Front Cover
 Front Matter
 The elfin bough
 A boy of the first empire
 Three freshman: Ruth, Fran, and...
 Hurry and speed
 Jaffier's friend
 Ralph Waldo Emerson
 Chris and the wonderful lamp
 The days of the year
 Little Paul's picture-book
 Who seeks, find
 A song of the year
 Jack Ballister's fortunes
 Tim Sheridan and his Christmas...
 Rogue elephants
 The cherry-colored purse
 A piping pie
 An astonished snowman
 Rhymes of the states
 Four little pigs
 The letter box
 The riddle box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00292
 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: VID00292
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 Matter
        Front Matter
        Page 178
    The elfin bough
        Page 179
        Page 180
    A boy of the first empire
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
    Three freshman: Ruth, Fran, and Nathalie
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
    Hurry and speed
        Page 196
    Jaffier's friend
        Page 197
        Page 198
    Ralph Waldo Emerson
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
    Chris and the wonderful lamp
        Page 207
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
    The days of the year
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
    Little Paul's picture-book
        Page 221
    Who seeks, find
        Page 222
        Page 223
    A song of the year
        Page 224
    Jack Ballister's fortunes
        Page 225
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
        Page 230
        Page 231
        Page 232
        Page 233
    Tim Sheridan and his Christmas goose
        Page 234
        Page 235
        Page 236
        Page 237
        Page 238
    Rogue elephants
        Page 239
        Page 240
        Page 241
        Page 242
        Page 243
        Page 244
    The cherry-colored purse
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
        Page 248
    A piping pie
        Page 249
        Page 250
        Page 251
        Page 252
        Page 253
    An astonished snowman
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
        Page 257
    Rhymes of the states
        Page 258
        Page 259
    Four little pigs
        Page 260
    The letter box
        Page 261
        Page 262
    The riddle box
        Page 263
        Page 264
    Back Matter
        Page 266
    Back Cover
        Page 267
        Page 268
        Page 269
Full Text

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JANUARY, 1895.
Copyright, 1894, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.


THE little lad was grave and good;
He ne'er had had such thoughts before.
(It happened in an English wood,
Two hundred years ago, and more--
Two hundred and two-score.)

A sturdy little lad was he,
Who always meant to do the right.
(His name was Year-of-Jubilee;
His clear gray eyes first saw the light
The year of Naseby fight.)

Along the woodland path he went,
Upon his errand, trudging slow;
His looks upon the ground were bent.

Between the trunks the sunset glow
Shone red across the snow.

It was the eve of Christmas Day,
When rigid rules aside were cast
By such as walked the wicked way:
His sober household kept a fast.
He wished the day were past!

In solemn fast small joy he had,
Though shamed he was his thought to
This little, hearty, hungry lad!
Like ripened apple was his cheek,
So round, and plump, and sleek.

No. 3.



Hark! what was that? He starts, he stops: But once again he waxed afraid.

The flutter of a rising bird?
A rabbit rustling in the copse?
A stiff, sad-colored leaf that stirred?
What was the sound he heard?

The light was round her as she stood,
The slender maid, so wonder-fair,
In gown of green, and velvet hood.
He felt a fear to see her there,
So lonely and so rare!

She fixed her starry gaze on him.
I prithee now, good lad," said she,
" Canst break the bough with berries dim
That springs so high on yonder tree ?"
"Yea, verily! cried he.

In haste to serve so fair a maid,
He plucked her down the elfin bough;

With beating heart, with frowning brow,
He cried, "What maid art thou?"
"I doubt it is a heathen thing,-
My aunt Refrain hath told me that.
Its leaf is like a leather wing;
It is as gruesome as a bat,
A toad, or brindled cat! "
(" Perchance she is a blue-eyed witch
That dwelleth in the wood," he thought:
Her silken gown is strange and rich.
In subtle snare she hath me caught;
My ruin, sure, is wrought! ")
"Good Master Roundhead, shrink not so!"
She said. "Thou wast a friend in need
To pluck my pearly mistletoe.
A merry Christmas be thy meed
For that most gentle deed!


" But merry Christmas is no more
In English land! I mind me how
We kept the joyful feast of yore,
In yon old ivied Hall, whence now
I 've stolen, to seek this bough!

" The men and maids, a rosy crowd,.
Made noisy mirth, and thought no sin.
With pipe, and tabor beating loud--
Ah me, with what a joyous din
They brought the Yule block in!

" On high the elfin bough would hang;
And surely 't was a gleeful game,
And all the walls with laughter rang
When Hodge kissed Moll beneath the same,
Nor thought the jest a shame!

" With plums, and spice, and citron sweet,
Madge cook would work in cunning wise;
She kneaded paste, she shredded meat -
I trow thou wouldst have oped thine eyes
To see the Christmas pies!

" Good store, good cheer, for many a year
In that old Hall had we," she said;
" But now the days are grim and drear,
The larder's bare, and mirth is dead."
She sighed, she turned, she fled.

Along the woodland path she went
As swiftly as the speeding doe;
For now the wintry day was spent,
Between the trunks the sunset glow
Grew faint upon the snow.

And little Year-of-Jubilee
Stood still, and stared, and heaved a sigh.
He thought, "Perhaps it would not be
A grievous sin to wish that I
Could dream of Christmas. pie! "



[Begun in the November number.]
TWISTING and squirming with a persistency
that would do credit to a modern foot-ball
scrimmage, Philip wriggled his way from be-
neath those trampling feet, and at last stood
erect-battered but whole.
He looked about him for an instant, striving
to catch his breath and get his bearings. It
was a scene of terror and despair. The great
room was thick with smoke, the flames were
already roaring up to the roof, and seemed
to. burst from the house with which the ball-
room was connected. Cries and shrieks filled
'the air. Then was displayed one phase of that

excitable French nature which so often loses its
head in great crises.
Some, however, kept their wits about them,
and worked like Trojans. By dint of much
labor they cleared the blocked doorway, and
hurried the throng into the garden and the
street beyond. About the Emperor, Philip saw
a ring of the officers of the Imperial Guard, who
with drawn swords kept the surging mob at bay,
while he heard above the turmoil the voice of
the Austrian ambassador shouting to Napoleon,
" My life for yours, Sire! If this is a plot it shall
strike me dead before it touches you! "
And on the imperial platform, calmly seated
on the throne, Philip, with a flush of pride in
her courage, saw the girl Empress, the coolest
one in all that excited crowd, quietly awaiting


the word of her husband, the Emperor, to leave
the place with him.
There was no plot. The fire was but a fearful
accident that was to wreck the beautiful building
and bring death to many homes. Assured of
this, Napoleon worked his way to the platform,
took the Empress by the hand, hurried into the
garden,- and, placing her in a carriage which
Philip had found for him, sent his wife in safety to
St. Cloud. Then he returned to the scene of dis-
aster, and, in the same spirit of command that
made so many of his battles victories, worked
amid ruin and smoke to save life and property.
Philip worked too. As excited and omnipre-
sent, and probably quite as much in the way, as
a boy always is at a big fire, he rushed hither and
thither, helping and hindering alike, but anxious
above all things to find the pretty little partner
who had been swept from his side when the rush
had overthrown and trampled him under foot.
He feared the worst. How could any girl es-
cape what a boy had been unable to withstand ?
Burning beams were falling; now an over-
crowded staircase gave way and collapsed; now
the great chandeliercame crashing down; thelost
were crying; the wounded were calling for help,
and a sudden storm bursting upon the doomed
building fanned the flames into a roaring blaze.
Rushing along one of the garden walks, de-
termined to search everywhere for the missing
girl, Philip stumbled into a half-concealed
grotto where the musicians had been. There,
in the wreckage of overturned music-racks and
forsaken instruments, he saw the body of a
young girl. It was she whom he sought. Over-
come by the smoke, or by the fright and frenzy
of the stampede, she had evidently found a
place of refuge and then comfortably fainted.
Of course Philip thought she was dead.
"Oh, Mademoiselle!" he cried in despair.
But even as he raised her up, she recovered
consciousness, looked about her dazed, and then
called, "Father !- Oh, take me to my father! "
Philip recalled the stories of Bayard and
Roland, and all the gallant knights of old who
had succored maidens in distress. Here, now,
was his chance to show himself a true chevalier.
" Mademoiselle, let me take you home," he
said. "Your father is there, no doubt."
Still weak from her fall and fright, the girl

leaned upon her protector, and they made their
way through the garden to the street. A tardy
fire-engine, as clumsy as it was useless, came
lumbering up to the gateway, and Philip drew
the girl aside to avoid a collision with the ex-
cited crowd that came with it.
Suddenly the girl gave a cry of joy.
"Father, father! she called shrilly; and,
breaking from her conductor's side, she sprang
into the arms of a gentleman whose look of
mingled misery and perplexity changed swiftly
into one of relief and joy as he clasped the girl
in a welcome that was also protection. Then
they turned, and before Philip could reach them
they had hurried through the gateway, and were
lost in the crowd and the darkness.
"Well," said Philip, just a trifle chagrined at
this unexpected ending to his attempt at knight-
errantry, "she is safe, no doubt. If one might
have known her name I wonder who she is?"
Then, finding that someorder was coming
out of the chaos of disaster, and that the fire-
men, the soldiers, and the armed police had
taken matters in charge, Philip concluded there
was no more to be seen. Wet and smoky, di-
sheveled and torn, he started for the Tuileries;
but as he crossed the square near the Vend6me
Column he spied a carriage with pages on the
box pushing its way through the crowd.
Holo you! To St. Cloud? he shouted in
inquiry. And a chorus of pages replied:
"To St. Cloud, yes! Where have you tum-
bled from, disreputable one ? Come along, my
Lord Mud and Soot! Climb up here, young Des-
nouettes." Philip clambered up without even
stopping the coach, and, squeezing himself in
among the pages, was soon chattering and clat-
tering away to St. Cloud and a brief night's rest.
Early next morning, by order of the Empe-
ror, he hurried to the Embassy for the latest
news. He brought back sorry tidings. Its
destruction was complete. Many had been in-
jured; some had been killed outright, or had
since died. Altogether it was a tragic ending to
what had promised to be a brilliant affair.
But those were days when people were all
too familiar with disaster and death. Crowd-
ing events pushed past happenings out of mind.
Napoleon wished his court to be both gay and
glorious, and disaster must never be mentioned.


So the fatal ball at the Embassy was for-
gotten, save by those who had experienced its
terrors, either to their own hurt or in the in-
jury or loss of those who were dear to them.
The coming of new glories gave a fresh current
to thought, while new happenings occupied
young and old, rich and poor, in Paris.
Once a week, when off duty for a few hours,
Philip always went to see Babette. He took
as much interest in her education and progress
as if he u it e indeed her guardian, and the sisters
of the convent school in the Street of the Old
Pigeon-House* -welcomed the bright boy with
smiles, and allowed him a generous half-hour's
interview in the conversation-room.
There was enough of the street-boy nature
remaining in Philip to make him like to
"' prowl"; and in these walks to see Babette in
the Street of the Old Pigeon-House, the young
page of the palace would often make round-
about journeys, stumbling into all sorts of out-
of-the-way places, running all sorts of risks, but
never getting into any real danger, though there
was plenty of it beneath the surface-life in the
Paris of those days.
It was while on one of his "prowls," one af-
ternoon, when he had been to visit Babette, that
he was strolling leisurely along the Street of the
Fight,t one of the very quietest and quaintest of
the streets of old Paris, when he was attracted
by a tug of war between two hostile sparrows
who were struggling for a tough straw that both
seemed equally to fancy for nest-repairing.
The sparrows pulled and tugged and fluttered
so vigorously that Philip, always alive to the hu-
morous side of things, leaned against the nearest
fence-rail and watched the equal match.
Perhaps that 's why they call this the Fight
Street," he was just saying to himself, when he
felt a touch on his shoulder. Looking up, he
saw a decent-looking house-servant.
"Will Monsieur enter?" the man said.
" Mademoiselle receives."
Philip looked puzzled. Mademoiselle? "
he queried.
"Yes, Monsi6er," the footman explained;
"the Citizen Keeper's daughter. She saw you
from the window, and her father, the Keeper,
bids you enter. To-day Mademoiselle receives."

Philip looked closely at the house. He was
certain he had never seen it before.
"But," he began, "I do not know Made-
At that instant a tall, scholarly-looking gentle-
man came through the open doorway and stood
beside him.
Oh, but you do, my boy," he said, break-
ing in upon Philip's uncertainty. "Enter, I
beg, and see for yourself."
The gentleman was so distinguished in appear-
ance, and he laid so friendly a hand upon the
page's shoulder, that Philip willingly entered the
The footman lifted a heavy curtain, and Philip
stood within a neat drawing-room furnished in
the simple style of the Revolution. A young girl
came quickly forward from a group of people.
"I am so glad you came in," she said im-
pulsively. "I saw you from the window, and
knew you at once."
Philip looked closely at the speaker. In an
instant it was all clear to him. Mademoiselle"
was his partner in the quadrille on the lawn -
the girl he had rescued from the grotto that
fatal night of the ball at the Embassy.
He bent low over her extended hand, for thus
were boys of those days taught to make their
manners to ladies. '
Mademoiselle is very kind," he said.
The girl laughed merrily at this stately polite-
ness, and, making up for the forgotten ceremony
with which she should have greeted him after
the fashion of the day, she courtesied deeply
in acknowledgment. Then she laughed again,
joyfully and unaffectedly.
"Did you not think us most ungrateful, we
two father and I," she said, that we should
have so rushed away from you that dreadful
night ? But my father why, where is he ?
See, my father, was I not right?-it was our
Philip's conductor gave him a cordial smile
of welcome. He took both the lad's hands
in his. "My best of boys," he cried, "how
proud I am to see you here! We have long
wished-we two thoughtless ones-to learn
who was the brave young gentleman who
united us that dreadful night-"

* Rue du Vieux-Colombier. t Rue de M616e.



"When we lost our schottische," interrupted
Mademoiselle. "Do you not remember that
was next to come when the wreaths caught fire ? "
"And such a charming schottische as it
would have been," said Philip gallantly.
"Let me make you known to our friends,"
said the master of the house, as he took the
boy's arm and hurried him toward the waiting
group. "My friends," he said, "let me pre-
sent to you-"
Here his daughter again interrupted him.
"But, papa," she cried, "we do not know
Monsieur's name-nor does he know ours. Is
it not droll ?"
"So! the little one is right," said the intro-
ducer with a laugh. Permit me, Monsieur.
We are the household of Daunou, Keeper of
the Archives. I am the Keeper. Mademoiselle
here is my dear daughter Lucie. And you? "
I, Monsieur the Keeper," replied the boy,
"am Philip Desnouettes, one of the pages to
the Emperor."
Ha, that Corsican! The exclamation
came from a little fat man of middle age and
fierce face, who stood at the elbow of Mon-
sieur the Keeper of the Archives.
Philip fired up in an instant.
Sir, I said the Emperor! he exclaimed, a
flush of surprise and anger mantling his face.
"Pouf, pouf! What a young game-cock it
is! How hot we are And is he not a Corsi-
can? the fat man fumed.
But the Keeper of the Archives clapped a
hand over the offending mouth. "Be quiet,
Fauriel," he said. Monsieur the Page is my
guest, and such words are not for him. We all
have our preferences and our loyalties. Des-
nouettes, did you say, my boy? "
"Yes, Monsieur; Philip Desnouettes," the
boy replied.
"The name has a familiar sound," said the
Keeper. "Your father?"
"An imigri, Monsieur," the boy answered.
"Executed in 1796 for not leaving France
when the nobles were that year expelled."
What, you boy! Fauriel the fat broke in,
"your father a martyr, and you a slave, of the
Sir, my Emperor was not the murderer of

my father; he has been my protector," Philip
began, hotly. But the other broke in quite as
Pouf!-a fine protector, he! A wolf shield-
ing the lambs! Whom has he protected? Has
he not enslaved, has he not juggled with has
he not-"
"But, papa," Mademoiselle cried appeal-
ingly, "do I receive, or does Uncle Fauriel ?
Tell him he shall not spoil my day with his
hateful politics. See, Monsieur Philip is very
angry, and so am I."
The Keeper of the Archives laughed aloud.
"Do not mind him, Monsieur the Page," he
said; "this is a little pot and soon heated.
There, there, Fauriel, do not get angry; you
know your bark is worse than your bite. Let
him alone; he is but a boy. What should he
care for your tirades, except perhaps to love his
Emperor the more and regard you the less ? "
"But our boys are the Frenchmen of the fu-
ture, Daunou," the little man replied. "I am
angered to see them worshiping at the shrine
of the Corsican-this Nicholas,* this little
beast, this-"
"Sir! ". Philip shouted.
"Uncle Papa! Mademoiselle protested.
And, almost before he knew what he was do-
ing, the angry page of the palace sprang at the
detractor of his Emperor and thumped him
soundly on his ruffled shirt-front.
Fellow! he cried, red with rage, he who
maligns my Emperor insults me! Withdraw
your words or I will kill you!"
But the fat calumniator of Napoleon looked
into the face of the Emperor's young champion,
and snapped his fingers once, twice, beneath
the boy's nose.
"Pah! Infant! he said. That for you!"
Then he turned his back on the angry boy and
called out with the laugh that maddens, Dau-
nou, send for his nurse!"

PHILIP fairly cried with rage. A boy's wrath
is sometimes so overmastering that it unnerves
him, and he can do nothing but let it dissolve
in tears. But the boy quickly dashed the un-

* One of the nicknames of Napoleon.


welcome drops from his eyes, and turned to the
Keeper of the Archives.
"Sir-" he began, but the Keeper interrupted
him, gently but firmly:
"We are all citizens in this household, my
boy," he said. "For us, at least, the Republic
is not yet dead, nor
have we grown weary 7
of its simple ways." "j-'- -..
Citizen Keeper,
then," Philip said, fall- i
ing back upon the old i _
address of the Revo- i ..
lution, "I bid you and \
Mademoiselle good
day. If it be the ways i
of the Republic to I
malign the absent and
to insult guests, then i
am I glad the Re- '
public is dead. Long

And, deeply bow-
ing, the boy turned
toward the door. But,
the Keeper of the .Il
Archives caught him .
by the arm. "Amen
to that wish, my son!" 1 '
he said. "None sure- '-
ly could breathe it I
more sincerely than f
do I, though I neither
countenance all the
actions nor blindly
follow the lead of the
Emperor. I, too, am
in the service of the
State. So do I seek
to render, as is my "THE ANGRY PAGE OF THE
duty, loyal and devoted service, even though
the Emperor does not love me, and I am friend
enough to him to know his faults and wish him
well enough to see him mend them."
"And I am friend enough to Monsieur
Philip-he, surely, is not yet old enough to
be Citizen Philip, is he, papa?-to wish him
well out of the nest of politics into which he
has fallen." So said Mademoiselle. "For me,
papa," she added, "I do think you might at

least. protect him from Uncle Fauriel here,
whose tongue is sharper than Celestine's needle
without being able to do nearly as much work-
nor as good, either."
Hereupon, Uncle Fauriel came forward, his
hand extended, his fierceness lost in a smile.


i' 't I, ,

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'A, v 1

You are a brave boy, young Desnouettes,"
he said; and I an old fool. My tongue is but
a galloping steed that often bears me runaway.
I ask your pardon. Any boy who has pluck
enough to help the helpless and champion the
absent has my admiration, even though the
helpless one be the girl who detests her Uncle
Fauriel, and the absent one be the Cor- the
fellow I detest. Come, take you my apology
and my hand. I need to fight with a fellow


first to make me love him. And I love you. surely enough for any honest Frenchman in these
Here, friends all: a toast, in Mademoiselle's 'days when marshals and dukes are as plenty as

own grape-juice. I give you: Monsieur the
Page. May Mademoiselle never need a dought-
ier knight, or Napoleon himself a more loyal
champion.' I drink to Monsieur the Page!"
And all the company caught up the delicate
glasses from Mademoiselle's little table.
"To Monsieur the Page!" they cried, and
emptied their glasses with a will.
"There, now; we are all friends, are we
not? cried Mademoiselle, gleefully. "Come,
Monsieur Philip, let me finish papa's unlucky
attempt. You must know us all." And, taking
the boy's arm, the young girl introduced him to
her guests.
The greetings were most cordial, and Philip
soon found himself in such novel and yet such
friendly surroundings that he was glad of the
adventure and even did not regret his quarrel.
For even those who disagree with us think all
the more of us if we are ready to defend our
principles stoutly and with vigor. Philip's first
principle was loyalty to the Emperor; and this
he was prepared to maintain against all comers,
and even in hostile company.
He enjoyed himself so much that he very
nearly overstayed his time. His adieus, there-
fore, were hurried; but he accepted Citizen
Daunou's earnest invitation to come to them
again, and he bade Mademoiselle good day
with boyish warmth and emphasis.
I am so glad to have met you, Mademoi-
selle," he said, "that I do not even regret
the fire."
Nor I my ungracious flight from my pre-
server," she replied smilingly; "and-we yet
may have that schottische."
As Philip was hurrying along the Street of
the Fight toward the New Bridge, an arm was
slipped through his, and a puffy, panting voice
said, "So! but you travel fast, you boy. Let
us walk together, we two."
It was Uncle Fauriel. Philip was almost
startled by the friendliness of his late ferocious
"What! you, Monsieur ?" he cried.
Come, come; none of your aristocratic no-
tions with me, son of the mnigrd. Don't Mon-
sieur me! I am plain Citizen Fauriel. That is

pease in a porridge; or you should call me as
does my dear Mademoiselle -Uncle Fauriel. I
should like to be Uncle to all the brave boys and
girls of France. I wish to walk and talk with
you, young Desnouettes. I meant nothing
against you by my talk. Of course you know
that. It is but my way. I hate the Corsican,
and I make no secret of saying so-among
"But why? Philip inquired.
"Why?" .Uncle Fauriel replied. See here,
my Philip; I am of the Revolution. I went
through blood for the rights of man. I cried
down kings and thrones. When that the abbey
of St. Denis was sacked, I was there-to batter
down its statues and dig up the bones of kings.
My comrades and I handed the red bonnet to
Capet, and let loose toward heaven the doves
of Robespierre. I sang Up, Vengeance!' with
the loudest, and danced the Carmagnole with
the maddest. Yes, I was not so fat then as
to-day. I could dance. I adored the Revo-
lution. I loved the Republic. But when the
Republic became the Terror, and blood only
was its soul, then I saw that even liberty can
become tyranny, and longed for one who should
save the nation. He came. It was the Cor-
sican the Commander, the Conqueror, the
Consul. I hailed him as the deliverer of
France. But power has puffed him up, and
he who might have been France's savior is
himself France's tyrant. Then I gave up-I
who had been a soldier of the Republic, I who
had served as secretary to Fouch--"
"The Duke of Otranto?" Philip .cried in
"Give me no dukes, boy," Uncle Fauriel
returned, hotly. "He is but Fouch6 to me;
and ever the same Fouche, though steeped in
titles-Fouch6, the renegade priest, bloodhound
of the Terror, chief spy of the Empire!"
"Citizen! quiet, quiet, I pray! Philip
exclaimed in alarm, but under his breath.
"Fouch6 is everywhere."
"And you are a page of the Emperor," Uncle
Fauriel said, with a knowing nod. "You are
wise, you boy, and know upon which side of
your bread the butter has been spread. But



now you know why I hate the Corsican. He has
betrayed liberty. I hailed him as the one man
who might redeem France; he has been the
one man to enslave her. So I gave up politics
for pen-work. But still is my anger hot. Lis-
ten, son of the emigre: you are young; you
are hopeful; you have everything to choose
from and everything to do. Your life lies be-
fore you. Worship no man. If you must serve
the Cor-the Emperor-then serve him well;
not for his interest, though-for the nation's.
Our boys are our only salvation. So, if I
get growl-y, if I anger you again, forgive me
and say to yourself: Uncle Fauriel is a mad-
man; but he has run against all sorts of people
and knows how small a thing is a man. Adieu,
young Desnouettes; adieu, my Philip. Here
is my home. You are a bright boy; be bright
with both your eyes."
And with that the boy's new friend darted
into the doorway of one of the lofty houses in
the narrow Street of the Gibbet, leaving Philip
wondering. So rapid had been Uncle Fauriel's
flow of talk that Philip had not been able to
get a word in edgewise. It was a new expe-
rience to him, to find men opposed to the
Emperor- and not Austrians, nor Prussiais,
nor Englishmen, but Frenchmen! This gave
him a sensation at once surprising and un-
pleasant. He could not understand it, for he
knew that Uncle Fauriel, notwithstanding his
hot temper, was a wise man. But at last, with'
a boy's ready carelessness, he threw aside the
unpleasant notion even as he spurned the ad-
vice. "Hate the Emperor?" he said to himself.
"How absurd! It is folly; it is treason!"
But, for all that, Philip's new friends proved
such an attraction that the boy found his feet
again and again turning down the narrow and
peaceful Street of the Fight, and he became a
welcome visitor at what her father, the Keeper
of the Archives, was pleased to style, laughingly,
" Mademoiselle's salon."
So it came about that, though Mademoiselle
hated politics, and Philip loved a good time, he
could not help gathering much that was of
value to an expanding young mind eager to hear
and to learn of new and novel things. But
besides much wise talk from the scholars and
thinkers who frequented the house of the Keeper

of the Archives, Philip also heard the tales re-
lated of what men had hoped and what men had
done in the days when the Republic was really a
dream of liberty; and how France might have
been a second America if there could but have
risen a Washington, as in the land beyond the
sea. There, too, though he had many a war of
words with "Uncle Fauriel," as he came to call
him, Philip learned to love the fiery patriot who
had hoped for so much, and had been so sadly
disappointed, in the Revolution, the Republic,
and the Consulate. For out of these three had
come the Empire; and to Uncle Fauriel the
empire was only-the Corsican!
There are some natures that distrust makes
all the more loyal. Such was Philip Desnou-
ette's. He redoubled his efforts to please this
Emperor whom some deemed more than mor-
tal and some called less than man. He be-
came so zealous in the doing of his duty that
even Napoleon noticed his tireless energy, and,
playfully pinching his ear, said to him one day
in the Tuileries: Don't hurry so, you boy.
Time enough to overdo when occasion calls.
I must keep young France healthy for France's
needs. Help to make the palace bright and gay.
Are you happy here, young Desnouettes ?"
"I am happy to be near you, Sire," the boy
"Good boy"; and again came the favorite
ear-pinching that every one about this singular
man had experienced, from Empress and mar-
shal down to page and post-boy. "And could
you sing 'Zig-zag,' think you, as you did when
you were our 'dirty boy,' for Uncle Bibiche
and little Napoleon? Poor little Napoleon!"
For the little Prince Napoleon, the son of
King Louis of Holland, the probable heir of
his uncle the Emperor, had died suddenly
in the days when Philip was at the school of
St. Cyr. And no one'had yet taken the bright
little fellow's place in the Emperor's affections,
for Napoleon had dearly loved his baby nephew
and namesake,
The very day of the recognition of Philip's
zeal by the Emperor was also one of Mademoi-
selle's "salon days," and Philip's exuberance
of spirits found vent in a particularly hot debate
with Uncle Fauriel, who delighted to stir the
boy's loyalty into fresh protestations.


