Front Cover
 A daughter of the revolution
 Tommy's home run
 In July
 Oliver Goldsmith and Fiddlebac...
 Hero tales from American histo...
 The number seven oar
 Jack Ballister's fortunes
 The fairy godmother's story
 "Now" and "waitawhile"
 The cat bird
 Teddy and carrots: Two merchants...
 The dragon & the dragoon
 A letter to John
 A boy of the first empire
 The trout brook
 John Greenleaf Whittier
 The hills of Ross
 Tommy's confession
 Running: For boys
 When King Kijolly goes to war
 Rhymes of the states
 At the circus
 The lead regiment
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00299
 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: VID00299
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
        Page 706
    A daughter of the revolution
        Page 707
        Page 708
        Page 709
        Page 710
        Page 711
        Page 712
        Page 713
        Page 714
    Tommy's home run
        Page 715
    In July
        Page 716
        Page 717
        Page 718
        Page 718
    Oliver Goldsmith and Fiddleback
        Page 719
        Page 720
        Page 721
    Hero tales from American history
        Page 722
        Page 723
        Page 724
    The number seven oar
        Page 725
        Page 726
        Page 727
        Page 728
        Page 729
        Page 730
        Page 731
    Jack Ballister's fortunes
        Page 732
        Page 733
        Page 734
        Page 735
        Page 736
        Page 737
        Page 738
        Page 739
    The fairy godmother's story
        Page 740
        Page 741
    "Now" and "waitawhile"
        Page 742
    The cat bird
        Page 743
    Teddy and carrots: Two merchants of newspaper row
        Page 744
        Page 745
        Page 746
        Page 747
        Page 748
        Page 749
        Page 750
        Page 751
        Page 752
    The dragon & the dragoon
        Page 753
        Page 754
        Page 755
        Page 756
        Page 757
    A letter to John
        Page 758
    A boy of the first empire
        Page 759
        Page 760
        Page 761
        Page 762
        Page 763
        Page 764
        Page 765
        Page 766
        Page 767
    The trout brook
        Page 768
    John Greenleaf Whittier
        Page 769
        Page 770
        Page 771
        Page 772
        Page 773
    The hills of Ross
        Page 774
        Page 775
    Tommy's confession
        Page 776
    Running: For boys
        Page 777
        Page 778
        Page 779
        Page 780
    When King Kijolly goes to war
        Page 781
    Rhymes of the states
        Page 782
            Page 782
            Page 783
    At the circus
        Page 784
        Page 785
        Page 786
    The lead regiment
        Page 787
    The letter-box
        Page 788
        Page 789
        Page 790
        Page 791
    The riddle-box
        Page 792
        Page 793
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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JULY, 1895.



MRS. BALLARD was seated at her sitting- know you said I might go home with Jessie
room window one afternoon in April. Her Whitney to luncheon, some time. She asked
work lay unheeded in her lap, for her eyes me to-day, and I went. Jessie's mother is to
were fixed on the figure of her twelve-year- have a sort of tea-party to-morrow, because it's
old daughter, who had just turned the street- the battle of Lexington, and she is to wear a
corner half a block away. As she watched the dress made of buff and blue, like the Conti-
regular rise and fall of the red wing in the nental uniforms, and she showed me some dia-
jaunty sailor hat, and noted the steady swifig mond shoe-buckles, and you can't belong unless
of the short brown skirt, Mrs. Ballard thought your grandfather was in the Revolution; and
of a remark made by a neighbor a few days I want to know whether I can be one when I
before: "It is a perfect pleasure to watch your grow up." Frances paused for breath and an
Frances walk. She seems to put her whole self answer to her question. Then, seeing the
into every step she takes." amused look in her mother's face, she said:
Then, as the erect little figure turned in at I know you are thinking you would like me
the gate, and the mother caught a glimpse of to parse what I just said; but please answer
the bright, earnest face, she said to herself: my question, and then I '11 go back and
"That is true of Frances in more than her straighten it out."
walking." "As far as I could understand, you asked
Three minutes later, there was a rush over if you could be a grandfather when you grew
the stairs, and the daughter danced into the up."
room, saying, Oh, mother, I have had such an Now, mother, of course I meant a Daugh-
interesting afternoon! ter of the Revolution.' That 's what Mrs.
Mrs. Ballard looked up with a smile of Whitney is, and the society is to meet there
welcome; but no words were necessary, for, to-morrow; but I want to know if any of my
with a whirl of skirts, Frances had seated grandfathers fought in the Revolution. Did
herself on the stool at her mother's side, and they ?"
after a moment's pause for breath had begun Well, really I don't know, dear," was Mrs.
the story of the "interesting afternoon." "You Ballard's answer. I have never inquired."
Copyright, 1895, by THE CENTURY Co. Allrights reserved.

No. 9.


Well, have we anything that used to belong
to our great-greats'? .'
Not an heirloom do we possess, to my
knowledge," was the discouraging reply.
"I do wish we had," sighed Frances. Only
think how proud Jessie must be! They have
the diamond shoe-buckles that belonged to
her great-great-grandfather, who was a lieu-
tenant in the Continental army. When I asked
where he fought, Mrs.
Whitney laughed, and
said that all she knew
about him was that he
was said to have had the
best-dressed hair in his ., .'
regiment. Was n't that ,
funny? I do hope, if '
we are descended from -
anybody, he will turn
out to be a captain or a
general that did some- "
thing like well like
Anthony Wayne at Stony -
Point; but I can't help
wishing that he left some-
thing like shoe-buckles:
Mrs. Whitney's slippers
did look so pretty "
Mrs. Ballard smiled.
I am afraid there is
very little hope for the
buckles, even if we can
discover the grandfather.
We must ask your father
to-night. Perhaps he is
better acquainted with
his ancestors than I seem .
to be." -
That evening, dinner
being comfortably under
way, Frances was wait-
ing eagerly for the ques-
tion that must be asked ,'OH MOTHER
and answered before she
could hope for the desired information.
When, at length, her father said, How did
the lessons go off to-day ? her answer came
like a flash:
Pretty well; that Partial Payments example
was all right, and I declined bonus without a

mistake. History was n't so good, because I
forgot which of those miserable French and In-
dian wars was ended by the treaty of Ryswick;
but I know now, it was King William's. That's
all, I think. And now, please, may I ask you
a question ? "
"You may, Miss Ballard; but, after the va-
ried learning displayed in your last remark, I
tremble for my reputation."



It 's only this -did you have any grand-
father in the Revolutionary War? "
Mr. Ballard looked thoughtful for a moment,
then shook his head, saying: I really cannot
tell. Is there any reason why such a posses-
sion should be especially desired ? "




I wanted to know if I could be a Daugh-
ter of the Revolution some day," answered
Frances, with a look of disappointment.
"Ah! I see," said her father; "and you
want to have a part in all these buff-and-blue
luncheons and tea-drinkings on battle-grounds.
Well, there is no great hurry. Perhaps by the
time he is needed we shall have invented the
necessary grandfather."
"But I don't want to invent him; I want
him to really be, and I want to know about
him now. It is n't just because of the society,
but I think it would make me feel better to
have him. Is n't there any one we could ask?"
And Frances waited eagerly for an answer to
her question.
After a moment's thought Mr. Ballard said,
more hopefully,:
"I declare, I believe Seth Hunter might know.
When I visited there as a boy, I recollect that
our games were always of a decidedly Revo-
lutionary character."
Frances became interested at once. "Who
is he, father?" she asked.
"A cousin of mine and yours."
"Were his grandfathers the same as ours ?"
"Some of them, probably; for his mother and
mine were sisters."
"Will you write to him to-morrow ?"
Mr. Ballard looked amused. "Don't you
think, as you are the one desiring the informa-
tion, that you had better do the writing?"
"But I have never seen him," said Frances,
in dismay; and he 's a grown-up man, and
perhaps he does n't like girls. Is he married ? "
Not that I know of; he and his sister Eliza
live together in the old Hunter house, in one
of the towns near Boston."
Mr. Ballard wrote a few words on a card,
and then handed it to his daughter, saying:
"There is the address. Write as soon as you
like, and give them my best regards."
Frances sighed. "Well, I suppose I shall
have to do it, for I really think I cannot get
along without knowing about my ancestors."
The next afternoon the following letter was
produced for Mrs.'Ballard's approval:
DEAR COUSIN SETH HUNTER: I am the daughter
of your Cousin Henry Ballard, and I want to ask you if
you know whether any grandfather of yours and mine

fought in the Revolutionary War. I hope he did. Father
thought that perhaps you would know. He does n't.
If it would n't be too much trouble, I should like an
answer soon. Father sends his best regards, and I do
too. Good-by.
Your sincere cousin,
The mother handed it back. Yes, I think
it will do very well; but don't expect an
answer too soon."
"I '11 try to think it won't come for two
weeks; then if it does, I shall be surprised."
And Frances was surprised, for two days later,
when she came down to the breakfast-table, the
answer to her letter was lying by her plate.

DEAR COUSIN FRANCES: I was very glad to receive
your letter this morning, and I hasten to reply. Your
great-great-grandfather Middleton fought at Bunker
Hill and remained with the Continental army through-
out the war. If you ever come this way I shall be
pleased to show you something that belonged to him,
that is now in my possession. Kindly remember me to
your father. It is many years since I have seen him.
Cousin Eliza and I are all that are now left in the old
home. We wish we could know our cousins better, for
we are growing old. It would give us both great plea-
sure to welcome you to our home. Hoping that I have
given you the desired information, I remain,
Your ob'd't cousin,

Frances looked up from the letter, with shin-
ing eyes. What a very nice man! Can't we
go and visit him, father ? "
"To whom do you refer ?-the grandfather
you wanted? "
No, indeed ; Cousin Seth; but the grand-
father is all right, and he fought at Bunker Hill.
Cousin Seth has something that belonged to
him. Mother,-do you suppose it could be
shoe-buckles ? "
I am afraid not," was Mrs. Ballard's answer.
"Well! perhaps it is a sword. I don't know
but that I would rather have it a sword, and
perhaps it will have jewels on the hilt. Do
you think it will, father ? "
I think my little girl's imagination is run-
ning away with her," said Mr. Ballard. "In
fact, I very much doubt if grandfather was
more than a private. But the fact of his being
in the army is all you will need for your mem-
"I believe I had almost forgotten the so-



cityy" exclaimed Frances; "but I am glad I
can be a 'Daughter' some day."
Mrs. Ballard had finished reading Frances's
letter, and handed it to her husband, saying:
"Did n't you tell me that you would be
obliged to go on to Boston in June ? "
"So I expect, as affairs are at present."
Could n't you stop at Southville, and see
these cousins ? "
"And take me too ? broke in Frances.
"Take you-you mother-lover? Why, I
should be away four or five days. How would
you stand that ? "
But even that prospect did not daunt his

When June came Frances carried her point,
went with her father, made the acquaintance
of her cousins, and returned from her trip
bubbling over with delightful experiences to
relate to her mother.
"I did have such a beautiful time! Cousin
Seth and Cousin Eliza were so good to me.
They live in a great square white house, and I
slept in a high-post bedstead with curtains.
But I won't tell those things now, because I
want to begin right off about Grandfather Mid-
dleton and his possession. I wish I could tell
about it the way I feel. It 's a Bible; just a
plain brown leather one, mother, but he carried
it with him in the battle of Bunker Hill and all
through the war. The number of his gun is in-
side the back cover, and on the blank page be-
tween the Testaments are some words he wrote
right after the fight -I copied them." And
Frances took a folded paper from her pocket,
then read slowly:
"'Cambridge, June 17, 1775-I desire to
bless God for His kind appearance in deliver-
ing me and sparing my life in the late battle
fought on Bunker's Hill, and I desire to devote
this spared life to his glory and honor. As
witness my hand, FRANCIS MIDDLETON.'
Only think, mother! his first name was like
mine. I am so glad. I do wish you could
see the Bible yourself; then perhaps you would
know how I felt when I held it in my hands.
It just seemed as if I must do something be-
sides look at it, and it made me think what a
dreadful solemn time it was to live. I asked

Cousin Seth if grandfather was a minister after
the war; and he said no, that he just settled
down and was a brave, honest citizen, as he
had been a brave, honest soldier; for he was
only a private, mother, and there was n't any
sword or buckles. I was a little sorry at first,
but I am not any more; and somehow, now I
know that I had such a grandfather, I wish
I could do something to deserve him. I told
Cousin Seth about the Daughters of the Rev-
olution,' and he said he guessed we could n't
know much of what the real daughters had to
bear -that it cost something to be an Ameri-
can woman in those days as well as an
American man, and that it took grit to de-
serve such a title. I told him I would try to
be patriotic if I was a boy, but girls never had
any chance except in stories, where they find
out enemy's plots, and ride all night to warn
soldiers that are in danger. Cousin Seth was
so nice! he never laughed at all, but said I
could be a brave, honest citizen just as well
as a boy. Was n't it funny I could talk to
him about such things?--for I was a little
afraid of him at first, because he is very tall and
grand-looking, and his hair is grayer than fa-
ther's, and his lips shut very tight; but he and
Cousin Eliza like little girls, and some day I
want to make them a long visit." Frances
paused; then, drawing a long breath, she asked,
"Do you suppose I shall ever have a chance
to do something that would make me deserve
to be called a Daughter of the Revolution ?"

Three years later, that question was answered.
It was just after Frances's fifteenth birthday
that those black clouds called business troubles,
which for many anxious days had been hover-
ing above the Ballard home, at length lifted, and
passed over; but the household sky, from which
they had passed, was only gray, not clear blue.
"No, dear, there is no danger, now, of a
failure; but father thinks that he will be obliged
to go to England for two years, to take charge
of the interests there," was the answer given by
Mrs. Ballard to an inquiry of her daughter's
concerning that important subject, "father's
Go to England!" was Frances's amazed
exclamation. Then the questions followed thick



and fast, till at length came the one the mother
had been dreading.
If we go abroad, what am I to do about
going to school ?"
Mrs. Ballard paused before answering, and
Frances remarked:
If I had known this, I should n't have felt so

year, but thought we would not be willing to
send you so far away; but now, as we are to be
in England, you could spend your vacations
with us, and that could not be if we should
leave you at school in this country."
"But, mother," gasped Frances, "you and
father have n't decided yet ? "


badly when father told me he could n't afford to
let me go away to boarding-school next year."
"How would you like to try that arrange-
ment in Paris ?"
Mother! was all Frances said, with a quick
glance to ascertain whether Mrs. Ballard was
in earnest.
I really mean it, dear. We had a letter
from Aunt Addie yesterday; she is very anxious
that we should let her send you to the school,
in Paris, that she attended when she was your
age. It seems she wished to propose it last

No, indeed. Father thinks you are old
enough to have a voice in the matter yourself
I believe he intends showing you'Aunt Addie's
letter this evening. And now, I am afraid
that the rest of the questions must be put off;
for I promised Mrs. Lake that I would call
this afternoon."
Frances waited, in silence, till her mother was
about leaving the room, then said suddenly:
"When the Bradleys sent Nora to France, did
n't father say he thought American schools ought
to be good enough for American children ? "


Mrs. Ballard looked perplexed as she an-
swered slowly:
I know he was surprised at their doing it;
but I cannot remember what he said"; then,
seeing the serious look on her daughter's face,
the mother bent and kissed her, saying: Don't
worry more than you can help, little daughter.
It is going to be hard for us, I know, but you
and I must therefore do all we can to help your
That night Mr. Ballard did not return from
business till after his daughter's regular bed-
As he came into the library, his wife said:
"I have told Frances that we are to go to
England, and also of Addie's plan; but I fear it
is too late to discuss it to-night."
Mr. Ballard seated himself in his arm-chair,
then, drawing his daughter down on his knee,
asked, with a keen glance into the face near
his own:
And what does Frances think of the great
European question ?"
"Will you let me wait three days, before I
tell you and mother what I think ? was the
answer that surprised her father.
"Putting off hard things makes them no
easier to decide," he remarked; then, seeing the
earnest look in his daughter's gray eyes, he
took an envelop from his pocket, saying, Here
is Aunt Addie's letter for you to read, Frances;
and suppose we say that the case will be called
on Saturday evening. Will that suit ?"
"Beautifully!" answered Frances. "Now, I
want to ask one question before I go to bed.
Did n't you say that you wanted me to go to
college, some day ?"
Mr. Ballard looked serious. I did hope for
it once; but there can be no looking ahead
But if your business should be all right,
and I should be prepared, when I am seven-
teen, you would like me to go ? "
I certainly should; but those are very large
"That 's all," said Frances, with a nod of
her curly head; then said her good-nights and
left the room.
Mr. Ballard waited till she was out of hear-
ing, then asked his wife:

"What schemes are under way in that small
head? "
None, that I know of."
"I declare, I wish there need be no ques-
tion of school, at all; but she is such a bright
little student, and these next two years are such
important ones, that I feel we must give her
every advantage. But if I thought a foreign
school would affect her as it did Nora Bradley!
-" and Mr. Ballard paused, with such a frown
that his wife hastened to say:
Frances is n't Nora, by any means; and a
French school turned out Addie Stanton; and
you have always admired her."
"And I do still. She is one of the most bril-
liant women I have ever met; but I should not
care to have my daughter resemble even her,
in every respect."
Meanwhile the daughter in question was
seated in her room, with Aunt Addie's let-
ter before her. The writer was not her own
aunt; but having been the most intimate friend
of Mrs. Ballard's girlhood, she had always
claimed Frances as a niece, by right of the love
she bore the girl's mother, and for the Stanton "
in the daughter's name. Frances had often
wondered whether any real relative could have
been kinder than this fascinating aunt by cour-
tesy." Beginning with the beautiful silver baby-.
service, the list of her gifts had grown with the
years. The pretty silver buckle that clasped
Frances's belt, and the dainty chatelaine that
hung at her waist, were both from the same
generous hand. Her glove and handkerchief
boxes were the envy of all her friends, who
used to sigh for an aunt who was constantly
going to Paris.
"Just like Aunt Addie!." was Frances's ver-
dict, as she read the generous offer, made in
such a delicate way that the writer seemed
asking a favor, not conferring one. There was
one especial message to the girl herself: "Tell
Frances that I shall be in Paris next winter,
and have already planned such shopping and
sight-seeing as she could never dream." To
see Paris with such a guide as fascinating Aunt
Addie was certainly an alluring prospect; but
there was another side to the question. Fran-
ces put the letter back into its envelope; then,
clasping both hands around her knee, proceeded



to think her hardest, for a quarter of an hour.
The result of that fifteen minutes' cogitation
was a letter written before breakfast, the next
morning, and sent by the early mail.
Saturday evening, after dinner, Mr. Ballard
The great Ballard Educational Case will now
be called. The jury, being mother, will occupy
the sofa; the judge, being myself, will take this
arm-chair; and, let me see, which are you,
Frances, plaintiff or defendant ? "
"Defendant," answered his daughter, with a
flash of her eyes.
"Ah!-and the plaintiff?" questioned Mr.
"Aunt Addie's plan," was the quick reply.
"Very well," said Mr. Ballard. "The- de-
fendant may take her position on this chair
between the judge and jury, and we will
proceed, at once, to the arguments for the
There was a moment's silence; then Frances
said :
Now, please, we won't joke any more;
and I am afraid there are n't any arguments
at all; but before I say anything about Aunt
Addie's plan, I want you to read this letter
from Cousin Seth, that came this morning.
I wrote to him and Cousin Eliza, two days
ago, asking, if you should decide to leave me
in this country, whether they would like to
have me come and. stay with them and go
to the high school there."
The father and mother were too surprised
to speak, for a moment; then Mrs. Ballard
took the letter from Frances's hand, while her
husband said:
"So that was the reason for the three 'days
of grace.' What put the notion into your
head, daughter.?"
Do you remember when we were there,
three years ago, Cousin Seth saying that when
you and mother were tired of your daughter,
they would be glad to -adopt me ? "
"So he did; and you took him at his
word?" asked Mr. Ballard, with a look of
Of course I did. They are n't the kind of
people who say a thing unless they mean it,"
answered Frances, in a tone of conviction.
VOL. XXII.-90o

Just then Mrs. Ballard looked up from the
letter, saying:
"But even if we should consent, I thought
you said you could never go to a public
"And I say now, mother, that I guess it
would n't be any harder for me than for lots
of other girls."
"That high school in Southville is one of
the finest in New England," remarked Mr.
Ballard. But the mother's thoughts were not
of the excellence of the school-" Two whole
years, Frances!--how could we bear it? "
The girl's lips quivered-" Please don't think
about that now, mother, or I shall just begin
to cry."
Meanwhile, the father had finished reading
his cousin's letter, and, looking up, he said:
"No one could ask for anything more cor-
dial than that. The plan is
worthy of consider-
ation; but now
S Ishouldlike


to hear what this wise young schemer has to
say on the Paris question."
Frances clasped her hands tightly in her lap,
drew one long breath, then looked straight into
her father's eyes, saying:
Just this: that unless you and mother think
it would be the best thing for me, I do not


see how I could possibly do it. One reason is
that if I study in French, I shall have to go
back to all sorts of first things, and in two
years I will not be ready for college, even if
you can afford to send me; but that is n't the
principal reason," and the girl stopped; then,
with eyes fixed on her folded hands, and cheeks
pink with earnestness, she said, in a voice
that trembled in spite of her efforts to hold it
I don't know that I can make you under-
stand; but I cannot bear to think of studying
a geography that has a big map of France
in the first place, after the hemispheres, and
to always talk about Atats-Unis,' instead of
'United States,' and to study with girls who
think Brazil is right next New York, and who
ask if we are n't afraid of the Indians. That
was what Nora said they asked her; and she
had to study French history, as if it were the
most important kind. When I asked if it did
not make her provoked, she laughed and said
one became used to it. I don't see how I ever
could, though I suppose I might, for Paris is
lovely; and when I asked Aunt Addie if she
liked France better than America, she said she
would n't want to choose, but she really had
to go over there, at least once in two years, to
breathe. Then, when I told her that George
Washington was my hero, she laughed and
said that he used to be hers, but Napoleon
was much more exciting. It is n't that I don't
want to go abroad, for I do want to, very
much; and some day I hope I shall travel all
around, and I should feel just the same if it
were any other country than France; but some-
how it seems to me that going to school in a
country would make me belong there, just as
if, while I was doing it, I had to stop being an
American altogether." With a catch in her
breath, the girl's voice ceased.
The clock ticked loudly in the silent room,
till Mr. Ballard, laying a caressing hand on
the pretty bowed head, said, in the tones his
daughter loved best:
What a dear patriotic little woman it is! "
Then, as Frances looked up and he saw a misty
gleam in her bright eyes, he said, comically:
So the case has become one of interna-
tional interest. As such questions deserve

serious consideration, I move that this court of
arbitration be adjourned till further notice."
His daughter looked troubled.
"But, father, Aunt Addie comes next week,
and you know how she can put things.' "
"I do, Miss Ballard, and I also know that
some one else seems to possess that gift; and I
think we may regard the American cause as
ably defended. What do you say, mother ?"
I say that I think it is time for the de-
fendant to go to bed"; then, drawing Frances
to her side, the mother asked, gently:
You really think you would be happier go-
ing to school in Southville than in Paris ? "
Yes, mother, I really do; but you and
father won't think it will be easy for me to be
away from you, will you ?"
"My dear, I know my daughter too well for
such thoughts, but," and the mother tenderly
kissed the soft red lips, after this evening, I
think I shall know her better than ever before."
The school question was settled finally in
accordance with Frances's plan.
The following week Miss Stanton came.
Her niece almost dreaded seeing her; but there
was no need to fear, for her aunt only said, as
she kissed the girl on both cheeks, in her
pretty French fashion:
So I am to wait until this loyal little citizen
is fully armed with an American education,
before I am allowed to show her the delights
of my beloved Paris. Well, ma cherie, Europe
will keep, and Aunt Addie thinks none the less
of you; though she is not at all convinced,"
and her black eyes sparkled with mischief, "that
it is not all your grand revenge for the slight
she paid your beloved George Washington."
If you ask what Mr. Seth Hunter thought of
his little cousin's decision, the answer to that
question is written on a folded paper, locked
carefully away in one of the brass-knobbed
drawers of the old secretary in the Southville
To my beloved cousin, Frances Stanton Ballard, I
bequeath the Bible of my great-grandfather, Frances
Middleton, which was bequeathed to me by my uncle
Ezra Wood, who directed that I should dispose of said
Bible to a direct descendant of its original owner, and
that such descendant should be one whom I should
deem worthy to possess so precious a treasure.
As witness my hand, SETH HUNTER.




-- -

a; ~f~r ~ *-

^ --!>




Qi<. -tlg, ma | '
__~u I--'- 'L

IN JULY. 717-

.... -y I

-ma ar.

-'r'-' Thm' werm M4



A GIRL there was-I knew her well-
Who bore the simple name of Alice;
But where she lived 't was hard to tell-
Now in a wood, now in a palace;
The reason for which curious way
Was her extraordinary habit,
When interrupted at her play,
Of following a whisking rabbit.

Or through the looking-glass she 'd pop
On days she did n't go with Bunny;
So her adventures would n't stop-
She 'd find a country just as funny.
I never knew another child
To meet with persons so surprising:
Such animals, so tame and mild;
Such food and drink, so appetizing!

She 'd eat a thing, and up she 'd grow
Much higher than the highest'steeple;
Another bite, and down she 'd go
As short as Lilliputian people!
And she could swim, and she could fly,
And read the Jabberwocky writing;
In fact it is no use to try
To meet with things half so exciting.

But it was several years ago
I met this rarest of creations;
And here 's what I should like to know:
Does she keep up her explorations?
And does she meet the Cheshire Cat,
And find the Queen of Hearts a-roaring?
Is Humpty Dumpty just as fat,
And is the Dormouse still a-snoring?

And is the March Hare just as mad,
And is it tea-time with the Hatter?
Is the Mock Turtle just as sad;
Does Father William clear the platter?
And does she chase a Bandersnatch,
And lug about the tame Flamingo?
Do T. and T. fight out their match,
And does she hear the Gryphon's lingo?

The Aged Aged Man forlorn;
The Caterpillar with his notions;
The Dodo, Lion, Unicorn,
And those with Anglo-Saxon motions,-
Of these I 'd know, of every one,
And if they keep their curious habits.
In short, if Alice still doth run
Away with wild and whisking rabbits.



A WARMTH of gold, all summer stored,
The goldenrod gives up;
And filled from.springtime's scantier hoard
Shines the sweet buttercup;
And from the singing of the breeze
And low, sweet sound of rain,
The little brook learns melodies
To sing them back again.

Forgotten all the cloudy sky
Of dark days overcast;
For flower-hearts let gloom go by,
But hold the sunshine fast.
And, all year long, the little burn,
Though wintry boughs be wet,
Picks out the happy days to learn -
The sad ones to forget.



A GIRL there was-I knew her well-
Who bore the simple name of Alice;
But where she lived 't was hard to tell-
Now in a wood, now in a palace;
The reason for which curious way
Was her extraordinary habit,
When interrupted at her play,
Of following a whisking rabbit.

Or through the looking-glass she 'd pop
On days she did n't go with Bunny;
So her adventures would n't stop-
She 'd find a country just as funny.
I never knew another child
To meet with persons so surprising:
Such animals, so tame and mild;
Such food and drink, so appetizing!

She 'd eat a thing, and up she 'd grow
Much higher than the highest'steeple;
Another bite, and down she 'd go
As short as Lilliputian people!
And she could swim, and she could fly,
And read the Jabberwocky writing;
In fact it is no use to try
To meet with things half so exciting.

But it was several years ago
I met this rarest of creations;
And here 's what I should like to know:
Does she keep up her explorations?
And does she meet the Cheshire Cat,
And find the Queen of Hearts a-roaring?
Is Humpty Dumpty just as fat,
And is the Dormouse still a-snoring?

