Front Cover
 A famous French painter
 Riches have wings
 Stopped (Illustration)
 Down Durley Lane
 The swordmaker's son
 Reading the book of fate
 Launching a great vessel
 Princeton; A modern puss in...
 Teddy and carrots: Two merchants...
 Her name
 The vagaries of Queen Peggy
 Yamoud (A story from the deser...
 Three dogs
 The prize cup
 The trap-door spider
 A clever little builder
 Week-days in Dolly's house
 Rhymes of the states
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00304
 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: VID00304
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
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page 1
        Page 2
    A famous French painter
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
    Riches have wings
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
    Stopped (Illustration)
        Page 19
    Down Durley Lane
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
    The swordmaker's son
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
    Reading the book of fate
        Page 33
        Page 34
    Launching a great vessel
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
    Princeton; A modern puss in boots
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
    Teddy and carrots: Two merchants of newspaper row
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
    Her name
        Page 51
    The vagaries of Queen Peggy
        Page 52
        Page 53
    Yamoud (A story from the desert)
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    Three dogs
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
    The prize cup
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
    The trap-door spider
        Page 73
        Page 74
    A clever little builder
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
    Week-days in Dolly's house
        Page 80
        Page 81
    Rhymes of the states
            Page 82
            Page 83
    The letter-box
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
    The riddle-box
        Page 87
        Page 88
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



,I _________,i i ,1 1

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AWAY back in the early part of this century,
before it had finished its first quarter-in short,
in 1824,-a little French boy baby was born,
who was destined to make a stir in the world
and to have considerable influence over a great
many American lads later on in his life. The
town in which he first saw the light was Vesoul,
situated in the northeastern part of France in a
departemnent-or, as we should call it, a county
-known as Haute-Sa6ne.
His parents were people in very moderate
circumstances, the father being a goldsmith by
the name of G6r6me, and the little boy was
christened Jean-L6on. As the child grew up
he developed into a bright, quick, active boy;
and at no little sacrifice, for money was not
plenty in his home, he was sent to a good
school and afterward to college, from which he
graduated at the age of sixteen years. With no
social position and without friends in high places
to help him, this boy nevertheless came to be one
of the most famous men of his time, and to-day
he is honored, famous, prosperous, and rich.
He has more medals and decorations than he
could ever conveniently wear, and wherever
people talk about pictures his name is known
as that of one of the greatest of modern artists.

The story of his life is inspiring, as showing
what a boy may accomplish by pegging away
seriously with one object ever in view. I should
like to tell how Jean-Leon G6r6me conquered
all obstacles and, not content with becoming
one of the leading painters of France and of
the world, began when nearly sixty to turn his
attention to sculpture.
Of all his studies, both at school and at col-
lege, there was no branch that was half so
attractive to the young G6r6me as drawing,
and in this the boy made such remarkable
progress as soon to be quite ahead of all his
teachers. His father, who used to make each
year a trip to Paris, to receive orders and
to deliver his jeweler's work, on one occasion
brought back a box of oil colors and an
original picture by Decamps, one of the fa-
mous artists of his day. To the boy, the pic-
ture was an inspiration, and the paint-box an
unmixed joy and delight. He copied the pic-
ture by Decamps, to the great admiration of
his family and friends, and he felt that a new
life was opened to him. There had come to
live at the little town of Vesoul a gentleman
who was on intimate terms with people in the
great art-world of Paris. He saw this early

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


No. I.


work, and, going to the father of our young
lad, advised that the boy be sent to the French
capital to study. He also gave him a letter to
Paul Delaroche, the artist, then at the height of
his fame; and, what was more to the point, this
same gentleman made a liberal present in
money to help the boy to pay his expenses.
This, with what the worthy goldsmith man-
aged to spare from his own modest funds, made
quite a respectable sum, for in France a little
money may be made to go a long way.
So G6r6me bade good-by to his people, and
journeyed to Paris by slow stage-coach, rail-
roads not as yet having been established. He
entered Delaroche's painting-school, then, per-
haps, the best in all France. Here his master
became greatly interested in the boy, while the
youth was equally attracted to the teacher.
Before long the teacher had his promising
young pupil drawing outlines for him on his
great picture, now in the gallery of Versailles,
"Napoleon Crossing the Alps."
Unhappily, the school-boys of those days
took great delight in the stupid practice of
hazing-a custom that is as unfair and unmanly
as it is foolish. New pupils were made un-
comfortable and even utterly miserable. Their
studies were interfered with, their valuable time
was wasted, though many of them were poor
and could ill afford to lose it. In short, so
much disorder and rioting took place in the
class-rooms that finally a freshman lost his life
through this miserable horse-play. Then De-
laroche, who had long been indignant at the
disorders of the pupils in his studio, finally con-
cluded to close it. While all this was taking
place, G6r6me had been on a visit to his family
in his native town; and, when he returned, his
master, who had planned a trip to Italy, ad-
vised him to continue his studies with an-
other distinguished Frenchman, named Drol-
ling. The resolute young man, however, was
not to be thus cast off, for he had a great
admiration for his master.
No," he said; as you are going to Rome,
I shall go with you, if you will allow me; if not,
then I shall follow you."
To this bold speech the master could only
reply that the pupil was welcome to come, and
the two departed together. A year was spent

in Italy, G6r6me painting landscapes, rather
than working after the old masters; and here his
health, which had been anything but good, was
greatly improved, so that he returned to Paris
well and strong, and ready for any amount of
work. The family was very desirous that the
boy should compete for the annual prize of
Rome, an account of which will be of interest.
The French nation has for many years
owned a handsome palace in the Eternal City,
as Rome is frequently called. This is known
as the Villa de' Medici. It is a beautiful build-
ing, standing in the middle of a garden filled
with statuary and fine old trees, commanding a
view of the famous old city, and fitted up with
superb furniture, tapestries, and pictures, the
remains of the former greatness of the once
powerful Medici family, who for so many
years were high in the political affairs of Italy.
Here each year are sent four young French-
men -a painter, a sculptor, an architect, and
a carver of precious stones. These lads are
chosen by a competition held at the School of
Fine Arts in Paris every spring. The exami-
nations are very searching, and the successful
candidates are greatly envied, as well they may
be, for, having won their honors, they are
housed, fed, and provided with a studio and
an ample sum of money to pay their expenses
for four years all by the French government.
So it will be seen that it is no small honor to
have passed successfully through the ordeal;
for not only is the opportunity for the delight-
ful life under such splendid conditions to be de-
sired, but the youth who gains the distinction of
being the prize-winner is forevermore a marked
man. His work is watched for, his future pro-
gress is noted, and his career may be said to be
definitely made. The conditions under which
the examinations are made are very strict.
Preliminary trials take place early in the sea-
son. All who desire to enter inscribe their
names at the Government School. Of course,
only French lads may try. For the painters, a
subject is given out,- perhaps some incident
from the Bible, or an episode from a mythological
story,-and sketches are made by the students.
Twenty or thirty of the most promising sketches
are selected, and the young men, thus chosen,
are notified. These lads then make drawings in

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charcoal of the subject. Another selection is
made, and those chosen then make paintings.
This time ten canvases are selected, and their
authors go, as they say in French, en loge, which
means that each man of the ten enters a small
studio, where are an easel and materials for
work, and he is allowed such models as are
necessary to complete his picture. His first
sketch of the subject given out is handed to him,
and from this he must make a painting about
three feet by four in size. He is not allowed
to make any material changes in his composi-
tion, but must keep very closely to his original
design. Outside his door sits an employee of the
school, known as a guardian," whose business
it is to see that the student receives no help;
nor may he leave the building, save under
charge of this sentinel, who is watchful and
keen, and not to be trifled with. Three weeks
are allowed in which to complete the work.
Then the ten canvases are placed in frames.
The works are the same size every year, and the
old frames do duty over and over again.
Now is an anxious period while a jury com-
posed of distinguished artists deliberate on the
merits of the works to determine the order of
their excellence. Finally, a day comes when
all is arranged. The ten pictures are placed in
a gallery of the school, and each is numbered;
the doors are opened, and the anxious crowd
of students rushes in to learn the decision.
You may be sure that the happy Number One
is a hero, and that he is carried around the
Latin Quarter on the shoulders of his compan-
ions. The strain of the past few months is over,
and we may forgive him if he gives way to a
lot of boisterous nonsense for a few hours. To
Number Two there is some consolation for so
narrowly missing the great end he has aimed for
- a sort of consolation prize being awarded
to him, in the shape of a sum of money that
enables him to travel for a year. Besides, he
will compete the next year, and it frequently
happens that the second man one season is the
successful competitor of the year following.
The winning picture is hung permanently in
the school, and the happy man goes to Rome.
Each year he must send home evidences of his
application and progress, that the State may
know he is improving his time.


w7 ,


Now, though all this would seem a splendid
test of the ability of a young man, it not infre-
quently happens that lads of great talent fail to
get this coveted prize, and that either by tem-
perament, or nervousness, or inability to stand
the strain, they do not quite come up to the re-
quirements of the judges. So it happened with
our young G6r6me. Though repeatedly re-
warded for his drawings, when it came to the
test he was judged inferior to his rival, Alexandre
Cabanel, who carried off the palm. But though
beaten in the contest Ger6me did not sit down
and sulk. He was made of sterner stuff and
he gave evidence
of the courage, pa-
tience, and applica-
tion that have stood
him in such good
stead all through --
his life, and car- :..l
ried him to such ',.-- i
splendid fame. He i
said to himself, "It /i i
is evident that I .
must learn to draw .
and paint the nude
figure"; so he set
himself to the task '
with the utmost in- A FIGURE FROM G6ROME'S PAINTING
dustry, and soon OF BOUSSOD VALADON & CO.


produced a picture of young Greeks that won
high praise from all quarters. For this work
he received a medal of the third class, a high
honor for a youth but twenty-three years of
age. From this he went on to a number of
classical subjects, which, though somewhat dry
and hard in painting, were always extremely
interesting in the story they told.
And now there came an important epoch in
G6r6me's life, for in 1855 he went to the East,
traveling through Egypt and the Holy Land.
Here he was deeply impressed by all he saw,
and here he found a wealth of sympathetic sub-
jects which inspired many of his paintings in
after years.
The curious costumes and customs of the
Orientals, the attractive architecture of mosques,
temples, and dwellings, the brilliancy of color-
ing, and the vivid contrasts of light and shade,
appealed with great force to the young painter.
He made many pictures of the people, at work,
at their amusements, at prayer, in the fields, or
on the backs of their faithful and much-loved
horses. Each canvas bore the marks of great
care, loving application, and faithful attention
to every detail, always characteristic of this
master. Honors began to come upon him thick
and fast. In 1848 he received another medal
at the exhibition, and at the Universal Exposi-
tion of 1855 not only did he get still a third of
these medals, but he was created a Knight of
the Legion of Honor, that much coveted dis-
tinction for which all Frenchmen strive. When
this honor came to him, G6r6me had but just
passed the age of thirty.
G6r6me has painted so many important pic-
tures having a world-wide reputation, that it is
impossible to go into many particulars about
them in the present article. The illustration of
" Napoleon before the Sphinx will, however,
give some idea of his remarkable powers of in-
vention, and his fertility of ideas. The inci-
dent was suggested by the Egyptian campaign
of the great Emperor. On the vast plains of
the desert, rising solemnly up from the burning
sands, stands the great mysterious stone figure,
the origin or the meaning of which no man has
yet been able to explain. In the distance we
see the legions of the French army, while on
his horse, calmly, and with speculative eye, sits

the marvel of his age. The little man, humble
of birth, without influence or money, rising by
the force of circumstances and his own strong
will and character to the mightiest position
among the rulers of the earth, gazes steadfastly
at the storm-beaten, time-worn monument of
past ages. The contrast is full of suggestive-
Or let us take his Thirst." What wonder-
ful strength is here On the hot, shimmering,
sun-dried sands crouches the mighty King of
Beasts, a very baby in his weakness, overcome
by the desire to wet his parched tongue, and
panting for a drop of water. What awful lone-
liness! What fearful solitude, and what a
dreary waste !
It were more pleasant to turn to the glimpse
he gives us of the great oriental city whose
housetops, minarets, and spires gleam under the
brilliant Eastern sky, where the pious Mus-
sulman calls the faithful to prayers. Here may
be noted the artist's wonderful powers of ob-
servation, and the extraordinary finish, nothing,
apparently, escaping his attention. So, too, in
the Pacha's Runners," where the reproduc-
tion does not, of course, give an idea of the
color, though G6r6me's coloring is not always
fine. His best skill appears in drawing and in
the arrangement of his compositions. In the
" Bull-Fighter" we find that the artist is quite
as much at home in Spanish scenes as in clas-
sical, oriental, or modern French life. He en-
ters into the brutality of the bull-ring, and,
showing us the coarse picadors and the excited
audience, brings the incident before us ery
vividly. In short, no matter what he under-
takes, he prepares himself for the task with
much earnestness and great deliberation. He
makes careful studies, he looks well into his
subjects, and he takes no end of pains. Pic-
tures do not come of themselves, nor are they
executed without almost endless trouble. Ar-
tists are generally supposed by thoughtless peo-
ple to be more or less inspired, and to dash off
masterpieces at will; but the truth is, a picture
that has any claim to live and to deserve high
appreciation is undertaken with as much fore-
thought as the building of a ship. First the pain-
ter makes a sketch, searching out, in a general
way, the best method of putting his idea on







canvas; then, after many changes and altera-
tions, studies are made of the principal figures,
of the draperies, and of the accessories. Now
the scheme of color must be arranged, and
finally comes the painting, and the painstaking
completion of all the parts.
And so it was that G6r6me, like other great
men, went carefully to work, achieving great
success, advancing steadily year by year, his
fame growing, and his honors multiplying. He
had already, in the year 1858, been made one
of the professors at the National School of
Fine Arts, where he soon began to have a
strong influence on the young students of the
day, turning out many able pupils who have
since become famous. Among these there
have been a number of Americans, many of
whom are prominent now; and not a few have
themselves received in their turn medals and
honors. There are some who wear even the
red ribbon of the Legion of Honor. In 1867,
at the Universal Exposition at Paris, G6r6me
was promoted to be an officer of the Legion
of Honor, and he also received the Grand
Medal of Honor. This last distinction was re-
peated in 1874. Surely we might think that
his ambition was satisfied, and that he might
thereafter rest quietly, painting when the spirit
moved him, and spending his declining years
in the happy contemplation of a successful
career. He was now fifty years of age, rich
in worldly possessions, the owner of a hand-
some house in the fashionable part of Paris,
and of a lovely summer home and a chateau
on the river Seine, at a charming little town

called Bougival. Everything that goes to
make life agreeable was his, and yet-it was
not G6r6me's way to
"Sit idly down and say,
The night hath come: it is no longer day";
for he felt with the poet
"The night hath not yet come; we are not quite
Cut off from labor by the failing light.
Something remains for us to do or dare;
Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear:
For age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress."

The great energy of the master could not be
bottled up, and, like Alexander of old, he sighed
for a new world to conquer, so he went to work
quietly in his studio to study in clay forms and
masses that he had heretofore represented in
color. In short, he dropped his palette and
brushes, and gave all his attention to sculpture.
How well he succeeded is a matter of history;
for, at the Universal Exposition of 1878, he re-
ceived a medal for sculpture and the Grand
Medal of Honor. We have seen how G6r6me
has been appreciated in his own country; but
it would take much space to tell in what high
esteem he is held by other nations. He is an
Honorary Member of the Royal Academies of
London, Rome, Madrid, Brussels, Antwerp,
Copenhagen, Rio de Janeiro, and many other
cities; and monarchs have sent him many decora-
tions. The old Emperor William of Germany
made him an officer of the Order of the Red
Eagle; King Leopold of Belgium created him
a Knight of the Order of Leopold; William III.
of the Netherlands appointed him a Knight of









0~a ,


the Golden Lion and an officer of the Crown of bears with much modesty, like the big man
Oak; and Victor Emmanuel made him a knight that he is. His life has been, and is, a busy
of an Italian order, one, and he has little time to bother about
All these honors and many more G6r6me much but his art, in his efforts continually to


-" L .



improve himself. In a letter to a friend he
once wrote:
We are having days so gloomy that it is almost
impossible to work. Nevertheless I keep at it desper-
ately, and expect to fight on to my last breath.
In another letter he says :
I am at work early every morning, and only leave my
studio when day has fled, and this since my youth. You
see, I have been hammering on my anvil a long time. It
is one of the examples I try to set my pupils, that of
being an ardent and indefatigable worker every day and
under all circumstances.
And this from a man of seventy-one years!
Truly a splendid example is offered by his cour-
age and wonderful zeal.
In person Monsieur Gir6me is a wiry, me-
dium-sized man, with a fine presence, and very
soldier-like in his erect carriage. His face is
strong and full of character; his snapping eyes
are searching and stern, and his fine head of
gray hair and military mustache give him quite
the appearance of a cavalry officer. Courteous
manners, great affability, and a most distin-
guished air, make him an ideal type of gentle-
man. At a most absurdly early hour, when
only milkmen, bakers, and laborers are stirring,
he may be seen in the Bois de Boulogne, or
on the Champs Elys6es, astride of a handsome
horse, taking his morning exercise; but long
before the gay world of Paris is idling over
its morning cup of coffee, the artist has re-
turned and is busily engaged before his easel,
or with his modeling-tools.
Twice each week he gives his forenoon to
his pupils at the Government School of Fine

I -

,,'.4:1.re.- !-


nb~srne A1 nVr1~RI IN HIS STIIIIO.

Arts, on the Rue Bonaparte. His presence is
eagerly awaited, and his arrival is the signal for
absolute silence. On his entrance and after his
hat and coat have been taken by one of the
scholars, without loss of time he at once goes at
the work of criticism, in which he is a model of
brevity and conciseness. His unerring eye at
once detects the faults and wrong tendencies of
each student, and nothing whatsoever escapes
him. A pupil may deceive himself, but not the
master. Kindly advice to the serious, sting-
ing rebukes to triflers, pleasant encouragement
to hard workers, and useful counsel to progres-
sive men such are the results of his visits.
He is very liberal in his ideas, and gladly wel-
comes any style of work so long as it is healthy,
honest, and sincere. He takes great pride in
the efforts of the pupils under him, and does
not hesitate to climb many pairs of stairs to the
most humble little studio, to correct and advise
some poor, struggling chap at work on a pic-
ture, and G6r6me will sit and chat with him and
give him the benefit of his years of experience.
His kindness and consideration to Americans in
his studio are proverbial.
Such has been the career of G6r6me, and
thus has he, by hard work and by keeping
one purpose in view, achieved great results.
What he has done any lad may aspire to do.
Not to all will come his success, of course; but
to the youth entering on his life-work nothing
should seem too great for which to strive. The
future is in his own hands if he will but apply
himself steadily and honestly to his task.

I ,

1 I' I



C,% '^ ^*^- a -

-.~'r-Crt-: .