Even during their roundabout walk home- for, you ?" cried the coachman, scarcely
ward from the Street of the Fight, by way of deigning to rein up his horses at this narrow
the Square of the Louvre, they still kept up the escape.
talk, and both grew so heated over it that "Ah, beast!" Uncle Fauriel called back,
furiously. If I but had here
you and your master, I would
teach you manners!" and he
shook his fist at horses and
driver as the coach rolled past.
The man within, attracted by
the jar and the loud voices,
looked out at the window. He
caught sight of Uncle Fauriel's
i doubled fist; he saw the pro-
A testing arm of the page. A
decoration gleamed upon his
breast; a look of mingled rec-
h Is. ignition and contempt was
on his heavy face.
And, as that face appeared
-" at the window, Uncle Fauriel
S only shook his fist the harder.
t "Ah, you spy!" he cried;
S"you would run down honester
I __ men than yourself, would you ?"
S/ But Philip, too, had recog-
nized the heavy face at the
i V coach window.
My faith! he exclaimed,
as he dragged Uncle Fauriel
away; "but you will get your-
self into trouble, Citizen Uncle,
7i- with that tongue of yours. Did
you see who it was, that?"
Did I not, then ? was the
reply. Bah! the spy !' And
again he shook his fist at the
'I AM HAPPY TO BE NEAR YOU, SIRE,' SAID PHILIP." retreating carriage. The man
within the coach was Fouch6,
Uncle Fauriel was glad to stop a lemonade- the Emperor's hated chief of police.
man and "stand treat" in some of the acid The next day, as Philip was awaiting orders
coolness that the man drew for them from the at the Tuileries, an order came. "Young Des-
odd-looking tank he carried on his back. nouettes is called to the Emperor," came the
As they turned to cross the square, Uncle order from the first page, Malvirade. And
Fauriel, occupied in wiping the moisture from Philip passed into the Emperor's study.
his lips, was well nigh run over by a coach So, sir, you consort with malcontents, do
which came dashing heedlessly across their you ? You conspire with traitors, eh?" the
path, and was saved from the collision only by Emperor broke out, even before the page could
Philip's strong young hand. make his salute. "Is this, then, your return for
"Now then, stupid one! What are eyes my good offices ?"


The tone was so different from the imperial
greeting of the day before, it was so startling
in its hostility, that Philip drew back in sur-
prise, dismayed and dumfounded; he was un-
able to reply.
"What! have
you no tongue,
you boy?" the
Emperor cried. C-i"
Come! speak!
Speak up, you! "
"Sire," stam-
mered the boy,
"I do not know 1
what you mean. '1
I--" Then the
words came with
the ring of sin- 1 .
cerity "Some '
one has spoken ", '
falsely. No one *t : -
loves or serves
you more faith- v.' a i
fully than I." 'L
"-So! we boast,
do we?" the ..e -
Emperor almost :i
snarled. "'T is
a false service,
though. Iknow
your ways better '
than you think.
What plots are ,
you conspiring
with Fauriel, ..
who hates me? -- ?'
What takes you --
so often to the -.
house of that
Daunou? What
would these trea-
of you of you,
a page of the
Emperor? Is
your emigr, blood telling, after all? Are you
the cat's-paw to pull out the chestnuts ? "
Sire," Philip said proudly, my father was
faithful unto death. My friends are no traitors."
"Are they not, then? How is it, Otranto ?

What enlightening can you give this young
fool who protests and prates so glibly ? And
Napoleon turned toward one who, till now, had
sat in shadow.
Then Philip recognized and remembered.

His accuser was Fouch6, who never deemed
any one too high or any one too low for his
schemings--Fouch6, Duke of Otranto, and
minister of police.
"Did not I see you in the Square of the




Louvre but yesterday with the Citizen Fauriel,
as he calls himself- Fauriel, the loudest-
mouthed foe to the Emperor in all Paris ? the
minister of police inquired in his cool, exasper-
ating way. "Have you not again and again
visited the house of Daunou, Keeper of the
Archives, who lives in the Street of the Fight -

openly? Did he not shake his fist at me, the
Emperor's representative, in the public streets,
yesterday ? "
He did, Monsieur the Duke," Philip ad-
mitted frankly. But it was not from enmity,
that. It was but his way, as you-"
"Bah! His way! his way!" the Emperor

:.ir~~ I~B~lis !''tl

': ... z w/ --
i -.---------- .. .. .- .-a -

Daunou, the Emperor's most inveterate op- broke in. "Then is not his way ours. Look,
ponent? you page; I can have no divided duty, no
I have no cause to deny my friendships, questionable loyalty, in those who are of my
Monsieur the Duke," Philip replied calmly. household. You have chosen to consort with
But are these friendships for a page of the malcontents; you take your friends from among
Emperor ? Fouch inquired. "And does not my enemies; you shall not, then, serve me. Go!
that malcontent Fauriel,-my secretary once, You are dismissed from the service of the
remember,-does he not attack the Emperor Emperor!"
(To be continued)




IN a quiet corner of one of the staider sub-
urbs of Boston stands the house that has shel-
tered five generations of Chittendens. As we
approach it, passing a block of new, electric-
lighted mansions, with their carefully leveled
plats of grass and their row of very young strip-
ling trees, the place has the warm gray look
of an old age full of memories and treasures.
Inside the house the chill of an early Sep-
tember frost has made itself felt since the sun
went down behind the old oaks on the western
slope, and the hickory fire in the library has
brought everybody down-stairs before dinner.
Father and Mother and Cousin Will sit in
a semicircle before the fire, talking in half-sen-
tences about nothing in particular. By the
center-table is Ruth, buried in a deep leather
arm-chair, with little Elsie in her lap. The
child, but lately promoted to sitting up for
dinner, is sadly sleepy, but bravely blinks the
"Sandman" away, and clings to Ruth, with
both arms tight about her neck.
"I don't wish to have you be going away
to college next week. You are my beautiful
Ruth, and you shall not go away!" The clear
high voice struggled with a sleepy sob.
The little girl had a passionate fondness for
her elder sister. She would always speak of
her as my beautiful sister Ruth." She has
mouse-colored eyes and gold-colored hair," she
would go on if you cared to listen, "and she
has a beautiful nose-though Cousin Will says
it is not big enough for a college girl's! "
"What do you suppose Great-aunt Priscilla
and Great-great-grandmother Patience would
say to this move of yours, Ruth ?" said Will
Chittenden, coming behind Ruth's chair.
Ruth looked at the paneled portraits, and
then at herself in the high, narrow mirror be-
tween them, and smiled. Then she laughed -

a quiet, meditative laugh and said, "Oh,
Will, I had a letter from my future room-mate
this morning. Would you like to read it? It
is there on the window-seat; read it aloud."
Will picked up the thick envelope. It was
blue, and sealed with a monogram in white
wax. The writing was large and unformed,
but very clear, with strong down-strokes.
He held the three sheets toward the lamp,
and, read in mock-tragic tone:

matron has written me that you are to be in No. 34 with
me this-winter; so you are marveling as to what I am
like. Cela va sans dire. Don't deny it.
I know what a Boston girl thinks of a Chicagoan, but
I truly have never seen an Indian, and I have spent every
summer in Europe since I was three years old.
Moreover I am neverguilty of slang. When my feelings
demand vent, I use French. I can say anything I choose,
as Mother does not half understand it, and only remarks
that one bonne in the house is enough."
Now I will describe myself. I am aged sixteen, and I
measure five feet eight. (I was about to add "in my
stockings," but I know that would pain a Boston girl; I
have not forgotten how I shocked an English damsel
-that way!)
I am usually taken for twenty. Mother says I have a
sweeping way when I walk into a shop, as if I owned
the town. I feel obliged to put this in, as a bit of im-
partial criticism, though it may prejudice you against me.
As for my mental ability, I am always first in the
classes here, but I don't care much for study. I want
to go to an Eastern university, because it is what the
boys do, and it is so very jolly coming home at Christ-
mas and Easter. As for the Iliad, and the dear Orations
against Catiline, I like them well enough, though Greek
and Latin are getting very old-fashioned; German and
French and Italian are so much more useful. By the
way, i propos de Cicero, my teacher-who is a Smith
graduate-told me that I had the most remarkable Eng-
lish vocabulary for vituperation she had ever heard. I
did enjoy overwhelming Catiline, and I spent nights
looking up synonyms for rogue, villain, cut-throat,
spendthrift, and outcast.
"Feeling" and "will" come next to "intellect" in
Psychology, don't they? Well, I have no feelings, and
a tremendous will. Pense donc! I am described. Like
a Madame Lebrun "self in mirror "!


- ~- ~ ~ -~-~


I shall be in Northampton early, and shall expect to into a waltz down the hall, saying teasingly,
welcome you Wednesday evening. "Come, chum, you need waking up !"
You are'to call me "Fran." CHAPTER II.
CHICAGO, 15 September, 188-.

Will laid down the letter with a huge mock
sigh. Dr. Chittenden laughed, and extended
his other slippered foot toward the blaze. Mrs.
Chittenden said sweetly, "You know, Will, you
have always said Ruth was too staid; and this
fresh, energetic girl will be just the one to wake
her up." Ruth smiled, and said doubtfully,
" Ought I to answer the letter, mother dear ?"
No, child, there is n't time," put in Will,
"any more than there 's time for Elsie to have
a nap before dinner, for there it is now! and
as the maid picked Elsie up, he forced Ruth

Then that same day there passed into the hall
A damsel of high lineage, and a brow
May-blossom, and a cheek of apple-blossom,
Hawk-eyes; and lightly was her slender nose
Tip-tilted like the petal of a flower.

IT was Wednesday evening, and Ruth Chit-
tenden and Frances Townsend were studying
each other and their new surroundings in No. 34.
Frances was deftly unpacking some tea-cups,
and chattering like a magpie, entirely at her
ease in a pleasant consciousness of being mas-


ter of the situation. Ruth sat on the foot of
the bed, already a trifle homesick, not knowing
whether to be fascinated or repelled by her
new room-mate. She liked the bright, frank
laugh with which Frances looked up at her
every few minutes, with some funny turn of
phrase or comical, impatient motion over a
string that would neither untie nor break. She
liked the fullness of health in every bend of the
strong, supple figure. But she resented the
fact that Frances was better dressed than she,
and more at ease than she; and she had a sense
of being patronized, which she could not have
justified, but which made her very uncomfort-
able-and so, not altogether friendly.
Frances, seeing the unfriendliness but not its
cause, set it down to Boston stiffness, and de-
termined to force Ruth out of it as soon as
"My brother gave me this lounge and the
tea-table," she remarked, arranging the china in
cozy fashion. "He had them at Harvard a
year, so they are used to academic halls. The
lounge is a treasure. See! it has a cavern
within, worthy of the Trojan horse "; and she
pulled off the cushions and lifted the wooden
lid. In that we can keep our Sunday hats
and our tea-biscuit "; and she seized a feather-
duster and began to scatter the dust with no
gentle strokes.
In the midst of this came a tap at the door,
and in walked the matron-" Mother Hub-
bard" the girls called her--with a slight,
delicate-featured, sunny-haired girl, whom she
introduced as Miss Nathalie Page. She is
the other First Class young lady I spoke of," she
said, "and as she rooms near you, in that little
room just at the end of this hall, I thought you
would like to meet at once"; and then, with
a pleasant nod and a smile at all three, the
gentle-faced Mother" hurried off to meet
other Hubbardites.
Frances held out her hand. to .Nathalie en-
couragingly, and said: "I 'm glad you 've
come, Nathalie Page, for we three are the only
freshmen in the house, and we must stand by
one another in the coming siege. You would
much better sit down in the rocking-chair, ma
ch're, for you can't enjoy such luxury long.
Half the sixty girls in the house are sophs;
VOL. XXII.-25.

did you know that, and what it portends?
Well, they will be in here presently, by tens
and twenties, and we shall have to give them
the chairs and the beds and the window-sills
and the radiators, and sit on the floor ourselves.
So prepare yourselves for the invasion! It's
the only hazing they allow at Smith-'rah for
Why, what do they come for ? said Natha-
lie slowly, looking frightened and ready to cry;
while Ruth picked up a brush and began to
smooth her thick, light hair, which was parted
in the middle and hung in two braids nearly to
her heels.
Frances laughed, and ran her fingers through
her own straight brown bang till it stood out
stiff with horror. Oh, they simply ask ques-
tions,- where we were born and brought up;
at what school we were fitted; how many sisters
and brothers we have, with ages of each; what
course we expect to take; what electives; which
church we are to attend; whether we are musi-
cal; how we spell our names; and- oh, if there
were time, I would put a placard on the door-
post, publishing our names, ages, and political
convictions, as'they did in the French Revo-
lution! But we have n't even our visiting-
cards unpacked. I asked about all these things
from a girl I knew who was here two years ago.
I find it is always well in Rome to know what
the Romans do!"
Nathalie gave a helpless little sigh, and sank
into the sofa-pillows which lay heaped on the
floor. She did not know whether to laugh or
cry. Ruth, who had a quick eye for color and
form, leaned back against the wall and enjoyed
the picture. The girl was like an old-time por-
trait of a Virginian beauty of the fair type. The
red-gold of the hair, and the exquisitely cut
profile with the nose just a bit "tip-tilted, like
the petal of a flower," against the soft apple-
green of a china-silk cushion, had a perfect deli-
cacy and grace; and Ruth longed to make a
painting of her.
At the same time came a pang of injured
vanity. If Frances had more style and self-
possession than she, Nathalie was prettier. And
Ruth was not used to being second: she was
the idol of her home. It was the best lesson
she was to learn in her college course,-how to


value herself justly and with good perspective,
and thus become both less vain and more self-
But the evening was beginning. Voices
were heard in the hall, and while Frances
picked up Nathalie, Ruth opened the door to
a dozen laughing sophomores.
Things went exactly as foretold. The "old
girls eyed the new girls, and decided, accord-
ing to their different standards, that Nathalie
was "the gem of the collection," or that Ruth
was lovely, "a real Boston girl-just the type
one likes to have pointed out as a college stu-
dent"; but Frances-or "Fran," as she was
known from that first night-was the favorite.
The girls who found Nathalie languid and
Ruth stiff, flocked around Frances, laughed at
her jokes, and made mental notes of how she
wore'her society pins." She was a leader.
Before the week was out, Fran Townsend
was elected class president by the freshmen,
and was much sought after by upper-class girls
with a taste for protgies.
Let not the quieter young women complain
of this. The gentle strength of fine breeding
and scholarly tastes has its power, and within
college walls more quickly and surely than out-
side. But the class-room is not all of college,
and everywhere the elements of popularity are
the same-a happy, unanalytical way of enjoy-
ing life, a quick ease at light-hearted talk, and
a knack at making other people happy. Why
should there be scorn of this, or envy ?
Thoughts like these scampered recklessly
through Ruth's tired brain, long after both the
other girls were asleep. At last she sank into
a confused dream, in which she felt herself ar-
raigned before rows of girl judges, while little
Elsie faced them and screamed, "She is my
--BEAUTIFUL -sister Ruth."

Accordingly I use heart, head, and hand;
All day I build, scheme, study, and make friends.
-Robert Browning.
SATURDAY afternoon, Ruth wrote to her mo-
ther a long letter, and here is a part of it:
Tell Cousin Will that his darling dream is to be real-
ized. I am "waking up"! I am dizzy when I look

back. I expected to have my books ready by Monday
for beginning regular work; instead of which, Frances
'found the list of text-books and lessons for Thursday on
the bulletin-board at the college post-office, and we have
in these three days recited two hundred lines of the
Odyssey and five pages of Livy, taken two lectures on
rhetoric, and one from the President on "The Idea of a
College," and I have had two lectures in drawing, and a
two-hour lesson.
Besides this, we have been to Chapel every morning,
played tennis every afternoon, and Frances has fairly
forced me into a French club, to read Daudet Saturday

It was raining, and too dark to write, though
only five o'clock. Ruth laid down her pen
and sat musing, and gazing out at the wet
campus with the waterproofed girls hurrying
over the concrete walks, most of them return-
ing from the college library or laboratories to
the Hubbard, Washburn, or Dewey Houses."
When Frances and Nathalie came in, they
found her still sitting in the dark.
Why, you blessed kitten! -why did n't you
have tea for us ? cried Fran, throwing off her
mackintosh and striking a sputtering match.
She lit the gas-jets on each side of the bureau,
and, tweaking one of Ruth's braids which hung
temptingly over the back of her chair, went on
cheerily: Ruth, you get out those little gin-
gersnaps, and Nathalie can make the tea, while
I fill the student-lamp. I know there is n't a
drop of oil in the thing."
Ten minutes later, all three were as merry as
the tea-kettle itself, which bubbled cozily.
"I think this is the dearest old room in the
college," remarked Nathalie, in her slow musi-
cal voice, with upward inflections. "It 's a
perfect bower, do you know it? "
I have it! shouted Fran. It is Boffin's
Bower.' Don't you remember 'Pa' and 'Ma'?
- in Our Mutual Friend'! and Nathalie can
be Our Mutual Friend, or 'O. M. F.' for short.
Pense done / and she devoured a whole gin-
gersnap at once, by way of a period.
Nathalie said she did not know what they
were talking about,'but Ruth took up the idea
with a zest.
"Why, Nathalie, it 's Dickens's Pa and Ma
Boffin! Why, yes! Fran should be Ma, with
her lounge and her tea-table and her rug,-Ma
Boffin was 'fashionable,' and had a carpet on
her half of the Bower! -and I will be Pa, with

severe simplicity of taste; andyou, Our Mutual
Friend, Mr. John Rokesmith. Delightful! "
"I wish I had thought of it before," sighed
Fran. "It would have been such fun, that
first night, to have introduced ourselves to
those inquisitive sophomores as the Boffin
Family! By the by, girls, do you remember
that big black-eyed snob of about thirty years
of age, who came in with Miss Bingham? She
tried to level me with some remark about Chi-
cago being 'yet a freshman in the college of
America.' I asked her if it was really the deri-
vation of the word Sophomore-the Greek sophos
and the English more and if it meant that they
would know more by and by? I met her a
few minutes ago in the hall, and she looked at
me freezingly, just about zero Fahrenheit. I
said, FWon't you come in and have some tea ?
You look cold!' Then I fled for my life,
and ran across this Nathalie-girl going right
past our door. Now, I move that O. M. F.'s
room be used only for digging, and when not
digging or napping, that O. M. F. be found in
the Bower!"
"Seconded!" said Ruth; "and let these
humble cakes supply the place of the Boffin
veal pie"; whereupon she pressed more gin-
gersnaps upon the Mutual Friend.
"You both are as good and sweet as you
can be," Nathalie answered; "but, do you
know, I had like to have died with homesickness
this afternoon. I was just going to have a cry
in my room when Fran dragged me in here."
Do tell Ruth some of those fascinating
things about Virginia you told me," suggested
Fran brightly; "it's enough to make any girl
homesick, to leave a place like that."
I never would leave Virginia for a minute,
if I had my way," said Nathalie, with the soft
inflections which someway can hold as keen an
emphasis as the less musical Yankee accentua-
tions. But since papa died, my uncle who
lives in the North-in New York-says I
have a regular darky dialect, and I must be
educated in the North. So I went to Wash-
ington last year, to Aunt Page Beresford's, to
fit for college. But Washington seems more
like you were at home."

195 -

Do tell Ruth about your plantation-is n't
it the jolliest you ever heard of, Ruth ? I mean
to go down there some day. They have five
hundred acres on the James River, and they
have their own pier, and they signal the Rich-
mond steamers with a handkerchief when they
start on a trip; and they row across the river
for their mail twice a week! It makes me feel
as if I could write a poem! They have quar-
ters' and 'cabins' and 'mammies,' and rice-
fields, and whole acres of jonquils which Natha-
lie can see from her window. Do you wonder
she is homesick ? "
"You will like New England, too, Nathalie,"
said Ruth, rather out of touch with Fran's rap-
tures. Northampton is a beautiful place when
the rains are over and the leaves turn."
"Yes, it is a very pretty place," answered Na-
thalie vaguely, wondering why she did not like
Ruth so well as usual. But Fran, understanding
sectional prejudice better than either of the less
traveled young women, cleared away the tea-
things, and got down the heavy Liddell and
the. little red-bound Odysseys, and insisted on
their reading Monday's lesson.
So it was that Boffin's Bower came into be-
ing; and a cozy little corner of the world it was,
too. For all three girls had the young woman's
instinct for home-making; and their friendship
grew into a very close bond, which held through
many differences of temperament and training,
and taught them the most vital truths of human
Ruth and Nathalie learned to acknowledge
the beauty of some customs that were not of
Massachusetts or Virginia. Frances, without
losing her quickness and vigor, softened and
sweetened, and grew into a respect for Ruth's
gentleness, and a reliance on her less impulsive
But this was the slower and less perceptible
result of Boffin's Bower. The more immediate
outcome of that Saturday afternoon was the
planting of a real bower, up there at the end
of the long, monotonous corridor, which still
lives in many lives, as a fresh bit of pleasant
memory, or an inspiration to work that would
without it have been less well done.

(To be continued.)




WHILE Speed is filling the bottle, Hurry is spilling the ink;
While Speed is solving the problem, Hurry's beginning to think.
While Speed is hitting the bull's-eye, Hurry is stringing his bow;
While Hurry is marching his army, Speed is worsting his foe.
Hurry is quick at beginning, Speed is quick at the end;
Hurry wins many a slave, but Speed wins many a friend.



HERE 'S fat little Jan, from the Zuyder Zee;
A double-Dutch Hollander sure is he,
With his big sabots
And inquiring nose,
And an appetite just what it ought to be!


r.. .
L iuI\


THE best of men are but of alloyed gold--
Of good Haroun they tell a story old
Which proves him human; that is, very weak.
He doomed to death whatever man should
In praise of one-a most just minister
Whom he'd deposed and slain, one Jaffier.
No less an aged Arab, through the town,
Went crying Jaffier's praises up and down.
In no uncertain words the Arab spoke,
Nor heeded warnings of more timorous folk.
Such rank rebellion could not scatheless go:
Nor was the Caliph's vengeance blind or slow.
The old man was arrested, and was sent
To where black Mesrour's sword dealt pun-

But, as the custom was, they deemed it best
To grant the criminal his last request.
He asked to see the Caliph. And alone
He stood before the Caliph's awful throne.
The case was stated. Then the Caliph said:
"You are a rebel. You shall lose you head.
You knew the law, but would not hold
your peace:
Only the sword can make your babbling
cease! "
"For silence, rather should I lose my head.
'T were basest of ingratitude," the Arab said.
" How so ? the Caliph asked. How can it be
That you owe more to Jaffier than to me? "
"Friendless and poor," the Arab straight re-


"I might have lived unhappy till I died.
In want, in rags, my wife and child half clad,
We lodged within a ruin near Bagdad.
There Jaffier came, one day, unknown to me.
We gave him our poor best, most readily.
He came again; and soon became a friend
Whose blessed visits did their brightness lend
To our hard days.
At length, one stormy night,
On coming home I found no lamp
My wife and child were
gone! And, as I stood,
Four horsemen dashed
upon me from the
wood. J !'' i'
They seized me, muffled { ''.. i
me; then rode away.
I slept and knew no
More until the day.
I woke to see -a palace, i
reared on high
Within a para-
dise where
ear and eye
Alike were
Such as, here-
after, will
charm every
Around me
slaves hung
on my nod,
As if I were
the Caliph-
or a god.
'Alas !' I cried,
'this is no
place for me I
Well suited with a fakir's hut I 'd be.
The darkest corner of these endless halls
For me would furnish forth sufficient walls.
And were this paradise, I would not stay
While my dear wife and boy are far away!'
'Your lordship's family,' a slave replied,
'Await you in apartments close beside.'

And so it was. We met with equal joy-
My wife in gorgeous robes-my much-loved
The mystery was solved when Jaffier came:
My friend and your Vizier-they were the same.

'Let me return,' I begged,' to my real state-
I have no wish to live among the great.'
'No, no!' cried Jaffier. 'Turn about's fair
Remember our debate the other day:
You claimed that riches were but held in

!111 IjM ill I


As means to aid the good or shield the just.
'T was theory-mere theory, you know:
Be now your task to prove it may be so!'
And, ever since, I 've tried as best I could
To show there's no true wealth but doing good.
All that I have-yes, all I am-I owe
Unto that noble soul. O Caliph, know
That Jaffier was to me my lifelong friend;
With life alone shall my just praises end "
He ceased.

And Haroun said, "True friend, go free!
I will not punish-nay, I '11 honor thee.
Behold my scepter-wrought of virgin gold,
With gems uncounted, each of price untold-
A hundredfold what Jaffier gave to thee:
As thou wert true to him, be true to me!"
"The gift I take, in trust," the man replied,
"And while I live will see it well applied.
But, Caliph, truth is truth. The praise is due
For even this thy gift to Jaffier, too!"