And is the March Hare just as mad,
And is it tea-time with the Hatter?
Is the Mock Turtle just as sad;
Does Father William clear the platter?
And does she chase a Bandersnatch,
And lug about the tame Flamingo?
Do T. and T. fight out their match,
And does she hear the Gryphon's lingo?

The Aged Aged Man forlorn;
The Caterpillar with his notions;
The Dodo, Lion, Unicorn,
And those with Anglo-Saxon motions,-
Of these I 'd know, of every one,
And if they keep their curious habits.
In short, if Alice still doth run
Away with wild and whisking rabbits.



A WARMTH of gold, all summer stored,
The goldenrod gives up;
And filled from.springtime's scantier hoard
Shines the sweet buttercup;
And from the singing of the breeze
And low, sweet sound of rain,
The little brook learns melodies
To sing them back again.

Forgotten all the cloudy sky
Of dark days overcast;
For flower-hearts let gloom go by,
But hold the sunshine fast.
And, all year long, the little burn,
Though wintry boughs be wet,
Picks out the happy days to learn -
The sad ones to forget.



AMONG the horses which one would like to
own, I fancy that the steed which Oliver Gold-
smith once refused to accept would be consid-
ered a treasure. The story that is connected with
it is a true one, and for that reason is as worthy
of being repeated as any tale of knighthood.
Poor Goldy," as he was fondly nicknamed
later in life, did not look much like a knight.
Short of stature, with a homely face deeply
scarred by the smallpox, awkward in his man-
ners and movements, he would have made but
a sorry figure in the lordly tournament or at
a royal banquet. And yet he had within him
not a little of the knightly spirit. Generous to
a fault, daring even to foolhardiness, tender-
hearted, impulsive he was just the kind of
man to ride through the world, seeking adven-
tures, and risking his life in defense of the help-
less and innocent. Had he lived in the days of
chivalry, he would doubtless have been, in spite
of his ugliness and ungainliness, a famous knight
It is possible that when he rode into the
Irish seaport of Cork, one fine morning nearly
a hundred and fifty years ago, he had some
very knightly thoughts in his mind. He was
mounted on a handsome steed; he was clad,
if not in armor, in the gayest suit of clothes
that his tailor could be persuaded to make
for him; he had thirty pounds of his own
earnings in his pocket; and he was bound for
America, a country in which there was still
plenty of room for knightly prowess. His
mother and his friends, whom he had left be-
hind in the poor little village of Lissoy, knew
nothing of his whereabouts. He was not at
all disturbed by the fact that he had sadly dis-
appointed all their hopes; for would they not
hear of his success in the New World, and be
proud of him ?
Oliver had but lately completed a rather wild
and irregular course of study in college, and his

kinsfolk had insisted that he should become a
country parson, as his poor father had been be-
fore him. He felt his unfitness for such a calling,
but he cared less for that than for some of the
irksome restraints that it would impose. For
instance, he could not bear the thought of being
obliged to wear a long wig when he preferred
a short one, or of being always dressed in a
black coat when one of bright colors suited his
fancy so much better. He had frankly told
his relatives that he preferred pretty clothes to
the hard lot of a poor parson; and yet, as
neither he nor they could think of any other
business for which he was better fitted, he at
last consented to apply for holy orders. But
when the time came for him to go to the
Bishop of Elphin to be ordained, he could not
resist the temptation to wear a pair of beau-
tiful scarlet breeches with long hose and the
brightest buckles. For would he not become
a parson 'to-morrow, and be forever afterward
condemned to sober black ? The good bishop
was horrified at such levity, and refused to or-
dain him. Perhaps upon examination he found
that the young man was entirely ignorant of
the catechism. This failure of Oliver's had
been much less of a disappointment to him than
to his friends. But as he was now twenty-
three years old, and his mother was very poor,
it was highly necessary that he should find
something to do. And so he had found em-
ployment as a private tutor in a wealthy family
near Lissoy. From his pupils' point of view,
he was, no doubt, an accomplished and suc-
cessful teacher. .He was only a great boy him-
self, and life would have been one long holiday
to everybody if he could have had his own way.
But his way did not please his employer, and
finally, after a quarrel for which Oliver was
doubtless to blame, he was dismissed. The
money which he had earned at tutoring, how-
ever, was sufficient to equip him as a knight


errant, for it enabled him to buy the horse and
the splendid new suit of clothes with which, as
I have said, he rode one fine morning into the
city of Cork.
To his great satisfaction he found a ship,
already in port waiting only for favorable winds
to sail for America. He lost no time, therefore,
in selling his horse and in making a bargain
with the captain for his passage to the New
World. Then he sallied out to see the town.
He had no difficulty in making friends; for
he had money in his pocket, and he proceeded
to share it with all the beggars and street loaf-
ers that he met. He was ready to relieve
every case of distress that came to his notice,
and many were the boon fellows whom he
helped to entertain at the tavern. Several days
were passed in this way, and the thirty pounds
in his pocket had dwindled to but little more
than thirty slillings; and still the ship, upon one
pretext or another, delayed its sailing. One
fine night, however, while Oliver was in the
country enjoying himself with some newly
made acquaintances; a favorable' wind sprang
up, and the captain, entirely neglectful of his
passenger, ordered the vessel to be cast loose
from her moorings and the sails to be set for
the voyage. And in the morning, when Oliver
sauntered leisurely down to the wharf, he found
that he had been left behind.
It was lucky for the world that it happened
so. For had Oliver been carried to America,
our literature might never have known that most
charming of stories, "The Vicar of Wakefield,"
nor those rare, delightful poems, "The Traveller"
and "The Deserted Village works which will
keep green the name and fame of Oliver Gold-
smith as long as the English language endures.
Oliver was one of those happy beings to
whom all disappointments are light, and he did
not greatly mind being left behind. Finding
himself at last with but two guineas in his
pocket, he began to bethink him of how he
was to return to his good mother at Lissoy.
To make so long a journey on foot was out of
the question, and so after some bargaining he
bought a wretched little pony-ill fed and
very lean-whom he named "Fiddleback";
finding thereafter that he had just five shillings
left. This, as he afterward told his mother,

was but a scanty allowance for man and steed
for a journey of above a hundred miles; but
he counted on finding plenty of friends along
the road. As he ambled out of Cork, mounted
on poor Fiddleback, his fine suit of clothes
a good deal the worse for the three weeks of
careless living which they had seen, he would
hardly have been recognized as the gay young
fellow who had entered the city so proudly only
a short time before. But he was none the less
happy; for the sun shone as brightly as ever,
and Fiddleback was really a much better nag
than one might have supposed.
When but a few miles out from the city,
Oliver was hailed by a poor woman at the
roadside, who besought him for the love of
God to give her alms. She said that her hus-
band had been imprisoned for debt, and that
her eight children were starving, and that
the landlord was even then on his way to turn
them out of doors. The young man could
never listen to a tale of distress without being
touched with pity, and he hastily drew his
money from his pocket, and emptied the half
of it into the woman's hand. He had hardly
gone a hundred yards, however, when he be-
gan to feel sorry that he had not given her
all of it; for he remembered that the home
of one of his college friends was only five or
six miles away and he felt sure that when he
arrived there, all his wants would be supplied
and his purse replenished.
But-alas for those who put their trust in
human kindness! -Oliver's quondam friend
gave him but a sorry welcome. Scarcely a
mouthful of food did he offer him, and when
Oliver told him of the straits into which he was
fallen, he gave him but little sympathy.
Let me see," said he. "You are now, as
you say, nearly a hundred miles from home,
and you have only half a crown in your pocket.
That sorry nag which you have ridden from
Cork can barely make the journey in five days,
even if his bones should hold together so long;
and in the mean while you must have. food
and lodging, which cannot be obtained for less
than double your money. Let me tell you
what to do. Sell this Fiddleback, as you call
him,- I have a friend who will pay a guinea
for him,- then accept from me the present of




vt n


VOL. XXII.-9r.


a fine steed that will carry you home, not only
in safety, but with really no expense."
Oliver asked to see the steed that was thus
offered. His friend led him into his bed-room,
and pulled out from beneath the bed a stout
oak walking-stick, gnarled and knotty, which
looked as if it had seen some little service.
"Here is the horse for you," said he. "Take
him, and he will bear you to your mother's
house without costing you a penny."
It was not often that Oliver allowed himself
to become angry; but as he took the stick
into his hands he was strongly tempted to try
its strength on its owner's head. He forbore,
however, and at last handed back the prof-
fered gift, telling his friend that he would not

deprive him of so fine a steed, nor indeed re-
main in his house another hour.
A week later Oliver's mother was astonished
to see him ride into her yard at Lissoy, astride
of Fiddleback. Both man and steed were for-
lorn, bedraggled, half starved; but Oliver was
happier even than he had been at the begin-
ning of his knight-errantry.
What finally became of Fiddleback, or of
that other horse so ungenerbusly offered and
so promptly refused, nobody knows. But of
all the horses that I should like to own there
is none that would please me more than the
stout oak stick, the memory of which has been
preserved by this adventure of the author of
"The Vicar of Wakefield."




THE close of the year i780 was, in the
Southern States, the darkest time of our
Revolutionary struggle. Cornwallis had just
destroyed the army of Gates at Camden, and
his two formidable lieutenants, Tarleton the
light horseman, and Ferguson the skilled ri-
fleman, had destroyed or scattered all the
smaller bands who had been fighting for the
patriot cause. The red dragoons rode hither
and thither, and all through Georgia and
South Carolina none dared lift up their heads
to oppose them; while North Carolina lay at
the feet of Cornwallis as he started through
it with his army to march into Virginia.
There was no organized force against him,
and the cause of the patriots seemed hope-
less. It was at this dark hour that the wild
backwoodsmen of the Western border gath-
ered to strike a blow for liberty.
When Cornwallis invaded North Carolina
he sent Ferguson into the western part of the
State to crush out any of the patriot forces
that might still be lingering among the foot-
hills. Ferguson was a very gallant and able

officer, and a man of much influence with the
people wherever he went, so that he was
peculiarly fitted for this scrambling border
warfare. He had under him a battalion of
regular troops and several battalions of Tory
militia, in all eleven or twelve hundred men.
He shattered and drove the small bands of
Whigs that were yet in arms, and finally
pushed to the foot of the mountain wall, till he
could see in his front the high ranges of the
Great Smokies. Here he learned for the first
time that beyond the mountains there lay a few
hamlets of frontiersmen whose homes were on
what were then called the Western Waters that
is, the waters which flowed into the Mississippi.
To these he sent word that if they did not prove
loyal to the king he would cross the mountains,
hang their leaders, and burn their villages.
Beyond the mountains, in the valleys of the
Holston and the Watauga, dwelt men who
were stout of heart and mighty in battle; and
when they heard the threats of Ferguson their
hearts burned with a flame of sullen anger.
Hitherto the foes against whom they had
warred had been, not the British, but the
Indian allies of the British Creek and Chero-



kee and Shawnee. Now that the army of the
king had come to their thresholds, they turned
to meet him as fiercely as they had met his
Indian allies. Among the backwoodsmen of
this region there were at that time three men
of special note: Sevier, who afterward became
governor of Tennessee; Shelby, who afterward
became governor of Kentucky; and Campbell,
the Virginian, who died in the Revolutionary

the stump-dotted clearings, and the hunters
from their smoky cabins in the deep woods.
The meeting-place was at the Sycamore
Shoals. On the appointed day the backwoods-
men gathered, sixteen hundred strong, each
man carrying a long rifle, and mounted on a
tough, shaggy horse. They were a grin and
fierce people, accustomed to the chase and to
warfare with the Indians. Their hunting-shirts


War. Sevier had given a great barbecue,
where oxen and deer were roasted whole,
horse-races were run, and the backwoodsmen
tried their skill as marksmen and wrestlers. In
the midst of the feasting Shelby appeared, hot
with hard riding, to tell of the approach of
Ferguson and the British. Immediately the
feasting was stopped, and the feasters made
ready for war. Sevier and Shelby sent word
to Campbell to rouse the men of his district
and come without delay; and they sent mes-
sengers to and fro in their own neighborhood
to summon the settlers from their log huts on

of buckskin or homespun were girded in by
bead-worked belts, and the trappings of their
horses were stained red and yellow. At the
gathering there was a black-frocked Presby-
terian preacher; and before they started he ad-
dressed the tall riflemen in words of burning
zeal, urging them to stand stoutly in the battle
and to smite with the sword of the Lord and
of Gideon." Then the army started, the back-
woods colonels riding in front.
Two or three days later word was brought to
Ferguson that the Back-water men had come
over the mountains; that the Indian-fighters



of the frontier, leaving unguarded their homes
on the Western Waters, had crossed by wooded
and precipitous defiles to the help of the beaten
men of the plains. Ferguson at once fell back,
sending out messengers for help. When he
came to King's Mountain,- a wooded, hog-
back hill on the border line between North and
South Carolina,- he camped on its top, deem-
ing that there he was safe; for he supposed that
before the backwoodsmen could come near
enough to attack him, help would reach him.
But the backwoods leaders felt as keenly as
he the need of haste, and choosing out their
picked men,- the best warriors of the force
and the best mounted and armed,- they made a
long forced march to assail Ferguson before help
could come to him. All night long they rode the
dim forest trails and splashed across the fords of
the rushing rivers. All the next day -the 6th
of October-- they rode too, until in mid after-
noon they came in sight of King's Mountain.
The little armies were about ejual in num-
bers. Ferguson's regulars were armed with
the bayonet, and so were some of his Tory
militia, whereas the Americans had not a bayo-
net among them; but they were picked men,
confident in their skill with the rifle, and they
were so sure of victory that their aim was not
only to defeat the British, but to capture their
whole force! The backwoods colonels, coun-
seling together as they rode at the head of the
column, decided to surround the mountain and
assail it on all sides. Accordingly, the bands
of frontiersmen split one from the other, and
soon encircled the craggy hill where Ferguson's
forces were encamped. They left their horses
in the rear, and immediately began the battle,
swarming forward on foot, their commanders
leading the attack.
The march had been so quick and the attack
so sudden that Ferguson barely had time to
marshal his men before the assault was made.

Most of his militia he scattered around the top
of the hill to fire down at the Americans as they
came up; while, drawing up his regulars and a
few picked militia, he charged in person, with
the bayonet, first down one side of the moun-
tain and then down the other. Sevier, Shelby,
Campbell, and the other colonels of the fron-
tiersmen led each his force of riflemen straight
toward the summit. Each body in turn, when
charged by the regulars, was forced to give way,
for they had no bayonets wherewith to meet
their foes; but the backwoodsmen retreated
only so long as the charge lasted, and the
minute that it stopped they stopped too, and
came back ever closer to the ridge, and ever
with a deadlier fire. Ferguson, blowing a sil-
ver whistle as a signal to his men, led these
charges, sword in hand, on horseback. At
last, just as he was once again rallying his
men, the riflemen of Sevier and Shelby crowned
the top of the ridge. The gallant British com-
mander became a fair target for the backwoods-
men; and, as for the last time he led his men
against them, seven bullets entered his body,
and he fell dead. With his fall resistance
ceased. The regulars and Tories huddled to-
gether in a confused mass, while the exultant
Americans rushed forward. A flag of truce
was hoisted, and all the British who were not
dead surrendered.
The victory was complete, and the back-
woodsmen at once started to return to their
log hamlets and rough, lonely farms. They
could not stay, for they dared not leave their
homes at the mercy of the Indians. They had
rendered a great service; for Cornwallis, when
he heard of the disaster to his trusted lieuten-
ant, abandoned his march northward, and re-
tired to South Carolina. When he again re-
sumed the offensive, he found his path barred
by stubborn General Greene and his troops of
the Continental line.




"THIS is hard luck!" said Tom Wright,
gloomily. "Day after to-morrow we begin
training, and Hill 's sick at the last minute."
There were four young fellows seated in
Wright's room, all members of the 'Varsity
crew. As Tom had just said, Hill, who had
rowed in the No. 7 seat, had been suddenly
taken with a low fever, and the doctor had
positively forbidden his rowing. The prospect
for filling his place was exceedingly poor, and
Tom Wright, who was stroke-oar and captain
of the crew, was in despair.
Could n't Higgins row in Hill's position ?"
suggested Dorsey, who pulled No. 4 oar.
No; he is n't up to it," answered Wright.
" Brooks, here, will tell you that he can't be
made to last over two miles, and that he's
only second-rate at that." Brooks nodded.
" But I suppose we '11 have to do the best we
can with him," continued Wright, resignedly.
Just then the door opened, and Foster, the
bow-oar, walked in. Foster was in the post-

graduate department, and when he said any-
thing it was usually worth hearing.
Hill 's sick? he asked.
"Yes," said Brooks, dejectedly.
"Well," said Foster, in his slow fashion, as
he seated himself on a table and examined a
tennis-racket, "I have a man for his place."
"You have! said Wright. Who is it ? "
"Fales. He 's a new man in the postgradu-
ate department, a big fellow,-must weigh fully
one hundred and eighty-five pounds. He 's
coaching the sophomores in geometry, and
he '11 row so long as it won't interfere with that.
He looks as though he 'd get into condition in
a couple of weeks, too. He 's rowed before -
on some Canadian crew, I think he said."
"That 's something worth hearing!" said
Wright. "When '11 he begin ?"
Immediately. I told him to be at the boat-
house at four sharp to-morrow afternoon. He
can row from four till six o'clock each day."
Well, that makes our prospects considerably


brighter," remarked Brooks, in a delighted voice.
" I only hope he '11 turn out as good a fellow as
you describe. And I guess I '11 be going now
for a dig at that astronomy. Good night, all!"
And the crowd separated, Foster remaining
to have a chat with Wright.
The crew were in the dressing-room at the
boat-house the following afternoon when Foster
came in, followed by an athletic-looking fellow
with curly hair and a pleasant, though decid-
edly grave face. Every one felt at once that
this must be Fales, and seven pairs of eyes
were turned on him critically.
"This is Bert Fales," said Foster.
"Glad to meet you, Fales! exclaimed the
stroke-oar, grasping the other's hand, and giving
a glance of approval at his strong shoulders and
well-knit frame. We're just getting ready for
a couple of miles' spin, and we 'd like you to try
No. 7 seat that is, if you think you 're able
to, to-day. Of course you can take it easy."
All right; I 'll try it," said Fales, quietly.
I won't promise to do any very hard pulling.
It'll take me a little while to get my hand in;
but I '11 do my best."
"That's all we expect," answered Wright,
briskly. "You '11 find a locker for your clothes
over there, and you have come ready to row,
I see."
In ten minutes more Fales was in boating
costume, and Wright nodded to Foster as he
saw the long arms and powerful chest of the
new man. "He 's a good one," he whispered,
as the eight men clattered down-stairs and
ranged themselves along the shell, preparatory
to carrying her down the slip to the water.
And Fales created no disappointment in the
boat. He handled his oar cleverly, and, though
he did not exert himself, the stroke-oar and
the coxswain could see by the way the water
swirled silently from his blade and went rush-
ing toward the stern that he made every one
of a well-developed set of muscles do its part
in his stroke. And there was a grim smile of
satisfaction on Wright's face as he bent to his
work and glanced up at the little coxswain.
When they had come down the river to the
boat-house again, and the coxswain's "Way
enough! had caused the oar-blades to lie on
the water, sending little spurts from their edges

as the shell shot down stream, the stroke-oar
turned in his seat:
Well, how did it go ? he asked.
First-rate! I tell you it makes a fellow
feel magnificent to get on the water. I am
all out of condition, doing nothing but study
'and read; but I think I 'll be with you in a few
days. Your stroke is a trifle different from
ours; but I believe it's a better one."
"Well, I guess we '11 go in now," said
Wright, after a moment. "Ready there, Brooks!"


"Ready !" repeated the coxswain. Hold,
starboard! Pull easy, port!" and the long
"eight" slowly swung around, and, with her
bow pointed for the slip, moved ahead.
S"Fales! called Wright, as the latter was
leaving the dressing-room afterward. "I 'd
take a short run each day, I think. You '11
get into condition quicker, and the regular
training later on won't be so hard!"
"All right!" sang back the other in a cheery
way, and he was gone.




The training went ahead steadily, and Fales
gave no reason to regret the absence of Hill.
Wright and Brooks were delighted with him;
and as for Foster, he only smiled in a satisfied
way which befitted him as the one who had
secured the new oarsman: The rest of the
crew took that interest in the No. 7 oar which
every well-regulated crew takes in a fellow-
member who does his full duty. But as to any
feeling of personal friendship for him, it was im-
possible; for he was as silent as the proverbial
oyster, except when questioned, and never re-
mained after rowing to talk over the small mat-
ters of college life with the rest. So soon as
the shell was placed on the racks he was off to
dress, and immediately afterward left the boat-
house and went to his room to study, or per-
haps took a short run. He seemed to be oc-
cupied with his books or engaged in writing
during all his leisure hours.

One evening Wright was sitting in his room,
trying to master a difficult problem in astron-
omy, when the door was opened and Brooks
came in. Wright glanced up, threw him a
hasty nod of recognition, and then bent his
head again and went on trying to study. He
hoped the new-comer would go out soon; for
he was intent on the work before him.
By and by he looked up again, and Brooks
was still there, with his eyes gazing upon the
carpet and his forehead all wrinkled as though
he were greatly puzzled. Evidently he intended
to stay.
"What's the matter ?" asked Wright, laying
down his book in surprise. Don't sit there
frowning, but speak out! "
"I don't know how to begin," said Brooks.
"Don't know how to begin? Begin at the
beginning What 's it all about, anyhow ? "
"It's Fales," explained Brooks, slowly.
"Well, what about him ? He is n't sick, is
he ? "
No; only oh, well, I guess I 'd better get
it right out. He 's been writing letters!"
"What of that? asked Wright, amazedly.
"He can write them if he wants to, can't he ? "
Yes; but he's writing them to the coxswain
of the crew of- University; and can't you
think what I mean ? "

There was a pause; then Wright jumped to
his feet. "You mean that he 's giving our se-
crets away !" he exclaimed excitedly. "Why,
we have our race with them in a little while.
Do you mean that he 's telling them about our
stroke, the time we 're making, and all that ?
I can't believe it! "
"All I know is that he 's writing constantly
to the coxswain of their crew "
"And that's the only thing he 'd be likely
to be writing about so frequently," finished
Wright for him. "He 's a spy, that's what he
is ] We don't know anything about him, except
that he can pull a good oar, and he never has
a word to say for himself. I '11 make him
leave the crew to-day; and I '11--"
"No, you won't, Tom!" broke in Brooks.
"We have n't got any real proof against him,
only the address on the letters which I have
chanced to see at different times. Besides, if
we put him out of the crew now, who '11 we get
to row in his place? We have n't one fellow
who could pull anything like as well as he
does. All we can do is to wait, and keep an
eye on him. And I have an idea, anyhow,
that he '11 forget all bout what he's here for,-
if he is a spy,- and '11 do his best for us. He
is immensely fond of rowing- I can see that
-and gets very earnest over his work in the
boat. But don't let the rest of the fellows
know anything about this! It would only make
him an object of suspicion to them, and he 'd
notice it, and probably would leave us just at
the last minute. Then we should be in a fix
indeed. No; the best we can do is to keep
quiet and watch him carefully."
For a few minutes Wright did not reply.
Then he looked up. I guess you 're right,"
he said slowly; "there 's nothing else to be
Well, good night, old fellow!" said Brooks,
as cheerfully as he could. All will come out
right yet"; and the door slammed upon him.
In spite of Brooks's admonition, Wright's
manner toward Fales was somewhat cooler
when he met him next day, and there was just
the least suspicion of formality also in the
greeting of Brooks and of Foster, who had been
let into the secret, and who would n't hear of
the accusation at first. But the rest, if they



noticed it, gave it no further thought. Fales
felt the change, however; but, though it hurt
him keenly, he gave no sign of it. If anything,
his manner became more reserved and silent
than ever, and the three immediately saw in
this a guilty conscience, and felt confirmed in
their suspicions.
About two weeks before the race the crew,
with the substitutes and the "coach," a man
named Gray, went to New London. Quarters

Wright started, and exchanged a meaning
look with Brooks.
"Where did he say he was going?" he
"He did n't tell me, and I did n't think it
necessary to ask. He is n't the kind of fellow
to do anything foolish or to get into trouble,
you know. He '11 be back in good time."
Oh, yes," Wright returned absently; "he '11
come back, I suppose "; and Gray thought he


had been secured on the western bank of the
Thames River, and only a few hundred yards
above those occupied by the crew of the rival
university on the opposite shore.
After supper on the evening of their arrival,
Fales asked permission to spend two hours
away from quarters. Gray considered for a
moment and then consented. Active training
had been begun; but he knew Fales to be a
steady fellow who would n't get into mischief.
About an hour after Fales had left, Wright
noticed his absence and asked where he was.
"He asked leave to be away for a couple of
hours, and I let him go," explained Gray.

detected a suggestive tone in his voice; but the
other's face told nothing, and in a few minutes
the whole thing had passed from his mind.
An hour later, just as they were going in-
doors, Fales came around a corer of the
porch with a quiet Good evening." Wright
glanced at him sharply; but the other was as
grave and silent as usual, and Wright felt angry
with himself for not speaking out and demand-
ing an explanation of him. He turned aside to
speak to Brooks, and was surprised not to see
him. No one had seen him leave, either.
In a little while Wright got up. Well," he
said, yawning, I'm going to bed, and I advise



you to do the same. We 've got to go over a
good part of that course on time to-morrow."
Gray gave the same advice, but the crew
went to bed reluctantly, for it was a magnificent
night, clear and balmy.
Wright had been in his room only a few min-
utes when Brooks came in. "Tom," he sail,
" we were right about Fales. I 'm pretty certain
now. When he left here he took the skiff and
pulled over to the quarters on the other side.
I had a suspicion of something when Gray told
me he had got permission to go away, and I
slipped out and took the single working-boat
and paddled across the river. I came up to the
slip over there without being noticed, and I
saw Fales sitting in the shadow of a big pile,
talking to their coxswain. I could n't hear
what they said-they were too far off; but I
saw them both plainly. Fales is a spy, that 's
my opinion !"
"He 's a sneak a low sneak! If we lose
that race, it '11 be due to him. And if we 're
beaten, I '11 make it so hot for him that he'll-"
and Wright tried to find a word expressive of
his feelings, and, failing, shut his jaws with a
savage snap suggestive of something fearful in
store for the No. 7 man.
"There 's no use of borrowing trouble," re-
marked Brooks, after a pause. "We can't do
anything now, and what we 'd better do is to
get to bed and try to look on the bright side of
things. Good night! and he stalked out of
the room.
Wright went to bed promptly; but he could
not sleep for a while; for somehow he could
not see any bright side to the affair.