ALICE CREIGHTON sat on the back door-
step, shelling corn for her geese. She was a
round, rosy girl, just sixteen, and looked thor-
oughly in harmony with the bright afternoon.
When she finished shelling the corn, she leaned
back and looked about her with a. long sigh of
content. She was a beauty-loving girl, wise
enough to see the beauty in the common things
about her; and so, as she sat in the doorway,
she appropriated to herself all the fairness of
the homely scene. It was late in October.
The long slant rays of the sun glorified the
red and gold of the maple-trees, and made
the fallen leaves in the grass look like precious
stones on a bed of green velvet. The creeper
that covered the back of the house glowed
crimson as the sunlight touched it, and it
brought out glints of gold in Alice's tumbled
brown hair, and touched Mother Creighton's
pale face lovingly, as she sat in her place at
the window. It shone impartially, too, on the
geese, each one a gray and white counterpart
of all the other eleven; each standing on one
leg, half asleep in the pleasant warmth, near
the red barn.
When, after a long look at the rich colors
about her, Alice's eyes rested again on the
geese, they lost their dreamy look, and spar-

kled merrily. Only another month! she
said, laughing. "They little know what that
means to them do they, mother? "
No, indeed," came the reply from indoors.
"If they knew, I should expect to see them
take wing and fly away! "
One month more, benighted geese," said
Alice, with a fine flourish of the corn-cobs,
"and you will be sizzling in twelve different
ovens, while I shall be counting my ill-gotten
gains -" Ten times a day," interrupted
her mother, laughing, and dancing with im-
patience for the first of December and the
drawing-teacher to arrive."
Mother Creighton was always cheery-she
had no right to be dreary, she said. If she
could do nothing to help in the family strug-
gle, she could at least keep from making it
harder; and so she smiled when she suffered,
and was gay when the pain left her.
But she would never be able to walk again-
indeed, it was nearly a year, now, since she had
left her chair by the window. Father placed
her there in the morning, and lifted her back
to her bed at night. Alice had left school at
the beginning of her mother's illness, two years
before, and had not gone back.
Even if she could have been spared at home,


Alice's father could not afford to keep her at
the academy, with the added expense of the
mother's illness.
The Creightons owned their cozy little home;
but they had suffered heavy losses, and aside
from the house and an acre of ground about it,
owned little else.
Father worked hard to keep that, and earned
their simple living. Leaving school did not
seriously trouble Alice. They had plenty of
books in the little house, and she and her mo-
ther could read together as much as they wished.
But she had one real trouble, which her mother
and father knew and shared but could not help.
From the time she had owned her first slate
and pencil, Alice had made pictures.
She loved to draw, and she drew well. Her
mother and a teacher in school had taught her
all they could, and now she wanted to know
more. If she could only study, she felt that
she could create some of the beautiful pictures
she loved to dream of.
Early that spring it had been announced that
a good teacher of drawing would come to the
academy in the winter, and Alice made up her
mind to take lessons of him. But how could
she earn the money? A family council was
held and it was decided, after much delibera-
tion, that Alice should raise geese to sell at
Thanksgiving. It is not dry enough here for
turkeys," her father had said; but that pond
in the back lot will be just the place for geese."
And so it was decided; and with much count-
ing of chickens, or rather goslings, Alice had
set an old hen on a dozen goose eggs and care-
fully tended her.
And when the twelve yellow goslings were
hatched they claimed a still larger share of her
care. She gave it ungrudgingly, looking for-
ward to the time when they would repay her.
As she fed and tended them she often made
them serve her as models, and some quaint
sketches of them decorated the sitting-room.
Now they were fine fat geese, and Alice sat
in the door thinking what they would do for her
in one month more. As she sat there she heard
a peculiar noise overhead, and, looking up, saw
a large flock of wild geese flying steadily south-
ward. Their queer honk! honk!" floated
down through the quiet afternoon air.

"Oh! how I wish that we could spread
our wings and sail away south, like that!"
Alice said reflectively.
And then to her geese, You stupid crea-
tures why don't you join your fellows and go
with them to 'seek the plashy brink of reedy
lake, or marge of river wide,' instead of staying
here to be roasted? How low they are flying!"
she added, looking at the wild geese, which
were now just overhead. Their cries sounded
more plainly, and she turned in astonishment
at an answering cry from the barn-yard. There
was a strange commotion among her geese. "I
wonder if they recognize some distant relatives,"
she said, laughing; but her laugh gave way to
consternation as she saw one big fellow spread
his wings and fly up toward the wild geese.
Another followed, and another, and Alice
seemed rooted to the door-step as she tried to
realize what it meant. Would they all go ? "
It seemed so; for when she sprang up and called
frantically-making the peculiar call she always
used at feeding-time, and scattering the corn
for them-they paid no attention to her, but
with harsh, strange cries rose toward their new
acquaintances, and clumsily, but swiftly, joined
them in the air.
She stood fixed to the spot, watching the de-
parting geese as if fascinated, while the chickens
flocked around her to pick up the scattered
It had happened so quickly! Yet she realized
all it meant: no delightful lessons; no happy,
busy winter; only the old humdrum work-all
her summer's work lost! A flood of bitter, an-
gry thoughts rushed over her. She dared not
turn and meet her mother's eyes-not yet. At
the thought of her mother, the angry thoughts
fell back, but the tears came, and that was
almost as bad. Quick Alice Creighton!"
she said to herself, "you must turn round in
a minute! Be your mother's own daughter,
and don't let her see how this hurts!"
She watched the flock until it faded from
sight in the distance, and then turned to her
mother with a laugh (that was not altogether
forced, after all, for the humor of the thing
struck her for a moment), and said:
I wonder if they took it for permission ? I
shall be more careful how I give advice in the




. 1











future. One does n't usually expect to have it
Her mother looked at her searchingly; saw
the struggle she was making to keep from
Breaking down entirely, and said, lightly, "I
am sure that I never saw advice taken quite
so promptly. The geese may not have been so
foolish as you thought them."
Neither dared to say any more, and Alice
Scarcely looked at her mother as she went
about her evening work.
Her father was very much troubled when
he heard the story. My poor little lass!" he
said. I have heard of riches taking to them-
selves wings, and flying away, but I never knew
the wise old proverb to be quite so literally
Now, father," Alice said, trying to laugh,
you are disgracing the family; for I plainly
see tears in your eyes, and you know they 're
forbidden here."
She kept a brave face until she was upstairs
and alone in her room, and then she cried her-
self to sleep.
And mother, in her room below, knew it
though she heard no sound, and her heart
I; ached to comfort her brave little girl.
"Can nothing be done for her, John?" she
Nothing," her husband answered, sadly.
"I would give anything to be able to help her,
but I can't this winter."
Mother thought about it far into the night,
and at last confided to him a plan she had
She watched Alice narrowly all the week, but
the girl bravely fought down her discouragement,
going about her work cheerily, and not throw-
ing aside her drawing in disappointment, but
Working at it as earnestly as ever. In those
? days the mother wrote a number of letters
when Alice was out of doors, but said never a
word about them. Thanksgiving passed, and
SDecember came, and with it the drawing-
teacher; but Alice, though she did not join his
* classes, was learning other lessons-lessons be-
yond his power to teach.
On Christmas morning, mother's face wore
an unusually radiant smile, and father went about
laughing and nodding at mother and trying to

look mysterious; and Alice's wonder increased;
but matters reached a climax when she found
under her plate a square envelope, from which
fell a thin letter and a little folded slip of blue
She opened the blue paper -it was a check
for fifty dollars.
The note read: "Send your girl to me, and
I '11 put her in an Art School for the rest of the
winter, and we '11 see what she 's made of."
It was signed Joanna Harriman. Miss Joanna
Harriman was Alice's great-aunt, who lived
alone in New York, and who had little to do
with any of her kinsfolk.
When Alice realized that her mother had
told Aunt Joanna the story of the geese, and
asked her help, she fell to hugging mother
convulsively, and showering her with kisses and
endearing terms. But at the very height of her
joy, she suddenly drew back, as if she had for-
gotten herself, and looked very sober and reso-
lute, whereat mother laughed gaily at the
solemn face, and said:
Oh, don't say you can't leave father and
me, for Cousin Sarah is coming up to study
music at the academy, and she will keep house
for us for her board. Just be glad, and go to
the reward you deserve because of your bravery
when the geese flew away. Everything 's ar-
ranged, and you will go a day or two after New
Alice ate her breakfast in a dazed sort of
way, and all day went about in a delightful
The whole busy holiday week seemed unreal,
and then came the reality; but Alice was a very
homesick, lonely girl when her mother was
really out of reach.
Aunt Joanna was so cold and distant, and
seemed so to regard the whole affair as a matter
of business, that Alice wondered if she could
really be dear, cheery, loving little mother's own
aunt. And then to feel that mother would
need her -that no one else could care for her
dear mother quite so well. This was a great
trouble to Alice.
The work at the school, too, was very hard,
and she had much to learn, and to unlearn, and
no one in all the busy hive seemed to care
whether she succeeded or failed. But Alice was


proud and brave, and, after all, what a pleasure
it was to know that she learned something ev-
ery day and was advancing in the art she loved!
And by and by, when the first strangeness wore
off, and she made new friends, how the days
did fly!
When she went home in April, she was a very
happy girl, although her aunt gave no sign that
she was pleased with her niece, or would give her
further help.
But in the summer she made them an un-
expected visit, and then Mrs. Creighton found
out what Alice did not guess that the
hard-working, earnest girl had quite won the
old lady's heart, and that she wanted Alice
So for several years Alice spent the winter
months in New York, and the rest of the year
at home, working hard wherever she was; and
at last her work began to attract attention in

i ,.



I /,'ilr, ;,V
1, i ;'. ,j



1, i
i ,

the school, and gain recognition among artistic
people outside.
Her work was not all easy, and it was ten
years from the time of her first lonely journey
to New York, when she painted the picture
which was her best, and brought her little cup
of fame," as she laughingly said. She painted
it at home in the autumn, with her mother lov-
ingly watching every brush-stroke. How they
talked and laughed, as it grew, over the scene
it represented !
It was the picture of that same back-yard,
glowing with autumn colors, in the midst of
which stood a young girl with upstretched
arms, looking in great distress at a departing
flock of geese.
The scattered corn, and the cobs which she
had dropped, her mother's dismayed face at
the window all were there. They named
the picture, Riches have wings."




., -4 "'
/.'I ','

A --,
FRESHMAN: "Try to stop me, Billy, when I go to pass you."

I.' !-..


a rr
-, j.- ,,

BILLY: Try to stop you, hey?"

,, ,' ,.' "-,.

"Why, my boy, 'bucking the center' is my forte."

'". \ u'ii.. ?!i WOODWARD CLOUD.

O \\N Durley Lane a-singing as I chanced for to go,
., Tiie brier was a-blossom, and the hedges were a-blow-
I ere I spied a piper, a-piping to the sky,
.:. down the lane and after him away went I.

" Oh, tell me, piper, tell ,.. i .. ..
"For honey-stalks and ox-.. .. '"

HERE the crooked rnuli' i 'i
'IjLs.^meadow stands ,
d^ w g i;A brown and lithesome farmer lad was '
whistling o'er his lands;
Only larks above the wheat could whistle /.'
clear as he, '.

S So through the meadow, after him, away -

Oh, tell us, farmer, tell us, why go you whistling gay ? --
For barley-break andyellow moon and tossing of the hay !" -
"Flor barl-eyt-break and y~ellowe mloon anzd tossing of th~e hAry I"


- --


UT upon the highway Ir.:,nr h ,1 .-
nodding grass, .
A-trilling of a silver s...n- i t, :,,
lovely lass;
She only smiled-I knc.. rn-.r j,,r lu:ti '
how it did befall,
But up the highway, ali`i r i.i. ;. ..:,
went we all!

.. ,tell us, lovely,lovely lass, wy go you singing
"j' .'-, ... there? "
l -... .w W/'v. bt for love-in-idleness. and
+,_.,,,',,f; +,. '7. :: ,."lZf .-.. ,,,'. ,': : ,,,!

-a- '


.2 ,., i t '


HERE, about a milestone, where the hill began,
A-leaping and a-skipping we found the queerest man;
He hopped and he laughed -'t was very strange to see,-
So up the hill, and after him, away went we!

Now, prythee, merry gentleman, why go you laughing, too ? "
Forsoolk, fair males, because I fared this way, and
met with you!"

4. -

-l -- _- --- ,-- 1. .
" .I -"





ND upon the hill-top, a mighty mistress gay,
Her satin petticoat was grand her feathers fine were they!
o'r te h-t, ar h, aay w al s

Oh, mistress, might ) mistress, what brings.you o'er the lea?-"
-7 -i'" -. .- "I -
''' .' *.' "-

S .Her satin petticoat was grand, her feathers fine were they

So'er the hill-top, after her, away we all sped!
S"O, istressm y mistresswhat rings you o'er the a?'

SBut she tossed her head right haughtily, and proudly
'ast minced she.


! tC'

* *, I.,

'I 1i.


!D then, with pipe and singing, with laugh and whistle shrill,
The maddest music there was made a-dashing down the hill!
Until upon the green ways, nigh to Durley Fair,
We smiled at one another-and wondered we were there!

" Now, why go we a-faring about the green ways here ? "
" For such a blithesome company, and all the sweet o' year!"


1. I



UT why the Piper piped a tune so keenly strange and sweet,
And why the Farmer whistled so joyous through his wheat,
And what the magic meaning of the lovely lassie's song,
And why the queer man should leap so merrily along,
(And of that mighty mistress, who was so wondrous fine,-
With buckles peering through the dusk like firefies a-shine),

1~I '-I never grew the wiser, nor learned what 't was about,

i liM l stars shone out;
S'And no one knows unto this day the how and
Swhy and where-
Save that each followed someone else well-nigh
to Durley Fair.
Yet this, methinks, is 'ey clear--in truth 't is
passing plain -
Struijped it once, when the world was gay, down
green Durley Lane

VOL. XXIII.--4-5.


(A Story of the Year 30 A. D.)



A SCORE of mounted spearmen were gallop-
ing sharply along the broad, well-kept highway
that led past the foot-hills of Mount Gilboa
toward the southern gate of the ancient city of
Jezreel. The pattern of their burnished hel-
mets, and their arms and armor, indicated that
they were from the light cavalry of some
Roman legion. There was but little conversa-
tion among them, but as they rode on enough
was said by both officers and men to tell that
they were pursuing fugitives, whom they ex-
pected soon to overtake.
"We shall cut them down before they reach
Jezreel," came from a harsh voice in the ranks.
"Slay them not," responded the foremost
horseman. "The old smith must be crucified,
and the boy is wanted for the circus."
Less than a mile eastward from the highway
and the horsemen, under thick tree-shelter on
the brow of a hill, stood two persons who
eagerly watched the passage of the cavalry, and
seemed to know their errand. One was a well
grown, handsome youth, with dark, closely
curling hair, clear olive complexion, and eyes
that were really glittering in their brilliancy.
He may have been somewhat over sixteen years
of age; but that is no longer boyhood among
the nations of the East. The simple dress that
he wore-a sleeveless tunic of thin woolen
cloth hardly concealed the lithe, sinewy form
that seemed to promise for him the suppleness
of a young panther. Over his left arm was
thrown a loosely fitted linen garment- a kind
of robe, to be put on when needed; and on his
feet were sandals. A leather belt around his
waist sustained a wallet.
The other person was a powerfully built,

middle-aged man, with a deeply lined, intelli-
gent face. There was a strong resemblance
between the two, but there was one marked
difference. The features of the man were of
the highest type of the old Hebrew race, and
his nose was aquiline, while that of the boy was
straight, and his lips were thinner, as if in him
the Hebrew and Greek races had been merged
into one.
The summer air was wonderfully pure and
clear. The two watchers could almost discern
the trappings of the cavalry horses, while the
Carmel mountain ridges, far across the plain of
Esdraelon before them, rose above the horizon
with a distinctness impossible.in any moister
atmosphere. Behind them, eastward, were the
forests and crags of Gilboa, and the elder of
the fugitives turned and anxiously scanned its
broken outline.
They seemed to have escaped for a time,
for the Roman spearmen were galloping away
steadily; and the young man shook his clenched
fist at them as he exclaimed:
Ye wolves! We could have dared the Sa-
mariton mob, if it had not been for you."
But, Cyril, hearken," responded his father,
gloomily; "there were too many, even of the
mob. There is but one hope for us now. We
are followed closely, and we could not long be
concealed here. I must flee into the wilder-
ness until this storm is over. It will pass. Go
thou to our kinsmen in Galilee. Go first to
the house of Isaac Ben Nassur, and see thy
sister; but stay not long in Cana. If thou art
not safe in Galilee, go on and join one of the
bands in the fastnesses of Lebanon, or find thy
way to Caesarea."
Nay, father," exclaimed Cyril. Lois is
safe there in Cana. It is better I should go
with thee. Thou wilt need me."


His brave young face was flushed with in-
tense earnestness as he spoke. His father had
been watching it with eyes that were full of
pride in his son, but he interrupted him, al-
most sternly.
"Go, as I bid thee," he said. "So shalt
thou escape the galleys or the sword. Whither
I go, I know not; but what becomes of me is
of less importance, now that my right hand has
failed me."
He stretched out his hand, and Cyril shud-
dered, although he must often have seen it.
Sinewy, remarkably muscular as was the bare
bronzed arm, all below its wrist was shriv-
eled, distorted, withered, perhaps by rheuma-
tism or some kindred affliction. The father's
face grew dark and bitter as he added: Who,
now, would believe that this hand had led the
men of Galilee when they slew the soldiers of
Herod the Great in the streets of Jerusalem?
We were beaten? Ay, they outnumbered us;
but how they did go down! 'T was a great
day -that old Passover fight. I have smitten
the wolves of Rome, too, in more places than
they know of! Many and many a good blade
have I shaped and tempered--many a shield
and helmet; but the war-work and the anvil-
work of Ezra the Swordmaker are done, and
he goes forth a crippled beggar-yea, even a
hunted wild beast! Go, my son; go thou to
Isaac Ben Nassur."
I will go," replied Cyril, with tears on his
face and a tremor in his voice; "but when--
when shall I see thee again ? "
"The Lord, the God of our fathers e only
knoweth," said Ezra. There have been terri-
ble times for Israel, and there are bloodier days
to come. I am glad thy mother is at rest.
Only thou and Lois remain. Our kindred are
fewer than they were. Something tells me that
the day of a great vengeance is near at hand.
So all the prophets tell us. O my son, be thou
ready for the coming of the promised King "
"The King!" Cyril exclaimed. "Why does he
not come now? Why is it that our people
are left without a leader, to be slaughtered like
sheep ? "
Who shall know the counsel of the Most
High ? reverently responded Ezra. But the
Messiah, the Prince of the house of David, the

Captain of the host of Israel, he will surely
come! "
Something of their family history presented
itself in their after-talk. Long years ago, it
appeared, a Greek proselyte to the Jewish faith,
a woman of high character and great beauty,
named Lois, had met with Ezra the Sword-
maker at a Passover week at Jerusalem, and
had not long afterward become his wife. She
had been as zealous a believer as if she had
been born a daughter of Abraham.
They talked of her, and of the young Lois
at Cana, and of the oppressions of their people,
and of the seeming hopelessness of any present
help; but at last Ezra turned and waved his
withered right hand westward.
On that plain of Esdraelon," he said, "since
the world was made more men have fallen by
the sword than upon any other piece of ground.
In the day of the coming King, in the year of
his redeemed, there shall be fought there the
greatest of all battles, on the field of blood in
the valley before Jezreel."
He seemed truly to grow in stature. His
face flushed, and his voice rang out like a trum-
pet. All the fierce enthusiasm of the brave old
Hebrew, however, was reproduced in the face
and attitude of his son. Cyril looked toward
Esdraelon and Carmel with eyes that blazed,
and cheeks that were white instead of red.
"The great battle! he exclaimed. "Dost
thou think I may be there ? "
"God grant it!" responded the swordmaker,
with great solemnity. I have taught thee my
trade; thou hast also learned every feat that is
to be performed with the sword and spear. I
have taught thee to box, and to wrestle, and to
swim. Thou art as fleet of foot as Asahel -as
fleet as a wild roe. Thou art perfect, for thy
age, with the bow and with the sling. I have
hoped for thee that thou mayest be a captain.
Therefore, as thou goest, learn all there is to
know about war. Learn from the Romans;
study their camps and forts, and the marching
of their cohorts. What we need is their drill
and their discipline. Go, now. If I am slain,
I am slain. Live thou, and be strong; and
pray that in the day that is coming thou mayest
indeed fight at the right hand of the anointed
King of Israel."


