat
there coolly and looked us over without mov-
ing a muscle, but with a leer that plainly said,
" Now, don't you wish you had your old gun ? "
When we got through making faces at him, and
wishing for a gun, a revolver, or even a com-
mon stone to fire-at him, we drove on; and
then he got up and went on hunting for jack-
rabbits. To this day I have been puzzling over
the question, "H-ow did that gray rascal find out
so quickly that both the driver and I were totally
unarmed ? That he did know it perfectly
well I have no doubt whatever, for no Coyote
ever waited like that for a man with a gun.
The FoxES of North.
Fox. America form a large and
(Ca'nis Vul'jes.)
very interesting group,
about which a whole
volume might be writ-
ten without becoming
dull. As known to-day
(December 20, 1893, 10
o'clock A. M.), there are
ten species and sub- V \
species; but so long as .''
many eager scientists -h' -* ;.
are in the field, seeking r '.
the country over for the ,
varieties of foxes, no
one can say what new
species to-morrow's re-
searches may bring

RED FOX. red-and-yellow coat, but
(Ca'nis Vul'es fulvus'.) a very black reputation.
And who does not know the Red Fox?-
chicken-thief, poultry-butcher, fur-furnisher, and
purveyor of right royal sport to man, dog,
and horse. Whoever has once seen his tawny
coat, and huge, bushy tail flash through a thicket,
or along a leaf-covered forest path in crisp
November, will never forget him. Neither will
the poultry-loving farmer who goes forth at
daybreak to his chicken-house, and finds its
floor paved with dead Plymouth Rocks, Black
Leghorns, and Langshans,-ten times as many
as the hungriest Fox in the world could either
eat or carry away. It is the wanton slaughter
frequently done by the Red Fox that so exas-
perates the farmer, and often causes Vulfesful-
vus to be smoked to death in his own burrow
without mercy.
Of all our Foxes, this species is the most
cunning, and it lives right along with us in
spite of the combined discouragements of dogs,

From our ten species, ..
three stand forth as
prominent types, fairly
representing three dis-
tinct groups, save that
in this country one of .
them, the pretty little :r.,j -
Swift Fox, has to form ;. .
a group all by himself.
The largest and most THE RED FOX.
important group is that represented by the guns, traps, poison, fire, and spades. The arc-
common RED Fox, a fellow with a beautiful tic fox is occasionally so stupid that the same



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~lrlr~ 7.


individual may be caught twice in the same
trap. But not so Red Reynard. When chased
by hounds, he is smart enough to walk several
rods on the top rail of a fence to throw them
off the scent. The hounds are eager enough
in chasing him in the fall and winter, but there
are seasons when even an honest dog draws
the line. In a very interesting paper once pub-
lished in The Century, Mr. Rowland E. Rob-
inson brought out the remarkable fact that, in
several instances at least, fox-hounds have re-
fused to chase a mother Fox whose young cubs
were still dependent upon her, even when the
Fox was trotting along in plain sight. Good
dogs! say we.
The cubs of the Red Fox are from five to
seven in number, and after they are about two
months old are extremely pretty pets. I have
an excellent photograph of a mother Fox and
three fluffy, reddish-brown cubs, an interesting
family, that I once kept in captivity to study
and admire.
It is really wonderful the way the Red Fox
clings to civilization, and utterly refuses to be
exterminated, even in the most populous por-
tions of the United States. They are plentiful
around Washington, even in sight of the dome
of the capitol. Within three months from the
time the 168 acres of the National Zoological
Park became the property of the government, a
Red Fox was seen on the lands chosen, looking
for lodgings.
This fine and showy fox is found as far south
as North Carolina and Tennessee, and thence
northward through the whole northeastern
United States, gradually bearing westward to
Montana. It inhabits nearly the whole of
North America north of the United States, al-
most to the shores of the Arctic Ocean. It is
found everywhere in Alaska, and is the com-
monest of the four Fox species inhabiting that
vast territory.
The typical Red Fox and his two subspecies
(formerly called "varieties ") vary in all possi-
ble gradations of color, from brightest red to
purest black. With a large series of skins it is
almost impossible for two persons to decide
alike as to where one variety leaves off and an-
other begins. Half-way between Red Reynard
and the BLACK Fox comes the CROss-Fox,

BLACK FOX. a typical specimen
(Vu'lpes ful'vus ar-gen-te'tus.) of which has some
cRoss-Fox. of the yellow color
(vW'fes fu'vus de-cus-s'tus.) of the Red Fox on
the sides of his neck and behind the fore leg,
while the remainder of his general color is


grizzled gray-brown. His name of Cross-Fox
applies to him in two ways: he is a color-
cross between the Red and Black Foxes, and
the yellowish patches referred to above-cause
the dark color adjacent to form a sort of cross
on his shoulders, though to the eye this is
much more imaginary than real.
By a strange absurdity, people generally call
the black variety the "silver" Fox, in which
there is about as much reason as there would
be in calling our jet-black Ursus Americanus the
snow bear. If white is the color of silver, then
the Black Fox is not a silver" Fox, and the
misleading name should be abandoned.
The Black Fox varies in color from very
dark iron-gray to dark brown or black, with a
slight wash of white-tipped hairs over the head,
body, and tail. The tip of the tail is always
white, which is the only constant color-mark
about him. A really fine skin of this species is
worth $125, and such are rarely taken. For
my part, I never could see the half of $125
worth of beauty in a single Black Fox skin,
and I believe it is nothing but the extreme rar-
ity of the very dark skins that causes them to
be so much prized by fur-fanciers.
The Black and Cross Foxes are found wher-
ever the Red Fox is at home, save in the
northeastern United States, where they are
now so very rarely heard of we may as well
say they do not exist at all. These varieties
are most common in the Northwest, and in




Alaska. They are red foxes in every respect
save color, and price in the fur-market.
The GRAY Fox is the fox of the South,
even though the finest
GRAY FOX. specimen in the Na-
(U-ro-cy'on Vir-gin-i-an's.) tional Museum did
tional Museum did
come from Knoxville, Iowa. His general color
is pepper-and-salt gray, with red-and-white
patches on his throat, sides of the neck, and
under parts, and red on the legs. He is a lit-
tle smaller and more lightly built than the red
fox, has a less luxuriant coat of hair, and in
habit is more shy and retiring. In temper he
is nervous and suspicious, and while a red
fox will simply cough at you, the Gray Fox will
snap. What is worse, in captivity he is actually
murderous to strangers of his own kind. It is
a common thing for a cageful of Gray Foxes
to pounce upon a new arrival, down it, and
cut its throat before the stranger has even time
to say, How do you do ?"
Of 'all the strange things about foxes, the
strangest is the fact that the Gray Fox and
his subspecies of the Pacific Coast can -climb
trees; not merely slanting trees, or trees with
plenty of limbs low down, but trees that stand
perfectly straight, and have no limbs for twenty
or even thirty feet. In the South, when fox-
chasing was more common than it is now, it
was a common thing for a fox to run before
the hounds until he got tired, and then climb
a tree to get beyond their reach. A pair of
Gray Foxes that I once kept in captivity were

continually climbing up the bars and sides of
their cage, in which they would spread their
toes far apart, and cling with their claws re-
markably well. In their efforts to escape, they
always climbed up and worked at the top of

the cage in preference to trying to burrow out.
They were always spiteful little beasts, and
after they had treacherously bitten my hands
three or four times, I concluded I could be
happy without them.


The Gray Fox is found from New Jersey and
Pennsylvania westward to Central California,
and southward to Costa Rica.

From a mounted specimen in the National Museum.
On the Pacific coast, from Mount Shasta to
Southern California, is found a pretty little imi-
tation of the Gray Fox, which is known as
It has a Latin
THE COAST GRAY FOX. name nearly as
(U-ro-cy'oi Vir-gin-i-an'us lit-tor-ais.) long as itself. It
is next in size to the smallest fox in North Amer-
ica- of the West
THE SWIFT, OR KIT FOX. and Northwest.
(Vetes ve z.) The latter is the
daintiest, prettiest, and liveliest of all foxes,
according to my view; and it is also very
agreeable in temper and disposition. His out-
lines are clean-cut, his texture is fine and
smooth, and from nose to tail-tip he looks
every inch a thoroughbred. His form is not
buried out of sight in a mop of long hair,
as is that of nearly every other American
fox. His countenance is bright and pert, and,
whether on his native buffalo-grass, or in an
inclosure in the National Zodlogical Park, he




is as playful and full of fun as a half-grown
puppy. His color is a beautiful silvery-gray
with a tinge of yellow. Why he should be

called the Swift Fox is not so apparent, for he
is by no means a particularly fleet runner, even
when chased, as I have plainly seen.
THE ARCTIC FOX, is snowy-white in winter,
OR BLUE FOX without even one colored
(Vulpes la-go'As), hair upon him; but his new
suit for spring and summer wear is sooty brown,
varying in young specimens to slaty gray. He
has ears so rounded they look as if the tips had
been trimmed off, an immense bushy tail, very
thick hair, and fur even on the soles of his feet.
His home is the entire northern half of North
America. Even at the most northerly point ever
attained by man,-" the jumping-off place,"-
reached in latitude 830 24' by Lieutenant Lock-

wood, the explorers saw there (says General
Greely) numerous tracks of this ever-present
fox. No wonder Dame Nature gave him fur
to wear on the soles of his feet! To get to
Hazen Land ahead of Lockwood and Brainerd
he just had to have it! If the North Pole is
ever discovered by any man, I believe he will
find there the Arctic Fox and gray wolf in
search of something to eat.


National Zoblogical Park.




FOR a boy of twelve Kywingwa knew many
things. He could pick out the likeliest situa-
tions for fox-traps; he knew how to stalk an
arctic hare, and to shoot her with his bow and
arrow; he could point to the spot in the water
where a seal which had dived would probably
rise. With the whip he was, for a mickanniny
(child), really expert; for not only had he ceased
now to slash himself in the back of the neck,
when he whirled the long, unwieldy lash, but
also he was beginning to direct his strokes
with accuracy. And in one exercise he was
preeminent above all other boys in Green-
land. That exercise was throwing the harpoon.
Even the older Eskimos were accustomed to
gather when with his comrades he practised
harpopning, and to praise the accuracy of his
aim, and the power of his delivery.
In other than physical things also was Ky-
wingwa versed. He had unconsciously ac-
quired a knowledge of human nature beyond
his years. Eskimo emotions are comparatively
simple, and the lad had learned to guess pretty
accurately the motives for the actions of his
friends. But he was utterly bewildered by
the strange conduct of a party of seemingly
crazy people with white faces, who had come
from across the sea, and had built a wonder-
ful house on the shores of the bay upon which
Kywingwa lived. The house was as big as
many Eskimo igloos (huts) together, and it was
constructed not of sealskins, nor even of stones,
but of wood. Kywingwa had never before
seen a piece of wood larger than a harpoon-
shaft. The Eskimos treasured with the great-
est care even small splinters of the precious
substance. Kywingwa himself had rather a
large piece, with moreover a sharp spike of
iron in its end, which made it more valuable.
This instrument, used to prevent a seal from
escaping after you had once fastened to him
with your harpoon, had been handed down to
Kywingwa from his great-grandfather. It was

called alfuskeemut. Kywingwa had been very
proud of owning a pusheemut. But when he
saw the great quantities of wood possessed by
the white people, his pride departed from him.
They had not only enough long, broad pieces
to build the great igloo, but also a vast number
of smaller sticks left over. Curiously enough,
they did not seem to value them very highly;
they would give one to you almost always if
you would help them with the queer things
that they were constantly doing.
Some of them wandered along the beach
and picked up shells, and they liked to have
you bring them all the unusual shells that you
could find. Others gathered different kinds of
flowers, and were much pleased if you dis-
covered for them a variety that they had not
come across. One of them had a net not unlike
the net the Eskimos were accustomed to use in
catching little auks, only of much finer mesh,
and made of a soft material that was not seal-
skin string. With it the white man pursued, not
birds, but insects: butterflies, and bumblebees,
and spiders, and all the other kinds of small
creatures that abound in Greenland during the
warm summer. He was a very enthusiastic
white man, and the Eskimos named him after
his favorite prey, Arhiveh, the spider.
Whenever Kywingwa was not asleep he was
sure to be either at the white man's igloo, or
else away upon some excursion with the but-
terfly-hunter, whom he liked best of all. In
return, the white man showed a warm affection
for Kywingwa. He taught him to catch but-
terflies, and made for him a little net. And
when they went forth together he once or twice
even let the boy bear the glacier implement
which Kywingwa thought the most beautiful
of all created things.
It was a wonderful implement: a long,
springy, wooden shaft with a head made of
some substance as hard as iron, but so shiny
that you could see your face in it, just as in a


pool of water. One side of the head was a
blade with which you could chop ice; the
other side was a long, sharp spike.
"What a fine thing for seal-hunting!" ex-
claimed all the Eskimos when they saw it.
Kywingwa more than the others admired it.
He was wont to stand before it as it hung in

upon a certain waking-time he saw Arhiveh
bending over a tiny brown butterfly which he
held in his palm. The white man appeared to
be disturbed in mind.
"Agai (come), Kywingwa!" he said.
Obediently approaching, the lad perceived
that the insect lacked one wing.

~1 .-. .r

.. ,,.- . ." -,.,.. ,.. .. .,...


the great wooden igloo and gaze at it, and
touch the keen edge of the blade softly with
his fingers. Once or twice Arhiveh saw him
thus caressing it, and laughed.
"Good? he inquired in his broken Eskimo.
"Infinitely good! Kywingwa cried.
He admired it humbly, however, and without
hope of possessing it. It was not for Eskimos
to aspire to things so perfect: they were for
white people only.
But the most noteworthy event in Kywing-
wa's life occurred and changed entirely his
point of view. Entering the wooden igloo

Takoo (observe), Kywingwa," said Arhiveh,
"you capture butterfly, good butterfly. Not like
this--" he stood erect, with one arm behind
him, and moved the other arm vigorously up
and down. "Like this-" both arms going
hard. Kywingwa laughed with glee and nod-
ded to show that he comprehended.
"Peook (very well)!" continued Arhiveh,
"you catch butterfly, I give you-"
He paused, and the boy was seized with a
strange impulse he could not control.
That"" he cried, and pointed to the glacier




The butterfly-hunter seemed a good deal sur-
prised, and Kywingwa was breathless.
At last Arhiveh laughed.
"Peook!" he said, "you catch good butterfly.
I give you-yes, I give you that."
What Kywingwa did next he does not re-
member. Arhiveh has told him that he stood
as if dazed for a moment, and then rushed out.
The first memory that comes to him is of seek-
ing for his net among the harpoons, and pieces
of ivory, and sealskin water-buckets in his fa-
ther's tent, and of repeating over and over:
A tiny brown butterfly with two wings !"
He at last found his net, and after a mo-
ment's thought he took his pusheemut. The
white people usually carried their glacier im-
plements on important excursions. Kywingwa
was going upon an excursion that he deemed
very important, and the pusheemut was the
best substitute for a glacier implement that he
had. Recently, Arhiveh had sharpened the
spike and the pusheemut was much more effi-
cient than of old. A piece of seal-flipper also
he picked up, and started forth, repeating to
himself: "A tiny brown butterfly."
The valley where butterflies lived was a long
distance up toward the head of the bay. Ky-
wingwa had been there several times with
Arhiveh, but always in a woman's boat with
four men to propel it. To walk there would
take a long time and would probably tire him,
but he was too much excited to dwell upon that
thought, and he set out briskly.
But after a long time he did grow very weary.
The walking was exceedingly bad; there was
no path but the beach between the sea and
the vast cliffs, and it was covered with sharp
stones which hurt his feet, for he had forgotten
to stuff grass between the soles of his boots and
his dogskin stockings.
The sun completed more than half its cir-
cular course in the sky,, dipped till its edge
touched the mountains across the bay to the
north, and then began to rise once more. Ky-
wingwa had never been so long away from
home alone before, but whenever discourage-
ment threatened, he thought of the glacier im-
plement and plodded on. And at last, just as
the sun reached his highest point, the lad
rounded a promontory and came into the val-

ley of butterflies. He found a small stream,
and threw himself down beside it to rest, eat
his seal-meat, and survey his territory.
Between little smooth hills small brooks ran;
and along these brooks grew vividly green grass
and bright flowers. It was among the flowers
that the butterflies lived.
The seal-flipper was good; he ate it all,
drank of the pure cold water that had flowed
from the melting snow on the plateau, and
started forth. Up and down the little streams
he wandered, following, one back as far as the
cliffs, then crossing to the next one and tracing
it down to its mouth. Hasa,w plenty of bumble-
bees, plenty of flies, even plenty of brown but-
terflies, dancing in the hot sunlight, but none
like that Arhiveh had shown him.
"What shall I do? he asked himself.
He decided to try the next valley.
The next valley was filled by a great white
glacier. Evidently there were no butterflies
there. But across the front of the glacier Ky-
wingwa discerned a third valley that looked
promising. Grown Eskimos rarely crossed gla-
ciers, and he was but a mickanniny. But he
was still borne onward by the thought of the
glacier implement. Out toward the center of
the glacier, huge masses were splitting off with
tremendous crashes and plunging into the sea.
The torrent at the side roared; the noise was
almost deafening.
Not to be daunted by noise, Kywingwa passed
up the gorge along the side of the glacier, and
found a place where he could cross the torrent,
on some stones, to a part of the glacier which
sloped away and was accessible. Presently he
came to rougher ice; from the surface of the
glacier rose in all directions sharp peaks.
Yawning cracks appeared and then chasms so
wide that he had to make long detours around
them, or to cross by dangerous snow-bridges.
Upon one of these bridges a misfortune hap-
pened to Kywingwa. The snow appeared hard
and perfectly solid; nevertheless an impulse led
the lad to test it. With the handle of his but-
terfly-net he prodded, and the handle passed
through the snow. Kywingwa lost his balance
and fell. Down crashed the snow-bridge into
the crevasse. Kywingwa's head and right arm
hung over the abyss. It was some minutes be-


fore he recovered from the shock, and then he
found that his butterfly-net had fallen into the
chasm. He had lost his net, but he remem-
bered that he had caught many butterflies in
his hand before the net had been his. He de-
termined to proceed to the other side of the
glacier, trusting that fortune would send him
the butterfly.
In his path lay a stream altogether too broad
to be jumped, and, though rather shallow, too
swift to be waded. It had worn a deep bed
in the hard ice a bed as blue as the sky,
and so smooth, so exquisitely smooth, that the
water hardly rippled as it rushed along. Not
the length of a hirpoon-line away from the
spot where Kywingwa stood it plunged into a
deep crevasse, whence rose a heavy rumbling.
Patiently Kywingwa followed up the stream
till he came to an ice-bridge. He crossed it,
meeting with no further obstructions, and pres-
ently stood upon the edge of the glacier, and
looked up and down the gorge at its side.
Far down by the bay, toward the end of the
great white mass, the cliffs receded, the land
was low, the sun shone; it seemed just the place
for butterflies. Kywingwa found a sloping spot
where he could descend into the gorge, and
turned toward the fertile spot.
As he emerged from the shadow of the cliffs,
he came out into full sunlight, and found him-
self surrounded by rivulets, by flowers, and
by insects. And before he could well note
these things, lo! from under his feet rose and
settled again the very object of his search -the
little brown butterfly!
Kywingwa stole toward it, came within his
own length of it, leaped with open hands upon
it. In vain! The little creature darted from his
grasp. Kywingwa, always keeping it in view,
scrambled to his feet and gave chase. Down
nearly to the beach it led him; then it doubled,
dodged him, and made off up the hills toward
the cliffs. Kywingwa tried to follow, but to
no purpose; it alighted far away, and out of
sight. Bitterly disappointed, the boy shuffled
through the grass, hoping to scare up the insect
once more; but his efforts were futile. And
presently he was aware that the sun had gone
behind the hills, and that not only his butterfly,
but also all the other insects, had disappeared.

Kywingwa was far from home-nearly two
sleeps. He was footsore. Moreover, he was
without food. These things troubled him but
little; he had been hungry, lame, and astray
many times before. But he was utterly cast
down because the butterfly had escaped. His
journey was useless; he had lost his net; he
had failed to win the glacier implement.
I am good for nothing, good for nothing !"
he cried, and threw himself in despair upon the
ground. In a moment he was sound asleep.

"- i


Awaking, he perceived that the sun was shin-
ing brightly once more, and that the insects
were playing briskly. He must have slept a
very long while. He was ravenously hungry.
"I will try if I can hit a little auk with a
stone," he said, and trudged back to certain
rocks near the glacier, whence came the chatter
of the small birds.
But just as he arrived at the foot of the ice,
he heard a shrill sound. He knew at once
what produced it; it came from one of those




curious little wooden instruments which the
white people carried, and which shrieked when
you blew into them. Looking up, he beheld
Arhiveh, with butterfly-net in one hand, and
glacier implement in the other, standing firmly,
in his boots shod with sharp spikes, upon the
very edge of the ice-wall. Kywingwa felt a
pang of disappointment at sight of the glacier
implement; but he forgot it in his surprise
because Arhiveh was alone. White men did
not usually venture upon glaciers by them-
selves; something extraordinary must have
The little Eskimo hastened to the ice-bridge,
crossed the torrent, and in a moment was by
Arhiveh's side. The white man's voice was
gruff, as he accosted the boy.
"Not dead, Kywingwa?" he inquired.
"Mother say you lost. Say you food all gone.
She go like this-" he rubbed his eyes with
his hand, in imitation of a weeping woman.
"White men all go look. I come woman's
boat. Woman's boat there," he added, pointing
to the opposite comer of the glacier. Come
on !"
"I tried to catch the butterfly," explained
Kywingwa, as they started. "I wanted to win
the glacier implement. But my net dropped
into a crevasse. I saw a butterfly, but I could
not capture him."
You very much no good! You lost, Mother
afraid," was the ungracious reply. Kywingwa
felt that he was in disgrace. He took thank-
fully some seal-meat that Arhiveh had brought
him, and ate it silently, being very miserable.
Presently Arhiveh reached the stream, and
turned to the left to find the ice-bridge.
A tiny brown something fluttered before Ky-
wingwa's gaze. He paused in amazement and
rubbed his eyes.
"Arhiveh, Arhiveh!" cried Kywingwa; ta-
koo iblee / takoo (see there-see!) butterfly! "
The white man seized the net and dashed
after the tiny creature. Kywingwa watched
him eagerly. The butterfly fluttered aimlessly
about for a moment, and then crossed the
stream. Arhiveh sprang recklessly after it,
missed his footing, and fell into the water.
Kywingwa burst out into laughter, and waited
gleefully to greet his companion, scrambling,

soaked with ice-cold water, from the stream.
But no head appeared above the bank, and
Kywingwa ran to see what was the matter.
The white man had not risen. He was lying
in the water, with his head downstream. He
was struggling violently. He was floating rap-
idly down; the cataract was close at hand.
All at once the meaning of the situation
burst upon Kywingwa's mind. Arhiveh could
not rise-the bottom of the stream was too
slippery. He was trying to use the spikes in
his shoes, but to no purpose, for his feet were
upstream. Faster and faster he swept help-
lessly along.
In an instant Kywingwa saw what he must
do. He sprang upon a mound of ice that
almost overhung the water. Balanced as a
harpoon in his hand was his sharp pusheemut.
Down came the helpless Arhiveh, now float-
ing rapidly; in another instant he would be
opposite the Eskimo's position. Then, with all
his force, Kywingwa hurled his pusheemut. Its
point entered the hard ice-bed of the current
and the weapon stood upright. The white man
was borne against it; instinctively he clutched
it. It held for an instant, then the ice about it
chipped and it gave way. But that instant was
enough. Arhiveh had swung around, his feet
were downstream, his course was checked. Be-
fore the powerful little brook could take hold of
him again, he had driven his shoe-spikes into
the ice, and using the pusheemut as a rest, had
risen to his feet. He stood as if dazed, while
Kywingwa brought the glacier implement, and
lying flat, reached it down to him. Then he
cut notches for himself and ascended out of
the bed of the brook. The pusheemut floated
Kywingwa was ready to laugh with him over
his escape. But white people always acted so
oddly! Arhiveh stood, when he was once
more safe on the surface of the glacier, and
simply looked about him. He gazed across
the white expanse of ice to the cliffs, tinted
with red lichen and green grass. He looked
out over the bay to the blue sea. He looked
at the sun, which, as all Eskimos know, is a
bad thing to do: it ruins the eyes. Finally, he
walked to the crevasse, and peered down into
the dark depths into which he would have been


_~~. o,-..

,. -

*~~_, -.:.., ..
' g ~


T-E -T A


swept by the rushing water, but for Kywingwa's
quick wit and sure aim.
Kywingwa looked cautiously down, too, and
wondered where his pusheemut was. Presently,
the white man turned toward him.
"Pusheemut?" asked Kywingwa, shyly. "Did
you see my pusheemut ? It is lost, is n't it ?"
"Pusheemut!" exclaimed Arhiveh vehem-

ently. "See, Kywingwa, I not talk Eskimo.
But you very good! You go whiteman's igloo
- I give you plenty pusheemuts. Peook iblee
ami-i-i-ishwa! (You are a splendid fellow!)
Takoo, I give you this."
And as he received from Arhiveh's out-
stretched hand the shining glacier implement,
Kywingwa was unspeakably happy.



merchant in the America trade for upward of
forty years.
About the middle of the morning a messen-
ger came to Master Hezekiah's office from the
Duck and Doe, bringing word that nineteen re-
demption-servants, to be shipped to the Amer-
icas, had just been brought up from London
by the crimp, and had all been safely lodged
at-the inn without any of them having escaped
by the way.
In those days-it was in the year 718--
bond-servants, or "redemptioners," as they were
sometimes called, were being shipped to the
Americas in great quantities. The colonies,
which had grown enormously in the last
twenty-five years, were in the greatest need
of labor of all kinds, skilled and unskilled.
There were not nearly enough of the regular
emigrants from the old country to supply the
demand. Negro slaves were being brought
from Africa in great quantities to work upon
the plantations, but they were fitted to do only
the rude kinds of field-work; they were sav-
ages that knew nothing at all of labor until
they were turned out upon the tobacco-fields,
or the cotton- or corn-fields; they could not, in
very many instances, even speak the English
language, and except to. work on the planta-
tions, they were of little or no use. So to fill
the need of more intelligent labor that should
serve, so to speak, to supply a connecting link
between honest emigrant-labor and African
slave-labor, men and women who were pau-
pers, or outcasts, or criminals, were sent from
England as bond-servants, or redemptioners.
That is, their passage was paid to the Americas,
or they themselves volunteered to go, and, to
redeem the cost of their transportation, they
were sold in the colonies, to the highest bidder,
VOL. XXI.-63. 4S

as bond-servants for a period of years-seven,
eight, nine, or ten, as the case might be.
These bond-servants were always a very
profitable part of the ship's cargo--perhaps
the most profitable, if the voyage had been
quick and healthy, without smallpox or some
such disease getting aboard.
Oftentimes the high prices that these re-
demption-servants fetched in the colonies
tempted the crimps who supplied them to
merchants and sea-captains to resort to kid-
napping, or man-stealing, to fill their supplies.
Thousands of men and women, and even chil-
dren, were so stolen.
But Master Hezekiah Tipton had never re-
sorted to kidnapping. He was a man who
drove as hard a bargain as it was possible for
a man to drive. He had sent scores-hun-
dreds of bond-servants to the Americas.
They were as much a part of his cargoes as
tea, books, broadcloth, or silk stuffs; but they
were all honestly come by, and no one could
ever say that he had transported man or boy
against his will. It was such a lot of servants
that had just now been brought up from Lon-
don and lodged at the Duck and Doe.
A little while after the messenger had gone,
Master Hezekiah closed his account-book,
slipped down from his tall office-stool, put on
his hat and wig, and went down to the inn to
see them. Servants had been very scarce and
hard to come by of late, and Hezekiah was
anxious to see what this lot was like. As he
walked along in the bright sunlight of the street,
his cane tap-tapping on the cobbles, and the
tails of his long old-fashioned coat flapping
behind him, he looked even more old and dry
and withered than in the dusk of his office.
His pale eyes, which nearly always appeared
as though covered with a film, stared straight
before him, seeing nothing, sensing nothing.
His love of money was the only thing that held
him to the world in which he lived. To all



else he was dead, senseless, inert. Everybody
knew him as Old Hezekiah the Miser," and
there were any number of stories told of his
meanness and stinginess. He lived in an old
house at the end of the court with nobody but
his housekeeper Deborah, and his nephew
Jack; but for a week at a time he would speak
hardly a word to either of them.
He lived as in a dead and dry shell of
a life, except when he was driving a bargain.
Then, instantly, every fiber was alive; the pale
film passed from his eyes, the lax nerves grew
tense, and the whole man was awake to a keen
Hezekiah had the redemptioners brought out
into the inn yard for his inspection. The crimp
arranged them in an uneven, irregular row.
They stood dull, heavy-browed, inert; bearing
upon their sullen faces the indelible stamp of the
brutal poverty that drove them to emigration.
and servitude. As they stood there, patched
and frowsy, a few loungers looked out at them
from the inn doors and windows, with listless
curiosity. Hezekiah waited while the crimp
stood the redemptioners in a row against the
wall. One hand, big, knotted, knuckled, hung
stiffly out of the broad sleeves of his long, snuff-
colored coat, the other clutched his cane with
its cracked and yellow ivory handle. His face
looked little and withered under the shadow of
the great periwig that hung over his shoulders
and down his back. The old miser did not
seem to like the looks of the servants. That
man," said he in his cracked, querulous voice,
pointing with his cane as he spoke to a lean
little fellow standing in the line, "that man-
why did ye send him ? How much d' ye think
he 'll fetch in the Virginias ? I 's warrant me,
not fifteen guineas "
So he went from one to the other, criticizing
eaclh in turn, the crimp listening, but saying
Why, Master Tipton," said the crimp, re-
ferring to a slip of paper which he held in his
hand, there you are mighty mistook. That
man is worth more than any of 'em. He 's a
skilled barber and leecher, Master Tipton.
He 's a good man, he is, and knows his trade,
to be sure, and that very well. Just you think,
Master Tipton, how much he would be worth

as a valley or body-servant to one of them
there Virginia planters."
"Humph!" grunted Master Tipton, shaking
his head. He did not say anything further,
and by and by he turned away and, with the
crimp still at his heels, entered the inn to re-
ceipt the papers; and with his going the inspec-
tion came to an end.
Old Deborah, the housekeeper, stood at the
door of the house waiting and watching for
Hezekiah as, returning, he turned into the
court again. She beckoned with her lean hand
when she saw him coming. "Hurry, Master,
hurry! she piped; there be a man in the of-
fice a-waiting to see you."
Master Tipton made no other answer than to
hasten his steps a little. He did not look at his
housekeeper, but opened the office door and
entered. A little man, dressed in rusty black,
sat perched upon the long-legged stool at the
high desk. He was just taking a pinch of snuff
as Master Hezekiah came in. He finished tak-
ing his pinch, looking steadily at the old mer-
chant as he did so, and not speaking any imme-
diate word of greeting. He was a sharp,
lean-looking little man. He had a pair of
black, beady eyes, which, with his long, straight
nose and slanting forehead, gave him somewhat
the look of a rat. He wore his own hair
parted in the middle and so long that it hung
almost to his shoulders. The little white band
at his throat showed him to be an attorney-at-
law. His flapped hat lay upon the top of the
desk amid the packets of yellow and fly-
specked papers. He looked steadily at Master
Hezekiah with his little black eyes twinkling
like beads. Master Hezekiah, upon his part,
gave no more sign of recognition of the little
man's presence than if he had not been there at
all. He took off his hat and wig, and then
with great deliberation peeled the coat off his
back. Then, still with perfect vacancy of ex-
pression, he drew up the long-legged stool op-
posite to his visitor and, composing himself,
stared at the other with his pale, lusterless eyes,
and gaping his almost toothless jaws.
Well, Master Tipton," said the little man at
last, shutting his snuff-box with a snap as he spoke,
belikee you don't remember me? "-for there
was no recognition in old Hezekiah's expression.