It was half-past four o'clock when the two
crews "lined up on the afternoon of the race.
It was a magnificent day. The river lay calm,
except where a breath of air touched it into life
and sent the ripples chasing down stream. The
tide was nearly done running out, and the spar-
buoys stood up almost straight in the water.
On the western bank the old town shone out
clear in the sunlight, a short distance below the
starting-point. On the right the land rose close
to the river, and a little further up the green of
the trees was enlivened by the gay colors of
the flags lazily drooping from the staffs on the
VOL. XXII.-92.

house of one of the residents. Two great ex-
cursion steamers laboriously churned the water.
Their throbbing engines told of the pressure in
their boilers, as they awaited the start. A host
of naphtha or steam launches swarmed about;
puffing inordinately and getting in every one's
way, while rival captains bellowed directions
at each other over some awkward movement.
The banks swarmed with black coats and white
dresses, those of the town folk not on the steam
craft, and everything seemed to breathe a sup-
pressed excitement.
Fifty feet below the long shells the referee's
launch lay; and, clinging to the rail as he leaned
over the sharp cutwater, the referee himself
was giving orders in quick, exact tones.
At last he had finished, and the eighteen
men in the shells who had been straining their
ears to catch every word, straightened them-
selves in their seats and nervously gripped their
oars afresh. Then, with the blood tingling cu-
riously in their finger-ends, they leaned their
heads forward a trifle, and with eyes straight
astern awaited the word.
"Ready! and sixteen oars flashed back'the
sunlight as they moved and dipped into the
water again, their holders poising themselves,
ready for the stroke. The launches had darted
aside, the steamers were in position, and from
the bows of the two shells up stream there
stretched a clear space of water, which was
lost only where the river bent toward the
west. Suddenly there rang out, loud and clear,
" Go I "
Like a flash sixteen pairs of shoulders
squared, sixteen seats shot back, and the water
surged -astern from the driven blades. A
second later, and the river boiled under the
wheels and propellers of the steam-craft, and
a mighty shout went up, punctuated by a
dozen shrill blasts from the pipes of the
The two shells had leaped forward almost
together. Leaning easily in the seat, Brooks
gave a look to his crew. With tense fingers
grasping the tiller-ropes, he uttered a low
"Steady!" which thrilled each man in the
boat, and made them stretch out by common
impulse and send the water flying in eddying
circles from their blades. In twenty strokes


the crew had settled down, and Brooks, with
another warning "Steady!" gave a glance to
their opponents.
Not over fifty feet away the other crew,
working together in perfect unison, were hold-
ing their own splendidly. He could not
refrain from admiring the regular rise and fall
of the shoulders of each oarsman, and the
long, powerful reach and catch "of the
eight oars. He saw the struggle which was
ahead before either crew would win, and turned
to his own boat again.
Wright was pulling thirty-five strokes to the
minute, and his boat was going fully as fast
as the other, despite the fact that the quick
sound of the oars in the locks on the rival
shell told of the faster stroke the stroke-oars-
man there was setting. Brooks saw with sat-
isfaction the cool determination in the faces
of those nearest to him.
At the half-mile post the two shells were
nearly bow and bow, and Wright was still
pulling but thirty-five strokes, while his rivals
were rowing thirty-seven.
The steamers were strung out far in the
rear, except the referee's launch, which cut
the water only fifty yards astern. The shouts
had died out, and only an occasional yell from
the more enthusiastic admirers of one crew or
the other, with a periodic whistle from some
launch, showed the interest of the spectators.
At the mile buoy the faster stroke of the
other boat, Brooks saw, had forced it fully
five feet ahead of them. It was only five feet;
but he did not like even that, and, leaning
forward, he spoke a low word to Wright.
Then followed the Ready, there!" and the
quick yell of the stroke-oar as he set a faster
pace. Twenty times the oars flashed in and
out and they were again even with the other
boat, which had made no spurt. A half-mile
further, and they were still on equal terms with
their rivals, and half of the three miles of the
race was covered..
As they rounded a slight bend a little further
on, Brooks gave another searching glance to
his crew. Not a face there but was set and
resolved; not one that looked dispirited, though
every man was pulling strongly, and the per-
spiration streamed from faces and shoulders.

Pleased with what he saw, he whispered again
to the stroke, and at the same instant heard
the indistinct sound of a similar warning in
the other boat.
Again came the Steady there!" followed
smartly by Wright's yell. Then there was a
quick pull, another, a third, and on the third
an ominous crack, a crunching sound, and
the shell jarred sharply. Wright had shot
back helpless in his seat, the handle of his
oar clasped- in his hands, while the blade
drifted to the stern, broken off at the rowlock.
For the moment the confusion among the
crew was complete. Brooks shouted direc-
tions; but the disorganization was sufficient
to make the shell lose headway and sheer
off toward the starboard side. The other boat
was fully half a length ahead almost immedi-
ately; but it looked like a collision, the two
shells were so close to each other.
Then, just as the stroke-oar in the other
boat came opposite to the bow of their boat,
there came to each crew an order.
Let her go all together there! sang out
the coxswain of their rival, and his boat shot
forward under the increased stroke. But to
Brooks's ears a more grateful sound was the
deep-toned voice of the No. 7 man in his
own crew, Steady there Now, pick her up,
all together and then his sharp One two
three four five six seven eight
-nine- ten! "
And, as if by magic, order sprang from dis-
order, and at each count there was a strong
united pull, and Brooks felt the boat lift and
shoot as the seven men threw their weight
on the oars. He saw that the crew recognized
a leader in Fales, and that they were inspired
with renewed energy by his encouraging words
and example. Brooks, in the excitement of the
moment, had not paid especial attention to the
No. 7 man before. Now the latter suddenly
had become the master of the situation. Upon
him everything depended. Whether they were
to win the race with only seven oars against the
eight of their opponents was to be determined
largely by his skill and strength. Wright had
drawn his seat as close to the foot-stretcher as he
could manage, and sat there, still and helpless,
but with a strange look on his face as he realized



that Fales had so cleverly and determinedly
assumed the duties of stroke-oar. Brooks
grasped the tiller-lines more firmly, for by this
time the shell was upon her course; but having
only three men on one side of the boat to the
four on the other made it difficult to keep her
steady. Brooks saw, however, that they were
now holding their own with their rivals, who
were one boat's length ahead. They had yet
a mile to go, and slowly but surely, under the
faster stroke of Fales, they were diminishing the
distance separating them from the leading boat.
A half-mile further, and the stern of their rivals'
shell was even with the middle of their own.
But they could not gain another inch; for the
others had begun'rowing a faster stroke. Spurt
for spurt the two crews made; but the advan-
tage of the leaders was not once permanently
increased or lessened.
Then, just as they came into the last quar-
ter of a mile, the other crew began pulling
quickly, and their boat crept slowly ahead.
Brooks looked inquiringly a~ Fales; but Fales
only shook his head slightly. A third of the
last quarter was passed over, and their ri-
vals were nearly clear of them, when Brooks,
watching Fales's face anxiously, saw him give
a sudden look of command. Instantly his
voice rang out clear:
Now, give it to her, all together! Pick her
right up!" And he began to count sharply.
With the first word Fales uttered a short cry
and went back on his seat like a flash. Almost
as quickly he had drawn himself together again,
and the crew responded nobly to his thirty-
nine stroke. The boat jumped to the first
stroke like a thing of life, and the water hissed
and swirled madly from the oars. Brooks saw
the great muscles on the shoulders and thighs
of the No. 7 man stand out like cords, and he
heard the labored breathing of the men as they
bent to their work. But, best of all, he saw
they were rapidly overtaking the other boat.
Now they had entered upon the last hundred
yards of the race, and the stroke had been
raised to forty to the minute, and the cox-
swain of the other boat was nearly on a level
with Brooks. Wright's face was wreathed
with smiles. Fifty yard, and they were even;
twenty-five, and Brooks saw the swirl from the

stroke-oar of their rivals opposite to him, and he
knew his own boat was ahead. A few last
strokes, and they had passed the buoy at the
finish; and with a shout of "Way enough!"
Brooks threw out his hand to Wright.
But the latter had turned in his seat and
had grasped the hand of the No. 7 man in
his own, and was gripping it hard.
"You 've won the race for us," he was say-
ing. And Fales could only return the hand-
shake and look happy.
And then there were yells and cheers from
the friends of the winning crew; for the big
steamers and the launches had come up. The
two shells had drifted close together, and as the
crews rested in their seats, the oars lying flat on
the water, Fales suddenly looked across at the
coxswain of the other boat, who sat dejectedly,
holding the loose tiller-lines in his hands.
"Wright," Fales said, turning his face toward
the latter, I want to introduce you to my
cousin, Dean Bartow"; and he indicated the
coxswain of the rival crew.
"I 'm glad to meet you," said Wright; "but
I 'm sorry it 's under such circumstances -
sorry for you, you understand," with a smile.
"Well," returned the other, frankly, "you
are n't more sorry than I am. But I suppose I
ought to have expected it. You don't'get an
oar like Bert Fales every day, if I say it my-
self. But to be beaten by seven inen!"
and he looked so disgusted that the others
laughed; they could n't help it. "And the
worst of it all is," continued Bartow, "that
Bert 's been writing to me every week we 're
great chums, you know and telling me that
he expected you would be beaten, now that
he was in the crew. Never mind; he won't
be with you next year, and then well, we '11
get even with you, or at least we '11 try.
Good-by and his crew, taking up their oars,
slowly pulled up the river to their quarters.
For a minute Wright and Brooks looked
after the other boat; then the former gave
the latter a shamefaced glance. Foster came
to Wright's room that night, when no one else
was there but Brooks, and the three took a
solemn vow never to hint at what they had
suspected. And to think," said Brooks, just
before he left, "that we thought Fales a spy."



[Begun in the April number, 1894.]

EARLY in the morning, perhaps by eight
o'clock, a boat came over to the settlement
from the lieutenant's schooner, which, with
the sloop, lay some four or five miles away.
A number of men were lounging on the land-
ing, watching its approach. The men in the
boat rowed close up to the landing, and there
lay upon their oars. A man stood up in the
stern. It was the master's mate of the
schooner. "Is there any man here," said he,
"what can pilot over the shoals?"
Nobody answered him; they stood staring
stupidly at him. One of the men at last took
his pipe out of his mouth. "There be n't
any pilot here, master," said he. We be n't
none of us pilots."
Why, what a story you do tell! said the
mate. "D' ye suppose I 've never been down
here before, not to know that every man about
here knows the passes of the shoals ? "
The man still held his pipe in his hand.
He looked at another one of the men. "Do
you know the passes in over the shoals, Jem ?"
said he.
The man to whom he spoke was a young fel-
low with long, shaggy, sunburned hair hanging
over his eyes in an unkempt mass. He shook
his head, grunting. "Na; I don't know naught
about t' shoals," said he.
"'T is Lieutenant Maynard of his Majesty's
navy, in command of them vessels out there,"
said the mate. "He '11 give any man five
pounds, to pilot him in." The men on the
wharf looked at one another, but no one spoke.
The mate sat looking at them; he saw that they
did not choose to answer him. "Why," said
he, "I believe you 've not got right wits;

that's what I believe is the matter with you.
Pull me up to the landing, men, and I '11 go
ashore and see if I can find anybody that 's
willing to make five pounds for such a little bit
of piloting as that."
After the mate had gone the loungers still
stood on the wharf looking down into the boat.
They began talking to one another for the men
in the boat to hear them.
They 're coming in," said one, to blow poor
Blackbeard out of the water." "Ay," said an-
other man; "he's meek, too, he is. He '11 just
lie still and let 'em blow and blow, he will."
"There's a young fellow there," said another
of the men; "he don't look fit to die yet, he
don't. Why, I would n't be in his place for
a thousand pound." "I do suppose Black-
beard 's so afraid he don't know how to see,"
said the first speaker.
The men in the boat had sat listening. At
last one of them spoke up. "Maybe he don't
know how to see," said he; "but maybe we '11
blow some daylight into him afore we get
through with him."
Some more men had come out from the
shore to the end of the wharf. There was now
quite a crowd standing looking at the men in
the boat. "What do them Virginny 'baccy-
eaters do down here in Caroliny, anyway?"
said one of the new-comers. They 've got no
call to be down here in North Carolina waters."
Maybe you can keep us away from coming,
and maybe you can't," said a man from the
"Why," answered a man on the wharf, "we
could keep you away easy enough; but you
be n't worth the trouble, and that's the truth."
There was a heavy iron bolt lying near the
edge of the landing. One of the men upon the
wharf slyly-pushed it out with the end of his
foot. It hung for a moment, and then fell into



the boat below with a crash. "What d' ye
mean by that? roared the man in charge of
the boat. "What d' ye mean, ye villains?
D' ye mean to stave us in?"
"Why," said the man who had pushed it,
"you saw 't was n't done a-purpose, did n't
you? "
Well, you try it again and somebody '11 get
hurt," said the man in the- boat, showing the
butt-end of a pistol.
The men on the wharf began laughing. Just
then the mate came down from the settlement
again, and out along the landing. The threat-
ened turbulence quieted as he approached, and
the crowd moved stolidly aside to let him pass.
He did not bring any pilot with him. He
jumped down into the stern of the boat. "Push
off," said he, briefly. The crowd of loungers
stood looking after them as they rowed away.
When the boat was some distance away from
the landing they burst out into a volley of
derisive yells. "The villains!" said the mate.
"They are all in league together. They would
not even let me go up into the settlement for a

The lieutenant and his sailing-master stood
together watching the boat as it approached.
Could n't you, then, get a pilot, Baldwin ? said
Mr. Maynard, as the mate scrambled aboard.
"Why, no, I could n't, sir," said the mate.
"Either they 're all banded together, or else
they're all afraid of the villains. They would n't
even let me go up into the settlement to find
"Well, then," said Mr. Maynard, "we 'll
make shift to work in as best we may by our-
selves. 'T will be high tide against one
o'clock. We 'll run in then with sail as far as
we can, and then we '11 send you ahead with
the boat to sound for a pass, and we '11 follow
with the sweeps. You know the waters pretty
well, you say."
"They were saying ashore that the villain
hath forty men aboard," said the mate.*
Lieutenant Maynard's force consisted of thirty-
five men in the schooner and twenty-five men
in the sloop. He carried neither cannons nor
carronades, and neither of his vessels was very

well fitted for the purpose for which they were
sent out. The schooner, which he himself
commanded, offered no protection to the crew.
It was not more than a foot high in the waist,
and the men on the deck were almost entirely
exposed. The rail of the sloop was perhaps
a little higher; but still it was hardly better
adapted for fighting. Indeed, the lieutenant
depended more upon the moral force of official
authority to overawe the villains than upon
his force of arms or men. He never believed
until the very last moment that the pirates
would show any real fight. It is very possible
that they might not have resisted had they not
thought that the lieutenant had really no legal
right to attack them.
It was about noon when anchor was hoisted,
and, with the schooner leading, both vessels
ran slowly in before a light wind that had be-
gun to blow toward midday. In each vessel
a man stood in the bows, sounding continually
with lead and line. As they slowly opened up
the harbor within the inlet, they could see the
pirate sloop. There was a boat just putting
off from it to the shore.
The lieutenant and his sailing-master stood
together on the roof of the cabin deck-house.
The sailing-master held a glass to his eye.
"She carries a long gun, sir," said he, "and
four carronades. She '11 be hard to beat, sir, I
do suppose, armed as we are with only small
arms for close fighting."
The lieutenant laughed. "Why, Brookes,"
said he, "you seem to think forever of these
men showing fight. You don't know them as
I know them. They have a deal of bluster
and make a deal of noise, but when you seize
them and hold them with a strong hand there's
naught of fight left in them. 'T is like enough
there '11 not be so much as a musket fired to-
day. I 've had .to do with 'em often enough
before to know my gentlemen well by this
time." Nor was it until the very last that the
lieutenant could be brought to admit that the
pirates had any stomach for a fight.
The two vessels had reached to perhaps
within a mile of the pirate sloop, before they
found the water too shoal to venture any fur-
ther with sail. It was then that the boat was

*The pirate Captain had really only twenty-five men aboard of his sloop at the time of the fight.


lowered, as the lieutenant had planned, and the
mate'.went ahead to sound, the two vessels,
with their sails still hoisted, but empty of wind,
Pulling in after with sweeps.
The pirate had hoisted sail, and now lay as
though waiting for the approach of the two
The boat in which the mate was sounding
had run a considerable distance ahead of the
larger and more cumbersome vessels. The
sloop and the schooner had gradually crept up
with the sweeps to within perhaps a little less
than half a mile, and the boat with the mate
was, maybe, a quarter of a mile closer. Sud-
denly there was a puff of smoke from the pirate
sloop, and then another and another, and the
next moment there came the three reports of
muskets up the wind.
"Zounds! said the lieutenant, "I do be-
lieve they 're firing on the boat." As he
spoke the boat turned and began pulling to-
ward them. "Yes; there they are, coming
back again," said he.
The boat with the mate aboard was putting
back, rowing rapidly. Again there were three
or four puffs of smoke, and three or four re-
ports from the muskets on the distant vessel.
Then in a little while the boat was alongside,
and the mate came scrambling aboard. "Never
mind hoisting the boat," said the lieutenant;
"we '11 just take her in tow. Come aboard as
quick as you can." Then, turning to the sail-
ing-master, "Well, Brookes, you '11 have to
crack on all sail, and we '11 do the best we can
to get in over the shoals."
But, sir," said the master, "we '11 be sure
to run aground."
"Very well, sir," said the lieutenant; "ydu
heard my orders. If we run aground, we run
aground, and that 's all there is of it."
I sounded, as far as may be, a little over a
fathom," said the mate; "but the villains would
let me get no further. I think I was in the
channel, though. 'T is more open inside, as I
mind me of it. There's a kind of a hole there,
and if we get in over the shoals just beyond
where I was, we '11 be all right."
"Well, then, you take the wheel, Baldwin,"
said the lieutenant, "and do the best you can
for us."

Lieutenant Maynard stood looking out for-
ward at the pirate vessel, which they were now
steadily nearing under half sail. He could see
that there were signs of bustle aboard, and of
men running around upon the deck.
Then he walked aft and around the cabin.
The sloop was some distance astern. It ap-
peared to have run aground, and they were try-
ing to push it off with the sweeps. The lieu-
tenant looked over the stern. It seemed to
him that the schooner was already raising the
mud in her wake. He went forward across the
deck. His men were crouching down along
by the rail. There was a quietness of expecta-
tion about them. The lieutenant looked them
over as he passed. "Johnson," said he, "do
you take the lead and line and go forward
and sound a bit." Then to the others: "Now,
my men, the moment we run her aboard, you
get aboard of her as quick as you can, do you
understand ? Don't wait for the sloop, or think
about her; but just get aboard as quick as you
can, and see that the grappling-irons are fast.
If any man offers to resist you, shoot him down.
Are you all ready, Mr. Cringle ?"
"Ay, ay, sir," said the gunner.
"Very well, then. Be ready, men; we '11
board 'em in a minute or two."
"There 's less than a fathom of water here,
sir," called out Johnson from the bows. As he
spoke there was a sudden soft jar and jerk, then
the schooner was still. They were aground.
Push her off to the starboard there! Let go
your sheets! roared the mate from the wheel.
" Push her off to the starboard !" He spun the
wheel around as he spoke. Half a dozen men
sprang up, seized the sweeps, and plunged them
into'the water. Others ran to help them, but
the sweeps only sank into the mud without
moving the schooner. The sails had fallen off,
and they were flapping and thumping and clap-
ping in the wind. Others of the crew had
scrambled to their feet, and ran to help those
at the sweeps. The lieutenant had walked
quickly aft again. They were very close to
the pirate sloop. Suddenly some one hailed
the lieutenant from aboard of her. There was
a man standing up on the rail of the pirate
sloop, holding by the backstays.
"Who are you ? he called; "and whence




come you? What do you seek here? What
d' ye mean, coming down on us this way? "
The lieutenant heard somebody say, "That 's
Blackbeard himself"; and he looked curiously
at the distant figure.
The pirate stood out boldly against the cloudy
sky. Somebody seemed to speak to him from
behind. He turned his head. Then he turned
around again. "We're only peaceful merchant-
men! he called. "What authority have you
got to come down upon us this way? If you '11
come aboard I '11 show you my papers, and
that we 're only peaceful merchantmen."
"The villains!" said the lieutenant to the
master, who stood beside him. "They 're
peaceful merchantmen, are they? They look
like peaceful merchantmen, with four carron-
ades and a long gun aboard!" Then he called
out across the water, I '11 come aboard with
my schooner as soon as I can push her off
If you undertake to come aboard of me,"
called the pirate, "I '11 shoot into you. You've
got no authority to board me, and I sha'n't
have you do it. If you undertake to do it,
't will be your own fault, for I '11 neither ask
quarter of you, nor give none."
Very well," said the lieutenant; if you
choose to try that, you may do as you please;
for I 'm coming aboard of you as sure as
"Push off the bow there!" called the mate
at the wheel. "Look alive! Why don't you
push off the bow?"
"She's hard aground," answered the gunner;
"we can't budge her an inch."
"If they was to fire into us now," said the
mate, "they 'd smash us to pieces."
"They won't fire into us," said the lieu-
tenant; "they won't dare to." He jumped
down from the cabin deck-house as he spoke,
and went forward to urge the men in pushing
off the boat. It was already beginning to
Mr. Maynard! Mr. Maynard! cried out
the sailing-master, suddenly, "they 're going to
give us a broadside "
Almost before the words were out of his
mouth, or Lieutenant Maynard could turn,
there came a loud and deafening crash, and

then instantly another and a third, and at the
same moment a crackling and rending of
broken wood. There were clean yellow splin-
ters flying. A man fell violently against the
lieutenant, nearly overturning him; the officer
caught at the stays, and so saved himself. He
waited one tense moment, almost holding his
breath. Was he hurt? No; he was safe and
unharmed. Then all about him was the sound
of cries and groans and shouts and oaths. The
man who had fallen against him was lying
face down upon the deck. There were men
down all about him. Some were rising, some
were trying to rise, some only moved as they
There was a distant yelling and cheering
and shouting. It was from the pirate sloop.
The pirates were rushing about upon her decks.
They had pulled the cannon back, and, through
the nearer sound of the groans about him,
the lieutenant could hear the thud and punch
of the rammers. He knew they were going to
shoot again. "They 're .going to give us an-
other broadside! he called out. "Get down
below, all hands, as quick as you can! What's
the matter, Cringle ? Are you hurt? "
The gunner was holding his arm. "Why,
no, sir," said he. "A bolt or summat struck
me, and I thought 't was broke; but I believe
't is all right." While he was speaking, all the
men who could do so ran scrambling down
"Well, get down below as quick as you can,"
said the lieutenant. "The villains are going to
shoot again. There 's no shelter here with this
low rail."
The lieutenant stood looking about him.
The decks were clear, except for the three dead
men, and some three or four wounded who
could not get away. The mate was crouching
down close to the wheel; the sailing-master was
nowhere to be seen. "Where 's Brookes?"
said the lieutenant.
He 's hurt in the arm, sir, and he 's gone
below," said the mate.
The lieutenant ran over to the forecastle
hatch. "Below there, Cringle! called he.
"Ay, ay, sir!" came the gunner's voice
from below.
"Set up another ladder, so as to get the



men up on deck lively when they 're wanted.
They '11 likely be coming aboard of us presently."
They 're going to shoot again, sir," called
out the mate.
The lieutenant saw the gunner aboard the
pirate sloop in the act of touching the match
to the touch-hole. He stooped down. There
was another loud and deafening crash of can-
non; one, two, three, four the last two almost
together. But this time there was no sound of
crashing and splintering wood.
"'T is the sloop, sir!" called out the mate.
Look at the sloop!"
The sloop had got afloat again, and was
coming up when the pirates fired their second
broadside, now at her.- When the lieutenant
looked at her she was still quivering with the
impact of the shot. The next moment she
began falling off to the wind. The lieutenant
could see the wounded men rising and falling
and struggling upon her decks. Again there
was the sound of yells and cheering aboard the
pirate vessel.
"They 're going to come aboard of us now,
sir," said the mate.
"Zounds! I believe they are," said the
lieutenant. As he spoke, the pirate sloop came
drifting out from the cloud of smoke that en-
veloped her.
The lieutenant rushed forward to the hatch-
way. "Below there, Cringle!" cried he.
"Ay, ay, sir! said the gunner.
"They 're coming aboard of us now. Be
ready when I give the order for all hands
on deck with pistols and cutlases for short
"Ay, ay, sir."
The pirate sloop loomed up larger and larger
as she bore down upon them. The lieutenant
crouched down under the rail, looking out at
her. Suddenly, a little distance away, she
came about, broadside on, and then drifted.
She was close aboard. Something came flying
through the air another and another. They
were bottles. One of them broke with a crash
upon the deck. The others rolled over to the
further rail. In each of them a quick-match
was smoking. Almost instantly there was a
flash and a terrific report, and the air was full
of the whiz and singing of broken particles of

glass and iron. There was another report,
and the whole air seemed full of gunpowder
There was a sudden jar.
They 're aboard of us!" said the mate;
and even as he spoke the lieutenant roared
out, All hands to repel boarders! "
As he called out the order, he himself ran
forward through the smoke, snatching one of
his pistols out of his pocket and the cutlas out
of its sheath. The men were coming swarming
up from below. There was a sudden stunning
report of a pistol, and then another and another
almost together. There was a groan, and the
fall of a heavy body. A figure came jumping
over the rail, and then two or three more
directly following. The lieutenant was in the
midst of the gunpowder smoke. Suddenly
Blackbeard was there. He had stripped him-
self naked to the waist. There were two slings,
each with a brace of pistols, hanging around
his shoulders. Almost with the blindness of
instinct, the lieutenant thrust out his pistol,
firing as he did so. The pirate staggered back.
He was down! No, he was up again! He had
a pistol in each hand. Suddenly the mouth of
a pistol was pointing straight at the lieutenant's
head. He ducked instinctively, striking up-
ward with his cutlas as he did so. There was
a stunning, deafening report almost in his ear.
He struck again blindly with his cutlas. He
saw the flash of a sword, and flung up his guard
almost instinctively, meeting the crash of the
descending blade. Somebody shot from be-
hind him; at the same moment he saw some
one strike the pirate. One of Maynard's own
men tumbled headlong against him, and he fell
with the man; but almost instantly he had
scrambled to his feet again. As he did so he
saw that the pirate sloop had drifted a little
way from them. His hand was smarting as
though struck with the lash of a whip. He
looked around him; the pirate Captain was
nowhere to be seen yes, there he was, lying
by the rail! He raised himself upon his
elbow, and the lieutenant saw that he was
trying to point a pistol at him; but his arm
wavered and swayed, and the pistol nearly fell
from his fingers. His elbow gave way, and he
fell down upon his face. He tried to raise him-




self; he fell down again, then rolled over, then
lay still.
There was a loud splash of men jumping
overboard, and then almost instantly the cry
of "Quarter! Quarter!" The lieutenant ran
to the edge of the vessel. The grappling-irons
of the pirate ship had parted, and it had drifted
away. The few pirates who had been left
aboard of the schooner had jumped overboard
or were holding up their hands. "Quarter!"
they cried. Don't shoot! Quarter!" And
the fight was over.
The lieutenant looked down at his hand.
There was a great cutlas gash across the back
of it, and his arm and shirt-sleeve were wet with
blood. He went aft, holding the wrist of his
wounded hand. The mate was still at the
wheel. "Zounds!" said the lieutenant, with
a nervous, quavering laugh, "I did n't know
there was such fight in the villains."
His wounded and shattered sloop was again
coming up toward him, under sail; but the pirate
sloop had surrendered, and the fight was over.

JACK had now been living for more than a
month as one of the household at Marlbor-
ough. He was almost like one of the family,
and he and Nelly Parker were constantly to-
gether. It was now the beginning of Decem-
ber, and the Attorney Burton had just left for
England with letters to Jack's uncle, Sir Roger
Ballister, from Colonel Parker. Meantime Col-
onel Parker was rather Jack's host than patron.
It was a beautiful clear Sunday, with just a
sweet freshness in the air. It had been raining
the day before, and the roads here and there
were very deep with sticky mud, through which
the horses could hardly pull the coach; but
overhead it was very beautiful.
Colonel Parker was always very strict in
his family observance of Sundays. He almost
never failed, excepting when he was sick, to
attend the parish church, and his household
was also expected to attend.
Colonel Parker and Madam Parker and the
young lady and Jack had all gone together in
the coach.
VOL. XXII.-93.