For one short moment he held Cyril tightly
in his arms, and then they parted. The face of
the old warrior-armorer grew stern, perhaps de-
spairing, but he turned and silently strode away


toward the rugged declivities of the Gilboa
Cyril stood, motionless, looking after his fa-
ther until the rocks and trees hid him from
view. He turned again toward the plain, but
it was no time for thinking of the mighty hosts
which had met there or were yet to meet. The

spot he stood on was no hiding-place, and the
boy, too, must flee for his liberty or his life.
The galloping spearmen had long since dis-
appeared, and now Cyril's eyes fell upon some-
thing that lay on the
Ground at his feet. He
stooped and picked it
up -a little bag that
answered with a chink
to the shake he gave
it. He had known that
it was there, but acted
as if he had been un-
S conscious of it until
now. He untiedit and
poured out the con-
tents into his hand.
"Seven shekels and
twenty denarii," he
mused. "I am afraid
he gave me all he had.
He can get more, if he
V can reach his friends
at the cave in the wil-
derness of Judea. I
want to go there some
day. I wish I could
be with him now, and
not in Galilee. I will
not spend one denarius
until I am compelled

He put the money
back into the bag and
hid it under his tunic.
It was not a large
sum, but it was quite
a provision, in that
time and place, for a
young fellow like him.
The shekel, nomi-
nally worth sixty-two
and a half cents of our
, was a Hebrew coin, and it might have
called the dollar of Palestine but that it
buy so much more than would a dollar
present day. The denarius was a Roman
vorth sixteen cents, and was a fair day's
for a laboring-man.
ill's bag, therefore, contained his living for


three months, if he could prevent it from being
violently taken away by one kind of robber or
another. There were many, of many kinds, for
such as he, and he was mindful of them while
he so carefully concealed the bag. During the
years that he could remember, thousands of
Jewish youths had been sold into slavery, and
thousands of Jewish patriots, such as Ezra, had
been slain with the sword or crucified beside the
highways. He had evidently been, himself, an
eye-witness of terrible scenes, and his eyes were
flashing angrily as he recalled them.
Oh, that the King of Israel would come !"
he exclaimed aloud. He will rule at Jerusa-
lem and in Samaria! He will conquer the
Romans He will subdue the world i I will
go to Galilee, now, but I hope to be with him
on that day,- the day of the great battle in the
valley before Jezreel I "
He set off at once down the hillside, toward
the very highway along which the cavalry had
ridden. It led toward Jezreel, but it also led
toward the boundary-line between the district
of Samaria, belonging to the region under Pon-
tius Pilate, the representative of the Roman
emperor Tiberius, and the district of Galilee,
belonging to Herod Antipas, son of Herod the
Great, who was also a subject of the Roman
emperor. If Cyril were once across that line,
the perils of such an insignificant fugitive from
Samaria would be very much diminished, for
there were jealousies between Herod and Pi-
late, and the military forces of one of them did
not trespass upon the territory of the other. No
doubt there would be guards along the frontier
as well as patrols on the great military road,
and Cyril may have been thinking of such ob-
stacles when he said:
I can get through in spite of them-and I
will die rather than be taken prisoner! "
As for Ezra the Swordmaker, he walked very
rapidly for some time after parting from his son.
More and more wild and rugged grew the
scenery around him. He clambered out, at
last, upon a bare, sunlit knob of granite, above
a narrow valley in the middle of which was a
cluster of rude dwellings.
"No," he said, looking thoughtfully down
upon them; I must not sleep under a roof to-
night. Neither will my boy. The villagers are

hospitable enough, but who knows what ene-
mies I might find among them?"
He looked up, for a moment, but the cloud-
lessly blue sky sent back no answer. He
had murmured an earnest prayer in the old
Hebrew tongue, and when he ceased he turned
his face toward the north, the direction in which
Cyril had gone.
My brave young lion he exclaimed. It
must be his hand, not mine, that will hence-
forth ply the hammer and draw the sword. I
am like Israel and Judah, for my right hand is
withered and I can strike no more."
His deep, mournful voice rang out unheard
through the solitude, and then he was silent.
There was uncommon vigor in the firm, elastic
step with which he now pushed forward, across
broken ledges and through the tangled forest-
growths, toward a mass of gloomy-looking cliffs
which rose to the northward of the valley.



THE village street, in which the maiden stood
by the well, wore a half-sleepy look, for little
breeze was stirring and the day was warm.
Others were coming and going, but she did not
seem to be speaking to any of her companions.
"It will be one of the largest wedding-parties
they 've ever had in Cana," she was thinking.
"The bride is very handsome, and is rich."
She had put down her tall, slender-necked
water-pitcher upon the circle of masonry around
the mouth of the well. She stood erect, and
the merry expression which had twinkled for a
moment in her brilliant dark eyes faded away.
They suddenly grew thoughtful, and her lip
quivered as she exclaimed:
When will they come, and why do I not
hear from them ? They may have been killed!"
Cana was a thriving village on the great
highway through the hills west of the Sea of
Galilee. From the main road a number of
narrow, irregular streets wandered up and
along a low hillside, and were bordered by
houses that were built mostly of stone. The
inhabitants had need for thrift and industry, if it
were only because of the tax-gatherers; for
Herod Antipas was building palaces, fortresses,



and cities. He was living in magnificence, as
were his many officers. All the people of his
dominions paid taxes and bribes to him and them.
While the consequences were often painful
enough, there were no signs of actual poverty
in the vicinity of the well. It stood several
paces in front of a dwelling, two stories in
height, which seemed somewhat better than its
neighbors. The porch along its lower story
was thickly clad with vines, and from under
these the girl had come to bring her jar to the
well. A Jewish maiden of nearly fifteen was
accounted a full-grown woman, and the slight-
ness of her graceful figure did not interfere with
an air of maturity which her present state of
mind much increased. Her simple dress, that
became her so well, was of good materials.
Ranged on either side of the well were six
large, cumbrous-looking water-pots of stone-
ware, partly filled, for the convenience of any
person wishing to perform the foot or hand ab-
lutions required by the exacting ceremonial
law of the Jews.
The vine-clad porch was a pleasant place.
It was provided with wooden benches; and on
one of these sat a man who seemed to con-
sider himself a person of importance. Every
movement, and even his attitude when sitting
still, might be said to accord with a convic-
tion that he, Rabbi Isaac Ben Nassur, was the
wisest, the most learned man in Cana.
He was very tall, as well as broad and heavy;
and his thick, gray beard came down to the vo-
luminous sash that was folded around his waist.
His eyebrows were black and projecting; his
nose was prominent; his black eyes were pier-
cing; he was dressed, as became a rabbi, or any
other highly respectable Jew, in a long linen
tunic with sleeves, that was belted by the sash.
Over this he wore a long, loosely flowing robe,
called an "abba," also of linen. Around his
shoulders, with the ends falling in front, was
a broad white woolen scarf, with narrow bars
of red and purple and blue, and with blue tas-
sels at the corners of each of its two ends.
This was the tallith," and was worn as a re-
minder that the wearer must remember all the
commandments of the Law and faithfully per-
form them.
Every good Jew wore a tallith, larger or

smaller, and some were costly; but Rabbi Isaac
was by no means a rich man, as even his well-
worn sandals testified, and therefore his tallith
was only of fine wool, without ornament. On
his head, instead of a turban, was a long linen
kerchief so folded that three of the corners fell
down at the back and sides. A band kept the
kerchief in place.
In front of the rabbi stood a tall young man,
listening with most reverent attention, having
taken off his turban to receive his father's ad-
The thick vine-leaves which veiled the shady
porch did not prevent the sonorous voice of
the rabbi from carrying at least as far as the well.
The audience there consisted of more than
one person. The women, of all ages, who
came to the well with water-jars, were ready
to rest and gossip a little before carrying them
away on their shoulders or gracefully balanced
upon their heads.
Lois was disposed to ask, even eagerly, for
other news than that of the village of Cana.
She laughed when others did, but, as her gos-
siping neighbors came and went, shadow after
shadow, as of disappointment, flitted across her
face. Not one of them had any news to tell
her of the absent ones for whom she longed.
It was evident that the wedding of Raphael,
the near kinsman of Lois, and only son of the
wise Rabbi Isaac, was considered an important
event, and a welcome variation in the somewhat
humdrum course of the daily life of the village.
The rabbi himself, so regarding it, discoursed
eloquently upon the general subject of matri-
mony, as well as upon the especial ceremony
now at hand; and Raphael would surely be a
model husband if he should succeed in living up
to his father's instructions. So said the laughing
maids and matrons at the well. Almost all of
them expected to have some share in the wed-
ding festivities. Some were friends or kindred
of the bride's family, and were to join the pro-
cession from her residence which would escort
her and the bridegroom to the house of Ben
Nassur. Others were to wait with Lois and
the rabbi's family until they should be told that
the bridegroom was coming. Then they would
go out to meet him.
The wedding was to take place in the even-


ing of the following day, whereupon seven days Bitter and wrathful were the face and voice
of feasting were to follow, and for these great of the rabbi, but the low-toned, fierce re-
preparations had been made. sponse of his son was not audible beyond the
Kindred and friends were expected to come porch. Now, however, there were tears in the
from far and near on
such an occasion, and -
were welcomed with
liberal hospitality.
akin to good news, and
the gossipers at the well .
had brought with them V'
no alarming rumor of
any kind. The shad-
ows gradually flitted .
away from the face of
Lois. She lifted her
jar and put it upon her
head. She was just dis-
appearing through the
porch into the house,
when the deep tones of
Ben Nassur seemed to
send a thrill through
her. His whole manner
had suddenly changed,
and he was now stand-
ing erect.
So now, my son,"
he said, see to it that
all things are ready for
the wedding. Speak
not to any man, im-
prudently, of this that .W.
I now tell thee. I go .r .
to the house of Na- .
thaniel, to hear more; .
but a mounted mes-
senger from Samaria,
this morning, brought tidings of another tu- eyes of Lois, and her cheeks were white with
mult in that city. More of our brethren have fear.
fallen by the swords of their enemies, and "And my father and Cyril are in Samaria "
there was none to help, for the centurion in she exclaimed. Oh, how I wish I could hear
command there hates our nation as he hath from them! What if they have been slain, or-
oft proved. Accursed may he be or crucified The Romans are merciless !"
(To be continued.)





HALLOWE'EN is a festival that should be es-
pecially honored by young people. There are
so many amusing and good-natured tricks, and
so many innocent bits of white magic" ap-
propriate to the time, that no self-respecting
youngster should allow its observance to be
omitted by careless grown-ups."
There, for instance, are the snap-dragon,"
and the bobbing for apples," and the blowing
out of a candle hung at the end of a stick sus-
pended on a twisted string and balanced by an
apple so contrived as to deal a smart blow upon
the cheek of the too lingering candle-blower.
And there are the many charms and contriv-
ances that, once consulted in honest faith by
rustic lovers, are now the pastime of boys and
girls during an autumn evening.
No doubt these charms and oracles are the
relics of bygone superstitions, but there is no
need to wait for that mystic hour of midnight
when churchyards become sleepy and begin to
yawn, when the harvest moon is shining, and
when Titania leads her band of fairy dancers
about the heads of little dreamers, simply be-
cause old magicians preferred the wee sma'
hours." It will be quite as amusing to try
one's fate in twilight, or early moonlight, and
no doubt quite as efficacious. All children
know daytime ways of learning one's destiny,
but I wish to tell you especially how Southern
children tell fortunes."
Living for nearly all the year round in the
open air, with flowers and birds and insects for
playmates, the children of the South are in
close touch with nature; and, naturally imbib-
ing something of the superstitions of their de-
voted and beloved black mammies," they read
"fortunes" in the simplest of nature's works.
Imbued also from infancy with the romantic
spirit of a Southern clime, every flower has a
secret, every star holds a promise for the
dreamy little lads and lassies who build castles
in cloudland--and this same cloudland is a
wonderful playground for them. The frequent

thunder-showers fill heaven's dome with great
banks of syllabub, which change from luminous
cumulus to cirrus and stratus; and the children
discover wonderful forms that change as in a
kaleidoscope before their eyes, each object pre-
saging some future event which they plan ac-
cording to their fancy. Of course each child
knows the secrets the daisies tell-that custom
lives wherever a daisy blows. The American
children say, He loves me, he loves me not,"
and the little French children say, Il m'aime,
un peu, passionn6ment, pas du tout," counting
off the petals; and the little Southern children
add, taking another daisy, What is his pro-
fession ? Rich man, poor man, beggar man,
thief,- doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief," over
and over until the petals are told.
No flowers in the world delight little people
as do the old-fashioned pretty-by-nights," or
"four-o'clocks," those dear, delicious pink and
yellow blossoms, which the children string on
long grasses, twisting the strings" into wreaths
to crown one another. Whoever makes the
longest wreath will be the finest lady," and
each little lad works for her he likes best; and
they call the winner the Princess," and deck
her with bracelets, necklaces, and wreaths of
" four-o'clocks," and dance about her till the
shadows creep, when the little maids run home
to their mamas, with strings of pretty-by-
nights." Then, when the new moon rises, each
little girl steals to the vine-clad veranda and
bows solemnly seven times, and makes a wish
to the new moon. If the wish is "for somebody
else," she will tell you, it always comes true."
But if no moon be out to-night, love," then
she will hail the first star, with:

"Starlight, star bright, first star I see to-night,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish to-night "

Then she makes the wish deep down in her
little heart, and sometimes it comes true.
I wish all children could know the joy of


"pulling love-grass." I have seen lawns and
pleasure-grounds dotted with merry children
pulling love-grass, amidst peals of laughter, for
hours. I have never seen "love-grass" at the
North. It has a glossy green stem crowned with
brown or green aigrettes. Two children select
the grass stem, split one of the ends, and each
holds an end. Then they propound any ques-
tion they wish to solve, and as they pull the
stem apart gently, it forms either an N or a Y,
meaning no or yes.
Love-in-a-puff" is another fortune-teller;
it gets its name from the fact that the tender
little green puff holds three round seeds, each
stamped with a perfect little heart. As in pop-
ping rose-petals, the answer depends on the re-
port of the Love-in-a-puff." If it be sharp
and loud, the answer is decidedly yes "; if it
collapse noiselessly, that is a bad sign, meaning
bad luck, or no," as the question is put. The
dandelion is another delight. If you can blow
away all the little seeds at one breath, you can
find the bags of gold at the ends of the rain-
The four-leaved clover is always a prize to
Southern children, as to all others, for it is a
universal talisman of good fortune, zealously.
sought the "wide world over."
There are three fortunes to be told with an
apple. Peel the fruit without breaking the
skin, and, holding the long spiral skin daintily
by the end, swing it three times around the
head, and let it fall to the ground; whatever
letter the skin then forms, is the initial of the
sweetheart or friend who loves you best.
Then, before eating your apple, have some
one "name it," as they say, and after you
have saved all the seeds, begin to count them,
One, I love; two, I love; three, I love, I say;
Four, I love with all my heart,
And five, I cast away.
Six, she loves; seven, he loves; eight, both love.
Nine, he comes; ten, he tarries.
Eleven, he courts, and twelve, he marries.

A more amusing fortune is that of plac-
ing a fresh apple-seed on each eyelid, and
naming each. The one which remains there
longest is the truest and best. A famous
custom consists of pouring a very little molten

lead into a tub of cold water: there follows a
splashing and hissing as the lead cools suddenly,
and the shape of the lead reveals the future.
Just as in all oracles, ever since the days of
Delphi, and Diana of the Ephesians, the scien-
tific work lies in reading the doubtful forecasts
This game has whiled away many happy
hours for Southern children on Hallowe'en and
New Year's nights, and their young ambitions,
hopes, and dreams help wonderfully to read
the half-formed promises of the leaden emblems
to their own satisfaction.
The little white flecks that sometimes appear
on the finger-nails signify, beginning with the
thumb, "A present, friend, foe, letter to write,
journey to go," according to whichever finger
one appears upon. The time-honored supersti-
tion of "blessing one who sneezes originated
years and years ago in England when a plague
of influenza made superstitious persons bless
all who sneezed, lest they die of the dreaded
disease. A string of nursery rhymes makes
even sneezing prophetic:
If you sneeze on Monday, you sneeze for danger,
If you sneeze on Tuesday, you 'I lkiss a stranger;
If you sneeze on Wednesday, you sneeze for a letter,
If you sneeze on Thursday, for something better;
If you sneeze on Friday, you sneeze for sorrow,
If you sneeze on Saturday, you '11 see your sweet-
heart to-morrow.
But if you sneeze on Sunday, your safety seek,
Or the goblins will have you the rest of the week !

For the days of the week Southern children
often repeat this well-known jingle regarding
Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace;
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go;
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child must work for its living;
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is blithe and bonny, and good and gay.
Here is a way to test your friends and
enemies. Write any person's name below that
of the one whose friendship you wish to prove,
cancel all common letters, and repeat these
words in counting off the uncanceled letters
that remain in each name, thus: Friendship,
love, indifference, hatred." Here is an example


which shows clearly that George Washington
had a feeling of friendship for Benjamin Frank-
lin, while the latter's affection for the great chief-
tain was strong enough to be called love:

George Washington .. Friendship.
Benjamin Franklin Love.

For the months of the year, regarding birth-
days, there is a set of rhymes stating that he
who wears the gem of his birth-month is in-
sured all manner of happiness and good for-
tune, the stones being:

January ...... Hyacinth.
February ..... Amethyst.
March .......... Jasper.
April ......... Sapphire.
May............ Agate.
June .......... Emerald.

July ... .......... .Onyx.
August ......... Carnelian.
September ..... Chrysolite.
October ............. Beryl.
November ..........Topaz.
December .. ....... Ruby.

There are countless absurdities believed to
presage ill-luck or good fortune, of which the
following are well-known instances:
If you see a pin and pick it up,
All through the day you '11 have good luck.
But see a pin and let it lie,
You '11 need a pin before you die.

Sing before breakfast, you '11 weep before
"Tell your dream before breakfast, it will
come true."
If you meet a cross-eyed person in the road,
you will stumble on the way home; if you
stumble on the way home, you won't be mar-
ried this year."
If you see a lone buzzard sailing aloft," or
"if the scissors stick up in falling," somebody
is coming--usually a safe prediction!