ALTHOUGH Franklin and Bryant were born
in New England, they left it in early life-
Franklin for Philadelphia, and Bryant for New
York, where he found Irving and Cooper. The
earliest of the leaders of American literature
to be born in New England, to live there,
and to die there, was Ralph Waldo Emerson.
He is the foremost representative of that New
England influence on American life and on
American literature which has been very power-
ful. While the fathers of Franklin and of Irving
were new-comers, the ancestors of Emerson had
been settled in New England for five genera-
tions./ They had been ministers of the gospel,
one after another; and Emerson's grandfather.
belonged also to the church militant, urging
on his parishioners to the fight at Concord
Bridge in 1775, and dying in 1776 from a fever

caught while on his way to join the troops at
Ralph Waldo Emerson was born May 25,
1803, in Boston, not far from the birthplace of
Franklin. His father was a clergyman, who
had recently founded what is now the library
of the Boston Athenaeum. Books, rather than
the ordinary boyish sports, were the delight of
the son. He rarely played, and never owned
a. sled. In the austere New England life of
the time there was little leisure for mere amuse-
Emerson's father died before the boy was
eight years old, and thereafter the child had to
help his mother, who took boarders and tried
hard to give her sons an education such as
their father's. Emerson entered the Latin
School in 1813, and one day the next year,



when there was a rumor that the British were
going to send a fleet to Boston Harbor, he
went with the rest of the boys to help build
earthworks on one of the islands. About this
time, also, he began to rhyme, celebrating in
juvenile verse'the victories of the young Ameri-
can navy.
In August, 1817, Emerson entered Harvard
College, receiving help from various funds in-
tended to aid poor students, and obtaining
the appointment of "President's Freshman," a
student who received his lodgings free in return
for carrying official messages. He served also
as waiter at the college commons, and so saved
three fourths the cost of his board.. Later in
his college course, he acted as tutor to younger
pupils. He seems to have impressed his in-
structors as a youth of remarkable ability; but
he-was not a diligent student. In those days
Harvard was not a university; it was not even
a college; it was little more than a high-school
where boys recited their lessons. Emerson was
only eighteen when he was graduated, feeling
that the regular course of studies had done lit-
tle for him, and having therefore strayed out of
the beaten path to browse for himself among
the books in the library. He was popular
with the best of his classmates, and at gradua-
tion he was class poet.
Whatever the value of a college education
in those days, Emerson was the earliest of
the little group of the founders of American
literature to 'go through college. Franklin,
having to work for his living from early boy-
hood, had no time; Irving, after preparing for
Columbia, threw his chance away; while
Cooper was expelled from Yale, and Bryant
was so dissatisfied with Williams that he left it
after a single year. But the authors who came
after Emerson made sure of the best education
that this country could afford them. Haw-
thorne and Longfellow were graduated from
Bowdoin, while from Emerson's college, Har-
vard, were to come Holmes, Thoreau, and
When he graduated, Emerson's ambition
was to be a professor of rhetoric; but such a
position was never offered to him. He taught
school for a while in Boston, earning money to
pay his debts and to help his mother. Then

he entered the Divinity School at Harvard,
and, in October, 1826, he was approbatedd to
preach," delivering his first sermon a few days
later. For the sake of his health he spent that
winter in Florida, at St. Augustine. On his re-
turn he lived in Cambridge chiefly, preaching
here and there; and in the spring of 1829 he
became the minister of the old North Church
in Boston. Being thus established, in Septem-
ber he married Miss Ellen Tucker, but he lost
his wife soon after the marriage. Moreover,
Emerson ,was not satisfied to remain in the
ministry, and in 1832 he resigned his charge.
On Christmas day of that year he sailed for
Europe in a small brig bound for Malta, whence
he went over into Italy, and thence to France
and Great Britain, and met Coleridge and
Wordsworth and Carlyle. With Carlyle Em-
erson formed a lasting friendship, which seems
extraordinary, for few men were less akin in
their manners or in their views of life. In low,
clear tones the gentle American spoke to the
soul of man, while the burly Scotch humorist
was forever scolding and shrieking. Carlyle
was proudly scornful and harshly indignant,
while Emerson was kindly, tolerant, and for-
bearing; but, different as were their attitudes,
their aims were not so unlike, since Emerson
loved good and Carlyle hated evil; and their
friendship endured till death.
Toward the end of 1833 Emerson came back
to America, pleased that in Europe he had met
the men he most wished to see. A few months
after his return he settled in Concord, to reside
there for the rest of his life. In 1835 he mar-
ried Miss Lidian Jackson, with whom he was
to live happily for nearly half a century.
Emerson was. how past thirty. He was not
yet known as an author, and he did not look to
authorship for his living; indeed, in the United
States authorship could then give but a precari-
ous livelihood. Besides, he preferred to teach by
word of mouth. He still preached occasionally,
and helectured frequently. His earliest addresses
seem to have been on scientific subjects, and
he talked to his townsmen also about his travels
in Europe, which was then distant at least a
month's sail, and which few Americans could
hope to visit. For many years he delivered in
Boston nearly every winter long courses of lec-



,. iA i1 -
IPIT: ,i;i:jiiP



VOL. XXII.-26-27.



tures, not reported or printed, but containing
much that the author repeated in the essays
he was to publish afterward.
At last, in 1836, he put forth his first book,
"Nature," and the next year he delivered an
oration on The American Scholar." Hitherto
little had happened to him except the com-
monplaces of existence; thereafter, though his
life remained tranquil, he became known to the
world at large. He was greeted as are all who
declare a new doctrine: welcomed by some,
abused by many, misunderstood by most. Pro-
claiming the value of self-reliance, Emerson de-
nounced man's slavery to his own worldly
prosperity, and set forth at once the duty and
the pleasure of the plain living which permits
high thinking. Why should you renounce
your right to traverse the starlit deserts of
truth," he asked, "for the premature comforts
of an acre, house, and barn?" He asserted the
virtue of manual labor. Looking bravely to-
ward the future, he bade his hearers break the
bonds of the past. He told them to study
themselves, since all the real good or evil that
can befall must come from themselves. At the
heart of Emerson's doctrine there was always
a sturdy and wholesome Americanism.
He was never self-assertive. He never put
himself forward; and yet from that time on
there was no denying his leadership of the
intellectual advance of the United States. The
most enlightened spirits of New England gath-
ered about him; and he found himself in the
center of the vague movement known as "Tran-
scendentalism." For all their hardness, the
New-Englanders are an imaginative race; and
Transcendentalism is but one of the waves of
spiritual sentiment which have swept over them.
Emerson himself had never a hint of eccentri-
city. His judgment was always sane and calm.
He edited for a while "The Dial," a magazine
for which the Transcendentalists wrote, and
which existed from 1840 to 1844. But he took
no part in an experiment of communal life un-
dertaken by a group of Transcendentalists at
Brook Farm from 1841 to 1847.
In 1841, Emerson published the first volume
of his Essays "; and he sent forth a second
series in 1844. In his hands the essay returns
almost to the form of Montaigne and Bacon;

it is weighty and witty; but it is not so light as
it was with Addison and Steele, with Gold-
smith and Irving. He indulged in fancies
sometimes, and he strove to take his readers by
surprise, to startle them, and so to arouse them
to the true view of life. Nearly all of his essays
had been lectures, and every paragraph had
been tested by its effect upon an audience.
Thus the weak phrases were discarded one by
one, until at last every sentence, polished by
wear, rounded to a perfect sphere, went to the
mark with unerring certainty.
To Emerson an essay was rather a collection
of single sayings than a harmonious whole.
He was keen-eyed and clear-sighted enough to
understand his own shortcomings, and he once
said that every sentence of his was an "infi-
nitely repellent particle." His thoughts did not
form a glittering chain; they were not even
loosely linked together. They lay side by side
like unset gems in a box. Emerson was rather
a poet with- moments of insight than a syste-
matic philosopher. The lack of structure in his
essays was, in a measure, due also to the way
they were written.
It was Emerson's practice to set down in his
journal his detached thoughts, as soon as they
had taken shape. Whenever he had a lecture
to prepare, he selected from this journal those
sentences which seemed to bear on the subject
of his discourse, adding whatever other illus-
trations or anecdotes suggested themselves to
him at the moment. In writing my thoughts,"
he declared, I seek no order, or harmony, or
results. I am not careful to see how they com-
port with other thoughts and other words: I
trust them for that. Any more than how any
one minute of the year is related to any other
remote minute which yet I know is so related.
The thoughts and the minutes obey their own
magnetisms, and will certainly reveal themselves
in time."
Emerson's first volume of Poems" was
published in 1846. Ten years before he had
written the hymn sung at the completion of
the monument commemorating Concord fight:

By the rude bridge that arched.the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.



This is one of the best, and one of the best
known, of the poems of American patriotism.
But Emerson cared too little for form often to
write so perfect a poem. The bonds of rhyme
and meter irked him, and he broke them wil-
fully. Now and again he happened on a quat-
rain than which nothing can be more beautiful:

Thou canst not wave thy staff in air,
Or dip thy paddle in the lake,
But it carves the bow of beauty there,
And the ripples in rhyme the oar forsake.

Following Bryant, Emerson put into his verse
nature as he saw it about him-the life of Amer-
ican woods and fields. No second-hand night-
ingale sang in his verses; he took pleasure in
rhyming "The Humble-Bee" and "The Tit-
mouse," and in singing the streams and the
hills of New England. Herein there was no
lack of elevation. The spirit of the true poet
*Emerson had abundantly; indeed, there are
those now who call him a poet rather than a
philosopher. However careless his verse-mak-
ing,-and it was sometimes very slovenly,-the
best of his stanzas are strong and bracing; they
lift up the heart of man.
One of Emerson's poems most richly laden
with emotion and experience is the "Threnody,"
which he wrote after the death of his first-born.
He was a fond father; and his home life was
beautiful, like that of nearly all the foremost
American authors. He liked children, and they
liked him. He understood them, entering into
their feelings as easily as he entered into their
sports. In his own family, discipline- never
neglected was enforced by the gentlest meth-
ods; and he had unbounded interest in the
details of the school life of his own children,
getting them to talk to him as freely as they
did to their comrades. This was but an ex-
ample of his willingness always to put himself
in the place of others and to try to see things
from their point of view. An instance of this
sympathetic faculty, and of his abiding sim-
plicity, was his comment on the minister who
went up to the pulpit after Emerson had lec-
tured, and who prayed that they might be
delivered from ever again hearing such "tran-
scendental nonsense." Emerson listened to this,

and remarked quietly, He seems a very con-
scientious, plain-spoken man."
In 1847 Emerson made a second voyage to
Europe, sailing in October and coming home
in July of the following year. The most of
the time he spent in England, lecturing often,
meeting the most distinguished men and wo-
men of Great Britain, studying matters and
men in the little island. In the summer he
crossed the Channel to France, and saw Paris
in the heat of the revolution of 1848. After
his return to America he resumed his lecturing,
pushing as far West as the Mississippi.
Certain of the lectures prepared for delivery
in England supplied the material for his next
book,-" Representative Men,"-published in
1850. Only two of Emerson's books have
any singleness of scheme, and this is one
of them. He discusses first "The Uses of
Great Men," and then he considers in turn
Plato, Swedenborg, Montaigne, Shakspere, Na-
poleon, and Goethe-great men, all of them,
interesting in themselves and doubly interest-
ing as Emerson reflects their images in his
clear mirror. It is instructive to contrast
Emerson's hopeful and helpful treatment of
these "Representative Men" with Carlyle's
doleful and robustious writing upon the kin-
dred topic of Heroes and Hero-worship."
The observations Emerson had made of
English life during his two visits had been
used in various lectures, and from these he
made a book, published in 1856, under the
title of English Traits." For close argument
he had no fitness and no liking, but this vol-
ume has more logical sequence than any other
of his. It may be said almost to have a plan,
It opens with a narrative of his first voyage to
England, and it contains a study of the char-
acter of the British. It is perhaps the best
book ever written about a great people by a for-
eigner. Emerson had a singularly keen sense
of the ridiculous, he had an uncommon share
of common sense, and he had a marvelous in-
sight into humanity; and it is therefore the
highest possible testimony to the substantial
merits of the British that they stood so well
the ordeal of his examination. He was too
sturdy an American to be taken in by the
glamour of the aristocratic arrangement of their



society. He saw clearly the weakness of the
British system, but he is never hostile, and
never patronizing; he is always ready to praise
boldly. The spirit of the book can be shown
by the extract from a letter he wrote to a
friend in America just before his return: I
leave England with an increased respect for
the Englishman, the more generous that

patriotism too narrow for him: he looked for-
ward and he foresaw the Brotherhood of Man.
But no intensely national poet, no Hugo, no
Tennyson, was more stimulating to his country.
He it was who had edged the resolve of the
American people when the hour came for stern
battle. Lowell said that to Emerson more
than to all other causes the young martyrs


I have no sympathy for him." Emerson ex-
pressed his admiration heartily, but he rejoiced
always that he lived in a society free from the
traditions of feudalism.
In his own country he was a good citizen,
taking part in town-meeting, and doing his
share of town work-even accepting his elec-
tion as hog-reeve of Concord. Declaring al-
ways the duty and the dignity of labor, he de-
tested the system of slavery under which white
men were supported in idleness by the toil of
black men. He did not join the abolitionists,
but, as he saw the conflict looming nearer, his
voice became stronger on the side of freedom.
He spoke out plainly during the strife in Kan-
sas, and again after the hanging of John
Brown. Yet he was like Goethe in finding

of our Civil War owe the sustaining strength of
thoughtful heroism that is so touching in every
record of their lives."
When the war came at last, Emerson was
unfailingly hopeful. He delivered an address
on the Emancipation Proclamation, declaring
the young happy in that they then found the
pestilence of slavery cleansed out of the earth.
On New Year's day, 1863, he read his noble
"Boston Hymn," with its rough and resonant
verses; and in the same year he wrote the
"Voluntaries," wherein we find this lofty and
inspiring quatrain:

So nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man,
When Duty whispers low, Thowu must,
The youth replies, I can.


And at the meeting held at Concord in
memory of Abraham Lincoln, he made a short
address in which he set forth the character of
the fallen leader with the utmost sympathy and
the clearest insight.
A collection of Emerson's later essays had
been published in 1860 under the title of the
first of them, "The Conduct of Life "; and in
1870 another collection followed, also named
after the opening paper, "Society and Solitude."
There is to be found in these volumes the same
wit and paradox, the same felicity of phrase,
the same beauty of thought, the same elevation
of spirit, that we find in his earlier volumes.
Emerson grew but little as he became older;
he was -at the end very much what he was at
the beginning. He admitted his own "inca-
pacity for methodical writing." However in-
spiring, every sentence stands by itself; the
paragraphs might be rearranged almost at ran-
dom without loss to the essential value of the
essays. Emerson made no effort to formulate
his doctrine; he had no compact system of
philosophy. Perhaps he was not a philosopher
in the strict sense of the word. Perhaps he
was rather a maker of golden sayings, full of
vital suggestion, to help men to be themselves
and to make the utmost of themselves.
For years Emerson had extended his winter
lecturing tours as far West as the Mississippi,
and in I871 he accepted the invitation of a
friend to visit California, bearing the fatigue of
the long journey with unwearied cheerfulness.
A few months after his return to Concord his
house was burned down; but, owing to the
prompt aid of his neighbors, all his papers and
books and furniture were saved.
His friends made good the loss, and then
they urged him to make a sea voyage. Toward
the end of 1872 he sailed for Europe, on a
third visit to the Old World. In England and
France and Italy he met again his friends of
former years, and he wandered on as far as
Egypt, where he had never been before. He
was back again in Concord the next spring,
and his return home was marked by an out-
pouring of all his townsmen to welcome him
among them once more. Refreshed by the sight
of new scenes and of old friends, he settled down
in the house which had been rebuilt for him.

Already for several years Emerson had writ-
ten but little, although he continued now and
then to draw out new essays and make addresses
from the store of lectures he had by him. Thus
in 1870 he had given a course of university
lectures at Harvard on "The Natural History
of the Intellect," and in 1878 he read a lecture
on The Fortune of the Republic," written and
already delivered in war-time fifteen years
before. And in 1875 yet another collection
of his essays was published under the title of
the first paper, "Letters and Social Aims."
This volume had been prepared for the press
by an old friend, for Emerson's powers were
beginning to fail. He retained possession of
his faculties to the last; but though his mind
was clear, he had increasing difficulty in recall-
ing the words needed to express his ideas. He
forgot not only proper names, but even the
names of common things, while keeping the
power of describing them in the words he had
left. So, when he wanted to say "umbrella"
once, and was unable to recall the name, he
said, "I can't tell its name, but I can tell its
history. Strangers take it away."
Emerson looked calmly forward to death,
and it came when he was nearly seventy-nine
years of age. He died on April 27, 1882.
Benjamin Franklin, born in Boston almost a
century before Ralph Waldo Emerson was born
there, lived long enough to see the straggling
colonies with their scant four hundred thousand
settlers grow into a vigorous young nation of
four million inhabitants. Emerson, born only
thirteen years after Franklin's death, lived long
enough to see the United States increase to
thirty-eight, and a population of five and a half


millions expand to a population of fifty mil-
lions. He survived to behold a little nation
grow to be a mighty people, able to fight a
righteous war without flinching.
Different as they are, Franklin and Emerson


are both typical Americans.-taken together
they give us the two sides of the American char-
acter. Franklin stands for the real and Emer-
son for the ideal. Franklin represents the prose
of American life, and Emerson the poetry.
Franklin's power is limited by the bounds of
common sense, while Emerson's appeal is to the
wider imagination. Where Emerson advises
you to hitch your wagon to a star," Franklin
is ready with an improved axle-grease for the
wheels. Franklin declares that honesty is the

best policy; and Emerson insists on honesty
as the only means whereby a man may be
free to undertake higher things. Self-reliance
was at the core of the doctrine of each of them,
but one urged self-help in the spiritual world
and the other in the material. Hopeful they
were, both of them, and kindly, and shrewd;
and in the making of the American people, in
the training and in the guiding of this immense
population, no two men have done more than
these two sons of New England.

f .....

"These apartment-houses are too much for me! "




[Begun in the December number. ]


IN another instant a shrill scream in Huldah's
voice notified Chris that the genie had reached
the kitchen. He dashed to the barn door, and
heard the girl inquire:
"Why, where in the world did you come
From the barn," replied the genie.
"Well, what do you want ?"
"I came to see what you wanted. You
rubbed the lamp."
"I was trying to clean the old thing."
"Well, whenever you rub that lamp I shall
appear. I am the slave of the lamp and of its
Chris's heart seemed to stand still as the
genie uttered these words.
"It's all up now!" he murmured. "He might
have kept it to himself. I would n't have had
Huldah know for anything! Well, as she knows
the truth, I '11 go and get something to eat."
He was about to start for the kitchen, when
the girl said, with a ringing laugh:
"Quit your fooling, Chris. If you '11 take my
advice, you '11 go back to bed. Your ma may
be home by the noon train, and she '11 be awful
mad if she finds you up."
"She ought to be glad to see that I have re-
covered so rapidly," replied the genie. "But
see here," he went on, with some warmth, "you
don't seem to understand the situation of affairs.
I am not Chris at all; I only look like him. I
am a genie, and your slave as well as that of
the lamp."
"You're a mighty queer boy, Chris Wagstaff,"
laughed Huldah. I never saw you so full of
nonsense as you are this morning."
I tell you I 'm in sober earnest!" almost
shouted the genie. "If you don't believe me,

just try me. Command me to do anything you
please, and I '11 do it. Now, then "
"Well," returned the girl, "if you 're so
awful anxious to do something for me, suppose
you walk down to the store and get me seven
pounds of granulated sugar. I 've just found
that the box is empty."
Is that all ? asked the genie, in a tone of
"Yes, that 's all; but I '11 do without the
sugar if you want to go back to bed."
"I '11 get it," said the genie, sulkily; and he
turned away.
Chris drew a long breath of relief.
That was a narrow escape," he said to him-
self, as he watched the genie trudging along the
dusty road. It 's lucky for me she told him to
walk; if she 'd ordered him to fly he 'd have
done it, and then the cat would have been out
of the bag."
He waited until the genie had disappeared;
then he stepped out of the barn, and approached
the kitchen.
"Are you back already? cried Huldah, as
her eyes rested on him. "Where's the sugar?"
"I have n't got it: I did n't feel like going,"
replied Chris.
"What made you offer to, then? asked the
girl, rather sourly. Do you feel sick ? "
"I have felt better," said Chris. "I guess
I '11 go up-stairs. I wish you 'd get me some-
thing to eat, while I 'm gone. I '11 be down
again in a few minutes."
"You can go to the buttery and help your-
self, can't you?" returned Huldah; adding
quickly, Oh, say, Chris, how did you walk on
the ceiling ? I know it was all a trick, but how
did you do it ?"
Don't bother me! snapped the boy, as he
picked up the lamp and started away with it.
Well, you need n't be so short," answered


Huldah. I thought you was 'most too goo<
natured to last this morning; And where ai
you going with my lamp? "
"It 's my lamp," replied Chris; "and I '
going to take it up to my room."
"Your ma gave it to me."
"It was n't hers to give. What do you wai
with the old thing, anyway? "

S. L .


"I have a use for it."
Well, so have I; and I 'm going to keep it.
And Chris abruptly left the room.
You mean boy !" shouted Huldah after
him; but he did not hear her. He was ascend
ing the stairs three steps at a time.
He ran into his room and locked the dooi
Then he gave the lamp a very energetic rul
Instantly the genie appeared before him,--sti
his own exact double,- carrying a large pape
bag under his arm. It was not without a feel
ing of satisfaction that Chris observed an ex
pression of annoyance on his face.
Well, this is rather sudden, I must confess,
said the genie. So you 've got possession o
the lamp again, have you ? "

I- "Yes, I have; and 1 mean to hold on to it
re this time," replied Chris.
"I sincerely hope you will," said the genie,
r in what was evidently intended to be a concil-
iatory tone. "You harbor no hard feelings.
against me, I trust ? I was only doing my duty."
it "What 's in that bundle you are carrying? "
asked Chris, ignoring the question.
"It 's the sugar. I
A was on my way home
with it when you sum-
moned me."
Throw it out of the
window," commanded
the boy; and the genie
promptly obeyed.
"Anything else ? the
genie inquired obsequi-
ously. "Remember, I
have unrivaled facilities
for filling orders of all
kinds at the shortest

Change yourself back
into the old man again,"
directed Chris next; and,
presto! it was done.
The dapper little old
I gentleman of the previ-
ous day stood before him
i once more.
"Whenever I call for you
'ORE HIM." again," continued the boy,
appear in that shape."
"Certainly. And now, I suppose you want
" breakfast; you must be very hungry by this
time. What shall it be? Will you make your
r own selection, or will you leave it all to me ?"
I- And the genie rubbed his hands and smiled
affably into his master's face.
r. But Chris was not to be won over so easily.
. "I '11 get my breakfast down-stairs," he said
11 stiffly. "And now you can clear out. I 've
*r seen enough of you for the present."
Before he finished the sentence the genie had
- disappeared.
Taking the lamp with him, Chris went down
" to the buttery, and for ten minutes ate as only
f a hungry boy can eat.
Now I feel something like myself," he




mused. "I think I sha'n't have any trouble
in holding my own against the genie for the
When his father and mother returned at
noon, they found Chris seated on the porch, so
intently engaged in the perusal of The Arabian
Nights that he did not see them until they
were ascending the steps.
Are you back already ?" he began; but he
paused as he observed the unwonted expres-
sion of severity on his father's face.
"We have returned," said Mr. Wagstaff, in
chilling tones. So it is as I suspected: you
were feigning illness this morning."
No, I was n't, father," cried Chris, ear-
nestly. "I--"
"That will do, sir," interrupted his father,
sternly. "After your conduct yesterday, I can
believe almost anything of you."
"W-what conduct, sir?" stammered Chris, a
dreadful presentiment seizing him.
"I know all, sir," returned Mr. Wagstaff.
"Your mother and I have just met the princi-
pal of the academy. He was amazed to see
us out; and no wonder, since you told him yes-
terday that your mother was ill with typhoid
fever, and that I had been thrown from a
horse and had broken my leg!"
Chris had carelessly told the genie to make
any excuse he could think of for being late, and
the genie had taken him at his word.
I-I did n't say anything of the sort," he
cried. It 's all a mistake."
"Indeed?" responded his father. "You wish
me to believe, then, that Professor Thwacker
has told me a deliberate falsehood ? What do
you claim that you did say ? "
"I don't know," poor Chris blurted out;
"but I-I 'm sure I did n't say that-I know
I did n't."
"That will do, Christopher," said Mr. Wag-
staff severely. Come in and get your dinner."
I don't want any dinner, sir."
"Very well. You will attend the afternoon
session at the academy. When you return,
come to,my study; I shall have something to
say to you."
Oh, Chris!" almost sobbed his mother, lin-
gering a moment after Mr. Wagstaff had en-
tered the house; "how could you do it ?"


.~~^~~----~~- -

"I did n't do anything," cried Chris. "It
was n't I at all."
"Who was it, then ? "
"It was-oh, I can't explain now! "
Without another word Mrs. Wagstaff sighed
heavily, and stepped indoors.
Half an hour later, the boy started for the
academy. In his hand he carried his school-
bag, which contained the wonderful lamp; for
he had been unwilling to leave it where Huldah
might again get possession of it.
"That was a whopper you told the profes-
sor yesterday," whispered Scotty Jones, as Chris
seated himself at his desk. "You did n't make
anything by it, either; for you 're sure to get
a thrashing this afternoon. I heard Professor
Thwacker talking to old Cipher about it, and
I tell you I should n't like to be in your boots."
Christopher Wagstaff," broke in the sharp,
penetrating voice of the principal of the acad-
emy, "I am at a loss for words adequately to
express my opinion of a youth so destitute of
self-respect, of honor, as you proved yourself
yesterday. I cannot hope that this public
reprimand will have any effect on your callous
nature; but, at the expiration of the afternoon
session, I shall endeavor to teach you a lesson
that you will not soon forget. Remain in your
place after the others have gone."
Chris did not attempt to say a word in his
own defense, but he resolved that he would try
to prove his innocence to the professor after
At the first opportunity, he took the lamp
from his bag, and began examining it in the
shelter of his desk-lid.
"If I wanted to, could n't I make it warm
for the professor?" he mused. One rub of the
old lamp, and I could have him and his acad-
emy at the bottom of the Atlantic. But, after
all, I can't blame him. He does n't know. I '11
try to explain things to him after school, with-
out telling him the whole story."
At this moment a hand was laid on his
shoulder, and, looking up with a start, he saw
Professor Thwacker glowering down at him.
In his abstraction he had not been conscious
of that gentleman's approach.
"What have you there, Wagstaff?" thun-
dered the principal.


"Nothing, sir,-that is, only an old lamp,
Professor Thwacker," stammered Chris.
"An old lamp, sir ?" stormed the professor.
"Give it to me. And what do you mean,
Wagstaff, by bringing an old lamp to school ? "

remarkable conduct yesterday--if you have
any excuse to plead," said the professor, I
am ready to hear you now."
"Professor Thwacker," began the boy, "you're
mistake, sir; you're entirely mistaken. It was




44 -7--f

*^.'"U^- "L
i^'~W^ ^rri j^Bi^Blr
,~ p^ .fl l^^

:i" ^Hy


Chris meekly handed his treasure to the in-
dignant pedagogue.
I shall return it to you before you go home
-after we have settled our account," said the
professor, with a look of awful significance;
and he returned to his desk, wherein he de-
posited the lamp. Chris watched him with
bated breath, fearing he would accidentally rub
it, and thus unconsciously summon the ever
attentive genie; but he did not.
The afternoon passed only too quickly. At
three o'clock school was dismissed, and Chris
was left alone with the principal.
For some moments Professor Thwacker sat
gazing silently at the culprit; then he said in
his deepest tone:
Come here, sir."
Chris tremblingly approached the platform.
He had resolved to endure the punishment
with fortitude; but, now that the fateful mo-
ment had arrived, his courage seemed to be
oozing out of his fingers' ends.
If you can suggest any justification for your

n't I that made that excuse yesterday; it was-
it was -"
"Well, sir, who was it then ? demanded the
professor, with some surprise.
"It was quite another person, sir. I don t
know his name, but-"
"Enough, Wagstaff! interrupted Professor
Thwacker, rising. "Your audacity astonishes
- amazes me. You ask me to doubt the evi-
dence of my own senses. I will hear no more.
Your excellent father has suggested to me that
your punishment should be commensurate with
the enormity of your offense, and I quite agree
with him. It therefore becomes my painful
duty to administer to you a chastisement which,
I trust, will prove efficacious."
The professor turned to take his ratan from
the peg behind his desk, where it always hung
when not engaged in active duty.
Chris knew that if he was going to escape
the threatened punishment, he must act quickly.
Professor," he began in an agitated voice,
"you are making a great mistake. Some time


1.km. 14


you will know it, though I can't explain to-
day. But-but-"
"But what, sir? "
I 'd be very much obliged if you 'd let me
have that lamp now, sir."
"You shall have it before you go."
"But I-I 'd like to hold it while you 're
flogging me, sir."
Professor Thwacker stared at the boy with
an expression in which anger and perplexity
were mingled.
"Christopher," he said, "I am at a loss to
understand your conduct of late. I must have
a conference with your father at the first oppor-
tunity. Meanwhile, I certainly shall not humor
your absurd whims."