It was very chill and damp in the church.
Mr. Jones was preaching a rather longer ser-
mon than usual. Jack sat in the big, square,
cushioned pew, curtained off from the rest of
the congregation, looking up at the minister
where he stood in the great high pulpit with
the sounding-board above his head.
At times Jack would understand a portion
of the sermon. Then his mind would drift into
other channels and far away- generally to
petty things concerning his every-day life. Col-
onel Parker sat in the corner of the pew, per-
fectly still and upright. Nelly Parker was play-
ing with the ribbon of her prayer-book, and
Madam Parker was frankly dozing in the op-
posite corner.
Mr. Jones preached on and on. Jack re-
membered that he had never seen Mr. Richard
Parker, excepting that one time, since he had
come back from North Carolina. What was
Mr. Parker doing now ? It was over a month
sinceJack had brought the young lady home, and
his old master had never visited Marlborough
in all that time. He wondered how it looked
at the Roost; whether the same people were
there that had been there when he ran away
three or four months before.
As he sat thinking aimlessly, something
aroused him and he was suddenly conscious
that Mr. Jones was just closing his sermon.

Jack followed the family out of the church,
carrying the prayer-books.
A little knot of people gathered around in
front of the church. The sunlight felt very
warm and sweet after the chill, damp interior.
There was a great deal of talk going on all about
him. Jack felt, as he always did in the midst
of these people, that he was not really one of
them. He felt uncomfortable and out of place.
Mr. Bamfield Oliver's family were all at
church that morning-Mr. Oliver, the father,
two daughters, and young Harry Oliver. Mr.
Bamfield Oliver and Colonel Parker were talk-
ing together. Mr. Oliver had offered Colonel
Parker a pinch of snuff from the fine, gold-
renameled snuff-box he always carried on Sun-
days. Madam Parker and Nelly Parker and
the two Misses Oliver were talking together
animatedly. Harry Oliver stood by, smiling



now and then with a flash of his perfect teeth,
and now and then speaking a word in the talk.
"If you '11 be home this afternoon, Miss," said
he to Nelly Parker, I'd like to ride over. 'T is
.a sweet day to treat one's self to a pleasure."
"Do, Mr. Oliver," said Madam Parker.
" Nelly '11 be mightily glad to see you. And
stay to sup with us. You 'll have a full moon
for the ride back."
Jack knew one of Mr. Oliver's sisters; the
other was a stranger to him. She was looking
very intently at him. Presently she whispered
to her brother. Jack knew that she was speak-
ing of him; he tried to look unconscious. He
had grown so accustomed to hearing people
speak of his saving Eleanor Parker from the
pirates, that he knew from their looks when
they were thinking of it. It no longer afforded
him any pleasure. Now he knew almost what
the young lady was saying as she whispered
to her brother. Harry Oliver burst out laugh-
ing. "Why, Master Jack," said he, "here 's
another young lady hath lost her heart to you,
and thinks you a hero. The fame of your ad-
ventures hath reached all the way to the Ber-
muda Hundred, 't would seem."
The young lady's velvety cheek, dark like
her brother's, colored to a soft crimson, and she
turned sharply away. Jack felt himself blush-
ing in sympathy. Nelly Parker laughed.
Just then Mr. Jones came out of the church.
He had removed his surplice, and with it the
ministerial air that he wore in the pulpit.
"Will you not come over and take dinner
with us ?" said Colonel Parker.
Mr. Jones had hoped Colonel Parker would
ask him. "Why, sir," said he, hesitatingly, I
would like mightily much to do so, sir."
"Why, then, do so," said Colonel Parker.
"Did you ride over this morning?"
"Yes, sir, I did," said Mr. Jones; "I have
my horse over yonder in the shed."
"Well, then," said Colonel Parker, "you
shall go over with us in the coach. Jack, here,
will ride your horse to Marlborough."
Jack heard with a sinking heart. All through
the sermon he had been looking forward to the
ride home with Nelly Parker.
Harry Oliver went with the family toward
the coach, where one of the negro footmen

stood, holding open the door. Jack followed,
still carrying the books. Harry Oliver's mother
called him, and he left Nelly Parker at the gate
of the churchyard. Jack felt a keen pang of plea-
sure that he had gone, and that he himself had
Nelly Parker even for a moment. It seemed
to him that when Harry Oliver was with her
she forgot all about him. I 'm mightily sorry
I 'm not going to ride home with you," he said
as he helped her into the coach.
She looked at him straight in the eyes.
He looked back at her. He felt a pang of
happiness so keen that it was almost painful.
She burst out laughing, and the next moment
had stepped into the coach. Jack handed in
the books, and stood aside. The negro footman
closed the yellow, paneled door with a bang.
The great coach moved lumberingly away,
yawing and.swaying from side to side, and the
three negro footmen ran after it, and scrambled
up behind to the rail.
Jack stood in the thin sunlight, looking after
it. Then he turned and went slowly over to
the shed where the minister's horse was hitched.
He caught up with the coach before it had
reached Marlborough, and then followed it
closely the rest of the way to the house.
After dinner Nelly Parker had gone to her
room, and the house seemed very blank and
empty. Jack stood at the window, watching
Mr. Jones as he rode away back to his church.
Presently Jack left the window and went over
to the fireplace. He stood, there for a while,
warming himself and wondering what he should
do. There was a book upon the table near by,
with a handkerchief in it to keep the place.
He picked it up, and began reading. Now and
then the words formed themselves into ideas;
but at other times he read them without know-
ing what he was reading, thinking of other
things. He sat there for a long while. Sud-
denly the door opened, and he heard the rustle
of a dress. He knew instantly and vividly who
had entered, but he would not look up. He
heard her moving about the room.
What are you reading ?" said she at last.
Jack looked at the top of the page. "'T is
the-er-'The Masque of Comus,'" said he.
"Why, to be sure," said she; I was reading
it to papa yesterday."




She came over and stood behind his chair as
she spoke. She leaned over him, looking down
at the book in his hand. He felt her nearness,
-almost the touch of her dress,- and his heart
thrilled poignantly.
Harry Oliver came into the room, laughing,
and presently he and Nelly Parker were talk-
ing and laughing together. Jack was pretending
to read the book again. He was listening to
what they were saying. Everything was once
more bitter and displeasing to him. After a
while he got up and went out of the room, and
they did not seem to notice his going.

Jack met Mr. Simms in the hallway without.
"Ah, Master Jack," said he, "I 've been
looking for you everywhere. His honor is in
the office, and wants to see you."
Colonel Parker was standing by the fire in
his office when Jack came in. "Why, Jack,"
said he, "I 've just had great news from James-
town." As he spoke he reached over and
picked up a letter from the table, and then laid
it down again. Lieutenant Maynard hath just
got back from North Carolina. He hath been
altogether successful with the pirates. Black-
beard hath been killed, and several others of
the more notable among them."
"What exclaimed Jack; Blackbeard
killed!" Then again, after a moment, "Black-
beard killed!" He could not realize it.
"Yes; the villain hath but his deserts at last.
He hath been killed, and there is an end to the
villain and to his mischief," said Colonel Parker.
"There were nine of them killed, and some
seventeen of them have been'captured and
brought back prisoners. That is the lieutenant's
letter I have just received. He hath got some
one to write it for him, having been wounded
in the hand. He saith in the letter that he
cut off the pirate's head and brought it up with
him to Jamestown. Well, the province is free of
the greatest rogue that hath ever tormented it."
Jack sat trying to realize what he had heard.
"Do you know who else were killed ?" said he.
Yes; he hath inclosed a list. He saith you
may know them." Colonel Parker picked up
the letter, and handed it to Jack.
Jack took it, and looked at the column of

names. "Why," said he, "Morton 's dead, too;
and Miller, the quartermaster; and Roberts'and
Gibbons. They are all of Blackbeard's officers."
"Maynard says there was a lame man they
arrested down at Bath Town and brought up
with them."
"Then that must be Hands," said Jack.
"Well," said Colonel Parker, "what I send
for you more especially to say is this." He
took the letter from Jack, and held it in his own
hand, glancing at it as he continued. May-
nard saith here that Blackbeard was killed
down at Ocracock Inlet, and that according to
his belief no one knows where his treasure was
hid but himself. Maynard saith 't is so cur-
rently reported in North Carolina. If that is
so, 't is very possible that that chest of money the
man Dred told you about hath not been touched.
The chances, to be sure, are one hundred to
one against it; but still there may be one chance
in one hundred and one. Now, how would
you like to go down to North Carolina and
seek for that chest that he buried there ?"
"Why," said Jack, I 'd be very glad to do
it." He thought of-Nelly Parker; he felt a
sudden rush of pleasure.
"I was thinking," said Colonel Parker, "of
sending Simms down. He can, maybe, go
down to Jamestown to-morrow or next day, and
there take the schooner, which is already fitted
and provisioned, and go down in it. Of course
his Excellency will send down an agent along
with Simms. A large part of the contents of
the chest belongs to the Baltimore merchants,
and it will have to be condemned and owner-
ship proved."
"I 'd like mightily well to go down," said
Jack. "'T will seem so strange to go down
to Bath Town again."
"Well," said Colonel Parker, "I '11 talk the
matter over with Simms, and let you know what
he can do." He stood silent for a little while.
Jack was thinking of how he would tell Nelly
Parker of his going. "I don't choose to say
anything to raise your expectations," said Colo-
nel Parker, breaking the silence; "but I think
it very likely that, if you can recover the chest,
I can so manage with the owners that you shall
.receive some reward for doing so."

(To be continued.)



ALL under the birchen boughs in the high
mid-noon I lay-
As idle a little maid as you 'd find in a
-.' summer's day;
And down by the woody path came my god-
mother, dressed in green -
The eeriest fairy godmother that ever your
eyes have seen.

Many a tale she tells of giants and dwarfs and elves,
Of fairies who sweep the kitchen and eat from the pantry shelves;
Of dwellers in earth and air, of toilers by land and sea-
Oh, wonderful fairy tales my godmother tells to me 1

"What, idle again ?" she said, and her queer black brows bent down,
And her queer sharp nose was wrinkled in just the tiniest frown! -
But her black eyes laughed and twinkled, and I cried, "Oh, godmother dear!
A story, please, a story-just under the birches here!"

Cragin the Dwarf is green and small; When on his elf-steed down he rides
He dwells far up on the mountain wall. All by the rivers and meadow-sides,
When stormy clouds flit over the rocks, Goodman and goodwife shake with fear
"Cragin," they say, "is feeding his flocks." To know that Cragin the Dwarf is near.

0 ri


"Whither so fast? cried the old witch-dame.
(Reddened she sat in the sunset flame.)
And quick he answered, with jeer and flout,
"I go to the Baron, to warn him out! "


Fast he galloped by dale and down,
Waving woodland and heather brown,
Till, at last, he came where the castle black
Braved the sea foam and hurled it back.

Down on Cragin the Baron gazed--
Tall and weighty and much amazed,
Bluff and bearded and ruddy-haired -
Long on Cragin the Baron stared.

" Thrice my messenger-owls I sent
Out to warn you, with kind intent;
But all my kindness seems out of place-
Baron, you come of a wilful race!"

J ; ~


" Owls ? quoth the Baron. Oh yes! hang
Into feather-bags small -I '11 bang 'em
If ever they haunt me again. But you,-
What do you mean by this to-do?"

"Leave to the witches your castle hall--
To the crooked dwarfs and the elf-men small.
And ere three sunsets redden yon path,
Leave, Sir Baron, or dread our wrath!"

Booted and spurred was that Baron bold;
His boots were heavy, his spurs were gold;
Sudden, a swing of that doiughty toe,
And Cragin the Dwarf through the air
d'oth go !.' i

Up he picks him, all blood and dust;
Hies to his steed,- perforce, h& must!
All in a rage, away he rides,
While the Baron shouts and shakes his sides.

Rode that night on the storm blast loud
Elves and witches-a motley crowd;
They shook the towers, besieged the wall,
But the stout old castle stood it all.

Roused at length by the direful rout,
The Baron armed him and sallied out;

And elves or witches well he wist
That his trusty sword had never missed.

What horrid phantoms in fearful flight
The Baron braved on that dreadful night
What elfin missiles, what deadly charms,
The Baron dared, and escaped from harms!

Neither ghost nor goblin the Baron feared,
And wildly floated his ruddy beard,
Till all the witches fled dismayed
At the fearful thrusts of his trenchant blade t

And on the wings of the wind they hied,
Till storm and shriek in the distance died,
And only the low waves' phosphor spark
Glanced in the depth of the glimmering dark.

But never again on the mountain wall
Walked Cragin the Dwarf, so green and
And never goodman or goodwife shrank
At his horse's tread by the river bank.

And lonely ever the mountain stood,
With its hoary stones and its tufted wood-
All reddened stood in the evening dew,
Or burned in the midday, golden-blue.



LITTLE Jimmie Waitawhile and little Johnnie Now
Grew up in homes just side by side; and that, you see, is how
I came to know them both so well, for almost every day
I used to watch them at their work and also at their play.

Little Jimmie Waitawhile was bright, and sturdy, too,
But never ready to perform what he was asked to do;
"Wait just a minute," he would say, I 'll do it pretty soon,"
And things he should have done at morn were never done till noon.

He"put off studying until his boyhood days were gone;
He put off getting him a home till age came stealing on;


1895.] "NOW" AND "WAITAWHILE." 743

He put off everything, and so his life was not a joy,
And all because he waited "just a minute" while a boy.

But little Johnnie Now would say, when he had work to do:
"There 's no time like the present time," and gaily put it through.
And when his time for play arrived he so enjoyed the fun;
His mind was not distressed with' thout hts of duties left undone.

In boyhood he was studious and laid him out a plan
Of action to be followed when he grew to be a man;
And life was as he willed it all because he 'd not allow
His tasks to be neglected, but would always do them "now."

And so in every neighborhood are scores of little boys,
Who by-and-by must work with tools when they have done with toys.
And you know one of them, I guess, because I see you smile;
And is he little Johnnie Now or Jimmie Waitawhile?

B. Z. L). UiNDERRHi[L.

S. OH, the happy catbird!
How joyful, how gay,
His clear notes come warbling
Down the airy way:
Ringing, singing, singing, ringing,
All the livelong day,
Singing, ringing, ringing, singing,
From the topmost spray.

." On the leafy summit
Where the June winds play,
Steeped in golden sunshine,
His coat of Quaker gray:
SSwinging, clinging, clinging, swinging,
All the livelong day,
Clinging, swinging, swinging, clinging
To the topmost spray.



[Begun in the May number.] he threaded his way amid the obstacles before
CHPTERI V. reaching Carrots's very retired residence.
Old man," said Teenie, "this is ever so
A SUGGESTION. much nicer a place to live in than a regular
IT could be understood that Teenie was a house."
frequent visitor by the familiar manner in which "Yes," the host replied grimly; "specially


when the nights are cold, or it rains. I s'pose
you 'd rather have the water coming' in on you
than not, when you 're asleep, would n't
"Well, I did n't mean it jest that way," Tee-
nie replied; but when you get in here an' have
the candle lighted, it allers seems mighty fine.
I got mother to let me come down an' stay
all night with you."
"There! that 's jest what I thought you was
up to," Carrots'said in rather a cross tone.
"Why, what's the matter ? Don't you want
me ? Teenie asked in surprise.
"Of course I 'm glad to have you come,
Teenie; but I am busy to-night, an' talking'
with you is bound to upset things."
"What are you doin'?"
"You see, I took the job of getting' that fellow
from Saranac out er the station-house; an' it 's
goin' to be a pretty hard one, I 'm afraid as
things are looking' now. If I can get him clear
of the scrape, you '11 see some fun one of these
days, 'cause this thing ain't goin' to stop here,
I '11 tell you that. I only wish I knew what
ought ter be done."
How have you been trying' to fix it ?"
"Well, I 've talked with some of the fellows
that saw the row, to get 'em to go down to
court an' tell how it happened; but they 're so
terribly 'fraid of Skip they don't dare to say their
souls are their own."
"Well, I do," Teenie replied bravely. "I
saw the whole of the scrap, 'cause I was there
before it began."
"Will you tell that when the chap 's brought
inter court to-morrow morning' ? "
"Course I will, if you '11 stand by me in
case Skip tries to come his funny business;
'cause that's what he says he 's goin' to do to
anybody who helps the fellow from the country."
I '11 stand by you, Teenie, if that 's what
you want; an' if we do get Teddy clear, there '11
be three of us. Skip won't dare to tackle as
big a crowd as that."
"No; but you see the fellow ain't out, an' I
can't bigger how it 's goin' to be done."
"We '11 tell the judge jest what we saw."
I don't believe we '11 get the chance. They
would n't let you go anywhere near him, 'less
you had a lawyer."
VOL. XXII.-94.

"We 've got to fix it somehow."
"Why not get a lawyer ? "
"Now you 're goin' crazy, Teenie Massey.
It costs as much as a dollar to get one of them.
fellows to go to court. They come high!"
"Don't you s'pose you could hire one, an"
let him take it out in trade?"
"By jiminy! I never thought of that. 1!
wonder if I could n't?"
"It would n't do any harm to try. I sell
papers to a man that would come an' 'tend
to the whole business, I guess, if you 'd 'gree
to black his boots so many times a week."
"I 'd 'gree to black him all over, if he 'd
do what I want. Where does he hang out ? "
"I '11 show you in the morning Been to
supper ?"
Yes; had a little spread up to Delmonico's.
It was n't much, an' charlotte roosters an' sich
things as that ain't fillin', you know." .
"I kind er thought you might be hungry, so
I got mother to do up a lunch." And Teenie
drew from his pocket a small parcel of cold
roast meat, adding to it from another pocket
five boiled eggs.
"Say, we '11 have a regular lay-out, won't
we?" Carrots said, as he surveyed the food
with the keenest pleasure.
Now I reckon you can kind er ease up on
your business long enough to 'tend to this stuff,
can't you ? Teenie answered.
"Well, I should say so! You 're a brick,
Teenie, an' I wish you 'd come every night."
"Business would have to be pretty good if
I was goin' to have such a spread as this right
along. I 've been to supper, so you pitch in.'
S'pose we put it away for a while ? It has n't
been so long since I ate that lot o' quails, you
know; an' I can hold on a spell, an' we '11 be
hungry before we 're ready to go to sleep."
Teenie was satisfied; and he reclined care-
lessly in one corner of the packing-case home,
enjoying himself to the utmost.
Carrots followed his example, and soon the
two were busily engaged discussing the prob-
able outcome of Teddy's case, as well as the
possibility of engaging a lawyer upon the con-
dition of his being willing to accept the fee "in
Not until a late hour was the lunch disposed



of; and then, nestling into the straw, the two
were ready for slumber.
Owing to the peculiar location of his home,
and the necessity of keeping his whereabouts a
profound secret, Carrots was obliged to arise
at a very early hour, in order to leave the resi-
dence before any of the clerks in the shop
should arrive.
Therefore it was that the host and his guest
were on the street shortly after sunrise.
Of course it would have been folly to look
for the attorney in his office at such an hour,
and the possibility of doing any business before
seven or eight o'clock was so slight that Car-
rots, with the recklessness of a spendthrift, in-
vited his friend to a breakfast at Mose Pear-
son's, even though it involved an expenditure
of fully one fifth of his entire wealth.
"We '11 kind er need something' to brace us
up," he said, in explanation of his generous in-
As a matter of course, Master Massey was
not proof against the kind hospitality, and so he
very willingly followed his friend to Mr. Pear-
son's establishment, which was located in the
basement of a dwelling on Baxter street.
When the boys, leisurely, and with the air of
capitalists, sauntered out on the street once
more, they looked thoroughly contented with the
world in general, and themselves in particular.
"We 'd better get up somewhere near the
lawyer's office before that Skip Jellison comes
'round," Teenie said.
Carrots recognized the wisdom of this advice
at once; and the two, keeping a sharp lookout
lest Master Jellison should spring upon them
unawares, made their way to Centre street,
where for an hour and a half they waited in the
hallway of the building in which the lawyer with
whom Teenie was acquainted had an office.
On his arrival it was evident the gentleman
did not recognize them as two possible clients,
for he passed without even a nod to the boy
who claimed to be his friend, entered the office,
and closed the door behind him.
Why, he does n't even know you!" Carrots
exclaimed, in a tone of reproach.
Oh, yes, he does; but you see it 's kind er
dark in here, an' I s'pose he could n't see my
face very well, or he did n't notice."

What are you goin' to do 'bout it ? "
"Wait till he gets settled, an' then we '11
go up an' call on him. You do the talking ,
while I stand back an' 'gree to all you say."
Now that they were where the scheme could
be carried into execution, Carrots was by no
means confident it would be a success, and ac-
tually felt rather timid about making the at-
tempt; but, urged on by. Teenie, he finally
mustered up courage to open the door of the
office. He stood on the threshold, gazing first
at the attorney and then back at his friend.
Well, what do you want ?" the gentleman
asked, looking inquiringly at the boy.
This question appeared to restore to Carrots
a-certain portion of his self-possession, and he
entered the room, standing in the middle of the
floor as he beckoned to his friend to follow.
"What do you want ?" the lawyer asked
again, impatiently.
"Well, you see I come we want "
"Out with it. What did you come for? "
Teenie nudged his friend from behind, as a
sign that he should speak up promptly; and
Carrots, catching his breath much as one does
after a plunge in cold water, began:
"There 's a fellow what walked down from
Saranac, that 's goin' to be took inter the Tombs
court this morning' for fighting' in City Hall Park,
an' we've come to see how much it would cost
to hire you to git him out."
I might defend him, but I could n't agree
to get him out. That depends on the judge."
Well, you could make the talk, an' I reckon
when the thing 's put up right they '11 have to
let him go, 'cause he did n't do anything."
"Suppose you tell me the whole story, and I
shall be better able to judge what they may be
obliged to do."
It was jest like this : You see, Skip he come
up an' hit Teddy in the jaw, and Teddy tried
to hit back. Skip let out with a left-hander;
Teddy warded it off. Then Skip'jumped; down
went the papers. Skip got frightened of a cop;
he started to run, Teddy after him, an' Teddy
was 'rested, and that 's all there is 'bout it."
That may be the whole of the story; but I
must confess I don't understand it yet."
"Why, it 's plain enough. You see, Skip he
struck out, an' Teddy warded it off-"

"Now wait a moment. Tell me which boy
is arrested."
Why, Teddy, of course. You don't s'pose
we 'd come here if it had been Skip ? I wish
it was. He 'd stay there a good while, for all
I 'd care."
"Who is this Teddy ?"
"He 's a fellow what walked down from Sara-
nac, an' got here yesterday morning ; but jest as
he was goin' to sell papers up jumped Skip,
'cause he thinks he owns the whole town,
an' 'lowed he was goin' to clean Teddy right
out. Now, I never did think Skip could fight
any great deal, 'cause how was it when he was
over to Brooklyn, an' that fellow tackled him ? "
"Try to tell me the story as I want to hear
it. You say Teddy was arrested ? "
"Why, it 's worse 'n that! He 's in the sta-
tion-house !"
Certainly; if he is arrested. On what charge
was he taken? "
"I mean why did the officer take him ?"
"Why? 'Cause the park policeman said he
was fighting ; but he was n't. He was only
beginning He might uv licked Skip, too, if
they 'd let him alone. I know by the way he
put up his hands." .
"Then it seems, according to your story,
that he really was fighting."
How could he, when he had n't even com-
menced? Skip hit him, an' knocked the pa-
pers out er his hands, an' then he was goin' to
lick Skip, but did n't have time."
The attorney was a patient man, and possibly
the boy's manner of telling the story amused
him; therefore he continued asking questions,
preventing any detailed account of previous
quarrels which Skip might have had, until he
was in possession of all the important facts,
when he asked:
Do you know what a lawyer usually charges
for such a case as this ? "
"Now you're coming' right down to dots!"
Carrots said, beginning to feel more at ease
since the attorney treated him in such a friendly
fashion. "You see, this fellow has n't got any
money, an' I don't claim to be a millionaire
myself. I know lawyers charge a good deal
for doin' a little o' nothing; but I thought if

you 'd kind er take it out in trade, we might
make a bargain."
"What business are you in ?"
"I shine boots; an' if you '11 get this fellow
out er the scrape, I '11 come in here an' black
your boots every morning' this year, for nothing .
You can't make a better trade 'n that if you
should look 'round a good while."
"That is quite a contract you are proposing."
"I know it; but you see I want ter make it
an object for you to get Teddy out."
"That can be done only in the proper man-
ner. The question is whether you have any
witnesses to prove that this boy was not really
fighting, and that he had sufficient provocation
to excuse his trying to thrash the other one."
"Sufficient what ?"
"Provocation. That is, whether what had
been done was enough to warrant an attempt
to whip this other boy; for, as I understand it,
that is really what he did try to do."
"Why, of course; he had to. How 'd you
like it if a fellow sneaked up an' whacked you in
the face when you was n't doin' anything, an'
knocked your papers in the mud ? "
It would n't be very pleasant, I '11 admit;
but how can you prove that such was the case ?
Who saw the beginning of the trouble ? "
I did, an' Teenie, an' lots of other fellows;
but they would n't dare to tell it for fear Skip
might thump 'em. He calls hisself a fighter."
"Then you two are willing to run the risk,
and tell your story in court, are you ? "
"Of course we are; but will you go an' get
him out? "
Suppose I should take this case, and spend
an hour or two on it, how do I know you would
come here each morning to black my boots, as
you propose ? "
"How do you know? Why, ain't Teenie
here, an' don't he hear what I say? That 's
enough to make a trade if you 've got a wit-
ness, ain't it ? "
"Yes, I suppose it is," the lawyer replied,
laughingly. I don't see any other way for me
but to take the case. Go to the Tombs, and
wait there until I come."
You '11 be sure to be on hand before they
bring him down, eh ? "
I won't neglect it."


With this assurance the boys left the office,
and, once on the outside, Carrots said to his
friend in a tone of relief:
"Well, now that 's fixed, an' I guess we
need n't bother any more 'bout Teddy's getting'
out; but there '11 be an awful row when Skip
hears what we 've done, an' you an' I 've got to
stand right alongsidee of each other if he tries any
funny business. We must look out for him."
This suggestion that they would stand to-
gether against Teddy's enemy was far from
displeasing to Master Massey.
In the seclusion of the packing-case home he
could talk boldly about what Skip might yet be
able to do; but once on the street, where it was
possible to meet the bully at any moment, the
matter assumed a different aspect, and he began
to realize the danger in which he had thus vol-
untarily placed himself.
"It won't do for us to hang 'round here,
'cause he 's likely to come any minute," Teenie
said in a tremulous tone. I think we 'd bet-
ter go down to the Tombs, an' then we '11 be on
hand when the lawyer wants us."
This was a very good idea, and Carrots led
the way at a rapid pace, both taking heed lest
they should accidentally meet Skip.