Why, yes, Master Lawyer ah Burton,"
answered Hezekiah, "I do remember you, and
that right well. Seeing that you was the man
that drew my brother-in-law's will, I am not
like to forget you so soon. No; I have n't
forgot you, Master Lawyer Burton."
"Very well, Mr. Tipton, I see you do know
me, for you 've got all that as straight as can
be. To tell you the truth, Mr. Tipton, I
could n't tell, to look at you, whether you know
me or not. You do stare at a body so strange.
D' ye think ye could follow me, Mr. Tipton, if
I speak to ye of a 'little matter that I have
come all the way down from Tripwell to tell
you about? The little lawyer asked this last
question feeling still not quite sure whether the
old man's mind was alert enough to understand
what he had to say to him.
"Aye, Master," said Hezekiah, "I can un-
derstand you."
"Then, first of all, tell me where is your
nephew, Jack Ballister," began the little man.
"He 's alive yet, is he ?"
Oh, yes," said the old man, he 's alive yet.
Jacky 's well--Jacky 's all very well, Master."
"Well, 't is mainly about him and his affairs
that I have come to Portsmouth, Mr. Heze-
kiah," said the little lawyer; "and, seeing that
you are his guardian, I come to you first of all.
When I made your brother-in-law's, the Rever-
end James Ballister's, will, 't was little I knew
how much it would be for your nephew in the
end, Mr. Tipton, seeing how poor was your
brother-in-law. Tell me, now, have you heard
that Lady Dinah Wellbeck is dead?"
"Why, notMaster Burton," said the old man;
"and who is Lady Dinah Wellbeck ?"
"Then I '11 tell ye all about her, Mr. Heze-
kiah," said the lawyer. She died more than
a fortnight ago. She was a very rich woman,
and she was your poor brother-in-law's aunt.
Your brother-in-law's family should have wrote
you or your nephew about her death, Mr. Tip-
ton, and I marvel they have not done so. But
that is neither here nor there; what I have
come for to tell you is that Lady Dinah, by her
will, hath left your poor brother-in-law a be-
quest. The will was made while he was alive,
and hath not been altered since; and so now,
he being dead, it goes to his son according to

law -to his son, your nephew, Jack Ballister.
D' ye follow me, Master Tipton ?"
The old America merchant said nothing, but
nodded his head. He was sitting quite still
now, leaning his elbow upon the top of the
desk with his bony forehead resting against the
tips of his fingers. As he sat so, looking out
from under his brows, his expression was more
keen and alert than it had been: it was as
though the film had passed away, and he was
very wide-awake to what was passing. How
much is the bequest ?" said he at last.
"Why, sir," said the lawyer, half hesitating,
"I--I believe it is a matter of-of some six
thousand pounds or so."
S" Six thousand pounds," repeated the old
man. He sat for a while as though thinking.
Presently he aroused himself. And why have
you taken the trouble to come here to tell me
about it ? asked he.
Why, Master Tipton," said the attorney,
"to tell you the truth, methought that if I came
first to tell you the news you might care to
have me look the matter up for you and act in
it for you. Belike you will need a lawyer to
look after your nephew's interest, d' ye see, Mr.
Tipton? 'T is a great fortune, Mr. Tipton."
"Ay, it is a great fortune," said the old
merchant then. "Ay, ay-I see-I thought
that was maybe the reason why ye 'd come to
me." He sat for a while sunk in thought.
"Six thousand pounds," he repeated to himself.
"It 's very sudden." Then, again arousing
himself, "I am much beholden to ye, Master
Lawyer, and if I need your services, I '11 let ye
know. Good morning, Master Lawyer, good
This last was said so suddenly that the lit-
tle attorney sat staring at the old man for a
moment or two in silence. "Well, but, Mas-
ter Tipton," said he, sure, you do not mean
to send me away like that. Sure, you must have
something more to say to me. Sure, you '11
need some one to look after your interests,-
your interest and your nephew's interest in this
great affair,-and why should you not have me
to look after them, seeing I have been the first
to tell ye the news; and seeing I live in the
neighborhood of Tripwell, and am Lady Di-
nah's neighbor almost, who can you choose that




would be better than me to represent you, Mr.
"I am much beholden to ye, Master Law-
yer," said Hezekiah again; "and I '11 let you
know if I want your services. But to tell you
the truth, Master Attorney, I 'd rather seek
my lawyer than have my lawyer seek me, for
then I know how to deal with him. So good
morning, Master, good morning. 'T is a fine
day overhead, Master Burton."

THEY were unloading a West India ship at
Drury's wharf, and Jack Ballister had gone
down to the wharf after noon to see them.
Part of the cargo was salt which had been
brought from Turk's Island. One of the sailors
had been selling some queer shells through the
town. Jack had gone down to the ship hop-
ing to see the shells; but he found that they
were busy at the wharf unloading the vessel,
and that they would not allow him to go
aboard. They had taken off the hatches, and
had opened the hold, and they were lifting
hogsheads of sugar up from below. The end
of the wharf was covered by a shed opened to-
ward the water. When Jack came down to the
wharf, he found that they had already taken out
the salt, and had piled the great coarse bags in
one end of the shed. One of the bags had a
hole torn in it, and a lot of the salt had run out
of it in a white gush upon the dirty boards of
the wharf. The wharf clerk, carrying an open
book, was busy noting the numbers of the hogs-
heads of sugar as they were brought up. They
had rigged a lift aboard the ship, and were rais-
ing the great hogsheads from the hold.
Jack had lounged for a while along the edge
of the wharf, waiting for an opportunity to go
aboard. Get away there called the wharf
clerk to him; and Jack went away to a little
distance, and perched himself upon the top of
one of the wharf-piles to which the ship was
made fast.
The men were yo-hoing as they pulled upon
the lift. The block and tackle creaked and
squealed as a great hogshead came slowly
up out of the hold.

The captain of the ship stood upon the high
poop deck. He stood leaning over the rail,
smoking his pipe. He wore a greasy red cap,
a shaggy waistcoat with brass buttons, and a
broad leather belt with a brass buckle. His
petticoat breeches were stained and greasy, and
he wore great sea-boots. His red hair was
plaited behind into a queue. A faint wreath of
smoke arose from the stovepipe of the galley
forward. Presently the negro cook came up
from below for a breath of fresh air, and stood
there with his head and sweating face just
showing above the scuttle. Jack looked up at
the tall masts and the lumbering cross-yards
and the maze of rigging overhead. The wind-
vane at the mast-head seemed to swim against
the floating blue patch of sky. The spring air,
salt from over the water, was soft and warm.
It was full every now and then of the smell of
the raw sugar. Jack sat indolently and aim-
lessly enjoying it all; the warm sunlight lying
strong upon his shoulders felt good to him.
Jack Ballister was a little more than sixteen
years old, a fine, large boy for his age, big-
jointed and broad-shouldered. He had an hon-
est round face, a little bit freckled, but good-
looking and good-natured. He had been living,
since his father had died (a little more than a
year before), with his uncle; and in that time he
had been allowed to do exactly as he pleased.
Hezekiah paid no attention to him at all, but
allowed him to come and go as he chose. For a
little while after Jack had come to live with him,
the old miser had constrained himself, in the
freshness of the boy's new coming and in the
bitterness of his grief, to pay some attention to
him. But in a little while he had drifted back
into his old lifeless life again, and soon became
lost in the callousness of his own selfhood. So
he gradually ceased to pay any attention to Jack,
who was allowed to go his way, and manage
his affairs as he chose. For a while Jack liked
this very much; but there came to be times,
when the other boys were at school, that he did
not know just what to do with himself, even
when the day was bright and pleasant.
Jack's father, who had been a great scholar,
had kept him all his life studying Latin and
Greek. At fifteen Jack could read Latin al-
most as well as he could English. He had




never really had a holiday except when his fa-
ther was sick or away from home; that was
why he had at first so much enjoyed the idle-
nesslof his life in his uncle Hezekiah's home.
Jack knew that his father had left some money
for him in trust with his uncle Hezekiah. He
also knew that it was not a great deal, but just
how much it was he did not know.
He sat now upon the top of one of the piles
with his hands in his pockets, swinging his legs,
watching them unload the sugar from the West
India ship. Ben Denny came along the wharf,
stepping carefully over'the hawsers. Presently
he had come to where Jack sat.
I 've been hunting everywhere for you,
Jack," said he. "Don't you want to take my
uncle's skiff and go with me over to Dan Der-
rick's cutter ?"
"Why, yes," said Jack, "I 'd like well
enough to go, but Ben Derrick won't let a
body go aboard her."
Oh! said Ben Denny, "as for that, 't is
not likely he '11 see us. He '11 be too busy in
the cooper shop to see us. Come along, Jack;
't won't do any harm to go out there at any
rate, even if they do call us away."
The two boys left the wharf together, going
back through the shady depths of the wharf
shed, cool in contrast to the warm sunlight.
The air seemed saturated with the smell of the
raw sugar and of the moist salt-sacks.

The cutter of which Ben Denny had spoken
had belonged to Dan Derrick. Dan had died
of a fever about a week before. Then his cut-
ter had been offered for sale by his widow.
His brother, Ben Derrick the cooper, had
charge of the boat, and it was anchored out
beyond the cooper shops. The boys whom
Jack knew had talked a good deal about the
cutter. They all knew that Jack had had
money left him, and they used to talk about
his buying the cutter with it. Jack was very
immature for his age. The boys he knew were
almost all younger than himself--two, three,
or four years. They used to play together in
an open lot not far from where Ben Denny
lived. They had built a sort of underground
place. They had a piece of old stovepipe, and
they used to build fires and sit around it and

talk. Every now and then Ebenezer Budd, the
old town watchman, who had been wounded
at Boyne Water, and who could remember the
talk of King Charles's death, used to drive
them away. They would run a little way off
and then they would halloo at him: Corporal
Budd, shot in the leg, peggity-peg! a-peggity-
peg!" and after he was gone they would come
back again. It was here that the boys used
to sit and talk about Dan Derrick's cutter and
how, if Jack could only have the money his
father had left him, he could buy the cutter.
Jack and Ben, after they had left the wharf,
walked up along the rambling street that
fronted the open harbor. As they went past
Ben's uncle's storehouse, Ben went in to get
the key of the padlock and the oars of the
skiff, and Jack walked out upon the rambling
wharf that stretched pretty far out into the
water. Presently Ben came with the oars.
He unlocked the padlock that held the skiff
chained to the wharf. Jack had climbed
down into the skiff and was bailing out the
water. Then Ben came, and presently they
pulled out from the wharf.
They rowed out into the harbor and around
the other side of the cutter as she lay at an-
chor, so that Ben Derrick might not see them
from the cooper shops. The gray frame sheds
of the cooper shops overhung the water. There
was a great pile of clean, new casks near them.
A ceaseless sound of hammering came from the
shops. "Tap -tap !-tappety !-tap! Tap!
-tap tappety tap !" There were vessels
lying at anchor out across the water, still and
motionless in the sun. They made fast the
painter and went aboard the cutter.
Jack walked up and down the decks looking
about him and up at the gilt weather-vane at
the mast-head. He realized that there was
enough money really his, if he only had it,
to buy the cutter, and he felt a delight almost
like the delight of real ownership.
"I wish we could get down below into the
cabin," said Ben, trying to open the scuttle, but
it was tight locked and fastened with a padlock.
They peeped through the round bull's-eyes of
windows, and could see in a distorted image
the row of empty berths within. The scuttle
of the galley was locked also, and the stovepipe


was rusty and cold. It seemed to speak singu-
larly of emptiness and desertion.
"If I was twenty-one, and had my money,
I 'd buy her to-morrow," said Jack, positively.

Jack and Ben stood talking together at the
corer of the street. Directly behind them was
the Indian Princess Coffee-house. Just now it
was empty and deserted, and the waiter stood
idly looking out of the window over the top of
the curtain. Now and then he looked aimlessly
at the boys, and then he looked away again. A
little man dressed in black with a white band at
his throat came briskly down the street toward
them. Who 's that ? said Jack.
I don't know," said Ben; "he 's a stranger
about here. I never saw him before."
As the little man approached, he gazed
steadily at the two boys, who, upon their part,
stared at him. The little man hesitated for a
moment, then he passed by. Then he stopped;
then, after a moment of hesitation, he came back
to where they stood. "Are n't you Master
Jack Ballister ?" said he to Jack.
Jack looked him over before answering, and
Ben stood listening. "Why, yes," said Jack,
" I am Jack Ballister. Who be you, Master ?"
There was something familiar in the little man's
face, but Jack could not exactly place him in
his remembrance.
"Why, don't you remember me? said the
little man, I was the attorney who drew up
your poor father's will at Dipford."
Oh, yes! said Jack, "I remember you now
well enough. How do you do, Master- why,
to be sure, I 've clean forgot your name!"
"My name 's Burton," said the little man.
Oh, yes!" said Jack, "I remember now,
Master Burton."
"I 've just been to see your uncle," said the
little man; "I 've brought him some news
that '11 be mightily interesting to you, Master
Jack. Come in here-" motioning to the cof-
fee-house-" and I '11 tell you all about it."
Jack followed the little man awkwardly into
the coffee-house; he had never been in there.
The little lawyer ordered the waiter to bring
him a pipe of tobacco, which he filled very
nicely; then, tilting it to the taper, he began
puffing out great -clouds of smoke. Jack

watched him with a sort of aimless interest.
Ben stood on the step outside, looking in
through the round glass of the door. The
waiter hung about making a pretense of setting
a neighboring table to rights. The little lawyer
turned to him sharply. "You may go now,"
said he, "I don't lack anything else"; and the
waiter went reluctantly.
The little man, puffing out cloud after cloud
of smoke, sat watching the waiter till he had
gone quite away. Then he turned sharply to
Jack. "Well, Master Jack," said he at last,
"what would you think if I was to tell you
that you had been left a great fortune?"
Jack sat staring, struck dumb at the very
first. "What d' ye mean ?" he said at last.
"Why, I mean what I say," said the little
man. "Do you know anything about your
father's family, Master Jack? "
"Why, no, not much," said Jack, "except
that they were gentlefolk up in Yorkshire."
"Well, then," said the little man, "I '11 tell
you more about them, for you '11 have to
know something about them. They are, as you
say, people of great quality up in Yorkshire.
Your uncle is a Knight of the Shire in South
Riding, and your poor father had an aunt
whose name was Lady Dinah Wellbeck. She
too was a great lady up in that part of the
country. Well, Master Jack, your poor father
was a great scholar, as you know. Now, I
don't know whether you know it or not; but
while he was a curate over in Welford-that
was before he went to live at Dipford -your
mother was his housekeeper. She was, if the
truth must be told, not very handsome, or, as
some said, very sweet-tempered either. It was
said, whether with truth or no, that your poor
father was teased into marrying her."
"I don't remember anything of her," said
"Neither do I," said the little man; "she
was dead before I knew your poor father.
What I say is only the gossip in Dipford.
Anyhow, your father did marry her and his
people up in Yorkshire were so ashamed of
him that they found him a living in Dipford,
where they might be well rid of him and her.
Well, Master Jack, your father, though he was
a great scholar, with his head in the clouds, was




so much of a man that when he died he would
have naught to do with his own people who
had so turned him off, but sent for your uncle
down here in Portsmouth and made him your
guardian until you come of age; and that 's
how you came to be here."
Well," said Jack, who had not been listen-
ing very closely, "methinks you said something
about a fortune? -What hath all this to do
with the fortune? What is the fortune ? "
"I 'm coming straight to it," said the little
man. "Well, then, about a fortnight ago Lady
Dinah Wellbeck, whom I told you was such a
great lady and your father's aunt--about a
fortnight ago, I say, she died all of a sudden,
and 't was found in her will, which she had
never changed, that she 'd left your poor father
a fortune of money." The little man paused
and sat puffing his pipe, looking at Jack.
"Well," said Jack, after a while, "and what
then ?"
The little man smiled, showing his white
even teeth. "Why," said he, "'t is yours now.
'T is more than six thousand pounds.".
For a moment or two Jack did not take it
all in. Then with a rush there came a sudden
great delight of realization. He could not be-
lieve it. Six thousand pounds!" repeated he.
Hush!" said the little man, shooting a look
at the waiter, who appeared too busy not to be
listening. "Yes, six thousand pounds. 'T is
all yours now every farthing. A great big
fortune-a fortune of six thousand pounds.
Think of that, Master Jack a fortune of six
thousand pounds! "
Jack sat staring at the little man without a
But, after all, Master Jack," continued the
attorney presently, you yourself can't touch it
yet. For, according to your poor father's will,
your uncle is made trustee for all your property
until you come of age. So you can't touch a
farthing of it till he chooses to give it to you."
"Is that true ?" said Jack.
Yes, 't is true."
Jack's face fell. In an instant all his golden
hopes were dashed. "Well, then," said he,
"it might as well be sunk in the sea for any
good I '11 have of it all, for he won't give me
a farthing as long as he can keep it from me."

Maybe he won't do it willingly," said Mr.
Burton, "but maybe he can be made to do it.
D' ye see, Master Jack, what you want in this
business is a lawyer to manage it for you. Of
course, 't is naught to me, but I can't abide to
stand by and see an ill done to anybody. 'T is
not right that your uncle should have all your
money, and give you no account of it, or no-
thing to spend out of it."
Jack began to understand. "Well, Master,"
said he, will you be my lawyer, and look after
my money for me ? "
The little man puffed out a cloud of smoke.
He watched it as it twisted about in the air,
growing thinner and thinner, and then dissolv-
ing in the sunlight. Well," said he, to be
sure I can't just look after your money for you,
but I can advise you how to look after it your-
Ben Denny opened the door of the coffee-
house. I 'm going home, Jack," said he.
"Wait, and I 'll be out here in a minute,"
said Jack. Then to the lawyer, "But is n't
there some way I can get some of my money,
Master? I 'd like some right away, if I
could get it. I and my friend yonder were
looking at a cutter. 'T is for sale; a fine boat'
as ever a body would wish to see. If I could
only get money enough to buy her I don't think
I 'd want anything else."
The attorney Burton looked doubtful. "How
much do they want for the cutter ? asked he.
"Why," said Jack, "they want a hundred
pounds for her. I know 't is a great deal of
money. But methinks they would take eighty
or ninety if 't was offered."
The attorney laughed. Why, if that's all
you want," said he, "methinks we may manage
to get that much. Well, then, if I 'm to be your
lawyer, I '11 tell you what to do, Master Jack.
You go tell your uncle that you 've had a talk
with me, and that I 've told you about your
fortune. Then you ask him for the money, and
if he don't give it to you, you tell him that
you're to come to me for more advice. I '11 be
back here this day a week hence. You come
here at this place, this day week, at eleven
o'clock. If I ain't here, wait for me, and then
I '11 go up with you to see your uncle, and
we 'll see together what can be done for you."



What did he want of you?" asked Ben
as the two boys walked away together. Jack
seemed to be walking on air. His life seemed
filled full with delight. "He told me," said
he, "that I 'd come into a fortune of six thou-
sand pounds, and that maybe now I can get
money to buy the cutter after all."
"What!" cried Ben. "When?"
Maybe to-morrow," said Jack.

JACK had made up his mind to speak to
his uncle that night, but when he came face to
face with doing so it was very hard. He and
the old miser were sitting together at supper.
It was some time before Jack could gather
resolution to speak. "Uncle Hezekiah-" said
he at last, and the words struck loud upon his
own ears.
The old man looked up quickly, as though
almost startled at the sound. He did not speak,
but his look asked Jack what he had to say.
Uncle Hezekiah," said Jack again, "there
was a stranger in town to-day, who told me a
mightily strange piece of news. He was the
attorney who drew up my father's will. You
know who I mean-Master Burton, the attor-
ney. Well, he said there 'd been a fortune left
me by an aunt of my father's. Is that so, Uncle
The old man looked steadily across the table
at Jack. He told you what?" said he dryly.
"He told me that there 'd been a fortune
left me," repeated Jack.
"A fortune," repeated the old man.
"Yes," said Jack.
"Well, he 's been telling you a pack of lies!"
Jack was leaning back in his chair, his hands
in his pockets. He sat looking at the old man
for a while. He felt thrown back upon himself,
and he did not know just how to resume the
I don't believe 't was a pack of lies," said
he at last. I believe there 's truth in it."
There was a pause. Hezekiah said nothing.
I tell you what 't is, Uncle Hezekiah," said
Jack, forcing himself to continue, I do believe
there 's truth in it, and I tell you what I 'm

going to do. I 'm going to have a lawyer to
look after my affairs after this."
"What! said the old man. He laid down
his knife and fork and looked straight at Jack.
"Why, you heard what I said," said Jack,
who grew bolder and bolder the more he
spoke. "Master Burton told me to-day that
I ought to have a lawyer to look after 'em."
"'T was all a pack of lies!" interjected the
old man.
"And I tell you what 't is," continued Jack,
without paying any attention to what he said,
"you never give me a groat to spend, or care
anything about me, or look after me, or do
anything for me. You don't so much as say
a word to me from one day's end to another."
"Well, what do you want me to say to you?"
said the old man.
"I don't want you to say anything to me that
you don't choose to say," said Jack. "'T is not
that I mean; but you don't treat me as if I
were flesh and blood, so you don't."
"Yes, I do, too," said Hezekiah. "I don't
know what you mean by talking to me this
way. What d' ye mean?"
"Why," said Jack, finding an opening at last,
and coming to the point, what I want is this:
I want what 's rightly mine, that 's all I want.
Look 'e, Uncle Hezekiah, I 'm over sixteen
years old, and old enough to look after myself
a little. Now, Uncle Hezekiah, Dan Derrick's
cutter- there 's a cutter lying off there in the
harbor that 's for sale. If I could buy her, I
know I could make money out of her. I could
make enough money to keep myself without
being a bother to you or anybody. They ask
a hundred pounds for her. If you will give
me a hundred pounds to buy her I won't ask
you for another farthing until I come of age.
Master Burton says I '11 be a rich man then."
The old man looked long and steadily at
Jack. "Why," said he, at last, "I do think
you 've gone clean crazy. A hundred pounds!
What should I give you a hundred pounds
"Why," said Jack, "you should give it to
me because 't is only a little part of what be-
longs to me."
"I think you be gone crazy," said the old
man again. "A hundred pounds! A hundred


* .1 -.1


VOL. XXI.-64. 505

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i. I.-~





$; ''


fiddlesticks! Then he began eating again, but
not as he had been doing. He ate more slowly,
and as though he were thinking of something.
Jack did not notice; he sat looking at him.
He was feeling very bitter. His uncle's words
and the manner of saying them seemed to put
it utterly and entirely out of the question for
him to get the money. The thought of having
a lawyer behind him had buoyed him up with
great hopes. Now what he had asked for
seemed very preposterous. "Well," said Jack,
at last," 't is all very well for you to say fiddle-
sticks,' Uncle Hezekiah. Maybe't is fiddlesticks,
but I '11 see if my lawyer can't talk to you bet-
ter than I can. Master Burton is coming back
here this day week, and I 'm to see him down
at the Indian Princess Coffee-house. He says I
ought to have the money I want, and he 's go-
ing to try to get the money for me. Maybe
you won't say fiddlesticks to him."
The old man did not seem to hear him. A
moment later he had finished his supper; then
he got up, and, without looking at Jack or
saying anything to him, he went away. Jack
heard him pass along the bare and empty pas-
sage beyond, and into the office. Then, with a
great deal of bitterness, he began to eat his
own supper, which till now he had not
He sat eating for a long time in lonely si-
lence, when suddenly he heard the office door
open once more, and his Uncle Hezekiah com-
ing down along the passage again. Jack heard
his fingers fumbling with the latch in the dark-
ness, and then the sharp click as it was raised.
Then the door opened, and the old man came
in. He stood for a moment, then he came
straight across to the table where Jack sat. He
stood leaning with both hands upon the table.
Jack did not know exactly what to expect. He
drew himself back, for a wild notion came into
his head that the old man was going to attack
him personally. "Look 'e, Jacky," said his
uncle at last, I 've been thinking of that there
hundred pounds you was speaking of, Jacky.