I understand," he whispered in Chris's ear.
"Leave all to me; don't say a word."
"Who are you, sir ? demanded the aston-
ished Professor Thwacker, confronting the new-
comer. "How did you get here?"
My name is Dr. Jukes, sir; Pulsifer Jukes,
M. D.," replied the genie, ignoring the latter
question. "I am a very old friend of the
Wagstaff family, and I regret to say I am the
bearer of bad news."
Indeed, Dr. Jukes ?" said the professor,
deeply impressed by the eminently respectable
appearance of his visitor.
Yes, sir," sighed the genie; I am here on
a mission that I would gladly have intrusted to
another; but I felt it my duty to break the sad


T4 '.d1


Pit~ jf

\ -


Again-he turned. As he did so, Chris noise-
lessly opened the desk and possessed himself.
of the lamp. He rubbed it vigorously, and the
genie instantly appeared, still in the guise of a
well-dressed and respectable old man.

tidings to my young friend Christopher with my
own lips. My boy," turning to Chris with a
wink, "prepare yourself for a terrible shock."
"Why, what is the matter, sir?" asked the
boy, trying to look alarmed.

i S'



Your father's house is on fire, and-now,
calm yourself-it is feared that one or both of
your parents have perished in the flames."
"This is awful! gasped the kindly professor.
"It is, indeed, sir," returned the genie. "Of
course Christopher must return at once."
Of course; I '11 be there in a few minutes."
"Very well, professor. Good afternoon. I
am sorry we should have met for the first time
on so melancholy an occasion. Come, Chris-
topher, my lad,-bear up; our worst fears may
not be realized."
Then, linking Chris's arm in his, the genie
marched the lad down the aisle and out of the
Did n't I do that nicely ?" he asked, with
a laugh, when they were outside. I tell you,
it takes me to manage a little affair like that."
Nicely?" repeated Chris, in disgust. "Why,
you lied like-like a trooper! "
"We genii have no souls, you know," said
the genie easily. "It's no matter what I say
-any more than if I were a parrot."
"Well, I won't lie, and I don't want any one
to lie for me," said Chris stoutly. "Could n't
you think of any other way than that to get
me off?"
I could have thought of a hundred ways,"
replied the genie, with an injured look; "but
that was the first scheme that came into my
head. What is the matter with it, may I ask?
You seem pretty hard to suit."
"Why, I 'm in a worse scrape than ever.
The professor will find out the truth in a short
time, and then what will become of me ? "
Oh, you '11 get yourself out of the trouble
easily enough," said the genie, lightly. If
you meet any difficulty, just send for me again.
And now what do you want me to do? "
"I want you to disappear in double-quick
time," replied Chris, almost fiercely. The next
instant he was alone.
His first act on reaching home was to hide
the lamp in an old chest in the garret. This
done, he descended to his own room, where he
lingered as long as he dared.
"It 's no use putting it off any longer," he
murmured at last; "the sooner it 's begun, the
sooner it will be over."
With this reflection, he went down to the

study, where he found his father and Professor
Thwacker, who had evidently just arrived.


"AH, here he is!" exclaimed Mr. Wagstaff,
as the boy entered. Christopher, I wonder
that you dare look me in the eye. Sit down,
sir; you and I must come to an understanding."
Chris sank into a chair.
"Who was that infamous old man who, by
his base fabrications, saved you from the just
punishment of your offense ? stormed the pro-
fessor. Where is he ? I must see him again,
face to face."
"I don't know where he is," replied Chris,
Do not trifle with us," cried his father.
"What did he say his name was, Professor
Thwacker ?"
Pulsifer Jukes, M. D.," replied the principal
of the Dusenbury Academy, glaring at Chris;
"a man I never heard of before in my life."
"Nor I," added Mr. Wagstaff. "Yet he
pretended that he was an old friend of my
family, you say?"
"He did, sir. His appearance was, I must
admit, in his favor, and it did not occur to me
for an instant to doubt his word."
He must have been an abandoned scoun-
"There can be no doubt of that, Mr. Wag-
staff. Really, this affair puzzles me extremely.
Here we have a man of advanced years-a
member of one of the learned professions, if we
may believe his own word--deliberately con-
spiring with an unprincipled-or shall I say a
weak-minded ?-lad to deceive his parents and
his preceptor. The case is without a precedent
in my experience."
"We will find the scoundrel, or my name is
notPercivalWagstaff!" exclaimed Chris's father,
in a sudden burst of indignation. Then, turn-
ing to the boy, he demanded: "Who is that
man? Where is he?"
If his name is not Pulsifer Jukes, I don't
know what it is," replied Chris, in desperation.
'',And, as I just told Professor Thwacker, I
have n't any idea where he is now."
Mr. Wagstaff gazed at the lad steadily for a


few seconds; then he opened a drawer in his
desk and took out a strap.
Chris had seen this instrument before, but
not for many months; and he could not help
wincing now as he looked at it.
I am opposed on principle to corporal pun-
ishment," said his father; "but my experience
forces me to the painful conclusion that there
are times when moral suasion is of no avail.
Christopher, I had hoped that I should not be
obliged to chastise you again; but I certainly
shall, and that in a way which you will long
remember, unless you humbly apologize both
to Professor Thwacker and myself, and tell us
who this man Jukes really is. Choose now:
will you submit to a humiliating, disgraceful
punishment, or will you tell the truth and
apologize ? "
Before the sentence was ended, Chris had
made up his mind.
"There 's no use trying to keep it a secret
any longer," he cried in desperation. I '11
tell you all about it. That old man was not a
man at all; he was a genie."
A what ? cried Mr. Wagstaff and Professor
Thwacker in unison.
A genie the very same one that used to
be Aladdin's slave; and he 's mine now. That
was Aladdin's lamp that you had in your desk
to-day, professor."
Professor Thwacker tapped his forehead sig-
"I fear my surmise is well founded, Mr.
Wagstaff," he said in a low tone. "I advise an
immediate consultation with Doctor Ingalls."
"You don't mean," burst out Chris, "that
you think me crazy? "
The professor shook his head sadly; but Mr.
Wagstaff said with increased sternness:
I do not, sir. I believe you know perfectly
well what you are saying; though how you
dare offer such an insult to the intelligence of
Professor Thwacker and myself, I am at a loss
to understand."
"You don't believe me ? cried poor Chris.
"I am telling you nothing but the truth. I
bought the lamp for ten cents at the auction
yesterday. I rubbed it, and the genie appeared
and asked me what I wanted."
"Christopher, enough!" thundered his father.

Oh, please listen, sir, and I '11 tell you all
about it! "
And, in an impetuous torrent of words, the
excited boy poured out the story of his strange
adventures since his purchase of the lamp. Mr.
Wagstaff attempted to interrupt him several
times, but was restrained by the professor.
If you don't believe me yet," said Chris, in
conclusion, "I '11 go and get the lamp, and
prove that every word I have told you is true."
Calm yourself, Christopher," said Professor
Thwacker, laying his hand kindly on the boy's
shoulder, and looking down into his eyes with an
expression of genuine concern. Do not allow
this matter to excite you so greatly. Have no
fear; you shall not be punished either by your
father or by myself, now that we.understand your
case. I should strongly recommend an entire
cessation of study for the present, and a com-
plete change of scene and surroundings," added
the professor, turning to Mr. Wagstaff.
"You really believe me crazy -I can see
that!" exclaimed Chris; "and I don't know
that I blame you. But you '11 change your
opinion when you see the genie. Shall I go
and fetch the lamp now, father?"
"In my opinion, it would be well to humor
the unfortunate lad," whispered the professor in
Mr. Wagstaff's ear.'
"Where is this lamp, Christopher ? asked
his father.
"It 's up in the garret, sir."
Go and get it."
Scarcely was the last word of the command
uttered when Chris was bounding up the stairs,
eager to prove his sanity and the truth of his
As he took the lamp from the old chest, he
said to himself:
"I 'm awful sorry I had to tell the whole
story, but there was no help for it. I expected
to have lots of fun with the lamp before I said
anything about it. Well, I '11 make father and
the professor promise not to tell anybody.
Now let 's see if the lamp is in working
He rubbed it, and the genie appeared.
"What is it now? he inquired rather
"I just wanted to see-" began the boy;


then he paused with wide-open mouth. A new
and startling idea had occurred to him; it
seemed like an inspiration.
You wanted to see what?" asked the genie.
"I sincerely hope it is something outside this
dull little one-horse place. Are you ready to
make a sensible request of me at last? "
Change yourself into my double again,"
ordered Chris, brusquely; and it was done.
"Now what?" growled the genie. It
can't be school this time, for it 's too late."
No, it is n't school," replied Chris, with a
grin in which there was, perhaps, just a sus-
picion of malice; but it 's something that you
won't like much better. To come to the point
at once, I want you to go down-stairs and take
a flogging for me."
What? roared the genie.
Don't make such a noise," cautioned Chris.
Then he informed his companion of what had
just happened.
Go down and apologize humbly for having
told such a preposterous story," he commanded
in conclusion, "and take your thrashing like a
Your thrashing, you mean," returned the
genie. See here," he went on almost tear-
fully; this is really too humiliating. Of course
I 've got to do it if you say so; but I put it to
you, as a lad of sense, if it would n't be a great
deal better for me to transport those two old
men to a desert island somewhere. Or I could
take you over to Europe in a few seconds, and
install you in-say-a palace in Florence or
Vienna, where you would be surrounded by
every luxury that the mind of a competent and
painstaking genie could devise. Or -"
No, no, no!" interrupted Chris, emphati-
cally. I don't want you to do any of these
things--at least not just now. To-morrow I
may decide to take a trip round the world, or
something of the sort; if I do, I '11 let you
know. But to-night all you have to do is to
obey my orders. Go down now, and mind you
don't say anything that will get me into any
new trouble."
Without another word the genie left the
room, and Chris heard him heavily and reluc-
tantly descending the stairs. Leaning over the
balusters, the boy heard his luckless slave make

a most humble apology to the two gentlemen;
and the voice of Professor Thwacker reached
his ears, exclaiming:
"I would not have believed such duplicity
possible in a lad of your tender age, Christo-
pher. Your case is without a parallel in my
somewhat extensive experience."
"And you thought he was crazy, professor,"
added Mr. Wagstaff. "I knew better than
that; but I am as much amazed as you at the
boy's outrageous conduct. Christopher," -in
his sharpest, most incisive tone,-" tell me
without further parley who the wretched man
who called himself Jukes really is."
"He was just an old fellow that I hired to
help me out of the scrape," replied the bogus
Chris; "I don't know what his real name is."
"Where is he to be found ? "
"I don't know that, either, sir. He has
gone out of town; he is a tramp."
"He did not look like a tramp," interposed
Professor Thwacker.
"I shall make searching inquiries as to his
identity, professor," said Mr. Wagstaff. "And
rest assured, sir, he will be found and punished.
But, at the present moment, another pressing
and painful duty confronts me. Come here,
A brief silence ensued, followed by the sound
of several whacks, after which came a succession
of cries in a youthful voice.
I 'm sorry for the genie," muttered Chris;
"but I 'm glad I 'm not in his place. And,
after all, he 's only getting punished for what
he did himself; there 's no reason in the world
why I should take the thrashing."
At the expiration of, perhaps, five minutes,
the listening boy heard his father say, in the
tone of a person quite exhausted by emotion or
violent exercise :
"There, sir! I hope this chastisement-
which has been far more painful to me than
it has to you-will have the effect that my
words have failed to produce. Go to your
room, and do not leave it again until to-mor-
row morning "
The genie left the study, and ascended the
stairs, sobbing bitterly. The tears were run-
ning down his cheeks when he again entered
Chris's presence.



"Well," he sniveled, "I hope you 're satis-
fied now! I 'm a good many thousand years
older than you are, but I never endured any-
thing like that in all my days."
And he burst into a fresh paroxysm of grief.
I would n't be such a baby if I were you,"
said Chris, gazing upon him with something
like disgust. "I 've taken worse lickings than
that, and never made a sound."
Why did n't you take this one, if you like
them so much ? grumbled the genie. My

****-' ; v ^ H -4p

concerned," responded the genie. "There is
a limit to the patience even of a genie."
At this moment Chris heard footsteps as-
cending the stairs.
My father is coming!" he exclaimed; "he
must n't see us together."
The genie looked a little frightened, and his
voice trembled slightly, as he hurriedly said:
"I guess I 'd better be going. You won't
need me again to-night, I suppose ? "
"No, no; be off at once! I '11 let you know


tastes run in quite a different direction, I as-
sure you. I 'd like to know, right now, if it 's
all the same to you, how long this sort of thing
is to be kept up. Because if it is going to be
a daily occurrence, I shall--well, I shall gov-
ern myself accordingly, that 's all."
There was a peculiar ring in the genie's
voice, a meaning expression on his face, that
Chris did not like.
Oh, it is n't likely that you will ever be
thrashed again," he said. "This affair to-day
was brought about by a queer combination of
circumstances; nothing of the sort could hap-
pen a second time."
"Well, I hope it won't, for the sake of all

when I need you," replied the boy, in an ex-
cited whisper. Go "
Scarcely had the genie disappeared, when
Mr. Wagstaff entered the garret.
Humph you seem to have recovered with
singular rapidity from the effects of your recent
punishment," said his father, observing that
there were no traces of tears on the boy's face.
Chris did not venture a reply.
I told you," continued. Mr. Wagstaff, "to
go to your room; why did you come here ?"
"I 'm going now, sir," said Chris. "I only
came up to get my lamp."
And he picked up his treasure, which lay on
top of the old chest.


I will take charge of that," announced his While awaiting a suitable time to act upon
father, extending his hand to receive the lamp. this determination, Chris made a number of
No, no! cried the boy, in a panic; you good resolutions. He keenly felt the position
can't have it. I-I must keep that myself." in which he was placed. He had lost the good
opinion of his father, of
his teachers, and of his
schoolmates: he made
uip his mind that he
would regain their es-
Steem. His previous
o reputation at the acad-
emy had, perhaps, not
been of the best-" as
lazy as Chris Wagstaff,"
'" had been a byword
h with the boys; but the
Sr high-handed acts of the
genie had given him a
notoriety which, he told
himself, he did not de-
serve, and which he de-
termined to live down
.. Very quickly.
iv .. -. The slave of the lamp
had been the directmeans
of putting him in this
Give it to me, sir cried the irate parent, get him out of it; he should aid him to cover
his face flushing. himself with glory in the eyes of all who knew
Chris reluctantly handed him the lamp. To him -yes, of all the world! His cheeks flushed,
his horror, his father tossed it out of the open his heart beat with unwonted rapidity, as he
window. Don't let me see the thing again," thought of the great future that awaited him
he said. "And now go to your room." -a future the dazzling brilliancy of which
Oh, father," entreated the boy, "let me go would blind all eyes to his insignificant past.
and get the lamp first. I-I don't want to The hours dragged slowly on. But at last
lose it. I can'tlose it! I-" Chris heard the bell in the town hall strike the
"To your room! said Mr. Wagstaff. "Do hour of eleven, and he rose and cautiously
not try my patience too far, Christopher." opened his door. The lights were extinguished;
Chris dared not say another word. He silence reigned throughout the house.
went to his room, threw himself on the bed, The boy crept down-stairs, noiselessly unfas-
and began reflecting upon the strange events tened the front door, and tiptoed out.
of the day, and the singular position in which A few moments later he was eagerly seeking
he was.now placed. among the currant-bushes for the precious
He told himself that it was extremely un- lamp. It took but a few minutes' search to
likely that any one would find the lamp, which convince him that it was not there.
he was sure must have fallen in a clump of cur- He then proceeded to explore every inch of
rant-bushes just under the window. As soon ground within at least two hundred feet of the
as every one in the house was asleep, he would window from which his treasure had been
steal out and repossess himself of it; then he thrown; but his quest was unsuccessful.
would hide it where no one could possibly find it. The lamp was gone.
(To be continued.)


(A Fancy.)


WHAT is the world, my own little one?
Our world belongs to that clock the sun.
Steady it spins; while the clock beats true
Days and seasons for me and you. .
And tick-tick-tock! goes the mighty clock
While time swings on below,
Now left-now right; now day-now night,
With a tick-tick to and fro.

The pussy-willow in coat of fur;
A sweet pink rose in the wind astir;
A maple leaf with a crimson blush;
Then falling snowflakes, and winter's hush-
While tick-tick-tock goes the mighty clock,
And the world swings on below,
Budding-blowing; shining- snowing-
With a tick-tock to and fro.

A little song when the heart is glad,
A little sigh when the way is sad;
Whether the shadows or sunbeams fall,
Sweet rest and dreaming at last for all,
While tick-tick-tock goes the mighty clock,
And the world swings on below,
Smiling- sighing; singing-- crying -
With a tick-tock to and fro.

So this is the way, my own little one,
Our world belongs to that clock the sun,
And the hand that somewhere keeps the key
Is the same that holdeth you and me,
While tick-tick-tock goes the mighty clock,
And the world swings on below,
Now left-now right; now day-now night,
With a tick-tock to and fro.

VOL. XXII.-28.



T was a blustering
February day of last
year-the kind of
a day which, by
its merciless chill,
reminds one that
Winter still reigns,
and is indulging in
',In his last spiteful ef-
forts before yielding
S to the gentle in-
fluences of' Spring.
i We were seated be-
fore a blazing fire,
and we were not
A expecting visitors,
when the bell rang.
The door being
opened, an express-
man was literally blown into the hall, carrying a
cigar-box, with the explanation that it had come
from Florida, and had been delayed several days
on the road. From Florida! Many were the
wonderings as to its contents. Everything, from
Indian relics to orange-blossoms, was suggested;
but as it was being opened, a label was discov-
ered on the side, bearing the words, "Live Alli-
gators from Florida." This sounded quite
alarming, arid the ladies present moved to a
safe distance, as the cover was gingerly raised.
An apprehensive glance within disclosed a
pair of widely opened jaws, which, armed with
rows of needle-like teeth, belonged to a very
angry little alligator. The poor little fellow
had had an unpleasant journey, and, resenting
his numerous grievances, seemed, in his ludi-
crously defiant attitude, ready to fight all comers.
The ladies summoned courage to take a nearer
view, and one of them declared that he "looked
just like the Evil One"; the others agreed, and
to this uncomplimentary remark the little alliga-
tor owes his name.
He was tempted with all imaginable dainties,

but refused everything offered, and seemed de-
termined to starve to death to show his profound
disgust with the world in general, very much as
certain youngsters, after being punished for some
misdeed, take a heroic revenge by refusing to
come to the table.
Finally a letter arrived, explaining that Na-
ture has provided that alligators shall lie in a
dormant state through the winter months, and
not taste food until spring. So the weeks passed,
and although he grew thinner and thinner, he
kept up his fast, spending Lent in a most ex-
emplary manner.
But a bright April day wrought a marvelous
change in "Beelzebub." He evidently thought
he had been transported to his native land, such
was the warmth of the sun. He had heard our
approach and stood with head raised, his bright
eyes scintillating with an eager light, and his
whole appearance much like that of a pet dog
when told to "speak."
A piece of raw beef was lowered on the end
of a straw. Beelzebub watched it, his wasted
little body quivering with suppressed excitement,
until it was within reach; then he jumped for it,
seized it, and retired to a distant comer of his
tank where the meat was speedily swallowed.
You know that in common with all the mem-
bers of the reptile family an alligator's fine
array of teeth are used merely in seizing its
prey or in self-defense, its food being gulped
down as rapidly as the size of the morsel will
After a period of warm weather, a "cool
wave" again rendered Beelzebub as indifferent
to food as ever; and we soon learned that he
was not only influenced by the weather, but by
his own obstinate spirit, for when the fickle
spring had given way to the steady warmth of
summer, he would spend several days silently
communing with himself, while we, his faith-
ful friends, would vainly endeavor even to at-
tract his attention.

He has passed through many adventures
which doubtless were thrilling, from his point
of view. One day he slipped from my hand to
the floor, landing head-downward with a thump.
A few feeble flops of the tail and he lay appa-
rently lifeless. I picked him up, and he was
perfectly limp, with every muscle relaxed. Lay-
ing him sorrowfully on the floor, I left the
room to announce his fate to the family. The
mourners arrived just in time to see his Satanic
Majesty scuttling away at a remarkable pace,
very much resembling a gentleman in tight
boots hurriedly crossing over cobblestones. At

from the British soldiers, showed more daring
than our venturesome Beelzebub's tumbles ?
During the summer he accompanied us to
the sea-shore, and while there reached the cli-
max of his adventures. One night for alli-
gators are most active at night he was left
out on the piazza, and in the morning we dis-
covered that he had escaped from his tank. It
seemed as if his love of adventure had this time
proved fatal, as a week was spent in an unavail-
ing search for him. At last we heard of the dis-
covery of a wonderful animal in a swamp a
short distance away. If all the reports were



another time he was left for a while in a pan
covered with cotton netting. During the night
he became restless, and, breaking through the
netting, started on a tour of exploration. The
stairs being in his line of march, the dauntless
little 'gator started down them to the lower
regions. When found by the terrified cook, he
had traveled down two flights of stairs, and
was standing at the head of the third, when,
seeing that he was discovered, down he went,
tumbling, sliding, and rolling until he reached
the bottom. He was captured and returned
to his home in the attic.
Who shall say that General Putnam's ride
down the long flight of stone steps, in escaping

true, it must have been a remarkable creature,
for it had the power of growing larger every
time it was mentioned.
A walk to the spot showed an excited little
group, among whom was an Irishman, who,
armed with a seven-foot pole, was poking cau-
tiously out into the tall grass. He had discov-
ered Beelzebub, and was firmly convinced that
it was "a young dragon." And to this idea he
still adhered, even when we showed him that it
was only a badly frightened little 'gator. Beel-
zebub seemed none the worse for his long out-
ing, and devoured several minnows with great
relish, upon his arrival home.
He was of a patient disposition, and would





bear a certain amount of teasing without object-
ing; but at times he showed that a Spartan can
fight as well as show endurance. "Tabby," the
cat, manifested great curiosity, not unmixed with
jealousy, when Beelzebub was installed as a fam-
ily pet; and she acquired the unkind habit of
walking up to him at every opportunity, and show-
ing her displeasure by deliberately cuffing him
withherpaw. Then she would retire showing evi-
dent satisfaction as if she had performed a duty.
This was done once too often; for Beelzebub
had evidently harbored in his memory her
former insults, and this last one proved too
much for his injured spirit. His eyes flashed
with a yellowish light, and, when Tabby was
walking away, he scrambled after, seized her
tail, and clung to it viciously. This frightened
the bully, and she started on a race around the
room, taking aerial flights over chairs and tables,
with Beelzebub desperately clinging to her tail.
When we released the panic-stricken Tabby,
we were surprised to find that Beelzebub was
none the worse for his wild experience, and
with widely distended jaws, he breathed a gen-
eral defiance; but Tabby had received a lesson,
and she never molested Beelzebub again.
To those among my readers who may think
of keeping an alligator, a brief description of the
best way to house him may be useful. Procure
a good-sized box, say two or three feet square,
and a baking-pan about half the size of the
box, to hold the water (which should be changed
every day or two). Then cover the floor of the
box with sand. Put glass or wire netting on
two of the sides and on the top of the box. Glass
is better, because it retains the heat in the box;
but you must be sure to freely admit the air.

For food, raw meat given on a straw, to
seem alive, flies and worms, and small live fish
form an alligator's favorite diet. But as he is not
demonstrative, his air of content is apt to lead
one to neglect him unless special care is taken.
Remember that the alligator is accustomed to
the heat of Florida, and keep him in a warm
room during the winter.
I am sure that alligators are more intelligent
than they are generally thought to be. Indeed,
I have heard of one in a South American
country which, having been caught when very
young and patiently trained, would-follow its
master like a dog, and was perfectly docile.
I wish I could add, in closing, that Beelzebub
"lived happily for ever after," as the story-
books say, for he certainly deserved a peaceful
life after so many trials, even though they were
self-inflicted. But one morning we found he
had suddenly vanished. His tank seemed per-
fectly secure in every way, but Beelzebub
was not inside, and how he escaped is still a
We live not far from a river which Longfellow
has immortalized in verse; and to me it seems
probable that Beelzebub's instinct has led him
to it, and that by this time he is swimming con-
tentedly about. He might survive the winters
by burying himself in the mud; and who knows
but, in years to come, some duck or swan float-
ing on the river will suddenly disappear, to
every one's astonishment-and perhaps nobody
but the little alligator will ever know what be-
came of it. But then, again, Beelzebub himself
may have met his fate, and all that remains of
him now. may be only his skin made up into
articles useful to mankind.



.j "> IN little Paul's "In-
structive Illustrated
N N E Picture-Book"
There are scenes in foreign countries, showing
how the people look.

There 's a "Scene among the Africans,
SIn colors gay and bright;
A scene called "Chinese People"-
An interesting sight.

There's a picture named "Among the Turks,"
Where turbaned men go by;
And some "Italian Natives "'
Beneath an azure sky.

But, strange to say, when Paul walks out and
sees about the town
Turks, colored men, Italians, too, with skins of
And even placid Chinamen,- these
S -people ne SAs they do in his "Instructive
Illustrated Picture-Book."





ONCE upon a time there was a wise queen
who reigned over a country so beautiful that
she ought to have been perfectly happy. And
she would have been happy but for one thing:
the lords and ladies of her court were always
quarreling. All through the long bright days
they would come to the queen with ill-natured
complaints of one another. In order to rem-
edy this state of things she called a secret
council of the wisest men of the kingdom.
When they assembled before her, she told
them her trouble. Then, one after another,
they spoke; some advised severe punishments,
and others suggested that the discontented
courtiers should be sent away, and new lords
and ladies appointed in their places.
At last the eldest was called. He was bent
nearly double with age. He walked with a
staff, and his white beard almost swept the
ground. He said, Oh, queen, live forever!
Thy lords and ladies are like naughty children.
They quarrel through envy, and because they
try to find one another's blemishes. If thou, oh
queen, canst teach them, by some parable, how
ignoble such feelings are, they will be ashamed,
and repent, and be freed of their fault."
After the queen dismissed her wise men, she
pondered awhile, and then she called her sene-
schal, and bade him summon all the lords and
ladies, and she also directed him to see _that
there should be two pages waiting in the ante-
When all were assembled, the queen arose
and said:
"I am about to send forth two pages on a
quest so full of interest that I wish you all to
witness their departure and their return." Then
she said to the seneschal, Summon the first
The page entered and knelt before the queen,
who said to him: "I wish you to mount a

trusty steed, and, keeping always to the right,
to go entirely around the kingdom, visiting its
gardens and plucking here and there the sweet-
est flowers. Then hasten back with them to me."
The page bowed, and left the queen's pres-
ende. After a moment they heard the clat-
tering of his horse's hoofs on the pavement
without. When these sounds had died away,
the queen commanded:
"Summon the other page."
When he had knelt before her, the queen
said, "I wish you to take a trusty steed, and,
following the roads to the left, to go around
the kingdom, visiting its gardens, plucking here
and there the bitterest, most harmful of the
weeds; and then hasten to return with them to
me." The lords and ladies exchanged puzzled
glances, as this page, also, departed.
But the queen, without explanations, gave
orders that a watch should be set in the palace
tower, and directed that word should be brought
to her whenever either of the two pages was to
be seen returning from his quest. Then she
dismissed the lords and ladies.
Several days passed, and then the seneschal
came one morning to tell the queen that both
pages could be seen in the distance, approach-
ing the palace from different directions. The
queen bade him call all the lords and ladies,
and admit the pages separately. Just as the
courtiers were assembled, the first page entered.
SHis arms were full of flowers that filled the
whole palace with the sweetest perfumes. Some
of them had withered, but all were yet fragrant.
As he laid them at the queen's feet, she asked:
" Well, what did you find on your journey round
the kingdom ?"
Smilingly he answered, Oh, Queen, I found
a kingdom filled with flowers! Not only were
the gardens all abloom, but even the hedge-
rows, fields, and forests. And as I looked be-



yond the boundaries of the kingdom, I saw
flowers beyond-I have ridden through a world
of flowers!"
"Were there no weeds?" asked the queen.
"Your Majesty, I do not remember any.
There may have been, but I saw them not."
Then the queen rewarded the page with a
purse of gold, and dismissed him.
When he had gone, she told the seneschal to
put all the flowers out of sight, and then to ad-
mit the other page. He came in, his arms
filled with rank and poisonous weeds -some so
full of acrid juices that he wore thick leather
gauntlets to protect his hands from them. As
he laid them at the queen's feet, she asked:
"Well, what did you find on your quest?"
"Your Majesty, I found a kingdom overrun
with weeds. Not only were the hedge-rows,
fields, and forests full of them, but even the
gardens also. And beyond the boundaries of
the kingdom I saw weeds, weeds, weeds!-the
world must be full of them! I noted them even
inside the palace gate, as I returned."