CARROTS and Teenie succeeded in reaching
the Tombs without being intercepted by Skip;
and once there, they were unable to determine
whether the, court was in session.
In the vicinity of the judge's desk a number
'of men were standing, apparently talking on
'different subjects, and in the seats reserved for
the spectators a few unfortunate-looking persons
Well, the fellow ain't been brought in yet,
that 's certain," Carrots said, gazing around the
room in a vain search for his new acquaintance.
Do you s'pose they will put handcuffs on
him?" Teenie asked in a tone of awe. "I
reckon he 'd be jest about crazy if they'd send
him up to the Island."
It would start 'most anybody up to take a
dose like that; but of course it won't happen
now we 've got the lawyer. I tell you he '11

be s'prised to see -how we 've fixed things,
won't he ? "
Indeed he will; an' Skip '11 be hoppin' mad
when he knows. We want ter keep pretty
close together while we 're working' this."
The conversation was interrupted by the en-
trance of the sergeant who had been seen at
the station-house, and Carrots went swiftly
toward him, asking, as he halted in front of the
"Did you bring that fellow down yet?"
"He will come in the van with the rest of
the prisoners."
"You won't forget that you promised to try
an' fix it ?"
"I said I would see that the officer was n't
hard on him. I can't fix anything. Have
you got your witnesses here ?"
"Yes; Teenie 's one, an' I 'm another, an'
we 've hired a regular lawyer."
"You have? Who?"
"A man by the name of Varney."
"Well, if he is coming I reckon you will be
all right, unless you have a bad case; and from
what the roundsman told me the fighting
did n't amount to much."
"There was n't any of it! You see, Skip he
give Teddy one in the face, an' then sent in a
left-hander, an' Teddy he-"
"Never mind the story. I don't want to
hear it, for I have n't the time," the officer said
as he started toward the judge's bench.
Half an hour elapsed, and then the boys sud-
denly saw their new friend within a sort of iron
cage at one end of the room.
"There he is!" Teenie whispered excitedly.
"How do you s'pose he got in without our
seeing' him ?"
Carrots stood erect and gazed at the prisoner
a moment, as if debating whether to approach
him or not.
Teddy presented a most forlorn appearance,
standing aloof from the other prisoners as far
as possible, and clinging to the iron bars, his
usually clean face begrimed with dirt, through
which the flowing tears had plowed tiny canals
until he looked not unlike a small-sized Indian
in war-paint.
This picture of sorrow made a deep impres-
sion on Carrots's tender heart, and, regardless



of whether he might be able to regain his seat,
he marched toward the prisoners' cage.
Teddy had seen him coming, and stepped
forward in the hope of speaking with this boy
who had proved himself to be a real friend;
but before a single word could be uttered, the
officer interrupted the visitor by saying roughly:
Get back there "
But I 've got to talk with that fellow."
"Get back there! Do you hear what I tell
you?" and he made a threatening gesture
which was not at all terrifying to the self-pos-
sessed Carrots.
"I 've got to talk with this fellow;
he 's a friend of mine, an' I ain't
seen him since last night. He 's
goin' to get right out, too,
'cause he did n't do any-
thing, an' would n't
have been brought
hereifhe 'dhad
sense enough
to run when
they hollered
'Cops!' Itwas
jest this way:
Skip he struck
out an' hit him
in the face, an'
then come in
with a left-
Carrots had
been advanc-
ing, and at this
point the offi-
cer seized him "'IT WAS JEST LIKE
by one shoulder, spinning him around until he
was heading in the direction from which he
had come.
"If you make any attempt to speak to that
boy, I '11 put you in with him! What are you
doing here, anyhow ? Are you a witness ? "
"Course I am. What else do you s'pose ?
Why, I 've got to tell the judge all 'bout how
this thing happened. You see, I was right
there, an' when Skip come in with a left-hander,
an' Teddy he warded it off-"
Carrots did not finish the sentence, for the

officer gave him a push which might have
thrown him headlong but for the fact that
Teenie chanced to be in the way, and thus
prevented the fall.
I guess we'd better get back to the settee,"
Carrots said, looking at the officer an instant,
as if to make out whether the latter was really
in earnest in this last movement.
Carrots was whispering to Teenie his opinion
of the officer in charge of the prisoners when
the lawyer arrived; and then for the first time

11 .." i Ji .

did Teddy's friends learn that court had been
in session all the while since they entered.
It was a positive relief to see the attorney;
and, lest the latter should think those who
employed him had not followed the directions
given, Carrots made his presence known by
going up to the gentleman in the most con-
fidential manner, and announcing cheerfully:
"We 're here."
"Yes, I see you are. Sit down. I '11 call
you when you 're wanted."
But are you sure you remember what I told



you 'bout how it happened? You don't want
to forget that Skip jumped in an' hit Teddy in
the face, and then come in with a left "
"You shall be asked to tell that story, my
boy, presently; but just now I don't care to
hear it, and have n't the time. Sit down until
your name is called."
"I 'm 'fraid that lawyer don't 'mount to
much," Carrots whispered to Teenie as he
obeyed the gentleman's command. It seems
like he 's putting' on a good many airs, an' don't
want ter listen to how the thing happened. Now
I don't believe any man can fix it with the judge,
'less he 's got the whole thing down fine."
"The sergeant said he was all right, an' he
ought ter know; so I reckon we can 'ford to
wait," Teenie replied contentedly.
It seemed to the impatient Carrots as if it
must have been nearly noon when he heard the
clerk call the name "Theodore Thurston "; and
an instant later the young prisoner from Saranac
was conducted to the dock.
Almost at the same moment Skip Jellison,
accompanied by several of his most intimate
friends, entered the room, and immediately be-
came aware that Carrots and Teenie were in
Without hesitation, and as if such scenes
were perfectly familiar to him, Master Skip
approached Teddy's friends in an easy, careless
fashion, as he asked:
"What are you two doin' here ?"
Came down to see how the new fellow gets
along. Don't s'pose you 've got any objections ,
have you? Carrots replied.
"I don't know whether I have or not."
"Well, after you find out jest give me the
word, 'cause we 're bound to dust whenever
you give us the tip."
It was evident to Master Jellison that Car-
rots was speaking sarcastically, and he took
no further notice of this insolence, save to say
You want to mind your eye, that's all! The
fellow what tries to help that chump along is
goin' to get inter trouble."
Same 's you did over to Brooklyn the other
day, eh ?" Carrots asked coolly.
"Wait till I catch you outside, an''we 'll
see if you 've got anything more to say 'bout

Brooklyn! And with this threat Master Jelli-
son and his friends advanced to a settee nearer
the judge, where they seated themselves with a
great show of what was probably intended to
be dignity.
He 's come to see if we 're goin' to tell
anything 'bout the row," Teenie whispered;
and it could plainly be seen that Master
Massey was very much frightened regarding
the probable outcome of thus attempting to aid
the stranger.
At that moment Carrots was startled out of
his self-possession- although he had come
especially- as a witness-by hearing his name
called in a loud tone.
Three times the clerk shouted "Joseph Wil-
liams," and then Carrots exclaimed:
"By jiminy! he means me, does n't he ? "
"Of course he does. Go 'long quick, or else
that feller '11 be up on the Island before they
know you 're here," said Teenie.
It was necessary the witness should pass Skip
Jellison on his way to the stand; and in so do-
ing he saw Teddy's enemy scowl and shake his
fist in the most threatening manner.
"Don't get excited," Carrots stopped long
enough to say. You 're coming' out of it all
right, even if you don't feel very good now."
SThen he continued on until some one directed
him which way to go; and for the first time
in his life he laid his hand on a Bible, and swore
to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing
but the truth."
If, as is extremely probable, Skip had come
for the purpose of hearing what was said, he
was disappointed, as are nearly all the visitors
to the Tombs court, where it is an impossibility
for one on the spectators' benches to distin-
guish any remark made either by the judge or
the witness, unless the latter chances td have a
particularly clear voice.
Those inside the railing, however, could un-
derstand quite distinctly all that was said; and,
judging from their mirth, Carrots's examination
must have been to them an amusing one.
On being asked his name, the witness replied,
"Carrots"; and then the judge glowered down
upon him until he realized that he had pre-
viously answered to that of Joseph Williams."
After having made the proper correction,



and before it was possible for any one to ask
him a question, Carrots leaned toward the
magistrate in a confidential and friendly man-
ner, as he began:
You see, Judge, it was jest like this: Skip
he jumped in an' hit Teddy one in the face, an'
then come back with a left-hander; but Teddy
warded it off, an' then-"
"Stop!" the judge cried severely. "When
I want you to tell the story I will ask for it.
Did you see this boy fighting in the park?"
He was n't fighting' at all. He did n't have
time, for the park policeman caught him. You
see, it was jest this way: Skip he jumped in an'
smashed Teddy in the face, an' then come with
a left-hander -"
Again was the witness interrupted; and this
time Mr. Varney stepped forward to where he
could say in a'low tone to Carrots:
You must simply answer the judge's ques-
tions-not attempt to tell the story yourself."
Yes, sir; but how '11 he know what 's what
if I don't give him the whole right through ?"
Carrots asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Attend to what he says, and don't try to
tell anything else."
"What was this boy doing when the police-
man arrested him?" the judge asked, as he
looked sternly at the witness.
He was n't doin' nothing 'cause he did n't
have time. You see, Skip run as soon as he
hit him, an' knocked his papers down, an'
"Did the prisoner go in pursuit of the boy
whom you call Skip?"
"Course he did; 'cause, you see, Skip
knocked his papers in the mud, an' hit him
once in the face; an' he would have come in
with a left-hander, if Teddy had n't warded
it off."
What was the prisoner doing when this boy
struck him? "
"He was selling' a paper to a man in a horse-
car. You see, Skip he 'lowed that Teddy
could n't run the business in New York; but
Teddy he walked 'way down from Saranac jest
to get a livin', an' Skip don't have any right to
tell fellows whether they're to work or not."
"Had the prisoner said anything to this boy
who struck him ? "

No; you see, he did n't have time. Skip
jumped right in an' hit him once in the face,
"Now, don't tell that story again. Had there
been any quarrel between these two? "
"No, sir; you see, Teddy did n't come in
town till this morning an' he never knew Skip
from a side of sole-leather."
"Is he a friend of yours ? "
"Well, I s'pose he is," Carrots replied hesi-
tatingly. "You see, when he got inter the
trouble, somebody had to help him out, an'
there did n't seem to be anybody willing' but
me. He ought ter be my friend if I 'm goin' to
black the lawyer's boots a whole year jest to
pay for this racket."
If your honor will allow me, I will tell the
story as I have managed to extract it--I use
the word 'extract' advisedly-from this wit-
ness and his friend," the lawyer said, as he ad-
vanced a few paces amid the smiles of all those
near the bench.
"Do you wish to explain about your fee ?"
the judge asked laughingly.
Perhaps that is hardly necessary, since law-
yers are seldom known to refuse anything of-
fered in the way of payment. That was the
proposition made by the witness and witnessed
by his friend."
Then the attorney related what had occurred
in his office, to the no slight amusement of
those who could hear him; and when he con-
cluded, the judge turned to Carrots again,
looking very much more friendly than before.
"Then you assure me on your oath that the
prisoner did not fight with the other boy in
City Hall Park?"
"Why, no; how could he? He did n't
get the chance. You see, Skip hit him in
the face, an' then come in with a left-hander;
but Teddy warded it off, and then Skip run.
The policeman grabbed Teddy too quick, you
see. I reckon he'd have paid Skip off in great
shape, 'cause I believe he can do it."
Then you admit that he would have fought
if he had had the opportunity ? "
Of course he would! S'posin' a fellow
smashed you in the neck, an' knocked your
papers in the mud, would n't you fight? I
guess you would!"


"I will do the questioning, and you can
confine yourself to answering," said the judge.
"That's all I was doin', sir," Carrots replied,
a trifle abashed by the change which came
over the judge's face at his free manner of
Then it seemed as if the witness was entirely
forgotten. Nobody paid the slightest attention
to him until fully five minutes later, when the
lawyer beckoned for him to come down from
the stand to where he was speaking in a low
tone with Teddy.
"You can go now," the gentleman said;
" and I shall be curious to learn how long you
will keep the promise made in regard to black-
ing my boots."
"Well, what are you goin' to do with
Teddy ?" Carrots asked, a look of disappoint-
ment coming over his face as he fancied that
the prisoner was not to be set free.
"He has been discharged. It is all right
now. Go out with him, and be careful not to
get into any more trouble on the street, for it
might go hard with you if either came here the
second time."
"He 's discharged-did you say?" Carrots
repeated. "Does that mean he can go anywhere
he wants to ?"
Well, you 're a dandy! I '11 live right up
to the agreementt I made, an' don't you forget
it! Carrots replied enthusiastically, and then,
as the lawyer turned away, presumably to at-
tend to his own business, the amateur Good
Samaritan led Teddy from the room, closely
followed by Teenie, who said, when they were
once more on the outside of the building:
"It won't do to loaf 'round here. Skip Jelli-
son an' his gang were jest getting' up when I
come out. They '11 be after us if we don't dust
'mighty lively."
"Let's go down by the ferry, where we can

kind er straighten things, an' see what we 're
goin' to do," Carrots suggested.
Teddy was not disposed to run from the en-
emy; but his companions insisted it would be
more than foolish to risk an encounter, and he
allowed himself to be led away at a rapid
"Why not go over to your house, Car-
rots ? Teenie asked. "They '11 never find us
I could n't get in without somebody's see-
in' me, an' I don't want to give the snap away,
else the whole thing will be broke up. We
can do all the chinnin' we want ter 'round the
Seems to me I ought ter go to work. I can't
'ford to fool so much time away now, after
I 've been kept still so long," Teddy said
gravely. "I came here counting' on making'
money enough every day to live on, an' began
by losin' my stock the first thing."
"You ain't lost it yet. I sold every one of
your papers, an' have got the money in my
pocket to give you."
"You 're a mighty good fellow, Carrots; an'
if ever I can do anything to help you, I '11 be
glad of the chance."
All I ask is that you stand alongsidee of me
when Skip an' his crowd come 'round, 'cause
I '11 need a friend pretty bad then."
He sha'n't touch you when I 'm near; but
I don't see how it's goin' to be stopped, if they
'rest fellows for fighting' in the city," Teddy re-
plied in a tone of perplexity; and straightway
the three were plunged into a maze of bewil-
derment that the law should interfere by ar-
resting a fellow when he attempted to defend
himself, and allow the beginner of the trouble
to go free.
It seemed to be one of those tangles in the
web woven by Justice which older heads than
theirs have failed to unravel.

(To be continued.)


THERE was once a prosperous little town
that grew up in a valley shut in by high moun-
tains. -A road entered the valley by a narrow
rocky pass at one end, ran through the town,
making the chief street, and then climbed the
mountains and led out of the valley again.
There was no way through the valley except
by this road.
As the road was a highway between two
large cities, the valley town became a conve-
nient resting-place for traders and travelers, and
profited by their custom.
Far up on one of the mountains overhanging
the valley lived a colony of dragons. They
were very timid creatures, and, remaining amid
the rocky heights of their home, were never
seen by men. Indeed, the inhabitants of the
valley would have said there were no such
VOL. XXII.-95.

creatures in existence. But as the dragons
were not disturbed they increased in numbers,
and soon found it a difficult matter to secure
food. Then the stronger dragons drove their
weaker fellows away from their native places,
compelling them to seek a living elsewhere.
One young dragon happened at last to sta-
tion himself in one of the passes that led into
the valley where the town was situated; and,
being tired by his long crawl, the dragon lay
down in the highway to rest.
Soon there came a party of traders, on foot
and horseback, making their way toward the
town, where they expected to rest that night.
While'jogging along quietly, talking about the
equator, suddenly they found themselves face
to face with the young dragon.
There were seven travelers, and they gave


seven different sorts of yell, threw down their
bundles, and took to their own or their horses'
heels, without arranging where to meet again.
Now it happened, the dragon being greenish
in hue, that he had not been seen until the party
of traders was just opposite; and consequently
the fleeing traders separated into two parties.
Four of them ran back toward the city they had
left that morning, and three went helter-skelter
down into the valley town.
As for the dragon, he was more scared than
anybody; and he tried to run away too. But,
being in too much of a hurry to climb either
side of the pass, he ran first after one party, and
then after the other.
Finding men in both di-
rections, he returned and K "
howled dismally. ,'""'
But when the
poor thing's terror "'
had worn itself .
out, he began ,
to nose about,
among those ,l,

C - 1 0
,>" ;

packages the travelers had thrown away. He merchan
found several packages of raisins, three or four shaking
hams, some salted fish, and a small keg of Gen
ginger. He was very hungry, and devoured all founded

d without thinking of his digestion, and
er sank into an unquiet slumber.
while the seven travelers were relating
tizens and villagers the awful adventure
. befallen them in the pass. The seven
told seven different stories, and their
,in carrying the report to their neigh-
;ely invented whatever small details
ad necessary. So by nightfall nearly
household had scared itself out of its
nses with a mixture of a little fact and a
al of guessing. By midnight both town
were either dozing uneasily or were
wide awake with ears pricked up.
And by,midnight that
unhappy dragon was
wide awake, too, and
struggling with a severe
S internal pain. As his
diet until then had been
mainly mountain herbs
and spring water, it is
not surprising that the
miscellaneous bill of fare
he had just eaten should
disagree with him.
The dragon did not
understand what was the
trouble, but he soon be-
gan to yell and roar and
whine and grumble.
Down in the valley
below these noises rose

a soul-freezing effect, and
those citizens who had
4, first said "Pooh!" or
"Pshaw nonsense!"
were scared out of their
seven wits.
The next day the
r? Mayor summoned the
town-council, and held a
meeting behind locked
doors. The councilmen
were staid, respectable
ts, but they came into the Town Hall
in their shoes.
tlemen," said the Mayor, "an un-
rumor has come to our ears-"




Just then
a wild shriek was
heard faintly in the
distance, and the Mayor
stopped short, turned pale, "A WILD SHRIEK WAS HEARD FAINTLY IN THE
and remained silent until

the echoes died away. Then he began again:
"Gentlemen this most extraordinary oc-
currence, of which no doubt -" here a second
wail of distress made him catch his breath; and
the Mayor abruptly concluded, How are we
to get rid of this frightful creature ?"
After a few moments one of the council rose
and remarked as follows:
"There is no danger, I have understood, so
long as the dragon is well fed. If the beast is
made desperate by hunger, he may be tempted
to descend into the town, and who can tell -"
a third yell rose, swelled to a shriek, and died
away -" who can tell, I say, what awful
things he may do? "
"What can be done ? asked the Mayor.
"I advise that we send the militia with a
store of provisions, and let them deposit these
in the road, so the monster may not approach."

Since no other plan was
proposed, a vote was. taken,
and the measure was adopted
The militia grumbled, but
they had to go. Armed to
the teeth, they started up to-
ward the pass, accompanied
by two very heavily loaded

wagons containing a choice selection of provi-
sions. As the dragon was now feeling less dis-
turbed, his complaints had ceased; and the
militia gained in courage as they advanced.
They saw no signs of the dragon, and began to
believe he had fled. But when they had come
near enough to see the traders' baggage torn to
bits, they lost courage at once, and, wheeling to
the right-about, began a return march that
soon became a retreat, then turned into a rout,
and ended in a panic. They arrived in town
in single file: the best runner first, the second
next, and so on down to the drummer-boy, a
little fellow who could n't get up much speed,
and who ran only because the rest did.
As the wagons had been cut loose and left
in the road, it was not long before the dragon
discovered them. When his appetite returned,
he examined the contents of the two wagons,


helped himself freely, and, before many hoi
had passed, was again in trouble with hims
and again confiding his troubles to the mot
tain echoes.
When the dragon's roaring was heard for 1
second time, the Mayor, without
waiting to convene his advisers,
sent a second supply of food.
This time the soldiers did n't
go further than was neces-
sary to see the other
wagons. Consequent- 'II
ly the dragon, gain-
ing in courage /
and confidence, 1, "
came nearer to -
the town, and
made a third
This time, the
drummer- boy, .
who was a
brave little fel- /
low after all,
became rather
curious about
the dragon. In-
away,therefore, ....
he waited until
the rest of the -J"' -
troop were out'
of sight, and
then climbed a
For a while nothing
happened; and the drummer-
boy began even to get sleepy; but
just about twilight the boy heard the rattling
and crackling of the dragon's scales. He
peered out through the leaves and soon saw
the dragon cautiously crawling down the r
toward the wagons. The boy was so start
by the sight that he gave a violent jump,
thereby knocked his drum out of its resti
place in the tree.
Whack-bang-rattlety- bang! the drum
through the branches to the ground. Anc
the noise the timid dragon went scuttling ai
up the road like a frightened mouse.

urs Oho! cried the boy. So that's the sort
elf, of a creature you are, Mr. Dragon! "
n- Climbing leisurely down, the drummer-boy
picked up his drum, slung it over his shoulder,
;he and returned to the town, laughing quietly to
But when, the next day, the dragon made a
new disturbance, he was so much nearer
S the town that there was consternation
among the citizens. They ran to the
Town Hall in throngs, and insisted
that measures be taken
either to destroy the
monster or to protect
the town from his
nearer approach.
After a stormy meet-
ing at the Town Hall,
the town-crier appear-
7 ed and read a proc-
S lamation from the
Mayor offering a rich
reward to whoever
could devise, in-
vent, or con-
trive some ef-
fective "means,
plan, or con-
ptrivance" that
d would now,
forth and
more" and
t without
St d fail put an
a c end to and
abate the
S.. "said pub-
enemy, and
)ad threat to the prosperity and welfare of the mu-
led nicipality."
ind The proclamation, in fact, wound up by
ng- promising to grant any request that might be
made by the lucky man who should succeed in
fell overcoming or getting rid of the dragon.
I at No sooner was the proclamation read, than
Nay the drummer-boy darted out from the crier's
audience and sped away home as fast as he




could go. For the drummer-boy had a big
brother, and the Mayor had a daughter, and
the big brother was in love with the Mayor's
daughter, who was a lovely and accomplished
young lady. But the Mayor had "frowned
upon" the big brother's "suit," because the
young man was only a lieutenant of dragoons,
instead of a brigadier-general glittering with
gold lace, with epaulets, and other trimmings.
The drummer-boy hastened home and ran
up to his brother's room. The big brother was
trying to write verses, and making himself sad-
der because the verses were not proving all
that he tried to make them. And the drummer-
boy rushed in, and forgot to knock at the door,
and began to tell- his big brother all about the
Mayor ,and the proclamation, and the dragon,
and the drum falling out of the tree, and the
dragon's running away, until the big brother
was entirely bewildered.
But after a while the drummer-boy succeeded
in telling his story, and the big brother suc-
ceeded in understanding
it. And then both put '
on their best hats, and
ran off to the Mayor's
house. They rang the
bell hard, were admitted,
and the lieutenant offered
to rid the town of the
dragon upon condition
that the Mayor would
promise him his chosen
bride. The Mayor was
not at all impressed; but
he made up his mind
that either the younglieu-
tenant of dragoons would :"
succeed in driving off the
dragon, or else that the
dragon would take care
that he was no more
bothered by the lieuten-
ant. So he agreed to
the plan, put his promise
in writing, sealed it with
his signet-ring, and dis-
missed the two brothers
with a feeling of relief.
Next day the lieuten- "THE LIEUTENA

ant and the drummer-boy set forth for the pass.
They were armed only with a few giant fire-
crackers and a supply of matches.
When they reached the pass, the dragon,
who had learned to expect food when he saw
uniforms approaching, came smilingly forward
to meet them. The big brother was a little ner-
vous, perhaps; and so, when the dragon came
within about a hundred yards, he lighted one
of the cannon-crackers, and flung it toward the
Now, the dragon expected food; and when
he saw the attractive red-paper covering of the
cracker, he rushed forward, and caught it eag-
erly in his mouth. The dragon tried to bite
the cracker in two; but there was no need of
that the giant cracker came to pieces without
any assistance, and the dragon was frightened
almost to death by the noise of the explosion
and the terrific concussion. He started to run
away up the pass. But the drummer-boy had
meanwhile lighted another fire-cracker; and



this was thrown so cleverly that it exploded
just in front of the fleeing dragon.
Then, with an awful shriek, the dragon turned
and went climbing up over the
rocks. But before he could get
away, the lieutenant was after
him; and, overtaking the scared
reptile, he seized him by the tail.
The dragon fainted from terror.
Convinced now that the dragon
was an arrant coward, the lieu-
tenant and the drummer-boy cut
two stout sticks, and when the
dragon had recovered his senses

they drove him through the town and into their
back yard.
.So it all ended happily. The dragon was fed
upon oatmeal and rice-pudding
f"" until he was quite amiable. The
lieutenant married the Mayor's
daughter, and was made Genera-
lissimo and Commander-in-chief
of all the forces, and the drummer-
boy was appointed Drum-major
S for life, with a pension for old age.
And I must say that I wish all
stories turned out as satisfactor-
ily for all concerned.




THIS is the letter that goes to John,
Who lives in the street where the roar
roars on,
And never stops when the day grows dim,-
This is the letter that goes to him.
It comes from Acheson Avenue,
Where the trees are many and houses few;
Where the bird's food hangs on the old
And tickles the tongue of the chickadee;
Where the little, chirruping, saucy wren
Bustles about like a clucking hen;
Where kinglets caper and jump like clowns,
With gleaming ruby and golden crowns!
"When the wind that blows from the cold
North Pole
Has crept away into some deep hole,
Do you come out to the avenue,
Where the trees are many and houses few;

And we'll watch the sailorbirds, brave and slim,
From the tops of the pear-trees dive and
And we '11 feed the squirrel, as you shall see,
Whose home is a hole by the willow-tree;
And I '11 tell you a tale of a big black bear,-
It's a finer tale than the rabbits wear!
Then there 'll be a pie for you and me,
That will make us hop like a chickadee.
But to tell all the things that we may try
Would fill an envelop three feet high!

" Now, if you don't think that this is true,
Just ask Miss Mary and Margaret, too,
And your father and mother, and-then
take breath,
And then you may question Elizabeth.
So this is your letter, fresh from the mill,
And it comes direct from
your Uncle Will."





[Begun in the November number. I
To the brother and sister, thus theatrically
made known to one another, the revelation was
overwhelming. Philip turned white with sur-
prise. Mademoiselle flushed deeply, then paled
as swiftly, and looked with an almost piteous
expression upon the man she had always re-
garded as her father.
Then came the reaction from bewilderment
to joy.
"Is it so ? cried Philip.
"What ?-it is Philip ? exclaimed Made-
And then brother and sister fell into each

other's arms. Citizen Daunou's eyes were filled
with tears. Uncle Fauriel tossed his chapeau
in air. Corporal Peyrolles danced on his one
good leg, for joy. Pierre looked on with the air
of one who had been in the secret all along,
and actually contemplated one of the old-time
hand-springs of his street-boy days. The Em-
peror walked swiftly to Citizen Daunou and
clapped that staid old republican on the back.
"Daunou, is this your work?" he cried.
"It is great. You have exceeded my expecta-
tions." But Citizen Daunou was just, even in
his excitement: he simply shook his head, and
wa' ed his hand toward Pierre.
Philip and Mademoiselle, still hand in hand,
looked into each other's eyes, laughing and
crying in the same moment. For them the


cucL he~ep to k6ev Ceild-, IY eIeoT Iautx/,.
.uh precjoilale. ho@le, iS uxn.oil .
"rl-e-n, you, ,orre- aoowrz ca S: .c-ir
UL i-, zore' Ccaciltor& c12r coCLre-,
\ndcL re,,rciin i0i-i wild.
i--uzlrA.Se of 'yo-th.",, .
1 *) /-i If^I



fate of nations, the importance of that historic
day, the clouds of war, the peace of Europe,
were all forgotten. In all the world there was
no one just then but Philip and Lucie. They
had found what neither knew, what neither
dreamed of.
"I cannot believe it, Philip; can you-can
you ? cooed the happy girl.
"My sister, my sister, my sister.!" the boy
repeated, lingering lovingly over each word.
"Tell us, tell us, my friend," he said, turning
to Citizen Daunou; "what does all this mean?
I know it is the truth, but how did you find
it out ?"
Then the Emperor broke in: You shall have
time for explanations- you two- you three,"
he said. Look you, Lieutenant Desnouettes,"
he said, emphasizing, to Philip's delight, the
rank thus conferred upon him, "I grant you
an unlimited leave of absence. Go home with
your sister. When I need you I will summon
you to my side. No; no words. I know your
willingness to serve me. This is my will. Be
happy, my children, for a brief season. I am
no monster to separate a new-found family-
though some do deem me so," he added, with
a slap this time on the fat shoulders of Uncle
Fauriel. Take them home with you, Citizen
Daunou. When Philip sees me again, he can
tell me all that he has learned. My friend the
Inspector,"-this to the delighted Pierre,-" I
am proud of you. Some day you will be a
minister of police. Adieu, my children! he
said, placing a hand affectionately on the heads
of Philip and Mademoiselle. My horse, Con-
stant !" he cried to his valet. Then, vaulting to
his saddle, he commanded: "Forward, gentle-
men; to Prussia and victory "
"Long live the Emperor!" rose the shout.
The trumpets sounded; the drums rolled; the
escort wheeled into line; the green coat and
the little chapeau disappeared in the distance,
as out of the court of the Tuileries and off to-
ward the barriers the Emperor and his glitter-
ing escort galloped through the applauding
streets of Paris, off for the war.
Still wondering, still hand in hand, the bro-
ther and sister walked back to the Street of the
Fight. And there, while all the air was electric
with excitement and the presage of battle, they

passed the days in close companionship, care-
less of the future, happy in the knowledge and
enjoyment of their new relationship, and mak-
ing Citizen Daunou tell them, again and again,
the story of how he had unraveled the mystery
and given them thus to each other.
He told them of their father the emigre--
the man who had died for principle, almost
the last victim of the tyrants of the Terror.
He told them how Nurse Marcel,. the widow
of the sansculotte, had, through fear of the
consequences, represented. Mademoiselle as her
daughter when Citizen Daunou had adopted the
baby girl into his home; and how she had lived
with her as nurse and companion. He told
how he had found the document that had es-
tablished Philip's identity and given him a clue
to the discovered relationship. He told of the
missing part of the record, and the Emperor's
knowledge of the affair; and he gave to Pierre
the Inspector all the credit and glory for the
discovery that completed -the reading of the
Babette, too, Philip's young foster-sister, came
in for her share of the enjoyment; and even
Mother Th6rbse, sly and gruff though she was,
had to hear the recital and tell her part of the
story,-how the Directory gave her this boy
to bring up, what a good boy he always was
(though Philip wondered when she found that
out!), and how she had always said he would
be a great man before he died.
So the days passed- happily, quietly, joy-
fully. Then came news from the front to in-
crease the general joy. The Emperor had
marched to new and glorious victories. At
Lutzen and at Bautzen he had met and con-
quered his foes. Triumph was in the air. Peace
was surely at hand. All Europe would soon be
at the feet of the conqueror. In spite of the
Russian campaign the Emperor was again
Paris went wild with delight. The Empress
Regent rode in state to the great church of
Notre Dame to hear the Te Deum in praise of
the victories; and, when the war was over, the
Empress and the King of Rome, it was said,
were to be crowned by the Emperor in token
of the supremacy and triumph of France.
The battles of Lutzen and Bautzen had been




stubborn and bloody; Many thousands of This was most inspiriting. Already, notwith-
brave men had fallen on each side. But standing the happy days with his new-found
what of that ? They were victories for France, sister, Philip found himself becoming uneasy
won by the boys of France; for the fighting in idleness and wishing for the call to action.
battalions of
that bloody---
campaign of
1813 was
in large part
drawn from
the youth of
France and
Germany. ,
Philip had .--
heard with
pride how '. h.
a Marshal--.,.
Ney, "the .
bravest of
the brave"- i t'
had stated -
that these
boys were
better than
and that he .
could lead
them any-
where; and
how, at Lut- t
zen,theEm- I
peror in the
supreme mo-
ment dash-
ed into the ,
thick of the
fight, and
shouted to
the young
who held
the center:
" My chil-
upon you to save the Empire. Forward! France It came at last. One day the following
is watching you. Learn how to die for her order, bearing the imperial seal, was delivered
And they did; for, with ringing shouts of Long to him:
live the Emperor !' the boys then charged the Lieutenant Philip Desnouettes, of the Officers of Or-
Prussians, and with the bayonet's point turned donnance, is directed to accompany the Empress to May-
the tide of battle and won the day for France. ence, and to report for duty to the Emperor in person.
VOL. XXII.- 96-97.