Well, Jacky, you shall have that hundred
pounds, you shall."
"What d' ye mean, Uncle Hezekiah ?" said
"Why," said Hezekiah, "you heard what,
I said. You shall have that hundred pounds,
Jacky. I 've been thinking about it and about
what that lawyer man said. Well, I '11 give it
to you. I can't give it to you just now, for a
hundred pounds is a deal of money, and I
have n't that much to give ye straight away.
But I '11 give it to you after awhile; I will,
Jacky. I 'l1 give it to you-let me see-I '11
give it to you on Monday next. Will that be
time enough ?"
Why, yes, it will," said Jack; "if you really
mean what you say."
"Ay," said the old man, "I mean it sure
enough; but don't you say anything about it
just yet awhile. I mean to be a good, kind
uncle to you, Jacky, I do," and he reached out
a lean, tremulous hand and pawed at Jack, who
drew away instinctively at his approach. I do,
Jacky, I do," said the old man, almost whining
in his effort to be affectionate; "but don't you
tell anybody about that there fortune, will you,
Jacky ?"
"What d' ye mean?" said Jack; "that for-
tune that Lady Dinah left me ?"
"Yes," said the old man, I mean that.
There be n't a word of truth in what that fel-
low told you, Jacky-not a word of truth. But
don't you say a word about it to, anybody and
you shall have that hundred pounds on Mon-
day next."
Then he turned and went away again. Jack
sat looking after him. He felt very uncom-
fortable. He could not understand why the
old man had yielded so suddenly. He did not
believe at all that he had yielded or that he
would give him the hundred pounds upon
Monday next. He felt that he had been put
off somehow with a barren promise that would
never bear fruit. "Well," said he to himself,
"I '11 see my lawyer on Monday next, anyhow."

(To be continued.)


JHI had been a long and
tiresome day. That aunt
-the aunt she did not
like-had stayed to lunch, and had not' left
till the afternoon; and to be examined in his-
tory and all sorts of things, to, be instructed
and have to speak pieces in summer-time--
it certainly was not fair! And Kitty left the
house after tea with a feeling of relief, and
stood where she could look out over the open
fields, whose little hills and ridges extended
toward the west.
By the side of the house was a path that ran
along the old garden and beyond its farthest
end, where the last half-broken paling kept a
group of sunflowers from straying into the
meadow. Then the little path twisted more
and more, and grew pale and indistinct as it
left the house, till it was lost in the close-
cropped grass of the meadow.
Kitty followed it down a little incline, and
blinked as the level rays of the setting sun
came straight in her eyes. She walked on un-
til a small ridge in the meadow rose in front
of her and shut off the direct light. Then,
sinking down on the grass, she rested her cheek
upon her hand and watched the sparkle of the
sunlight on the blades of grass at the top of
the hill. As she lazily lowered her eyes, it
seemed as though a little glowing light, like a
will-o'-the wisp, became visible in the dusky

shadow of the ridge in front of her. Looked
at more intently, the light seemed larger than
at first, and brighter. In the center was a
flower,-a sunflower,-but more brilliant and
assertive than any of its kind Kitty had ever
seen before. From around it extended bright
golden rays, its stalk moved gracefully to and
fro, and in the center of the petals was a face -
a face that looked at her with a condescending
smile, and an expression of self-satisfaction.
The two leaves nearest the flower seemed to
take on the semblance of arms, as they swayed
with the slight motion of the stalk.
This curious sunflower continued to gaze at
Kitty, and soon she became conscious that the
flower was speaking in a slow and leisurely
"Little girl," it said presently-"little girl,
I am glad to see you; for," it continued, "you
will now have an opportunity to make yourself
useful. You see those flags and reeds growing
along that small stream ? Gather a large bun-
dle and bring them here. Then, while you sit
at my feet, I will instruct you how to plait and
weave them."
Kitty obeyed, though she resented being or-
dered around; and when she had gathered
enough, she threw the bundle on the ground,
seating herself near it.
Then, following the flower's instructions,
Kitty commenced to weave the reeds into a


large extinguisher, shaped like the ones on old
candle-sticks, only ever so much larger.
"When that is completed," said the flower,
approvingly, "you will put it over me. When
it is removed, with appropriate ceremonies, I


shall appear before you as an Enchanting
Prince. At present I am an Enchanted Prince
- a slight difference, I must admit. But after I
am extinguished I shall be even more distin-
guished than I am now."
But how did you become enchanted ? and
what are you now ?" asked Kitty-" a sun-
flower ? "
I am the Real Sunflower," said the Prince,
proudly; and while you are completing your

task, I will relate to you the story of my en-
chantment at least, what I remember of it,
for it was long ago that it happened."
And this is the story that the sunflower told
Kitty, though perhaps he did not tell it in just
these words:
"Years ago many,
many years ago-I
was the only son of a
king, and naturally ac-
customed to have my
own way in every-
thing during my boy-
hood. But when I grew
up, my father wished
me to marry a rich prin-
cess who lived in a
neighboring country.
But I had different
ideas on the subject,
and refused point-
"You see, we believed
in a great many things
in those days; in fact,
we were kept so busy
believing in things that
we hardly had time
for anything else. Now,
one belief that we had
was in regard to the
sun. We believed that
the sun went round the
earth once a day, or
well, something of
that sort. We were
quite sure that at even-
ing, when the sun
reached that interesting
UNFLOWER?" country of which we
still catch glimpses at sunset, its light was put out,
and then the sun was carried round, by some
out-of-the-way road, to its starting-place in the
east, to be ready for the next morning. Just
how it was taken round I am not sure. I think
it was put on a carriage and drawn by six horses
with silver manes and jet-black hoofs I have
forgotten now. But it does not matter.
What interested me was that the sun was
supposed to be inhabited. A beautiful princess



was thought to be imprisoned in it, and there
was a legend that she might be rescued by the
brave knight who would travel to where the
sun set, and there attempt the task. Of course,
if a knight released her, she could hardly do
less than marry him. I don't think any one
had ever tried the enterprise; you see it took
a good deal of valuable time to believe a story
like that, and by the time one was convinced
of the truth of it, he hardly felt equal to the
effort of starting off upon the journey.
But I was not only young and enterprising:
I fully believed the story, and when a boy I
had determined to marry the princess. I told
my father of my determination, supposing, of
course, he would at once set about assisting
me, and would give up his own plan.
I had heard this legend quite often, for my
father and a queer old retired magician used
to talk it over summer evenings, as they sat be-
hind the castle parapet and watched the sunset.
This old magician, who was retired on
a pension, and had not practised any
magic for many years, never had any
particular liking for me. Indeed, as a
child I had given him a great deal of
trouble by crying for the moon, which,
of course, he could not procure; and as
I grew older, I used to play tricks on
him which annoyed him very much. An-
other thing that he disliked was my
laughing at the antics of his old winged
horse-an aged white animal, apparently
as old and worn out as his master.
"While we sat together on the para-
pet, in the summer evenings, I would look
over the edge and giggle to myself at the attempts
the old horse made to fly up to the limb of an
old tree near by, on which he always went to
roost. Owing to his age and weariness, the old
steed would have to make several useless efforts
before he could accomplish even that short
flight. He would flounder up and down and
flap his wings, to my great entertainment, and
to his master's annoyance.
"In his time, the magician had been very
distinguished, and had enjoyed all the advan-
tages of the Darkest Ages, but he was now
considered pretty well shelved, and had left
no successor.

"All this, as I have said, happened so long,
long ago that I myself have only a misty and
dim recollection of it. I remember my father's
ancient castle that stood on the upper slope of a
hill with groups of old dark trees around it, the
parapet upon which we used to sit, the long
plain in front that extended toward the west,
and the golden glow of the sunset that trans-
formed everything -softening the old castle
and the woods, gilding the stone lilies carved
over the entrance, and making the deer in the
park gleam like spots of bright gold.
When my father found that I had outgrown
crying for the moon only to begin crying for
the sun (a perfectly natural course of things, by
the way) he was very angry; he would not
listen to me at all, and declared, in a passion,
that he gave me three days to decide what I
would do marry the princess he had chosen
for me, or go to the dungeon. Now, I used to
play hide-and-seek in the dungeon as a boy,

when I could get
permission to do so,
and knew what it was
like; so I felt that I
could find better sport ."
outside since I had l -
grown up.
"I was the leader "' WOULD LOOK OVER THE EDGE
of the young knights OF THE POOR OLD HORSE TO FLY
in the neighborhood, UP TO THE LIMB OF A TREE.'"
in the neighborhood,
and I laid the case before them. We decided
that as the life had been very tame at home for
many years, and as all the neighboring kings
persisted in remaining at peace, we would start



on an expedition to the land of the setting sun.
If we found things to our liking there, we might
remain, or at least return with such honors that
we should be forgiven for our flight.
If I could only bring back as a bride the
princess in the sun, I felt sure she would be
welcomed; and if she insisted on taking along
with her her coach and six horses and the

. -

S . .= ,..'L I ..o I ,
sun- h ..' ,' :
she could 6 -o 'c '
iche wouild h. ve l;:,undJ \.k-
me a er\ kind and i't
indulgent uil-. iair- l
So o:ff ie sc iirted, ont:r e rin.
.n',rfrnlng, % 1ie1i r:n one kneui .n y-
thing aboL ut it. Ouir I,. 'es r. le
the Iate't- Iii the Co tirlit ,e were
the L.,et rii ers, and r e kne v.e could .-.
nor be : -rtalen. \\hen i.e er, a long
w\i o'f. I looked La:k. riind:l I thol ught I
could dindly see m fa1Ither and the nmagician,
who must have discovered our flight, gazing
after us from the parapet. Then I turned my
face toward the west, and we galloped on.
Day after day we traveled. We rode over
plains and hills, and through woods; or, in

boats, we were ferried over rivers and lakes,
or sailed across great seas. The days became
weeks, the weeks grew into months, and still
we traveled on. But the enthusiasm with which
we had started forsook us at times, and then
our progress became slower and less spirited.
"At last, toward the close of an autumn day,
we found ourselves riding slowly over a stretch
of wide, rolling country. Through the haze of
early autiumnr we saw the dim forms of the trees
:lo,-kingi u!rn.airal large; and even the sun
it:elf -eenied nIeiarr th[.,li ever before. As I
l.,:,k,.-.d LiLck oer nmi\ d-.l1der I could see some
:f in \ f,: ll:weri s hll' ctlsing their eyes and
S li-.1.lull, tr\iiyg to grasp in their
hands the rays that seemed
to reach from the sun, as a
c ihild liniht do with the rays
;r'' firnm ai lighted lamp. But
there, .-. appeared dejected and
discouraged. They would
som m niriini look so long at the
wun thlt li hen they took their
S eyei a [w-y they seemed to see
the heavlic c dotted with other
suns,- :--.:oe dark or purple color-
Sed.-- nd thice who were super-
stitiu.u- t:'lok this for a bad omen.
SI n one of the knights who
Was riding far in the
re ir called out to us,
and we looked back.
Far off was a white
object, rising
and falling,but
steadily ap-
proaching us.
As it came
S nearer, we saw
that it was the
1,,ld retired
I mag i c i an
.n his old
-- who was
too old
-- for the




he might once have taken, and so could only see, from my fol-
skim the ground, rising int. te ,a; r r a le I hae L en
moments at a time.
"But the magician soon re.c~',hd us,aind ruined
up a little way in the rear. He Ihad .1briught,
in addition to his winged h:irsc anrd magic
wand, message from my tr.'ier. \\e
were commanded to ilrin. he .
said, and he was empowered r. i- .
use his magic to punish u; il .. nii,
we refused. .. ...
"But when we looked .it
him so old and tirec. '!t
his ridiculous bony '
horse breathing hea-
vily after the long
journey, with two or .
three feathers disar- '
ranged in his wings, :
we burst into loud s
laughter. He could ,
do us no harm, we *.-
felt sure, and we
turned and rode on.
"But the magician i.
rose in his stirrups
and extending his
wand commenced an
incantation. I looked .
back once more-there \
was a field of waving sun-
flowers I had not seen bel:,re: .
but my compafly had disappeared.
"Hoping that his macic n as not '.i
able to injure me, I put my horse to a
gallop, and started off, thinking in the gather- "KITTY CLAPPED THE
ing twilight I might escape. Away we went.
I had a good start, and was at first out of hear- deliverance is at
ing; but I soon saw that his horse would over- extinguisher, afti
take mine. teach you, I sh;
On he came, flapping his wings, and rising into a prince--
and falling like an enormous, awkward bird. As ments of gold do
he neared me, I turned and drew my sword. you grow up, i
"The magician laughed. Three times he please me, I ma
waved his wand in the air, three times he re- marrying you!
peated a magic spell, and I was transformed But you wou
into what I am now. exclaimed Kitty,
"But I was a prince, and the malicious ma- and more angry
gician could not wholly transform me into a sion; "and--yc
common flower like the rest-so I differ, as you guisher! Jum

lower_. Here
all these years
a', acting m, re-
lea-e. M\v c':'m-
panii:,!r,, changed
as thea ire, still
Collo:,w tl,- sun
th. l their
'. t"ce ,bL.ut
I hate

all thought
EXTIN- of that vain quest.
And now my time for
hand. When you remove the
er repeating the words I will
all be transformed once more
vith a golden sword, and gar-
th. Perhaps-perhaps-when
f you are well educated and
y reward you for your aid by
Think of it-"
Ild not be a prince nowadays,"
who had been growing more
at his conceit and condescen-
u shall stay under the extin-
ping on a stone near the sun-



flower, Kitty clapped the extinguisher over it.
The Enchanted Prince called out, indignantly,
as it descended, and suddenly, to Kitty's sur-
prise and amazement, everything grew dark,
and then-she woke up to find herself lying
in the field alone.

Kitty looked around her. It was getting late,
the sun had set, and two or three little stars had

come out. The air felt cooler, and little puffs
of wind came over the field. Kitty rose to her
feet and started toward the house, where she
saw the lights had been lit. As she passed the
old garden, the sunflowers, inclining toward the
west, half closed and drooping in the evening
air, seemed to nod slowly and reproachfully
at her, but she ran by them to the lighted





IT will be no exaggeration to say that the
life of the Indian boy hunter was a life of fasci-
nation. In the moment that he lost sight of
his rude home in the midst of the -forest, his
untutored mind lost itself in the myriad beau-
ties and forces of Nature. He never forgot his
personal danger from some lurking foe of an-
other tribe, or some savage beast, however ab-
sorbing was his passion for the chase. The In-
dian youth naturally became a hunter. Every
motion, every step, expressed an inborn dignity,
and at the same time a depth of native caution.
His moccasined foot fell- like the velvet paw
of a cat -noiselessly; his shining black eyes
scanned every object that appeared within their
view. Not a bird, not even a chipmunk, escaped
their piercing glance.
I was scarcely over three years old when I
stood one morning, just outside our buffalo-skin
tepee, with my little bow and arrows in my
hand, and gazed up among the trees. Sud-
denly the instinct to chase and kill seized me
powerfully. Just then a bird flew over my
head, and then another caught my eye, as it
balanced itself upon a swaying bough. Every-
thing else was forgotten, and in that moment I
had taken my first step as a hunter! As I fol-
lowed the birds, constantly looking up among
the branches of the trees, a little chipmunk
suddenly ran chattering along a fallen branch.
I hastened after him, but I had scarcely ad-
vanced a rod or two when I heard a peculiar
hissing sound. A snake! The baby hunter
screamed, and ran for his life to the shelter
of his grandmother's lodge. It was not a suc-
cessful beginning.
There was almost as much difference be-
tween the Indian boys who were brought up
on the prairies and those of the woods, as be-
tween city and country boys. The hunting of
the prairie boys was limited, and their know-
VOL. XXI.- 65. s

ledge of natural history was therefore slight.
They were, as a rule, fine riders, but in physical
development much inferior to the red men of
the forest. Our hunting varied according to the
seasons of the year, and the nature of the coun-
try which was for the time our home. Our chief
weapon was the bow and arrows, and perhaps,
if we were lucky, a knife was possessed by some
one in the crowd. In the olden times, knives
and hatchets were made of bones and stones.
For fire, we used a flint, with a spongy piece
of dry wood, and a stone to strike with. An-
other way of starting fire was for several of the
boys to sit down together and rub two pieces
of dry, spongy wood together, one after an-
other, until the wood took fire.
We hunted in company a great deal, though
it was a common thing for a boy to set out
alone, and he usually enjoyed himself quite as
much. Our game consisted mainly of small
birds, rabbits, squirrels, and grouse. Fishing,
too, occupied much of our time. We hardly
ever passed a creek or a pond without search-
ing for some signs of fish. When fish were
found we always managed to get some. Fish-
lines were made out of wild hemp, sinew, or
horsehair. We either caught fish with lines,
snared or speared them, or shot them with bow
and arrows. In the fall we charmed them up
to the surface of the water by gently tickling
them with a stick, and then quickly threw them
out. We have sometimes dammed the brooks,
and driven the fish into a willow basket made
for that purpose.
It was part of our hunting to find new and
strange things in the woods. We examined
the slightest sign of life, and if a bird had
scratched the leaves off the ground, or a bear
dragged up a root for his morning meal, we
stopped to speculate on the time it was done.
If we saw a large old tree with some scratches
on its bark, we concluded that a bear or some
racoons must be living there.. In that case


-we did not go any nearer than was necessary
:to find out what it was, but later reported the
incident at home. An old deer-track would
at once bring on a warm discussion as to
whether it was the track of a buck or a doe.
Sometimes at noon we compared our game,
and at the same time noted the characteristics
and peculiarities of everything we had killed.
It was not merely a hunt, for we combined
with it the study of animal life. We kept also a
strict account of our game, and thus we learned
who were the best shots among the boys.
I am sorry to say that we were merciless to-
ward the birds. We often took their eggs and
young ones. A companion and I once had a
singular experience in this way. We were ac-
customed to catch in our hands young geese
and ducks during the summer. While thus en-
gaged we happened to find a crane's nest. Of
course, we were delighted with our good luck.
But, as it was already midsummer, the young
cranes, two in number, were rather large and
they were a little way from the nest; we also
observed that the two old cranes were in a
swampy place, quite near by; but as it was
moulting time, we did not suppose that they
would venture on dry land. So we proceeded
to chase the young birds; but they were fleet
runners and it took us some time to catch up
with them. Meanwhile, the parent birds had
heard the cries of their little ones, and came to
their rescue. They were chasing us while we
followed the young ones. It was a perilous en-
counter! Our strong bows gained the victory
in a hand-to-hand battle with the angry cranes,
but after that we scarcely ever hunted a crane's
nest. Almost all birds make some resistance
when their eggs or young are taken, but very
few will attack man fearlessly. Our devices
for trapping small animals were rude, but were
often successful. For instance, we used to
gather up a peck or so of large, sharp-pointed
burs, and scatter them on the rabbit's furrow-
like path. Of course in the morning we would
find the little fellow sitting quietly on his
track, unable to move, for the burs stuck to
his feet.
Another way of snaring rabbits and grouse
was the following: We made nooses of twisted
horsehair, which we tied very firmly to the

top of a limber young tree, then bent the lat-
ter down to the track and fastened the whole
thing with a slip-knot, after adjusting the loop.
Then when the rabbit runs his head through
the noose, he pulls the slip-knot, and is quickly
carried up by the spring of the young tree.
This was a good plan, for the rabbit is out of
harm's way as he swings high in the air.
We used to climb large trees for young birds
of all kinds; but we never undertook to get
young owls unless they were on the ground-
especially the hooting owl. They are danger-
ous for a boy to attack under these circum-
One of my most unpleasant experiences was
in the endeavor to catch a yellow-winged wood-
pecker in his nest. My arm became twisted
and lodged in the deep hole so that I could
not get it out without the aid of a knife; but
we were fully two miles from home, and my
only companion was a deaf-and-dumb cousin
of mine. I was about fifty feet up the tree, in
a very uncomfortable position, but I had to
wait there for more than an hour before he
brought me the knife with which I finally re-
leased myself.
Perhaps the most enjoyable of all was the
chipmunk hunt. We killed these animals at
any time of the year, but the special time to
hunt them was in March. After the first thaw,
the chipmunks burrow a hole through the
snow-crust, and make their first appearance
for the season. Sometimes as many as fifty will
come together and chase one another all about
the scene. These gatherings occur only early
in the morning-from daybreak to about nine
We boys learned this among other secrets of
Nature, and got our blunt-headed arrows to-
gether in good season for the chipmunk expe-
dition. We generally went in groups of six to
a dozen or fifteen, to see which would get the
most. On the evening before we selected sev-
eral boys who could imitate the chipmunk call
with wild-oat straws, and each of these pro-
vided himself with a supply of straws. The
crust will hold the boys nicely at this time of the
year. Bright and early they all come together
at a certain appointed place, from which each
group starts out in a different direction, agree-



ing to meet somewhere at a certain position of
the sun.
My first experience of this kind is still well
remembered. It was a fine crisp March morn-
ing, and the sun had not yet shown itself
among the distant tree-tops, as we hurried
along through the woods until we arrived at
a place where there were many signs of the
animal. Then each of us selected a tree, and
took up his position behind it. The chipmunk
caller sat upon a log as motionless as he could,
and began to call. Soon we heard the patter
of little feet on the hard snow; then we saw
the chipmunks approaching from all directions.
Some stopped and ran up a tree or a log, as if
uncertain of the direction of the call; others
chased one another about
In a few minutes the chipmunk caller was
besieged by them. Some ran all over his per-
son, others under him, and still others ran up
the tree against which he was sitting. Each
boy remained immovable until their leader
gave the signal, then a shout arose, and the
chipmunks in their flight all ran up different
Now the shooting-match began. The little
creatures seemed to realize their hopeless posi-
tion; they would endeavor to come down the
trees and flee away from the deadly aim of the
youthful hunters. But they were shot down
very fast; and whenever several of them rushed
toward the ground, the little redskin hugged
the tree, and yelled frantically so as to scare
them up again! Each boy shoots always
against the trunk of the tree, so that the arrow
may bound back to him every time; otherwise
when he had shot away all of them, he would
be helpless, and another, who had cleared a
tree, would come and take away his game. So
there was warm competition. Sometimes a
desperate chipmunk would jump from the top
of the tree in order to escape, which was con-
sidered a joke on the boy from whose tree it
had escaped, and a triumph for the brave little

animal. At last all were killed or gone, and
then we went on to another place, keeping up
the sport until the sun came out and the chip-
munks refused to answer the call.
When we were out on the prairies, we had a
different and less lively kind of sport. We used
to snare with horsehair and bow-strings all the
small ground animals, including the prairie-dog.
We both snared and shot them. Once a little
boy set a snare for one, and lay a little way off
from the hole, holding the end of the string,
and when he felt a stir, he pulled it. He
caught a huge rattlesnake; and to this day his
name is Caught-the-Rattlesnake."
Very often a boy got his name in some such
manner. Another time; while we played in the
woods, we found a fawn's track. We followed
and caught it while asleep; but in the struggle
to get away it kicked one boy, who is still
called Kicked-by-the-Fawn."
It became a necessary part of our education
to learn to prepare a meal while out hunting.
It is a fact that most Indians eat some por-
tions of large animals raw, but they do not
eat fish or birds of any kind uncooked. On
our boyish hunts, we often went on until we
found ourselves a long way from our camp,
when it became necessary to kindle a fire and
roast a part of our game. It will be well to
state here that we did not eat all kinds of birds,
fish, and animals. Most Indians will not eat a
frog or an eel.
Generally we broiled our meat over the coals
on a stick. We roasted some of it. But the
best way to cook fish and birds is in the ashes,
under a big fire. We take the fish fresh from
the creek or lake, have a good fire on the sand,
dig in the sandy ashes, and bury it deep. The
same thing is done in case of a bird, only we
wet the feathers first. Thus it is cooked whole.
When it is done, the scales or feathers and skin
are stripped off whole, and the delicious meat
retains all its juices and flavor. We pulled it
off as we ate, leaving the bones undisturbed.

(To be concluded.)




\U '_ I OFTEN hear folks talking,
I W a-laughing and a-talking
About a little girl who "lives
not very far from here";
One who 's "extremely mussy"
And "meddlesome" and "fussy,"
Who "loves to wander through the house and
get things out of gear."
I 'm glad I 'm not so mussy
And meddlesome and fussy;
I cannot see why any girl can be so very queer.


I 've just heard mother joking, a-scolding and
About a little girl who "does not live a mile
She says she is "a midget
Made up of mostly fidget,"

And "from Monday until Sunday, she does
nothing else but play."
I 'm glad I 'm not "a midget
Made up of mostly fidget."
I 'm glad I 'm not so little that I cannot quiet

I once heard Papa hinting, a-talking and a-
About a little girl who "does n't live up in
the moon."
He says she 's "very silly,
And her first name is n't Billy,"
That she "talks the blessed morning, if she
does n't sleep till noon."
I 'm glad I am not silly,
Though my first name is n't Billy,
And I hardly ever talk at all, and always get
up soon."

I 've heard some folks complaining, a-sighing
and complaining,
About a little girl who lives next door to folks
they know."
They say she 's "very lazy,"
She "almost sets them crazy,"
That she 's "always doing nothing, and does it
very slow."
I 'm glad I am not lazy,
I never set folks crazy,
And I work so very very much I 've hardly
time to grow.




There were two liftle men of 'ye olden tyrne
Of heir manners so very proud
That each would try to outdo in grace
The other, whenever they bowed.
They would bend, and bend, and bend so low
That finally, it was said,
Their three-cornered, hats would touch the around--
And then each stood on his head!



"Oh. I have traveled said Barrington 1ragge,
'X very great many long miJes
I've been from Maine to the Golden Gate,
And oul to the Sandwich Isles
Then on to Japan
And to Hindostan,
Crossed the Arabian Sea;
t_ rom Cape of Good Hope, at slowest rate,
WAay up to the Zuyder Zee;
Through Ihe Dritish Isles,and France,and Spain,
Then over the sea and home again;
By ]and and by Sea,by ship and by drag ,
Oh. I have traveled said Barrington brage ,
"A-- very 3reat many long miles .




There were two liftle men of 'ye olden tyrne
Of heir manners so very proud
That each would try to outdo in grace
The other, whenever they bowed.
They would bend, and bend, and bend so low
That finally, it was said,
Their three-cornered, hats would touch the around--
And then each stood on his head!



"Oh. I have traveled said Barrington 1ragge,
'X very great many long miJes
I've been from Maine to the Golden Gate,
And oul to the Sandwich Isles
Then on to Japan
And to Hindostan,
Crossed the Arabian Sea;
t_ rom Cape of Good Hope, at slowest rate,
WAay up to the Zuyder Zee;
Through Ihe Dritish Isles,and France,and Spain,
Then over the sea and home again;
By ]and and by Sea,by ship and by drag ,
Oh. I have traveled said Barrington brage ,
"A-- very 3reat many long miles .