"What!" said the queen; "did you find no
flowers ?"
There may have been-flowers, your Majesty;
indeed, there must have been, but as I looked
only for weeds, I saw only weeds."
The queen rewarded and dismissed the second
Then she lifted her eyes and looked around
her at the lords and ladies. All were abashed,
and could not return the gaze of the good
queen. Some of the gentler ladies were trying
to conceal tears of penitence. The queen had
thought to speak words of loving reproof to
them; but she saw no words were needed. The
courtiers had learned their lesson; and they
gathered around her, and one of the ladies-in-
waiting said:
"Dear Queen, forgive us, and we will no
longer sadden your loving heart by seeking only
weeds. We will bring you flowers, and trouble
you no more with the weeds."
Then the queen was very glad, and they were
all happy ever after.


REYNARD: "Ah, this is a model roost! Who could wish for
anything more convenient?"

ELEVATOR BOY: "Come on, if you are going up!"


~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s~s I





I. Twelve white candles all in a row, One is out! One is out! (Howthe branches blow!)

II. Eleven white can-dles burn-ing ver y bright, One is out! One is out! (Snowy is the night.)

(k ___ --^^o ^^ I, EE EE---^

III. Ten white candles shining on the floor,
One is out! (Hear the wind in the chimney roar!)
IV. Nine white candles in the dusk again, VIII. Five white candles burning down too soon,
One is out! (On the roof, hark the pattering One is out! (Yonder shines, shines the yellow
rain!) moon!)
V. Eight white candles burning very low, IX. Four white candles very short and small,
One is out! (Apple blooms in the orchard One is out! (Peaches red, hanging o'er the
blow.) wall!)
VI. Seven white candles through the twilight shed, X. Three white candles, such a dim array!
One is out! (In the door peer the roses One is out! (Purple grapes make the garden
red.) gay.)
VII. Six white candles gleaming at our feet, XI. Two white candles fading in the dark,
One is out! (Fireflies glimmer from thewheat.) One is out! One is out! (One but a spark!)

XII. One lit tie can de for all this Christmas cheer? It is out! It is out! Oh, dear, dear!

JI -d- -. ___
acres. f ad lib.

acres. ff I

Then hey for white candles, here are twelvemore! Give us light! Keep them bright! Open, Time's Door!

mf Piu animato. acres. f
'----------|-i-ia---- -l; ------------ -t r -_-------^---



[Begun in the Aril number.]
THE pirates had been gone two weeks. It
was a chill, drizzly morning. Jack had been
out of doors to fetch in some fire-wood, and he
now sat near the chimney-place drying his coat
before the crackling fire, holding out the shaggy
garment and watching it steam and smoke in
the heat. I wonder how soon they expect to
be back," said he. Methinks the sloops ought
to have been back long before this time; ought
they not ?"
Dred, whether asleep or awake, was lying
with his eyes closed. He opened them as Jack
spoke, and then closed them without replying.
Jack turned his wet coat over and felt of it.
Betty Teach was moving about up-stairs. Pres-
ently he heard her tap on the door of Miss
Eleanor Parker's room; then, after an interval
of waiting, tap again; then, after another in-
terval, he heard her open the door and go into
the room. Suddenly there came the sound of
her feet running; then of a window flung up;
then of her voice. "Dred! Dred!" she called
shrilly. Jack started up from where he sat, still
holding his coat in his hand. His first thought
was that something had happened to the young
lady. Dred raised himself upon his elbow.
The next moment Betty Teach came running
down-stairs, and burst into the kitchen. "Oh,
Dred!" she cried, her voice shrill with excite-
ment. She 's gone !"
Gone! said Jack. Who 's gone ?" He
knew very well who it was she meant, but he
asked the question involuntarily.
"Why, the young lady! cried Betty Teach,
wringing her hands; she 's run away."
"Run away! echoed Dred.
"Yes, she 's run away. I went to her room
just now to see if she was up. I knocked, but
VOL. XXII.-29. 22

she would n't answer. Then I went in, and I
found she 'd gone. There was her bed, empty
as could be. Oh, Dred! won't you do some-
thing? Won't you come up-stairs and see for
yourself?" said the pirate's wife. She was cry-
ing in earnest now, wiping the tears from her
face with her apron. "Oh!" she sobbed,
"what will Ned say?"
There, now, don't you cry no more," said
Dred. He arose heavily and laboriously from
the bench as he spoke. Jack followed him as
he went after Betty Teach to the floor above
and to the room the young lady had occupied.
Why, look! said Dred; the pore young thing
ain't even took her shoes with her. I dare say
she was afeard of making a noise, and so she 's
gone off without 'em-gone in her stocking-
feet, and on this cold, wet day, too."
Betty Teach was wringing her hands. "Oh,
lacky, lacky me!" she wailed, "what 'll Ned
say when he finds this out ? He's like enough
to be back at any time now. Won't you go
out and try to find her?"
Dred gave a kind of groan. "Well," said
he, "it be n't fit weather for a man just getting'
over the fever to go out in, but summat must
be done, and that's a fact. Why was n't you
more careful ? he said, with a sudden burst of
anger. "If you 'd 'a' kept a good watch on
her she would n't have run away."
"I did keep a good watch on her," said
Betty Teach. "I never thought of her doing
the like of this. How should I think of her
running away? She 's been so gentle and bid-
dable-like, that I never thought of her having
the spirit for such a thing."
"Well, come along, Jack," said Dred; "we '11
go in and talk to Hands about it."
Hands was still bedridden with his broken
knee. He lay resting his elbow on the pillow
and his head on his hand, smoking the pipe
that now seemed never to leave his lips.


"'What 's the trouble, Dred?" said he, as
.Dred, followed by Jack, came into the room.
:Betty Teach came to the door and stood look-
ing in, twisting her apron in her agitation.
Why, she's gone," said Betty, without giving
Dred time to reply; "she 's run away, Hands."
Run away! cried Hands. "What d' ye
mean ? Who's run away ?"
"Why, 't is true enough," said Dred; "the
young mistress is run away, and she 's been
gone some time, for her bed's cold. She 's run
away without her shoes-gone off in her stock-
ing-feet, as true as I 'm a living sinner."
"In her stocking-feet! repeated Hands.
"Well! well! to be sure! In her stocking-
feet! Well, she can't have gone far, if she 's
went in her stocking-feet. And I tell you what
't is, Dred, I believe she be gone up toward
the town. If she goes up that way, she can't
go no furder than the little swamp. If I was
you, I 'd go up that there way on the chance
of finding her."
Dred sat for a while on the edge of the bed
in thoughtful silence. Well," said he, I
reckon you be about right. Anyhow, 't is the
best we can do to go up there and see if we
can find her. In course, if for no other reason,
we can't let the pore thing stay out on a day
like this: she '11 be wet and soaked, and most
like take sick. Come along, Jack; we '11 see
what we can do. Did the Captain take both
the storm-coats with him, Mistress ? "
"Why, no, he did n't; there 's one down in
the hutch. The long coat-you know where
't is, Jack."
The misty drizzle had changed to a fine, thin
rain when Jack and Dred started out upon
their quest. They walked along together, side
by side, Dred lagging a little with the dregs of
his weakness. We '11 strike along the shore,"
said he, panting a little as he walked, "and
then from the mouth of the branch we '11 beat
up along the edge of the swamp. If we don't
find her ag'in' we get up as far as the cross
branch, we '11 strike back into the country and
see if she 's at Dobbs's or Trivett's plantation
houses. As for going to the town-why, what
Hands says is true enough: she could n't cross
the swamp with her shoes on, let alone in her

Jack's every faculty was intent upon the
search, but, by a sort of external consciousness,
he sensed and perceived his surroundings. The
bank dipped down rather sharply toward a nar-
row strip of swamp, threaded midway by a
little sluggish lake-like stream of water. Oaks
and cypress-trees grew up from the soft, spongy
soil. The boles of the trees were green with
moss, and here and there long streamers of
moss hung from the branches. Fallen trees,
partly covered with moss, partly buried in the
swampy soil, stretched out gaunt, lichen-cov-
ered branches like withered arms draped with
gray moss. Here and there little pools of trans-
parent, coffee-colored water caught in reflection
a fragment of the gray sky through the leaves
overhead, and gleamed each like a spot of sil-
ver in the setting of dusky browns of the sur-
rounding swamp.
Dred walked upon the edge of the drier
land, Jack closer down along the edge of the
swamp. His feet sucked and sopped in the
soft, wet earth, and now and then he leaped
from a mossy root to a hummock of earth,
from a hummock of earth to a mossy root.
The wet wind rushed and soughed overhead
through the leaves, and then a fine, showery
spray would fall from above, powdering Jack's
rough coat with particles of moisture. The air
was full of a rank, damp, earthy smell.
They went on for a distance without saying
anything. "Stop, Jack," called out Dred pres-
ently, "till I light my pipe. The damp is like
a lump of ice." He had filled his pipe with
tobacco. Now he squatted down and began
striking his flint and steel. Jack came up to the
higher ground where he was, and stood watch-
ing him; then, leaving him, he walked on through
the swamp.
He had gone on perhaps thirty or forty
paces, when he suddenly caught sight of a little
heap of wet and sodden clothes that lay upon
the ground, partly hidden by the great ribbed
roots of a cypress-tree. It looked like some
cast-off clothing that had been thrown away in
the swamp. He wondered dully for a moment
how it came there, and then, with a sudden
start, almost a shock, realized what it must be.
He hurried forward, the branches and roots
hidden by the mossy earth crackling beneath



his feet. "Dred!" he called out, "Dred--
come here, Dred!"
"Where away ? called Dred, his voice
sounding resonantly through the hollow woods.
Here! answered Jack. Come along !"
The next moment he came around the foot
of a cypress-tree, and found himself looking
down at the young lady-almost with a second
shock at finding what he had expected.
She did not move. Her face was very white,
and she looked up at him with her large, dark
eyes as he stood looking at her. A shudder
passed over her, and then presently another.
She said nothing, nor did he say anything to
her. Her skirts were soaked and muddy with
the swamp-water through which she must have
tried to drag herself. She sat with her feet
doubled under her, crouched together. Her
hair was disheveled, one dark, cloudy lock
falling down across her forehead. Jack looked
at her until he could bear to look at her no
longer; then he walked slowly away toward
Dred, who now came hurrying up to where he
was. "Where is she?" said Dred to Jack
when the two met.
Over yonder," said Jack, pointing toward
the tree. His voice was a little husky. He
was profoundly stirred by what he had seen.
The poor girl had not, somehow, looked like
herself. She had looked like some forlorn
hunted animal. When Jack came back with
Dred, they found her still sitting in the same
place, just as Jack had left her. Dred stood
looking down at her for a moment or two.
Perhaps he also felt something of that. which
had so moved Jack. Then he stooped and laid
his hand upon her shoulder. "You must
come back with us, Mistress," said he. "You
should n't 'a' tried to run away; indeed you
should n't. How long have you been out here ? "
Her lips moved, but she could not speak at
first. "I don't know," said she presently, in a
low, whispering voice. "Along time. I wanted
to get away, but I could n't get through the
swamp." She put her hand up to her eyes
nervously and pressed it there, and her lips
began to quiver and writhe. And again she
shuddered as though with the cold.
"In course you could n't," said Dred, sooth-
ingly; "and indeed you should n't have tried,

Mistress. 'T is enough to kill a body to be
out in this sort of weather. Indeed you must
come back with us, and 't will be better for
you. Don't you take on so, Mistress. Come,
come, don't cry no more! Come back home
with us. It can't be long now till they hear
from Virginy, and then they '11 send you back
home ag'in. Could n't you wait for a little
longer ? She shook her head. Well, ye can't
run away, Mistress; and indeed you should n't
'a' tried to run away. Why, she 's cold to the
marrow," he said as he helped her to rise.
Jack instantly began stripping off his coat.
His throat choked, and was hot and dry with
the bitterness of pity. Put this on, Mistress,"
said he, and 't will help to keep you warm
till we get home." She made no resistance, but
stood with her hands pressed to her eyes as
Jack put the coat over her shoulders and but-
toned it under her chin.

Betty Teach opened the door and stood wait-
ing as they came up the pathway to the house.
"You 've found her, have you ?" she said; and
she trembled visibly with the joy of relief.
"Oh! what would Ned say if he was to find all
this here out ?"
Why, he need n't know anything about it,"
said Dred, roughly, as he and Jack assisted the
young lady into the house. "Just you say
nothing about it to the Captain; you too-d' ye
hear, Jack? I '11 see Hands myself, and ask
him that he don't say anything."
Jack, in his shirt-sleeves, had walked all the
way back from the swamp, and he was damp
and chilled. He sat close to the fire, staring
into the embers and warming his hands, hardly
knowing that he was doing so. The feeling of
the pity that rested upon him weighed him
down like a leaden weight. He tried to escape
from the thought of the young lady, but he
could not help remembering how he had seen
her crouching at the foot of the cypress-tree,
wet, helpless, despairing. He moved restlessly
and tried to think of something else, but he
could not. Betty Teach had returned from
taking the young lady to her room. He heard
Betty tell Dred that she had put her to bed.
"You 'd better take something warm up to
her," Dred was saying, and Betty Teach re-


plied: "Why, yes, I will. D' ye think she'd
drink the grog if I mixed it?" "Why, yes;
she '11 have to," said Dred. "'T was enough
to kill anybody to be setting out in the wet
swamp like that, let alone a young lady-gell like
her who ain't used to such things." Jack lis-
tened for a moment, and then his thoughts
rushed back again, and he remembered how
she had pressed her hands over her eyes and
how her lips had quivered and writhed. Again
he shifted uneasily in his seat under the spur
of the sharp recollection, and almost groaned
aloud. "I won't stay here any longer," he
thought to himself. "They can't make me stay,
and I won't stay. I don't know why I 've
stayed here so long, anyhow." And the thought
of getting away from any repetition of such a
pathetic scene as he had beheld that morning
brought him a certain ease and relief.

THAT same night-it was after midnight-
Jack began to be disturbed in his sleep by
iterated pounding upon the floor overhead. He
heard the noise, and for some time it mingled
in his dreams before he began recognizing it
with his waking thoughts. He raised himself
upon his elbow where he lay upon the floor.
Dred was sitting upon the bench, and there was
the sound of stirring overhead.
What was that noise ? said Jack.
"Why, I don't know," said Dred.
They could hear the patter of bare feet, and
presently Betty Teach came running down-
stairs. The next moment she burst into the
room. "They 've come back," said she; "the
sloop 's come back. Hands heard 'em, and he
says they 're landing at the wharf now. He 's
been pounding on the floor with his shoe for a
deal of a while, but ye slept like ye were
Before she had ended speaking, Jack was
pulling on his shoes. He tied the thongs hur-
riedly, and then slipped on his coat and put
on his hat with one motion. He looked up
at the clock; it was half-past twelve. Then he
ran off out of the house, leaving Dred dressing
more slowly and deliberately.
The rain was still driving in fine sheets, and

there was the constant sound of running water,
and every now and then the dropping and pat-
tering of many drops from the trees as they
bowed gustily before the wind. There were
lights moving about down at the wharf, and the
creaking of block and tackle, and the calling
of voices coming out from the dark harbor be-
yond. There were lights moving about there
also, rising and falling with the heaving of the
dark waters, and reflected in long, restless
trickles of light across the tops of the waves.
Only one -sloop appeared to have come in, but
a dim, twinkling light was moving across the
mouth of the creek far beyond, showing where
the second sloop was beating up to run into
the harbor. Men were moving about the
wharf; the reflection of the lights of the lan-
terns streaked long points upon the wet boards,
and every now and then black figures passed
before them, now shutting them off for an in-
stant, and then disclosing them again. Jack
was still dazed and bewildered by the sudden
waking. Everything seemed to him to be sin-
gularly strange and unreal. What he saw took
on the aspect of night-time, and the things
that happened the day before mingled oddly
with .the things of the present. He seemed to
see the poor girl, white and pitiful, crouching
at the foot of the cypress-tree, and the remem-
brance brought a sudden, sharp pang. He
could see, when he came close, that they were
unloading bales and boxes from a boat at the
end of the wharf. He stood just within the
light, looking on a while.
"Hullo, Jack, is that you ? said a young
pirate. "Where's Dred?"
"Why, he' s coming," said Jack.
"Here he be now," said another voice, as
Dred also came into the range of light.
"Hullo, Dred! cried another of the men.
"How be ye now ?"
"Oh, I be well enough," said Dred.
"Well, I did n't know whether we 'd find ye
alive or no," said the man. "It's brought you
down till you look all knuckle-bones." And
there was a laugh.
"What fortune did ye have? said Dred.
"Well, 't was a good enough fortune of its
kind, as ye may see; but we saw naught of the
packet we went out for to look for."



Where be them things from, then?"
"Well, d' ye see, them be purchased off
another prize altogether. Four days out we
sighted a craft, and made sure 't was our prize
we was looking for. We chased her for a good
day and a half, and then, when we came up
with her, why, 't was not the packet after all,
but a bark-a great big lumbering craft. Well,
in the chase, we in the Captain's sloop had clean
outsailed t' other, and dropped it away behind;
so, there being but one on us, the villains aboard
the bark showed fight for a while, and gave
us two or three pretty bad doses of broadsides.
But we just hammered away at her and held
her back till t' other sloop with Morton aboard
came up, and then she struck to us and we went
aboard of her."
"Anybody hurt bad ?" asked Dred.
Those of the men who had come ashore, and
who were not busy unloading the boats, had
gathered about Dred and Jack. Jack listened
to what was said, still feeling the unreality of all.
Why, yes," said another one of the men, an-
swering Dred's question. "Tom Cotton was
killed, and Salter and Greenleafand Jim Powell
and Cesar and Dick Nelson was hurt. Oh, yes;
Dobbins was shot in the hand, too. Nelson 's
hurt pretty bad. He 's aboard the sloop yet."
"I tell you what 't is. That there bark -
even if we did miss the packet-is the best
purchase we 've made for many a day," said
another man. "Aye, the best we 've made
since the old days afore we quit outside work.
Green water under the keel, says I."
"Where 's the Captain ?" said Dred.
"He's aboard the sloop," said one of the men.
"Is that all you got aboard that there boat? "
called Miller, the quartermaster, who was super-
intending the unloading of the boat.
"Aye, aye! "
"Well, pull out, then, and let Haskell in with
his boat."
Jack watched the boat pull out into the dark-
ness. The other boat, loaded also with boxes
and bales and bags, was waiting just beyond in
the night. As soon.as the empty boat pulled,
away, the other took its place at the end of the
"Where did the bark hail from ? asked

"From Southampton."
"They had a lot of redemption servants
aboard," interjected another of the men.
"Was any one hurt aboard of her?"
"Why, there was only two or three of the
men wounded in the beginning, but afore we
left 'em they was hurt bad enough, I can
tell ye."
"What d' ye mean?" said Dred.
"Why," said the speaker, "the Captain was
that mad at missing the packet, and then for
having such a long stern-chase for to overhaul
the bark, and then at being peppered at and
knocked to pieces, that he hauled off a little
piece and, spite of all some on us could say,
lets fly a broadside at her out of pure wanton-
ness. We hit her pretty heavy astern. I see
the white splinters fly atwixt wind and water,
and she just shook and heeled over to the
shot. Miller he do say as he believes she sunk
"What 's that?" said Miller, hearing his
name spoken -" what 's that ?" and he came
across to where Dred and the little group stood.
"Why, I was telling Dred as how you did
believe the bark was sunk."
"Why, I know she were," said Miller. "The
Captain he were looking at her with the glass,
and he calls me up to take a peep. Well, I
looks, and as true as I 'm a living sinner I see
her coppers shining and her bowsprit pointing
upward! She was hull down then a'most, but
I could see her every now and then when she
rose to a sea. D' ye see, we struck her astern,
and when I see her through the glass she was
settling astern. How be ye now, Dred? "
"Why, I be better," said Dred, and able to
get about a bit."
"Why," said Miller, "to be sure I thought
it was all up with you, Dred, when I last seen
ye a-standing on the end of the wharf. Here,
you lubber! he called out to a negro who, in
unloading the boat, had dropped a keg. "What
be ye at there? D' ye mean to stave in that
there cask? "
"I no do it a purpose," answered the negro,
Jack stood looking on and listening silently.
Still everything seemed very strange and unreal
to him; still the things of the day before and




the things now were tangled and confused to-
gether. Another boat had come ashore through
the darkness, and among the others who scram-
bled up upon the wharf was a young fellow
who carried his arm in a sling, his coat but-
toned loosely around his shoulders. Well,
Dred," said he, "poor Tom Cotton 's got his
settlement." "Aye," said Dred, and you
yourself did n't get off any too well, Ned."
The other grinned. I might have been worse
off, and I might have been better off." Where
were you hurt, Ned ? Jack asked, arousing
himself a little more keenly. "Shot in the
shoulder," said the other briefly. There was
something about the coat buttoned loosely
around the man's shoulders that recalled viv-
idly to Jack's memory how they had found the
poor young lady at the foot of the cypress-tree
that morning, and how he had put his own
coat about her shoulders. Again he could see
in his mind her white, frightened face, and
again he felt the painful shrinking pity at his
heart. It all seemed to be of a piece with
what he was now seeing--the wet night, the
fine rain, the dim figures, the lanterns upon the
dripping wharf, the boats coming and going in
the darkness.
It was well toward morning before Black-
beard came ashore from the sloop. The rain
had ceased, and the moon, a little past full,
shone with a dim, watery light through the
fleecy vapor, now and then sailing out from
the sheets of silvery gauze into the open spaces
of misty sky. Dred had gone back to the
house, but Jack still remained at the landing
with the sailors gathered there. A mysterious
pallid light began to grow upon the darkness,
and the strange feeling of the day not yet quite
awake. The boat with the pirate Captain
aboard came rowing through the dim gray of
the dawning day. There were several of the
pirates with him-Morton the gunner, Rob-
erts the carpenter, and two others. They
came ashore in the faint light like ghosts.
Jack followed them as they went up to the
house through the long wet grass. Betty
Teach met them at the door, and they all went
into the kitchen, where a fire burned, dispelling
the chill dampness of the early day. Hath
there been any letter come yet from Virginia ?"

was the first thing the pirate Captain asked of
his wife.
"No," said she.
"What! said the pirate; "are you sure?
Nothing yet ? Why, there should have been
something two or three weeks ago."
Well, there's nothing come yet," said his wife.
Blackbeard's face lowered, and then he pushed
past her into the house. Dred was sitting on a
cricket by the fire, warming his hands. How
be you, Dred? asked Morton.
"Why, I 'm better now," said Dred, "and
able to be about a bit."
"How 's Hands getting on ? asked the
pirate Captain.
"He 's still abed," said Dred; "but he 's a
deal better than he was. And so ye had a hot
fight this time, had ye ?"
"Aye," answered Morton, "'t was a hot
fight while it lasted as ever I saw. The vil-
lains dosed the small sloop well afore we could
haul up to 'em. The Captain got three atwixt
wind and water, and the sloop was a-leaking
that bad that we had to beach her down at
the Inlet to let Roberts get a chance to patch
her up."
Blackbeard sat at the table in sullen silence,
taking no part in the discussion, and not even
seeming to hear it. He was filling his pipe,
and as he finished he lighted it at the candle.
The room was already becoming blue with
tobacco-smoke. Betty Teach, bustling about,
had brought half of a ham and a lot of cold
corn-bread, which she put on the table. Then
she set a pewter plate and a knife and fork
before each man. Blackbeard cut himself a
slice of ham and helped himself to a piece
of bread, and the others did likewise with-
out waiting to be asked.
"How 's the young Mistress? asked the
pirate Captain, with his mouth full.
"Why, I don't see as she 's much better,"
said his wife.
"She ain't any worse, is she ?"
"Well, I don't know as she is; but she ain't
any better, and that's the truth. She's mightily
weak and sickly-like. Sometimes she does n't
eat nothing at all to speak of."
"How much of a purchase did you make ?"
asked Dred.



Blackbeard did not reply. "Oh, I don't
know," said Morton, "nor won't till we get the
governor to condemn it, d' ye see? But I
reckon 't is a right smart trifle. There was five
casks of fine old Madeira that ought to be worth
a pretty penny, and then there was three bundles
of laces."
"What craft was it ?"
"'T was the 'Duchess Mary' bark of South-
Blackbeard leaned back in his chair, stretch-
ing himself. He yawned cavernously. "Well,
I 'm going to turn in," said he; "I 'm mortal
tired." Then he pushed back his chair noisily.
He arose without another word, and went out
of the room and up-stairs.
The others sat for a while longer talk-
ing. "Come, messmates," said Morton, at last,
"we 've got to look after the landing of the
rest of them goods yet." Then they too pushed
back their chairs, and arose and went out of
the house into the now wide, gray light of the
growing day.
The clock on the mantel struck six. Jack
got up and stretched himself; then he kicked
the log in the fireplace into a livelier blaze;
then he went to the door and stood looking
out into the daylight.

DURING the morning Mr. Knight and another
man who was a stranger to Jack came down
from the town.
Everything had been brought ashore from
the sloop, and stored in the frame ware-
house adjoining the pirate's dwelling. The
crew of the two sloops had not yet all gone
home. Two of the rowboats lay alongside the
larger sloop, from which they were unloading
some kegs-perhaps of gunpowder. The only
one of the pirates who yet remained about the
wharf was the young pirate who had been
wounded, and whom Jack had seen the night
before carrying his arm in a sling. He had
gone back to the sloop, had had his wound
dressed, and had now come ashore again.
Betty Teach had given him some breakfast-a
cold roast sweet potato, some corn-bread, and
a thick slice of ham.