An armistice had been declared. Lutzen
and Bautzen had called for a truce in the war;
overtures for peace were made by Austria,
a neutral power, and agreed to by France on
the one side, and by the allied powers of
Russia, Prussia, and Sweden on the other.
And, in July, Napoleon, resting from battle,
requested his Empress to join him for a few
days at Mayence; for the armistice declared a
suspension of hostilities until the tenth of August
I go to join the Emperor," Philip announced
joyfully to his sister and his good friends in
the Street of the Fight. "But, alas! I am des-
tined never to see service in the field. We
shall have peace, and the Emperor will be the
master of Europe."
I hope so, my son," Citizen Daunou said;
"but I do not believe it. The enemies of
France are too many and too determined.
They will fight to the death, and crush us by
numbers. This conflict is not like those that
have gone before. Our foemen have learned
the art of war from the Emperor. They will
turn the knowledge to fatal account. This
armistice is but the prelude to yet more bloody
fighting, and a defeat will be our death-blow.
Oh, that the Emperor would see his oppor-
tunity France asks for peace; the world asks
for it. By it the Emperor might confound his
enemies, and bring about results more glorious
than the most victorious war. But he will not.
To-day the Emperor is great; he is victorious.
How much greater, how much more the victor,
would he be if he would sign a treaty of peace
giving up the needless provinces he has con-
quered, and inscribe upon that treaty the
words: 'These are the sacrifices to peace
made by Napoleon for the welfare of the peo-
ple of France.' But he will not do it, my son;
he will not do it."
Philip could not agree with his old friend.
What young fellow living in an atmosphere of
conquest would believe that there was such a
thing as a giving that was a-gaining?
He bade his dear ones adieu, took his place
in the cortege of the Empress, and in high
spirits set out to join the Emperor, then resting
at Mayence.
They rode from St. Cloud on the twenty-

third of July, stopping on the way at Chilons
and at Metz, and on the twenty-sixth reached
Mayence. And there Philip again saw the
"So, my noble young lieutenant of ordon-
nance," cried Napoleon, pulling Philip's ear
by way of friendly greeting, "you are ready
for duty, eh? And how is the pretty sister at
Paris? Now see what you can do to make
her proud of her relationship. You will. Be
but less heedless than of- old, and more the
man you are now big enough to be."
Festivities made brilliant-the brief visit of the
Empress to Mayence. Princes and potentates
thronged the audience-chamber. F&tes and
illuminations, reviews and receptions, balls and
banquets, crowded each other for ten days, and
the old Rhenish city was full of stir and splendor.
But beneath was keen anxiety. The world
wished for peace; yet the world would know,
all too well, the unbending will of the Emperor.
The Emperor did have his way. He re-
fused to listen to the appeals of Austria and the
demands of Russia. Not an inch of France's
conquests would he resign. 'The enemies of
France should sue from him as from a victor.
He would never be a suppliant.
The tenth of August came. Hostilities were
resumed. Austria broke her pledges and joined
the enemies of France; and, under the walls
of Dresden, Napoleon with a hundred thousand
men hurled himself against the allied powers
of Europe, nearly two hundred thousand strong.
There Philip first smelled gunpowder."
There he received his baptism of fire." There
for the first time he heard the thunder of hos-
tile cannon, the clash of opposing steel, the
shrill neigh of the war-horse. With shouts of
command were mingled the cries of combatants,
the swelling cheer of the victor, the sullen growl
of the vanquished, the backward note of re-
treat, and the forward yell of pursuit. There, too,
Philip heard the sharp scream of the wounded,
the muffled groan of the dying, and saw all the
pomp and pain, all the glory and misery, of the
legalized murder that men call war.
He heard all, he saw all, he was a part of all.
At first kept busy in writing and despatching
orders rapidly dictated by the Emperor,-that
master of the art of war, whose eye seemed

. [JULY,


everywhere, whose ear caught everything,-
Philip paid but little attention to the details of
the conflict. Then, despatched on some im-
perative mission, he came face to face with
death; looked at it, paled before it, trembled
before it, braced himself before it, and then, all
on fire with excitement, desire, and duty, hard-
ened himself in the presence of it, and became
as reckless, as daring, as heedless, and as un-
concerned as any of the thousands of young
conscripts who made up the victorious army of
Napoleon on that brilliant day of struggle and
achievement before the walls of Dresden.
Three times his duty carried him into the
thick of the fight, amid flying bullets, falling
fighters, the rush of battalions, and the clash of
steel. The eye of the Emperor, he felt, was
upon him; that Emperor who, braving death a
hundred times, saw this weak spot, reckoned on
that movement, hurled his squadrons against
this wall of men, massed his infantry for a
charge upon that yielding break, and, fighting
sword in hand like any sub-lieutenant in the
ranks, unmindful of the torrents of driving rain,
heedless of the masses of clogging mud, cried:
"Forward, my children! again and yet again!
I cannot be beaten!" and added to his laurels
as a conqueror the masterly victory of Dresden.
Philip was roused; he was electrified; he
grew full of the fury of battle. He galloped this
way and that, commanding, crying, cheering,
carried away by excitement. And, when he
rode with the hussars, pursuing the routed Prus-
sians, he saw the only enemy that remained to
face the victorious Frenchmen-a great, alert,
watchful-eyed Danish hound, searching for his
Philip whistled cheerily, and the dog came at
the call. Then it bristled with growl and bark,
as the boy it did not know leaned from his
saddle to pet and capture it. The chase slack-
ened; the bugles sounded the recall; and when,
the battle over, the enemy flying, the victory
won, Philip rode back to the French lines, he
brought with him the only trophy of his valor,
a single prisoner-this dog.
He glanced at the hound's collar. Upon it
he read: "fam General AMorea's dog."
Moreau ? Moreau ? he queried. It is a
French name. Can it be that renegade?"

"Ha! Moreau the deserter! Moreau the
renegade! Moreau the traitor! Kill the dog! "
cried the soldiers; for the presence of Moreau,
once the greatest of French fighters,--Moreau
the victor of Hohenlinden,--as a leader in the
ranks of the enemy, had infuriated and enraged
the army.
"Hands off! The dog is my prisoner!"
Philip cried.
With a laugh, the soldiers yielded to the young
lieutenant. And when Philip rode through
the gates of Dresden, he carried with him this
captured pet of Napoleon's old-time comrade
and rival.
PHILIP dismounted, and, still followed by his
prisoner, entered the palace of the Saxon kings,
in which the victorious Emperor had established
his headquarters.
There he found Napoleon-wet, bedraggled,
tired, but triumphant--with the point of his
cocked hat hanging in ruin upon his shoulder,
and the famous gray overcoat streaked with
mud. The Emperor had been three days with-
out rest, and twelve hours in the pouring rain.
But he had won the fight; he had sent the
enemy flying across the Saxon borders. Satis-
faction and delight shone upon his face.
"Ah, ha! my ordonnance boy!" he cried.
"You are there, eh ? And how is it with you ?
You have worked hard; you have worked
faithfully. He who writes and rides may be
as brave as he who carries the eagle or waves
the sword. I am proud of you, young Des-
Praise is a wonderful medicine. It is rest
for tired bones; it is balm for smarting wounds;
it is even comfort in dying. To a boy who
feels that he really has done his duty, it is es-
pecially sweet to hear the words Well done!"
And praise from Napoleon was both a reward
and an inspiration.
Philip grasped the Emperor's extended hand,
and kissed it in acknowledgment. "Sire," he
said, "you can never be beaten! I would not
have missed this day for all the palaces in
Paris! "
Napoleon smiled again. Then he spied the



hound, and asked, "Ah, that dog ? Is it Mo-
reau's, as I have heard ? "
"So his collar says, Sire," Philip replied. "I
took him prisoner in a cottage at Ricknitz."
"Ricknitz!" exclaimed the Emperor. "But
that was where I turned the guns upon the
Prussian staff. Poor Moreau!" said Napoleon,
passing his hand over his brow. "I honored
him once, though he was ever jealous of me.-
Well, all goes finely. Rest yourself, Lieutenant
Desnouettes, and to-morrow prepare to ride
with me-very early, remember-to our camp
at Pirna. We must follow fast on the run-
aways, and smother them in the hills. And
then on to Berlin! "
To the great camp at Pirna-ten miles south-
east of Dresden- Philip rode with the Emperor,
and was at once busied in writing orders direct-
ing the pursuit of the demoralized Allies.
Suddenly, in the midst of an order to Gen-
eral Vandamme, who was to head off the re-
treat near Kulm, a hundred miles to the north,
the Emperor gave a sharp cry, clapped a hand
over his lower waistcoat buttons, and doubled
up completely, unable to think or act.
Napoleon had the stomach-ache.
You laugh at this; but let me tell you there
is nothing so demoralizing as pain. Headache
and indigestion have wrecked more than one
great cause. Men who can withstand armies
have surrendered to the toothache. Napoleon
was never victorious on the sea because he was
always too seasick to command in person.
Napoleon could not endure pain, and lost his
crown through a stomach-ache. For the cramp
that caught him that day at Pirna kept him
from pursuing his routed foes, and with that
failure to act began the conqueror's downfall.
At all events, he gave up his plan of conduct-
ing the pursuit in person. He returned to
Dresden. Disaster fell upon his generals when-
ever they fought without him. Oudinot was
beaten at Grossbeeren; Macdonald was over-
thrown at Katzbach; Vandamme was captured
at Kulm; Ney was routed at Dennewitz. The
Allies turned back. With fresh troops swelling
their recovering ranks, they drew about the man
they had sworn to destroy.
His vassals forsook him; his tributaries de-
serted him. France was left alone, and, yield-

ing to the advice of his marshals rather than
following his own wise judgment, Napoleon
gave up his plan of marching upon Berlin. His
enemies drew about him; they inclosed him in
a ring of steel; and on the sixteenth of October,
1813, the Emperor and his men stood at bay
under the walls of quaint old Leipsic a hand-
ful against a host.
That bloodiest battle of modern times has
been called the Battle of the Nations. It was
France against all Europe. For three days it
raged. Ninety-four thousand men were killed
or wounded. Then the Saxons in the ranks of
France went over in a body to the enemy. Re-
treat was a necessity. Napoleon was beaten.
But he would not admit it. Neither would
Philip. The boy was worked nearly to death.
He wrote, he rode, he ran; he scurried about
amid flying bullets, looked almost down the
throats of belching cannon, got himself en-
tangled in moving masses of infantry, and
dodged many a sweeping cavalry charge. He
was growing heedless of danger; he was be-
coming used to war.
He was angry to see that instead of pursuing,
the French were really in retreat. But Philip
did not call it a retreat; he spoke of it as a
" backward movement." He scowled with rage
as he railed at the "treacherous Saxons "; and
when the crowning disaster came,-the blow-
ing up of the bridge over the Elster, which cut
off the French rear-guard, the wagon-train, and
the wounded,--Philip echoed the Emperor, and
declared that it was disaster and not defeat that
took away the glory of the great victory of
Leipsic the victory that all the world now
knows to have been a most disastrous defeat.
Then came the fight at Hanau, the last
gleam of sunshine through the gathering clouds
-for Napoleon turned it into a success; and
on the first day of November Philip was de-
spatched to Paris as the herald of victory, car-
rying to the Empress Regent the twenty hostile
standards captured at Leipsic and at Hanau.
His coming cheered people greatly, for it
showed the Emperor was victorious; and Philip
was praised and petted on every hand.
From the palace, as soon as his duties were
over, Philip flew to the Street of the Fight, the
great hound stalking at his heels.


Mademoiselle my sister," he said, after the
glad greeting was over, "I bring you the first
captive of my bow and spear. I lay my trophy
at your feet. Down,' Marshal'! Crouch!" And
the big Dane, trained by his captor for this
very act of homage, first hung his head as if
in acknowledgment of his defeat, and then
crouched, a suppliant for mercy
at the feet of the delighted girl.
S"Oh, Philip!-for me? How
lovely! What a beauty! See,
Nurse. My new protector! "
and she rested her little hand
on the great dog's head. But,
Philip, did you really fight with
bow and spear? They tell us
the Cossacks do."
Philip laughed with the supe- __
rior air of a veteran. Well, we -
do not, Mademoiselle," he re-
plied; "but the Tartars and
Bashkirs do. Pestiferous little
Russian wasps! I caught one
of their arrows through my
chapeau. See!" and, drawing
his hat from beneath his arm,
he showed her where a Tartar
arrow had torn an ugly hole.
" My best one, too," he added,
gazing on it ruefully; while
Mademoiselle regarded the rent
with awe, and then cried: Oh,
but suppose it had not gone
so high, my Philip. Oh, dear !"
and, with a little shriek, she
transferred her caressing hand
to her brother's curly head.
Soon his dear friends gathered
in welcome and admiration, and "HE SHOWED
the boy's rattling chatter almost dispelled the
gloom he noted on all their faces. For despite
the brief elation over the pretended victories,
Paris was downcast and anxious.
"A fine mess your Corsican is getting us into,
young Desnouettes," blurted out Uncle Fauriel.
"Why,before we know it, we shall have the Allies
storming into Paris itself. And what then ?"
Never! cried Philip, hotly. Paris will
never be occupied by the foes of France while
the Emperor lives. I tell you he is master."

"How can he be, my Philip, with half a mil-
lion men crowding him against a wall ?" Citi-
zen Daunou said sadly. "I acknowledge the
Emperor's greatness. I know his mighty will.
He will not give up without a blow. The hour
for great souls is that when everything is lost.
But even his valor cannot withstand a host.


We have no men left to fight for him. Let
him make peace, or his empire is doomed."
"I know his valor, too," said Uncle Fauriel.
"But your Emperor is no Frenchman. He is a
Corsican. And the Corsican, like the cat, per-
sists in squirming and scratching even when one
holds him by the nape of the neck. Europe
holds your Emperor thus. But let Europe be-
ware. Your Emperor at bay is but a cat in a
corner. You shall yet see the claws of the


Within a few days after Philip's arrival the
Emperor himself returned to Paris. He came
unannounced. He came almost in disgrace.
Again he had lost an army for France. But
pride was in his heart and determination in his
Peace ? he cried. "Who talks of peace
with the enemy at our gates ? We must fight
once more. We must fight desperately, and
when we have conquered, then we will talk of
peace. I desire peace, but it must be solid
and honorable. France depends upon me. I
am a man who may be killed, but never will
be insulted. The French will be worthy of
themselves and of me."
With that, he set about to raise a new army
for the defense of France. In three months
we shall have peace," he said. "The enemy
will be driven out, or I shall be dead. My sol-
diers and I have not forgotten our trade, and
those who dared profane our frontier shall soon
repent of having set foot on French soil."
Already the Corsican," as Uncle Fauriel
had declared, was sharpening his "claws."
The foot of the foeman was on French soil.
The Allies had crossed the Rhine; they had in-
vaded France. The nation, accustomed only to
attack, was unprepared to defend. Paris was
without fortifications; the fighting material the
Emperor demanded was not easy to procure.
Twenty years of war had well-nigh drained
France of men.
But the Emperor was imperative. Give me
soldiers! he said. Men-soldiers! I cannot
fight your battles with children. Our boys of
the Young Guard fought nobly at Dresden and
Leipsic; nothing can exceed their courage.
But in the struggle before us, if I am to con-
quer, I must have men, men, men "
The men came, and the boys as well.
Though all France cried for peace; though
Paris wailed, "This insatiate one wishes to
sacrifice all our children to his wild ambition ";
and though this wail was echoed in every town
and village of the Empire, still the Senate, ac-
customed to obey the Emperor, voted both the
men and the money he demanded, and in Jan-
uary, 1814, France had collected nearly three
hundred thousand men with which to oppose

It was a death-grapple, desperate, brilliant,
effective. It was a struggle magnificent in its
intensity, masterly in its conception, wonderful
in its devices. It is too little known in history
overshadowed by the glory of Austerlitz, the
disaster of Moscow, the carnage of Leipsic, the
tragedy of Waterloo. It was the conqueror at
Ten times, in that short campaign, did Na-
poleon face and overthrow his hunters. All
his strategy, all his daring, all his brilliant
methods were brought into play; and, each
time, the invaders reeled back, defeated, bleed-
ing, and broken. The "claws of the Corsican"
struck swiftly and sank deep.
Twice was Philip sent to Paris with flags as
trophies and prisoners as signs of triumph.
Then, one March afternoon, the Emperor sum-
moned him in haste.
"Lieutenant Desnouettes," he said, I in-
trust you with this letter to the Empress. Be
wary and be vigilant. Guard it with your life.
Deliver it only into the Empress's own hands.
It is because I know your courage and your
loyalty that I repose this trust in you. Ride,
for life or death! "
Philip sprang to his saddle, and galloped to-
ward Paris.
The sun was nearly set as he rode out of the
little hamlet of St. Dizier (where Napoleon,
next day, was to win his last victory), and
headed for Paris. The night favored the rider;
for, with the continual changing of positions,
one was always in danger, and darkness was a
convenient cloak. If he could but escape the
enemy's outposts or their foraging parties, his
way was clear.
So he rode on with speed. From St. Dizier
to Perthes and Villotte and Vitry on the Marne
he rode; and, crossing the river, spurred on to
Cosle and Connantray and La F&re-Champe-
noise, where, one to ten, the French had fought
the invaders, and Pacthod's guards had proved
themselves heroes. Soon he galloped into S&-
zanne. Thus far all was well. But, as he rode

from S6zanne, he hesitated. The road to Cou-
lommiers was the most direct; but he knew the
upper road better, where, from Montmirail, the
road led westward to Meaux.

He decided for the upper road, and there



an invading force of nearly a million.


was his mistake. For, as he saw the lights of
Montmirail shining across the narrow .Little
Morin, and looked for the white streak that
meant the road to Meaux, he saw ahead a
moving blur, magnified by the darkness into an
uncertain but threatening mass. He 'tried to
force his horse from the road into the border-
ing fields, although he knew that thus he would
miss the bridge across the Little Morin and
have to swim for it.
In the gloom of the night his horse, like a
sensible beast, refused to leave the road or jump
the low wall that flanked the roadway.
The moving mass came on with shout and
swing. Philip had been seen. The challenge
rang sharply out, but Philip held his peace, re-
fusing a reply. Then bullets whistled by him,
and the boy, thinking safety lay only in his own
legs, dismounted and let his horse go free.
With the Hurra! that he now knew so well
as the Cossack war-cry, his foemen swooped
upon the riderless horse; but, seeing through the

boy's plan, dashed across the bridge, and
stretched themselves in a crescent from wall
to wall.
Then Philip sought to climb the wall, and es-
cape across the fields to the bank of the stream.
But he was stiff with riding, and, in the darkness,
his footing was insecure. He slipped and fell
almost beneath the hoofs of an oncoming horse.
Again he heard the guttural call, the terrible
'Cossack Hurra !" Then something pounced
upon him in the dark, before he could free his
pistol-hand or draw his sword. Eager hands
felt for and grabbed him. He squirmed and
dodged, and wriggled and kicked, but all to no
The next instant he was lifted to his feet; a
light was flashed full upon him; fierce faces en-
circled him; words he did not understand shot
from bearded and savage lips. He could nei-
ther defend nor assail. He could not even die,
as he had sworn he would if cornered. Philip
was a prisoner in the hands of Cossacks.

(To be continued.)

4 "C-.





HALF hidden by tall meadow-grass that sways with every breeze,
And running through deep, silent pools, and under spreading trees;
Now stealing through the quiet ways of solitary wood,
And now beneath a timbered arch where once an old mill stood;
Across the fields and to the brow where valleys fall away,
Then over beds of shelving rock its waters dance and play,
And now and then, as though in joy of such delightful fun,
It springs into a waterfall that glistens in the sun,
And eddies round and round about, in strange fantastic glee,
Then steadies down and flows away sedately to the sea.
Frank H. Sweet.



IN the town of Haverhill, Massachusetts,
near the Merrimac River, not far from Salis-
bury Beach, and in a house built by his great-
great-grandfather more than two centuries ago,
John Greenleaf Whittier was born on Decem-
ber 17, 1807. For three generations before him,
the family had been connected with the Society
of Friends; and all his life long Whittier re-
tained the Quaker simplicity of manner and
attire. He began early to do the chores of the
household and also to aid his father in the
work of the farm.
The house was surrounded by woods, and "a
small brook, noisy enough as it foamed, rippled,
and laughed down its rocky falls by the gar-
den-side, and then wound its way to a larger
stream, that, "after doing its duty at two or
three saw and grist mills" (the clash of which
would be heard in still days across the inter-
vening woodlands), ran into the great river and
was borne along to the great sea. Thus, in
early boyhood Whittier had a chance to get
friendly and familiar with brooks and woods
and rocky hills and all the other features of the
New England landscape. He helped to care
for the oxen and the horses, and he came to
know the wilder animals which also lived on
the farm.
His chief companion was his younger sister,
who devoted herself to him for half a century.
In his boyhood Whittier had scant instruc-
tion, for the district school was open only a
few weeks in winter. He had but few books;
there were scarcely thirty in the house. The one
book he read and read again until he had it by
heart almost was the Bible; and the Bible was
always the book which exerted the strongest
literary influence upon him. But when he Was
fourteen a teacher came who lent him books of
travel and opened a new world to him. It was
this teacher who brought to the Whittiers one
evening a volume of Burns and read aloud

some of the poems, after explaining the Scot-
tish dialect. Whittier begged to borrow the
book, which was almost the first poetry he had
ever read. It was this volume of Burs which
set Whittier to making verses himself, serving
both as the inspiration and the model of his
earlier poetic efforts. The Scottish poet, with
his homely pictures of a life as bare and as
hardy as that of New England then, first re-
vealed to the American poet what poetry really
was, and how it might be made out of the actual
facts of his own life.
That book of Burs's poems had an even
stronger influence on Whittier than the odd
volume of the Spectator which fell into the
hands of Franklin had on the American author
whose boyhood is most like Whittier's. Frank-
lin also was born in a humble and hard-work-
ing family, doing early his share of the labor,
and having but a meager education, although
always longing for learning. It is true that
Irving and Cooper and Bryant did not grad-
uate from college, but they could have done
so, had they persevered; and: Emerson and
Longfellow and-Hawthorne did get as much
of the higher education as was then possible in
America. But neither Franklin nor Whittier
ever had the chance; it was as much as they
could do to pick up the merest elements of an
After he -had made the acquaintance of
Burs's poems, Whittier began to scribble
rhymes of his own on his slate at school, and
in the evening about the family hearth. One
of his boyish stanzas lingered in the memory
of an elder sister:
And must I always swing the flail,
And help to fill the milking-pail?
I wish to go away to school;
I do not wish to be a fool.
With practice he began to be bolder, and he
wrote copies of verses on every-day events,


and also little ballads. One of these, written
when he was seventeen, his eldest sister liked
so well that she sent it to the weekly paper of
Newburyport, the Free Press, then recently
started by William Lloyd Garrison. She did this
without telling her brother, and no one was more
surprised than he when he opened the paper
and found his own verses in The Poet's Cor-
ner." He was aiding his father to mend a
stone wall by the roadside as the postman
passed on horseback and tossed the paper to
the young man. His heart stood still a mo-
ment when he saw his own verses," says a
biographer. "Such delight as his comes only
once in the lifetime of any aspirant to literary
fame. His father at last called to him to put
up the paper and keep at work."
The editor of the Free Press was only three
years older than the poet, although far more
mature. He did more for the young man than
merely print these boyish verses, for he went to
Whittier's father and urged the need of giving
the youth a little better education. To do this
was not possible then; but two years later,
when Whittier was nineteen, an academy was
started at Haverhill, and here he attended, even
writing a few stanzas to be sung at the opening
exercises. He studied at Haverhill for two
terms, and by making slippers, by keeping
books, and by teaching school, he earned the lit-
tle money needed to pay his way. At Haverhill
he was able to read the works of many authors
hitherto unknown to him, and he also wrote for
the local papers much prose and verse.
By the time he was twenty-one he had fitted
himself to earn his living by his pen. He went
to Boston in 1829 to edit a paper there; and he
returned to Haverhill the next year to take
charge of the local journal. Then he was at
the head of an important weekly in Hartford.
In these various positions he acquitted himself
well, mastering the questions of the day care-
fully, and expressing his opinions forcibly and
courteously. But his health failed, owing partly
perhaps to the exposure and toil of his boy-
hood on the farm; and in 1832 he gave up
journalism for a while and went back to his
father's house. He had never been robust;
and all his life long he was forced to .take care
of himself and to husband his strength.