EARLY one fine summer morning, near the
beginning of the last century, there was a great
stir in the Czar's palace at St. Petersburg. It
was a very different place from the splendid
"Winter Palace which now looks down upon
the Neva, for both it and the greater part of
the town were just newly built; and where the
stately streets and gold-plated church-towers
of St. Petersburg now stand, there was then
nothing to be seen but a crowd of untidy-
looking wooden houses in the midst of a sea
of dust or mud.
A group of excited men in rich dresses had
gathered around the main entrance of the
palace, and were talking loudly and eagerly.
But every tongue was suddenly hushed as a
towering figure, clad in a shabby green uni-
form trimmed with faded lace, came striding
among them as a lion might stalk through a
herd of jackals.
Indeed, if the new-comer had been a lion,
they could hardly have got out of his way more
hastily. And well they might; for this shabbily
dressed man was no other than the Czar him-
self, Peter the Great of Russia.
"Poor Sistoff 's going to catch it now!"
muttered a hard-faced old soldier who was
standing on guard at the door. Whenever
Peter Alexeievitch (Peter, the son of Alexis)
sets his lips that way, and tugs with his right
hand at the breast of his coat, he means mis-
But Balakireff, his majesty's jester, is Sistoff's
cousin," said a man beside him; "and he 's
such a favorite that he '11 surely be able to beg
him off."
"Twenty Balakireffs could n't do it!" an-
swered the sentinel positively. "Just you wait
and see."
It certainly appeared as if he were right, for
Peter's voice was like the roar of a winter storm
through the pine-forests as he shouted:

Bring in the prisoner! "
The prisoner was brought in accordingly,
looking more dead than alive. He was a
servant of the palace; Sistoff by name, and had
always borne a good character. How he had
managed to offend the Czar, no one knew; but
Peter's face showed plainly that it was likely to
go hard with the poor fellow.
But before Sistoff could gather his scattered
wits to answer the Czar's stern question, what
had he to say for himself, there glided into the
room a queer little man with a bald head, at
sight of whom a lurking smile flitted over the
set faces of the Czar's officers.
In fact, the new-comer did make a very
comical figure. On his head he wore a high
pointed cap, with several small bells on it which
tinkled as he moved, while his long frock was
covered with broad stripes of red and blue, and
fluttering strips of colored paper.
Altogether, any one would have thought on
seeing him that if he were not actually crazy,
he must be some kind of mountebank. Such,
indeed, he was; for this was the Czar's jester,
Balakireff, Sistoff's cousin, of whom the old
guardsman had just been speaking.
Peter guessed at once that the jester had
come to plead for his cousin, and turning to
the officers, cried:
Gentlemen, I know what this man is go-
ing to ask of me, and I declare before you
all that I will not grant his petition."
Quick as lightning Balakireff threw himself
at the Czar's feet, and said, loud enough for
every one to hear:
"I beseech your majesty not to pardon that
scamp of a cousin of mine! "
The daring and readiness of the trick struck
every one dumb, and the officers exchanged
glances of silent astonishment.
Peter's dark face glowed like heated iron,
and he clenched his strong right hand till the


knuckles grew white. There was a moment
of terrible silence, and every one feared that
the brave jester was about to pay dearly for
his "boldness. Then the Czar spoke:
A Russian Czar must not break his word,
so you may go free, Sistoff. But as for you,
Balakireff, begone from hence, and never show
yourself upon Russian soil again!"
Poor Balakireff, who evidently had not ex-
pected such harshness, looked thunderstruck;
but as he turned to leave the room, a sudden
twinkle in his small gray eyes showed that he
had already hit upon a plan for getting him-
self out of the scrape.
I 'm sorry for him, too! said one of the
sentries at the door, turning to look after the
departing jester. "He kept us all alive here
with his fun and his tricks, and the place will
be quite dull now that he 's gone."
"We '11 see him again before long, never
fear," answered the other. "Balakireff's not
such a fool as he looks, and I 'm much mis-
taken if he does n't prove too sharp for the
Czar yet."
One week, two weeks, three weeks went by,
and still nothing was seen or heard of the miss-
ing Balakireff. At last, early one morning, Pe-

ter the Great, who was always up before sun-
rise, saw a cart jogging up to the very gate of
the palace, driven by a man in whom his keen
eye at once recognized his banished jester.
"How dare you disobey my commands, you
rascal?" cried the Czar, stepping forward to
meet him.
"How have I disobeyed them, pray?"
asked Balakireff, boldly.
Did I not tell you," rejoined Peter, never
to show yourself upon Russian soil again ? "
"To be sure you did," answered the jester, as
composedly as ever, and I have obeyed your
orders. This cartload of earth upon which I 'm
sitting is not Russian soil at all; it 's all from
the other side of the river, from Finland, and
that's Swedish soil, as you know."
The Czar laughed in spite of himself. In
-his heart he had already begun to regret the
loss of his old friend and companion, and he
was not at all sorry to find an excuse for get-
ting him back again.
"Well, I 'l pardon you this time," said he,.
still laughing; "but if Finland be Swedish soil
now, it shall be Russian before long."
And a very few years later, Peter the Great
made good his words.



THE story of the little settlements among the
hills of the peninsula of San Francisco reads like
some picturesque romance, and has always been
interesting to me because it is so different from
the story of other American cities. Spanish priests
founded a mission here, and Spanish soldiers
built a fort, or Presidio, in the autumn of 1776,
while General Howe was capturing New York
and driving Washington across into New Jersey.
Many of the Spanish governors lived here.
San Francisco Bay, the beautiful inland sea,
with its surroundings of fertile valleys and high
mountains, was sailed past by early Spanish
voyagers and by Sir Francis Drake himself,

who, in I579, cast anchor, as all critics agree,
in old San Francisco harbor" (Drake's Bay),
under Point Reyes. The sea fog must have
lain across the Golden Gate when the famous
sea-king sailed past. For ninety years longer
the great bay was undiscovered. Then, in 1769,
Spanish priests, soldiers, and colonists came to
California; and, November 7th in that year, the
expedition led by Governor PortolA and Father
Juan Crespi, of the Franciscan order, discov-
ered the bay of San Francisco. Six years
passed before the new harbor was entered by
water. Then, in 1776, Mission Dolores was
founded in a valley at the base of the twin


peaks, and a Spanish fort overlooked the
Golden Gate, and the Spanish folk began to
settle the long peninsula and the valleys south,
east, and north of the bay of San Francisco.
Missions and settlements were founded at
Santa Clara, San Jos6, and Sonoma; and the



Indians were subdued, till, in 1813, Mission Do-
lores had twelve hundred converts, and thou-
sands more were at the other missions.
About sixty years after Mission Dolores was
founded, an English trader named Richardson
pitched a tent oni the shore of the bay at the
head of Yerba Buena cove; Jacob Leese built
the first wooden house, and a few Americans
settled at the place. One was old Galbraith,
the blacksmith, who used to take his home-
made Kentucky rifle at daybreak, and shoot
deer among the sand-hills where the City Hall
now stands. The cove had been called Yerba
Buena because a fragrant, white-flowered little

California vine much liked by the Spanish peo-
ple was very abundant along the shore. The
large island in the bay, now Goat Island, was
also called Yerba Buena in those days.
So there were really three settlements within
the present limits of the city of San Francisco:
the soldiers' camp at the Presidio, the Indian
and Spanish village at the mission, which was
called San Francisco, and the trading-post of
Yerba Buena. Communication was slow and
difficult among these settlements; for bogs,
rocks, mountains, and sand-hills.covered with
scrub-oaks and dense undergrowth filled the
space between. In January, 1846, eleven years
after its foundation, Yerba Buena contained
only thirty houses, but, July 8th, the Stars and
Stripes were hoisted over the little frontier vil-
lage that lay on the. eastern slope of the penin-
sula, facing the continent; and in January,
1847, the American magistrate issued a decree
adopting the name San Francisco. In a few
months more there were one hundred and fifty-
seven houses and four hundred and fifty-nine
people in the town. Then followed the dis-
covery of gold in the Sierra foot-hills, and the
"Golden Age of '49." In three years more
the population of the young metropolis of
California increased to thirty-six thousand.
Through the stormy years of the early fifties,
San Francisco shared in all the experiences
of the mining-camps. Although more than a
hundred miles from the nearest gold-fields, it
was as truly a mining-town as Marysville or
Sacramento, and its pioneers followed every
new mining excitement. James Lick, whose
money built the observatory on Mount Hamil-
ton, stayed in San Francisco then, and bought
corer lots for a few dollars apiece, when thou-
sands of citizens went to Frazer River mines.
In these pioneer days the city was overrun
with desperados of every description. Rob-
beries, murders, and the burning of buildings
were of almost daily occurrence until the bet-
ter class of citizens organized the famous Vigi-
lance Committees, the second of which held
the city for three months, in 1856, and firmly
established law and order. This pioneer period
of San Francisco is especially interesting to
every young American who likes to know the
history of our cities. It seems as if the events




of a hundred ordinary years were crowded into
ten years of life in early San Francisco, with


.... -
------ -.


its mixed population gathered from every land
under the sun. It was the gateway to the Cali-
fornia of the gold-miner, and the whole State
seemed to grow up about its rocky peaks.
Never before had Americans attempted to
build a great city upon a more difficult site.
About Yerba Buena cove in 1846 there was
hardly level ground for a thousand people to

live upon; but the pioneers began at once to
cut down the sand-hills and pour them into
the valley, mud-flats, ravines, and the bay it-
self. In the course of time, four or five hun-
dred acres of "made land" extended across
the buried cove and to deep water, where a
sea-wall of rock now protects the city. The
larger hills will always remain the glory of the
place, but room for a great business population
has been created, and the heights remain for
residence. The hulls of worn-out ships of the
pioneer period, such as the "Niantic," about
which Bret Harte wrote, still lie underneath
the pavements. Only a little while ago, some
workmen digging the foundations of a new
building found a box containing a little money
and an officer's sword.
Thirty years ago, one may fairly say, the
pioneer period ended and modern San Fran-
cisco began to take shape. "Chinatown" grew
in its midst, and wealth and fashion moved
slowly westward. To-day the 325,000 people of
San Francisco occupy fully two thirds of the
thirty-six square miles within the city limits.
It is the modern San Francisco, throned
upon a hundred hills, that appeals to one's



VOL. XXI.- 66.



imagination even more strongly than the old
city of tents and shanties stretched along a nar-
row beach. This San Francisco looms high
before the stranger, a city set upon a ridge,
seen gleaming like a constellation a.s the night
Overland train rounds the hills of the eastern
shore of the bay and passes along to the Oak-
land ferry. An Englishman, Mr. Rupert, who
wrote a book about his travels in America, says
of this approach to the city by night:
It is a mountain looming out of the water, some three
miles in length and all ablaze with lights running upward
in close parallel lines and losing themselves in the cloud-
less horizon above, among twinkling stars. This minia-
ture firmament, profusely decked with stars of gold, and
seemingly floating over the waters of the bay, is San
Francisco sleeping.
By daylight it still looms above the blue
waters, a high ridge, and still higher hills, with
great irregular masses of buildings, steeples, and
towers against the sky. Sometimes the gray
sea-fog drifts in and lies in a dark wall behind
the city, or sweeps in rivers across it; some-
times the crisp healthful wind blows across from
the ocean; sometimes the whole atmosphere is
of Italian brightness and purity: but at all times
and seasons the city is picturesque.
The geographies refer to San Francisco as
occupying the northern end of a peninsula thirty
miles long; but it seems far more like a many-
peaked island. Within this territory of about
six miles square are four hills that are more
than nine hundred feet high, and dozens of
lesser hills. Magnificent views are obtained

from all the slopes and summits. The cot-
tages of the poor often occupy sites that a
millionaire might envy; and beyond a doubt
the magnificent views that every part of San
Francisco affords have become very dear to all
who live here, and have greatly aided in making
its citizens an outdoor race.
One finds it hard to describe the character
of the various outlooks from here, there, and
everywhere in San Francisco. The cable-cars
that pass over the hilltops give a multitude of
enchanting glimpses. From narrow alleys and
moss-grown terraces, in scores of hidden places,
one finds glimpses of distant forests, mountains,
and ocean that are worthy of perpetual remem-
brance. There are hills that seem to overhang
the Golden Gate and the broader parts of the
bay, so that one looks north past the fortified
rock of Alcatraz, past Angel Island to the long
purple crest -of lordly Mount Tamalpais, and
the extinct volcano of St. Helena, sixty-five
miles distant. Turning east, the whole shining
width of the bay is revealed, with the whale-like
ridge of Goat Island in its midst, and, far be-
yond, the superb slope of the Coast Range, with
its dozens of towns sheltered in gardens and
orchards, farm-lands above the towns, pastures
and forests above the farm-lands, and Monte
Diablo supreme above them all. Turning south,
there is still the bay, green-bordered for mile
upon mile, and the redwood-covered moun-
tains of San Mateo beyond San Bruno, and the
towns of the fertile valley between. Turning





Goat Island.

west, beyond cliffs and fringes of sand, there is
only the -ocean. Thus seemingly an island,
though still a part of the mainland, San Fran-
cisco appears to belong to the mountains and
the sea.
It cannot be doubted that deer now and
then come out of the thickets of the cautions of
Mount Tamalpais overlooking the city and gaze
down upon its busy streets. One would like to
hope that even a thoughtful grizzly sometimes
sits upright on Mount Tamalpais, watching the
gleaming ferry-boats pass to and fro.
Market street is the largest and most impor-
tant street in the city. Its width and length
alone would make it a great thoroughfare in
any city, and it is rapidly becoming a street of
magnificent structures. World-famous hotels
and costly business blocks crowd Market street,
but some of the old pioneer buildings still re-
main. Sansome and Montgomery streets, which
extend north from Market street, and a portion
of California street which crosses both, are the
banking and insurance streets. Mining inter-
ests yet center about a block or two on Pine
street. Kearney remains the leading retail street
after Market, while the foundries, machine-
shops, planing-mills, coal and lumber yards,
are south of that street. The best residence
districts extend from Van Ness Avenue, and
along the slopes beyond the Mission.
On the California street hill are the palace-
like buildings erected for residences by D. D.
Colton, Charles Crocker, Mark Hopkins, Le-

land Stanford, and James C. Flood. This is
the Nob Hill Millionaire" group, and it is
believed that about nine million dollars were
spent in building and furnishing them. The
Hopkins mansion has now passed into the
hands of the University of California, by the
gift of Mr. Searles, and is being used as an art
school and gallery of paintings. The land and
house are said to have cost nearly three million
dollars, and the building is well suited to the
noble use for which it has been given.
It is of course impossible to mention and
describe all the noteworthy buildings in a city
like San Francisco. The Palace Hotel cost
about seven million dollars, and can make room
for about twelve hundred guests. The Acad-
emy of Sciences Building on Market street, the
gift of James Lick, contains more than the be-
ginnings of a great and many-sided museum,
particularly complete in botany, natural history,
objects relating to the South Sea islands, and
California antiquities. The classic Mint, of
granite and freestone; the Hibernia Bank and
Bank of California; the high schools; the
Crocker building, Mills building, and other new
business blocks; the buildings of the Union,
Olympic, and other well-known clubs; the new
City Hall; the Unitarian Church, and the Cath-
olic cathedral,-these and many other beautiful
structures do credit to San Francisco.
Perhaps the most notable feature in the
architecture of the city is the general liking for
bay-windows of every type; the passion of the


r -



San Franciscan is for an abundance of light
and air. Wood is the principal material for res-
idences, and the modern structures are much
like the costlier class of summer cottages of
the Atlantic coast. Porches are often closed
in with glass, and balconies are roofed over
with the same material, so as to shut out winds
and to shelter flowers, of which the people are
passionately fond.

San Francisco, though a city of lovely gar-
dens, is far from being a city of trees. This is
partly because it was long thought that trees
would not grow well, and partly because of the
love of sunlight. The few street trees are
heavily pruned to keep them small, for the sum-
mers are cool and no one needs shade. Still,
the yards and gardens are so spacious that in
the aggregate a great many trees are planted.


The gardens of the peninsula are a surprise The bubbling, overflowing life of the people
to every visitor. It is an ideal climate for lawns is everywhere manifest. San Francisco, like the
of grass and clover, for violets, pansies, fuchsias, cities of southern -Europe, dwells in its streets,
heliotropes, geraniums, callas, camellias, spring its hotels, its club-rooms, its public squares,
bulbs, and a great variety of shrubs and trees, and its parks and boulevards. Gayer, brighter
Porch, window, balcony, and house-top garden- crowds in the afternoons no city knows. Along
ing is carried on in the crowded districts to an the retail streets and such pavements of fashion
extent that I have never seen equaled in any as Van Ness Avenue, masses of brilliant color
other city. There are standing in various parts come and go. Men and women overflowing
of the city fine specimens of the olive, magnolia, with health and vitality set the pace for the
date-palm, tulip-tree, English holly, and lemon, life of the Pacific Coast metropolis. They ride,





walk, and live outdoors for hours and days,
even months, in the year. They take delight in

_mountjiin climb-, and the crisp ,_.- rindb gi\e
then inb.ourided e.rirgy.
COn, i:: study thee v l betrtr in the great
brea-itliiig-.iaces :1f the pcinm-ula thn in the
crowde.ld treet. Begin jany mni,:rning it the
Pre-idio. The Prci':dJo- c::,.ers about 5oo
acres, froint.s .n the GoI-len G:ite tor abour to
mile- on each -:ide if Fort Point, and exrenis
nearly too miles, s,-,utlh if tIhat -pl:c:e. t it 3.
wi:l :ind n o:ble prm,:m:nt,:ry under ,:,i. -mmenrt
control, L'irt I:penr to: the public cro:.s.cid iby m-ny
fine roads. It is being gradually changed into a
park. Still nearer the city proper is Point San
Jos6, or "Black Point," another military reser-
vation. Beyond the Presidio, west and south,



... ..r .
. .... -., ". .- '" --'



fine macadamized roads extend along the cliff
to South Head, or Point Lobos, where the fa-
mous Cliff House stands, a hundred feet above
the surf. Beneath are the seven rocky islets,
the largest of which are crowded with huge
sea-lions. Every stranger visits this place,
known to the old Spaniards as Punta de los
Lobos Marinos (the Point of the Sea-wolves).
Above the Cliff House, on a still bolder promon-
tory, is Sutro Heights," containing sixteen
acres, thrown open to the public by the liberal-
ity of its owners; and here are gardens, arbors,
shady walks, brilliant flowers and shrubs, and
a high, antique terrace overlooking the ocean,
the seal rocks, and the beach. A little south of
Cliff House the sea frontage of the Golden Gate
Park begins. This part covers 1013 acres, and
is three miles long from east to west. More
than a million dollars has been spent upon it,
and it is under thoroughly skilled and careful

management. The views from its hills are mag-
nificent, and its gardens, aviary, conservatories,
and children's playground are very beautiful.
One often hears of San Francisco people,
even among the poor, who "go. to the Park
with the children several times a week." The
Park has many attractive features drives, mu-
sic-stands, lakes, a buffalo-pen, and deer-yards;
but much of it is still, the original sand waste,
partly reclaimed by a beach grass that the gar-
deners plant for the purpose; and children seem
to like this wild part of the Park as well as any.
The superintendent of Golden Gate Park,
Mr. McLaren, tells me that he lately visited
all the leading parks of America, and that not
one of them seemed to him equal to the Golden
Gate in providing for the children. I forget how
many thousands of children in the course of a
year use the goat-carts, the donkeys, the swings,
and other arrangements; or look at the mu-

,.. .




seum, or play in the arbors and buildings espe- "Where is Chinatown ? Such is often the
cially designed for children. The demand of first question asked by the tourist who knows
the San Francisco people for outdoor plea- that San Francisco contains an Oriental city
sures is so constant that I think that the chil- within its boundaries, and who has often heard

lent views of bay

a visit to the rolling-mills and the dry-docks; worth studying in San Francisco by day and by

the drive to the top of San Bruno, seven miles night. The joss-houses, or Chinese temples,
from the City Hall, and 1325 feet high. contain costly carvings and curious paintings.
ar il 't1oI'
HiI III ,. .
.1 '. ''.er, ,,, COLE, Ii Et "'1DEt -

'n ,iI.. .

i,- ,me L 'oi tIhe "
Padrivels lr,_un] $j

ari thie Ibll irvi -,i ..
L'e t hiech. dieA"-

lent views of bay
and city; the Ocean House road, still farther sensational stories about its wonders and mys-
southwest; the Potrero Point drive, including teries. Chinatown is one of the things most
a visit to the rolling-mills and the dry-docks; worth studying in San Francisco by day and by
the drive to the top of San Bruno, seven miles night. The joss-houses, or Chinese temples,
from the City Hall, and 1325 feet high. contain costly carvings and curious paintings.


One joss-house is much like another. Here
the Chinese gods sit in alcoves behind altars
where their worshipers burn sticks of incense or
sandalwood. Here are Yum Ten Tin, the god
of water; Kowan Tai, the god of war; Nam Hoi,
the god of fire; Wah Tair, the god of medicine;
Tsoi Pah, the god of gold; and a whole army


of evil deities whose favor must be sought with
equal zeal. Food, tea, and wine are set before
them all, and paper money and prayer paper
are burned by Chinese who worship them.
The best Chinese restaurants are visited by
Americans, who often learn to like the bill of
fare. The furniture in these places is of heavily
carved wood imported from China, and very
costly dinners are sometimes served, in which
the well-known bird's-nest soup, shark's fins,
and all the other curiosities of the Mongolian
cookery are set before the guests. The entire
management of a Chinese banquet is very
dignified and impressive. Parties of young
people sometimes arrange to take what may
be called the "banquet round" in San Fran-

cisco. It begins with an old-style Mexican
dinner in some old-time eating-house, below
Telegraph Hill; the next week there is a mod-
ern Spanish dinner; then a Japanese; and
lastly the Chinese banquet, with full sets of
chopsticks, which seem so easy to handle, and
are really so difficult for beginners that one
wonders how the stately, silk-attired waiters
can keep their faces straight.
A Chinese theater with its curiously conven-
tional performances has often been described,
but few persons can know how extremely at-
tractive it is to the Chinese themselves. The
poorest laborer in the country comes to the
city when he has a little money, to gossip and
visit, but more than all to go to his theater



and sit there for hours perfectly entranced with
delight. Chinese holidays are always attrac-
tive to strangers, particularly the great dragon
procession, resplendent in all the colors of the
rainbow, but mostly in reds and yellows.
The Chinese New Year's is some time between




January 21 and February 18, depending on the
moon. The day for the worship of the dead
is early in April. Tsing Ming is the festival of
the dead, when banquets are spread on all the
Chinese graves.
One sees few Chinese women; but there are
many children, usually well-dressed, healthy,
and happy, and some of them are very, attrac-
tive. They are often found in the little silk
and tea shops, and always seem well-behaved.
There are several Chinese missions and schools
where a great deal of very earnest and faithful
work has been done for the Chinese.
The city water-front and some of the more
famous hills that overlook it are well worth
attention. Telegraph Hill, at the northeastern
corner of the city, has been cut on the east to
a high cliff, to obtain stone for the sea-wall;
and, though it is 296 feet high, it will prob-
ably be leveled some of these days. It is the
point from which the arrival of vessels was sig-
naled in the days of '49, and is therefore dear
to many a pioneer. Its old shanties slipping
down the slope, its fragments of gardens, its
stairways and irregular walls of splintered rock,
are all picturesque, and the view is so fine
and broad that no one should leave San Fran-
cisco without climbing to the top of Telegraph
Hill early in the morning, when the atmo-
sphere is at its clearest. Just below it are seen
the wharves, warehouses, and shipping of every
sort, extending in a great half-circle from
North Beach around the city front to Mission
Bay, and beyond. Here, revealed at a glance,
is the true strength of San Francisco, the lar-
gest seaport between Alaska and Patagonia.
Every ocean clipper and steamer line touching
the west coast of the American continent has
to have a main depot here.
Walk along the miles of the water-front, and
study its varied aspects. Side by side one sees
the little San Joaquin River stem-wheelers, high-
piled with wheat, and the tourist steamships
just back from Alaska. Commerce and every
form of water-front industry goes on summer
and winter alike, for there is no severe weather
to check transportation. Portuguese toilers of
the sea, whose headquarters are at Fisherman's
Wharf, mend their nets and sail out at every
season, in fog or sunshine, till sometimes it
VOL. XXI.-67.

seems as if one had sudden glimpses of the Bay
of Naples. Chinese and Japanese boats are
now and then seen in the fishing fleet. Small
yachts are everywhere in pleasant weather,
carrying pleasure-seekers to sheltered coves and
The most impressive features of the water-
front, with its long forest of masts and smoke-
stacks, relate to the larger things of commerce
and international life. Huge ironclads-Eng-
lish, French, Chilian, German, Spanish, Ameri-
can-lie heavily at anchor, and take in coal
and provisions. Swift and white the trading
schooners slip out on long voyages and bring
back glimpses of the island worlds of the South
Seas. Coal-boats from British Columbia and
Australia, seal-ships from the Russian coast,
whalers from Barrow's Point, saucy little craft
from the pearl-fisheries of the Gulf of Cali-
fornia are here, if one knows where to find
them. Yonder lies a vast raft of pine from
Puget Sound, and another of huge redwood
logs from Humboldt, wallowing in the slip like
uneasy giants. The other day there was a ves-
sel in the lumber fleet with logs of rare woods
from the Upper Amazon, and about once in
five years some treasure-seeking company sails
for Cocos Island to find the mythical "Captain
Benito's buried gold and his diamond-hilted
sword. Endless pictures abound on the water-
front. Wharves are here where everything is
iron and coal; again it is wood, hay, and grain;
elsewhere wood-ships are unloading, and far-
ther on fragrant lumber comes from the north-
ern forests-and goes to a thousand distant posts.
Great sea-carriers are reloading with wheat,
canned salmon, dried fruits, and a host of Cali-
fornia products. Important little tugs hasten
past the wharves, dragging to the docks the
steamships from Japan and South America;
and the ferry-boat that brings Eastern and
European travelers from Oakland pauses to let
the huge bulks go past.
It seems fitting that the story which began
with Governor Portola's first glimpse of the
bay of San Francisco, 124 years ago, should
end with a picture of that harbor as it appears
at the present time. It is possible that before
the hundredth anniversary of California's admis-
sion as a State comes around, the bay itself



may be crossed by a suspension-bridge, con-
necting two great cities, one on the peninsula,
the other around the sheltered Oakland harbor
and the slopes beyond. For in San Francisco
and Oakland, Nature seems to have created an
opportunity for another New York and Brook-
lyn, but separated by wider waters, and cradled
between mountain-ranges making the Pacific
Coast portal of the continent no less magnifi-
cent than that of the Atlantic.

One hundred and sixty acres of the waste
dunes, near Strawberry Hill, in Golden Gate
Park, form the site of the Midwinter Fair,
opened in January, and now certainly one of
the most picturesque features of San Francisco
and of the Pacific Coast. Here, grouped about
an oval valley, are the five main buildings, the

many structures erected by counties or con-
cessionaries, the palms of San Diego, the
oranges of Riverside, the reproductions of old
missions and pioneer forts, and, in brief, the
best that the Pacific Coast States have been
able to bring together in the few months since
the Fair was suggested. The original plans of
a few public-spirited Californians have broad-
ened until, like all expositions worthy of the
name, the Midwinter Fair possesses much indi-
vidual character, and fitly represents the great
commonwealths that look upon San Francisco
as their metropolis. Especially noteworthy, even
now, is the lavishness of the fruit and flower
displays, and this will doubtless increase until
the end. The midwinter orange-groves will
give way to acres of fruit-blossoms, and these
to California's April roses.

[We are indebted to a few well-known photographers of San Francisco for the views of that city which appear as illustrations to the fore-
going article. The Children's House, Golden Gate Park," is redrawn from a photograph by Watkins; the picture of The 'Hopkins'
Mansion is from a photograph by Perkins; and the remaining views are either redrawn, or copied directly, from photographs by Taber.]





LONG ago, in old China far over the sea, Her eye
In the reign of Hi-Kik-i, the king, like
There lived a rich baker, a turnover-maker, And
Whose name was Li-Ching-i-Chang-Ching. While h
Li-Ching had a daughter as fair as the bee
dawn, Paint
Her complexion was famed all around, Her gox
And her feet were so small when she toddled Silk,
at all, Oh, the
They made little round holes in the whb
ground. For tl

s were like almonds; her teeth were
her cheeks were like roses and tan;
er cute little chin had a dozen times
ed on a great mandarin's fan.
vns were the latest of Japanese style,
embroidered with gold at Peking:
re 's nothing too good," said the
ole neighborhood,
he tea-gowns of sweet Ting-a-Ling!"






Next door to Li-Ching lived young Ah Lee
Ben Loo,
A poor laundry-man, worthy and wise,
Who spent half of his time writing rhyth-
mical rhyme
To the lashes of Ting-a-Ling's eyes.
Deep into the night he would sit by his
And with melody floating afar
On the soft wings of June, he would
sing to the moon
As he twangled his two-stringed

While high in her window
sweet Ting-a-Ling sat,
Dropping rose-petals down
to Ah Lee,
With a shy kiss on each, blush-
ing pink as a peach
At her lover's impassionate

Oh, my little turtle-dove,
Fly with me and be my love
On a crimson coral island in
the south;

You shall have a golden fig
And a roasted piggy-wig,
With a juicy little apple in his mouth.
"From your window fly with me
Far across the 'deep blue sea,
To a land where wash-days never, never
You shall live on pigeon pies,
While I feast my loving eyes
On the darling little dimple in your
In a scalloped pagoda just over the way,
Lived a mandarin wicked and old,
Who would snarl and look down with
a hideous frown
At the lovers, while counting
his gold;
For this miserly man-
darin loved Ting-a-
And the jealous old
curmudgeon knew
That the sweet Ting-a-

man who
could sing;
So he hated
young Ah
Lee Ben



Now Ah Lee Ben Loo had a wonder-
ful queue,-
It was fifteen feet long, by the by,-
And this wonderful queue came in
handily, too,
When he hung out the week's wash to dry.
But one morning, while Ah Lee was scrub-
bing away,
With his linen all out on the line,
That malignant old mandarin thought of a plan
To promote his own jealous design.


Somewhere in an edict three thousand years
He had read this incredible thing:
That the law never spared any subject who
Wear a longer pigtail than the king!

So he measured the tail of the busy Ah Lee,
And away to the palace.he flew
For an officer grim to accompany him
And imprison poor Ah Lee Ben Loo.

In a dark dungeon cell overhanging the
On the banks of the yellow Hwang-Ho,
In a tower sky-high Ah Lee waited to die
At the hands of his pitiless foe;
While the old mandarin
with a hideous grin
Sent a message in
haste to Li-Ching:






"If you value your life, send to me for a wife
Your fair daughter, the sweet Ting-a-
Ling !"