A SUCCESSFUL launch of a large vessel has
been called the crowning moment of a ship-
builder's career. Some one has said also that
a launch is the most delicate part of a ship-
builder's work. It is very difficult to say what
is the most delicate part of ship-building, for
the simple reason that there does n't seem to
be any part of it that is n't delicate. No more
complex machinery is made than the wonder-
ful marine engine; no more carefully designed
structure exists than the hull of a modern steam-
ship. A launch is as much a matter of mathe-
matics as any part of the work of building a
ship, and perhaps it is because launches are al-
ways inspiring that they have been called the
crowning occasions of ship-building.
It is only since the United States began to
build a new navy that we have had launches
of large vessels in this country. We have built
so many fine war-ships that it was not unusually
difficult for us to build merchant vessels of the
first grade, and we have just finished two ships
next in size to the two largest ships that are afloat

in the world. Building these ships was a great
achievement, however, and hence the cere-
mony of putting them into the water from dry
land attracted great attention throughout the
country, and was attended in each case by
thousands of spectators. They saw the pictu-
resque side of each of these events. They saw
the foam as the christening bottle of wine was
broken upon the bow. They heard the cheers
and shouts, and helped to make them. They
waved their hats and handkerchiefs as the ship
began to glide down into the water, and each
man almost held his breath until he saw her
safe in the stream and acknowledging the
plaudits of the multitude by making a graceful
Impressive as the launch of a great vessel al-
ways is, it nevertheless seems a simple matter.
All there is to do is to build two toboggan
slides under the ship, raise her from the sup-
ports on which she has been resting, put a lot
of tallow on the slides, and, when you are ready,
saw loose the thick plank that holds the ship



'Iv: .


A. NN It\

P E~f~d i: ~[


by the nose, and let her glide into the water.
You must have the wine to christen her, and a
crowd to cheer her, and some tugs to catch her
and bring her back to her pier; but all these
are mere details, and it would seem as if any
ship could almost launch herself if she had half
a chance.
A launch is simply taking a ship from the
side of a stream down to the bank, and drop-
ping her in the water where she belongs. This
involves the task of lifting a mass of iron, in a
ship like the St. Louis," of about seven thou-
sand tons, and the work of lowering it carefully
for a distance of from twenty to forty feet. All
this has to be done in the space of about thirty
seconds, during which the vessel moves nearly
six hundred feet. At once you can see that
this is an enormous task. It involves the great-
est responsibility in a short time that the ship-

builder meets. There is no opportunity to cor-
rect errors. Every mechanical appliance must
work to perfection, and the manual details must
be as nicely adjusted as the parts of a watch.
You can launch a vessel as you can build one,
on the rule-of-thumb or the hit-or-miss plan,
and you may not come to grief; but it is best
to put all these things in charge of that master
spirit called Science, which has done so much
for our physical advancement in this world, for
then you know that it will be done properly.
It has often been said that man begins to die
the moment that he begins to live. It might
also be said that a ship begins to-be launched
the moment she begins to be built. The first
thing in the actual construction is to arrange the
keel-blocks on which the ship is to rest while
she is building. They must be placed at certain
distances apart, and each must be a little higher



// ',

4< !1~

-.. ti,, ...:k


than its neighbor nearer the water. These
blocks are usually of the stoutest oak, and are
placed from two to three feet apart. They must
have a regular inclination, or the ship cannot
be launched. In vessels like the St. Louis the
incline is about one half an inch in height to a
foot in length. In smaller vessels it is often
more than one inch to the foot. Larger ves-
sels have so much weight that a sharp incline
is not as necessary as with smaller ones. The
keel of the ship is laid on these blocks, and as
fast as the sides of the vessel are built up great
props are placed against them to make sure
that by no accident will the vessel topple over.
At length the hull of the ship is completed.
Then it is that the launching apparatus is pre-
pared. This consists of two parts, one that re-
mains fixed on the ground and one that glides
into the water with the ship. The part that
,goes into the water is the cradle. It is that
part in which the hull of the vessel rests snugly,

and probably that is why it is called a cradle.
When the time comes for the launch, a long
row of blocks is built under each side of the
ship at an equal distance from the keel-blocks,
and of the same inclination. On these blocks
rest first the stationary ways." These consist
of broad planks of oak fiom three to four feet
wide, capable of sustaining a weight of from
two to two and one half tons to the square foot.
On top of these ways are the "sliding ways," of
nearly the same breadth, and between the two
the tallow is placed. A narrow cleat runs along
the edge of the stationary ways so that the slid-
ing ways shall not slip off as they carry the
ship along. Above the sliding ways is what is
called the "packing." This consists of pieces
of timber packed close against the curving
sides of the vessel to hold it firm to the sliding
ways beneath. The curves in the hull vary so
much that it would be impossible to fit the slid-
ing ways to them, and so, by means of packing,

* ,~~1


-. _._ .- ... -.


tV. .-

* *p4*r*~ -
--: ~. ___

I1r w. .1-e~Stas\ -


__iL--_ iii

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the ship is fitted to the ways instead. The pack-
ing and the sliding ways constitute the cradle,
and it is fastened to the ship by stout ropes.
Along its length, at intervals of about eighteen
inches, are big wedges, the points of which are
inserted between the sliding ways and the pack-
ing. A rope about the thickness of a clothes-
line runs from wedge to wedge, so that none
may be lost when they float into the water.
We are now ready for the launch. Tallow
to the thickness of about an inch has been
spread between the ways as they were put in

I. The Packing. 5. Wedges.
2. The Sliding Ways. 6. The Props.
3. The Stationary Ways. 7. Piling.
4. The Keel-block. 8Level of the Ground.

position, nearly sixty barrels being necessary for
a ship like the St. Louis. The cradle sets
snugly against the ship's bottom. The vessel,
however, is still resting on the keel-blocks. The
task now is to transfer the ship from these keel-
blocks to the launching supports, and to take
away the keel-blocks. Then, when the weight
of the ship rests on the launching ways alone,
all that is necessary is to saw away the sole-
piece" at the bow, where the stationary and
sliding ways are fastened together, and the ship
by her own weight will probably slide into the
water. If she needs a start, several "jacks"
using hydraulic power are ready beneath the
keel to lift her a trifle and give her a push.
All the props have been taken down except
a few that reach only a little way up the sides.
A platform with a railing, on which the stalwart
workmen may rest the stout pieces of timber
they use as battering-rams when they are driving
home the wedges, has been erected along the
sides of the ship. There are nearly six hun-
dred workmen distributed along the sides, in
gangs of four each. Each gang has five wedges

to look after. The time set for the launch is
usually just before high water, where the stream
has a tide. A dredge has been used directly in
the path the vessel will take when she makes
her plunge, so that she may strike no obstruc-
tions. Every part of the ways has been in-
spected. If the weather is cold, lard-oil has
been mingled with the tallow to make it soft;
and if the weather is warm, stearine has been
mixed with it to make it hard.
It is about an hour before the time for the
ship to move. The workmen are summoned
and the signal is given for the first rally." All
at once a great din arises. It is as if an army
of street-pavers were at work beneath the ship.
If you peer through the crowd you will see the
men drawing back the battering-rams and then
projecting them sharply against wedge after
wedge. This work continues for four or five
minutes, and then an inspection is made. It is
necessary that the wedges be driven in uni-
formly. The effect of this rally seems imper-
ceptible. It has resulted, however, in driving
the packing close up against the sides of the
ship, and, when that was accomplished, has
driven the sliding ways down hard upon the
stationary ways, squeezing out the tallow here
and there. But the ship still rests upon the
After a rest of fifteen or twenty minutes a
second rally comes. This is more spirited than
the first. In go the wedges, and the great hull
seems to tremble just the least bit. She is be-
ginning to rest on the launching ways. At last
she is raised the smallest fraction of an inch
above the keel-blocks. Now comes the time
for quick work. Here is where the "pioneers"
begin to swing their axes. One gang of men
rushes up to the few props that are still resting
against the sides of the hull. Quick blows are
given, timbers and chips begin to fly, and prop
after prop falls to the ground. Another gang
of men is rushing after the pioneers. They are
the painters, and with long brushes on the ends
of poles, they daub over the places where the
props rested, which could not be painted until
the props were taken away.
Underneath the ship another gang of men
is making havoc with the keel-blocks. Sharp
chisels are being inserted on the sides of the


blocks, and sledges are used as the workmen
come up from the river toward the bow,
knocking this way and that the blocks which
have been the support of the ship ever since
she was first laid down. At last, apparently
after much confusion but really in accordance
with a careful system, all the keel-blocks are
knocked away, and the supreme moment has

wrecked as she goes sliding down toward the
water. She is held entirely by the stout piece
of timber that clamps the stationary and sliding
ways together just underneath the bow.
The christening party is standing on a plat-
form under the bow, and just about where the
water-line begins. The word to saw away
the sole-piece has been given. A stillness


arrived. All the wedges have been driven
home, and their outer edges are in a line as
straight as a file of soldiers on dress parade.
The ship rests on an entirely new foundation
and a very treacherous one. There are no
side-supports to keep her from toppling over.
The toboggan slides are ready for work, and
they must be true in their inclination and in
their horizontal position, or the ship will be

comes upon the throng, and the zip, zip, zip
of the big saws on each side of the ship is
heard distinctly more than fifty yards away.
The young woman who is to name the vessel
'has placed one hand against the bow to feel
the first tremor of life, and in the other she
holds the decorated bottle of champagne, en-
meshed in a silk web, ready to strike the
bottle against the bow.



The vessel shakes along her entire length;
there comes a crash; she breaks away before
the saws have cut her loose; a terrific din
arises; the christening words are spoken but
not heard; and the stately ship begins to glide
down the ways apparently without effort, and
with the ease of a ship coming up a bay under
half speed. She strikes the water, kicks up a
big wave that goes rolling across the stream,
and then drops at the bow into the water.
The tide catches her in its arms, and tries
to run away with her, but the men on board
drop the anchors into the water, and the tugs
that have been lying near by catch hold of
her, and in a few minutes she is led captive
to her dock, ever after that to obey thq master
mind that shall guide her over the sea.
That a launch is a matter of mathematics,
as well as of great skill and labor, is shown by
the fact that the man of science who has the
matter in charge always makes a set of cal-
culations showing the strain on the ship and
its precise condition at practically every foot
of the journey down the ways. If a boat
should get in the way, or if it should take
an unusual length of time to knock out the
keel-blocks, or if any one of half a dozen
things should cause serious delay, the scientific
man knows just how long he can wait, and
just how far the limit of safety extends.
There is always one supreme moment in a
launch, and it is at a time that escapes the
average spectator. It is when the vessel gets
fairly well into the water. This is when an im-
portant factor known as the moment of buoy-
ancy comes into play. If you can imagine a
vessel sliding down an incline without any wa-
ter into which to drop, you can see that the
vessel would tip down suddenly at the end
which has left the ways, and would rise at the
end still on the incline. But really, in success-
ful launches, the stern of the vessel is gradually
lifted up by the water, and this throws the
weight forward on that part of the ship still
resting on the ways. The force of the water is
called the moment of buoyancy," and the
natural tendency of the ship to drop to the bot-
tom of the stream is called the "moment of
weight." Now the moment of buoyancy must
always be greater than the moment of weight;

but it must not be very much greater, for if it
were it would throw too much weight forward
on the part of the ship still on the ways, and
might break them down, or injure the plates or
keel of the ship. When the great English bat-
tle-ship Ramillies" was launched, this did really
happen; and so great was the strain near the
bow that parts of the cradle were actually
pushed right into the bottom of the vessel. It
is this danger of disaster that causes the scien-
tific launcher to make the most careful calcula-
tions as to the conditions surrounding the ship
at every foot of her journey into the water.
In this country most of the launches on the
seaboard are made stern foremost. Sometimes,
however, a ship is launched bow on. Along
the great lakes the usual custom is to launch
ships sidewise. On the great Clyde, in Scot-
land, they are launched obliquely into the river
because it is so narrow. Had any of the large
ships which have been built there in recent years
been launched at right angles to the stream, one
end of the ship would have stuck in the bank
on the other side before the vessel had entirely
left the ways. Where side launches are used,
there are eight or ten ways made instead of two,
and when the ship reaches the end of the in-
cline she simply drops into the stream along her
entire length. Sometimes it is necessary to
check a vessel in a very short distance after
launching. This is done by a series of drags,
or flying cables, which are set in motion on the
ground beside the ship, each one coming into
play at regular intervals as she goes down the
incline, and each helping to hold back the ship
until she is under complete control the moment
she reaches the water.
When the ship is finally clear, and the hur-
rahing is over, the workmen clamber on the
ways and even go out in small boats to gather
up the tallow for use on another occasion.
The crowd now begin to go home. They
have seen the ship put overboard." Few of
them, however, have seen the most interesting
part of the work--that which goes on under-
neath the ship. It is there that the hard work
is done, but it would not do to allow the spec-
tators to come near the workmen. These men
must work briskly, and must be able to attend
to their duties without interference of any kind.



I ~c~-~"


THE Bradys were moving. Now, moving is
one thing with some persons and another thing
with other persons. When some families move,
professional packers at six dollars a day come
in, and the work is done with beautiful neatness
and despatch.
It was not so with the Brady family. They
were their own packers-in-chief, and their as-
sistants were not professionals--in fact, they
were only Jim and Charlie Ryan, two boys
aged respectively twelve and fourteen, from
next door.
The Bradys and the Ryans lived away in
the upper part of New York, on Eighth Ave-
nue, very near the Manhattan Field and the
Polo Grounds. If they had not lived so near
the Manhattan Field it is very doubtful if Jim
and Charlie would have been helping the
Bradys to move. And for this reason. Be-
cause they lived so near the Field, of course
they knew all that any boys could possibly know
of everything which was going on there. This
goes without saying. Were they not boys?
Had they not eyes ? And were there not knot-
holes in the fence ?
But not only did they know what had taken
place within that charmed inclosure in the past,
Vo.. XXIII.-6.

they also knew precisely what was going to
take place there in the future -the near future
- only a few days later, in fact. The Great
Football Game would be played there at that
time; and was anything else in the world worth
one moment's thought in comparison with the
interest of that event? If you are in any
doubt, just ask any two boys aged twelve and
Now, such is the tyranny of League and As-
sociation managers that football games require
tickets in order to be seen; and tickets cost
money; and money with Jim and Charlie Ryan
was very scarce.
Of course, as I have already said, there were
still the knot-holes, but how exceedingly unsat-
isfactory they were, after all! To have those
tantalizing glimpses of wild, rushing masses of
men inside, to hear the shouts, to feel the ex-
citement in the tingle of the chills running down
one's back, and then to think of what it would
be to hold in one's hand one of those magic bits
of card which would enable a boy to pass un-
questioned to a full view of all that was to be
seen and enjoyed on the other side of those
knot-holes,-that was the thought which in-
spired Jim and Charlie as they were helping


I i
'* *

I~ ~ ~ Irk .
- -rr


the Bradys to move. For Mr. Brady had done
some work on the Field a few days before, and
he had received two tickets of admission to
the football game as part payment for his time
there. And as he was now going away, and
so could not use the tickets himself, he had
offered them to the Ryan boys in return for
such services as they could render in packing
boxes, running errands, and otherwise making
themselves useful. They had accepted the offer,
of course: the tickets would soon be theirs, and
their joy and gratitude were boundless.
Now Jim and Charlie had a little brother
Tom. Tom was only eight, and perhaps you
think his interest in football had not grown yet.
Well, that shows how little you know of eight-
year-old boys. Why, not even Jim or Char-
lie could possibly want to see that game more
than Tom did! But alas! he was too little to
help the Bradys; and even if he had not been,
Mr. Brady had no more tickets to give to any
one; and Tom had made up his mind that for
him the knot-holes would be the only way.
He hung around the Bradys' little stationery-
store forlornly, hoping against hope that some-
thing would turn up whereby he might finally
get a ticket; but the last day came, the boxes
were all packed, Jim and Charlie received their
reward, and still there was nothing for poor
At least, almost nothing. Just at the last
moment Mrs. Brady came out of a back room
with something soft and dark in her arms.
"Tom," she said, "I wish we had one o'
them tickets for you, as you wants so much;
but Mr. Brady, you see, he only got two, and
them we 've give to your brothers. But if you 'd
like this here cat, why, we can't take it with
us, and you 'd be welcome to it."
At this Jim and Charlie shouted derisively.
A calt. And as a substitute for a ticket to the
football game! Well, well! But little Tom
thought that if he could not see the game he
might as well take what he could get; so in
spite of his brothers' jeers he held out his arms
for the offered gift, and received for his share
of the spoils an unusually large and handsome
"What a pretty one! he exclaimed, as he
stroked its fur, and already began to feel the

pride and interest of ownership. "And what
a funny color "
It was an odd color -or colors. It was jet-
black, with large tawny or orange stripes across
its back and breast; and, both on this account
and because of its unusual size, the cat would
have attracted attention anywhere. Even
Tom's brothers began to take a slight interest
in it, as they realized its size and coloring, and
then, as Jim was looking at it curiously, he
suddenly exclaimed:
I declare, if it ain't a Princeton cat It's
orange and black, as sure as you 're born! Say,
Tom, give it to me, will you? "
This was a little too much. That Jim, who
had that precious ticket in his pocket, should
now wish to possess the cat also! Even Char-
lie remonstrated.
"Don't you do it, Tom!" he advised. "Keep
your cat yourself. Don't give it to anybody."
And Tom briefly responded:
I ain't a-goin' ter! "
So it was that Tom acquired "Princeton" ; so
he kept Princeton for himself; and so, speedily,
he became very fond of him, and, giving up all
thought of the football game, devoted himself
to his new acquisition.
This was all very well for a while. But the
day of the game arrived, and then, inevitably,
the old yearnings toward an entrance into the
Manhattan Field came back in full force. Jim
and Charlie were all excitement and anticipa-
tion, and immediately after breakfast on the
day of the great game began to prepare for the
coming event. Each boy put on his Sunday
suit, brushed his hair, and blacked his boots;
and hours before it was time to start both
were ready and waiting. Poor little Tom!
He had no pleasure in anticipation, and no-
thing to prepare for; and all he could do was
to wander disconsolately about, with Princeton
in his arms, and on his heart a great weight of
longing and regret.
While it was still early, and long, long before
it was time for the game, Jim and Charlie
decided to set forth, their impatience having
grown too great to allow them to stay at home
another minute. Of course they could not get
into the Manhattan Field at that hour of the
day, but they wanted to be on the spot, at any