But if the body was weak, the spirit was
strong; Whittier had the stout heart which
leads a forlorn hope unhesitatingly. Before he
was thirty he had made up his mind that it was
his duty to do what he could for the relief of
the unfortunate negroes who were held in bon-
dage in the South. In 1833 he wrote a pam-
phlet called "Justice and Expediency," in which
he considered the whole question of slavery,
and declared that it should cease forever.
Three years later he became secretary of the
Anti-Slavery Society. In 1838 he went to
Philadelphia to edit the Pennsylvania Freeman;
and so boldly did he advocate the right of the
negro to own himself that the printing-office
was sacked by a mob and burned. Then, as
more than once afterward for the same cause,
Whittier was in danger for his life.
Whittier showed physical courage in facing
the ruffians who wished to prevent free speech;
but he had revealed the higher moral courage
in casting in his lot with the little band of aboli-
tionists. Up to this time he had looked forward
to holding public office, as well he might, when
many another journalist was stepping from the
newspaper desk into public life. When he
became one of the small band who denounced
slavery, he gave up all chance of office. He
also had literary ambition, but so strong was
the power of the slave-owners then, and so in-
tolerant were they, that most editors and pub-
lishers were sorely intimidated, and declined to
print not only any attack on slavery, but even
the other writings of an author who was known
as an abolitionist. Thus Whittier, in identifying
himself with the anti-slavery movement, thought
that he was giving up his literary future also.
He made his decision promptly, and he never
regretted it. Indeed, in later life he said to a
boy of fifteen to whom he was giving counsel,
My lad, if thou wouldst win success, join
thyself to some unpopular bit noble cause."
By constant practice he had acquired ease
in composition; but as his writing gained in
strength his taste also improved. A miscellany
of prose and verse called "Legends of New
England," published in 1831, was his first book.
It contained a selection of the best of the poems
and the essays he had printed here and there in
periodicals. In later life he thought so little




of this volume that none of the essays, and only
two of the poems, were republished in the re-
vised edition of his works. Imperfect as was
this youthful verse, scarcely any American had
then written better. Bryant's first volume, and
Poe's, had been published several years before;
while Longfellow's earliest book of poems,
"Voices of the Night," did not appear until
1839, to be followed in 1847 by the first collec-
tion of Emerson's poems.

of Freedom," appeared in 1849. When we com-
pare either of these volumes with Longfellow's
" Poems on Slavery" (printed in 1842, midway
between them), we see how much sturdier Whit-
tier's stanzas are, and how much more his heart
is in the cause than Longfellow's. It is Long-
fellow who writes with Quaker-like gentleness;
it is Whittier who fiercely rouses to the fight.
In other ways also is the contrast of Long-
fellow with Whittier interesting and instructive.


44 il


Other poems, which Whittier discarded in
later life, were published in the next few years.
The most vigorous of the verses he wrote at
this time were inspired by his hatred of slavery.
From the day he threw himself into the aboli-
tion movement, his verse has a loftier note
and a more ringing tone. With him poetry was
then no longer a mere amusement or accom-
plishment; it had become a weapon for use in
the good fight. In these anti-slavery poems
there is a noble passion and a righteous anger.
They were calls to a battle with evil; and the
best of them rang out like blasts of a bugle.
One collection of these anti-slavery verses was
published in 1837, and a second, called "Voices

Both were New Englanders, and both hated
slavery. Longfellow was the most literary of
all our poets, while Whittier was perhaps the
least so. Longfellow's chief service to our litera-
ture was in showing how it was possible to get
the best that Europe and the storied past could
give, and yet to remain an American of the
present. Whittier dealt almost wholly with the
facts of American life, with the legends and
the thoughts, with the landscape and the peo-
ple, of New England; indeed, he came at last
to have a popularity second only to Longfel-
low's, and due largely to the fact that he, more
than any other, was the representative poet of
New England.


Whittier was the only one of the leading
American authors who never crossed the At-
lantic. Not only did he never go to Europe,
he never went south of the Potomac or west of
the Alleghanies. When the farm at Haver-
hill was sold in 1836, part of the price was
used to buy a small place at Amesbury; and
that house was Whittier's home for more than
half a century. After his return from Phila-
delphia, in 1839, he was rarely absent from
Amesbury for more than a month or two at a
time, although he did once reside the better
part of a year in Lowell. He made visits to
Boston often, and sometimes even to New
York; and frequently he spent his summers
elsewhere; but until his death his home was
the little house at Amesbury.
With the publication in 1843 of the book
called Lays of My Home," Whittier made
sure his place among American poets. In this
volume are some of the best of his ballads,-
"Cassandra Southwick," for one,-and as a
writer of ballads only Longfellow, among all
the American poets, was Whittier's superior.
He had the gift of story-telling in verse. He
did not strain his invention to devise a strange
plot; he took an old legend or a tale of real
life, and he set it forth in rhyme simply and
easily. He had the touch of genius which
transfigures common things. He sang of what
he knew-the fields where he played as a boy,
the river and the hills he had gazed on in
childhood, the men and women who had
grown up about him, the thoughts and the
sentiments he and they had inherited together.
Even the unpromising proper names of New
England become melodious in his hands.
As the years passed, Whittier's powers ripened,
and the level of his work is better sustained; but
the quality of the poems included in Songs of
Labor," published in 1850, and in Home Bal-
lads," published in 1860, is the quality of the
collection published in 1843. Among the verse
written during these seventeen years are the
"Angels of Buena Vista," "Maud Muller"
(perhaps the most popular of all his briefer
poems), Ichabod (perhaps the loftiest of all
laments over fallen greatness), the "Barefoot
Boy," Skipper Ireson's Ride" (one of his
most characteristic New England ballads), and

the tribute to Robert Burns. The poet of New
England was always swift to declare his in-
debtedness to the poet of Scotland, and to pro-
claim his abiding regard for the poems which
had first shown him what poetry was.
During these years of the anti-slavery strug-
gle not only was Whittier's reputation as a poet
growing steadily, but the people of the North
and of the West were as steadily coming over
to his side. Of course we cannot exactly mea-
sure the influence of a poem or song, but it may
be almost irresistible. He was a wise man who
was willing to let others make the laws of a
people if only he could write their songs. Law
is but the expression of public opinion; and when
the ringing stanzas of the anti-slavery bards,
and the stirring speeches of the anti-slavery
orators had awakened the conscience of the free
States, the end of the evil was nigh. Slavery
made a hard fight for its life; but it was slavery
that 'Whittier hated, and not the Southern slave-
owners; and there is no bitterness or rancor in
the poems published in 1863 and called "In
War Time." And of these ballads of the battle
years the best and the best beloved. is "Bar-
bara Frietchie," which was rather a tribute to
the old flag than an attack upon those who
were then in arms against it.
After the final triumph of the cause for
which he had battled long and bravely, Whit-
tier turned again to peaceful themes. With the
spread of his opinions among the people, his
poetry also had become more popular; but no
single book of his ever had a wide-spread and
immediate success until Snow-Bound" ap-
peared in 1866. This poem of New England
was received by the reading public as no other
poem had been received since Longfellow's
" Evangeline" and Hiawatha." It was so prof-
itable that for the first time in his life and
he was then nearly sixty -Whittier was placed
above want.
Only less successful was "The Tent on the
Beach," printed the next year, and followed in
twelve months by Among the Hills." There-
after his position was secure. He had taken
his place as one of the poets of America, beside
Emerson and Longfellow, beside Lowell and
Holmes; and perhaps he was nearer than any
of the others to the hearts of the New Eng-




landers and of the Westerners whose fathers
had gone out from New England. He has
been called a Quaker Burs; he might better
be called the Burns of New England; and as
Burs wrote for Scotland rather than for the
whole of Great Britain, so Whittier wrote for
New England rather than for the whole of the

E'GE I I I l


United States. It was the scenery of New
England he best loved to paint in his ballads;
it was the sentiment of New England he
voiced in his lyrics; it was the steadfast faith
in New England that gave strength to all he
During the later years of his life Whittier
wrote as the mood came, and he gathered his
scattered verses into volumes from time to
time,-" Ballads of New England," for ex-



ample, in 1870; "Mabel Martin," in 1874;
"The King's Missive," in 1881. They all served
to strengthen his hold on the hearts of the
people. No doubt his old age was made hap-
pier by the honor in which he was held. He
outlived most of his fellow-poets of New Eng-
land. He saw Longfellow go first, and then
Emerson, and finally Low-
ell, his comrade in the
anti-slavery struggle. Long
past the allotted three-
score years and ten he
printed a final volume of
his poems, in 1890, under
the title, "At Sundown."
At last, early in the fall
of 1892, he had a slight
paralytic shock, and he
died at dawn on September
7, being then in his eighty-
fifth year.
It is as a poet that Whit-
tier is held most in honor,
but he was also a writer
of prose; and in the final
collected edition of his
works published four years
before his death his prose
writings fill three of the
seven volumes.
Unlike as Whittier and
t, r Franklin were in many
S respects, they were alike
in others. Both had the
sympathy with the lowly
which comes of early simi-
lar experience. Both
learned a handicraft, for
D BY LMSON, PORTLAND, MAINE. Franklin set type and
worked a printing-press,
and Whittier made slippers. To both of them
literature was a means, rather than an end in it-
self. Verse to Whittier, and prose to Franklin,
was a weapon to be used in the good fight. In
Whittier's verse, as in Franklin's prose, there was
the same pithy directness which made their words
go home to the hearts of the plain people whom
they both understood and represented. To
Franklin was given the larger life and the greater
range of usefulness; but Whittier always did with



all his might the duty that lay before him. While own shortcomings and lack of training, and he
Franklin gained polish by travel and by asso- was quick to take advice from those whom he
ciation with citizens of the world, Whittier was thought better equipped. In this as in all
the only one of the greater American authors things else he was modest. How modest he
who never went to Europe, and he kept to the really was is perhaps best shown in certain
end not a little of his rustic simplicity, verses of the poem he called "My Triump!h":
While Whittier was practical, as becomes a
New Englander, he had not the excessive com- 0 living friends who love me!
mon sense which characterizes Franklin, and he 0 dear ones gone above me!
lacked also Franklin's abundant humor. But Careless of other fame,
I leave to you my name.
the poet was not content, as Franklin was,
with showing that honesty is the best policy, Hide it from idle praises,
and that in the long run vice leads to ruin; Save it from evil phrases:
Why, when dear lips that spake it
he scourged evil with the wrath of a Hebrew Are dumb, should strangers wake it?
prophet. Except one or another of his ballads,
none of his poems was written for its own sake; Let the thick curtain fall;
I better know than all
they were nearly all intended to further a cause How little I have gained,
he held dear, or to teach a lesson he thought How vast the unattained.
Whittier was a born poet. He was not an Sweeter than any sung
My songs that found no tongue;
artist in verse as Longfellow was; and he was Nobler than any fact
often as careless in rhyme and as rugged in My wish that failed of act.
rhythm as was Emerson. Yet to some of his
Others shall sing the song,
stanzas there is a lyric lilt that sings itself into Others shall right the wrong,-
the memory; and the best of his ballads have Finish what I begin,
an easy grace of movement. He knew his And all I fail of win.



THE bold old sandstone hills of Ross Across the knurly hills of Ross
Swing up and down the land Bold Summer blew his horn;
Like burly giants roystering It stirred a thousand dreaming dales
Together, hand-in-hand; And waked the sleeping corn;
And over hill and over dale So high, so far, so clear it rang
The clouds go rolling free Through all the drowsy world,
Like great gold-laden galleons The wild-flower host wide open sprang,
Across a summer sea; The blind brown ferns uncurled.
And high along the windy sky It roused a myriad untaught notes
The sea-gulls wheel and wing; In hedge and bush and tree;
About, about, now in, now out, It set the wild-wood echoing
They reel and sweep and swing, With bubble-throated glee,
Until one's head goes round and round And sent a sudden laughing thrill
With every dizzy ring. All through the heart of me.



Along the brawny hills of Ross
The west wind whirls the rain,
Across the murky chimney-pots,
Adown the dusty pane;
And, oh, that wind is calling me
From out the dusty town,
Out to the misty meadow-land,

Out to the dewy down,
Out to the wind-blown hills of Ross,
Into the summer shower,
To be a fellow to the field,
A brother to the flower,
And part of the midsummer day
If only for an hour.



Y /7

I 'M fond of nice stories of giants and witches I love tales of wizards with stern, bearded faces,
Who live all alone by themselves; And wands, and long robes of deep red;
Of gnomes, underground, who are guarding But-I wish there were not quite so many
their riches; dark places
And dragons, and goblins, and elves. To be passed when I 'm going to bed!



EVERY American boy should learn to run.
In Greece, in the days when men and women
took better care of their bodies than they ever
have since, every boy, and girl too, was taught
to run, just as the American child is taught to
read. And as far as we can judge by the
statues they have left behind them, there were
very few hollow-chested, spindle-legged boys
among the Greeks. The Persian boy was
taught to speak the truth, run, ride, and shoot
the bow. The English boy is encouraged to
run. In fact, at some of the great English
public schools, boys of thirteen and fourteen
years of age, like Tom Brown and East at
Rugby, can cover six and eight miles cross-
country in the great hare-and-hound runs. Every
boy is turned out twice a week, out of doors,
and made to run, and fill himself full of
pure fresh air and sunshine, and gain more
strength and life than any amount of weight-
pulling or dumb-bell work in stuffy gymnasiums
would give him. See the result-the English
boys, as a whole, are a stronger set than we
American boys. Every English school-boy is to
some extent an athlete. And that is what Amer-
ican boys should be. Not because foot-ball,
base-ball, and tennis are valuable in themselves,
but for the good they do in strengthening boys'
bodies. By playing ball every day for hdurs in
the open air; by exercising his arms, back, and
leg muscles in throwing, batting, running, and
sliding; by going to bed early and giving up
all bad habits in preparation for the games, a
boy stores up strength, which he can draw on
all his life long-that is why every boy should
be an athlete. But not every boy can play
foot-ball or base-ball.' He may not be heavy
or strong enough; he may never be able to
acquire the knack of catching or batting the
ball. Every boy can become a runner.
As one of the best trainers in the world once
said to me, "Any fellow who is willing to work
VOL. XXII.-98.

can make a runner out of himself." If you
can't get on the eleven or the nine, don't give
up athletics in despair, as so many boys do.
Try for a place on the athletic team. If there
is no athletic team in the school, make one.
Talk it over with the boys and teachers, and
get up a spring or fall meeting, and have it
include most of the track and field events.
Take up a subscription for first, second, and
third prizes; they need not be expensive; the
cheapest medal, when won fairly, becomes
There is another boys' school somewhere near
you. Get the boys interested, challenge them
to dual games, on the plan of the Yale-Har-
vard games, with a challenge cup or a banner
that goes to the school winning the greatest
number of points; and see that every boy who
is not playing base-ball or foot-ball is trying for
a place on that team. There is room for all. In
the schedule of the Yale-Harvard games there
are fourteen events, and as first, second, and
third places all count in the point-scoring, there
is an opportunity for forty-two men to win a
point for their college. Nor does a boy need
to feel afraid to try because he has never done
any running. Some of the best track athletes
in the great colleges never saw a running-shoe
until they came to college, and, beginning as.
perfectly untrained men, became champions.
Running is one of the best of exercises for
the whole body. It rounds out a hollow chest,
drives the oxygen into the farthest air-cells of
the lungs, wonderfully increases their capacity,
and develops the leg, thigh, stomach, and.waist
muscles. But it must be learned just as skating,
swimming, and bicycling have to be learned,.
and there are two things that must be kept in.
mind by the learner. The first is--whether in
sprinting, distance, or cross-country running-to'
run entirely on the ball of the foot, or, as they
say on the track, "Get up on your toes !" By


striking on the ball of the foot, which is a sort that all the breathing must be done through
of natural spring-board, the runner takes a the nose. There was never a greater mistake.
longer stride, and the spring that he gets en- When a boy runs his heart beats much faster
ables him to lift his foot more rapidly and re- than it does ordinarily, and pumps out just so
peat the stride more quickly than the runner much more blood. All this must be aerated or
who goes flat-footed. As length and rapidity purified by air from the lungs. The oppression
of stride are what give speed in running, it fol- that one feels when beginning to run is due
lows that a flat-footed runner can never be a to the lungs demanding more air for the extra
fast one. Another reason against pounding quantity of blood which the heart is sending
away flat-footed-is that the delicate mechanism out. Nature has looked out for this and pro-
of the ankle, knee, and hip is jarred and may in vided a way by which .air can be furnished to
- time be injured. the lungs very rapidly. It is a very simple
way, and consists of
merely opening the
mouth. Breathe, then,
through the nose in
ordinary life as much
as possible, but when
you are running or ex-
ercising violently open
the mouth and take
in air in deep, rapid
breaths, not gulping it
in through the mouth
alone, but letting the
mouth and nose have
each their share.
Take as long a stride
as possible, but with-
out overbalancing the
body. Bend the body
slightly from the hips;
for if it be held too
erect the stride will
be shortened. Let the
bent arms swing easily
and naturally a little
above the level of the
hips, swinging out and
back with every stride.
This keeps the muscles
loose, prevents them
from -becoming tired
so easily as they would
if held rigid, and bal-
A CLOSE FINISH ON THE TRACK. ances the body better.
The second point for a runner to observe Take especial pains to keep the body from be-
is his method of breathing. Breathe through ing stiff; let it swing as easily and lithely as pos-
both the nose and mouth. Nearly every boy sible. In sprinting the stride is shorter and
when he first begins to run has the insane idea more rapid than in long-distance running, and


a sprinter usually runs with body thrown farther
back, in quite different form from the long; easy
lope of the distance runner.
There are four different kinds of running.
Sprinting, which includes all distances up to
the quarter mile; middle-
distance running -from
the quarter to the mile;
and long-distance running,
which includes the mile
and all distances beyond.
Besides these there is cross-
country running. This last
is the best of all for grow-
ing boys. The first three
are track races, and it is
monotonous work trotting
round and round a cinder
path. But, starting off on
some brisk autumn day when
there is just enough tingle in
the air to send the blood humnni i n.
through the veins, cover, wi.h a jullI
crowd, some five or ten miles oi country .
climbing fences, jumping bri:ok.,. rpLunrng
through thickets, while here and there some un-
lucky fellow goes up to his knees in a swamp or
jumps too short over the brook and lands with a
splash-all part of the fun. Then, as the sun is
going down, reach home, and see how refreshing
the cold splash and the rub-down are, what an
appetite one has for supper and what a feeling
of life and strength. Try it, boys. Start out in
the fall with all the boys who are not playing
foot-ball, and take a five-mile run twice a week
right across the country, avoiding the roads
as much as possible. Don't make a race of
it. Let it be understood that.there will be a
run-home on the last half* mile. This will
be enough for all those who are bound to
Then occasionally have a paper-chase or a
hare-and-hound run. The best costume for
this kind of running is a sweater, jersey, knick-
erbockers, long stockings, and high tennis-shoes,
or low ones, if the others are not handy. Al-
ways take some kind of a bath (a cool, not
cold, shower is the best), and a rub-down with
a coarse towel after the run; and always run
bare-headed. If a boy intends to do track

running he can have no better preparation than
a year or so of cross-country work.
Conneff, the holder of the world's amateur
record for the mile, started as a cross-country
runner. Jarvis, who holds the intercollegiate
record for the mile, and Shat-
tuck. the irtertc.lley iate rnz-
.f. ,cord-.lil -de for the.-r quarter,


also began their careers by doing cross-country
In an article of this length I can give but
the most general directions.
Any trainer or runner will give suggestions
in the details.
First, a word about the track itself. Many
schools are not large enough to have a regular
clay or cinder path, which is a rather expensive
affair. In that case select some field with good,
springy turf, and stake off a quarter-mile track,
measuring the distance, of course, on the inside.
Or, if there is not space enough for that,
make it an eighth of a mile (220 yards) track. I
have seen many a good runner who never set
foot on a cinder-path except in a race.
In.sprinting, a great deal depends on the
start. A sprinter should practise five or six
starts daily, and do two or three short sprints,
such as thirty and fifty yard dashes. Every other
day try the whole distance- at not quite full
speed, and never do trials more than once a
week. The day before a race no work at all



should be done. The illustration shows most
of the different styles of starting. The race
was a three-hundred-yard dash, and was won
by Allen, who is at the right in the picture, the
American champion for the quarter-mile in 1893.
Allen's start is the one most easily learned.
Crouch with both hands and the left foot on
the starting-line. After "getting set," gradually
swing the body out over the line, the left foot
sustaining most of the weight, and as the pistol
goes off spring from both feet, pushing hard
with the rear foot, dive forward in a crouching



position, and do not try to rise and run erect
until after the first three or four strides.
A boy training for the long distance runs
must make up his mind to work. The inter-
scholastic and intercollegiate schedules contain
no distance over the mile. A miler should
train over his distance.
Work out a mile and a quarter, or a mile
and a half every day at a good steady clip, and
once a week take a two-mile jog. Vary this
with a little faster work occasionally, such as
a fast half or three quarters.
The middle distances, the half and quarter,
are the hardest of all to train correctly for. A
runner, to succeed in these, must possess a
sprinter's speed and the staying power of the
distance runner. And the difficulty in train-
ing is to develop both. A quarter-mile run-


ner should twice a week run six hundred yards
fast, or jog a half, and spend the rest of his time
in sprinting two hundred and twenty or three
hundred yards. More attention should be paid
in training for the quarter to the development of
speed. In the half the case is reversed., The
runner should run fast quarters or a three-eighths
(660 yards) only twice a week, and spend the
rest of his time in distance work, running three
quarters or jogging a mile. In any kind of
running never run a trial oftener than once a
week, and never within five days of the race.


Below are given the world running records
up to the mile, and the best records made by
American boys, i. e., the New England Inter-
scholastic records.
Distance. Time. Holder. Nationality.
Ioo yds................ 9f sec. Owen American
220 yds................ 21 sec. Jewett American
440 yds (on circular track) 481 sec. Tindall English
440 yds (straight away).. 47- sec. Baker American
880 yds (straight away).. Im. 53) sec. Hewitt Australian
880 yds (on circular track) Im. 541 sec. Cross English
I mile ................ 4m. 122 sec. George English
Distance. Time. Holder. School.
Ioo yds. Iob sec.. Bigelow Worcester High
220 yds. 22f sec.. Bigelow Worcester High
44o yds. 50o sec.. Burke.... Boston English High
880 yds. 2m. 07- sec.. Batchelder Roxbury Latin
Imile.. 4m. 34- sec.. Laing..... Philips, Andover

WHEN King Kijolly goes to war How hungry and how tired they look-
He finds the fighting quite a bore, He gives to each a story-book,
But he makes the enemy fly before And sugar-cakes, and pumpkin-pie,
Till they hide away from the battle's roar He reaches up to them on high;
In a little round fort with one front door. And Punch and Judy shows he gets;
And if they should look pale he frets-
And when that shelter they have sought In his own carriage takes them out,
Where cake and candy can't be bought To get the air and drive about.
They find that in a trap they 're caught. At last he gives a farewell tea
Beneath a merry cherry-tree,
But when above the fortress' brim And bidding them go run and play,
Kijolly sees their faces grim- Good King Kijolly rides away.

Rudolph F. Bunner.



This State was settled by the Frenh.
S And for King Louis named:
But fifteen million dollars bought
For us the land they claimed.
She has a warm and sunny clime,
Unvexed by f'rosts or snows,
And through a delta. like the Nile,
The lississippi flows.
On this our .greatest, central stream,
And very near its mouth,
The famous "Crescent City" stands,
Queen city of the South.

. H ~The greatest sugar-making State!-
New Orleans is its port;
'--i- ~And here, behind his cotton-bales,
"Old Hickory" held the fort!

It~lgi, s8~~~

I L-J,



This State was settled by the Frenh.
S And for King Louis named:
But fifteen million dollars bought
For us the land they claimed.
She has a warm and sunny clime,
Unvexed by f'rosts or snows,
And through a delta. like the Nile,
The lississippi flows.
On this our .greatest, central stream,
And very near its mouth,
The famous "Crescent City" stands,
Queen city of the South.

. H ~The greatest sugar-making State!-
New Orleans is its port;
'--i- ~And here, behind his cotton-bales,
"Old Hickory" held the fort!

It~lgi, s8~~~

I L-J,




This State's legislature
Has made it a law
That, in speaking her name,
We must say "Ar-kan-sa\\."
Not far from the center
The Hot Springs are found.
Where scalding hot water
Boils up from the ground.

Her rivers are many,
Her forests spread wide.
Her mountains -the Ozarks,
Are Arkansas' pride.
The State sells much timber,
And ore, and live stock:
Her capital city
Is called Little Rock.

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A Rhyme for Very Little Folks.

FOR a whole long week the little pet Pug was as good as he could be,
He did n't growl at the baby, nor spill his milk at tea;
And so, when the Circus came to town, they gave him a silver, dime,
They put on his Sunday collar, and hoped he'd have a good time.
He sat right next to the Lion (who had to have two seats),
And saw the clever animals perform their wonderful feats:
Two Poodles drew a Peacock in an elegant golden car,
While the Owl drove four sleek Rabbits-a livelier team by far;
Bruin balanced Reynard on a pole placed on his snout;
And the Hare danced a sailor's-hornpipe on a Pig that ran about;
Five Kittens rode in a basket on the. back of a Dromedary;
While a Cat who walked on stilts was as graceful as a fairy;
A Rhinoceros played the organ-the tune was "Upidee."
But some of the jokes the Cat-clown made the pet Pug could n't see!

All this was in'the nearest ring,-the other was lively, too:
To watch them both at once was all the little Pug could do,
While six performing Pussy cats were making a curious group,
At the very same time two Monkeys went diving through a hoop.
Two foreign birds were driven in harness by a Cat,
But a tiny Frog with a team of Chicks was a queerer sight than that!
Another Frog was a juggler and kept five balls in air,
Yet the Elephant balancing on a ball was the funniest creature there.
Above, near the top of the Circus tent, the Jocko Brothers bold
With their daring leaps from the high trapeze made the little Pug's blood
run cold!
Near them hung a Cockatoo, who swung in a lofty ring,
And who did n't have a thing to do, but laugh at everything.
At last the band played "Home, Sweet Home," the animals all filed out,
And the little Pug went trotting away with plenty to talk about.

So, Pugs, don't growl at the baby, though the baby should pull your ears,
And maybe you 'll go to the Circus when it comes to your town, my
VOL. XXII.-99. 85



HURRAH for July, my hearers, and for the one
dear noisy day that it always brings to young and
old of this great republic! Don't you feel sorry
for those poor countries that never had any revo-
lution to speak of, and so have no honored old
oppressors to forgive, and no rattlety-bang way of
expressing themselves on a national holiday?
But there were events, I am told, long before
there was any Fourth of July, as we know it,- and
events with youngsters and gunpowder in them.
Did you ever hear of the narrow escape of the
good ship "Mayflower" the same that brought
your Pilgrim forefathers over from England?
SWell, in this explosion-loving part of the year
it may interest all good little boys to know that
even in the very first ship's company that ever
landed in New England there was a youngster
who would fool with gun and powder, and who
actually came near blowing up the Mayflower !
My learned correspondent, Mr. Thomas L.
Rogers, sends you this stirring and pious account
of the boy's dangerous performance. It is copied
from the chronicles of Governor Bradford himself.
Dec. 5, 1620.
Through God's mercy we escaped a great danger by
the foolishness of a boy who had got gunpowder and
made squibs;he and there being a fowling-piece in his
father's cabin, charged, he shot her off in the cabin; there
being a little barrel of gunpowder half full: [and some]
scattered in and about the cabin: the fire being within
four foot of the bed between the decks, and many flints
and iron things about the cabin, and many people about
the fire: and yet, by God's mercy, no harm done.
And now for your edification Mr. Rogers has
put this incident into clever verse, which he calls

JOHN BILLINGTON, one of the Pilgrim boys,
Was as full of mischief as an egg is of meat;
For causing of trouble, for making a noise,

And for scaring good people, he could n't be beat.
He was bad,
And very sad
Is the story told of this Pilgrim lad.