Then the sweet Ting-a-Ling wrung her hands
in despair,
And as pale as a lily she grew;
SOh, my father!" she said, "I would sooner
be dead
Than to marry a man with a queue!
For since wearing a queue ruined Ah Lee
Ben Loo
I shall hate a pigtail all my life;
And I '11 float out to sea, for I sooner
would be
A mermaid than a mandarin's wife!"

So she floated away in a little green boat
On the waves of the murmuring tide;
And she sang a sad song as she drifted along
With a jar of preserves by her side:

"Oh, my darling Ah Lee Ben,
If we ever meet again,
But a sea-green water-baby I will be,
Peddling pie and lollypops,
Sugar-plums and citron-drops,
To the mermaids at the bottom of the sea.

"Water-babies never care
For the seaweed in their hair,







Or the cockleshells that pinch their little toes;
But for one, I truly wish
No ill-mannered little fish
To attempt to twirl his tail around my nose!"

'When Ah Lee, high above, heard the voice of his love,
To the window he flew in despair,
Broke out every bar with a blue ginger-jar,
And then let himself down by his hair!

How it happened is something that nobody knows,
But without either rudder or oar
The river waves swirled and the little boat whirled
Close in under the shadowy shore,
Just as Ah Lee Ben Loo, on the end of his queue,
At the risk of a terrible fall,
Clambered hand over hard down the quivering
From the window high up in the wall.

But alas! he hung there, tied up tight by
the hair;
Not a thing could the poor fellow do.
So, to save his dear life, he whipped out his
And he cut off his beautiful queue.

Then, as sweet'Ting-a-Ling drifted swiftly
He dropped into the boat by her side,


And they floated away to a flowery bay
On the waves of the silvery tide,
Where they lived evermore on the sun-
shiny shore:
For sweet Ting-a-Ling mar-
ried Ah Lee -
And she kept her vow,
too, for Ah Lee
had no queue
In the place
where a queue
ought to be. "THE


w -


(In Two Acts. )



THE SAME SCENE. At rise of curtain the Brownies are discovered
engaged in carpentering.- Low benches or sawhorses are
at the back, right, and left of the stage, at which they are
working. Many are provided with light mallets or ham-
mers, with which they softly beat on pieces of wood or
tin at the proper time. Some have saws, gimlets, and
other tools. All are supposed to be building a tank, and,
during the piano afterlude, they beat with their mallets,
take dimensions, get ready to saw, etc.

ALL: We '11 build a tank to hold them all;
Then ship them o'er the main.
UNCLE SAM: To England? .
JOHN BULL: No, to Germany!
ALL: To Italy or Spain! To Italy or Spain!
UNCLE SAM: To England?
JOHN BULL: No, to Germany!
ALL: To Italy or Spain!
Tap, tap, tap, etc.


ALL: This tank will be well riveted,
'T will not let in much air !
HALF: What if they smother on the trip ?
THE OTHER HALF: Why, that is their affair!
ALL: Yes, that is their affair;
Ah, that is their affair;
Oh, if they smother on the trip,
Why, that is their affair!
Tap, tap, tap, etc.

(While the sawhorses, tools, etc., are being removed from the
stage, Prince Aldebaran, Major Telloff, Patrolman Moveon, Billy
Tackabout, and ChoUy Boutonnibre are left in a group in the
MAJOR TELLOFF: Well, it 's one thing to make the
cage, and another thing to catch the bird!
Strange war, indeed, with insects to engage
That claw, and sting, and bite themselves with rage!
But, win or lose, let war be e'er so rough,
We 're pledged to take the field, and that 's enough!

CHOLLY BOUTONNIARE (rolling up his trousers) :
Well, hearing what you say about
The way you '1l put the foe to rout
Makes me embarrassed; for, you know,
I may not have a proper show.
So I won't say what I will do
Because all may be done by you;
But, should there be a chance for me,
I '11 do--well, you just wait and see !
(He shakes his cane threateningly.)
PRINCE ALDEBARAN (as they retire back):
You all will do your part, I have no fear.
(He waves his sword in the direction of left.)
Now to the field; the foe is camping near!
With mystic power and courage well combined,
No common enemy in us they '11 find !
(All go out at the left.)


When the war is at an end, and we 've triumphed o'er
the foe,
And our lovely Queen is wed, to the city we will go.
We will see the dog-faced boy, and the dwarf from
And the man who has no arms writing letters with his
And the mermaid in a tank, greatest wonder .of the seas;
And the cannibals in chains, and the educated fleas;
And the man with broken neck promenading round the
And the woman with a beard, and the pig that tells its
We will walk about and stare at these objects of renown;
Oh, there 's so much to see in a big, big town !

QUEEN FLORA (taking afew steps):
Yes, when the Brownies triumph o'er the foe,
We '1l pack our trunks and to the city go.
(Faint cheers are heard from the left, in which direc-
tion she turns ana looks.)
Hark! how they 're shouting! What a cloud of
The battle 's on!


(All go to the left of the stage to look.)
Our side will win, I trust!

Just see how Telloff swings his weapon free!

* Copyright, 1893, by Palmer Cox. All rights reserved.


DEWDROP (pointing):
And see the Indian dodge behind a tree !
STARLIGHT: The Irish Brownie 's fighting with his fist!
ZEPHYR: The sailor fired his pistol-but he missed!
The Prince is foremost mingling with the foe!
John Bull is out of wind, and stops to blow !
ZEPHYR: The Russian 's there !
ROSELEAF: The Scot 's in the tureen!
SUNSHINE: See Uncle Sam creating such a scene !
DEWDROP: The stout policeman makes no little din,
While striving hard to run his prisoners in!
ESTHETICA (with her hand to her heart):
Poor Boutonniere He falls, and will expire !
No, no; he stoops to roll his trousers higher!
Their foes recoil! -now close on ev'ry hand,
And seem to swallow half the struggling band!
QUEEN FLORA (clutching Esthetica by the arm):
Oh, could I help them, quickly would I fly!
ESTHETICA (turning to Queen Flora): It may not be!
(Hoarse cries and groans are heard from the left.)
QUEEN FLORA (looking): What means that awful cry?
They 're coming now this way! We must make haste,
And leave the spot, for some one 's being chased!
(All but Toddlekins and Tippytoes hastily retreat, and go out at
the right. They follow very slowly, often turning around, and look-
ing in the direction of left. When they have reached the center of
the stage, Cholly Boutonnibre, with his trousers rolled up, comes
running in from the left.)
TIPPYTOES: Why are you not in the engagement?
CHOLLY BOUTONNItRE: Ah, I have been; but my col-
lar and cuffs have become soiled through the vio-
lent exercise, and I lost my chrysanthemum in the
battle. I must get another.
TODDLEKINS: Will you return?
CHOLLY BOUTONNIARE: Certainly I '11 return; but I
must arrange my dress a little first, and have my
trousers pressed, to keep the knees from bagging.
I've been down on my knees so mi-ch that they 're
all out of shape.
(Cries of "Boutonnitre Boutonniere !" are heard from the left.
He walks in the other direction.)
TIPPYTOES : Your friends are calling you.
CHOLLY BOUTONNIERE : Yes, I hear them. But they
must wait till I put things in proper shape. I
look too awfully bad for fighting, you know.
(He busies himself with his attire.)
(Both skip off at the right, just before Billy Tackabout, Uncle
Sam, Patrolman Moveon, and Chauncey Quoter enter from the
left. While Chauncey Quoter joins Cholly Boutonniere back, the
others advance to the front, and face the audience, with Uncle Sam
in the middle. Billy Tackabout carries a pair of grotesque insect's
legs, Uncle Sam a pair of horns, and Patrolman Moveon a pair of
This warfare is provoking at the best;
We 've stirred indeed no common hornets' nest!
Not in an open fight will they soon yield,
But carry on the war from field to field!

I had a dozen volleys from one foe,
And then at last was forced to let him go;
And, judging by the shouts of those so shrill
That next he met, the rogue had powder still!
Though in the struggle I was forced to yield,
I carried off some trophies from the field;
Look at these horns that from a head I drew!
PATROLMAN MOVEON: I took these wings!
BILLY TACKABOUT: And I a leg or two!
(Each holds them out as he speaks.)
That's very good, but that won't win the day;
We need a spy, to understand their way.
Now, I disguised will volunteer to go
Into their camp, and mingle with the foe,
And bring back tidings of their mode of life.
The relics that we captured in the strife
Will help us out; when these my form adorn,
I '11 pass among them for a brother born!
(The two others prepare to disguise him.)
Here fasten wings!
(Patrolman Moveon attaches the wings to his shoulders.)
And here the legs attach !
(Both tie the legs on him.)
Then horns!
(He fxes the horns on his head.)
And yellow stripes around, to match!
(His long coat-tails, which are lined with yellow, are turned and
wrapped around him, so that alternate rings of yellow and black are
shown, giving him a ludicrous resemblance to a hornet.)
Thus will the enemy off guard be thrown,
And think a cunning spy one of their own.
Now, off I '11 go, to look about and find
Some facts to benefit the Brownie kind!
(He goes out at the left, while the others look after him.)
BILLY TACKABOUT (with his spy-glass raised):
A courier comes!
PATROLMAN MOVEON: It 's Telloff the cadet,
Despatch in hand!
BILLY TACKABOUT: Perhaps we '11 triumph yet!
(The head of the Wasp peeps from the left. While Major Tell-
off continues, it is withdrawn.)
They 'll be on their knees before us,
With their noses to the ground,
All imploring us for mercy,
Ere the moon has circled round!
(The Wasp, Hornet, and Beetle show themselves at the left
While Major Telloff continues, they appear to be listening.
Chauncey Quoter turns the pages of his book, and then suddenly
notices the heads of the insects. He slams the book shut, puts it
under his arm, and comically skulks off at the right.)
PATROLMAN MOVEON (hastily, as he looks left):
Fly! fly for life; for, see, the foe is here!
Who would have thought the rascals were so near?
(While the Wasp, Hornet, and Beetle disappear at the left, all on
the stage flee .in confusion out at the right Cholly Boutonniere
springs upon Furanskin's back, and the handle of the cane which
he holds out is grasped by Wah Sing, who thus assists in pull-
ing him off the stage. Patrolman Moveon falls in his fright, and
Billy Tackabout and Major Telloff each grasp one of his legs, and




drag him away. When they are gone, Prince Aldebaran backs in
from the left, brandishing his sword. He pauses, looking left; then
turns and advances to the center of the stage to meet Queen Flora
and Esthetica, who have entered from the right.)
QUEEN FLORA (shaking her head):
Alas, I fear your efforts are in vain!
Not so, sweet Queen! Your patience still retain.
I saw some Brownies now a shelter seek.
'T was but a little skirmish, so to speak;
A cunning ruse, no doubt, upon their part;
They all are up in strategy and art.
Such slight alarm, sweet Queen, you must not heed;
For Brownies, in the long run, will succeed.
(All the Brownies, except Uncle Sam, enter. Cholly Boutonniere,
Billy Tackabout, Major Telloff, and Wah Sing come from the right;
the others from the left.)
PRINCE ALDEBARAN (who is in the center of the stage):
This trusting to main force will never do;
In some shrewd way our foes we must subdue.
We 've thrown our mystic powers all aside.
That 's true enough, and victory is denied;
'T is wondrous mystic arts exalt our kind,
As readers of the Brownie books will find!
FURANSKINS: If we could fall upon them unaware!
That would not serve; they 'd scatter in the air;
Then gather strength to carry on the fight
That should be finished ere another night.
Not only all their force must we defeat,
But at the same time cut off their retreat.
But how to do it? That 's the question now
Confronting us.
PRINCE ALDEBARAN (thoughtfully) :
Yes, that 's the question. How?
A net might do it, had we such a thing
Around the rogues with skilful hands to fling.
Then I know where one may be quickly found;
Down by the sea it lies upon the ground;
Though thrown aside because of broken strands,
'T will soon take shape beneath the Brownies' hands.
Quick! Bring it here, and mend it as you may;
There 's work to do before the break of day.
( Uncle Sam, very much out of breath, enters from the left.)
How now? What's this that comes with such a spread?
(Drawing his sword.)
Stand back, you knave, or you may lose your head!
Pray let him pass. It's Uncle Sam the scout,
Who in disguise but lately ventured out.
UNCLE SAM (speaking excitedly):
And well are we rewarded; for, indeed,
I found out something that will serve our need.
(All look at one another, and manifest great interest.)
VOL. XXI.-68.

This much I learned,- it comes in a good hour,-
Our foes have eaten of the lotus-flower,
And, with their senses steeped in slumber sound,
They '11 wake not ere some hours have gone round.
The net at once And fetch rope-yarn or twine,
While I a plan of action here outline.
(While all the rest quickly go out at the left, he withdraws to one
side, and with pencil and paper appears to be considering a plan.
Queen Flora and her Fairies enter from the right, keeping well to
the back of the stage.)
QUEEN FLORA (coming center, while Prince Aldebaran,
still employed with his plan, looks around) :
Now, as we glanced the terraced garden o'er,
We saw the Brownies running to the shore;
With greatest speed they hurried on. Ah, me!
I fear they '11 take to boats, and cross the sea!
No fear of that! A scheme we have in view
That promises success, and shortly too.
(Pointing with his pencil to the paper.)
We will fold them in a net;
That 's the best idea yet.
(While Prince Aldebaran is concluding, the Brownies are entering
from the left, bearing a fish-net. They sit with the net in various
effective positions, well front, and, during the song, affect to be mend-
ing it. The Fairies stand in a picturesque mass at the back.)
"Mending the Nets."
Far over the waters the red sun sets,
The tide from the rocks ebbs low;
And fishers who mend on the beach their nets
Are lit by the rosy glow.
When daylight is dawning they. '11 all depart,
'Neath skies that are chill and gray;
While others are watching, so sad of heart,
The sails as they fade away.
Mending the nets, mending the nets,
To sail at the break of dawn;
While many a pray'r from the loved ones there
Will follow the fleet that 's gone!

When bitter the tempest upon the deep,
The lamps for the fishers burn;
While women with little ones round them weep,
And pray for their safe return.
A hand that is stronger than theirs will guide
The vessels far o'er the foam,
Till over the billows at last are spied
The welcoming lights of home!
Mending the nets, etc.

PRINCE ALDEBARAN (while the Brownies rise):
The greatest effort of the war to make-
With life of flowers and our joys at stake -
Now move we on; with cautious step advance
To find our foe while in their dreamy trance;
Strong in our native cunning we depart.
(While he speaks, the Brownies with the fish-net are going out at
the left in a very stealthy manner, all keeping step. When the last
disappears, Prince Aldebaran turns to Queen Flora, who has ad-
vanced to the center of the stage, at his right.)



Fear not the grand result! Be brave of heart!
When here I lead again my Brownie band,
A victor I will come to claim your hand!
(He goes out at the left, in like stealtky manner.)
QUEEN (looking left):
May fortune guard them in their bold design!
(Taking a few steps, with her hand at her heart.)
How can I still this beating heart of mine ?
ESTHETICA (meeting her):
There is no cause for any doubt or fear;
They must succeed while Boutonniere is near;
His presence will lend fire to all the rest,
And urge each valiant heart to do his best !
Now, while they go the sleepers to surprise,
Some entertainment here we '11 improvise.
(Turning to the fairies, back.)
Come forth, bright sisters With your graceful mien
And voices sweet, do honor to your Queen !
(While Queen Flora and Esthetica retire back, six Fairies advance
in a line, front, to the piano prelude, courtesying low to the audience,
and at the finale snapping their fans wide open at the same time.)
THE SIX PRINCIPALS (slowly fanning):
When a roguish little maid who's becomingly arrayed,
Brings her pretty, filmy fan in play,
If she knows its power well, it will hold you in a spell;
It can make you either grave or gay.
Oft 't will be pleasing you, oft 't will be teasing you,
Just to accord with her plan.
Was there e'er such a grace as there is to a face
When it peeps from a filmy fan?
(They group themselves into a picturesque tableau, several in the
foreground sinking on one knee, the others standing, with laugh-
ing, coquettish faces peeping from wide-spread fans.)

ALL (softly, while fanning in unison at back) :
Oh, the havoc wrought if she uses it
In the daintiest way she can!
Was there e'er such a grace as there is to a face
When it peeps from a filmy fan?
(Cheers are heard from the left. While the Fairies retire to the
right of the stage, the Brownies enter backward from the left, all
pulling at a rope. They apparently are exerting their whole strength,
sometimes losing ground and being dragged back. A few stumble,
or fall, as they clutch the rope. Finally, the net comes in view, with
its folds thrown around the Wasp, Hornet, and Beetle.)

PRINCE ALDEBARAN (entering hurriedly from the left,
and meeting Queen Flora, center):
The victory is ours Rejoice at last;
We have the leaders of the foe here fast.
No more they '11 trouble either you or yours,
While flowers bloom on earth, or love endures!
Thanks, noble Prince Good tidings you have brought.
What shall we do with them, pray, now they're caught?
Ship them away our tank is near at hand -
To some bleak, bare, and isolated land,
Where nothing fair is seen through all the hours,
And they will have no chance to injure flowers !
(Turning to the Brownies.)
Remove the rogues !
(Several Brownies take the occupants of the net from the
stage, afterward returning.)
And now the garden 's free !
I turn-
(He kneels before Queen Flora.)
QUEEN FLORA (extending her hand):
Arise My hand 's awaiting thee!
(With her hand in his, they walk severalpaces to the left.)
CHOLLY BOUTONNItRE (to Esthetica):
Shall we not follow the example there,
Esthetica, oh, fairest of the fair ?
ESTHETICA (holding her head down):
'T is somewhat sudden, sir, but nevertheless,
I only know one word.
ESTHETICA (looking up): Yes!

"Flowers, Pretty Flowers! "
Flowers, pretty flowers, blooming everywhere,
Filling all around you with your perfume rare,
Would this world we live in be as fair and bright,
Life itself without you have the same delight ?
Just a simple posy brings of hope a ray;
Oftentimes a rosebud care will drive away;
Dainty little creatures of the sun and dew,
Oh, the love we cherish in our hearts for you !

Tableau. Curtain.

[As explained last month, ST. NicHOLAS can print only a portion of the play "The Brownies in Fairyland." The full text and the
music can be obtained from Mr. Palmer Cox, the author of the play, or from Major J. B. Pond, of New York, who has charge of all
arrangements for presenting the play, as a church or school entertainment. The version here printed must not be performed publicly, as it
is copyrighted by the author.]



[Begen in the November number.]

AT last, sailing on a northeast course, we
struck the east end of the Desert. Away off
on the edge of the sand, in a soft pinky light,
we see three little sharp roofs like tents, and
Tom says-
"It 's the Pyramids of Egypt."
It made my heart fairly jump. You see, I
had seen a many and a many a picture of
them, and heard tell about them a hundred
times, and yet to come on them all of a sud-
den, that way, and find they were real, 'stead
of imaginations, most knocked the breath out
of me with surprise. It's a curious thing, that
the more you hear about a grand and big
and noble thing or person, the more it kind of
dreamies out, as you may say, and gets to be
a big dim wavery bigger made out of moon-
shine and nothing solid to it. It 's just so with
George Washington, and the same with them
And moreover besides, the things they always
said about them seemed to me to be stretchers.
There was a feller come down to our school,
once, and had a picture of them, and made a
speech, and said the biggest Pyramid covered
thirteen acres, and was most five hundred foot
high, just a steep mountain, all built out of
hunks of stone as big as a bureau, and laid
up in perfectly regular layers, like stair-steps.
Thirteen acres, you see, for just one building;
it's a farm. And he said there was a hole in
the Pyramid, and you could go in there with
candles, and go ever so far up a long slanting
tunnel, and come to a large room in the stom-
ach of that stone mountain, and there you


would find a big stone chest with a king in it,
four thousand years old.
As we sailed a little nearer we see the yaller
sand come to an end in a long straight edge
like a blanket, and onto it was joined, edge to
edge, a wide country of bright green, with a
snaky stripe crooking through it, and Tom said
it was the Nile. It made my heart jump again,
for the Nile was another thing that was n't real
to me. Now I cani tell you one thing which is
dead certain: if you will fool along over three
thousand miles of yaller sand, all glimmering
with heat so that it makes your eyes water to
look at it, and you've been a considerable part
of a week doing it, the green country will look
so like home and heaven to you that it will
make your eyes water again. It was just so
with me, and the same with Jim.
And when Jim got so he could believe it
was the land of Egypt he was looking at, he
would n't enter it standing up, but got down
on his knees and took off his hat, because he
said it was n't fitten for him to come any other
way where such men had been as Moses and
Joseph and Pharaoh and the other prophets.
He was all stirred up, and says-
Hit's de lan' of Egypt, de lan' of Egypt, en
I 's 'lowed to look at it wid my own eyes! Ole
Jim ain't worthy to see dis day!"
And then he just broke down and cried, he
was so thankful. So between him and Tom
there was talk enough, Jim being excited be-
cause the land was so full of history-Joseph
and his brethren, Moses in the bulrushes, Jacob
coming down into Egypt to buy corn, the silver
cup in the sack, and all them interesting things,
and Tom just as excited too, because the land
was so full of history that was in his line, about


Noureddin, and Bedreddin, and such like mon-
strous giants, that made Jim's wool rise, and a
raft of other Arabian Nights folks, which the
half of them never done the things they let on
they done, I don't believe.
Then we struck a disappointment, for one
of them early-moring fogs started up, and it
war n't no use to sail over the top of it, because
we would go by Egypt, sure, so we judged it
was best to set her by compass straight for the
place where the Pyramids was getting blurred
and blotted out, and then drop low and skin
along pretty close to the ground and keep a
sharp lookout. Tom took the helium, I stood
by to let go the anchor, and Jim he straddled
the bow to dig through the fog with his eyes
and watch out for danger ahead. We went
along a steady gait, but not very fast, and the
fog got solider and solider, so solid that Jim
looked dim and ragged and smoky through it.
It was awful still, and we talked low and was
anxious. Now and then Jim would say-
"Highst her a pint, Mars Tom, highest her! "
and up she would skip, a foot or two, and we
would slide right over a flat-roofed mud cabin,
with people that had been asleep on it just
beginning to turn out and gap and stretch;
and once when a feller was clear up on his
legs so he could gap and stretch better, we took
him a blip in the back and knocked him off.
By and by, after about an hour, and every-
thing dead still and we a-straining our ears for
sounds and holding our breath, the fog thinned
a little, very sudden, and Jim sung out in an
awful scare-
Oh, for de plan's sake, set her back, Mars
Tom, here 's de biggest giant outen de 'Rabian
Nights a coming' for us!" and he went over
backward in the boat.
Tom slammed on the back-action, and as we
slowed to a standstill, a man's face as big as
our house at home looked in over the gunnel,
same as a house looks out of its windows, and
I laid down and died. I must 'a' been clear
dead and gone for as much as a minute or
more; then I come to, and Tom was holding
the balloon steady whilst he canted his head
back and got a good long look up at that
awful face.
Jim was on his knees with his hands clasped,

gazing up at the thing in a begging way, and
working his lips but not getting anything out.
I took only just a glimpse, and was fading out
again, but Tom says-
He ain't alive, you fools, it 's the Sphinx! "
I never see Tom look so little and like a fly;
but that was because the giant's head was so
big and awful. Awful, yes, so it was, but not
dreadful, any more, because you could see it
was a noble face, and kind of sad, but not
thinking about you, but about other things and
larger. It was stone, reddish stone, and its
nose and ears battered, and that give it an
abused look, and you felt sorrier for it, for that.
We stood off a piece, and sailed around it
and over it, and it was just grand. It was a
man's head, or maybe a woman's, on a tiger's
body a hundred and twenty-five foot long, and
there was a dear little temple between its front
paws. All but the head used to be under the
sand, for hundreds of years, maybe thousands,
but they had just lately dug the sand away and
found that little temple. It took a power of
sand to cover that cretur; 'most as much as
it would to bury a steamboat, I reckon.
We landed Jim on top of the head, with an
American flag to protect him, it being a foreign
land, then we sailed off to this and that and
t' other distance, to git what Tom called effects
and perspectives and proportions, and Jim he
done the best he could, striking all the different
kinds of attitudes and positions he could study
up; the further we got away, the littler Jim
got, and the grander the Sphinx got. That 's
the way perspective brings out the correct pro-
portions, Tom said; he said Julius Casar's
slaves did n't know how big he was, they was
too close to him.
Then we sailed off further and further, till we
could n't see Jim at all, any more, and then
that great bigger was at its noblest, a-gazing
out over the Nile valley so still and solemn
and lonesome, and all the little shabby huts
and things that was scattered about it clean
disappeared and gone, and nothing around it
now but a soft wide spread of yaller velvet,
which was the sand.
That was the right place to stop, and we
done it. We set there a-looking and a-thinking
for a half an hour, nobody a-saying anything,




for it made us feel
quiet and kind of
solemn to remember
it had been looking
over that valley just W
that same way, and .
thinking its awful "
thoughts all to itself
for thousands of -
years, and nobody .
can't find out what
they are to this day. ". ,
At last I took up .r -.
the glass and see
some little black
things a-capering -
around on that vel-
vet carpet, and some
more a-climbing up ;
the cretur's back,
and then I see two
or three wee puffs .
of white smoke, and
toldTomtolook. He I
done it, and says--
"They 're bugs.
No-hold on; they
- why, I believe
they 're men. Yes,
it's men men and
camels, both. They
are hauling a long
ladder up onto the
Sphinx's back-now
ain't that odd ? And
now they 're trying
to lean it up a-
there 's some more 7 ,
puffs of smoke -
it 's guns! Huck,
they're after Jim "
We clapped on
the power, and went
for them a-b'iling.
We was there in
no time, and come .- -
a-whizzing down
they broke and scattered every which way, and let go all holts and fell. We soared up and
some that was climbing the ladder after Jim found him laying on top of the head panting


and 'most tuckered out, partly from howling
for help and partly from scare. He had been
standing a siege a long time a week, he said,
but it war n't so, it only just seemed so to
him because they was crowding him so. They
had shot at him, and rained the bullets all
around him, but he war n't hit, and when
they found he would n't stand up and the

for insulting the flag, and pay an indemnity,
too, on top of it, even if they git off that easy."
Jim says-
What's an indemnity, Mars Tom? "
"It 's cash, that 's what it is."
"Who gits it, Mars Tom? "
"Why, we do."
En who gits de apology ?"


bullets could n't git at him when he was laying
down, they went for the ladder, ahd then he
knowed it was all up with him if we did n't
come pretty quick. Tom was very indignant,
and asked him why he did n't show the flag
and command them to git, in the name of the
United States. Jim said he done it, but they
never paid no attention. Tom said he would
have this thing looked into at Washington, and
says -
"You '11 see that they '11 have to apologize

The United States. Or, we can take which-
ever we please. We can take the apology, if
we want to, and let the gov'ment take the
How much money will it be, Mars Tom ?"
Well, in an aggravated case like this one, it
will be at least three dollars apiece, and I don't
know but more."
Well, den, we '11 take de money, Mars Tom,
an' let de 'pology go. Hain't dat yo' notion,
too? En hain't it your, Huck?"