rate, and perhaps who could tell ? some-
thing interesting and exciting might happen
even as early in the morning as that. Tom went
with them, and Princeton went with Tom, for
these two had by this time become inseparable.
Princeton could climb up to the top of the
fence and look over,"
said Tom, and added
mournfully, I wish I
could! "
By and by, after
what seemed almost
a week to the impa-
tient boys, the en-
trance to the Field
was opened, and a man
began to take the ad- ''
mission tickets. Jim
and Charlie went in -
at once, leaving Tom
and Princeton outside. *
Soon the spectators
began to come, in
crowds which grew .
larger and larger as %.
the hour for the game
drew nearer. Thou-
sands of persons came
pouring down. the
stairs from the elevated K
road, and thousands .
more from the horse-
cars and cable-cars;
while carriages of all
kinds, full of gaily
dressed persons, were
constantly being driven
into the Field through
the large entrance.
Tom watched them
all wistfully. Every
one of that vast multi-
tude had a ticket. Ev-
cry one went through
that gate and past that ticket-taker as freely
and as easily as if the whole Field belonged
to him alone. It seemed to Tom as if he were
the only person in New York that day who
could not see the football game if he wanted
to do so. It was very hard. Still he stood

there, watching with eager, fascinated eyes,
while he held Princeton tightly, lest the cat
should be lost in the crowd.
Then presently the boy heard a great sound
of shouts and cheering, and the mellow tone of
a coaching-horn; and with a clatter, and the

cracking of a long whip, a four-in-hand tally-ho
came dashing up. Its four seats were filled
with young men from Princeton, evidently -
for the orange-and-black was everywhere con-
spicuous, on the coach, on the horses, and flut-
tering gaily from the buttonhole of each man's

r~s" ~C,~:


greatcoat. They were a gay crowd altogether;
and, as the coach came to a standstill near the
entrance to the Field, Tom gazed at it and its
occupants with open-eyed wonder and admira-
tion. There were some carriages ahead of the
coach, and it was stopped for a few moments
just at Tom's side.
Suddenly, as they waited, one of the men on
the front seat caught sight of Princeton.
By the great horn spoon! he exclaimed.
I say, fellows, look at that cat! Orange and
black, by all that 's wonderful! What a lark!
We '11 have it up here, and take it in to the
game with us." Then, leaning forward, he called
out to Tom, I say, Johnny, will you lend us
your cat for the day ? "
Well, you have a nerve cried one of the
other young men to this. The idea of asking
the kid to let you have his cat for nothing! "
Then he spoke to the now amazed and bewil-
dered Tom. Look here, young chap, do you
want to sell that cat ? What '11 you take for it ?"
Tom could hardly believe his ears. Did
these remarkable young gentlemen really want
Princeton ? And if so, what for ? He saw that
they were all waiting for him to speak, and he
came a little nearer to the coach.
"Is it my cat, Princeton, you wants, sir?"
Tom asked, addressing the man who had asked
him if he would sell his cat.
At this announcement of the cat's name,
there was a shout of laughter from every man
on the drag. Tom could not imagine what was
the matter with them all.
"Princeton ? repeated one of the supporters
of the orange-and-black. Princeton ? Is that
really the name of that cat ? Well, it 's a good
one, I declare! We '11 have to have it now,
sure. Come, Johnny, what will you take for
it ? Hurry up, now; we can't wait! "
But Tom was not to be hurried into anything
of that kind. "Sell Princeton ?" he thought
quickly; what an idea He would n't do it,
not he But he might as well know what they
wanted to do with the cat if they could get
him, so he asked, "What do you want to do
wid him, sir ? "
Oh, we 're not going to hurt him- we only
want to take him inside because he is orange
and black Princeton colors, you know."

"Take Princeton inside!" exclaimed Tom,
" and not me ? Oh, no, sir! "
"What do you mean ?" cried one of the
men impatiently. Of course we don't need
you. What should we take you for ?- we only
want the cat."
I would n't sell the cat, sir. Princeton, he
can't go widout me," answered Tom to this,
pluckily. And then his heart began to beat,
thump thump What if they should take him ?
Here was a dilemma for the Princeton men.
With the impulsiveness of young men, they
had set their hearts on having that orange-
and-black cat on their coach during the foot-
ball game. It would be such a mascot! But
here was this stubborn boy who would not let
his pet go without him. They looked at Tom,
and then at one another. Then, by a com-
mon impulse, they all looked at the last seat
on the drag, which was occupied by the two
footmen only.
"We might put the kid in there," suggested
one of them.
We don't want the boy!" exclaimed another.
But then he looked at Tom, and on Tom's face
he saw an expression of great firmness. He
saw something else, too -a look so eager and
wistful that involuntarily his own expression
Oh, well," he said, relenting, "if we can't
have the cat without the boy, we '11 have to
take the boy, I suppose. What do you say,
fellows? "
Oh, let him come !" cried the host of the
party, impatiently. Come, youngster, climb
up, then, and hurry about it! We can't stay
here all day -we 're late now."
So Tom, hardly able to realize his good for-
tune, actually climbed up and took his seat
upon that wonderful coach, at which, only five
minutes before, he had been gazing as at some-
thing as far beyond him as a slice of the moon
would have been. And now he was there, with
all these jolly young gentlemen; and, more than
all, he was actually going inside the gates of the
Manhattan Field, where the football game
would soon be played before his enraptured
And, sure enough, so it was, though it seemed
too good to be true. The coach, with Tom on


it, was driven in, and was stopped in one of the
best positions from which to see the game; and
there Tom sat, blissfully happy, during all the
time that the match was going on. The men
around him talked excitedly of flying wedges,
punts, touch-downs, and other mysteries; and
at any point, whether
small or great, scored
by their college, they
yelled and cheered in
the wildest manner.
Tom cheered with all
his might when the .
others did; and as he
sat there, his eager
little face all flushed "
with pleasure and ex-
citement, many a sym-
pathizing glance was
thrown in his direc-
tion, and many a spec-
tator nudged his neigh- -
bor and remarked,
"Look at the funny
little chap up there on
that drag."
As for Princeton, he
was second only to the
elevens themselves in
the interest and atten- ''
tion which he excited.
His very first appear-
ance on the ground
was greeted by a
chorus of cheers and
shouts and laughter from all
the friends of Princeton Col-
lege who were anywhere near the
coach; and from that time until
the game was over, the gay party
on the drag was surrounded by an admir-
ing crowd, among whom Tom's cat was the
center of attraction. Tom himself was the
subject of any amount of good-natured chaff
and banter, but he objected to it as little as
Princeton objected to the attention which he
received; neither boy nor cat was ever in such
a position before, and probably neither would
ever be in such again; and the boy, at least,
appreciated his privileges to the utmost.

But perhaps the crowning moment of all that
joyful day was that in which Tom, on his lofty
perch, was recognized by his brothers, Jim and
Charlie. It was just after the game was over,
and the crowds were pouring toward the gates,
to avoid the coming great crush,- and the

i, $

drag on which Tom still sat, holding Prince-
ton, was being driven briskly through the mass
and tangle of other carriages which were hurry-
ing to get out. Then, just as Tom's party
was almost at the gate, Tom, looking down,
saw his brothers, and at the same moment
they saw him. They would hardly have be-
lieved that the boy in that exalted position
was really little Tom if they had not seen the
cat; but that settled the matter- that cat was


Princeton and no other. And so they pushed
and elbowed their way until they were nearly
under the wheels of the coach, so eager were
they to ask Tom how he got there; and as Tom
looked down at them, no king on his throne
ever felt a greater sense of elation and satisfac-
tion than did Tom. But the boys, when they
reached the drag, were, after all, too much in awe
of those magnificent flunkies on the seat with
Tom to ask any questions. They decided to wait,
in the mean time running along by the side of
the coach until it was beyond the gates. There
it stopped; and Tom, after a few eager thanks
to his hosts, and many laughing good-bys from
the young men, descended from his dizzy
height, and was once more on the ground. Jim

and Charlie rushed up to him at once; and
then questions and answers fairly flew back and
forth between Tom and his brothers till the
whole history of the adventure had been told.
At its finish Jim drew a long breath and
looked at Tom with shining eyes.
"Well! he exclaimed, "you had the best
of it, did n't you, young un? How 'd you feel,
anyway, up there on that coach with all them
swells around you?"
"Well," said Tom-" I felt--I felt like a
fairy story," he declared finally; and then he
added, as he hugged his cat more closely,
"And Princeton was a regular fairy godmother,
was n't he? No; I '11 tell you what-Prince-
ton was my Puss in Boots!"

-r ,k)S





[Regun in the May number. ]

TEDDY was the first to arrive at the packing-
case home on the evening of the robbery; but
before he had time to get supper-that is, spread
out in the most tempting array possible the
provisions he had brought home-a noise near
the gate told that his partner had come.
Carrots's face was sadly swollen. He en-
tered the box, and threw himself down wearily
in one corner on the pile of straw.
"Anything else gone wrong ?" Teddy asked
in a friendly tone, as he lighted another candle
for the purpose of increasing the cheerfulness
of the apartment by an extra illumination.
"Anything wrong!" Carrots repeated. "I
should think when a fellow could n't go 'round
'bout his business without bein' robbed, there
was a good many things out er the way! "
But, I mean, have you got inter any more
trouble since then ?"
No; that was enough to last me the rest
of this week, I guess."
Now, see here, Carrots; it does n't do any
good to go fussin' 'bout that, an' the sooner
you brace up, the better it '11 be for all hands.
Skip 's got the money, an' you 've got the
thumpin', I know; but you can't change it by
worryin' an' looking' so glum."
Do you count on a fellow's grinnin' like a
cat jest 'cause his face is swelled as big as
a squash? Carrots asked dolefully.
No; but I don't count on his thinking' 'bout
it all the time. We 've got something' else to do
besides botherin' with Skip Jellison. S'posin'
you turn to an' give up everything for the next
month jest to pay him back, an' then do it,
what have you made ? Why, nothing' at all -

you're jest where you are to-day. Now we 've
got a comfortable place to live in, and money
enough to feed us for the next two or three
days, even if we don't do any business; an'
as good a chance to earn ourselves a stand as
any other fellows ever had."
"So you 've laid right down, an' are goin' to
let them keep that money, are you ?"
Well, yes, jest now; for there 's nothing' else
we can do. 'Cordin' to my way of thinking ,
we 've got to keep on working' an' waiting' till
the chance comes. Then we '11 lay inter Skip
as hard as you like; but I don't see the sense
of whinin' yet awhile."
"What 's to prove he won't jump in an' do
the same thing over ag'in, to-morrow ? "
I 've been thinking' most likely he 'd try the
game, an' we 'd better stick together. Now,
here 's my way: in the morning' you take your
box, while I tend to the papers, and we '11 go
right up to City Hall. If he comes there we
must n't fight him, 'cause we '11 be 'rested; but
there 's nothing' '11 prevent our keeping' him off if
he tries any funny business. I guess it would n't
be a great while before some one come along
as a witness on our side. If he fools 'round
two or three days, trying' to drive us off, he '11
get inter trouble, an' we '11 be clear of it."
The only way in which Carrots's reply to this
remark can be described is by saying that he
It was not a groan, neither was it a spoken
word; but, rather, a general snort of disdain
for the plan proposed and defiance to the boy
who had wronged him.
Teddy's suggestion was so tame and so
unworthy the cause that Carrots began to
think he had made a mistake by going into
business with one who was willing to act so
cowardly a part.


Teddy understood this quite as well as if his
companion had given words to the thoughts,
and, without losing his temper in the slightest
degree, he asked: If you don't like that plan,
what do you want to do ? "
Go out an' lambaste Skip "
"All right; there 's nothing' to hinder. Shall
I stay here, or do you want me to help ?"
"Well, it looks to
me as if it was as much ,-. ,.: .
I.a.' ,* ... l j *'
your fight as mine." .
"Very well; let's go. '
I reckon that we can .
find him somewhere,
can't we?" At'.' '
"Yes; he 's 'most .'y
allers up 'round Grand
street an' the Bowery." ,. ,
"Well," said Teddy,
"if you're bound to try .,
an' thump Skip, why,
I'm with you; but you
know as well as I do .
how it '11 turn out. He
counts on jest what
you think of doin', an'
is sure to have his gang
with him all the time."
"Then will you do
jest as I say ? "
"Right up to the
doThis satisfied Carrots "
to such a degree that _-J
he immediately cast off '
the look of anger he
had worn, and began to
appear more cheerful.
Carrots had so far
unbent that he was will-
ing to discuss the business of the day, and on
counting the profits it was found that between
them they had earned eighty-one cents, despite
the many interruptions and difficulties.
According to the arrangements previously
made, Teddy took possession of the funds,
wrapped the pennies and silver pieces carefully
in a piece of brown paper, and deposited the
package in a hiding-place under one of the
boxes which served them as a home.

What are you doin' that for ? Carrots
asked in surprise.
"I don't want to stand any chance of losin'
"But it's safer in your pocket than anywhere
Not if we meet Skip. In case he an' his
crowd get the best of us in a row, they '11 be

>~~ IT i,

-'- 'I hi

,-- ..- :.-- -- -


sure to do what they did this afternoon, an' we
must n't lose all the money we 've got."
Carrots made no reply.
This preparing for a flogging was not agree-
able to him, and it is possible he began to
think that perhaps his scheme for getting even
was hardly as wise as he had supposed it.
Teddy deposited the cash where it would
not be found until after a long and careful
search, and then, their supper having been fin-


-- t


ished, said: "Now I 'm ready whenever you
are," and he extinguished one of the candles.
"It 's no use to go up there so soon," Car-
rots replied. We 'd better hold on till he gets
his supper."
Teddy made no comment upon this delay of
justice, but began speaking of the work to be
done on the following day, and the probability
that trouble would ensue, always prefacing his
remarks with the proviso:
If we go out at all to-morrow."
What do you keep sayin' that for?" Car-
rots finally asked. Of course we '11 go out
to-morrow! "
"I 've seen the time since I struck this town
that I could n't get out when I wanted to go,
an' perhaps we shall be in the same fix to-night;
but if we ain't we '11 dive inter business mighty
It was some time before Carrots showed the
slightest disposition to venture forth for the
purpose of wreaking vengeance.
Then it could have been observed that he
was not nearly so eager as when he first came
Twice he leaped to his feet as if to propose
that they start, and twice he sat down again.
One would almost have fancied he was wait-
ing for Teddy to make the suggestion; but the
latter remained silent.
Then it seemed as if it was absolutely neces-
sary he should do something, and he said with
an evident effort:
"Now, if you 're ready, I reckon we 'd bet-
ter go."
"All right," Teddy replied cheerily, as he
led the way from the packing-cases to the
Carrots followed at a leisurely pace, and as
the two walked toward Grand street by way
of the Bowery, one would have said it was
Teddy who had insisted on the expedition.
The nearer they approached the place where
it was supposed Master Jellison would be found,
the slower did Carrots walk, and finally, when
they were yet more than a block away, he
came to a standstill.
"What is it?" Teddy asked, knowing full
well the cause of the halt.
I 've been thinking' perhaps it would be bet-

ter if we did n't go up there to-night. Course
he 's got his crowd with him, an' they could
get the best of us."
"Yes, an' he '11 be in the same fix for the
next week."
"Well, I s'pose," Carrots said hesitatingly,
" we ought ter wait till he thinks we ain't goin'
to do anything."
"That 's jest what I proposed, old man, be-
fore we started out; but you seemed to think
it ought ter be done to-night, an' I was willing'
to give in."
"I guess I '11 let it go as you say, 'cause it
would be hard luck for both of us to get 'rested
and sent up to the Island."
Now that Carrots had decided on delaying
his vengeance, he was in the utmost haste to
get away from the dangerous locality; for there
was a chance that his enemy might appear, and
then perhaps, instead of being revenged, he
would receive another thrashing.
With such thoughts in his mind he walked
rapidly toward his dwelling; and when they
were once safely inside the fence, all his former
good nature appeared to have returned.
He was the same Carrots as before, and, so
far as could be seen, the loss of the dollar had
ceased to trouble him.
Teddy was not willing that very much time
should be spent in idle conversation; he be-
lieved it necessary they should be at their work
very early in the morning, and curled himself
on the bed of straw before the neighboring
clocks proclaimed the hour of eight.
When the sun rose once more, and the two
merchants were preparing for business, Carrots
no longer entertained ideas of thrashing his
enemy, but seemed only to fear that he might
receive further injury at Skip's hands.
So excessive was his prudence that he did
not allow himself to stray more than half a
dozen paces from Teddy's side, no matter what
business might demand.
The morning trade opened in the most pros-
perous fashion, and the partners had already
sold eight papers and put on four shines, when
Master Jellison and his companions appeared
on the scene.
Look out for 'em! Carrots said nervously.
They 're going to make a fuss now, sure."


Keep right on with your work, an' don't
pay any 'tention, no matter what they say,"
Teddy replied; and the three boys who claimed
the right to control business in that section of
the city approached until they were offensively
near those who had been warned to leave town.
Did n't you get enough yesterday to serve
you out ? Skip asked angrily of Carrots.
The latter made no reply.
"I reckon you know what I said 'bout your
working' 'roun' here," the bully continued, step-
ping yet closer, and shaking his fist in Carrots's
At this point Teddy thought best to inter-
fere, and, taking the box from his companion's
hand, he stepped between Carrots and Skip.
"Now, I 've got something' to say in this
business," he began; "an' I want you to re-
member it, jest as much as we '11 remember
what you 've said 'bout our goin'. I came
down to this town to earn a livin', an' to leave
other folks alone, same 's I told you over there
by the fountain. Yesterday you pounded Car-
rots, an' stole a dollar of my money from him.
Now do you think I 'm such a chump as to
stand that ? "
"Well, why don't you do something' 'bout
it ? Skip asked with a sneer, as he put him-
self in an attitude of defense.
"If you think I 'm so much of a fool as to
fight you, an' stand the chance of getting' 'rested,
while you 're coward enough to run away, it 's
a mistake, an' the sooner you find it out the
better. This is what I want ter say, an' I mean
every word of it. Jest as true as you touch us,
or interfere in any way, I 'm goin' to that judge
where I was taken up before, an' have you
hauled in. You know what that '11 'mount to,
an' these fellows who are with you stand the
chance of getting' the same as you '11 get.
The judge said that instead of fighting' a boy
ought to make a complaint to the police, an'
they 'd see he was taken care of. Now, I 've
come to this city to stay, an' that 's what I 'm
goin' to do. If we were out in the country I 'd
be glad to stand up with you, an' the fellow
that got the worst of it would have to leave;
but we 're where the policemen will 'rest us, an'
I can't 'ford to take chances."
Teddy spoke in such a decided tone, and

appeared so determined to insist upon his
rights, that, perhaps, for the first time in his
life, Master Jellison was cowed, if not abso-
lutely frightened.
He knew only too well that the statements
made were correct: that he would be punished
severely by the law for having robbed Carrots,
and in the bewilderment caused by the bold
stand Teddy had taken, he retired a few paces
to consult his friends.
The boy from Saranac had not said all he
intended to, and thinking it would be better to
continue the conversation before the bully had
time to regain his courage, he continued:
I don't want you to think you 're goin' to
get off with that money, even if we keep quiet
now. When the time comes right, you '11 pay it
back to Carrots, or have trouble; an' I '11 give
you somewhere 'bout a week to make up your
mind, 'less you want ter kick up a row now.
You 'd better sneak off before that policeman
comes along, for I '11 begin my end of the busi-
ness by tellin' him the whole story jest as soon
as he gets here."
As Teddy spoke he motioned involuntarily
with his head in the direction of the approach-
ing officer, and, turning quickly, Skip saw the
same guardian of the peace who had taken
Teddy to the station-house.
It would be awkward for him to remain
if the true story were to be told, and the bully
concluded his wisest course was to leave that
neighborhood at once.
Therefore he and his friends moved hastily
away until they were on the opposite side of
the street, where they could hide themselves be-
hind the vehicles whenever it became neces-
sary, and at the same time see all that was
going on.
Teddy did not intend to recede one whit
from the stand he had taken.
As soon as the policeman came up, he told
all that had occurred during the previous twenty-
four hours.
"So that boy is going to drive you out of
town, eh ? the officer said laughingly.
No, he is n't goin' to do anything of the
kind. That 's what he says; but I 've got
something to say 'bout it. I can't thump him,
'cause you '11 'rest me; but the chances are