At anchor the staunch old Mayflower lay;
The men, led by Standish, were exploring the
But John was exploring the vessel that day,
And finding of powder a generous store,
Just for fun,
This worthy son
In one of the cabins fired off a gun.

Of perils by land and dangers by sea
The Pilgrims had plenty,-that 's simply the
But foolish King James, who compelled them to
Never shocked their poor nerves like this mis-
chievous youth,
Who for fun
Made them all run
To put out the fire from his terrible gun.

DEAR MR. JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT : When I was a little
girl I made for my dolls a sea-beach out of an old mirror.
Over the worst part of the glass I pasted brown paper,
and upon this I glued a lot of sand to form the beach. The
part of looking-glass that was left bare represented the
water. I formed the beach's edge into several little
coves, in which I tied toy boats. Then I sprinkled a
layer of loose sand over the beach, also many tiny
shells, pebbles, and bits of sea moss. I placed my small-
est dolls here and there on the beach, and I really think
they enjoyed their summer by the sea. Some of them
even had tiny pails and shovels for playing in the sand,
and they looked very pretty as they sat there bending
over their little heaps of sand. I hope some of your
little folks will make their dolls happy in this way.

YES, natural fireworks; and you may be sure
they really occurred, for the fact was related by the
great Mr. Charles Darwin, an observer who never
saw stars that were not there. In his famous book
"The Voyage of the 'Beagle'" the dear Little
Schoolma'am has found this passage:
As soon as we entered the estuary of the Plata [the
Rio de la Plata] the weather was very unsettled. One
dark night we were surrounded by numerous seals and
penguins, which made such strange noises that the
officer on watch reported he could hear the cattle bel-
lowing on shore. On a second night we witnessed a
splendid display of natural fireworks: the mast-head and
yard-arm-ends shone with St. Elmo's light; and the
form of the vane could almost be traced, as if it had been
rubbed with phosphorus. The sea was so highly lumin-
ous that the tracks of the penguins were marked by
fiery wakes, and the darkness of the sky was momentarily
illuminated by the most vivid lightning.
And the Deacon kindly adds: "Every boy
knows what St. Elmo's light is; and if he does n't,
he can find out by inquiring of the nearest dic-


IT was a valiant regiment, and numbered forty-four;
It marched upon the table and it marched upon the floor;
And every soldier's rank and name the gallant colonel knew
(Each soldier was an inch in height, the colonel three feet two).
First came a pink-faced officer who rode upon a horse,
And then the sturdy rank and file (at shoulder arms," of course).
"They follow me where'er I lead," the gallant colonel said;
And any one at once perceived they one and all were lead!
In many a deadly ambush the regiment was caught,
And many a bloody battle with the Indians they fought;
But it could not help but make your pulses give a sudden thrill
To see the reckless charges that they made while standing still;
And when the colonel tired, which I must confess was soon,
He left them on the table the entire afternoon.
But they never winked an eyelid for anything I know,
For he found them just at bedtime standing stiffly in a row;
And it seemed too bad to move them, they were such a stirring sight,
So the colonel left them standing the remainder of the night.
0 gallant leaden regiment, such faithful watch to keep,
Never moving, never speaking, while your colonel was asleep!
And the feeling neVer entered in a single loyal head,
That life 's not worth the living to a soldier made of lead!
Guy Wetmore Carry.

-All- C


LAS readers by his contributions in verse, has pub-
lished a number of his poems in book form under
the title "A Patch of Pansies." We take pleasure
in calling the attention of our older readers to this
attractive volume.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: While at a friend's house, I
happened to take up a paper, and in it I found this sen-
tence in Latin: Sator arepo tenet opera rotas.
It is not certain how it should be translated, and very
likely the words do not make good sense. But if it is
senseless, it has these peculiarities: I, it spells backward
and forward the same; 2, the first letter of each word spells
the first word; the second letter the second word, and so
on with the third and fourth; 3, the last letters, reading
backward, spell the first word; and the next to the last
in each word spells the second word, and so on through-
out; 4, there are as many letters in each word as there
are words.
I am glad school is nearly over, for I am tired of study,
study, study, and nothing else. While the holidays are
lasting I mean to enjoy myself as much as I can, and I
am not going to open a single school-book all through the
One day a girl in another class brought a horned toad
to school, and I had the pleasure of seeing it. She brought
it because it was wanted for the zoology class.
Wishing you the best of'success, I remain one of your
readers, Lucy M- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a Western boy. I live in
the Texas Panhandle, just at the foot of the Staked Plains. I
liked the storyin the November number, called Locoed,"
very much. I visited my uncle at Caton City, twenty
miles from Amarilla. We went down into the cation; we
saw a large black bear. One day some hunters found in
the cation the bones of a man who had lain there a long
time. His gun was on the ground near by, and on the gun-
stock was carved in rough letters, with a knife, the name
John Nixon. My uncle gave the gun to me. On our
way home we stopped two days in Amarilla.
Your little reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you for a long
time and we are very glad each month when you come.
We want to tell you something we think very funny.
One day our little brother was being punished. He asked
mother what she looked so solemn for, and she said that
she was thinking of the times he was naughty; and he
said, Why don't you think of the times I am good ? "
Your readers, KATHARINE and NATHALIE M-- .
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Our family have taken your
delightful magazine for ten years, and we all think it is the

best magazine for children that ever was. We are proud
of the bound volumes which ornament our book-shelves.
When we were in Switzerland last summer we spent one
night at a little lonely inn, and almost the first thing we
saw, when we entered the living-room, was a copy of the
July number of the ST. NICHOLAS lying on the table; so
the sight of it made us feel quite at home.
We have lived very little in America, as mama is obliged
to travel for her health.
We are very fond of pets and we have a great many
canary birds, but the nicest one of them all died last week.
We were very triste to find he was dead, as we were
so fond of our dear little Croquette."
My sister and I lived for three years at a convent in
Paris; while we were there we learned to play on the
piano and organ. My sister has a lovely voice, and I
am taking lessons on the mandolin, so I can accompany
her when she sings. I find it very hard to make rapid
progress, as it is such a difficult instrument to play on
well. Truly yours,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought that some of your
readers might like to hear about a little Italian news-
boy, who seems to have adopted my father. Every
night, about five o'clock, he goes into papa's office, and

after selling him a paper amuses himself until it is time for
papa to start home. Sometimes he plays marbles, and
sometimes he spins a top; but when papa starts, no
matter what he is doing, he gathers up his things and
goes with him without a word. He always walks two
or three blocks and then says good-by. I think this is
such a funny thing for him to do, and I hope it will
amuse some of your readers when it is printed in the
Letter-box. Your loving reader, M. K-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write you
a letter from the Cherokee Strip. We live in Garfield
County, twenty miles from Enid, on a nice creek. Our
place is about one third bottom-land and the rest is rough.
The country around is mostly high hills cut up with deep
cautions. In one cation is a big cottonwood tree sixty
feet high and four feet and a half in diameter. When
the strip was opened the cautions were most of them full
of trees, but they are nearly all gone now. We moved
to our place last April. I was down soon after the race
and stayed three weeks, and camped out all the time. I
am thirteen years old and have been through the Practical
Arithmetic, but did not go to school last winter. I have
a nice horse named Kate. She is very intelligent, and
when I plow she crowds the other horses, so she makes
the plow run lighter. Papa is a country doctor, and I
do the farm work. I like Hornaday's "Animals of North
America" and think the pictures are fine. Last fall my
sister and I found a ferret in the dog town, and knew it
at once by the picture in ST. NICHOLAS. We have taken
ST. NICHOLAS two years and don't see how we could do
without it. Your friend,
BoB K-.


HERE is a letter from Canada written by a loyal native
of the United States, who has been proud to honor the
memory of some brave soldiers. We are sure our
readers will agree with us in heartily commending the
patriotic tribute this American girl and her friends have
rendered to the fallen heroes :
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am about to tell you of
an event which I think will interest some of our patriotic
young countrymen.
One evening last December papa saw in the Quebec
papers that workmen in repairing the floor of an old mili-
tary prison, now the military store-house, had unearthed
the bones of thirteen soldiers who were killed in the t-
tack on Quebec early in the morning of December 31,
1775, with their general, the brave Montgomery.
A few days afterward papa took my sister and me to
visit these old buildings. An old soldier in charge, named
Lewis, gladly showed us through the funny old stone
structure which backs into the earth of the fortification
walls with its dark narrow passages, the little half-un-

museum in Quebec, but the other still remains where it
was first laid.
We asked papa to let us raise a subscription among
our young American friends, to place a tablet in the wall
of the building to the memory of these poor soldiers.
In a short time we received a large enough amount,
and the tablet is now being made. It will bear this in-
"Beneath this tablet repose the remains of thirteen
American soldiers of General Montgomery's army, who
were killed in the assault on Quebec, December 31, 1775.
Placed to their memory by several American children."
In the citadel is a little brass cannon which was cap-
tured from the Americans by the British at Bunker Hill.
But, as was said by a young American lady, to whom it
was shown by the young officer, You have the cannon,
but we have Bunker Hill."
Quebec is everywhere full of historical associations,
and we are now living on the spot where the first Euro-
pean colony was attempted on this continent as early as
1542 by Jacques Cartier and Roberval. Later it was
held as an outpost by the Americans in 1775.
Yours sincerely, FRANCES I. FAIRCHILD.

t- -x- H -I- -
~ r,:.tCA~ in~-t--:CF='~ ~ .

7 i!-4 II

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r~~tu.: I: .~ )t-p l


derground cells, and the room in which the remains of
the soldiers were reinterred.
He also showed is a rusty pair of scissors found at the
side of one of the bodies, just about where the breast-
pocket of his uniform would be.
The bodies of General Montgomery and his two aides-
de-camp were buried just outside of the walls of this build-
ing, but the general's remains were removed in 1818 to
New York city, and reburied under a monument in the
rear of St. Paul's Church.
The body of one of his aides is now in the military

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have, through akind friend,
taken ST. NICHOLAS three years; but during that time
I have never seen in it a letter from Cooperstown,
and especially from an orphanage, and I hope this one
will be published. This is an orphan house that was
founded by Susan Fenimore Cooper. All of your readers
must know who Miss Cooper was, for she wrote many
stories for ST. NICHOLAS; indeed, one of her last stories,
entitled, "The Cherry-Colored Purse," was written for
the ST. NICHOLAS. One week from the time she gave



us such a happy Christmas she died. She loved us all
very much. All of us who are old enough help do the
work and go to school.
We have a donkey here, which we bought with money
we earned by selling flowers, and now we sell more flow-
ers with her help. She draws a cartful around; and
one of us sells them. We have two carts for her-one
that we call her work-cart, and one that we use when we
ride out. Besides these we have a little deer-sleigh, that
the same kind friend who presented you gave us.
We gave an entertainment here, consisting of drills,
marches, and songs. We sold fancy and useful articles.
"Miss Muggs'," the donkey's, pictures were also on sale.
Your stories are very interesting. I like "Toinette's
Philip," "Lady Jane," and the short stories, especially
" Owney of the Mail-car." Your stories of natural his-
tory are also very interesting.
We all remain your most faithful readers, LENA V.
T- for all of the children at the orphanage.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As we never have seen any
letter from here, we thought you would like to know
about some of your readers. We all like "Jack Ballis-
ter's Fortunes," Chris and the Wonderful Lamp," and
the Boy of the First Empire."
We are two boys of the orphanage which Miss Susan
Fenimore Cooper founded. Miss Cooper always liked
children, and the children always called her their "Orphan
Miss Cooper used to write stories for your magazine,
and before ST. NICHOLAS included "Wide Awake" she
wrote for that.
The last story of hers in your magazine was "The
Cherry-Colored Purse." We have a donkey we call
" Muggs," and a nice cart for her.
We have two base-ball teams -one we named, after
Miss Cooper, the S. F. C. We bought our suits by sell-
ing nuts. We now close. Your loving readers.

-DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In all the letters I have seen
in the box there have been so few from army girls, that I
thought I would write. My papa is a captain in the Eighth
Regiment of cavalry, which has been stationed for some
time at Fort Meade, South Dakota.
Papa is on detached service and has been at Jeffer-
son Barracks, but expects to rejoin his regiment soon.
I go to Jefferson Barracks every week, although I am
at boarding-school, leaving here Friday afternoon and
returning Monday morning in time for school, boarding
through the week. I am writing from school.
Last year Virginia W- and I roomed together. Per-
haps you may remember that you printed a letter from her
some time ago. I do not remember just when. Itseemed
so funny, we were such friends, and both Virginias; one
from the army and one from the navy.
We were called Big V" and "Little V" to distinguish
us-she being larger as well as older than I. She has
gone away now, and I miss her more than you can think.
I remain a faithful reader, VIRGINIA J- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I noticed, in the May number
for 1895 in the "Rhymes of the States" on page 61i,
the foot-note giving the meaning of Minnesota. Ac-
cording to Neill's History of Minnesota it is not cor-
rect. The following extract is taken from Neill's history,
on page 51 of the introduction :
From the fact that the word signifies neither white
nor blue, but the peculiar appearance of the sky on cer-
tain days, the Historical Society publications define Min-
nesota to mean the sky-tinted water, which is certainly
poetic, and, according to Gideon H. Pond, one of the
best Dakota scholars, correct."
I have never written to you before, although you have
been in our family since 1873. I loved the stories of
"Toinette's Philip" and "Lady Jane," and am enjoying
"Chris and the Wonderful Lamp and The Boy of the
First Empire" very much.
Your devoted admirer, HELEN D- .

We thank our vigilant young correspondent, whose
letter is certainly very convincing. But there are wide
differences of opinion among authorities upon the mean-
ing of Minnesota. Townsend in his book U. S." gives
(page 59) five meanings to sota "-muddy, clear, green,
turbid, blear; Rand and McNally's atlas gives cloudy.
In fact, authorities differ so that one may well doubt
which is the true meaning, or whether the true meaning
is known with certainty;

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to write and tell you
what my little sisters said a good while ago. The elder
is Katharine, and the other is Ellen. Katharine took
something Ellen did not wish her to have, and she said,.
screwing her face up: "Katharine, papa read in the
Bible this morning, 'Thou shalt not steal.' "
Yes," answered Katharine, and he also read, 'Thou.
shalt not wear false faces against thy neighbor.' "
Hoping you will print this, I remain your loving little
friend, FRANCES H. McI- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write to you-
and tell you about my papa's Indian collection and other
old things. He has one large room of which the walls are-
entirely covered with Indian relics. Over the walls there
is a small shelf which extends all around the room, and
upon that stands antique china. The room is furnished
with old furniture, and he has some old chairs that were
in Washington's study. I remain your loving reader,

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Horace H. F.,
Harry M., Helen E. M., S. Emerson K., Margaret D.
C., Bettie and Pattie H., Nannie H., Elinor R. F., Mar-
garet S., Winfield and Stanley S. A., Esther V., Sally
H., Ollie M. P., Townsend K. W.,Willetta B., Marion
A. B., Arthur A., Lottie M. P., Jessie K., Edwin B. F.,
Anna M. McK., Erie K., Bessie, Harriet S., Julia C.,.
Florence A. H., Annie H., C. A. S., Olive W. S., Douglas-
C. S., Bertha I., Nathalie H., Louise I.



OCTAGON. I. Ram. 2. Rabid. 3. Abide. 4. Middy. 5. Dey.
OBLIQUE RECTANGLE. I. S. 2. Ate. 3. Story. 4. Error. 5. Yojan.
6. Raked. 7. Negus. 8. Duped. 9. Sepia. zo. Dirge. I. Agist.
12. Essay. 13. Tan. 14. Y.
DIAMONDS. I. I. S. 2. Lug. 3. Lamia. 4. Summary. 5. Giant.
6. Art. 7. Y. II. x F. 2. Rid. 3. Raced. 4. Fiction. 5. Deign.
F. Don. 7. N.
ZIGZAG. "Sick Man of the East." i. Stop. 2. Sign. 3. Rice.
4. Peck. 5. Some. 6. Part. 7. Nine. 8. Foot. 9. Rift. io. Grit.
'"I. Echo. 12. Rear. 13. Espy. 14. Nail. 15. Fuss. 16. Plot.
ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE. Steam. i. Mast. 2. Am. 3. Mat. 4. At.

5. Mate. 6. Sea. 7. Eat. 8. Me. 9. Tea. so. Meat. x. Seat.
rs. Team. 13. Tame.-- CHARADE. Mend-i-cant.
TREE PUZZLE. Beech, palm, spruce, fir, pine, pear, apple, plum,
olive, hickory, rose-wood, as-pen, bay, sweet gum, fig, will-ow.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Benjamin Franklin. Cross-words: x. Bluff.
2. Enter. 3. Noria. 4. Japan. 5. Alack. 6. Medal. 7. Iceni.
8. Nisan.
LABYRINTH OF PROVERBS. Begin at the middle letter, N, and
follow an almost spiral path. None are so deaf as those who will
not hear. Think twice before you speak once. New brooms
sweep clean.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the x5th 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 APRIL NUMBER were received, before April '5th, from Mary Lester and Harry-Ella and
Co.- Arthur Gride-Josephine Sherwood- Helen C. McCleary- L. O. E.- M. McG.- Alice Mildred Blanke and Co.-Paul Reese-
5. T. S. and W. L. S.--George Bancroft Fernald -W. L.- Mary and Virgie Mama and Jamie--G. B. D. and M.-No Name,
"Back Bay"-"Jersey Quartette "- Lord Clive"- Charles Remington Adams-Grace L. Van B. Gray-Mabel Snow and Dorothy
Swinburne-" Delaware"- Emma S. Jervey -Addison Neil Clark -" Two Romans "- Charles Travis- Kenyon N.-Helen Rogers-
"Hilltop Farm"-Maggie Hopkins-"A Family Affair"-Fay A. Merrick-Edith, Jo, and Betty-Effie K. Talboys-"A Proud
Pair"- "Four Weeks of Kane "-Alice W. Gibson -Jo and I-Walter L. Haight- Blanche and Fred-The Spencers- Franklyn
Farnsworth--Louise Ingham Adams-"Brownie Band"-"Alpha Tau Omicron "- Ruth- Sigourney Fay Nininger-Isabel H.
Noble-Eddie N. Moore-Kate S. Doty and Hilda V. K. Swift-"Jacobii "-"Dad and Bill"-Sarah S. Field-" Duck"-Two little
Brothers-Fred and Gordon Brown-Florence and Grandma-"Tod and Yam"-Jack and George A.-Harry and Roy Williams-
Robert S. Clement-Harry and Helene-Harry Powell-Jessie Chapman and John Fletcher.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE APRIL NUMBER were received, before April 15th, from Edna Juhring, i S. J. S. and E. D.
S., Jr., a-B. G. M., r-" Grasshopper," i-Frank Lyon, i G. B. Dyer, 9 Robert Smith, -- Elise R. F., 2-M. R. Everett, -
Bernice Bell, --M. A. Stinson, i--J. W. Stinson, I--Madeleine Johnson, I-Lillie Hay, --Victor J. West, 5-H. A. P., New-
ark, I- Mama and Sadie, o Louisa Du Brul, 3- Lucile Talbot, 2- Mamie Hobson and Undine Kells, 2- John R. Kuhlke, 2-
Mother and I, 3--Willie, Ruth, Johnny, and Marian Cutter, 4- Claude Rakestraw, i-" Patrick," x-Mary Stickney, xo-Helen A.
Choate, 7-A. E. and H. G. E., 1o-Fritzie Comstock, --Eugene T. Walter, 3-Fred S. Ackley, r-Mary F. Stone, 7-Wm. J.
Howell, Harold A. Fisher, 4-" Trilby," 4- Grace Smith and Anne Smart, 4 Tommy, Billy, and Charley, 6- Eddie Moorell, r -
Violet Smith Green, 8 Everett W. N course, 4 -Jessie Buchanan, 4- John W. Brotherton, 4- H. A. Sparkman, 3- Madge Tomp-
son, i-Rella Miriam Low, 3- F. F. de R., i-Jeanne, 8-Mama, Edward, and Harriet, xo- Agnes Jones, ix-N. P. S., 7-
Marion C. Hubbard, i- G. S. Corlew, i- Rosebud E. Hecht, 6- Lottie Sj6stedt, 5- Grace Busenbark, I Stuart Hay, I- Irma
F. Rothschild, Carrie de F. P., i -E. de L. Q., 6- M. Riney, 3 -Lucy, Marjorie, and Murray, 5- Katharine D. Hull, I -M. S.
Williams, 2-Gladys Peck, 2-Allan W. Pattee, -Adelaide M. Gaither, 8-Marguerite Sturdy, io-Paul Rowley, io-No Name,
Newport, 2-Rasty H., 9-C. F. Barrows, 4-" The Butterflies," o--Debe, x-A. K. P., 2-W. S. and S. S. Aberrender, 5-
Dudley Willcox, x-Azro and Charles Lewis, 5- Oskytel H. C., 3- W. Putnam, 4-M. and A. Bright, 2-Mama and Margaret, 5
-W. W. Middleton and R. B. Creecy, 3--Mary C. and Bessie W., 9 Sybil Palgrave, 3- Herr Tiemann, 2-Elma T. Darby, 2-
"Lany and I," Scranton, 7-Laura and Virginia, 5-Burtie Benham, 3 -Sadie W. Hubbard, 9-Albert Smith Faught, 7-Anna and
Jean Eisenhower, ix-Lucy and Eddie H., 3-Mary McKee, 4--Dudley, Minnie, and George, 8-"Two Solomons," 8-"Merry
and Co.," 1o-Clara A. Anthony, 8-G. F. and E. F., io-Laura M. Zinser, g-M. R. Kennedy, 5-Bob Bright, 8-Paul
Schmidt, 5-Alice M. Kurtz, 4- Majory Gane, 9-David S. Pratt, 9- Lewis and Fanny Kollock, 8--"We Girls," --The J's, 2-
Karl G. Smith, --Katie and Charlie, 5-Harry Mather, --Melville Dale, 3-"Nemo," 6-Jean D. Egleston, 8-Emma L.
Garrison, 2-" Embla," 1o.


ALL of the words described contain the same num-
ber of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one
below another, in the order here given, the first row
of letters will spell the name of a famous American
frigate, and the third row, the name given to her in a
famous poem.
CROSS-WORDS: I. To murmur softly. 2. One who
ogles. 3. The Arctic fulmar. 4. A very large nail.
5. Fatigued. 6. Graven images. 7. Stretched tightly.
8. To rip apart. 9. Hackneyed. o1. A country in
Southern Asia. .I. Fleshy. 12. Pertaining to the nose.
L. W.

ALL of the thirteen cross-words contain the same num-
ber of letters. When rightly guessed, and placed one
below another in the order here given, the diagonal (be-
ginning at the upper, left-hand letter, and ending with
the lower right-hand letter), will spell two familiar words.
CROSS-WORDS: I. One of the Southern States (two
words). 2. A famous orator, born in New Hampshire
(two words). 3. A general name given to one of the
early settlers of New York (one word). 4. An old name
for New York (two words). 5. An invention for com-
municating with people at a distance, preceded by the
name of its inventor (two words). 6. The body of water
between South Carolina and Georgia (two words). 7. A
famous cargo carried by the "Great Eastern" (two
words). 8. An important water-way of Maine (two
words). 9. The most famous residence in the city of

Washington (three words). o1. A vessel and its name,
always associated with the Pilgrim Fathers (two words).
Ir. The name of the twelfth president of the United
States (two words). 12. An inlet of the Atlantic Ocean,
in Virginia and Maryland (two words). 13. The Old
Bay State" (one word). "BRONX."


3 .

3 *

THE diagonals, from I to 2 and from 3 to 4, both spell
the name of the same celebrated Frenchman.
CROSS-WORDS: I. To take the dimensions of. '2. To
command. 3. An untruth. 4. In fiddle. 5. A shel-
tered place. 6. Not the same. 7. An official command.

I. IN buoy. 2. A woman devoted to a religious life.
3. Celebrated. 4. An apartment in a house where
butter and milk are kept. 5. Very poor. 6. Free
from moisture. 7. In buoy. "UNCLE WILL."



SELECT one letter from every word, and spell out the
name of a President of the United States from each of
the following sentences.
Example: aCt weLl Every liVly comEdy tiLl All
eNds splenDidly. Answer, Cleveland.
1. Rejoice over these friendly strangers and treat them
2. Well, this certainly looks beautiful; and my mother
shall have for her birthday something more novel.
3. Major Carter remarked more especially about sup-
plying all our footmen with some cold dinners.
4. Great men sometimes are discouraged, even with
small things, which might only encourage others to
5. If your family never lacked shelter in any perilous
time, they are lucky indeed.
6. Just ask my sister; she makes plenty of children's
frocks. H. W. E.


ele -a_

II. Dine. 12. Ry. 13. Cute. 14. Cent. 15. Lent.
16. Ent. 17. Ing. 18. Tial. 19. Gant. 20. Dite. 21. Rate.
22. Anic. 23. Thing. 24. Did. 25. Metric. 26. Dide.
27. Ficial. 28. Quent. 29. Inate. 30. Grant. 31. Plify.
32. Rience. J. E. SHARWOOD.


I 28 4 5

2 3
x ^
'~ % ft #

26 27

9 8

6 # 7

10 II

25 24

21 20

13 12
17 16
17 a i6

SEACH of the twelve small pictures may be described
by a single word. When these words have been rightly
guessed and placed one below another, in the order in
which they are numbered, the initial letters will spell
the name of an intrepid American general born in 1745.

PLACE two letters before the following syllables, and
they will form words, according to sound. When the
figure 2 or 3 follows the syllable, it shows that there are
2 or 3 different combinations of letters that may be used.
Example, gy (2). Answer, 1-e-gy, or f-e-gy. Example,
phant. Answer, 1-e-phant.
I. Ment. 2. Vate. 3. Ary (2). 4. Teric (2). 5. Rior.
6. Late. 7. Cle (3). 8. Ate (3). 9. Nate. Io. Fy.

22 23 19 18 14 15

FROM I to 2, a brief sleep; from 2 to 3, to ward off;
from 3 to 4, a vegetable; from 4 to 5, a very large num-
ber; from 5 to 6, a feminine nickname; from 6 to 7, a
country in South Africa; from 7 to 8, a sheltered place;
from 8 to 9, a long space of time; from 9 to Io, an inden-
tation; Io to II, a covering for the head; from II to 12,
a straight line touching a curved one; from 12 to 13, a
metal; from 13 to 14, a point of the compass; from 14
to 15, a coal-scuttle; from 15 to 16, suitable; from 16 to
17, a fault; from 17 to 18, a bone; from 18 to 19, gold
or silver in the mass; from 19 to 20, a conjunction; from
20 to 21, ceremonies; from 21 to 22, the juice of plants;
from 22 to 23, full value; from 23 to 24, fixed allow-
ances; from 24 to 25, a drunkard; from 25 to 26, extreme
pain; from 26 to 27, a masculine nickname; from 27 to
28, to wed; from 28 to ', at a distance, but within view.


BUL-bon let pup out rot car net -
son dam cut pet par.
Out of these thirteen syllables form thirteen two-sylla-
bled words meaning: I. The Persian nightingale. 2. A
tropical bird. 3. A vegetable. 4. A clergyman. 5. A
covering for the floor. 6. A small hall. 7. A covering
for the head. 8. A small piece of meat. 9. A variety
of plum. o1. An exit. II. A short poem. 12. A doll.
13. A sugarplum. PLEASANT E. TODD.


I. To wind or fold together. 2. A stout cord. 3.
Mimics. 4. That which is troublesome or destructive.

BEGIN with a single letter, and add one letter at a
time, rearranging them to form the required words.
I. Aletter. 2. A preposition. 3. A heavyweight. 4. A
brief communication. 5. Softens. 6. A short poem.
7. Intense effort. 8. Certain annuities. 9. Balms.


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