"Did it hurt you when you were shot?"
asked Jack.
"Hurt!" said the pirate. "I don't know;
no, not much just at first. 'T was as if some-
body had struck me in the shoulder with a club.
It just knocked me around as if I 'd been hit
with a club. 'T was a nigh chance, and if it
had been a little nigher 't would have been all
up with Ned Stephens.
"Well," continued the young pirate, "'t was
summat to stir the blood, I can tell ye. There
we lay for maybe twenty minutes or more afore
t' other sloop could come up with us, and all
the time that there bark a-banging away at us,
and the bullets a-going ping! ping! and chug!
chug! and every now and then boom! goes a
gun boom! boom! and maybe a bucket-
ful of splinters goes flying. And just then
bump and around I goes, shot in the shoulder.
'T were n't no fun, now, I tell ye."
A boat was coming down from the town.
Two men sat in the stern, and, as it came
nearer and nearer, Jack distinguished one of
them as Mr. Knight. He went out to the end
of the wharf as the boat came up under it. The
men who were rowing were strangers to Jack.
They lay resting on their oars, looking up at
"Hullo, young man!" called Mr. Knight to
Jack, who, upori his side, stood looking down
into the boat. Is Captain Teach at home ? "
"Why, yes, he is," said Jack; "but he 's not
about yet."
Mr. Knight spoke to the men in the boat,
who drew it up to the landing and held it there
while he climbed up the slippery ladder to the
wharf above, the other following immediately
after. "Come along, Hotchkiss," said Mr.
Knight to the stranger. Jack followed them
as they walked away, and the wounded young
pirate, munching at his food, stood looking
stolidly after them as they passed along the
Mr. Knight led the way in at the kitchen
door, entering the house without knocking.
Dred sat on the bench, his elbows on his
knees. He looked up at the visitors, but with-
out moving or saying anything. Betty Teach
had not put away the remains of the breakfast,
and the room looked cluttered and confused.


If you '11 come in t' other room," said Jack,
"you '11 likely find it in better trim than this
"Never mind," said Mr. Knight; "we'd just
as lief stay here. What time did the sloops
get in?" he asked of Dred.
"I don't know exactly," said Dred, without
taking his pipe out of his mouth; "'t was some
time arter midnight."
"Is the Captain asleep yet ?"
"I reckon he be," said Dred. "I ha' n't seen
him since he went to bed early this morn-
"Well, he '11 have to be wakened then," said
Mr. Knight; "for I 've just fetched Captain
Hotchkiss, here, down from the town to see
hini, and he has to be going again as soon as,
may be."
"Why, then, Jack," said Dred, "you 'd
better slip up-stairs and wake him."
Jack stood hesitating. I don't know," said
he; "'t is like enough he won't like to be dis-
turbed just now. Do you remember he was
mortal tired when he came home last night,
and in a bad humor into the bargain? 'T is
like enough he has n't had his sleep out
Never you mind," said Mr. Knight; "I '11
take all that on myself. You go and tell him
that I and Captain Hotchkiss are here."
Jack went up-stairs, still reluctantly. He
knocked upon the door of the room, and then
repeated the tapping before he got an answer.
"Who 's there ?" he heard the pirate's husky
voice calling, and then he heard the sound of
stirring within. Just then Betty Teach came
out of Miss Eleanor Parker's room.
What is it, Jack ? said she. What d' ye
want ?"
"Why," said Jack, "Mr. Knight 's down-
stairs, and he bade me come and tell the Captain
that he and Captain Hotchkiss are. waiting to
see him."
"Who is it ?" called Blackbeard again from
the bed. "What d' ye want ? "
Why," said his wife, half opening the door
and looking in, 't is Mr. Knight and Captain

Jack Hotchkiss. They 're down-stairs waiting
to see you."
"Very well," said Blackbeard. "Go down
and tell 'em that I '11 be down by and by."
When Jack followed the pirate's wife down-
stairs, he found Mr. Knight standing looking
out of the window and Captain Hotchkiss talk-
ing to Dred. "Well," Captain Hotchkiss was
saying, "'t was indeed pretty ill luck for you
to be laid up just at this here time."
"Aye," said Dred, "but what was I to do ?
I could n't go out on a cruise with the fever
like that on me."
Mr. Knight turned around as the two en-
tered. "Well," said he, "is he coming?"
"Yes," said Jack; "he says he '11 be down
by and by."
There was the sound of stirring up-stairs in the
Captain's room. They could hear him stamp-
ing his feet into his shoes. Then they heard
the door of the room open and the pirate Cap-
tain come stumping down the stairs. He was
still in his sullen, lowering humor-his eyes
bleared with broken sleep.
"Good morrow, Captain," said Mr. Knight.
"They do say that you 've brought five casks
of Madeira ashore. Well, if that be true, me-
thinks I can help you to rid yourself of them at
a fair price. Hotchkiss here is on his way to
Philadelphia, and will take them there to Mr.
West, who '11 handle them as my agent, if you
choose to have it so. I dare say he '11 get the
best there is out of it for you."
Blackbeard sat listening sullenly.
"Where is the wine?" said Captain Hotch-
"In the storehouse, like enough," said Black-
beard, shortly. "I '11 take you over to look
at it if you choose to come." His lowering
mood still brooded heavily upon him. He
arose, took down his hat gloomily, and, with-
out saying anything further, stalked out of the
house, leaving his two visitors to follow him as
they chose.
"I 've a great mind," said Jack to himself,
"to ask Captain Hotchkissif he won't take me
away with him." But he did not do so.

(To be continued.)


VOL. XXII.-30o. 233



-HE evening
Sgn.m had just
L. en fired at
SFort Crook.
T he Stars and
Stripes flut-
t,1 red for a mo-
ment at the top
: the tall flag-
staff, and then
SIN- toward the
"h r' w' .h aground.
In the sharp
December air
one could hear
the rapid roll-calls of the first sergeants, their
soldierly reports, and then the hurrying of a
half-score of uniforms toward the center of
the officers' line, where the adjutant stood
waiting to receive the reports of the different
Among the last to approach him were two
young officers clad in the uniform of the Twenty-
sixth Infantry, evidently engaged in discussing
what to them was a very weighty problem.
The taller of the two could be heard saying:
"For the life of me, Jack, I don't see what
we are going to do for a cook on this trip.
Old Murphy was absent again without leave,
this week, and I simply could n't pass it over,
so had to slap him in the guard-house. He is
the only man that I know of now who would
be willing to go in such a position. I 'm afraid
we '11 have to give it up, for I don't want to
compel any man to go along as cook."
Before the other could reply, they had ar-
rived at the regulation five paces from the adju-
tant, and one after the other raised his hand in
salute and reported.
Then, turning up the walk to the "Bachelors'
Quarters," the other officer replied:

"Why don't you try to get Tim Sheridan?
I know he 's young, but Cuthbert said he did
very well for them on their trip last fall, when
Dreyer got sick with the mountain fever. He
would be glad to get a chance to earn a dollar
or two, especially so near Christmas."
I don't like to take a youngster like that,
but I guess it 's our only show," the former an-
swered gloomily.
"I '11 tell you," said the other, "I '11 go
down to the laundress's quarters to-night and
see Mrs. Sheridan. If she says for Tim to go,
we 're 0. K.'"
The officers speaking were Lieutenants Row-
ell and Haines, both young subalterns who
had been away from the leading-strings of the
"Point" only a few years. They had planned a
hunting trip up the Missouri after ducks and
geese; but the fall had been so open that it had
been postponed from time to time until the
middle of December, when the first cold snap
had begun to send the brant and ducks hurry-
ing southward.
Just as the last strains of reveille were dying
away, two mornings later, a pair of army
wagons could have been seen pulling out of
the old fort for a trip across the Nebraska prai-
ries. Tim drove the first, that conveyed the
two officers, their guns, dogs, and ammuni-
tion; while a heavier one followed containing
a couple of soldiers, together with the tentage,
provisions, and other necessaries for the trip.
Tim was a character well known about the
garrison. His freckled face looked bright and
cheery under, the mass of red curly hair that
hung over it. He was not large for a boy of
fifteen, yet was tough and wiry, like a bundle of
steel rods, as many a larger boy on Laundress
Row had learned to his sorrow. His greatest
ambition was to be a sargint in the rigiment,"
as his father had been before him. And as for
that father, Tim fairly worshiped his memory.


He had been a veteran of the Rebellion; had
gone through the Bannock war, the Nez Perc6
campaign, was on the Rosebud in '76-in short,
he was one of those standbys that are fast dis-
appearing from the army. He had almost fin-
ished his thirty years' service when the order
came in the winter of '90 for the regiment
once more to take the field against the hostile
Tim's father went through the campaign
only to fall a victim to pneumonia, caused by
a forced march one February night just before
the troops were ordered home.
Tim never forgot the scene when his father
was buried: how the officers of the regiment,
from the gray-haired colonel down to the last
beardless youngster from the Point, had stood
with bared heads as the body was lowered into
the grave, and how tears started in the eyes of
more than one veteran as the bugler stood be-
side the grave and sounded the last "taps" for
the dead soldier.
He still looked with awe at the two medals
for bravery that his father had won during
Indian troubles- one for carrying despatches
through a country filled with hostiless," and
the other for rescuing his captain, now the
gray-haired colonel, when attacked by Apaches
years ago in old Mexico.
. By the kindness of the colonel, Tim's mother,
Bridget, still held her quarters as laundress, and
thus, with her small pension, eked out an ex-
istence. As for Tim, he ran errands for the
officers, and worked at odd jobs about the gani-
son. He was eagerly looking forward to the
coming spring, when he should be sixteen; for
had not the adjutant promised Tim, the day
before, that if his mother was willing the adju-
tant would enlist him then as a bugler in K"
company ?
Just think!--in old "K" company, where his
father had been the ranking sergeant for the
last fifteen years. No wonder he was pleased
and happy that morning; he had thought about
little else all night long, and had secretly been
forming plans to get an old bugle in his pos-
session the moment he got back, so that he
could practise up all the calls and go for duty
as soon as he donned his uniform.
He knew all the calls now, but, to prove it

to himself, he began to whistle them one after
another, from adjutant's call" to taps."

The ten days passed very pleasantly for all.
Even Tim had lots of fun, after the cooking was
over, hunting squirrels in the timber near the
camp, and getting an occasional shot at some
too inquisitive coyote.
After the dinner was cleared away at night,
his greatest pleasure came in sitting about the
camp-fire and listening for hours to the yarns
that two old soldiers told of their campaigning
days when the regiment was in Arizona.
But he could have jumped out of his boots
for joy the last morning, when Lieutenant
Rowell told one of the soldiers to remain in
camp, and asked Tim if he did n't want to go
to the lower blind for a morning's shooting.
Before the sun had begun to streak the
eastern sky with red, Tim had the little skiff
out, and was rapidly rowing to the long sand-
bar below the camp, on which the lower blind
was stationed. Hauling the boat up in a small
inlet, the two went across the bar, set out their
decoys, and waited for the first streaks of dawn.
They could hear the swish, swish, swish of
wings over them, but it was too dark to shoot.
Tim fairly trembled with excitement, for it
was his first chance after ducks with a real
breechloader in his hands. In a few minutes
the sky began to get lighter, and they could see
the long line of ducks hastening southward.
Then the day's shooting began, and duck after
duck stopped its southern flight, to reappear
a few days later on the mess-table of some
When the morning flight was about over,
and they were making ready to leave the blind,
Lieutenant Rowell suddenly called out, Drop
down! As Tim obeyed, he glanced north-
ward, and saw coming straight for the blind
a single large Canada goose. Straight on he
came, till the flash of the first shot sent him
swinging to the left; but only for a moment,
for at the next shot he dropped like a stone
into the little inlet near the blind.
As they had no retrievers along, Lieutenant
Rowell, with his high waders, started to go
across the shallow water for the bird, while Tim
loaded in the ducks and got the boat ready.


Just as the latter was putting in the first lot,
he heard a tremendous splashing back of him.
Looking about, he saw that the officer had
come upon a piece of quicksand, half-way
across. But, before Tim could do anything,
the other, by a lucky lurch, had freed himself
and scrambled on to the firmer bottom.
There lay the goose floating only a few feet
from the other shore, but drifting out into the
river little by little. So tempting did it look,
and so close to the other bank, that the lieu-
tenant started around by land to the other side
of the inlet, and cautiously began to wade anew.
Just as he was stooping to grasp his prize, his
feet seemed to slip from under him, and down he
went in mud and water up to his shoulders, with
the treacherous sands of the Missouri tighten-
ing their terrible grasp about his feet and legs.
Tim understood it all in a moment, dropped
his birds, and ran for his boat on the other side
of the bar. It was only an instant until he had
severed the long rope at the end, grabbed an
oar, and was speeding back. Passing the blind,
he added the largest branches of it to his load,
and again was racing around to the bank near-
est the sinking officer.
The latter had not uttered a word, but with
the strength of despair was making frantic
efforts to free himself from the death-like grasp
of the sand, only to sink deeper and deeper
with each fresh exertion. Once, to his horror,
Tim saw him almost disappear beneath the sur-
face of the water, but it was only for a moment.
Tim tossed him the branches and called to him
to tread them under his feet, and to throw his
gun on shore. The latter tried to comply, but
only a lucky grab of Tim's saved the gun from
slipping into the river. Then, throwing one end
of the rope to the sinking man, Tim wrapped
the other about himself, and began to pull; he
pulled and strained, but the rope did not give
an inch. The camp was three quarters of a
mile distant; the soldiers there could not hear
him, or if they could, it would be impossible for
them to get across in time to do any good.
Lieutenant Rowell, he could see, was fast
losing strength, for his struggles were much
weaker. Tim looked round him in despair.
Suddenly he called out:
Lootinant, would ye unbutton those waders,

and let the straps down aff yer shoulders, and
then pass that rope under yer arm-pits and
should on?"
Tim unwound the rope from himself, ran
back a few paces to an old stump half buried in
the sand, picked up the oar he had brought with
him, fastened the rope to the middle, and then,
using it as a lever, began to push with all his
At first, not a budge; then, as he made one
final effort, he felt the rope coming, and a mo-
ment later Lieutenant Rowell lay gasping on
the bank, but minus those waders," for Tim
had literally pulled him out of his boots.
The officer was so weak after his struggle
that he needed Tim 's help to rise and make
the first few steps toward the boat.
There lay the old goose, still floating tempt-
ingly just out of reach. Tim wanted permission
to take off his things and swim out to it, but
the officer would n't hear of such a thing; he
was shivering himself from the effects of his
ice-cold bath, and would n't let any one else
repeat so dangerous an experiment.
A cold north wind was blowing down the
river, so Tim hastened to get the boat out and
row to the camp. It was a hard tussle, and
even then they struck the Nebraska shore a
good distance below the camp, so that the offi-
cer had to walk up the water's edge several
hundred yards in his stocking-feet to reach the
landing where he could get up the high bank.
Tim begged for permission to go back in the
boat and pick up the goose, saying it would be
an easy matter, with only one in the boat, to
row around the back of the sand-bar and pick
up the old bird as it floated out.
Too cold and weak from his involuntary bath
to protest long, Lieutenant Rowell gave his
reluctant consent, and back Tim went. The
inlet was easily reached with the current and
wind to help him, and the first thing that
greeted Tim's eyes when he turned round was
that old gray goose, that had so nearly cost a
life, washed up on the barik where a five-year-
old boy could get it!
So interested had Tim been in getting to the
goose that he had n't noticed the storm sweep-
ing down from the north. How to get back
was a problem; the white caps on the river



told him the impossibility of returning as he
had come; and the only other way open was
to tow the boat up the shallow water on the
Iowa side till he got above the camp.
A long hour of hard work passed before Tim
had his precious boat-load far enough up to

make it safe to cross.
The storm had been
increasing every mo-
ment; the shrieking of
the wind, together with
the roar of the falling
earth as the river ate
away the banks, would
have terrified many an
older heart than Tim's.
But he came of a race
of soldiers, so with a
brave heart he launched
his boat, and, putting
forth all his boyish
muscle, made it fairly
leap through the water.
He had succeeded
in getting nearly three
quarters, of the way
across, when crash!
the boat suddenlyheeled
over, a gust of wind
struck it, arid, before
Tim could act, it was
half full of water, and
going down stream as
fast as wind and current
could take it. He had
struck one of those
treacherous snags that
lie concealed below the
surface of the "Big
Muddy," but fortunately
had struck it a glancing
and not a direct blow.

made the shore about a quarter of a mile below
the landing.
There was the bank ten feet above him; it
looked fifty to his tired eyes. Any moment
the mass of earth might overwhelm him. All
day long he had heard the booming and roar


TI P-. -&- -H L E OUT OF. TH
," ..- -
b', :, ,:- ..* 1 .. '- .-. .. ? "


.. .- .-.;"s ..-
-TI. PU L I E O. T Q .
,.. ...


That ruined Tim's chances. He bailed fran-
tically with his old campaign cap, until he saw
the landing slip by him, as the boat swept
swiftly down the stream. Then he grabbed
the oars, determined to get" the water-laden
boat to the shore as quickly as possible, since
every fresh wave added its quota to -the water
within. It was a hard struggle, but he at last

of tons of sand and gravel, as they struck the
water and disappeared in the ever-hungry maw
of the river.
To go back was useless; he must go forward;
but on what? Not by the river, for that was
impossible. A narrow ledge of hard sand at
the river's edge, and that several inches under
water, was his only pathway.




It was perilous work treading on that slight
foothold, six to ten inches wide at its best.
To pull the boat after him in the teeth of the
storm was an additional burden that few would
have undertaken. Several times his stout little
heart sank as he heard the rush of earth just back
of him, and the angry roar of the waters as the
spray dashed up to tell where the bank had been.
If only he would let the boat go, he could
get on so much faster. But no; that meant
losing the gun, the boat, and the birds that
had been intrusted to him. He had never yet
been false to a trust, and his boyish sense of
duty would not let him begin now. He
would n't and could n't give up.
At length' an old wire fence hanging over
the bank told him of his nearness to camp.
Making the boat fast to the wire, he concluded
to try the gun; but, in his excitement, both bar-
rels went off together, and the result knocked
him flat in the mud of the bank.
A moment after, Tim heard a voice above
him shouting:
Well, an' is that yez, ye little rascal ? Sure,
and the lootinant 's bin havin' the hull camp
huntin' for yez this last hour, and sorra a bit
could we see of ye, till ye nearly blowed the
top av me head off with that load of shot!"
Before Tim could find breath to say any-
thing, old Dolan added:
Now be after passing' that gun and rope up
before ye do any more shooting. "
A few minutes later a very bedraggled but
proud boy marched into camp with that big,
lone goose hanging from the gun's barrel.

On Christmas Eve, when Tim was telling his
mother for the forty-first time how he got that
same goose, there came a knock at the door of
the laundress's quarters; then the grinning black
face of the mess-servant was seen, as they
"Lieutenant Rowell's compliments to Mrs.
Sheridan, with this hyar basket."
The children pounced on the latter in an
instant, and there on top lay the goose-that
same old Canada honker.
How the eyes of the youngsters glistened as
they thought of the Christmas dinner on the

morrow!-for there beneath the fowl lay cran-
berries, celery, apples, nuts, raisins, and candy
without end.
Tim disdained the rest of the basket, but
kept fondly stroking that old goose. Sud-
denly he uttered a yell that made his good
mother drop the basket and exclaim:
"Land o' mercy, what 's got into the
boy!" for Tim was dancing a wild war-dance,
and frantically waving something before his
mother's eyes.
All at once he stopped, and, making a deep
bow, said:
"I 've heard of killing' the goose that laid
the goold eggs; but this is the first wan, Mither



darlin', that iver I saw kilt with a goold eagle
in his craw!"
With that, he placed in his old mother's
hands the bright twenty-dollar coin, and
"It 's a new gown -you '11 be havin' the
winter, Mither dear."





OME years ago, a famous hunter,
traveling through India in
search of amusement and in-
formation, was met by a depu-
tation of natives from a small
village, who asked his pro-
tection from an elephant that
had taken up its residence near their town.
Not only had the great animal again and again
destroyed their crops, but it had killed several

men. Altogether, the elephant was the terror
of the large and formerly prosperous community.
The hunter assured the natives that he would
try to destroy their enemy, and he at once
made his preparations.
The stranger was an experienced elephant-
hunter, having followed the great beasts wher-
ever found, in Africa, Ceylon, and India. He
knew at once that this troublesome fellow was
what is known as a "rogue,"- a term given to


elephants that are vicious, not simply roguish -
brutes that try to destroy everything, especially
the property and lives of men.
First, he must learn, if possible, the ways
and habits of this especial rogue, and, with that
object in view, he consulted the head men and
hunters of several villages.
One man stated that the rogue was possessed
of an evil spirit; that on one day it would visit
one locality, and on the next day be heard of
many miles away. As to its actions, the man
said, it suddenly came from a dense jungle near
his native town and dashed through the streets
at midday, tearing houses to pieces, throwing
them into the air, and utterly wrecking the
neighborhood. It also killed many people,
after which it was seen quietly feeding in the
gardens near the town.
Another native told a similar story. This time
the rogue appeared at night, broke down fences,


and destroyed the crops. When fired upon, it
rushed into a small village, doing much damage
and driving the inhabitants to the woods.
Still another man reported that for weeks a
public road between two villages had been de-
serted by every one, because the rogue had
taken possession. The man added that at the
time of the hunter's coming, the elephant was
destroying the rice-fields about the town, the
people being powerless to prevent him.
This evidence was sufficient to show that
the elephant was a sly and vicious rogue and
must be approached with caution.
Ten or fifteen elephants that could be relied
upon were engaged, and also a force of expe-
rienced beaters and drivers. Early one morning
the party set out for the capture of the rogue-
then supposed to be about thirty miles away.
Their march led them across country, and,
on their way they saw how easily elephants
can overcome
difficulties of
all kinds. Who
would suppose
for a moment that
so huge and un-
gainly an animal
would be entirely
at home in the
Water? Yet few
animals are more
so. Upon the first
day of the march
all the elephants
were obliged to
swim a deep river,
-- and they plunged
in with every
evidence of satis-
faction. While
swimming, their
huge bodies were
entirely covered;
the tips of the
trunks alone,
through which
the big animals
breathed, occa-
sionally appeared
RIVER. above the water.



I L-1

*;. < ,
S" but % ith
S' ', hafi ts iti %a, a dii
Sn' e [ ntt r. An old
S '-./. : tru tvrhv animal, be
S/* :'. selected as leader, c:autiol
i-- .. '.' ,/';''' stepped oi: er the ide and o:n to
S ''.., ; /* incline. Here it doubled back its hindl
,'stretched its fore let s straight out. :ind rap
dl' / / / -1, ... 1 rrn.rl ith fnr thnoe

7/ They
would now
and then raise
E'LrHAN T.. their eyes also
ELEPHANT TOBOGGANS. above the surface.
As each elephant carried at least a mahout,
or driver, and sometimes several passengers,
looked at from a distance the appearance of
the line was remarkable. The men seemed
to be walking through the water, though in
reality they stood upright upon the elephants'
backs, steadying themselves by ropes attached
to the neck or tusks.
The elephants proved themselves equally
proficient in sliding down-hill, changing them-
selves into animated toboggans. The road finally
brought the hunters to a cliff so steep that few
horsemen would have cared to risk their horses
VoL. XXII.-31.


s ownl ma ,ng gf E for those t
followed; all the rest adopted the same tactics,
and safely reached the plain below.
Plunging into the forest again, the party
pushed on, finally reaching the neighborhood
in which the rogue was supposed to be hiding.
The hunter found that the villagers had told
no more than the truth. The people were in
a state of terror, not knowing at what moment
the huge animal might rush out upon them.
The night before, it had been seen feeding in
the rice-fields, and probably it was then not
far away. After seeing his men and elephants
established in camp, the hunter went with the
head man of the village to look over the
The head man was greatly excited, and told
some marvelous stories about the elephant and
its doings. He showed the new-comers a



field where the fences had been razed to the
ground and trampled to pieces, and the crops
eaten or destroyed. The rogue had been there
the previous night, and as it would return
again to continue its feast upon what was left,
the sportsman decided to await it there. In
the center of a patch of grain was a frame-
work platform or scaffolding, built by the na-
tives, to serve the purpose of an. American
scarecrow. It was large enough for a few
natives to stand upon. They frightened away
birds or beasts by beating tomtoms and making
other loud noises.
The hunter informed the native that he would
station himself on the scaffolding that evening,
and shoot the rogue when it came to finish its
meal. The head man shook his head, and re-
plied that it was a place of great danger; but
the sportsman insisted, and night found him
lying upon the scaffolding with several gun-
bearers, while others were hidden about the
The rogue usually appeared at about nine
o'clock; but that hour passed, and midnight
came without signs of it. As the hours passed
on, the watchers began to think that possibly
the animal had made one of its sudden marches
and was now far away.
Suddenly a snort was heard, and the next
moment a big form could be made out standing
among the vegetation. Jt was the elephant.
It had approached so quietly that no one had
heard it. The sportsman leveled his heavy rifle,
and, when he saw a good opportunity, fired.
The answer was a snort, seemingly of defiance,
while the animal charged in the direction from
which the flash appeared. Finding only the
scaffolding, the rogue seized it, and with a
single wrench hurled it to the ground. Fortu-
nately, the men were thrown several yards away,
and, falling among the vegetation, were not in-
jured. While they made their way to cover,
the rogue rushed off into the woods. That it
was wounded they discovered the following day,
and on a second occasion the animal was killed
by the intrepid hunter, who might easily have
lost his life at the time the scaffolding was
pulled down.
Elephant-shooting for sport is becoming a
thing of the past in India, the only animals now

hunted for pleasure being these rogues-animals
that are dangerous to the community. The
complete history of rogue elephants would make
an interesting chapter. They seem to have de-
cided to avenge man's wrongs against their
kind. Some years ago one rogue actually took
possession of a stretch of country in India forty
miles wide by one hundred long, and in a busi-
nesslike way proceeded to demolish everything
in or about it. The animal rushed into the
villages, took huts upon its tusks and tore them
apart, or tossed them until they fell in splin-
ters. It chased the people away, or killed
them whenever it could, or, standing by the
wrecked houses, it ate the grains and stores.
This elephant seemed remarkably intelligent.
It entertained, in particular, a grudge against
the watch-towers or scaffolds. Whenever this
rogue saw one, he would creep slyly, spring at
it, push it to the ground, and kill its occupants.
A famous rogue elephant named "Mandla"
was owned by a rich man near Jubbulpore in
central India. Suddenly it began to develop
the characteristics of a "rogue," and attacked
human beings wherever seen. It killed them
so cruelly that it became widely known as
"the man-eater." He was finally destroyed by
an organized effort of English army officers.
An elephant known in India as the KAkan-
kot6" rogue, took possession of a tract about
eight miles long, in a region of that name,
and for months devastated the fields and defied
the natives. It terrified the people so that a
stretch of road between Mysore and Wynaad
was deserted and given over to this elephantine
highwayman; for a highwayman it was, ready
to pounce upon every one who passed that way.
The native authorities for a long time stationed
a guard at the entrance of the district to warn
all travelers; and finally the people applied to
the government for aid. After being hunted
for five months, this rogue was shot.
Another famous rogue took possession of a
public road and attacked every passer-by. Sud-
denly darting from the jungle, it would rush
up to an ox-cart, seize the driver with its
trunk, and disappear. Repeated raids of this
kind so terrified the people that a large tract
of land was to all intents and purposes deserted;
but finally an English hunter determined to rid



the country of the rogue. By careful inquiry
he found that the elephant always seized the
driver, and if there were two carts in.company,
it chose the driver of the last. So he arranged
two ox-carts, putting a dummy driver upon the
second, while upon the first was a stout bam-
boo cage in which the hunter was to sit rifle in
hand. When all was ready the two ox-carts

native who passed that way, closing the road-
way as completely as if a regiment of soldiers
had been placed there with orders to slay all
human beings who tried to go through the
pass. One of the last acts of the elephant was
to charge upon the cavalcade of a native trader
who had never heard of the rogue. The trader
succeeded in escaping, but his attendant coolie