We talked it over a little and allowed that
that was as good a way as any, so we agreed to
take the money. It was a new business to me,
and I asked Tom if countries always apologized
when they had done wrong, and he says -
"Yes; the little ones does."
We was sailing around examining the Pyra-
mids, you know, and now we soared up and
roosted on the flat top of the biggest one, and
found it was just like what the man said down
in our school. It was like four pairs of stairs
that starts broad at the bottom and slants up
and comes together in a'point at the top, only
these stair-steps could n't be dumb the way
you climb other stairs; no, for each step was as
high as your chin, and you have to be boosted
up from behind. The two other pyramids
war n't far away, and the people moving about
on the sand between looked like bugs crawling,
we was so high above them.
Tom he could n't hold himself he was so
worked up with gladness and astonishment to
be in such a celebrated place. He said he
could n't scarcely believe he was standing on
the- very identical spot the prince flew from
on the Bronze Horse. It was in the Arabian
Night times, he said. Somebody give the prince
a bronze horse with a peg in its shoulder, and
he could git on him and fly through the air like
a bird, and go all over the world, and steer it
by turning the peg, and fly high or low and
land wherever he wanted to.
When he got done telling it there was one
of them uncomfortable silences that comes,
you know, when a person has been telling a
whopper and you feel sorry for him and wish
you could think of some way to change the sub-
ject and let him down easy, but git stuck and
don't see no way, and before you can pull your
mind together and do something, that silence
has got in and spread itself and done the busi-
ness. I was embarrassed, Jim he was embar-
rassed, and neither of us could n't say a word.
Well, Tom he glowered at me a minute, and
says -
Come, out with it. What do you think ?"
I says-
"Tom Sawyer,you don't believe that, yourself."
What 's the reason I don't? What 's to
hender me? "

"There 's one thing to hender you: it could
n't happen, that 's all."
"What,'s the reason it could n't happen? "
"You tell me the reason it could happen."
"This balloon is a good enough reason it
could happen, I should reckon."
Why is it? "
Why is it? Well, ain't this balloon and
the bronze horse the same thing under differ-
ent names? "
"No, they're not. One is a balloon and the
other 's a horse. It 's very different. Next
you '11 be saying a house and a cow is the
same thing."
Huck 's got him ag'in! Dey ain't no wig-
glin' outer dat!"
"Jim, you don't know what you 're talking
about. And Huck don't. Look here, Huck, I '11
make it plain to you, so you can understand.
You see, it ain't the mere form that's got any-
thing to do with their being similar or unsimilar,
it 's the principle involved; and the principle
is the same in both. Don't you see, now?"'
I turned it over in my mind, and says -
Tom, it ain't no use. Principles is all very
well, but they don't git around that one big fact,
that the thing that a balloon can do ain't no
sort of proof of what a horse can do."
Shucks, Huck, you don't get the idea at all.
Now look here a minute-it 's perfectly plain.
Don't we fly through the air ?,"
"Very well. Don't we fly high .or fly low,
just as we please ?"
Don't we steer whichever way we want to ?"
"And don't we land when and where we
please ? "
How do we move the balloon and steer it?"
By touching the buttons."
Now I reckon the thing is clear to you at
last. In the other case the moving and steer-
ing was done by turning a peg. We touch a
button, the prince turned a peg. There ain't
an atom of difference, you see. I knowed I
could git it through your head if I stuck to it
long enough."
He felt so happy he begun to whistle. But



me and Jim was silent, so he broke off sur-
prised, and says-" Looky here, Huck Finn,
don't you see it yet? "
I says-
"Tom Sawyer, I want to ask you some
Go ahead," he says, and I see Jim chirk
up to listen.
"As I understand it, the whole thing is in
the buttons and the peg-the rest ain't of no
consequence. A button is one shape, a peg is
another shape, but that ain't any matter."
"No, that ain't any matter, as long as they've
both got the same power."
"All right then. What is the power that 's
in a candle and in a match ? "
"It's the fire."
It's the same in both, then ? "
"Yes, just the same in both."
"All right. Suppose I set fire to a carpenter-
shop with a match, what will happen to that
carpenter-shop ? "
"She '11 burn up."
And suppose I set fire to this pyramid with
a candle will she burn up ? "
Of course she won't."
"All right. Now the fire 's the same, both
times. Why does the shop bur, and the pyra-
mid don't ? "
Because the pyramid can't burn."
"Aha! and a horse can't fly "
"My lan', if Huck ain't got him ag'in!
Huck's landed him high en dry dis time, I tell
you! Hit 's de smartes' trap I ever see a body
walk inter en ef I-"
But Jim was so full of laugh he got to
strangling and could n't go on, and Tom was
that mad to see how neat I had floored him,
and turned his own argument agin him and
knocked him all to rags andflinders with it
that all he could manage to say was that when-
ever he heard me and Jim try to argue it made
him ashamed of the human race. I never said
nothing, I was feeling pretty well satisfied.
When I have got the best of a person that way,
it ain't my way to go around crowing about it
the way some people does, for I consider that
if I was in his place I would n't wish him to
crow over me. It 's better to be generous,
that 's what I think.


BY and by we left Jim to float around up
there in the neighborhood of the Pyramids, and
we dumb down to the hole where you go into
the tunnel, and went in with some Arabs and
candles, and away in there in the middle of
the Pyramid we found a room and a big stone
box in it where they used to keep that king,
just as the man in our school said, but he was
gone, now, somebody had got him. But I
did n't take no interest in the place, because
there could be ghosts there, of course.
So then we come out and got some little
donkeys and rode a piece, and then went in a
boat another piece, and then more donkeys,
and got to Cairo; and all the way the road
was as smooth and beautiful a road as ever I
see, and had tall date-palms on both sides, and
naked children everywhere, and the men was
as red as copper, and fine and strong and hand-
some. And the city was a curiosity. Such nar-
row streets why, they were just lanes, and
crowded with people with turbans, and women
with veils, and everybody rigged out in blazing
bright clothes and all sorts of colors, and you
wondered how the camels and the people got
by each other in such narrow little cracks,-a
perfect jam, you see, and everybody noisy. The
stores war n't big enough to turn around in, but
you did n't have to go in; the store-keeper sat
tailor-fashion on his counter, smoking his snaky
long pipe, and had his things where he could
reach them to sell, and he was just as good as
in the street, for the camel-loads brushed him
as they went by.
Now and then a grand person flew by in a
carriage with fancy-dressed men running and
yelling in front of it, and whacking anybody
with a long rod that did n't get out of the way.
And by and by along comes the Sultan riding
horseback at the head of a procession, and
fairly took your breath away his clothes was so
splendid; and everybody fell flat and laid on
his stomach while he went by. I forgot, but a
feller helped me remember. He was one o'
them that had rods and that run in front.
There was churches, but they don't know
enough to keep Sunday; they keep Friday and
break the Sabbath. You have to take off your


shoes when you go in. There was crowds of
men and boys in the church, setting in groups
on the stone floor and making no end of
noise-getting their lessons by heart, Tom said,
out of the Koran, I never see such a big
church in my life before, and most awful high
it was; it made you dizzy to look up; our vil-
lage church at home ain't a circumstance to it.
What I wanted to see was a dervish, be-
cause I was interested in dervishes on account
of the one that played the trick on the camel-
driver. So we found a lot in a kind of a
church, and they called themselves Whirling
Dervishes; and they did whirl, too, I never
see anything like it. They had tall sugar-loaf
hats on, and linen petticoats; and they spun
and spun and spun, round and round like tops,
and the petticoats stood out on a slant, and it
was the prettiest thing I ever see, and made
me drunk to look at it. They was all Mos-
lems, Tom said, and when I asked him what
a Moslem was, he said it was a person that
was n't a Presbyterian. So there is plenty of
them in Missouri, though I did n't know it
We did n't see half there was to see in
Cairo, because Tom was in such a fever to
hunt out places that was celebrated in history.
Besides, we hunted a long time for the house
where the boy lived, that learned the cadi how
to try the case of the old olives and the new
ones, and Tom said it was out of the Arabian
Nights and he would tell me and Jim about
it when he got time. Well, we hunted and
hunted till I was ready to drop, and I wanted
Tom to give it up and come next day and git
somebody that knowed the town and could
talk Missourian and could go straight to the
place; but no, he wanted to find it himself,
and nothing else would answer. So on we
went. Then at last the remarkablest thing
happened I ever see. The house was gone-
gone hundreds of years ago-every last scrap
of it gone but just one mud brick. Now a
person would n't ever believe that a backwoods
Missouri boy that had n't ever been in that
town before could go and hunt that place over
and find that brick, but Tom Sawyer done it.
I know he done it, because I see him do it. I
was right by his very side at the time, and see
VOL. XXI.-69.

him see the brick and see him recognize it.
Well, I says to myself, how does he do it? is
it knowledge, or is it instinct ?
Now there 's the facts, just as they hap-
pened: let everybody explain it their own way.
I 've ciphered over it a good deal, and it's my
opinion that some of it is knowledge but the
main bulk of it is instinct. The reason is this.
Tom put the brick in his pocket to give to a
museum with his name on it and the facts
when he went home, and I slipped it out and
put another brick considerable like it in its
place,. and he did n't know the difference-
but there was a difference, you see. I think
that settles it-it 's mostly instinct, not know-
ledge. Instinct tells him where the exact place
*is for the brick to be in, and so he recognizes
it by the place it's in, not by the look of the
brick. If it was knowledge, not instinct, he
would know the brick again by the look of it
the next time he seen it-which he did n't.
So it shows that for all the brag you hear
about knowledge being such a wonderful thing,
instinct is worth forty of it for real unerringness.
Jim says the same.
When we got back Jim dropped down and
took us in, and there was a young man there
with a red skull-cap and tassel on and a beau-
tiful blue silk jacket and baggy trousers with a
shawl around his waist and pistols in it that
could talk English, and he wanted to hire to us
as guide and take us to Mecca and Medina
and Central Africa and everywhere for a half
a dollar a day and his keep, and we hired him
and left, and piled on the power, and by the
time we was through dinner we was over the
shore of the Red sea, and it was all just as inter-
esting as could be, and the guide knowed every
place as well as I know the village at home.
But we had an accident, now, and it fetched
all the plans to a standstill. Tom's old ornery
corn-cob pipe had got so old and swelled and
warped that she could n't hold together any
longer, notwithstanding the strings and ban-
dages, but caved in and went to pieces. Tom
he did n't know what to do. The Professor's
pipe would n't answer, it war n't anything but
a mershum, and a person that 's got used to a
cob pipe knows it lays a long ways over all the
other pipes in this world, and you can't git


him to smoke any other. He would n't take
mine, I could n't persuade him. So there he was.
He thought it over, and said we must scour
around and see if we could roust out one in
Egypt or Arabia or around in some of these
countries, but the guide said no, it war n't no
use, they did n't have them. So Tom was
pretty glum for a little while, then he chirked
up and said he 'd got the idea and knowed
what to do. He says -
I 've got another corn-cob pipe, and it's a
prime one, too, and nearly new. It 's laying
on the rafter that's right over the kitchen stove
at home in the village. Jim, you and the
guide will go and git it, and me and Huck will
camp here till you come back."
But Mars Tom, we could n't ever find de
village. I could find de pipe, 'caze I knows
de kitchen, but my lan', we can't ever find de

village, nur Sent Louis, nur none o' dem places.
We don't know de way, Mars Tom."
That was a fact, and it stumped Tom for a
minute. Then he said -

Looky here, it can be done, sure: and I '11
tell you how. You set your compass and sail
west as straight as a dart, till you find the
United States. It ain't any trouble, because
it's the first land you '11 strike the other side
of the Atlantic. If it 's day-time when you
strike it, bulge right on, straight west from the
upper part of the Florida coast, and in an hour
and three quarters you '11 hit the mouth of the
Mississippi, at the speed that I 'm going to
send you. You '11 be so high up in the air that
the earth '11 be curved considerable sorter
like a washbowl turned upside down and
you '11 see a raft of rivers crawling around
every which way, long before you get there,
and you can pick out the Mississippi without
any trouble. Then you can follow the river
north nearly, an hour and three quarters, till
you see the Ohio come in; then you want to

look sharp, because you're getting near. Away
up to your left you '11 see another thread com-
ing in--that 's- the Missouri and is a little
above St. Louis. You '11 come down low, then,
so as you can examine the villages as you spin
along. You '11 pass about twenty-five in the
next fifteen minutes, and you '11 recognize ours
when you see it- and if you don't, you can
yell down and ask."
Ef it's dat easy, Mars Tom, I reckon we
kin do it-yassir, I knows we kin."


The guide was sure of it, too, and thought p'ison cold, but most of the time you '11 find
that he could learn to stand his watch in a little your storm a good deal lower. If you can
while. only strike a cyclone that 's the ticket for
"Jim can teach you the whole thing in a you! You '11 see by the Professor's books that


half an hour," Tom said. "This balloon 's as
easy to manage as a canoe."
Tom got out the chart and marked out the
course and measured it, and says -
"To go back west is the shortest way, you
see. It 's only about seven thousand miles.
If you went east, and so on around, it 's over
twice as far." Then he says to the guide: I
want you both to watch the tell-tale all through
the watches, and whenever it don't mark three
hundred miles an hour, you go higher or drop
lower till you find a storm-current that 's going
your way. There 's a hundred miles an hour
in this old thing without any wind to help.
There 's two hundred-mile gales to be found,
any time you want to hunt for them."
"We '11 hunt for them, sir."
"See that you do. Sometimes you may
have to go up a couple of miles, and it 'll be

they travel west in these latitudes; and they
travel low, too."
Then he ciphered on the time, and says -
Seven thousand miles, three hundred miles
an hour--you can make the trip in a day-
twenty-four hours. This is Thursday; you '11
be back here Saturday afternoon. Come, now,
hustle out some blankets and food and books
and things for me and Huck, and you. can start
right along. There ain't no occasion to fool
around I want a smoke, and the quicker you
fetch that pipe the better."
All hands jumped for the things, and in eight
minutes our things was out and the balloon
was ready for America. So we shook hands
good-by, and Tom give his last orders:
"It 's io minutes to 2 P. M., now, Arabian
time. In 24 hours you '11 be home, and it 'll
be 6 to-morrow morning, village time. When


you strike the village, land a little back of the
top of the hill, in the woods, out of sight; then
you rush down, Jim, and shove these letters in
the post-office, and if you see anybody stirring,
pull your slouch down over your face so they
won't know you. Then you go and slip in the
kitchen and get the pipe, and lay this piece of
paper on the kitchen-table and put something
on it to hold it, and then slide out and git
away and don't let Aunt Polly nor nobody else
catch a sight of you. Then you jump for the
balloon and shove for this very spot three hun-
dred miles an hour. You won't have lost more
than an hour. You '11 start back at 7 or 8
A. M., village time, and be here in 24 hours, ar-
riving at 2 or 3 P. M., Arabian time."
Tom he read the piece of paper to us. He
had wrote on it -
THURSDAY AFTERNOON: Tom Sawyer the Erronort
sends his love to Aunt Polly from the shores of the Red Sea,
andso does Huck Finn, andshe will get itto-morrow morn-
ing half-past six.

"That '11 make her eyes bulge out and the
tears come," he says. Then he says-
"Stand by One-two-three-away you
And away she did go! Why, she seemed to
whiz out of sight in a second.
Then we found a most comfortable cave that
looked out over that whole big plain, and there
we camped to wait for the pipe.

The balloon come back all right, and brung
the pipe; but Aunt Polly had catched Jim
when he was getting it, and anybody can guess
what happened: she sent for Tom. So Jim
he says-
"Mars Tom, she's out on de porch wid her
eye sot on de sky a-layin' for you, en she say
she ain't gwyne to budge from dah tell she
gits hold of you. Dey 's gwyne to be trouble,
Mars Tom, 'deed dey is."
So then we shoved for home, and not feeling
very gay, neither.



IN the days of the grandmothers of the roses,
In the sweet old times of the pinks, 't is said
The poor little Bachelor lost his button,
His beautiful, black-eyed, blue-rimmed button,
In dear little Betty's garden-bed.

Tete-a-t&te with the grandmother roses
Stood the little maid Betty, shy and sweet,
When all of a sudden she cried with wonder,
For the Bachelor's button was lying under
A red rose-bush, at her very feet.

Then straightway Betty must fall to dreaming,
Through the lavender-scented summer hours:
Could the Bachelor be a soldier or sailor?
But he must have surely a fairy tailor
To fasten his coat with buttons of flowers.

The little maid Betty stood dreaming, and
In the hope that a sweet little ancient
In blue-flower buttons and primrose satin,
With a prince's feather his fine cocked hat in,
Would come through her garden, a-peering

Then Betty planned she would courtesy
And say like her mother, stately and mild:
" Please, sir, an' please, sir, I 've found your
button "-
But the Bachelor never came for his button,
And she wondered why, while she was a



MIGHTY king was Sigurd the Crusader;
SThe earth's wide orb could scarce contain his
Ne'er faced the Turk a lordlier invader,
Nor flashed a brighter sword a deadlier flame.
When home he steered to Norway's mountains hoary
From battles with the dusky Saracen,
Each Norseman felt the prouder for his glory;
Yea, he was peerless, he was radiant then!

But now, alas! the shadows fast are falling,
And gloom encompasses the hero's soul.
In vain the skalds his splendid deeds recalling
Make empty echoes neathh the rafters roll.
For now the demon in the king is waking,
As cloudy-browed he sits upon his throne;
And at his side the queen sits pale and
And round the castle angry storm-winds moan.
They sent in haste unto the king's confessor
(It was the solemn Pentecostal feast).
"The evil fiend," they said, "the soul's op-
Cannot be banished save by tonsured priest."
Soon breathless came the monk, with pyx
and censer,
And holy water sprinkled in a ring,
And with the perfume sweet the air grew
But deeper in the darkness sank the king.
In spirit troubled sore the pious friar
Then oped the parchment of the Sacred Writ.
No priceless gift was ever treasured higher;
It was a tome that might a king befit.

That mighty Pope who roused the battle's
Had with this gift made glad King Sigurd's heart.
His crown in jewels flashed; his name there-
'Mid birds and beasts inlaid with wondrous art.
But as the priest, the Lord's compassion
The story read of Christ's great deeds of yore,
The king arose, his eyes with anger blazing,
And darkly frowning strode across the floor.
"Now hold thy peace!" he cried, "thou fool
And prate no more to me of Christ the White!
With litanies and silly tales I 'm sated;
Sing me a song of battle, blood, and fight!"
In every face a dread suspense was painted;
Fear fell upon the spirit like a pall;
The laughter died away; the bold jest fainted
Upon the jester's lips, and hushed was all.
It was a silence heavy, deep; sore straining
Each breath that stole from out the anxious
breast :
A silence such as in the copse is reigning
Beneath the cliff where is the eagle's nest.


But like the lightning, from the storm-cloud
So felled the timorous priest the monarch's ire.
As prone he dropped, King Sigurd, forward
The hallowed volume hurled upon the fire.
Straightway the queen, with horror shaken,
And from her tortured soul escaped a shriek.
When lo the proud Crusader, lion-hearted,
In fury brutal smote her lily cheek.

The slumbrous flames, their crimson flags
In eager joyous crackling upward leapt,
About the parchment hungry tongues were
And soon in ash-flakes skyward would have
The writhing leaves--when, swift from out
the drooping
And awe-struck throng, distraught by fear
and shame,
A dainty shape sprang forth, and deftly
The smoking volumn plucked from out the

It was a page-his name was Ottar Birting-
A boy, scarce fifteen summers had he told.
The courtier's band in haste the throne deserting
Made wide the space about the stripling bold.
But he stood firm; no empty valor flaunted;
Nor quailing turned his lord's dread gaze to

"Shame on thee, King!" he cried, with eye
"Thrice shame on thee for that which thou
hast done !
"When home thou came'st erewhile, a crown
of glory
Thy forehead's noble round encompassing,
Our hearts beat higher, when we heard the
Of deeds resplendent, wrought by Norway's



But now, alas! since evil days befell thee,
Thou art no more the hero we adored.
Yea, though thou slay me for the truth I
tell thee,
Again I say, thrice shame on thee, my lord!"
Dark-visaged, like a cloud of fell disaster,
The startled monarch glared upon the page.
Out flashed his sword! His breath came
hotter, faster;
His great breast toiling to contain his rage.
Then through the boy an icy dread was
But dauntless still he stood. A gleam! a thrust!
O God have pity! Save the gallant stripling!
Save that fair head from rolling in the dust!

One breathless moment the keen falchion
O'er Ottar's brow; then lightly downward sped,
And gently struck the cape his neck that

But from the king's dark face the gloom
had fled:-
" Since thou, brave boy," he said, with accents
" Durst againstt his evil self the king defend,
Henceforth sit thou amid the lords assem-
As it behooves King Sigurd's noblest friend.
" I make thee now a lord of wide dominions;
To serve thou art too bold-too great, I
For I have slaves enough and fawning min-
But where a friend so brave and true as
Down-stooping to his brawny breast he
pressed him,
And girt about his loins the gleaming sword,
While all the joyous courtiers cheered and
blessed him, .
And shouted: "Hail *unto the youthful



WHEN I am sleeping in my bed,
The little people in my head
All sport and frolic, dance and play,
As they will never do by day.

They play at being king and queen,
Or catching fairy-folk unseen;
They act out giant, troll, or gnome,
Or in far Afric's forests roam.

They go with Sinbad on his trips,
Or take command of pirate ships
And capture galleons of Spain,
Pearl-freighted on the Spanish Main.

Yet each one still pretends he 's me;
While I am sound asleep, you see;
They play I run and shout and leap,-
And yet I 'm lying fast asleep.

They have such jolly lots of fun,
And see such sights! Yet never one
Will wake me up that I may go
To share the joys that please them so.

And if I wake, and try to hear,
Or at their frolics try to peer,
Then all the sly things in a trice
Are quiet and demure as mice!



Author of "Lady Jane."

[Begtn in the May number.]
HEN Dea, robed in white
and fair as an angel, step-
ping daintily forth to her
first Communion, saw the
little emaciated and tat-
tered figure at the gate, she
did not recognize in it her
former merry little friend. But the cry, "Dea!
Seline!" was enough. In an instant she was
beside him, and while Seline received the faint-
ing boy in her strong arms, it was Dea who
took his dusty, tangled head to her heart, in
-spite of her cloud of lace and dainty white
frock, and it was Dea's tears and kisses he felt
on his forehead as he drifted away into blissful
This meeting was not the meeting to which
Dea had looked forward. For months and
months she had been expecting Philip, and
she always thought of him as she had last seen
him -happy, healthy, and full of the excitement
of his expected journey. But he was none the
less welcome; the fact that he was ill and suffer-
ing, and needed her, made him still dearer.
When her uncle, after vainly trying to induce
his brother to return with him to France, took
possession of the Detrava place, and built the
pretty house they now occupied, Dea asked
that the cottage and Philip's room might re-
main just as they were, so that when he re-
turned he would find everything as he had left
it. And when Seline, after her bereavement,-
for she believed that Lilybel, contrary to her
prediction, had been drowned in der ruver,"-
decided to give up her stand and retire to pri-
vate life as Dea's housekeeper, she and her
adored little ma'mselle took pleasure in beauti-
fying the room and keeping it fresh and sweet

for the boy they both loved so dearly. There-
fore, when Philip recovered from his swoon and
.opened his eyes, he found himself lying on his
own little white bed, which seemed to him a
bed of roses, so soft and sweet was it, and
Seline was bending over him tenderly, while
Dea, still in her white frock, rubbed and stroked
his thin brown hands.
For some moments Philip said nothing, but
lay contentedly smiling up in their faces.
Then he asked if Lilybel had come.
At the mention of that name, Seline, with a
sob, turned her head away; she felt all a mo-
ther's sorrow at the loss of her troublesome
black lamb. "Oh, Mars' Philip, yer don't
know, does yer, dat my poor Lilybel 's 'ceased
more 'n a year ago?-dat he was done
drowned in der ruver ? "
"No, he was n't, Seline," cried Philip, strug-
gling to sit up and shake off his weakness; he
had so much to tell, so much to hear, that he
could not lie there dull and silent. Then he
told Seline, briefly, and in a weak but happy
voice, of the prodigal's return, not from a
watery grave, but from New York. Dea and
the old woman listened with many exclama-
tions of surprise and joy.
"An' jes' ter tink," said Seline, laughing and
crying together, I 's been in deep mournin'
fer dat boy fer more 'p a year, an' now I 's got
to take it off!--an' my bes' dress ain't near
wore out."
While Philip was feebly recounting some of
their adventures, there was a rustling and rat-
tling at the door, and Lilybel himself entered
escorted by Homo, who recognized his old
companion and received him with the dignity
becoming a dog whose condition had greatly
There was a very affecting meeting between
Lilybel and his mother, which made Dea and
Philip smile.


"An' how, did yer fine out whar I war ?"
asked Seline, when she recovered herself a
Dat cousin in der country done tole me;
an' when I could n't fine Mars' Philip on dem
church steps dis mawnin', I jes' cum erlong
down yere. An' Ma, now I ain't dade, I 's
gwine ter be a good boy an' wuk right smart.
I 's gwine ter help yer nuss Mars' Philip an'
git him well, casee he 's mighty sick, an'-an'
I ain't nuver gwine ter run erway no more,
casee I don't like dem steamboats, an' I don't
like ter walk, nudder."
On the strength of Lilybel's good resolu-
tions, he was established in the Detrava house-
hold, where in time he became a useful and
accomplished servant; and to Dea he was
even something of a hero when she learned
of his fidelity to Philip through that long and
weary pilgrimage.
After Philip was bathed and clothed in clean
white garments,- some of the very garments
that he'had given to Lilybel in the days of his
prosperity, and which Seline had cherished as
something precious,--he was laid back in his
bed, and Mr. Detrava brought a doctor, the
very doctor who had told Philip that Toinette
would never awake.
"He is very ill-very weak, but if we can
break the fever, with good nursing and proper
nourishment we may bring him around," said
the doctor as he went away with Mr. Detrava,
talking in a low, grave voice, while Philip lay
smiling contentedly. He had reached his jour-
ney's end, he had found his loyal friends, Dea
and Seline, and now he could rest in security
and peace.
After a while he fell asleep, and when he
awoke he smiled to see Dea and Seline still sit-
ting beside him, and the "children" on a little
table near the window, scampering and play-
ing merrily.
,How quiet and pretty his old room was!
how soft and soothing the sounds that came in
through his open. window: the singing of birds,
the rustling of leaves! Never had a little pil-
grim found such a flower-strewn path at his
journey's end. Seline tended him as if he
were an ailing infant, Dea tempted his failing
appetite with fresh fruits and delicious cooling
VOL. XXI.-70.

drinks, and even the artist left the seclusion of
his room to visit the sick boy.
Dea's father was no more companionable,
none the less a dreamer than formerly; but he
remembered Philip's kindness to his child in
those old days of sorrow and poverty, and
now he wished to show his gratitude in every
possible way; he brought his lovely little fig-
ures to show the boy, for he 'still modeled in-
dustriously, although now he never sold his
work, and his beautiful room was full of his
exquisite productions. And Philip was inter-
ested and pleased with everything in a languid,
mild way; he rarely showed any enthusiasm,
any of his old fervor and excitement, over the
things he liked. He slept a great deal, and
only complained of being tired; sometimes he
laughed softly, but the old merry ring had
gone out of it. At times he spoke of the fu-
ture, when he should be well, what he should
do, and where he should go, but with little
real interest. Often he had fever and talked
incessantly of his wanderings and troubles,
while Dea and Seline would listen with wet
eyes and aching hearts. Had he not gone
with those rich people to the cold North,
they thought, he would have been well and
happy Toinette's merry Philip, instead of
the feeble, wasted shadow before them.
One day while sleeping lightly he was awak-
ened suddenly, and, looking up, he saw Pere
Josef leaning over him. In a moment Philip's
weak arms were around his old friend's neck,
and he was sobbing on his breast.
Mon enfant mon enfant!" was all Pere
Josef could say, as he stroked the pale cheek
and soft hair.
As soon as Philip recovered his composure,
he said regretfully, I 'm so sorry, Pere Josef,
but I could n't help it-poor little Boule-de-
Neige died of cold on the mountains. I car-
ried her all day inside my jacket, but she
never came to life, and Lilybel and I buried
her under a tree, and put a little stone over
her grave."
Pere Josef smiled and brushed away a tear.
"I never thought my' children' would travel
so far."
"But I brought the others back safely. I
said I would take care of them, and I did as


well as I could. I brought them back
there they are, near the window."
"Yes, mon enfant, I have seen them.
are as gay and as charming as ever. Y
very good care of them," returned Per
taking Philip's thin little hand in h:
"But we won't talk about the childrenr
you are too ill; and there are many othe
I must say to you -"
I wanted to ask you a question bef
went away," interrupted Philip, feebly
now it does not matter to know. I
Toinette's Philip, and-it does n't m;
But, my dear child, you must knov
is my duty to tell you. Will you lie
quietly, and listen calmly while I tell
about your parents?"
Yes, Pere Josef; I will lie still and lis
but I 'm Toinette's Philip all the sam
and I always shall be."
Then Pere Josef told him, as
simply and as briefly as he could,
who his father and mother were,
and of his future inheri-
tance and expectations;
to which Philip listened
with languid indifference, i
until the priest men-
tioned the name of Ains-
worth. Then he started
up, flushed and excited.
"No, no!" he cried;
"I 'm not Philip Ains-
worth. I don't want the
name; I don't want the
money. Let Lucille and
the baby have the money.
I tried to be Philip Ains-
worth. I tried to love
them, and tried to make
them love me; but they would n't.
Madam Ainsworth say that they did n't
and that they were tired of me, and tha
I ran away. I 'm glad my real mama
Detrava, and that Dea is some relation t
love Dea and Mr. Detrava, but I don't -
love Madam Ainsworth after what she s
Mon enfant, she did not know tl
were her grandson."