he '11 hit me whenever he can. I sha'n't
stand an' take it a great while, an' that 's
why I want you to know jest how I 'm fixed."
"If you don't provoke a quarrel, and he
makes any trouble, pitch in. Then come to
me, and I '11 see you through; but your best
way would be to enter a complaint against him
on the charge of stealing money."
"That 's what I would n't like, 'less I had
to," Teddy replied. If he '11 give it back, an'
I reckon he will before long, that part of it will
be all right. I 'm a stranger in the city, an'
don't want to get inter a fuss with the fellows,
'cause I 've got to. work alongsidee of 'em; but
it stands me in hand to have somebody know
exactly how things are."
Come to me if you. get into any trouble,
providing you keep yourself straight," the offi-
cer said in a kindly tone as he moved on, and
from across the street Master Jellison and his
party noted with no slight uneasiness the ap-
parently friendly talk between the boy from
Saranac and the policeman.
Carrots was undecided as to what might re-
sult from this bold speech of his partner's.
During all his experience in the city he had
never known a newsboy or a bootblack to ap-
peal to the authorities for protection, and Ted-
dy's method of taking care of himself rather
startled him.
It '11 make Skip worse 'n ever, I 'm 'fraid,"
he said in a low tone, and Teddy replied:
It won't do for him to get very fresh now,
'cause after he strikes the first blow I 'm goin'
to pitch in, an' if there ain't too many of his
gang 'round, you '11 see me lug him into the

station-house. I don't believe in fighting' where
there are officers to 'rest you; but I would n't
let any fellow get the best of me if.I could help
it, no matter who was in the way. Now we 've
fixed ourselves, an' the sooner Skip Jellison be-
gins, the better I '11 like it."
Carrots gazed with admiration upon his
He realized that by thus stating his case to
the policeman, Teddy had put himself in a po-
sition where it would be safe to defend himself
against any attack which might be made; and
this was certainly much better than Carrots's
plan of the previous evening, which, fortunately,
had not been carried into effect.
Now get to work, Carrots; we must n't
let them fellows knock us out of business, for
we 've got to make more than a dollar to-day."
Carrots did set to work most vigorously.
His fear of Skip was quieted to a certain de-
gree, and he darted here and there without ref-
erence to his partner's whereabouts, getting
very much more trade than he would otherwise
have done, because of the fact that his brother
bootblacks, and many of their acquaintances in
the newspaper line, were so busily engaged dis-
cussing the plan adopted by the boy from Sara-
nac that they had no time to attend to the
details of business.
For at least half an hour Teddy and Carrots
were the only boys in the immediate vicinity
who attempted to do any very great amount of
work, and the result was that, before the clock
had struck ten, their profits amounted to nearly
as much as Teddy had expected that they
would earn during the entire day.

(7o be continued.)



SUCH a wee mischievous lassie!-- When, just at dusk, one evening,
It tries one's patience quite She climbed upon my knee,
To watch the child. She cannot do In playful mood I asked her name,
A single thing just right. "Why, Kitty, 'course," said she.
'T is Kitty, don't say that, dear!" "Yes, Kitty;- but the rest, dear?"
" Oh, Kitty, don't do so!" She hung her curly head -
These are the words that greet her, The rogue! -for just a moment;
Wherever she may go. Then-" Kitty Don't!" she said.


,i.ii- L i' ...., Ii ., Seventh sat up
iil I i.,: .- : ....- i,- and cogitating,
Pi-'. ..:i in her cot
Ir I-r i, light-cap spruce;
-L;.r .is was not
S" I general use,
A" nd she burdened
1 the soul of the
.,, .'.'i Noble Lord of
S' the Candle-
t Stick in
._ .'' -W waiting.

-=- 7 ,, ----- t-- -1 =----
P_.-- .--- _--- --_ _---

Queen Peggy the Seventh went to walk
whenever she took a notion,
In her purple gown
And her broidered shawl; ..'
But her golden crown
Had no brim at all, ..' '
And she drove to the end
of his wits the Lord of
the Royal Freckle- '
Lotion. / (

When Peggy the Seventh hemmed her
frills she met with sore disaster, -
For a thimble she deemed
Too cumbersome;
But she squirmed and she screamed '
When she pricked her thumb-
And the pages hustled aindl fl, for I
the Lord of ii .- -! -.i. .
Plaster. i

'- -
SI .

II " i I "

-a "re so '
Si '" '

'. ,'I.y, ,.* v / .. She was known
-to be
S .ing dame,

SFor we're told
\ I '- That Queenthat she
,' : ''.-.Never once

S.-.. the Lord of the
---- teo rdof te"

.' '-General Com-
mon Sense and
- Gumption.
, .. -.. -...

(A Story from the Desert.)


L 0 N G desert cara-
S van usually moves
at night, for vari-
vansaep up s c ely ous reasons; to-
ward morning it is
very cold on the
desert, and action
helps to keep them
warm, while both
Arabs and camels
find the sunshine
very conducive to
sleep. Often one
sees a solitary rider

camel is as sound asleep. On the Arabian
desert the writer once passed an entire cara-
van, in the middle of the afternoon, swing-
ing and swaying steadily along, though every
rider and every camel was absolutely sound
asleep. When they move at night the cara-
vans are much less likely to be taken by sur-
prise by the robber bands which infest the
interiors of all the great deserts. From their
earnest history, too, to e Arabs have been
wonderful astronomers. A perfect knowledge
of the stars is inevitable; and they can guide
themselves over the beaconless sands much
better by night than by day. But the chief rea-
son, after all, for moving at night is that the
camels, stupid, greedy, and idiotic creatures as
they are, will not eat in the dark. In short
journeys it does not matter much, for the
hump on a camel's back is composed of fat
stored up in times of plenty, as his stomach
stores away water, to be used when times are
hard; but it takes only a few days to exhaust
these supplies, and, on long journeys, if they
move by day they would lose an hour each
night and morning, while the camels ate their

food, while when they move at night, the time
is taken from their rest, instead. It is more
The grand Mohammedan law of hospitality
provided the little empty-handed stranger in
the caravan with food and water. Shelter he
did not need, beyond the friendly shadow of
some willing dromedary; while the utter lack
of curiosity, so common among his people, as
far, at least, as questioning is concerned, al-
lowed the lonely mite, wrapped in the mourn-
ing sarai, to move on with them practically
unmolested. He knew it would be so. It is
the custom of the people. It is always so.
They all knew very well that if they asked
Yamoud whence he came, he would say,
"From the desert." Or if they asked him
where he went, he would reply, "To the sea."
They all knew, too, that if they had asked
even the leader of the caravan precisely the
same questions, he, too, would have answered
in the same evasive way. It would have
amounted to nothing. They would not have
been any wiser at the end than in the be-
ginning, so they saved their strength, and did
not ask at all.
The very first lesson which an Arab baby
learns, when he begins to talk, is to keep facts
to himself. It does not sound very friendly,
put in that way, but it saves a deal of trouble.
Foreigners do not understand Arabs. They
ask them pointed questions, and receive pecu-
liar answers. They construe the answers to
please themselves, and come away to tell the
world that the Arabs are a nation of liars.
They are not a nation of liars. Perhaps, if
they should tell the foreigners to mind their
own affairs, and let them and theirs alone, the
foreigners would understand them better.
At all events, no one thought of questioning
Yamoud, and the white sarai grew dingy with
the desert dust, and brown from the soil of the


rising plain, and torn and ragged in the moun-
tain passes; and a sorry-looking atom the little
wanderer was, as, with the very last of the car-
avan, he entered the massive gate in the great
stone wall surrounding the City of the Sea.
There was excitement about the gate as the
caravan entered. Two white men (the first
Yamoud had ever seen), in brilliant uniforms
were posting a glaring notice at the gate. It
was blazing with bright colors, to attract at-
tention, and decorated with the picture of a
lion, with his mouth wide open, jumping up
toward something, on one side, and on the
other, an animal like a horse, though with a
horn in his forehead, was jumping toward the
same thing.
Yamoud looked at the picture for a moment,
but he did n't think much of it, and was much
more interested in looking at the white officers.
He had seen pictures before, at the khan, on
bales and boxes which caravans were carrying
from the seaport into the interior. Indeed, he
had seen that same picture more than once,
and never thought much of it; for he knew very
well that horses and lions did n't eat the same
things, and that even if they did, and if that
something in the center was really some strange
thing which both lions and horses ate, even
then he knew that the two would never take
that way of obtaining it. They would stop on
the ground and fight there, if, indeed, there was
such a thing as a strange-looking horse with a
horn in his forehead that would dare to stop
and fight a lion; and as sure as fate, the lion
would conquer, and first eat up the horse, and
then climb quietly up and eat whatever it was
on the top of the mound.
Yamoud could not read a word of the writ-
ing under the picture, any more than he could
read the writing around the pictures on the
boxes that were loaded and unloaded in the
khan. He had only a general idea that such
writing never amounted to much, and was pay-
ing his entire attention to the officers, when
some one who could read read the notice aloud,
for the benefit of many who were quite as igno-
rant as Yamoud; and as an Arab rarely lets
anything be said within reach of him without
hearing it, Yamoud's ears were as open as his
eyes, and soon his eyes quite forgot what they

had been doing, while his ears were all that
there was to him.
The notice proved to be an offer of a large
reward for any information that should lead to
the capture, dead or alive, of a great criminal
who had been reported as being somewhere in
that neighborhood. It gave a long description
of the man, and several names by which he was
best known.
Among the names was Abu'l Hasham."


WHEN Yamoud heard the name of Abu'l
Hasham his lips pressed very close together, to
keep any involuntary word from coming out,
and he fell back, more and more, as the cara-
vari moved on, till presently he was left behind.
He did not mind that, for he had nothing
more to do with the caravan. The question
of being alone and helpless and of how he was
to live did not trouble him. It did not even
occur to him. He was not an adventurer look-
ing for a fortune. He knew well enough that
when there was a dire demand for food some
way would appear for obtaining it. He was
concerned only about the kismet (mark of fate)
in his forehead which had brought him there,
that was so closely associated just now with
Abu'l Hasham.
He tried to think, but he was still walking
along the principal street of the city, to which
he was little accustomed. He was hustled and
jostled about and bewildered by such noises
and confusion as he had not known even in
the busiest hours of the khan. He was shouted
at in more languages which he could not un-
derstand, and pushed out of the way for more
kinds of people, and more strange things trun-
dled about on wheels than he supposed could
be found in all the wide world together.
There was no such thing as thinking in such
commotion, and he turned into the first byway,
and on and on, into narrower and narrower
alleys, till at last he was almost alone.
Possibly he was the only one in the city, out-
side of the slave-collector's own people, who
knew, to a certainty, that Abu'l Hasham en-
tered the gate less than twelve hours before.
He was sure that as soon as the slave-collector

read those notices he would find some way to
go out again, and would go as fast and as far
as possible, when there would be little hope
that a desert boy could follow him or find him,
or ever know where to find his mother.
Common sense told him that whatever he
proposed to
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ill r ,Iin

I 4i,' .~i :lt r,:l i in,.,

so close on either side of the alley that he could
almost touch the two at once. They rose so
high that the sun never found its way down to
the pavement, which was damp and cold and
slimy-so different from his desert sand.
It was the first time in his life that he had
ever been in a city, but Yamoud walked on
and on without noticing anything, only trying
to think what he could do and do quickly.
A water-carrier brushed past him, in the nar-
row alley, almost knocking him down with a
rude bump from the dripping water-skin slung
over one shoulder,- for the alley was hardly
wide enough for a boy and a goatskin full of
water to pass, especially if the goatskin was not
obliging enough to turn out a little. Yamoud
looked around indignantly at the carrier, who
was hooded and cloaked in rags, with bare
feet, bare arms, and bare legs; but on second
thought the boy was more attracted by the
dripping water-skin.
In a caravan water is the most precious com-
modity, and as Yamoud had depended upon
charity for everything, he had never asked for
water when he could help it; which meant not
more than twice in twenty-four hours, notwith-
standing the parching, burning sun and sand.
The patient endurance of thirst is a faculty
marvelously developed in every desert Arab,
and to admit of weakness in this is almost
as bad as being a coward. But the sight of
the water-skin reminded Yamoud that he had
reached a city, and that one of the chief things
which the children of the desert were taught
was that there was no end of water there. It
made him realize that he was very thirsty, and
he called after the carrier to give him a drink.
He was sure that the man heard him, but he
hurried on without paying the least attention.
The great desert code of hospitality was outraged
by such an act. Yamoud's blood rose, and he
called again, indignantly, and started and ran after
the man, catching him, at last, by his ragged
girdle, an act which a Mussulman would hardly
dare to disregard,-if any one was looking on,
at least,-and repeated in a shrill, angry voice:
"Water! Water! In the name of Allah give
me water!"
With a savage grunt the carrier stopped,
filled a gourd with water, and handed it to

I I -
I/ (i -i

1' i ,
I i

He was there. He had accomplished so
much, and he had not another plan or idea.
He knew that his mother would be where Abu'l
Hasham was, and that the only way to look for
her was to find Abu'l Hasham. He was sure
that they were both in the city, and that he was
in the city; but the city was a very different
place from what he had supposed. It was not
at all like the town about the khan, where one
could stand at one gate and see everything
clear to the other gate, and in ten minutes find
any one who was inside the walls.
The great graystone walls of the houses rose




Yamoud who drank it after the Arab fashion,
throwing back his head, opening his mouth
and pouring the water into it from the gourd
held almost as high as he could reach.
In this position his eyes looked up under the
efie, or head-dress, that was pulled well down
over the water-carrier's face, and rested on a
scar-the scar which he sawin the desert khan
as he looked up into the face of the Moor who
was purchasing his mother's fruit.
Even then, with the ever-ready self-control


of his nation, the little fellow did not so much
as stop drinking lest he should betray some-
thing. He finished his drink, whispered the
Mohammedan form of thanksgiving, not to the
carrier but to Allah, for water, felt the gourd

snatched from his hand, and saw the carrier
hurry on.
For a moment little Yamoud stood there,
motionless and dumb. Could any child of the
desert have stood all alone looking into the
face of Abu'l Hasham without terror? In a
moment, however, he had gathered himself to-
gether enough, at least, to realize that in the
disguise of a water-carrier the Terror of the Des-
ert was stealing through those narrow alleys in-
tending to make his escape from the city.

n ,-,,,,.1 II,. rn, y

in Irt i... Ih, 1 -i i 1 i i.. I, il [ ,- i .l ir e
H1 ., Iv. 1!-t. 11,.- I, i .l ..,u '

LIh. ufti' ,d fut i'i.h Luiua5)al, .Uimoud wicd
nothing at all. Instinctive opposition to the
white race would have led him, as it would
have led any of his people, to aid the man's
escape. But Abu'l Hasham must not escape--
not till Yamoud had found his mother. If
the boy lost sight of him he would escape. He
must not lose sight of the water-carrier.


Only this one thought possessed Yamoud, and,
frightened as he was, he fastened two bright
eyes on the retreating figure and hurried to get
nearer to it.
The man walked rapidly on, and Yamoud more
than once thought that a sudden turn had hid-
den him forever. As they twisted about through
the alleys it began to appear to Yamoud how
utterly helpless he was. A dozen times he
thought he had lost the man, and when the
carrier came in sight again what good did it do?
What good could it ever do ? The man would
surely escape him in the end-and even if he did
not escape, what was Yamoud accomplishing ?
While he was dodging along, filled with these
troubled thoughts, with his eyes fixed on the
figure of the Moor, he ran straight into one of
the officers who had been standing by the notice
at the gate. The officer shook him off, roughly
enough, but an idea came suddenly to Yamoud.
He knew that those two men wanted to cap-
ture Abu'l Hasham, and that they, at least, were
strong enough to keep him from running away.
He wondered he had not thought of that before.
He could not speak a word of anything but
Arabic, but catching the arm that was shaking
him he spoke one word which both officers
understood. It was Hasham!"
Then breaking away he started on a run down
the alley, for the water-carrier was losing no
time, and Yamoud did not propose to lose him,
whether the officers would understand and help
or not.
Fortunately they did understand and followed
him and in a short time the water-carrier was a
prisoner, bound and chained, filly identified as
Abu'l Hasham and waiting trial for his crimes.
And Yamoud was carried in great triumph to
the highest authorities as the boy who had won
the reward.
They counted out more gold than the entire
value of Mutah and the town about the khan
combined, and told Yamoud that it was his.
He only looked at it a moment and then
shook his head as he turned away.

"I don't want it," he said to the Arab inter-
preter. I did n't come out of the desert for
gold. I came for my mother, who was stolen
in the night and brought here yesterday by
Abu'l Hasham, with his caravan of slaves. I
want him to tell me where he has left the slaves
he stole, and then you can let him go. I don't
want the gold."
If they had questioned Yamoud outright they
would never have learned all this, for it would
not have been natural for him to answer; but
his little heart was about ready to break when
he found that all he had accomplished was to
put Abu'l Hasham further out of his reach than
ever, and so he told his sad plight before he
It was most important news to the officers.
It was at the time when the combined nations
were exerting their utmost strength to put down
the slave-trade, and the discovery that a great
caravan of slaves had been brought in only the
day before was almost as important as the cap-
ture of Abu'l Hasham himself.
They were not long in discovering the slaves,
and in arresting those in charge of them who
had not already run away. Then Yamoud was
taken in among the captives to find his mother
and the rest of the people of Mutah, and to tell
them they were free.
Oh, how they shouted for him when they
heard it all and knew who had done it! How
Umda clasped her son to her breast; and then
she had to lift him to her shoulder and hold
him where they all could see, while they hailed
him the Hero of the Desert! And the money he
had earned he gave to fitting out a caravan to
take all of the captives back again, over the
mountains, to their desert homes.
That the story is true any one will testify who
has ever camped for a day at a desert khan
along the trail between Algiers and Timbuctoo,
and heard the tale they are always telling of the
boy who was made the chief of Mutah before
he could lift a lance, and whose name was
Yamoud ebno'l Ahmad.