.1 ~
r ~"
) A
-',~ s.-.'-


started, one day, followed by the hopes and
best wishes of the community. The fatal dis-
trict was soon reached, and, about half-way
down the road, there came a crash! and the
monstrous elephant, dark and ugly, dashed upon
the party. Making directly for the last cart, with
a vicious swing of its trunk it seized on the
dummy man and made off, receiving as it went
a shot from the cage. But the oxen, alarmed by
the uproar, ran away, leaving the road, and tak-
ing to the open country. They tipped the cart
over, nearly killing the caged driver and the Eng-
lish sportsman. What the elephant thought
when it tore the dummy into shreds must be
imagined. Some months later, however, this
rogue was driven away and caught.
In 1847 the Rangbodde Pass, that led to the
famed health resort of Neuera-Ellia, Ceylon,was
captured by a rogue elephant. It seized every

was seized and dashed to the ground; after
which the rogue turned its attention to the
stock of goods, coolly inspecting and destroy-
ing them one after another. After slaying a
number of natives, this rogue was killed by an
English sportsman.
An acquaintance of Sir Emerson Tennent, a
Singhalese gentleman, had a narrow escape from
a rogue that had earned a very unsavory repu-
tation in its neighborhood. The elephant sud-
denly rushed upon the party from behind a
small hill. First it caught an attendant in its
trunk, and hurled him to the ground; then it
seized the Singhalese, throwing him upward
with such force that he landed in the high
branches of a tree, safe and sound, excepting
for a dislocated wrist.
There are several explanations of the rogue
elephant's fury, and without doubt one cause



is a desire to revenge some ill treatment. This
is well shown in the case of.a certain Singhalese
elephant. Its keeper prodded it very cruelly
in the head. The elephant lost patience, and,
reaching up, dragged him from its back, and
hurled him to the ground. Fortunately the
driver fell into a hole or depression where the
elephant did not see him. The elephant, hith-
erto peaceful, immediately became a revengeful
rogue, and started out upon what proved a tour
of destruction. It ran through a neighboring
village, and broke into a house, destroying the
owner. Several hours later it wrecked houses
in other villages and killed natives in four or
five towns. The houses or huts were crushed
and ripped, evidently in the search for human
victims, though this rogue did not confine itself
to men alone, but attacked horses and cattle.
Finally the elephant tried to enter the palace
of the Dehra Rajah, and, upon being driven off,
returned to the house of its original owner at
Bebipur. This house it tried to demolish in
order to catch the persons concealed there.
The savage creature was finally captured by
a body of men with tame elephants.
An old copy of the Colombo Observer con-
tains this advertisement:
ROGUE ELEPHANT-A reward of twenty-five guineas
will be paid for the destruction of the rogue elephant on
the Rajawall6 plantation.
The elephant here referred to had taken up its

residence on this coffee plantation, and had so
terrified the people that all work was sus-
pended. Its operations and misdeeds were al-
ways conducted at night, at which time it
would mysteriously appear and devote its at-
tention to destroying buildings, uprooting trees,
and demolishing the work of the men. The
waterworks, pipes, and other objects on the
plantation seemed especially to irritate the ani-
mal, and they were torn up or stamped upon
and ruined. The rogue was finally conquered
by a party organized for the purpose.
Rogues are sometimes simply mischievous.
A party of surveyors in India found that the
wooden pegs which they set out, were pulled
up with much regularity by an elephant. The
same joker stole a surveyor's chain, and seemed
to delight in shaking it about to hear it jingle.
An elephant in a circus or menagerie some-
times becomes a rogue, and during the past ten
years a number of such instances have occurred.
Ferocious as the rogue elephant appears to
be, its record as a man-killer is far below that of
other animals in India. Thus in India, in 1875,
the tigers killed 828 persons and 12,423 do-
mestic animals; wolves killed 1o6i persons;
leopards 187 persons and 16,157 domestic ani-
mals; while the elephant is charged with but
61 persons killed and 6 domestic animals.
Rogue tigers, wolves, and leopards are far
.more to be dreaded than rogue elephants.


A CHERRY-COLORED purse, not much the worse
for wear, had been given to little Kitty Norton,
on her eighth birthday, by her grandmama.
Wrapped in soft tissue-paper, this great treasure
of Kitty's usually lay in a snug corner of ler
own particular drawer; but the day before
Christmas of last year, the cherry-colored purse
was not in its place. Little Kitty herself was
seated, Turkish fashion, coiled up on the floor
of her bedroom, and before her lay the purse.
Kitty had come in from school in a prodigious
hurry, with a bright, eager, busy little face; and
throwing sack on one chair, hood on another,
she made a dash at the old bureau. Yes, Kitty's
bureau was old, and so were the two chairs,
and the bedstead, and the funny-looking three-
cornered washstand. There was no carpet in
Kitty's bedroom-the floor was painted; so
you see this was not at all a fashionable house.
But not a bit did Kitty mind that; her father
was a wise and good country clergyman, but
very poor.
For half a minute Kitty sat on the painted
floor perfectly quiet, lost indeed in a very pro-
found calculation. "Let me see," she said to
herself; "I must first count over all the presents
I have got to make. I must n't forget anybody !
There's Grandma, and Papa and Mama-that's
three; and sister Bessie, and Mary; then there
are the boys, Tom and Willie, and the baby-
that will be eight presents. Then Biddy must
have a present too -of course she must! And
I must have a real beautiful present for Aunt
Lou; and I must have something for Cousin
Kate too. Yes, that is it-eleven presents in
all. Now let me see about the money!"
Kitty took up the cherry-colored purse, and

gave it an admiring look. One of the steel
rings was pushed back, and a piece of money
drawn out. It was a nickel cent. Kitty laid
it on the floor. "That is the penny Mama gave
me for taking care of the baby when Biddy was
out." The little fat fingers went back into the
purse again. A larger piece of money came
out this time. "Two cents! Yes, Tom gave me
those two cents on my birthday. Boys never
do make the right kind of presents. But then
they are only boys!"
The two cents were laid on the floor, and
there was another dive into the treasury. An-
other cent came to light, not so bright and
fresh as the first. It was laid by its compan-
ions on the floor. "Yes, that is all right.
Four cents. ThAt is all on this side. But there 's
silver in the other end of the purse!" exclaimed
Kitty, with a very important tone.
The steel rings were moved, and the little
fingers went into the silver end of the purse.
A piece of silver was brought to light and laid
on the floor. "Yes; that is the three-cent piece
Auntie gave me for picking strawberries one
afternoon. But there is more silver yet."
Quite true; another tiny silver coin came to
light. "This is the three-cent piece Papa gave
me at the fair. I told him I 'd rather have the
money than the slice of cake. I had had one
slice of cake; and I did want the money so
bad for the little orphan children! I do love
the orphans so! But, dear me! I am afraid I
can't possibly spare even a single cent for the
poor children now. I 've ever so many
presents to buy-just eleven presents. And let
me see-just ten cents on the floor, and I am
sure there is one more penny in the purse.


Here it is! Eleven cents in all, and eleven
presents. I 'm afraid I shall have to spend it
all on presents!"
Twisting up her little mouth and wrinkling
her little nose, Kitty sat fully half a minute
lost in deep and silent thought, looking at
the pennies on the floor.. The Secretary of the
Treasury when studying the finances of the na-
tion could hardly look more solemn. To pay
the national debt is indeed a tremendous effort;
but to purchase eleven Christmas presents with
eleven cents is no trifle either, especially if one
wishes to help the orphans too.
"Yes, it will all have to go for the presents.
I can't spare one cent for anything else. I am
sorry about the orphans; but at Christmas it
would be downright cruel not to give every-
body a present. Dear Baby won't care much,
but he shall have his own little present too.
And they are all to be surprises! If it was n't
for that, I would talk to Grandma or to sister
Mary about it. But nobody is to know any-
thing about my presents. Tom says he peeped
through the keyhole and saw all the presents.
But he could n't see mine, for I had n't bought
them. I am going out to buy them now!"
And up jumped Kitty, and gathering her
money into the cherry-colored purse, she
dropped it into her pocket. "I wonder if my
pocket will hold all the presents. Yes; the
bundles won't be large. I think they will all
go into my pocket. Where 's my list? I had
to write it out on my slate. Mama always
writes her lists on paper; but I write so big
Mama could n't afford to give me paper
enough, so I wrote it on my slate. I can't take
the slate with me into the stores, so I '11 read
it over before I go."
And Kitty took her slate out of the drawer
of the old bureau; it was covered with great
scrawls which nobody but Kitty herself could
have read. She understood it all, however; and
having refreshed her memory, she put on sack
and hood again, and was soon in the street on
her great shopping expedition.
It was a pleasant afternoon, and the streets
were full of people, and half the good people
seemed buying Christmas presents. It is pleas-
ant to think how many of the men and women
and children we meet in the streets in Christmas

week are busy on the same happy errand. But
I do not believe there was any one in all that
town who had eleven presents to make with so
very few pennies as Kitty. But Kitty was a
clever little business woman. She saw her way,
or she thought so, through all difficulties. She
felt sure, of her eleven presents.
With the cherry-colored purse in her pocket,
she went first to a great hardware store.
I must go in here," said Kitty. And mak-
ing her way through stoves and plows,- all
sorts of great ugly, useful things,- and gliding
between some tall, stout ladies and gentlemen
who were making purchases, she reached a
vacant spot at the counter, and a clerk behind
it. "Have you any small copper rings, sir?"
The clerk was an old gentleman with specta-
cles on, who looked very good-natured. Kitty
saw him at church every Sunday.
"Do you want a wedding-ring, my dear?"
he said, as he opened a box full of copper rings.
Kitty blushed and smiled, but did not answer.
"Perhaps it is only for a female friend ?"
said the old gentleman again.
"It 's a ring for a holder--a stove-holder,"
said Kitty, timidly. "It's to hang the holder
on the brass nail near the stove."
"A Christmas present, I see. And you 've
worked the holder, and it's for your mother,"
said this funny old gentleman, as he wrapped
up the ring in a thin bit of paper and gave it
to Kitty.
"Yes, sir," said Kitty, whose eyes opened
with astonishment at the old gentleman's know-
ing so well about the holder she had been
working so mysteriously.
From the hardware store she crossed the
street to a dry-goods shop, saying to herself:
"Mama will have a beautiful present, and it
only costs me one penny; for I had the worsted
and the canvas Auntie gave me those ever so
long ago."
The dry-goods store was very much crowded
indeed. Some little girls, friends of Kitty's,
were there. She had to wait a long while
before the clerk could attend to her. But while
talking to her little friends, she kept one eye on
the counter; and presently, seeing an opening,
she took courage and asked for some narrow
blue ribbon. A box of ribbons was laid on the



counter; she chose a piece of a pretty shade
and quite narrow.
May I have a penny's worth of this rib-
bon?" asked Kitty very timidly, and her heart
beating with anxiety.
"If you '11 pay for it! said the clerk, look-
ing cross, and speaking in a rough, gruff voice.
"Oh, I 've got the penny here," said Kitty,
much relieved; and drawing out the cherry-
colored purse, she took out a nickel cent and
laid it on.the counter.
A little less than a quarter of a yard of the
pretty blue ribbon was measured off (it was
five cents a yard); and as the clerk rolled it up
and handed it to her, he thought to himself,
"You 're a queer customer"; but he did n't
say so.
"Now," said Kitty, skipping along, "I 've
got my beautiful present for Grandma too.
Aunt Lou says it's a real beautiful pincushion,
though it's not very big; but it is large enough
to hang up near the looking-glass, where
Grandma always hangs her cushion. It did
not cost me anything but the penny for the
ribbon. That will make a beautiful bow and
loop !"
Presently Kitty came to a book-store. She
went in, and found it so crowded she could
hardly make her way among all the people.
They were buying pictures and books and
music, and knickknacks of all kinds. She had
to wait some time, but at last her little face
appeared above the counter, anxiously turned
toward the clerk.. Catching his eye, she asked
for "some books"; and then, coloring, added,
"Some very little books." It was not Shak-
spere's or Milton's works that Kitty wanted. A
small drawer full of verylittle books was placed
before her. And now great was Kitty's per-
plexity. She would have liked to buy all the
books. They all looked so interesting and
inviting, with bright-colored covers and pic-
tures. This present was for her brother Willie,
a little boy seven years old, and fond of reading.
At last she chose for him a book with a red
cover, about birds and beasts.
"Is this one penny or two pennies ?" asked
Kitty, with some anxiety.
"A penny," was the fortunate answer.
So Kitty handed over her two-cent piece,

and had the pleasure of receiving change for
her purchase.
I 'm sure Willie will like that, because he
likes to hear about animals," said the little sister
to herself. "Now I have only eight more
presents to buy!" And she went skipping
along until she came to a fancy-shop where
they sold a little of everything. Here our small
friend hoped to make a great many of her pur-
chases. She scarcely knew what to ask for first;
but edging her way among a row of ladies and
children at the counter, she saw a parcel of
worsteds open before her. One skein of pink
worsted, a lovely rose-color, and one of sky-
blue, were chosen and paid for.
"These are for Aunt Lou and Cousin Kate,"
said Kitty to herself, as she laid down two cents
and received the worsted from the clerk.
"Will you please show me some marbles ?"
she said. A box of marbles of all sorts was
placed before her,-splendid alleys and bul-
lies-very tempting, indeed; but, alas! those
were much too dear. So she asked how many
common marbles she could have for a penny.
"Five," was the answer. So she chose five of
the best in the whole box, as a present for her
brother Tom.
Then she picked out a penny whistle for the
baby, a little boy two years old. Her next pur-
chase was a beautiful bodkin, looking quite
silvery; and this actually cost only one cent
more! It was for her sister Mary. Then in the
next moment she bought a large darning-
needle for another penny; this was for her
good friend Biddy.- A handsome black-headed
shawl-pin was next purchased for sister Bessie-
very cheap, indeed, at a cent; it looked as if it
might be worth fully two cents!
By this time the cherry-colored purse was
very nearly empty. There was but one cent
left. Kitty looked at the tiny coin half regret-
fully-she had intended it for the little orphans.
But then Papa--dear Papa--yes, it must all
go for him! Papa's present was the most im-
portant of all. So Kitty asked if they had
any penny penholders. Yes; a clean, fresh-
looking one was produced. As the clerk
was rolling it up, he asked Kitty if she needed
a penholder to use in keeping her business ac-
counts. This clerk belonged to Mr. Norton's


congregation, and taught in the Sunday-school;
he knew Kitty very well. The little girl laughed,
and said the penholder was for Papa. And
she laid the little nickel coin on the counter.
'The young man pushed it back. Keep it for
something else," he said, smiling.
Kitty looked up, surprised; she was bewil-
dered. The clerk smiled more and more, and
pushed the little bit of silver close to Kitty's
Is it mine ? she asked. "And the pen-
holder, too ?"
Her friend nodded, and turned to another
customer. Kitty's heart gave a bound, and her
face flushed all over. "Thank you, sir! said
Kitty, in a voice that seemed very loud to her.
The clerk smiled pleasantly in reply, and Kitty's
eyes fairly sparkled as she dropped the cent
into the cherry-colored purse again.
"Oh, the little orphans won't lose the cent,
after all!" she said to herself. And away
she ran home as fast as her little feet could
carry her.
There was no time to be lost, for the pres-
ents were all to be hung on' the Christmas tree
that evening. She tripped up-stairs.
On the way she met her mother, and said
to her, with an air of great mystery:
Please, Mama, don't let the children come
into my room to disturb me. I am going to
label my presents!"
Mama.smiled. No one disturbed her. The
labels had all been written out the day before
on scraps of paper cut from old envelopes which

her grandmama had given her. They were.all
obliged to be very economical and saving in
that family, for Mr. Norton's salary was very
small. It took only a little while to wrap the
presents up, each with its label pinned on it,
The labels were all written in Kitty's best hand.
In a jiffy the ring was sewed on Mama's holder,
and the bow of ribbon on Grandmama's pin-
Then, with a joyful heart, Kitty carried the
whole eleven presents down to Aunt Lou, who
hung them on the tree!
There was not a happier little girl that
Christmas eve in all the country than little
Kitty Norton. That is saying a great deal;
but it is quite true. No doubt good Mr.
Peabody felt happy when he gave away his
millions to the poor people of London. Every-
body who gives from the heart feels happy.
But Mr. Peabody, with his millions, was not
quite so happy, I fancy, as little Kitty with her
eleven cents' worth.
After tea Mr. Norton took Kitty on his knee,
and made her tell him the story of the pres-
ents. I heard the story, and I tell it to you,
my young friends, because it is true.
There would be little merit in making up a
story like this; but as it is true, I think it will
give you pleasure. Yes, it is all true-those
eleven presents purchased with the eleven
cents, and Kitty shutting herself up to label
her presents, and requesting that "the children"
might not disturb her-all this is true.
Don't you think Kitty a dear little soul ?



BETTINA sat on the milk-shelf and rested her
chin on her hand and her elbow on her knee,
and the twist of her small features as she glared
out of the dusky corner indicated a gathering
storm, a small juvenile volcano ready to ex-
plode, an infantile Italian volcano of-well,
three or four hundred years ago.
It was not the past that she was out of sorts
with-that had its ups and downs. The ups
she could look back on were a good many.
Before her parents died, things had gone very
well; and afterward, when she and her brother
Pietro had lived with her uncle, they continued
so. He was no "Babes-in-the-Wood" sort of
uncle, to be bored by his nephew and niece, and
to send them away to be lost in the forest, but a
regular make-the-holidays-pleasant-take-you-to-
the-circus- and let-you-eat-peanuts-if-you-want-
to uncle. But he went away to take part in a
war, and did not come back. Then, when the
town was attacked by the enemy, all the ser-
vants ran away; and if an old woman they did
not know had not taken them with her, and
escaped through the hills to another town, she
and her brother would have been badly off.
The old woman managed to find a home for
them in the kitchen of a big house, and left
them there. Bettina was asleep in her arms
when she stepped over the sill of the door, and
a red glare coming through her eyelids woke
her. She saw before her the big fireplace with
an over-hanging chimney-top, and the queer,
grimy kitchen that was for so many months
VOL. XXII.-32.

afterward her home. She saw more things in
it as time went by, for she and Pietro had to
work hard in the kitchen, and that they neither
of them liked.
Bettina loved that big fireplace. The deep
chimney was at times heavily festooned with
soot; sometimes long streamers would hang
down, wave to and fro, and rise upward in the
currents of warm air, and sometimes there would
be none there at all. Bettina at times thought
it must be a playground of gnomes or fairies,-
perhaps a special kind that lived in chim-
neys,-or little Italian brownies.
What troubled Bettina at present was a per-
sonal slight. An entertainment was to be given
that evening to a distinguished guest; and her
small brother was to be a prominent performer,
while she- well, she was nowhere.
You see, Pietro was to be served up in a
pie,-a big imitation pie with a cleverly con-
trived trap-door sort of cover, and hollow in-
side,-and put on the table where the guest
was. The pie was to fly open, and Pietro was
to sing a song in praise of the distinguished
Pietro had been rehearsed many times, and
Bettina had been present and taken part in it
all. It was then she had found she was to be
left out of the final performance -that, although
she was a year or two older than Pietro, she
was not to share in the glory. She had been
slighted. So she sat on the milk-shelf and
thought of her wrongs.


She was thinking of them still when Pietro
entered the kitchen from a rehearsal of his song;
and from out of her dark corner she commenced
to upbraid her brother.
Pietro retorted in the same spirit, and a
merry war was soon under w a. bt' ecn them,
when, unfortunately I:'r both. the cIook
entered. The cook was unkind to
them on this occasion. She L.oxed
their ears and shut them up in
a little room for the rest of
the day with nothing at
all to aiuse them.
In silence and
with disappoint-
ed faces the
children gazed
out of the nar-
row opening on
a section of
the courtyard,
the dull gray
building oppo-
site, and a gen-
erally dreary
outlook; for
the blue Ital-
ian sky was
overcast with
leaden clouds,
and a chilly "A LITTLE W
feeling was in
the air, and there was no warm kitchen fire to
sit by.
While they looked out of the window it com-
menced to snow,-an unusual thing in that
section of the country,- and Pietro was sent for
to rehearse; and as he crossed the courtyard he
unkindly threw a snowball at Bettina, who, still
imprisoned, was looking out of the window.
She was released soon after by the cook; but
the sun was out again, the thin layer of snow
had melted, and she retired to the kitchen in
tears. And there Pietro found her when he
returned, flushed and magnanimous.
Bettina unbent enough to reproach him and
I would have made a little man out of the
snow-that's what I did before. But I can't,
now it 's all gone! she wailed.

"Never mind," said Pietro comfortingly;
"the little snowman would not have lasted."
But I would have had the
fun ofmakingit."
Pietro now
S. tlihought
?;. @ it safer


to divert the conversation. There is a big lump
of wax somewhere," he said, "and I think I
can get it. Then you can make a little man
that will keep- oh, till the next snow-storm."
He turned and went off, and in a few minutes
came back with the wax.
He softened it at the fire, and, sitting down
by her, commenced to model a little figure, while
she looked on with contemptuous indifference
which presently gave way to a half-hearted
interest in the proceeding. Then she conde-
scended to pick up a stray lump of wax and
add it to the arm. Pietro let her have her own
way, and gradually withdrew; and soon a little
wax Punchinello began to appear. The chil-
dren had been often in the studio of a neighbor-
ing sculptor in the old days, and played there,
and Bettina had a good deal of precocious


talent. The little figure when finished was really
quite good.
I will play with this to-night," she observed,
" while you are in the dining-hall."
Pietro maintained a discreet silence, and the
fantastic little figure progressed.
The night came at last. In the passageway,
with a short flight of steps at one end leading
to the dining-hall, stood the pie, which, deco-
rated with amusing devices, rested, on a frame-
work with long handles, and into it Pietro was
assisted through the flexible opening in the top,
and disappeared from sight of the group of ser-
vants and retainers who gathered around and
made merry over the event. Inside he pushed

Out in the kitchen, deserted and alone, Bet-
tina sat by the old fireplace, with a disappointed
heart, putting the finishing touches to the little
man they had commenced that afternoon, and
trying to feel that she was not very miserable.
She heard faintly some of the laughter from the
far-off hallway. Presently it ceased, and the
voices seemed to be disputing about something.
Things had reached a crisis out there, and
there seemed some probability of the whole
performance falling through, and the pie and
Pietro not being served up at all. After he had
got inside, the cover had been shut down, and
Beppo and Sanzio, who were behind, rose half-
way up; the pie tilted and Pietro bumped

out of the way the little bench he was to stand against the lower end; then Michael and Gio-
on, and squeezed himself down while the cover vanni rose in front and rolled him back.
was adjusted, and four assistants stooped to lift "It rises like the camel of the desert," ex-
the pie to their shoulders and bear it aloft. claimed one of the lookers-on, who had been


six months in E-ypt at one time;
"don't shake the bo\ s' much."
In .t disj'ointed "a:. they
commenced motinrii[n the
steps, and the cha-inge
from the horizontal
ca-'.ed the ,Icu-
pant of the intre-
rior .:,i the


---.. .

pie to roll toward the lower end. The ser-
vants snickered as a muffled wail came from
within. Pietro was getting "rattled" in more
ways than one. With a flipflap the cover
flew open, and a scared little face looked out.
"Stop! stop!" cried a frightened little voice;
"my head is empty. I can't remember any-
thing of it."

" Can't remember vr. -it ?"
+ cried the c,:.:.
--The sn--I
Jon' r,-nemn-
S tLer \hat to

Pietro vas irifenn, tfron't a b.,d attack of
;tage-trichr. Thirt I feet a ai\ tfr.oni the top.
o'. the iajl'-dozrn'z stairs u\.- ied .1 cui-tint that
shut off the drafts from the dining-hall, and
on the other side were the guests and specta-
tors. Some knew what was coming, and grew
impatient at the delay.
A dozen servants rallied Pietro and strove to
recall the lines to him. But he seemed to have
lost his hold on them. The more he tried, the
more helpless he became.
Bettina, still in the kitchen, gave a start
when, a few moments later, some one entered
and called her by name.


"Come, Bettina; come quick! You must
help Pietro. He has forgotten the song."
"Stupid! I knew he would," she answered.
"But you must come and help him," said
the maid, taking her hand. Come with me."
Bettina ran down the corridor with her to
the anxious group. As Pietro caught sight of
her, he set up a plaintive appeal: "Oh, Bet-
tina, Bettina, I 've forgotten it all! Get into
the pie with me, and tell me what to say! "
Yes, yes," cried some of the servants; she
can hide inside and whisper to Pietro when he
forgets. There's room for both-lift her up."
"Oh, yes; do, Bettina," chimed in Pietro, "and
I '11 do whatever you want afterward. And
when I grow up, I '11 take you to the mountains,
where the snow is, and you can play there."
"You '11 never grow up to be a man if you
lose your head now," jeered Bettina; "but I '11
help you."
"That 's right. Get up, Bettina; you can
sing with him," said the cook.
Can I? cried Bettina; "but he's all dressed
up, and I 've got on old clothes."
I '11 get you some things," cried one of the
women, and she ran down the hall. With her
hands full of ribbons and cheap baubles she
ran back, spilling them behind her. Bettina,
soon decked out with bows and ornaments,
was hoisted up in the air and into the pie.
Down went the cover again, the bearers braced
themselves, and with a blare of trumpets the
procession swept up the stairs.
The children put their eyes to the little
holes in the side, which were meant to give
them air, and tried to see the dining-hall and
people, as they were carried into the room.
But a confused gleam of light and color,
going by them like a streak, was all they saw.
Then there was a pause, a jar, and the pie was
on the table, accompanied through its course
by an increasing ripple of laughter. Grasping
each other's hands, they kicked the stool into
place, and rose through the yielding cover.
The sudden light and the sound of laughter
confused them, but they climbed on the stool
and, clasping each other's hands, commenced
the first verse. They saw nothing but the
glimmer of the nearest candles, and heard some
laughter and broken applause. At the second

verse they began to look around, and paused for
a moment at the end, while the laughter and
applause increased. By the end of the last
verse, they saw more clearly the distinguished
guest who sat in front, but who now rose to his
feet, looking steadily at them, and exclaimed:
"Signori, signore, I know not whether this
is accident or design, but you have served up
my lost nephew and niece in the pie!"
And Bettina and Pietro jumped out of the
pie and ran across the table, over the dishes
and spoons, crying out, Zio Bello! Gioja /"
And that means in Italian, "Goodness gra-
cious! Here 's our uncle, who we thought was
killed in the wars, come back; and he '11 take
us home with him, and we '11 have a good time
again, and not have to live any more among the
pots and pans and kettles! "
But down in the forsaken kitchen the little
wax Punchinello stood long on the hearth-
stone, till the fire began to crackle and blaze up,
when he commenced to melt and take on various
queer shapes and expressions. And there the
sooty chimney-fairies must have found him and
coaxed him to go off with them; for late at
night there was nothing on the hearth but the
smoldering fire, and the deserted and lonely
little Punchinello had disappeared, and had
never even said "good night."