"But she might have loved me all the same.
Mr. Butler Bassett loved me, and he said I
was n't a bad boy; but they did n't, and they
never will. I 've come back to be Toinette's
Philip, just Toinette's Philip," he reiterated
Pere Josef saw that in the boy's present con-
dition it was useless to attempt to reason with
him; so he only said soothingly, "You shall,
you shall, mon enfant; calm yourself, and you
shall be whatever you wish. It was my duty


to tell you. Now it is over, and we won't talk
of it any more."
"No, we won't talk of it, or think of it,"
returned Philip decidedly. I am so happy,
so contented now, that I cannot bear to think
of going to a place where no one loves me";
and he raised his eyes with so pathetic a look
that Pare Josef almost regretted having told
him he was Philip Ainsworth.




MR. AINSWORTH returned from the West as
soon as possible after receiving his mother's
urgent letter, and instituted without delay a sys-
tematic and thorough search for the missing
boy. But their united and persistent efforts
were as useless as the first attempt had been.
Week after week passed in following up some
clew which proved to be false, or waiting in
anxious expectation for news from the different
searchers they had employed throughout the
During those wearisome days of suspense,
Madam Ainsworth aged visibly. She was less
haughty, and less severe, and she did not hesi-
tate to confess to her friend that she could
not sleep at night for thinking that the child
might be wandering somewhere, tired and ill,
and exposed to cold and hunger. At times
she avoided the drawing-room, where Captain
Ainsworth's portrait seemed to look at her re-
proachfully, his sad persistent gaze following
her everywhere. Then she would go into the
boy's deserted room-the room she had given
him so grudgingly, and opening his wardrobe
she would look at its contents with an aching
heart. The empty little garments had a pathos
of their own. The warm fur-coat the boy had
been so proud of, and had liked so much to
wear, was a keen rebuke to her when she
thought that perhaps he was suffering with
cold; and the pride which had prevented his
taking their gifts told her too plainly that he
had understood and resented their unkindness.
Had she known that he was Philip's son, she
would have made an idol of him; she would
have been so proud of his beauty, of his fine
manly bearing, of his frank truthful nature,
which she had only discovered when it was
too late to show her appreciation of them.
It was a dreary time for her; even her new
grandson failed to interest her, and the brilliant
and mature expressions in Lucille's Paris let-
ters were honored with only one hasty reading.
Mr. and Mrs. Ainsworth suffered too, but
not so deeply as the old lady, because they
were less guilty. In spite of their thoughtless
neglect of Philip after the birth of their boy,

they still had loved their adopted son, and felt
a real interest in him; and now that he was
gone they missed him greatly, and were sadly
anxious concerning him.
It had become a habit of the whole family,
Bassett included, to expect with every sound
of the door-bell, and every messenger, some
news of the lost boy; and one day it came in
a brief telegram, dated at New Orleans, and
signed by Pere Josef:

Philip is with his relatives, the Detravas, on Ursu-
lines street. He is very ill.

Madam Ainsworth handed it to her son, her
face pallid and sunken. "We must go to him at
once," she said brokenly, as she left the room.
That night she and her son were on their
way to New Orleans.
For several days after his conversation with
Pere Josef, Philip appeared to be better and
brighter, and each day Seline lifted him from
his bed, and laid him in a large easy-chair
near the window. From this comfortable posi-
tion he could look into the garden, and watch
the gardener at work among the flowers.
He knew every tree and shrub, and the riot-
ous vines running everywhere were a.wonder
to him. Mammy planted that," he would
say. When I went away it was n't up to my
knees; now it 's nearly as high as the house.
It seems to be running up to the sky. I think
it loves the stars and is trying to reach them.
And there 's the very magnolia-fuscata we set
out one day-the day Pare Josef went away;
it was a little thing then, now it 's nearly a
tree. And that 's the bed of lilies we planted
the day Dea sold Quasimodo. And those vio-
lets in that border are the last dear Mammy
put out. I helped her, and the Major and the
Singer were around me all the time. How
the Singer trilled that day! I never heard him
trill so before; perhaps he knew it was the last
time Mammy would hear him. I wish the
Singer-would come back, but I think he and
the Major are gone; they missed me and they
went away-perhaps they have gone to search
for me, and when they can't find me they will
come back."
Dea watched him constantly with wistful anx-
ious eyes, hope and fear alternating. "He 's




better to-day," she would say confidently to Se-
line, but the old woman would only shake her
head sorrowfully, and go away to wipe her eyes
One morning he was especially bright, al-
most merry; he played with the "children,"
caressed and stroked Homo, who lingered
around him affectionately, and chattered with
Lilybel over the remarkable adventures of their
About noon Pere Josef entered. His pale,
thin face was sad and anxious, and his voice
was full of uncertainty and trouble as he talked
in a low tone apart to Dea. He was saying:
"Yes, yes, my child, we must tell him. It is
our duty to prepare him. They will be here
in a few days."
Philip caught the words, "They will be
here," and instantly his eyes were full of anx-
iety. "Who- who will be here?" he cried,
starting up excitedly.
Mon enfant, calm yourself, calm yourself,"
said Pere Josef, laying his hand caressingly on
Philip's head. "There 's no cause for anxiety
or inquietude. Your grandmother and uncle
will be here very soon."
."Very soon," echoed Philip, despairingly.
"They are coming to take me away"; and
throwing himself on his pillow lie burst into
tears. They are coming for me; they are
coming to take me back."
"They are coming because they love you,
and because you belong to them," said Pere
Josef, gently.
"They want to see you because you are ill.
Don't excite yourself; try to be calm," urged
Dea, sweetly. "No one shall take you away.
Papa and I will keep you always."
"They will take me away. I belong to
them. Pere Josef says I belong to them. Oh,
Dea, I can't go with them "
My child, my dear boy, they do not intend
to take you away," said Pere Josef, greatly
distressed by the boy's agitation.
Don't fret, Philip dear, don't worry; no one
shall take you from us," said Dea.
That night Philip was restless and excited.
The doctor looked grave when he came, and
said decidedly that the child must sleep. "The
disease has reached a point where perfect rest

and sleep are absolutely necessary. Give him
his composing draught, and get him to sleep
as soon as possible."
Dea and Seline tried by every means to
soothe and quiet him-his eyes were wide and
bright, and the hot flush was again burning on
his cheek. About midnight he begged to be
allowed to lie in his chair by the open window,
where he watched and listened as though he
were expecting some one. It was a languorous,
sultry night, and the wide-open windows ad-
mitted scarcely a breath of air. At times Philip
sighed and moved restlessly. Seline fanned him
gently and Dea tried to soothe him to sleep;
but no, the wide-open bright eyes continued
to look out into the shadows of the garden,
or up to the deep blue of the sky sown with
myriads of stars. Suddenly there was a faint
rosy light over everything, the white flowers
came out of the shadows, and the tall clusters
of Easter lilies were faintly pink. The leaves
shivered and shook down crystal drops, the
birds twittered and called to one another across
the dewy garden, the east was aglow with rose
and pale opal.
"It 's daylight," said Philip, softly. I
have n't slept all night. Soon the sun will rise
behind the Pittosporum just as it did when
mammy used to wake me to go to Pere Josef."
"Hush, Philip, hush; try to sleep," mur-
mured Dea, soothingly.
There was silence for a moment, then Philip
suddenly started up, his eyes wider and brighter,
and a smile of delight on his parted lips. "Dea,
do you hear it ? "
What, Philip, what do you hear? ques-
tioned Dea in an awed voice.
"The Singer-he has come-I hear him, he
is there, away up there, trilling, trilling-" and
he lifted his hand and pointed toward the stars
growing pale in the rosy light of dawn.
Dea and Seline listened attentively and pres-
ently they heard a distant liquid note circling
nearer and nearer, the joyous morning song of
a happy bird.
Philip leaned forward, with his eyes fixed on
the tiny dark object which came swiftly toward
the window; the happy boy uttered a feeble call
which the bird evidently recognized, for it sud-
denly darted down to the rose-bush near the




window, and there it alighted, swinging on a
slender branch, while it poured forth its clear,
exultant song.
It is the Singer, Dea," cried Philip, joy-
fully; "he has come back. Now I shall get
well, and be 'Toinette's Philip' again."
Just then a ray of sunlight darted across the
lilies, and Dea remembered that it was Easter
morning. Philip leaned back on his pillow
smiling contentedly; soon the heavy lids
drooped over his eyes and he was sleeping
peacefully, while the bird sang on and on-
joyously, exultantly-and Dea, as she listened,
seemed to hear in the little bird's clear notes,
"Glory to God, peace on earth, and good
will toward men."

ite window, his weak hand clasping Dea's as if
he could borrow courage and strength from his
faithful little friend. There was no one else
present, and Dea never forgot that touching
scene, when Madam Ainsworth, her face gentle
with love and penitence, took her son's child to
her heart with such affection and thankfulness
that all Philip's fears and misgivings vanished
instantly. With an impulse which perhaps he
could not understand, he whispered, Grand-
mama, I love you, and I will never make you
unhappy again!"
These few words were all that were neces-
sary to melt the hardest heart, and from that
moment there was the most perfect understand-
ing between them. The only other words of


A few days after, when Madam Ainsworth their conversation that Dea could recall after-
and her son arrived, they found Philip much ward were these, which were a great comfort to
better and quite prepared to see them. He was her. Philip had said, very gently and sweetly:
waiting, calm and smiling, sitting by his favor- "Pere Josef says you will not take me away,



now." And Madam Ainsworth had replied,
" My darling, you shall stay here as long as
you wish, and always, if you prefer. We wish
only to see you happy."
A few evenings after the arrival of the Ains-
worths, P&re Josef dropped in on a happy
family group. Philip was lying in his chair
under his favorite tree. His grandmama sat
beside him fanning him gently; Dea, on a low
chair, was reading aloud, with Hono stretched
at her feet. Mr. Ainsworth and Mr. Detrava
were pacing back and forth in the rose-garden
talking earnestly,--doubtless of art,- for they
were congenial spirits. The children's cage
hung on a sweet-olive tree. Seline sat on the
steps sewing, and Lilybel lay curled up beside
her sound asleep.
With one glance the little priest read a happy
history in the peaceful group. e bon Dieu
orders everything well," he said to himself, as
he stood a moment unnoticed.
When Dea saw him she laid down her book,
and drew a chair within the little circle.
"No, no, my child; I cannot sit. I have
duties to-night which I must not be tempted to
neglect. I see that all is well with you; that
is enough for me."
After a few more friendly remarks he went
toward the little cage where the "children"
were playing merrily, and looking at them
thoughtfully for a few moments, he said, with
some embarrassment and a faint flush on his
thin face:
Mon enfant, if you don't mind, if you can
spare them, I think I think I will take the
'children' home with me to-night. You can
have them whenever you wish; but to-night -
well, perhaps to-night I feel a little lonely, see-
ing you all so happy." Sighing gently, he
covered the cage with his handkerchief, and,
taking it, went thoughtfully down the garden
walk into the gathering twilight. Late that
night, if any one had lingered near the little
cottage of Pere Josef, although there was not
a visible ray of light, they certainly would have
heard the sweet tremulous notes of a flute
softly rehearsing an old-time dance.
Twilight gently descended on the old gar-
den. The scent of dewy flowers filled the air.
A sudden fresh gust of wind showered rose-

leaves over the peaceful group. Some fell
caressingly on the happy face of Toinette's
Philip, and some on the bowed head of Dea,
while with clasped hands she murmured her
evening prayer; and as they floated and fell
a little brown bird clung to a slender spray and
sang clearly and joyously.

I HOPE my young readers will not think I
am adding an unnecessary scene to my story,
if I tell them of a little incident which took
place in Madam Ainsworth's drawing-room,
several years after the reconciliation.
In the very best light of one of the large
windows stood an easel, on which had just
been placed a picture. It was a simple but
charming composition. The background rep-
resented an old garden,-a tangle of tender
green and gray,-and in the center a young
girl, in her first communion-veil and crown
of flowers, stepped daintily down the sunlit
Three persons, of more or less interest to us,
were gathered around the easel examining the
picture with great attention. One was Madam
Ainsworth, as dignified and stately as ever, but
with a much gentler expression of face and a
softer voice and manner; near her stood a tall,
slender girl with the most wonderful copper-
colored hair, and a wild-rose tint in her cheeks.
She was not pretty, but she was certainly strik-
ing, and a marked contrast to the third figure,
a young girl with a lovely, delicate face and a
shy, nun-like manner, whose eyes were fixed on
the picture with pleased surprise.
Dea can't criticize, she can only admire;
and, Grandmama, you and Dea are very much
alike in that respect," said the tall girl, in a
sweet but artificial voice with a decided French
accent. "Whatever Cousin Philip does is per-
fection. I dare say it is clever, very clever.
The painters at the exhibition said so."
Before Philip had finished it, Papa said it
was remarkable for so young an artist. He
worked on it while he was with us last winter,"
interrupted Dea, in the same soft, grave voice
of her childhood.



I 'm not surprised at your liking it, Dea,"
returned the other. Philip has made you sim-
ply angelic."
"Oh, I don't consider it a portrait," replied
Dea, a faint flush coloring her delicate cheek.
" It is true Philip made a study of me for it, but
he has idealized it almost beyond recognition."
On the contrary, my dear," said Madam
Ainsworth, looking fondly at the speaker, "I
call it a very good likeness."

I | 1 i ((1 'I ;

1"i 4 /

appreciate Philip's remarkable talents as you
should," said Madam Ainsworth, perhaps a
little coldly.
Indeed I do, Grandmama; I 'm in a state of
constant admiration. I have heard nothing but
praises of that wonderful boy ever since I came
home. From the eldest to the youngest in this
house it is always 'Philip, Philip,' and the utter
idolatry in Bassett's eyes when he looks at him
is worth coming all the way from Paris to see."

Ii; IIVP-[

mii I


"There is certainly a likeness, and a very "Yes, every one loves Philip," added Dea.
pretty one," exclaimed the tall girl, with a mis- Papa adores him. No one but Philip could
chievous glance at Dea; "and from Grand: ever induce Papa to consent to my spending a
mama's remark I see that she is very partial to month every autumn with Madam Ainsworth.
the original." Papa misses Philip so after he has made us a
I 'm afraid, my dear Lucille, that you don't visit, he is hoping that when Philip leaves col-

~--- --


lege he will spend his whole winter with us,
instead of only one month."
My dear," said Madam Ainsworth, with
gentle reproof, "you forget how necessary he
is to my happiness; he is so devoted, so thought-
ful, really I can't be separated from him
Oh, Grandmama, you have two other grand-
children," laughed Lucille. "I really should
be jealous; but I-like Philip immensely, and
he is very nice to me, considering how badly
I treated him when I was a little, spoiled, sel-
fish prig."
Just at that moment the door was opened,
and Philip himself came in eager and flushed;
he held a newspaper in his hand, and his face
was beaming with pleasure.
"Look, Grandmama; see, Dea; listen, Cousin
Lucille, while I read what they say about my
picture. Uncle Edward was indignant be-
cause it was badly hung, but it has been no-
ticed all the same. This is what they say:
'No. 270 was hung above the line, which does little
credit to the hanging committee-'

Never mind that. Here 's what they say
of the picture:
'Tender in sentiment, truthful in drawing, with a feel-
ing for color, and a breadth and strength seldom sur-
passed by our best painters. It is said that the artist is
only eighteen.' "
"Bravo!" cried Lucille heartily, clapping
her slender hands.
"It is not overpraised, my dear boy," said
Madam Ainsworth, decidedly.
Dea's face expressed her happiness. When she
felt most, she said least; therefore she was silent.
Oh, it has been sent home, has it ?" said
Philip, glancing at the picture. "Why, it looks
well in this light. You know I was so discour-
aged when they skied it; now it is all right.
And is n't it like Dea ? That 's all I value it
for," he added.
Madam Ainsworth looked at him proudly,
he was such a fine, manly fellow; he had kept
the beauty of his childhood-andpbetter than
all he had kept the simple, honest nature, the
frank, truthful gaze, the merry laugh, and the
tender, loyal heart of "Toinette's Philip."




by birth, though her early youth was spent in
Boston. Her supreme desire was to be an
artist, and after receiving the best instruction
America afforded, she spent several years trav-
eling through Europe, perfecting herself in the
study of art, and visiting the renowned picture-
galleries of the Old World. Writing had always
been a favorite pastime with her, but she had
at first no thought of making it a serious life-
work. While living in Rome, Mrs. Jamison
wrote her first book, "Woven of Many
Threads," a series of sketches of European
travel in which a romance v..s lriiy intro-
duced. It was read to a small circle of friends,
among them the poet Longfellow, who com-
mended it highly and urged the young author
to publish it. It was subsequently published

by Fields, Osgood & Co., and was favorably
received by the reading public.
Mrs. Jamison continued for several years to
devote herself to the two arts of painting and
literature, and published successively "A Crown
from the. Spear," Ropes of Sand," and My
Bonnie Lass."
In 1878 this gifted writer married Mr. Samuel
Jamison, a prominent lawyer of New Orleans,
and came to Louisiana to reside permanently,
spending several years on a plantation in
southern Louisiana, and finally settling in New
Orleans. Here Mrs. Jamison's two most suc-
cessful books were written: "The Story of
An Enthusiast," and Lady Jane." Both are
stories of child-life showing a profound study
of that tender and imaginative age when im-
pressions are so vivid, sufferings so keen and




when startling events leave indelible traces on
the pliable mind and unformed character of
the child.
In Lady Jane" Mrs. Jamison has embodied
a very beautiful and touching picture ofAmerican
child-life. The scene of
the story is in New
Orleans, and not only
children, but folks of
a larger growth delight
to read of the strange
adventures that befell
the aristocratic little
lady among strangers
in a strange land.
" Lady Jane is worthy
of being placed beside
Mrs. Burnett's story of
"Little Lord Fauntle-
roy" as a companion
picture, and it has be-
come a classic not only
in America but in Eu-
rope. It has been trans-
lated into French and
German, and its popu-
larity does not diminish.
Mrs.Jamison occupies
a pretty cottage on St.
Charles Avenue,where,
surrounded by her pic-
tures, books, and flow-
ers, she leads a quiet,
domestic life. Though
by no means a recluse,
she is not fond of so-
ciety, except that ofher
friends, and the greater
portion of her time is
spent in study, writing, R. CECI
and other literary work.
Mrs. Jamison is a handsome woman, with
regular features, blue eyes, brown hair, and fair
complexion. She is dignified, yet affable, and
converses with ease and fluency. Mrs. Jami-

son is averse to being photographed, but she
has consented to the publication of a portrait
of her made about fifteen years ago.
The picture printed below was taken from a
rather fanciful portrait painted at that time.


Though Mrs. Jamison writes so charmingly
of children she has no little ones in her house-
hold, save the dream-children embodied in the
books which have made her famous.

VOL. XXI.- 71.



JACK GRAY'S father and mother lived in New
York eleven months in the year, but the whole
family almost invariably spent August at the
sea-shore or in the country.
Mr. and Mrs. Gray had purchased a lot on
Fifth Avenue long before so much wealth and
fashion congregated in that particular section
of the city, and, although there were many
more pretentious homes than theirs on every
side, still their house was handsome without,
and the books, pictures, furniture, and carpets
were what might be expected in that locality,
notwithstanding the fact that they regarded
themselves as plain people, who had not pur-
sued, but been overtaken by, fashion.


A sultry morning, the last day of July, found
the furniture covered up and packed away for a
month's nap, and a carriage at the door ready
to take the Grays to the station.
As Mrs. Gray passed through the hall she
noticed that one piece of baggage was un-
marked. "Jacky, dear," she said, "please run
up-stairs and write father's name on a card for
the leather trunk; it has all our bathing-suits
in it, and we must not risk losing it."
Jacky flew to the third story, his especial
property, and he wrote "Jonathan Gray" with
such a flourish he splashed ink all over his fin-
gers. He went to an up-stairs bath-room to
wash his hands; but the water would not come,
so he rushed down to the second-story bath-
room, made himself presentable, and was in
the carriage by the driver before his mother
thought it possible.
Mr. Gray locked the front door, and sending
the key to his brother's by a servant, started
on his summer holiday with the comfortable
feeling that he was taking a needed rest and
leaving everything safe in his absence.
About ten days later, two policemen were
lounging by a lamp-post near the house. It
had been raining for twenty-four hours preced-
ing, and, although the sun was now shining bril-
liantly, the eaves were still dripping, and from
the marble steps ran a steady little stream to the
I say, Bill," remarked one of the men to
his comrade, "it 's a monstrous quare thing,
but I b'leve it rained more on this one house
yesterday than any three in the city; every time
I passed, there was a regular pond on the pave-
ment, and it 's still a-comin' down them steps."
"You everlasting igiot," returned Bill; "it's
a-runnin' out of the house! Where 's your eyes-
don't you see it coming' right under the door ?"
And so it was!
Fortunately, the first speaker knew where
Mr. Gray's brother lived, and, hastening to the



place, he told Mr. William Gray that there ap-
peared to be something the matter. Within an
hour the front door was unlocked and a

(. 1

deplorable sight was revealed. The beholders
might have said with the Ancient Mariner, that
there was water, water everywhere "; for it was
flowing gently down the front stairway, drip-
ping from the ceilings, and each floor was full
of little pools. All the carpets had been left
on the lower story, and they had been saturated
to such an extent that the sensation was that of
walking.on sponges; from the parlor walls hung
long festoons of rich velvet paper.
Uncle William, almost raising an umbrella in
his excitement, rushed up to the third-story
bath-room, and there was a tub overflowing on
every side, and a full head on in the spigot
Jacky had forgotten to turn back. Well, they
stopped it, you may be sure, and "the long
tongue," as the Indians call the telegraph, said
to Mr. Gray, down at Cape May: "Come at
once. House damaged by water." He came
by the first train, and he sent for women with
cloths and buckets, and for plumbers and car-
penters and painters and paper-hangers and up-
holsterers, and he spent more than three thou-
sand dollars cleaning house that autumn.
Now, how old do you suppose Jacky must
have been to have done all that mischief?
"Ten," did you say? No, he was more than
that. "Twelve?" No,wrongagain. "Thir-
teen? I see I shall have to help you guess,-
he was twenty-six years old, and weighed one
hundred and sixty pounds; and it was a good
thing he was so old and big, for if he had been
a small boy it would have seemed a very care-
less trick indeed; but as it was, people only
said:."Dear, dear, dear! Well, accidents will
S happen!"




~M. chidren, come tell me now if you have ever
,,A ,


So clever, so clever, so clever was he
1-.L'.1 E. RICHARDS.

Been told of the parson who was so clever;
So clever, so clever, so clever was he
That never a cleverer parson could be.

The parson loved children; he also loved walking,
And off to the woods he was constantly stalking,
To smell the sweet air, and to see the green trees,
And to do just exactly whatever he might please.

Some children they went with him once to the wood.
(They loved the good parson because he was good.)
They followed him gaily for many a mile,
To list to his voice and to look on his smile.

At length the children cried, "Oh-dear-ME!!
We 're tired,-as tired as tired can be!
'T is supper-time, too, while afar we thus roam,- ,
Oh, pray you, dear Parson, do carry us home!"

The children were six, and the parson was one:
Now, goodness gracious! what was to be done?
He sat himself down in the shade of a tree,
And pondered the matter most thoughtfully.

At length he exclaimed, My dear little chicks, //
I might carry one, but I can't carry six.
Yet, courage! your parson's good care will provide
That each of you home on a fine horse shall ride."'


',t ....

He drew out his jack-knife, so. broad and so bright,
And fell to work slashing with main and with might,
Till ready there-one, two, three, four, five, and six-
Lay, stout and smooth-polished, some excellent sticks.
"Now mount your good horses, my children!" he cried;
"Now mount your good horses and merrily ride!
A canter, a trot, and a gallop away,
And we shall get home ere the close of the day."
The children forgot they were dreadfully tired;
They seized on the hobbies, with ardor inspired.
"Gee, Dobbin! whoa, Dobbin! come up, Dobbin, do!
Oh! Parson, dear Parson, won't you gallop too?"
Away went the children in frolicsome glee,
Away went the parson, as pleased as could be;
And when they got back to the village, they cried,
"Oh, dear! and oh, dear! what a very short ride!"

~~_- -*-*

.; I


When daffodils begin to peer
Why then comes in the sweet o' the year.
IN February, when our meadows are covered
with ice and snow, and spring seems very far
away, the yellow daffodil, or Lent Lily, begins
to bloom in the hedge-rows and lanes of Eng-
land. A few frosty days may come later, such
as we have in early April, just enough to nip
the buds and discourage them for a while; but
the English spring has really opened when, as
the old rhyme says:

Has come to town

In yellow petticoat
And a green gown.

One of the old English names for this flower
is Lent Lily, given from its time of blooming.
Lent Cock is another name, which has a
curious origin. In very old times a game used
to be played on Shrove Tuesday, or early in
Lent, with live cocks, which were tossed about
and used as targets in a very uncomfortable
In later times the boys have substituted the
yellow daffodils for cocks, playing a game of
skill by knocking off the yellow flower-heads
with sticks thrown from a distance.
Frances E. Gifford.






HAGENBECK'S SCHOOL, February 16, 1894.
DEAR TOMMY: Every Friday morning-
well that's the time we all do our letter-writ-
ing, and now I am going to write you.
Do you know, Tommy, I adore one of our
school-teachers, Miss Mazella Berg?-she has
the elephant, pony, and advanced dog class.
I felt one day like pulling the wings off
that dead stork only I remembered that he was
only making-believe dead, and would want
them; otherwise I should have so liked to have
pinned them on Miss Berg's shoulders. She is
so like an angel! I 've composed a song and
written the music, and I am going to borrow

one of those guitars that Captain Weston's
seals play upon, and serenade her the first
evening she passes my cage.
I do wish Mr. Mehrman woild put me in
her class; I am getting very tired of climbing
that pedestal, and the other day I just said I
would n't do it, and four of the men tied a
rope around me, and with some pulleys hauled
me up six times; and, Tommy, I had to give in
and go up. I think it was just horrid, although
Mr. Mehrman is a very nice teacher when we
do what he tells us.
You know I always get a piece of candy
every time I come down; and I am monitor in



the class now, and help to keep the scholars in
their proper positions.
I ran away from school once, but I '11 never
do it again; it was n't in this school, but up in
Greenland. I was a little fellow, and thought
it great fun running around all by myself, tum-
bling in the snow, and trying to catch snow-
birds; but along came a Rus-
sian sailor and caught me and
took me to a ship, and the
captain gave me to Mr. Hagen-
beck, and here I am. Oh, yes,
we .used to have a very nice
school up there, and we had to
learn to climb icebergs and swim. .
Don't tell, Tommy; we were
taught to catch seals, and the
other day, when I performed my
part particularly well, and Mr. Mehrman was
so pleased, I just had a mind to ask him to
give me one of those seals to eat; but I
thought it would n't do, and I am glad they

are not in my class. I think they are very
funny, and when that one rocks the cradle
with the baby in it till he tumbles the whole


thing over, oh my! don't I laugh! We had
lots of little babies up where I came from,







but they are all bundled up in fur, and we
all look alike: bears, seals, and babies.
Well, Tommy, Mr. Philadelphia and Mr.
Penje have got the worst classes in school-
Black Prince the lion, and Helena the lioness,
that ride the horses. I am afraid those two
men will be bitten some day. I should think
it would be great fun, to go trotting around
on horseback, but you can never tell what
other creatures think. Now, Nora, the dog that


walks around on the stage. No wonder the
band strikes up that funny music. He looks so


ridiculous! And
Mr. Beketow with
his class of pigs-
I just laugh and
laugh when they
go off the stage
in the carriage!
Say, Tommy, I
know it's wicked

they dress up to look like a lion, thinks it great,
and likes the ride. Tommy, don't ever try to
be a dude, or people will laugh at you as
they do at that little black bear
in our class whenever he

to have such a thought, but do you know,.
I would just like to have those three seals made
into a big pie, and
then I 'd just like
to eat and eat
and eat, and then
lie down with
my head on one
of the gentle lions, A FINE TURNOUT.
and snooze and snooze and snooze. Good-by.
Your friend,


VOL. XXI.-72.





A HAPPY April to you, my kite-flyers and sun-
umbrella playfellows! What a tease April is, to
be sure! Yet she always is gentle, though start-
ling. March is different. Deacon Greene says,
whenever March promises to go out like a lamb,
he comes in a-lyin'.
For my part, this is the way I should describe
the first four months of the year:
JANUARY, crisp and snow-y,
FEBRUARY, soft and flow-y,
MARCH, rampageous, pert, and blow-y,
APRIL, tear-y, smile-y, grow-y.