IT was Dr. John
Brown of Edin-
boro', I think who
-.- I spoke in sincere
S f-' sympathy of the
Sman who "led a
dog-less life." It
Swas Mr. "Josh Bil-
lings," I know,
",moP." who said that in
the whole history
of the world there is but one thing that money
cannot buy, to wit: the wag of a dog's tail.
And it was Professor John C. Van Dyke who
declared the other day, in reviewing the artistic
-career of Landseer, that he made his dogs too
human. It was the great Creator himself who
made dogs too human-so human that some-
times they put humanity to shame.
I have been the friend and confidant of three
dogs, who helped to humanize me for the space
of a quarter of a century, and who had souls
to be saved, I am sure; and when I cross the
Stygian river, I expect to find on the other
shore a trio of dogs wagging their tails almost
off in their joy at my coming, and with honest
tongues hanging out to lick my hands and my
feet. And then I am going, with these faithful,
devoted dogs at my heels, to talk dogs over
with Dr. John Brown, Sir Edwin Landseer, and
Mr. Josh Billings.
My first dog, "Whiskie," was an alleged Skye
terrier, coming, alas! from a clouded, not a

clear, sky. He had the most beautiful and the
most perfect head I ever saw on a dog, but his
legs were altogether too long; and the rest of
him was--just dog. He came into the family
in 1867 or 1868. He was, at the beginning,
not popular with the seniors; but he was so
honest, so ingenuous, so "square," that he made
himself irresistible, and he soon became even
dearer to my father and my mother than he was
to me. Whiskie, I am sorry to say, was not an
amiable character, except to his own people.
He hated everybody else, he barked at every-
body else, and sometimes he bit everybody else
--friends of the household as well as the
butcher-boys, the baker-boys, and the bor-
rowers of money who came to the door. He
had no discrimination in his likes and dislikes,
and naturally he was not popular, except
among his own people. He hated all cats
but his own cat, by whom he was bullied in a
most outrageous way. Whiskie had the sense
of shame and the sense of humor.
One warm summer evening, we were all sit-
ting on the front steps, after a refreshing shower
of rain, when Whiskie saw a cat in the street,
picking its dainty way among the little puddles
of water. With a muttered curse, he dashed
after the cat without discovering, until within
a few feet of it, that it was the cat who belonged
to him. He tried to stop himself in his im-
petuous career, put on all his brakes, literally
skimming along the street railway-track as if he
was out simply for a slide, passing the cat, who


gave him a half-contemptuous, half-pitying look,
and then, after inspecting the sky to see if the
rain was really over and how the wind was, he
came back to his place between my father and
myself as if it was all a matter of course and of
every-day occurrence. But he knew we were
laughing at him; and if ever a dog felt sheep-
ish, and looked sheepish--if ever a dog said,

"What an idiot I 've made of myself! Whiskie
was that dog.
Whiskie was fourteen or fifteen years of age
in 1882, when my mother went to join my
father, and I was taken to Spain by a good
aunt and cousins. Whiskie was left at home to
keep house with the two old servants who had
known him all his life, and were in perfect sym-
pathy with him. He had often been left alone

before during our frequent journeyings about
the world, the entire establishment being kept
running purely on his account. Usually he
did not mind the solitude; he was well taken
care of in our absence, and he felt that we
were coming back some day. This time he
knew it was different. He would not be con-
soled. He wandered listlessly and uselessly
about the house; into
my mother's room, into
my room; and one
Morning he was found
f in a dark closet, where
She had never gone be-
c fore, dead of a broken
He had only a stump
b m of a tail, but he will
wag it-when next I
see him.
The second dog was
Punch,"-- a perfect,
Thoroughbred Dandie
Dinmont, and the most
intelligent, if not the
most affectionate, of
the lot. Punch and I
kept house together for
a year or two, and alone.
He was my only com-
panion. The first thing
in the morning, the last
thing at night, Punch
was in evidence. He
came to the door to see
me safely off; he was
sniffing at the inside of
the door the moment
my key was heard in
the latch, no matter
how late at night; and
so long as there was light enough he watched
for me out of the window. Punch, too, had a
cat-a son, or a grandson, of Whiskie's cat.
Punch's favorite seat was a chair in the front
basement. Here, for hours, he would look out
at the passers-by -indulging in the study of
man, the proper study of his kind. The chair
was what is known as cane-bottomed," and
through its perforations the cat was fond of


with Punch's eye, she said: "I think, sir, that
the cat must have put her finger in it, when she
combed his bang." Punch loved everybody.
He seldom barked; he never bit; he cared
nothing for clothes, or style, or for social sta-
tion. He was just as cordial to the beggar as
Il he would have been to a king; and I have
'" often thought that if thieves came to break in
Sand steal, Punch, in his unfailing, hospitable
I, amiability, would have escorted them through
the house, and shown them where the treasures
-- were kept. All the children were fond of Punch,
'who accepted mauling as did no dog before. I
Sllill iiil'?i,'i' could carry him up-stairs by the tail, without a
murmur of anything but satisfaction on his part;
i and one favorite performance of ours was an ama-
teur representation of" Daniel in the Lions' Den,"
S Punch being all the animals; I, of course, be-

"vu'CH" Vtr. 0
-- _-J~-~ ..... .0
tickling Punch, as he 1
sat. When Punch felt .
that the joke had been 44
carried far enough, he
would rise in his wrath,
chase the cat out into n
the kitchen, around
the back yard, into
the kitchen again, and
then, perhaps, have it
out with the cat under
the sink--without the
loss of a hair, the use '
of a claw, or an angry
spit or snarl. Punch
and the cat slept to- r
gether, and dined to- .
gether, in utter har- -
mony; and I have 1
often gone up to my
own bed, after a soli-
tary cigar, and left
them purring and
snoring in each other's
arms. They assisted
at each other's toilets,
washed each other's
faces, and once, when
I asked Mary Cook
what was the matter "MoP" AND HIS MASTER.


ing the Prophet himself. The struggle for mas-
tery was something awful. I seemed to be torn
limb from limb, Punch roaring like a thousand
lions, and treating me as tenderly as if I were
a sucking dove. This entertainment when-
ever I had young people at the house was
of nightly occurrence, and always repeatedly
encored. Punch, however, never cared to
play Lion to the Daniel of anybody else.
One of Punch's expressions of poetic affec-
tion is still preserved by a little girl who is now
grown up, and has little girls of her own. It was
attached to a Christmas gift, a locket contain-
ing a scrap of blue-gray wool. And here it is:

Punch Hutton is ready to vow and declare
That his friend Milly Barrett 's a brick.
He begs she '11 accept of this lock of his hair,
And he sends her his love-and a lick.

Punch died very suddenly; poisoned, I am
afraid, by somebody whom he never injured.
He never injured a living soul! And when
Mary Cook dug a hole, by the side of Whiskie's
grave, one raw afternoon, and put Punch in it,
I am not ashamed to say that I shut myself in
my own room, threw myself on my bed, and
cried as I have not cried since they took my
mother away from me.
We went abroad for a year's stay after Punch
died, and rented our house to good people,
whom I have never forgiven for one thing.
They buried a dog of their own in my family
plot in the back yard, and under the ailantus-
tree which shades the graves of my cats and
my dogs; and I feel that they have profaned
the hallowed spot.
Mop was the third and the last of the trio
of dogs, and he came to me like the Quality
of Mercy. A day or two after the death of
Punch, and while I was still unreconciled to
my loss, I chanced to dine with a friend who
noticed the trappings and the suits of woe which
I wore in my face, and asked the cause. He
had in his stable a Dandle, the very counterpart
of Punch, whom he had not seen, or thought
of, for a month at least. Would I like to look
at him ? I would like to look at any dog who
looked like the companion who had been taken
from me; and a call through a speaking-tube
brought into the room, head over heels, with

all the wild impetuosity of his race, Punch per-
sonified, his ghost embodied, his twin brother.
The same long, lithe body, the same short legs
(the fore legs shaped like a capital S), the same
short tail, the same hair dragging the ground,
the same beautiful head, the same wistful,
expressive eye, the same cool, insinuating nose.
The new-comer raced around the table, passing
his master unnoticed, and not a word was
spoken. Then this Dandie cut a sort of double
pigeon-wing, gave a short bark, put his crooked,
dirty little feet on my knees, insinuated his cool
and expressive nose into my unresisting hand,
and wagged his stump of a tail with all his
loving might. It was the longed-for touch of a
vanished paw, the lick of a tongue that was still.
He was unkempt, uncombed, uncared for, but
he was another Punch, and he knew me. If
that was my dog he would not live forgotten in
a stable: he would take the place in the so-
ciety to which his birth and his evident breed-
ing entitled him, was my remark, and Mop
regretfully went back to his stall.
The next morning, early, he came into my
study, combed, kempt, cared-for, to a superla-
tive degree; with a note in his mouth signifying
that his name was Mop and that he was mine.
He was mine and I was his, as long as he lived:
some ten happy years for both of us. Without
Punch's phenomenal intelligence he had many
of Punch's ways, and all of Punch's trust and
affection; and, like Punch, he was never so
superlatively happy as when he was roughly
mauled and pulled about by his tail. When by
chance he was shut out in the back yard, he
knocked with his tail on the door; he squirmed
his way into the heart of Mary Cook in the first
ten minutes, and in half an hour he was on
terms of the most affectionate friendship with
Punch's cat.
Mop had absolutely no sense of fear or of
animal proportions. As a catter he was never
equaled, and he has been known to attack
dogs seven times as big as himself. He learned
nothing by experience: he never knew when
he was thrashed. The butcher's dog at On-
teora whipped, and bit, and chewed him into
semi-helpless unconsciousness three times a
week for four months, one summer; and yet
Mop, half paralyzed, bandaged, soaked in



Pond's Extract, unable to hold up his head
to respond to the greetings of his own family,
speechless for hours, was up and about and
ready for another fray and another chewing
the moment the butcher's dog, unseen, un-
scented by the rest of the household, appeared
over the brow of the hill.
The only creature by whom Mop was ever
really overcome was a black-and-white, common,
every-day, garden skunk. He treed this unex-
pected visitor on the wood-pile one famous
moonlight night in Onteora. And he acknow-
ledged his defeat at once, and like a man. He
realized fully his unsavory condition. He re-
tired to a far corner of the small estate, and for
a week, prompted only by his own instinct, he
kept to the leeward of Onteora society.
To go back a little. Mop was the first per-
son who was told of my engagement, and he
was the first to greet the wife when she came
home, a bride, to his own house. He had been
made to understand, from the beginning, that
she did not like dogs in general. And he set
himself out to please, and to overcome the un-
spoken antagonism. He had a delicate part to
play, and he played it with a delicacy and a
tact which rarely have been equaled. He did
not assert himself; he kept himself in the back-
ground; he said little; his approaches at first
were slight and almost imperceptible, but he was
always ready to do, or to help, in an unaggressive
way. He followed her about the house, up-stairs
and down-stairs, and he looked and waited.
Then he began to sit on the train of her gown;
to stand as close to her as was fit and proper;
once in a while to jump upon the sofa beside
her, or into the easy-chair behind her, winking
at me, from time to time, in his quiet way.
And at last he was successful. One dreary
winter, when he suffered terribly from inflam-
matory rheumatism, he found his mistress mak-
ing a bed for him by the kitchen fire, getting
up in the middle of the night to go down to
look after him, when he uttered in pain the
cries he could not help. And when a bottle of
very rare old brandy, kept by me for some extra-
ordinary occasion of festivity, was missing, I was
informed that it had been used in rubbing Mop!
Mop's personal history I never learned.
Told once that he was the purest Dandie in

America, and asked his pedigree, I was moved
to look into the matter of his family tree. It
seems that a certain sea-captain was commis-
sioned to bring back to this country the best
Dandie to be had in all Scotland. He sent
his quartermaster to find him, and the quarter-
master found Mop under a private carriage, in
Argyle street, Glasgow, and brought him on
board. That is Mop's pedigree.
Mop died of old age and of a complication
of diseases, in the spring of 1892. He lost his
hair, he lost his teeth, he lost everything but
his indomitable spirit; and when almost on the
brink of the grave, he stood in the back yard
for eight hours in a March snow-storm, motion-
less, and watching a great black cat on othe
fence, whom he hypnotized, and who finally
came down to be killed. The cat weighed
more than Mop did, and was very gamy. And
the encounter nearly cost me a lawsuit.
This was Mop's last public appearance. He
retired to his couch before the kitchen range,
and gradually and slowly he faded away before
our eyes; amiable, unrepining, devoted to the
end. A consultation of doctors showed us that
his case was hopeless, and Mop was condemned
to be carried off to be killed humanely by the
society founded by Mr. Bergh, where without
cruelty they end the sufferings of animals. Mop
had not left his couch for weeks. I spoke to
him about it, with tears in my eyes, one night.
I said: To-morrow must end it, old friend.
'T is for your sake and your relief. It almost
breaks my heart, old friend. But there is an-
other and a better world even for dogs, old
friend. And for old acquaintance' sake, and
for old friendship's sake, I must have you sent
on ahead of me, old friend."
The next morning, when I came down to
breakfast, there by the empty chair sat Mop.
How he got himself up the stairs nobody knows.
But there he was, and the society which a good
man founded saw not Mop that day.
The end came soon afterward. And Mop
has gone on to join Whiskie and Punch in
their waiting for me. How they can agree with
one another I do not know; they never agreed
with any dogs in this world. But that they are
waiting together, all three of them, for me, and
in harmony, I am perfectly sure.




ON the outskirts of the village a little brook
came gurgling down from the hills, gossiping
among boulders and loitering in pools, light-
stepping and blithe as a school-girl. It lin-
gered a long while under a cool bridge, where
its sandy channel was crossed by the village
street, then went tripping and singing onward
to the river, less than a quarter of a mile
Just above the bridge and a little back from

the street, with only the brook and its shady
banks between them, were two as pleasant rural
homes as you will find anywhere in a day's
drive among New England suburbs. The one
on the left (as you looked over at them from
the bridge) was the old parsonage: a plain
three-gabled white house, with a broad porch,
a pretty garden of shrubbery and fruit-trees, a
grassy front yard, and a background of wooded
hillsides. This had been the home of the best
beloved minister the parish had ever had, until
his death two or three years before; it was still
occupied by his widow, Mrs. Lisle, and their


three children, and the present minister, a young
bachelor, boarded with her.
The residence on the right (you are still
looking from the bridge) was more modem
and much more pretentious. It was painted
in soft contrasting buff and brown colors; it
had imposing piazzas, bay windows and tur-
rets, and large plate-glass panes, through which,
when the Melvertons were at home and the
house was open, you had charming glimpses of
rich draperies.
But it was often closed in summer. Why
anybody should wish to leave so lovely a coun-
try-home in the loveliest season of the year,
was a mystery to many people. But Mrs.
Melverton (she also was a widow) thought a
change desirable for her children and espe-
cially for herself; and punctually on the fifth
day of July of every year (the boys stayed for
the boat-races on the Fourth) the house was
shut up, and the family went off to spend a
few weeks at the seaside.
Again this year, on the forenoon of the fifth,
a wagon-load of family trunks was sent-off early
to be forwarded by rail, accompanied by the
second son and two servants, who were to
open the seaside cottage. Mrs. Melverton de-
parted soon after, in her own carriage with
the younger children, while Fred, the oldest
son, was left to lock up the house and follow
on his bicycle.
Fred had gone through the upper chambers,
and at last stood before the sideboard in the
dining-room, looking intently at a gold-lined
silver goblet held in his hand: a beautiful prize
which he had won in a race on the river the
day before. It bore an engraved inscription
commemorating the event, with a blank left
for the insertion of the winner's name.
"I ought to have had this sent to the en-
graver's, after bringing it home to show to
the family," he said to himself; "or I should
have packed it for the beach. I don't like to
take it on my safety for an eighteen-mile run."
Perceiving a movement behind him, he
turned and saw a boy, about sixteen years
old, standing in the open door that led into
the back entry. This was Gideon Ketterell
(commonly called Gid), who was to be left in
charge of the house, and to whom the young

master had been giving instructions as to the
care of it. Fred had not intended to exhibit
the cup, and he was about to slip it quietly out.
of sight, when, reflecting that Gideon had prob-
ably noticed it in his hand, he concluded it:
would be better to take the boy a little into
his confidence.
Have you seen this, Gid ? he asked,
holding it up in the light that came through
the lace draperies of a window the blinds of
which were still open.
I saw it when it was presented on the boat-
house float yesterday," the boy replied, ap-
proaching, as it was extended for his inspection.
"The fellows all envied you then, I tell you!"
he exclaimed, with a grin of bashful admiration.
"Splendid, ain't it ? "
"It will do," said young Melverton, with
quiet satisfaction. "You can go now. I '11
meet you outside."
He did n't care to be seen locking the cup
in the sideboard drawer. Yet the boy might
have observed what was done with it if he had
had the curiosity to turn in the dim entry, and
look back through the half-open door. That
Gid Ketterell was not altogether lacking in that
very human trait will be shown in the course
of our story.
The young master presently went out by
the front door, taking the key with him, while
Gid made his exit by a rear door, walked
around the house, and met him at the foot of
the piazza steps.
"Well, Gideon," Fred Melverton said, stand-
ing beside his shining wheel,- a fine, athletic
figure, in his dark-gray bicycle cap and suit,-
"you have your key, and I have mine, and
now I am off. You think you understand
everything I have told you?"
I guess so," Gideon replied earnestly.
In a few minutes he would be left in a po-
sition of responsibility and advantage to which
he had looked forward with anxious joy and
pride; and now, at the last moment, he felt his.
heart beat with repressed excitement.
He had a good-natured face, a short nose
with uptilted nostrils, a weak nether lip, and
slouching manners,--all in singular contrast with
the clear-cut features and resolute mien of the
trim young prize-winner who stood before him.