~Lg .


Bv C. H.

T HE qiuirrel nindl bird tlha live it, Rubio Cafion,
iti the 'lerra M.iadre MNIunrt.irn, L.:ick ot Pa.-,lena,
ImjilIt hIive :ijcen .l their e .v: ,ith! ,.'ncier onre day
lit winter. This is wib t ti -, i\. LD.h ii .nt, in-
cline steeper than the roe'::- of nin y l Ih U-':,_ ,'Lit 'f aI
gt'.. t fleecy ni trm, aprpe red : : i -i 'ill hr:li e object.
Ncirer i came, cre,-ini dt',( n a nairr,:w '.,thi~lay, tgr'mng
larger arnil l:irer until finrlly it .-i eenr to be a v. white
chanri.t :,n the middle ieat ':I wlich %'as |:perclth:I a -.now
Striiln. H- .as a IuLil-size,: n-:.fii nanr-not *.:,s liare as


f ionic lnow mren, but large enoiCIu.h- LurrouIinded
by a party of lautihing girls aid boxs.
The snow iiarn'. fac:- ore a I'_k of Lblank
arm zemneit. Hi l har, a 'Jicr..i hig h li.i. that
. I ftte:!d poorly. being horro- ed .,r thi, o- .r:ion,
s- tip-ped well L'. :k and -_.-r iitin till I: one
side. The pipe h'I iiad a ip'sre-ntly beeri smok-
.. ing w.n up-!de ..\n, .ind l!ie a.z,-:d fi'.edly
at the w\ondrilul 'panorama that was flying by.
No i:wonder lthe sn.i':v mn as a:t ,rishe.J. Ex-
acti:l\ ix nfm iteS before he had left a heavy \ snow-

Storm nearly I'-.uir tih.u-:iand leet up 'A., Echo Mountain,
Siand rno he was ghlding down an C line, a Jourtlh ofa mile in a di-
"w ... p- .'' rei.t line. pa_;rlinc thr:ugch ri..h verdulre, by great F.ines. Irom to'p to
'*V bottom instead t"of -idten\ \s. so that he co:ulhi in one moment look into

I -


o 1

. T-,




the birds' nests and the next peer up
beneath them. The snow-storm had
ceased in some way he did n't under-
stand. Thereitwas, overhead, a won-
drous canopy of silver. He could
still see the flakes, and occasionally a
great feathery one would drift by; yet
now he was passing through flowers
and groups of the fragrant bay-tree,
from which blue shrikes plunged
with curious notes down into the
abyss, startled at the strange sight.
Down went the chariot-peaks,
ridges, and headlands of rock ap-
pearing and disappearing as they
seemed to sink away from the snow
cloud, until finally, having reached
the foot of the mountain, the car
rolled out into the deep river of
verdure known as Rubio Caton.
Here the snow man, with the same
look of dumb amazement, was lifted
out by some of the boys, while others
looked on and cried, "Change cars
for Poppyland! He was carried to
another car; and a few moments
later they were all rushing down the
beautiful cation that had been cut
out of the rock by the rushing
waters of centuries. Next they en-
tered what was a natural orange-
grove, as the dark-green trees with
their golden fruit were everywhere.
From the car a field of blazing red-
dish yellow was now seen, and near
it the merry party stopped. Then,
with some little difficulty, the snow
man was lifted out and dropped into
a bed of wild flowers such as only
southern California can grow. His
astonishment must have reached a
climax here, as he wilted visibly,
and streams of moisture were run-
ning from every snowy lineament.
There was 'the mountain which he
had left just twenty minutes before;
there was the snow still falling;
there were the great pines bowed
down with snow, and the manzanita
and chaparral looking as if covered

e '




with cotton. Yet here he was surrounded with
flowers, the warm air redolent with their odor,
and bees and butterflies were flying by, gazing
at him askance. Mocking-birds and meadow-
larks filled the air with bursts of song, while
from over in the brush came the soft notes
of a valley quail.
The boys and girls simply laughed at the
snow man's astonishment, and his great flat face
seemed to grow blanker and blanker as they
joined hands and danced about him. Then
they gathered flowers and stuck them in his
rapidly diminishing person, until he resembled
the tatooed man, being decorated with poppies,
shooting-stars, daisies, and bluets, while on one
arm were several oranges from a neighboring
tree. Never was a snow man transported from
winter to summer so rapidly; and never before
did a snow man wear flowers in his buttonhole
and hold freshly picked oranges upon his arm
while gazing straight at a snow-storm that could
be reached in twenty minutes.
How all this could be it would be difficult to
understand under ordinary circumstances; but

here the conditions were particularly favorable
for such a wonder. The chariot" was the car





of a wonderful mountain railroad that reaches
up the face of the steep Sierra Madre, its cars
taking visitors from the caion half-way up the
range in a very few moments.
Several years ago a well-known scientific mat,
Prof. T. S. C. Lowe, saw the possibility of a
railroad here, and determined that .visitors to
southern California should have a story tvotell
as wonderful as true. So he began a railroad
that would enable one to bathe in the Pacific,
pick oranges and wild flowers, and enjoy snow-
balling all in one winter day. In other words,
you could breakfast at the sea-shore, and lunch
six thousand feet above it, amid the snow-banks
of the upper range.
The mountain road is approached by an elec-
tric road which winds up from the mesa into
the deep cation, finally stopping at a pavilion
which bridges the cation from side to side.
Here stands the white chariot in which the
snow man was brought down-the car of this
mountain railroad; and from here we look up at
the track, the steepest in America, extending
away in rapidly converging lines for over a
quarter of a mile.
The chariots are attached to a strong cable

which works over a drum, and are so arranged
that as one goes up the other comes down,
passing each other exactly in the middle of
the incline. It appears very marvelous to glide
up the mountain in this way. The conductor
simply touches a wire with a delicate metal
wand, this being the signal to the engineer
at the summit, who turns on the electric power
borrowed from a neighboring waterfall that
leaps down from even greater heights than are
reached by the railroad.
Thousands of persons now go up the face of
the great mountain, and look down on the sum-
mer land below, and out upon the Pacific sixty
or seventy miles. And this is but half the
work laid out. In time another electric cable-
road will continue on, taking the traveler to
the tiptop of Mount Lowe. At present this
portion of the route is made on horseback. The
trail winds about amid the peaks, and passes
steep cliffs. There is some remarkable scenery
among the high sierras, where a glance to the
north in the winter months reveals miles of
snow-capped mountains, while to the south and
west the eyes rest upon the green fields and
groves of southern California.

AW-r c'2/he
iS C10e o
Ao^ Ot?'^


VOL. XXII.-33.





Long, long ago some Indians,
By other tribes oppressed,
~'ound here a home and named it
"Alabama"-" Here we rest."
But now in Alabama
No warriors red remain,
But white and colored people
Raise cotton, corn, and cane.

There's Birmingham to northward,-.-;:
A growing, busy hive,
With mines of coal and iron,
Where manufactures thrive.

South, are the bay and harbor,
And city called Mobile;

Is Alabama's seal.


Algonquins pointing to the stream
Spake to their sons and daughters:
"The Mississippi 't is," they said;
Which means the "Father of Waters."

To where Missouri has its source,
Among Montana's fountains;
The Mississippi should have had
One name,- from Gulf to. mountains.

This State in shape is like a coat:
This will not be forgotten
If you remember that its soil
Ranks high for growing cotton.

And as a name for the capital,
Her people have selected
That of a very valiant man -
A President, twice elected.



IPONE litt le p planned
,,lONE little pig planned.

to go out shopping:
)ne to walk by the



brooklet's side;'

intended to play
decided a wheel
to ride. l

The hired man came with ae
I ag of apples;--
'" Piggy! piggy!- they heard
him c. ll.
I' 'Helter-skelter they went back, 'I
s. quelling:
'Horne is the best olace.


I 'Ik,

:a v


IT was stated in the article on Nathan Hale, published
in ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1894, that, before entering the
army, Hale taught school in East Haddam, Connecticut.
A correspondent, Dr. Miner C. Hazen, kindly sends us an
extract from the Connecticut Valley Advertiser, from which
we learn that the house in which Hale taught originally
stood in East Haddam near a place known as Moodus
Landing not the present village called Moodus.
The house, though moved from its ancient site, and con-
verted into a dwelling, still stands in East Haddam, "in
front of the new Episcopal church."

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Perhaps you will think that
a rather familiar title, but I don't. You see, when one
has known you so long, you seem quite like a dear old
friend. My papa has taken you for his children ever
since you were first published; and even before that,
when you were called Our Young Folks," he took your
first copy and liked you so well that he finished it, and
has taken you regularly.
Now for the introduction. I am a little girl of eleven
years, with fair hair and blue eyes. I am fond of study-
ing, and of writing stories and little poems.
Our summer home would be spoken of as "The
Country," an easy but hardly exact way of talking,
which treats places as though they were remote and
unexplored regions where flowers grow as thick as this-
tles, and grandmamas, fairies, and Thanksgiving dinners
are made to order. Our winter home is in Troy, about
three miles from where we are staying now. My school
was built by my father, and is called The Troy Female
Seminary" or Gurley Memorial Hall."
Your affectionate reader, EDITH B. G- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been one of your ardent
admirers since I was about two years old, and count you
as one of my best friends. When I was five years old
my father took my mother and myself out to the western
coast, to San Francisco and Tacoma, Washington State,
stopping at Chicago and St. Paul on the way. I was
much interested in Chinatown, in San Francisco, and,
indeed, we spent most of our time there while in the city.
One afternoon we went to the theater, and certainly if a
person wishes entertainment he has merely to go to a
Chinese theater. We had to sit on the stage, being
Americans, which scared me so, that I screamed and
yelled until they brought me out. I was especially noisy
when there was a duel scene, in which one person was
supposed to be killed. But, lo and behold, when the scene
was over the supposed dead man got up and walked off,
there being no curtain! Coming back from the West we
stopped at the Yellowstone Park, which is a very interest-
ing place. I remain yours truly,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl ten years old.
I have taken you for four years. I can hardly wait from
one month to another for you to come. After reading
the story of "Decatur and Somers," I thought I would
write and tell you that I have six silver table-spoons
that belonged to Commodore Decatur, which were
bought by my grandfather, at the sale of his effects;
they bear his initial and coat of arms; also I have been
to the place where he fought his duel.
From your little subscriber,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are four little girls who all
take you together, and we read all your stories and like
them very much. We live in the country, and we have
a dear little dog. He often goes to sleep with his head
resting on the rung of a chair. He looks very funny.
Sometimes he lies with his head almost in the fire. We
think he sees pictures there, and tells himself stories
about them. We like the Brownies," and always look
for the dude. We remain your loving readers,
E. B-, L. H. K-,
J. F-, AND A. L-.

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I am much interested
in your magazine, and in the "Letter-box" especially, I
thought I would write to you. I take violin lessons,
and like them very much. I am now twelve years old,
but am very backward for my age, as I have never been
to school, but have always had lessons at home with my
sister Dorothy. I like Geneva very much, but I like
America as well. No country can beat America. I do
wish I could write a pretty piece of poetry for the Let-
ter-box, but unfortunately I have not that gift. My
father is now in America. I have three sisters and one
brother. My brother is in California. Geneva is a lovely
place. It has such beautiful scenery. Lake Leman is so
blue, and the mountains are superb, especially on a fine
day, when Mont Blanc is visible.
Your lovely magazine is sent to me by a lady in Bos-
ton, who is my sister Elizabeth's godmother. I hope I
shall be able to read your interesting stories and pretty
poetry for a long time to come. I am very truly yours.
ANNA P. P- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: May I tell you and my
dear ST. NICHOLAS friends how much I think of you
and them ? I have taken you since the very first number,
and that, you know, was years ago. In 1868 I had" Our
Young Folks," and in a few years it became ST. NICHO-
LAS. I was only five years old then, and all through
childhood, girlhood, and womanhood ST. NICHOLAS has
been a dearly beloved friend. Papa used to read it to
brother and me, and until the very last year of his life
papa and I always read ST. NICHOLAS together. I love


you because of those dear associations, and I would
rather give up all the other magazines and papers than
to be without you. In one of the book-cases there is a
long shelf for the bound ST. NICHOLAS. And what a
library it is, when you think of all the sweet stories! and
the authors are my friends. I love Mrs. Jamison and
Miss Alcott, and J. T. Trowbridge, Howard Pyle, and
Mark Twain as well. Tom Sawyer Abroad was very
funny and interesting. Long ago, in "Our Young Folks,"
" The Peterkin Family," by Lucretia P. Hale, and Wil-
liam Henry's Letters to his Grandmother," by Mrs. A.
M. Diaz, were papa's favorites and mine. How many,
many times we have read them! They never seemed to
grow old. He enjoyed ST. NICHOLAS as much as I, and
you are very dear to me. I used to be sick a great deal,
and ST. NICHOLAS was such a comfort! I remember
lying upon the floor and printing the whole of the Dec-
laration of Independence, to be sent to ST. NICHOLAS,
for which I gained one of the prizes you offered. How
proud and happy I felt. It was an ink-stand in shape
of the Liberty Bell, and stands now in my room.
Hoping this letter is not too long to print in ST.
NICHOLAS, I am always your loving friend,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you ever since I
was born, and we all like you very much. There is a big
fir-tree here, about two miles from the hotel. I have
been there twice. The first time I went, three men came
down from the mountain and tried to reach aroundthe tree,
but could just touch the ends of their fingers. Once
the tree was struck by lightning, and ever since then the
branches have been twisted around. There are a good
many mountain walks around here, and I know the way
about most of them. Yesterday we went for a walk up
the side of a mountain, and when we got a little way we
saw a ram without horns chasing some children, and we
stood a little way off and watched it. Very soon it ran at
us, so we tried to get in a gate that opened into a yard, but
it was locked; then the ram went away for a little while,
and we tried to get away, but we only got to the other
side of the road, and the ram came after us again and
we ran for a pile of wood, but the ram went away. Then
my sister, and one of the nurses that we were out walk-
ing with, went up by it, and my nurse said to me that it
would go after them, and it did. In a little while my
sister looked around and said, "It's looking"; and in a
little while she looked around and had to say, "It's
coming," and they had such a chase!
Your affectionate reader, HENRY L. W- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought that you might be
interested to hear about the Queen coming to Manches-
ter to open the ship-canal.
Manchester was very crowded. We had engaged seats
on a balcony which was a very good place, for we were
just a little way from the Town Hall. But unfortunately
we were not near enough to see the Queen when she
stopped for the Lady Mayoress to present her with a
lovely bouquet of pink and white flowers. We were
rather expecting to have the balcony almost brought
down by the people cheering from below, but were quite
mistaken, for there was only a faint sort of hum. But we
think they must have been so anxious to get a glimpse
of the Queen, that they forgot really to cheer.
The Queen seems to have grown very much older since
we saw her in Derby three years ago.

There were crowds of people waiting to see her open
the canal. She went on board the "Enchantress," and
to open the canal there was an electric wire with a knob
at one end which she pressed, and that opened the large
gates of the first lock. In the evening there were most
beautiful fireworks sent off from the quay.
The streets looked lovely! All the warehouses, shops
and big houses were decorated. One tea warehouse was
nearly covered with green leaves and white natural flow-
ers, and at night it was lit up with little Chinese lanterns.
There were Venetian masts all along the streets con-
nected by festoons made of paper flowers or little flags.
I think Toinette's Philip was just splendid.
Your interested reader, RUTH S- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The tea-making season in Japan
is very interesting, and I thought you might like to have
an account of it as I saw it myself. Whole families were
in the tea-gardens, even to the little babies. Some of these
were strapped on the backs of the older children who
played about, here and there. The fathers and mothers,
grandfathers and grandmothers, and children who were
old enough to work chanted a queer Japanese tune as they
fired and sifted the tea. Through the open windows a
pleasant breeze came softly in. Away in the beautiful
country the round tea-bushes grew.
The tender greenleaves are picked, then sorted and dried
in the sun, then brought to the "go-downs in Yokohama.
The room which they fire it in is very big, and the room
has lots of brick stands, in which are iron bowls; be-
neath are fires to heat the bowls. The tea-leaves are
put into these bowls, and are constantly stirred to keep
them from burning. When they are dried they are put
into baskets, then poured into boxes; then they seal the
boxes up and send the tea away to America and Europe.
At the same time the tea is being fired it is colored.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eight years
old, and live on a cotton-plantation in the winter, but we
go away every summer. We went to the sea-shore last
summer, and had a lovely time. I am an only child; and
in the winter-time I have no children to play with me, for
there are a very few white people down here, though there
are many negroes; but I never get lonely. I have a
horse named "Daisy." I ride a great deal with father;
sometimes I go bird-shooting with him. I have a great
many dolls. I love to sew for them. I have my lessons,
too. I have never been to school; mother teaches me
at home. I have taken ST. NICHOLAS for one year, and
I am going to take it again, I am so fond of it. I wrote
this letter all by myself, only mother told me how to
spell some of the words.
Your little friend, ALICE M. R--.

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Everett R. S.,
Lorenzo B., Bessie E. B., Dorothy W., Alice I. M.,
Hildegarde B. C., Emma F., Virginia S., Rene T. C.,
Mehitable S. J., Helen R., Cora S. G., Mary K. R.,
Magdelaine W., John W. L., Lucy L. D., Douglas D.,
A. W. and L. D. W., J. C. T., Pussie and Bessie,
Joseph D. T., Caroline W. F., Mary R. B., May C. F.,
Zelda B., Myrtle C., Willie A. W., Winnifred A., Willie
D. S., RobertW. N., Frances H. F., Margaret S., Mary
E. P., Katie D. H., Grace B., W. B. S., H. M., W. S.
W., Robert H. S., Margaret W., Chas. R. H., Suzon G.




FALSE COMPARATIVES. I. Lack, lacquer. 2. Prop, proper. 3. Bow,
bower. 4. Mad, madder. 5. Ham, hammer. 6. Mast, master.
. Pond, ponder. 8. Wage, wager. 9. With, wither. 10. Din,
dinner. ii. Cape, caper. 12. Tape, taper. X3. Slip, slipper.
ZIGZAG. Dotheboys Hall. Cross-words: i. Dunce. 2. Forty.
. Ditch. 4.Bathe. Lethe. 6. Grebe. 7. Prove. 8. Pylon.
9. Spile. so. Shave. it. Drain. X2. Scald. x3. Shell.
DOUBLE ZIGZAG. From I to 1o, Washington; from xx to 20, St.
Nicholas. Cross-words: i. Warrants. 2. Manumits. 3. Designed.
4. Machines. 5. Grimaces. 6. Unearths. 7. Gratiano. 8. Stu-
pidly. 9. Stoppage. o1. Mainsail.
ILLUSTRATED PRIMAL ACROSTIC. Beaconsfield. I. Barrel. 2. Er-
mine. 3. Abacus. 4. Candle. 5. Oyster. 6. Ninety. 7. Spider.
8. Fiddle. 9. Indian. o1. Egg-cup. ax. Ladder. 12. Dagger.
CHARADE. Potato.

CHAIR PUZZLE. Back of chair: i. Aster. 2. Seine. 3. Timon.
4. Enode. 5. Renew. Seat of chair: i. Renew. 2. Helot. 3. Tsars.
4. Edile. Back leg, rigor; left front leg, endow; right front leg,
earth; side round, grand; front round, drear.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. Plum-pudding.
HIDDEN BIRDS. I. Phoebe. 2. Crane. 3. Crow. 4. Gander.
5. Quail. 6. Eagle. 7. Cassowary. 8. Bee-martin. 9. Redstart.
xo. Pelican. It. Secretary-bird. 12. Lark. 13. Robin. 14. Thrush.
x5. Sandpiper. 16. Dove. 17. Rail. 18. Sparrow. 19. Star-
ling. 20. Flicker. 21. Swan. 22. Grouse. 23. Swallow. 24. Gold-
finch. 25. Bittern. 26. Partridge. 27. Gull. 28. Canary. 29. Turkey.
30. Crossbill. 31. Ostrich. 32. Bunting. 33. Ruff. 34. Clape.
35. Greenlet. 36. Hawk. 37. Raven. 38. Penguin. 39. Oriole.
40. Buzzard. 41. Cardinal. 42. Chickadee. 43. Hen. 44. Owl.
45. Wren.

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 OCTOBER NUMBER were received, before October ~5th, from M. McG.-F. 0. R.-
L. 0. E.-Jeanne-Isabel, Mama, and Jamie-Jo and I-"Little Dorrit,"--Josephine Sherwood-Pearl F. Stevens-"California
Angels"- No Name, Atlanta, Ga.-Ida C. Thallon-Jessie Chapman and John Fletcher-"Country Cousins"-Mabel Snow and
Dorothy Swinburne -" Tod and Yam."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER were received, before October 15th, from G. B. Dyer, to-Paul Reese, 9
-MaryR. Grymes, I -William Schuyler Pate, x Alice Chandler, 3 Mama and Sadie, 8 Gussie and Flossie, 9-Jessie Bryden, I -
L. Adele .Carll, i-" A Flushingite," I Katharine D. Hull, i--Bertha G. Martin, i--Effie K. Talboys, 7- Marian Lent, i-"The
Gigglers," 2-M. F. T., -" Will O. Tree," 9- Teddle and Aggie, 7 -"The Other One," 8-Geoffrey Parsons, 9-Albert Smith
Faught, 7-C. S. McMichael, 2-"Pussy Cat," 4-Hans and Otto Wolkwitz, 2--Ann Francisco, 2-Marguerite Sturdy, 9--Two
Little Brothers, no C. M. H., I Marjory Gane, 9 -" Two Solomons," 8--" The Butterflies," 8 R. O. B., io- Helen and Bessie, 7-
Helen Rogers, Trving and Mama, G. B. D. and M., 8- J. B. M., 8 -A. M. J., io- Norman and Alice McGay, 6- Mother and
Ethel B., 7- Highmount Girls, lo- Kathryn Lyon, 7-Charles Arthur Barnard, 5-Harry and Helene, o--Margaret Sawtelle, x-
Oscar and Therese Baumgart, I J. A. McLean, I.


MY primals spell the Christian name, and my finals
the surname, of a modern author.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length) : I. To cause to sway
backward and forward. 2. A river mentioned in the book
of Daniel. 3. A sudden fall or descent. 4. A small
ship's boat. 5. A prefix meaning "against." 6. Part
of a bridle. 7. A heavy coach with seats on top.
F. O. R.


A FAMOUS American:
His more famous daughter:


I. UPPER SQUARE: I. Sharp and harsh. 2. A shal-
low, porous cup, used in refining precious metals. 3. A

species of lyric poem in which a longer verse is followed
by a shorter one. 4. A kind of fortification. 5. To
min gle.
II. LOWER SQUARE: I. Below the common size. 2.
To stake. 3. To come to terms. 4. Staggers. 5- New
and strong. w. P. FLINT AND "SAMUEL SYDNEY.

WHEN the six objects in the above illustration have
been rightly guessed, and the .names (each containing
the same number of letters) written one below the other,
the initial letters will spell the name of a distinguished
musical composer.


i II. I
J i ,I

S1 and ten letters,

.'!i' I by Mrs. Augusta
My 92-22-30
nationn denoting
SMy 107-6-45 i
My 50-12-89 is
umbrella. My 54-80-36-64 is lofty. My
is a stringed instrument of music. My 41
an iota. My 16-19-83-57-o16 is happiness.
62-103-85 is a Christmas decoration. My
169 is the fruit of a certain vine. My 18-
is the fruit of a certain tree. My 49-31-9-7
out sight. My 37-79-27-43-40-96 is to
25-69-34-0o-24-90 is a structure erected o
make a passageway from one bank to the
o00-48-o04-66-39-7 is frolicsome. My
105-102-28 is a fruit allied to the plum. A
5-93-56-73 is gathered close bymeans of par
My 29-61-87-13-44-15-32 is very proud.
101-4-23-81-70-2 is vigor. My 91-o18-
35-53 is a bandage. My 11o-88-38-84-47-
is to form into grains or small masses.

ALL of the words described contain the
of letters. When these are rightly guesse
one below another, in the order here giver
beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will
given to the third President of the United
CROSS-WORDS: I. To bewilder. 2. The
3. Prodigious. 4. A coarse fiber used for
cordage, etc. 5. To cry out in contempt.
at hand. 7. A speck. 8. The scoter. 9.
thin. o. To taunt. II. The upper edge
Sour to the taste. 13. A narrative poem
achievements of some hero. 14. In addition
pid fellow. I6. A game which is played on]

I. BEHEAD a secret vote, and leave to as
head custom, and leave wise. 3. Behead t
leave proud. 4. Behead pulverized, and le

'4-99 is with-
bleach. My
ver a river to
other. My
ly 20-82-42-
allel threads.
My 58-78-

same number
d, and placed
n, the zigzag,
Spell a name
making mats,
6. Not close
Slender and
of a cup. 12.
relating the
n. 15. A stu-
L. W.

sign. 2. Be-
o narrate, and
ave spherical.



I. A letter. 2. Anger. 3. A vault under a church.
4. Part of the dress of Jewish priests. 5. Togated. 6.
To exclude. 7. One who defies. 8. A three-stringed
instrument. 9. To send or direct elsewhere. Io. An
evergreen tree. II. A runner. 12. An insurgent. 13.
Kingly. 14. Part of a coat. 15. An embankment to
prevent inundation. 16. An old word for a gallant.
17. The edges of the roof of a house. 18. Part of a pen.
19. A letter. GEORGE L. HOSEA.



5. Behead a view, and leave a wing. 6. Behead milfoil,
and leave a missile. 7. Behead a knob, and leave a lyric
poem. 8. Behead a horned animal, and leave to dis-
The beheaded letters will spell the name of a famous
British general of the Revolutionary War.
I. IN blackbird. 2. A domestic animal. 3. Subjected
to heat. 4. A number. 5. In blackbird.
B. L. E. S.

NICMA. . .
THE letters represented by stars spell the surname of
'.r .:.*.r.-.ped a celebrated Union general.
ne hal.r.l'ed CROSS-WORDS: I. Grasps. 2. A faint light. 3. A
and form a number. 4. A plant used as a national emblem. 5. Eu-
from a poem logizing. 6. A masculine name. 7. To exalt to the high-
D. Webster. est honor. 8. To journey by water. G. B. DYER.
is an excla-
contempt. CHAIADE.
s distorted.
part of an My first is much used in a vessel's outfit, and is also
71-94-33-60 the name of a muscular exercise; my second is a rank or
-14-75-67 is series, and also an aquatic sport; my whole is a bird.
SMy 77-86- G. B. D.

e 77

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