Now comes a little bird-story, the truth of which
is fully vouched for. Its hero is a canary.

DEAR MR. JACK: One of the most interesting sights
I ever saw was our canarylbird, Trillo, feeding four little
motherless chickens that we had brought into the
kitchen for his inspection. As soon as he saw them,
he began talking to them in his softest tones and they
at once ceased their pitiful "yeap-yeap." Cocking their
heads on one side, they watched him closely, and after a
minute or two, the strongest of them toddled close up
to the cage. Whereupon Trillo began feeding Master
Chick on seed and cracker moistened with water. He
kept on talking in his bird-language, and I have no doubt
the chickens understood him, for presently others crept
up where he could reach them from between the wires,
and received food from his bill.
It was delightful to watch him as he hopped from dish
to dish, selecting the choicest bits, seemingly, and talking
so fast that all I could think of was a busy little house-
keeper on baking-day. After they had all been fed,
Trillo treated his pets by trilling his sweetest melodies.
He had a habit of dancing back and forth on his perch
and quirking his head from side to side while he sang, and
the chickens stood quite still and watched every move-
ment he made.
The next day I put them into the cage with him. But
this did not seem to work well, for, while he attended to

one guest, the others would peck at his feet, or even pull
at his tail-feathers.
Trillo took it allin good part, and when they went so far
as to take his whole foot and leg into their beaks, as two
audacious chicks did, he simply hopped up into his swing
out of their reach, and eyed them, still good-natured.
After that we brought them in to see him every morn-
ing, until they so far outgrew him that he did not seem
to care to feed such large-not to say rude-pets. He
was always kind to them, however, and I think they were
almost as fond of him as we big folks were.

HERE is a message from Edward T. B., who
offers you
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: Would you mind ask-
ing Mr. Jack's clever crowd to solve this enigma said to
have been written by Lord Macaulay ? I have tried in
vain to work it out, and have never been able to find a
friend or a book that could give me a good answer to it.
But I have great hope of success if you will help me.
Here it is:
"Cut off my head, and singular I am;
Cut off my tail, and plural I appear;
Cut off my head and tail, and, wondrous feat!
Although my middle's left, there's nothing there.
What is my head, cut off? a sounding sea;
What is my tail, cut off? a rushing river;
And in their mighty depths I fearless play,
Parent of sweetest sounds, yet mute forever."

Now you shall have an extract from a refreshing
letter that lately came to this pulpit from a new
contributor. It describes some of the divers who
disport in the waters of the West Indies.

WE were nearing St. Thomas; all the passengers
were on deck looking with interest at the pretty little
city, with the hills at its back, and a fringe of palm-trees
at its feet. When within a short distance of the shore,
the captain signaled, down plunged the anchor, and be-
fore the water had ceased from troubling we were sur-
rounded by a fleet. First came the fine long-boat
of the health officer, with its gaudily striped awning,
flag flying at the stern, and half a dozen dusky oarsmen,
who rowed with great style and precision. Then there
were the passenger-boats, the stern seats neatly cush-
ioned, to which fact the owner called your attention
while inviting your patronage. One of these men re-
joiced in the possession of a tall hat, which raised him
far above his fellows, while he was further distinguished
by the name "Champagne Charlie." But, hark! hark!
the dogs do bark-the rag-tag and bobtail are putting
out to sea! Boys, boys, boys, and boys,- all ready and
eager for a dive!
Some one started the exhibition by throwing a dime
overboard. Instantly there were a dozen pair of heels
in the air-one splash and a train of shining bubbles
rising to the surface showed us that the little divers
were on their way down in the search of fortune. The
water was so clear we could see-the coin slowly sinking,
and see the little brown body dart after and seize it.
On coming to the surface, the one who made the capture
would display the coin in his hand, and then shrewdly
pop it into his mouth. The cheeks of the lucky boys
were round and hard as apples. It was so pretty to see
the ease and grace with which they moved through the
water; and they entreated for more so pleasantly (with




eyes glistening and teeth shining) that the rain of silver
and copper continued to fall over the rail until the ship's
stock of small change was depleted. The boys did not
have it all their own way, for there were several men
who competed with them, and came-off rather the worse
in the struggle. One of the passengers offered a man
twenty-five cents if he would dive under the ship and
come up on the other side. Perhaps the amount offered
was not large enough to pay him for the risk he would
have to take. At any rate he wisely declined the propo-
sition, and so lived to swim another day.
A. L. S.

Now, my hearers, you shall have something about
aqueerlittle mother--atrue story told you byM.E.B.

CARLETON, a young friend of ours, had a tame white
rat with red eyes. He called her" Pete," and made her
comfortable in an old bird-cage. One morning he was


,-" **'" ~--~-, V -'.*/;|
\ ,

*::^ ^
,' .* f

surprised to find two baby rats in the cage. Carleton
called them "mice." His nurse thought they were cold,
and, without thinking of the consequences, placed the
cage upon the steam-radiator in the room where she slept.
She fully intended to take it off in a few moments; but
this she forgot. Carleton's mother went to the room
after breakfast, and was shocked to find the cage upon
the radiator, which now was very hot. She looked in
vain for Pete and the little ones. They had made their
escape from being roasted alive- but how? On exami-
nation, it was believed that Pete raised the door of the
cage with her fore feet, and, while placing her body
,under it to keep it open, nosed the little "mice" out
upon the floor, then carried them off to some safe retreat
-but where? Every place was searched, bread-and-
milk was placed upon the floor in little pans so the faith-
ful mother would not starve. Later, when the nurse-
girl went to bed, the household was startled by a pier-
cing shriek; for away down between the sheets lay Pete
and her two babies, safe and asleep! Now, was not this
a wise little white rat ?

.~) j. -

7' *1 /
'-i 4 -





HELEN KELLER has been in receipt of a multitude of
letters oflate, many referring to her article on the World's
Fair in the December number of ST. NICHOLAS. Her
friends desire to say to the many writers of letters that
fully deserve reply, that Helen is so occupied with her
studies that she cannot spare time for answering these
many kind and interesting letters, nor can her friends
undertake the labor of reading them all to her.
From a recent letter of Helen Keller's we quote a
message she sends to ST. NICHOLAS readers:
I hope my letter will help boys and girls to feel that
of all the good and beautiful things which will come into
their lives, Love is the best and the most beautiful, since
it alone makes it possible for a little girl, deaf and blind
as I am, to rejoice in the brightness and loveliness of a
world she cannot see. Affectionately your friend,

EDITOR ST. NICHOLAS: I fear that the article in
"Through the Scissors on The Horse as a Reasoning
Animal" will give your readers a false impression of ani-
mal intelligence. The horse mentioned refused to race
unless his own jockey dressed in racing-colors rode him.
It is not at all probable that the horse reasoned that he
had nothing to gain when some one else rode him. In
general, animals do things either because it gives them
pleasure, or because they have been accustomed to do
them before under certain conditions. This horse had
been accustomed to race when his jockey rode him in ra-
cing-colors, and had not been accustomed to race when
any one else rode him, no matter what the rider's attire
might be. It took the sight of his jockey in riding-cos-
tume to awaken the idea of racing in the horse's mind.
It may be that a horse can reason, but the instance cited
does not prove it. I remember reading of a Russian
horse that would travel twelve versts willingly enough,
but refused to go farther without his dinner. His owner,
in order to see whether the horse judged distance by the
mile-posts, tried two tricks. First, he shortened the dis-
tance by putting in false mile-posts; sure enough, the
horse stopped when he had passed twelve, although it
was not a customary stopping-place. Then the owner
took out some of the regular mile-posts; the horse went
along willingly until he had passed twelve and then re-
fused to go on. Even here it is not absolutely necessary
to suppose that the horse reasoned; he simply associated
the distance which he ordinarily traveled before being
fed, with the passing of twelve mile-posts. When he had
passed twelve, from previous experience, the idea of din-
ner was awakened in his mind. The wonderful fact is
not the semblance of reason shown, but the apparently
incontrovertible fact that the horse counted. It is all the
more strange when one remembers that many savages
cannot count higher than five or six.
Averstis little more than three fifths of an English mile.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Last year I came out head in
my school examination, and, as a reward, my father gave
me a year's subscription to you. This year I have again
come out head of my class, and I have taken you again
in preference to any other periodical.
I think "Toinette's Philip" is lovely, and was very
much interested in "The White Cave," and "Polly Oli-
ver's Problem."
I am the eldest of a family of four; my sister is two
years younger, and I have two little brothers.
Last summer we spent our vacation on Sullivan's Isl-
and, a favorite summer resort, seven miles from Charles-
ton, S. C., and twenty-nine miles from here. We passed
a delightful summer. The beach and the surf were the
sources of our greatest pleasure, but we had, besides, a
great many other ways of amusing ourselves. When the
dreadful cyclone of August 26 came, we were still on the
island, and I shall never forget the howling of the wind
nor'the angry waves. We returned home after that, and
in time to escape the second storm.
I am a member of "The King's Daughters." Wishing
ST. NICHOLAS long life and prosperity.
Yours truly, CAROLINE A. W-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for three
years and like you so much. I would like to tell you
about a pet robin of mine. I found him fallen out of his
nest chirping about on the ground, and I took him in
the house and fed him. Every morning at five o'clock
he would go up the back stairs, wake up Anna, and
make her give him something to eat. We would let
him out on the lawn to find worms, and if we called
"Birdie! Birdie!" he would answer and come to us.
He would swing by the hour on mama's finger in the
hammock, half asleep and happy; but one morning he
fell into a pail of water, and that was the end of little
pet robin. RAY C--.

A EUROPEAN trip is delightful-but no traveling can
make up for too long an absence from home, as this letter
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little American girl, and
have been for nearly three years in Europe. To my bro-
ther and me it seems along time, and we sometimes wish
we could go home for a while; but ST. NICHOLAS'S
monthly visit is so cheering and homelike, that we often
forget we are homesick. Of course I do not mean to say
we do not enjoy all the beautiful sights over here, for we
are very fond of traveling, and have seen considerable;
but I should at the same time like to know some Ameri-
can girls. We are spending the winter in Florence,
studying English, French, German, and music. I have


an Italian friend, with whom I exchange English for Ital-
ian lessons.
Florence is a city which visitors are often disappointed
in at first; but one becomes very much attached to it after
living in it a few months. I cannot tell you of all the
places of interest there are to be seen. The Pitti and
Uffizi galleries hold many of the finest paintings in Eu-
rope by the old masters. Michelangelo's wonderful
sculpture and paintings adorn many of the buildings,
churches, and galleries. Although Dante lived six centu-
ries ago, his house and some of his things are still to be
seen. A beautiful walk out of town is to the village of Fie-
sole, on a hill which was formerly the site of Florence.
It affords a fine view of the Apennine mountains, and on a
clear afternoon the sunset from there is beautiful. While
returning from this walk one day, through fig and olive
orchards, the last crimson switches of the sunset still lin-
gering on the blue sky, a shepherd and his dog, driving
a flock of sheep, passed us on their way home for the night.
With many wishes to you for a prosperous New Year,.
I remain ever your devoted reader, JULIA M--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wonder if any of your musi-
cally inclined children listened to the Javanese music at
the World's Fair and enjoyed it as much as I did.
I was fortunate enough to visit the Fair with my violin
teacher, and as we entered the Java village, we were at-
tracted at once by a peculiar sound, and turning around
we saw three Javanese men who were striking a number
of copper gongs. As we listened we could hear that there
were time and tune, and that there was really music to that
which sounded like discordant sounds at first.
My teacher took a pencil from his pocket, and wrote a
few notes on a card as he stood there listening, and the
other day sent me a copy of the inclosed piece of music.
If you will be so kind as to print it, perhaps some of
your children would like to try it on their pianos.
Yours, E. E. P- .

We gladly show the music to readers of the Letter-box.

_j ; -o----- s-- ------_

PP 8va. lower .....................


Sva. lower..........................

S -r-j-

HERE is a letter that has been some time on its way:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in North Texas and
have no end of fun riding horseback, and in the autumn
we enjoy hunting pecans, though we often get our hands
stained hulling them. Although so near Christmas, our
roses and chrysanthemums are still blooming. My win-
dow is open and the sun is shining brightly. Very often
it is warm enough to go without our wraps during the
holidays. I enjoy reading your "Letter-box" so much;
especially the letters from foreign countries. It seems so
strange that some of you all never saw cotton growing,
when all around me are acres and acres of it. Most of it
is picked now.
As this is all I have to tell you, I am yours devotedly,

IN the January number of ST. NICHOLAS the above
question was asked, more as an amusing puzzle than
as a serious mathematical problem. Two clever corre-
spondents, however, have sent us answers. Mr. Paul
R. Heyl, of Philadelphia, incloses a model in wire open-
work, and writes: When we wish to represent the
fourth power (which being of four dimensions we may
call a hyper-cube), we may do so in solid perspective by
placing a cube diagonally above another, and a little
behind it, and joining the corresponding corners." He
refers inquirers to a book," Scientific Romances," by C.
H. Hinton.
A younger correspondent, Mr. Arthur Howe Carpen-
ter, of Deadwood, South Dakota, also defines the proper-
ties of the fourth power figure: "It is a figure bounded
by 8 cubes, just as a cube is bounded by 6 squares; it
has 16 corners, 24 squares, and 32 edges."
One of our correspondents says that this model shows
as nearly as possible "what the Fourth Power looks
like"; what it really looks like cannot be shown. This
figure has many of its qualities, but the thing itself is
only a theory of geometry.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you for a
long time, and I thought I would write to you about a
visit we paid to the island of Marken in Holland.




It was a lovely day in June that we, with several other
tourists, took passage on a small sail-boat, and after en-
joying a delightful sail of about half an hour over the
rippling waves of the beautiful Zuyder Zee, we arrived at
the island of Marken. This island contains one hundred
and eighty acres of land, and is occupied by fishermen and
their families.
There were as many as four hundred fishing-boats in
the harbor the day we were there. The people were just
going to church. They looked very striking in their pic-
turesque costume. We were fortunate enough to get a
glimpse of the interior of one of the houses ; the inmates
were very courteous, and showed us all their cooking
utensils and household wares. There is no stove in these
houses; a large flat stone, placed in the center of the room,
serves for a hearth. On this fire they cook all their meals.
They have small pottery stoves into which they put live
coals to warm their feet in winter. As there is no chim-
ney, the smoke escapes through a hole in the roof. As the
smoke soon makes the rafters black, a new coat of white-
wash is needed every month.
On our way back to the boat, we met a bridal party
gaily decked out in their bridal array. The happy bride-
groom was carrying a long clay pipe, the stem of which
was covered with small, white, artificial roses, it being a
custom of the islanders for a newly married man to carry
this long-stemmed pipe covered with roses everywhere he
goes for two weeks after his marriage, to let people know
that he has just been wedded.
Your loving reader,
Ross R-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two little girls, ten
and eleven years old. We go to a private school and
learn a great many'lessons. Our parents do not know
we are writing this, and we intend it to be a surprise
for them.
I spend most of the happiest hours of my life in read-
ing the ST. NICHOLAS, and think it is the best book ever
We have great fun skating and coasting. We each
have a brother, and we had a very nice Christmas. It
is lovely here in the summer; all around Pottsville are
mountains. Yours truly, AUGUSTA C. K- ,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am reading your inter-
esting stories, and thought I would write a true story for
the Letter-box.
When we were at the ranch, we children all had pet
horses. The nae of one was Sam," and he was very
fond of children, but especially fond of my twin sisters.
One day the twins went out to see Sam and another
horse they called "Judy." There was a cow there that
had recently become the mother of a fine calf. She was
about a quarter of a mile from the house. The angry
cow started for the twins immediately, bellowing. She
was in great rage. Sam raised his head, pricked up his
ears, and ran straight to the twins. About that time Judy
came up where they were. Sam was a large horse, but
Judy was only a pony. So one twin helped the other
on Sam, then she climbed on Judy. And after that Sam
became the hero of the ranch,
Yours very truly, F. H. B--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for a great
many years, and enjoy reading the Letter-box as well as
your delightful stories.
I am just fourteen years old, and live in Honolulu, my
native town.

About two years and a half ago all of our family went
to Boston, where we stayed nearly a year. While in
Boston I attended the Prince School, and was sorry to
leave it.
On one of our islands is situated the largest active
volcano in the world. I have been to this volcano twice,
and like it ever so much there, because the weather is so
Most of the girls ride horseback. I am very fond of
riding, and ride a great deal.
Your constant reader, ALICE H. J- .
"Live and learn." What a queer reason for liking an
active volcano-because it is so cool there !

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a cat whom I call
"Billy M'Gee M'Gaw." He is a grate theaf and
jumpes up on the table to steel meat. One day when
he was alone in the kitchen he jumped up on table.
Suddenly I heard him jump down from the table and a
terrible rattling of paper at first I thought he had fit and
when I looked he had some flypaper stuck on his tail,
he had sat down on it and it stuck to him he does not
like to go in that room any more.
He sits up when he wants any thing and he will shake
hands with me. Your Admirer, C. McA- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Mama and I enjoyed Laura
E. Richards's story, "When I Was Your Age," very
much. Mama went to Papanti's dancing-school when
she was a girl. She and Mrs. Richards went to school
together for a year, and graduated at the same time.
Mama has a tintype album of all her class, and she
has one of Mrs. Richards. I think she has a sweet face.
I had two cats, "Vaga" (Spanish for wanderer) and
"Belita" (Spanish for baby), that would rival "Oggy,
the steamboat," if she were alive.
I hope Brander Matthews's story of American authors
will come out soon. I think I will be interested in Ralph
Waldo Emerson more than the others, because he was
my great-uncle. He gave Mama several of his books
with her name in them. She has a fine photograph of
him, on which hewrote his name. Vive le ST. NICHOLAS!
Your sincere reader, EDITH EMERSON S- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Your New Year number pleased
me much, especially the description of Palmer Cox. He
is such a kind-looking man--a man whom you could
not help but love. My aunt used to make just such
little things as Palmer Cox does. She used to call them
"Greenies." We have neighbors who are second cou-
sins of Mr. Cox. I should like to see him very much.
If you should ever see him tell him that if he is ever left
without a friend he will know that I like him very much.
I must stop now. Your constant reader,
P. S.-I like "Tom Sawyer Abroad."

WE thank the young friends whose names follow
for pleasant letters received from them: Catherine D. P.,
Jennie T., Ralph W., Clara W., Minnie L., Lewis B.,
Ethel and Alice W., F. McL., Thomas W. A., M. W.,
Lisa N. E., Stuart L., Georgia W. and Pansy N., Bob
K., S. Reede C., Morse D., Bessie C., and C. H. S.

FRANCES LEE: The first of the Brownie series was
printed in ST. NICHOLAS for February, 1883, and was
called "The Brownies' Ride."



FINAL ACROSTIC. Perry. i. Scallop. 2. Steeple. 3. Panther.
4. Cobbler. 5. Tourney.
METAMORPHOSES. I. Bold, bolt, belt, pelt, pert. II. Boat, boot,
soot, shot, shop, ship.
CUBE. From I to 2, solicitude; I to 3, solicitors; 2 to 4, escutch-
eon; 3 to 4, subversion; 5 to 6, thriftless; 5 to 7, tessellate; 6 to 8,
succession; 7 to 8, East Indian; I to 5, suit; 2 to 6, eggs, 4 to 8,
noon ; 3 to 7, safe.
DIAMONDS. I. x. B. 2. Art. 3. Aloes. 4. Brownie. 5. Tenor.
6. Sir. 7. E. II. i. S. 2. Die. 3. Dream. 4. Siestas. 5. Eaten.
6. Man. 7. S. III. I. C. 2. Bar. 3. Bales. 4. Calumet. 5. Remit.
6. Set. 7. T.
DOUBLE ZIGZAG. Both zigzags spell "Saint Nicholas." Cross-
words: I. Sacks. 2. Salam. 3.-Slice. 4. Inane. 5. Taint. 6. Anent.
7. Abide. 8. Acock. 9. Heugh. io. Honor. iz. Salve. 12. Sagas.
13. Slabs.

PI. March is piping Spring's sweet praises,
Night by night the young moon fills;
Soon the golden-hearted daisies
Will be over all the hills.
Box PUZZLE. Upper Square: I. Seat. 2. Ease. 3. Asks. 4. Test.
Side Square: i. Test. 2. Ever. 3. Semi. 4. Trip. Lower Square:
I. Trip. 2. Rise. 3. Isle. 4. Peel. From 4 to 7, trap.
Words are like leaves; and where they most abound
Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.
SILVER-CROSS PUZZLE. I. Happy. 2. Die. 3. Adverse. 4. Pierces.
5. Perches. 6. See. 7. Jesse.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Rhomboid; finals, Welcomed.
Cross-words: I. Renew. 2. Heave. 3. Offal. 4. Magic. 5. Bravo.
6. Opium. 7. Indue. 8. Dread.
CHARADE. Cap-a-city.
LETTER PUZZLE. "All's Well that Ends Well."

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 JANUARY NUMBER were received, before January xith, from Everett Malcolm Hawley--
Josephine Sherwood-Alice Mildred Blanke and Co.-Jo and I-"M. McG."-Arthur Gnde-G. B. Dyer-Mama, Isabel, and
Jamie- Walter L. Haight -- Hubert L. Bingay Katharine Moncrief- Chester B. Stimner- Ida Carleton Thallon- Charles B. D.-
Nessie and Freddie-Moxce, Washington L. O. E.-Helen C. McCleary-Thomas Avery Roper--" Sunnyside"-John Fletcher
and Jessie Chapman -R. Bloomingdale--" Tip-cat."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JANUARY NUMBER were received, before January 15th, from Paul Reese, co-Elaine S., 2-" Lynne
C. D'Oyle," 7 Klara E. Frank, i -" The Wise Twins," -Dorothy Q., I Georgiana A. Hallock, x -Mary Makepeace, I -Florence
S. Wheeler, 2 Bessie Fox, I Maude E. Palmer, o1 Ethel Johnson, W. Watson Roberts, 3- Earl Jackson, Lloyd Cornwell, -
Willie Gallagher, 2-John Williams Brotherton, i-Eugenia M. McDougall, Floy Noteman, i -Marion D., Charlie J. Corse, i -
Mama and Florence, 2- E. N. Teall, 2 -Ira F. Wildey, 4 Ethel A. Randall,i Allison McKib-in, 3- Helen Fry, 3- Morris Schwarzs-
child and Eugene Oregon, 2 -Jennie H. Wiles, x -" Pollywog," I Bernard M. L. Ernest, 3 --Howard Scholle, I G. A. Hallock, I -
Julia Leaming Wood, i Peggy and Patty, 4 -John Hill, i Livingstone and Nathalie F., I Rhees Jackson, i R. O. B., 3- Willie
A. Jones, x-A. R. T. and J. T., 6-" Highmount Girls," io -Eleanor H. Dean, i Mama and Sadie, 6- Edith E. Cantelo, 2-Ella
B. Lyon, 6-L. F. Craig, 2- No Name, 4 -Hortense E. W.,4- L. H. R., 2 -Anna C. Church, 3-"X. N. Trick," 7-W. Kidds, -
Channing Newton, 2- Geo. S. Seymour, 7- Fannie Jackson, 2--Jeraldine E. Vandervoort, I -"The Clever Two," 6--Effie K. Tal-
boys, 4 Estelle and Clarendon Ions, I Ralph B. and H. Branwell Mason, i Harold and May, 6 Marjory ane, 5 Edward W.
Sturdevant, Jr., -C. C. S., x-Anderson Berry, 2-No Name, Littleton, eo- Marguerite, Annie, and Emily 3-Charles Arthur Bar-
nard, 9-" Uncle Mung," ao-" Reidites," i Addle Clark, i Harriet E. Strong, 3- G. Barrett lover, 4- Cousin Burt and Ethel, 7-
"Annos Moscrip," 7-No Name, Terre Haute, 2 Willie and Louise Nichols, 3 Blanche and Fred, o -" We Girls," 5 Isabella
W. Clarke, 2 -Laura M. Zinser, 6 -Harry and Helene, 9 -" Jefferson Place," 8 Ruth M. Mason, I -Edna R. Myers, I.


ARE you 7-10-14-3-2-9 to play a 4-11-5-1 by your-
self, or only endeavoring 7-8 find a 12-6-7-13 through
that curious maze? I did not think you were so profi-
cient in I-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-IO-1I-12-13-14.


5 3

4 6 2

CRoss-WORDs: i. Places for sleeping. 2. Shafts.
3. Trials. 4. A dealer in flowers. 5. Dress goods of
a certain kind having a glossy surface. 6. To enact
anew. 7. Far away.
From I to 2, free from error; from 3 to 4, made a sound
by violently expelling the breath; from 5 to 6, a stream.
H. W. E.

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 the name
of a celebrated painter of animals.
CROSS-WORDS: I. To diffuse. 2. An orderly collec-
tion of papers. 3. To divide into two or more branches.
4. A title used in addressing a sovereign. 5. The lower
part of the wall of an apartment when adorned with mold-

ings. 6. A jug. 7. A measure of length. 8. In a little
while. 9. To double. o1. Surface. II. To decline grad-
ually. 12. Augments. 13. Token. 14. Withered. 15. To
irritate. 16. A heath. L. W.

WHEN the six objects in the above illustration have
been rightly guessed, and the names written one below
the other, the initial letters will spell the name of a
famous French warrior who was made a knight before
the age of nineteen. TILLIE S. TAYLOR.


-c~ '4,,


MY primals and my finals, each
name a modern author.
CROSS-WORDS: I. To invest with a
fee or feud. 2. To come back. 3. A
place of public contest. 4. The first
month of the Jewish year. 5. Relating
to city. 6. Without sense or intelli-
gence. 7. Indications. 8. A period
S of time. 9. One of the Bahama Is-
lands. o1. Raging.- II. Frosting.
12. A kind of flower-de-luce. 13.
One of an African race. 14. A dogma.
S5. A geometrical figure. 16. Fare-
well. 17. To fluctuate. 18. To coun-
terfeit. 19. An emblem of peace. 20.
A perch. 21. To check by fear of
danger. J. P. R.
MY first is part of a little child's
My second is the most interesting thing in the world.
My third is a harmonious body.
My whole is complete in itself, and yet but one half of
my third. L. E. ABBOT.

ALL the words described contain the same number of
letters; when rightly guessed, and placed one below
another, in the order here given, the central row of letters,
reading downward, will spell a nickname given to Francis
Marion of South Carolina.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A substance used in making imita-
tions of precious stones. 2. Showing a vulgar taste in
dress. 3. A discoloration by foreign matter. 4. The
rock rabbit. 5. Becoming small toward one end.
6. Lifted high up. 7. To strike against something. 8. A



4 4 4 4

I. A vessel used only for pleasure-trips.
2. To shrink from with loathing. 3. A
small job. 4. A quadruped. 5. Large
fidel. 2. An inaccuracy. 3. Satire. 4.
Ballads. 5. A place of meeting.
I. Not quick to learn. 2. An African.
3. A second time. 4. Of highest qual-
ity. 5. Modified.
I. Pastry containing fruit. 2. To turn
away. 3. To refund. 4. To track. 5.
To denominate.


I 6

5 6

3 4

7 8

FROM I to 2, leaves; from I to 3, alien; from 2 to 4,
enrolled; from 3 to 4, disposed; from 5 to 6, incomplete
paralysis; from 5 to 7, an apparition; from 6 to 8,
worldly; from 7 to 8, one who directs; from I to 5, to
move as wings do; from 2 to 6, consumes; from 4 to 8,
an animal; from 3 to 7, a standard. LITTLE NELL."


EACH blank is to be filled by a word of six letters.
No two words are alike, though the same six letters,
properly arranged, may be used to make the six missing
0* * from* * thou* thy
Without * or honor thy task;
Though no * or bustle thy barter disturbs,
The * s is quite all one could ask.

I. FARCES. 2. Imaginary. 3. Measure. 4. Hav-
ing ears. 5. Certain vehicles used in winter.
II. I. Ventures to do or to undertake. 2. A certain
fabulous bird which was said to have no feet. 3. Colo-
phony. 4. Prepares for publication. 5. Understanding.
I. UPPER LEFT-HAND SQUARE: I. To conjecture. III. I. An occurrence. 2. Prowess. 3. A choice or
2. To cut asunder. 3. To eat away. 4. To move side- select body. 4. The south wind. 5. A lock of hair.
wise. 5. To move with celerity. SAMUEL SYDNEY.


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