"--If I don't forget," the boy added, feeling
the other's keen blue eyes upon him.
"You must n't forget. One thing particularly.
You 're a good boy, Gideon, as your mother
says, if you only keep free from bad influences.
There 's a certain class of boys that must n't
come about this place while you are here. I
don't mean such boys as Tracy Lisle; the more
you see of young fellows like him the better."
But he does n't care to see much of me," said
Gideon, with a sheepish hanging of the head.
'"I 'm afraid that 's more your fault than his,"
Fred Melverton replied. "It is because you
see too much of the other class of boys.
I mean those that take Oscar Ordway for a
leader. Oscar, especially, you are to steer clear
of. Have nothing whatever to say to him if
he comes about the place. I suppose it is
hardly necessary I should charge you to let
nobody into the house unless he brings an order
from my mother or me."
Of course I should know enough for that,"
Gideon replied, with a foggy sort of smile
playing about his irresolute mouth.
Of course! the young proprietor repeated.
Good-by "
And, with a farewell wave of the hand, he
remounted his wheel, and sped swiftly away.
The boy's face brightened.
"I 'm master now," he said aloud; "and
I 've got a snap "



HE said that to himself two or three times
on his way home to dinner, he said it to boys
he met in the village, and he said it to his
mother, whom he found hanging clothes on a
line in the back-yard.
His father also overheard the remark as he
sat on a bench by the shed door, smoking
his pipe, with his feet on a box; but it was n't
meant for him. Old man Ketterell" did n't
count for much in his own household.
The mother was a woman-of-all-work who
was very favorably regarded in the village for
her excellent washing and ironing and scrub-
bing, for her stout frame and her equally stout

integrity, and for her tireless energy in supporting
her family of four children, as well as the hus-
band and father, who (as she herself declared,
from bitter knowledge of the fact) was "too
shif'less to breathe." She was of Irish parent-
age; and it was thought that Ketterell, who
came of a good American family, sunk pretty
low in the social scale when he married her.
But now people wondered how low he would
have sunk if she had n't (so to speak) kept his
nose above water.
He got the nickname of "old man" Ket-
terell before he was forty, by which time he had
contentedly settled down into a state of shame-
less dependence upon her industry. He was
always "waiting for a job"; while for her
jobs were always waiting--sometimes weeks
ahead. She had red arms, greenish eyes, and
tawny hair combed straight back over her
head and down her neck.
The greenish eyes gave Gideon a contemp-
tuous flash as he came bragging into the yard.
"A snap, is it ? she cried, stooping for a
clothes-pin. "That's your notion of exerting
yourself to gain an honest living, as it has been
your father's notion before you! "
Old man Ketterell took his pipe from his
mouth with a scowling grimace, as if minded to
answer the taunt, but merely changed the po-
sition of his legs on the box, sighed resignedly,
and put his pipe back again. Mrs. Ketterell
usually governed her domestic realm with ex-
emplary patience-and benevolence; but when
there were signs of these fine qualities be-
coming overstrained, it was the part of wisdom
(as the easy-going old man used to say) "to
stand from under."
"A mighty poor notion it is!" she went
on, pinning a wet garment to the sagging line,
'"-the worst possible way to take advantage
of a chance that has come to you as this one
has. Hold up that pail of clo'es-pins for
me, will you ? Don't be so tender of your own
precious back, when you see me tugging and
straining as I am now."
Gideon obeyed meekly.
You are to have five dollars a week, with-
out an employer's eyes to keep ye straight,"

she continued. "You can do much, or you
can do little, according to your conscience:


make an honest job of it, earn your wages, and
be gaining a good character into the bargain;
or you can make a snap of it, slight your work,
and begin investing your youth in the rotten
bank'your father has been putting his capital
into all his life, with the results you know."
Gideon cast a glance over the pan of clothes-
pins in the direction of his easy-going parent,
who, I regret to say, gave him an indulgent
"But let me tell you one thing most em-
phatically! she added, standing with a wet
and wrinkled skirt half unfolded on her hands.
If you misbehave in the matters the Mel-
vertons have intrusted you with, out of the pure
kindness of their hearts, and their respect for
your hard-working parent--everybody knows
which parent that is!-if you fool away your
chance, or come out of it with a bad name,
I promise you such a whaling as you have n't
enjoyed the blessing of for many a day "
Gideon looked hard at the clothes-pins, and
waited for the squall to blow over. She re-
I 'm minded to administer it to you now,
at the outset, to make sure of your excellent
conduct. There 's nothing under the broad
canopy so wholesome and improving to you as
a smart walloping. It corrects your bad ten-
dencies, and just fills you up with goodness for
a month or two. It 's a sort of discipline that
would work well, too, in another case I might
mention; for I can see him nodding and wink-
ing at you now, through his everlasting pipe
Old man Ketterell stopped signaling in-
stantly, and looked discreetly serious; there
being perhaps some grounds for the popular
belief that the strong-armed washerwoman
could handle her husband as a cat tosses a
mouse, and that she had been known to do it
at times of extreme provocation.
"What do you say for yourself-you son
of your father, every inch of you?" she de-
manded, poising the last of the clothes-pins.
Of course I 'm going to do my best," said
Gideon, as if he meant it; and no doubt he
did mean it sincerely at the moment, with the
green fire of his mother's menacing eyes flash-
ing down upon him.

Her manner changed in an instant; the stern
features softened.
"That 's what I 've been waiting for you
to say; and now if you 'll pledge yourself to
keep that good resolution, you may come in to
dinner; for I see Lucy has got the potatoes
on the table. The deserving and the unde-
serving will sit down together," she added, with
a grim look at her husband.



THE Melverton house had been closed three
days, or opened only to let in air and sunshine
in fine weather, according to the instructions
Mr. Fred had given the boy who was left in
charge. It was fine weather on the eighth,-
almost too fine,- for the early part of July that
year was dry. The place that morning pre-
sented a pleasing picture; the brook plashed
in the little ravine, under the rhododendrons
that bordered it on the Melverton side; the
jets of a fountain on the edge of the lawn glit-
tered in the sun; birds flitted about among the
firs and larches and fruit-trees; and a single
human figure added life to the scene.
This was a coatless boy, in a broad-brimmed
straw hat, with a pair of dark suspenders form-
ing a large letter X on the back of his shirt a
homely boy with a short nose, uptilted at an
angle of about forty-five degrees, and a loose
under lip in short, the boy we know. Not
so handsome as some boys you may have seen;
yet it must be owned that he gave a very
pretty effect to the landscape, standing there
on the edge of the lawn, before the banks of
flower-beds in front of the house, holding the
end of a hose which stretched its wavy length
away across the green grass and graveled walk,
like a preposterously long and slim black snake.
The head of the snake in the boy's hand
was a lawn-sprinkler, which gave it a pro-
digious crest of silver spray, out-glittering the
fountain itself, forming, indeed, a sort of mova-
ble fountain, that danced about on the lawn,
and among the flowers and shrubs, at the boy's
own sweet will.
He seemed to find pleasure in his task, if



ever a boy did. He sent the showers wher-
ever his fancy led, now on the flower-beds,
and now on the lawn, even occasionally on
the fountain itself, to watch the curiously min-
gling jets; watering a good deal in the most
convenient places, and neglecting too much
some that could n't be reached without more
effort than he cared to put forth. Sometimes
he amused himself by making rainbow flashes
in the spray, tossing it in the sunshine, regard-
less where it fell, even when it came down upon
his own head. And all the while he indulged
his boyish dreams.
He dreamed, for one thing, that the hose
was long enough so that he could carry his
sprinkler to the river, and make a mimic rain
that might delude the fish into biting, as they
are thought to do on wet days better than
in fine weather.
He also dreamed that he was no longer
the son of old man Ketterell and the village
washerwoman, but one of the Melverton
boys, and that this fine estate was his rightful
He would have liked very well to be Fred
or Frank Melverton for a little while, but per-
haps not all the time. He would have liked
their guns and their bicycles, and some of
their money to spend (or rather a good deal
of it), and, instead of having them boss him,
he would have much preferred to boss them.
But as to the rest-the hard studying (Fred was
in the Institute of Technology, and Frank was
preparing for Harvard), the cultivated man-
ners, and the kind of company they kept-
he was n't at all sure but that he might just as
well remain Gid Ketterell, with his own boy
life unbothered by books, and with his own
free-and-easy companions.
Steady occupation, or restraint of any sort,
did not suit his constitution. But he now had
a job about as much to his mind as any-
thing in the way of employment could well be.
He had been at it three days, and had n't got
sick of it yet. Besides having a general care
of the house, and watering the garden, he was
to feed the cat and the chickens, run the lawn-
mower, and keep the flower-beds free from
weeds, with other light duties usually per-
formed by the coachman, now absent with

the family. Gid had not yet got so far as
hoeing and pulling weeds, which, being the
most disagreeable of his tasks, he naturally
postponed as long as possible.
Having sprinkled some things that needed
water, and several others that did n't, he was
not the kind of boy to miss a chance of giv-
ing the cat a shower-bath. Puss darted away,
shaking herself, to his immense delight.
"It did n't take her long to get her money's
worth!" was his comment on this pleasant
He bethought him next to look into the
trees for a bird's nest, which could n't escape
so easily. A nest of young birds with a pair
of distressed old ones hovering and chirping
about to defend them, would have been espe-
cially inviting. He found only a purple finch's
nest, from which the young finches had fortu-
nately flown; he was showering that, and im-
agining what sport it would be if the little
half-fledged bodies were still there to receive
the drenching (though Gid was not an excep-
tionally bad-hearted boy), when a chance for
livelier mischief presented itself.
"There 's Midget! he said to himself, turn-
ing his back, and pretending not to notice
a child straying up through the shrubbery
from the brookside. I '11 give him Hail
Columby! "



HE was a little fellow, not more than five
or six years old, and small for his years. He
wore a short frock like a girl's, that showed be-
neath it his bare brown legs and feet; he was
bareheaded, and he had fine flaxen hair, the
light locks of which strayed over his tanned
face as the bushes brushed it, or the wind blew.
It was as bright and happy a face at that
moment as the morning sun shone upon. Yet
there was something strange about it, you could
hardly have told what: there was something
strange in all the looks and movements of this
wandering elf. If he had been the only being
in the world, he could n't have seemed more
lonely or more deeply absorbed in his own lit-
tle life. He drew down the drooping rhodo-


dendron branches as if he loved them, and
held the glossy leaves to his cheeks and lips.
And when he came to the flower-beds, he
clasped his tiny hands as he bent over the
blooms in mute rapture, touching and smelling.
He did not hear Gideon Ketterell, who came
up behind him; he did not even hear the pat-
tering of the hose-shower on the borders and
-.. -1.. Alas! for more than three years those
little ears had never heard a sound, neither the
songs of birds nor the falling of the summer
rain, nor the voice of any other child, of bro-
ther or sister, nor the words of endearment his
mother bestowed upon him all the more pas-
sionately for his sad bereavement. He had
forgotten to prattle, or even to call her by the
dearest of all names.
His mother was the Widow Lisle, whose home
was across the brook. This was her youngest
child, Laurence, pet-named Laurie, but often-
est called Midget on account of his odd ways,
small size, and restless and sometimes mischie-
vous activity. He was an object of love and
Wonder and pity to almost everybody, only
a few of the rudest boys making fun of his
infirmity. Gid, I regret to record, was one of
Midget had plucked a sprig of heliotrope,
and was holding it to his face in an ecstasy of
pleasure, when Gid, who had been watching
for a favorable moment, turned the hose full
upon him. In a moment the child was com-
pletely drenched. But the result was n't just
what Gideon had anticipated. Midget did not
run away as the cat did; he did not scream -
the hapless child had long since lost the power
to scream. He turned, and with the water
dripping from his hair and face and arms,
gave Gid a look of such astonishment and dis-
tress, that it must have touched even that care-
less nature, for Gid immediately pointed the
sprinkler away.
You should n't be picking the flowers. I
am here to take care of 'em," Gid said, by way
of excusing himself to himself, rather than to
the child, who could n't hear.
Having winked the water from his eyes, the
child kept them fixed on Gid with an intense
frowning gaze, full of unutterable grief and re-
proach, marvelous in one so young, at the

same time backing slowly away as from an ob-
ject of dread. So he reached the rhododen-
drons, into which he darted and disappeared.
"What did the little imp look at me that
way for ?" Gid muttered, with an uncomforta-
ble feeling, as he began to reflect seriously on
what he had done. "The wetting won't do
him any harm, though his mother may n't see
it in that light. Anyhow, he won't come in
here again very soon."
Gid was mistaken, however, about that. He
was watering the flower-beds profusely, and
trying to forget the unpleasant incident, when
a rustling of the rhododendrons and a sound
of footsteps attracted his attention; and there,
emerging from the bushes, was Midget, drag-
ging forward by the coat-skirt a boy of about
Gid's own age and size.
It was Tracy Lisle, the little deaf-mute's
elder brother.
Hello, Trace! said Gideon carelessly, as
he proceeded with his sprinkling.
Master Lisle advanced with stern looks and
determined steps to the graveled walk where
Gid stood. He wore a somewhat soiled suit
of gray, and a soft felt hat with the rim turned
up in front, giving him a somewhat aggressive
aspect, and he walked straight up to Master
Ketterell. His blue eyes sparkled, and his
naturally ruddy face had a flush of excitement
in it, as he demanded:
"Gid Ketterell, what did you wet my little
brother for ? "
Oh, him ? Gid replied, with a laugh. I
was watering when he came in the way of my
sprinkler. That 's all there is about that."
Gid Ketterell," the older brother replied,
"if every true word you speak was a bushel
of cherries on that tree, there would n't be
enough to climb for. He got his wetting in a
different way."
How do you know ? Gid retorted, with
sullen defiance.
He says so."
"Says so? I never knew the little monkey
could speak." And Gid giggled.
Little monkey ?-call my brother little mon-
key ? Tracy cried out, in blazing indignation.
You must n't dispute my word then," said
Gid, starting back in a belligerent attitude,



and pointing his hose aside. "Need n't double
your fist and look so savage! Don't you strike
me, Trace Lisle "
"I 've no notion of striking you, much as
you deserve it," Tracy replied. My fist
doubled itself, as any honest fist would, know-
ing what you 've done, and then hearing you
deny it, and call him such a name as that; a
child that can't even speak in self-defense!"
"Oh! I thought he could speak! Gid jeered,
still watering his flowers, while he stood ready
to dodge a blow.
He can't speak a word, and you know it.
For all that, he can tell more truth in half a
minute than you are apt to tell in all day. He
ran home and told just how he got his drench-
ing. Now he '11 tell you."
So saying, Tracy made a gesture to the child,
who stood watching the disputants as eagerly
and as intelligently as if he had understood
every word. A brief communication by signs
passed between the brothers; Midget ran to
the edge of the flower-bed, pretended to pick
a sprig of heliotrope and hold it to his nose,
and then suddenly to feel the shower from
Gid's sprinkler splash over him; acting the lit-
tle pantomime with an amusing liveliness at
which Gid had to laugh.
He did n't come in the way of your
sprinkler; the sprinkler came in his way,"
said Tracy.
"I guess that 's about the size of it," Gid
answered. He was 'hooking' flowers; I am
here to protect the flowers, and I thought I 'd
give him a lesson."
"He hooking flowers ? I 'd like to hear you
say that to one of the Melvertons! Tracy ex-
claimed. "They encourage him to come in
and pick all the flowers he wants. They 're
as kind to him as if he was their own child, and
they 're always sending bouquets to my mo-
ther. The idea of your protecting the flowers
from any one of us, and especially from him! "
And he made a motion for Midget to help him-
self to the heliotropes, which the child did,
casting up at Gideon a glance of gleeful tri-
You can take the responsibility," Gid mut-
tered, discomfited and surly. "The Melvertons
did n't say anything to me about letting neigh-

bors come in and help themselves to things. I
supposed I was here to prevent just that."
"Suppose you are," cried Tracy. "They
expected you to use some reason and decency
in guarding the premises. A good house-dog
would do that much."
Now look here!" broke forth young Ket-
terell, losing his temper. I 've heard enough
of your insults. Get off these grounds, or I '11
give you a soaking; and don't you ever set foot
here again as long as I am in charge."
"You won't always be in charge," Tracy
retorted scornfully. "You can give me a soak-
ing if you think it will be wise to do so, but
you 'll wish you had n't. You don't know the
Melvertons so well as I do, and they don't know
you. There '11 be an end of your insolence
to neighbors and meanness to little children
on this place soon as ever they find you out."
And, taking Midget by the hand, he walked
off very deliberately, leaving Gideon stifled with
feelings he did n't deem it safe to indulge.


DESCENDING into the cool ravine, Tracy
caught the child up in his arms, and was cross-
ing the brook with him, when he met their
mother coming down the opposite slope.
"I heard high words," she said, with a look
of pain in her gentle face, "and I am so sorry!"
I 'm sorry, too," said Tracy. I hate to
get into a row, especially with a fellow like Gid
Ketterell; but it was just as Laurie told us.
He was picking a flower when Gid came up
behind and showered him. I let him under-
stand that he did n't own quite all the earth."
At the same time Midget, perched proudly
on his brother's shoulder, with one little arm
about his neck, held up in the other hand his
bunch of heliotropes, as if to show that he
had come off triumphant.
With the trees and shrubs of the brookside
for a background, they formed a picture that
made the mother smile, with moist eyes.
"Well, I hope it is all over," she said, and
that you won't go near him again."
I sha'n't go near him, be sure But it is n't
all over. The Melvertons shall know how he


treated Laurie," Tracy declared. "The idea
of punishing him for picking a flower, where
he has always been as free as the birds are,
and as welcome!"
It is exasperating," said Mrs. Lisle, as they
walked up toward the parsonage. Gideon
did n't consider. But I 've no doubt he is
sorry enough now. Don't, my son, think for a
moment of reporting him to the Melvertons."
He deserves it," said Tracy, scowling at the
recollection of the wrong. Why did they ever
engage such a fellow to take care of the place ?"
"To encourage him, I suppose, and to help
his hard-working mother. The Melvertons do
a great deal for her, as they do for everybody
who needs their help," said Mrs. Lisle; "and
no doubt they thought it would be wise to help
her in this way."
It seems to me like encouraging laziness,"
replied Tracy. Gid bragged to the boys the
other day of his 'snap'; he was to have five
dollars a week just for doing-what ? I 'd like
to do all he does, and more, with no pay at all,
merely as a return for what the Melvertons are
always doing for us. They might know I would.
What did they pass by me for, and get a Ket-
terell boy?-of all boys in this town!" he
exclaimed indignantly.
They had reached the porch of the old par-
sonage, and Mrs. Lisle, seated in a porch-chair,
was waiting for the child to bring a dry frock
and a comb she had sent him for.
I 'm afraid you are a little jealous, my son,"
she replied. "If any good can come to one of
poor Mrs. Ketterell's family, you should rejoice,
as I do."
If he would only do something to deserve
it, and behave himself! Tracy murmured,
seating himself on the porch rail. "That 's
all. How cunning he is, is n't he ? gazing
intently at the child's forehead, as the hair
was combed smoothly away from it. The little
hand was still clasping the bunch of flowers.
Midget had returned in a dry frock, which
his sister Ida had put on him, and his mother
had taken him on her lap.
The idea of anybody being harsh or mean
with him!" exclaimed Tracy. It makes me
want to go right back and give that fellow a
well-deserved thrashing! "

"What fellow? How did Laurie get wet ?"
inquired the sister, a girl of seventeen, with
graceful ways, and a complexion like a peach,
which contrasted charmingly with her plain
She had followed Midget to the porch to
learn the particulars of the story he had tried
to tell her. Then a man's voice was heard,
and Mr. Walworth, the young minister who
boarded at the parsonage, mounted the steps.
He, too, must know what had happened.
Laurie has had a little shower-bath; noth-
ing serious," Mrs. Lisle answered pleasantly.
She was willing to let the matter pass so.
But Tracy, boy-like, still burning with indig-
nation, poured forth his own version of the
Mr. Walworth, a slender, quiet young man,
stood hat in hand, listening with interest, and
watching the combing of the child's hair, then
remarked dryly, lifting his eyes to Ida's:
One might do Gideon a more substantial
favor than to let Fred Melverton know of this."
We won't let him know," said Ida, a warm
color mounting to her cheeks. Midget is
none the worse for his little shower-bath. I
should be ashamed to trouble the Melvertons
with so trifling an affair."
"You are very forgiving," said the young
minister, with a smile of admiring approval; for
he had noticed how indignant Ida was while
listening to the story.
I'm not!" said Tracy, far from pacified.
" But Fred sha'n't hear of it from me. Only,
Gid Ketterell must keep his hands and his
hose-sprinkler off from our Laurie in future."
It was n't long before Midget was playing
about the Melverton place again, without pay-
ing much heed to Gideon. But Tracy took
care not to cross the boundary brook.

ON the following Tuesday (we shall have
reason to remember the day), Gid Ketterell
was fitting his key to the back door of the
Melverton house late in the afternoon, when a
green apple came skipping along the walk and
hit his foot. He turned suddenly, and saw


an unwelcome face smiling through the shrub-
bery above the grassy bank.
Look here, Osk Ordway," he said, "there 's
no market for green sass on these premises!"
And he kicked the apple away.
Oh, close your candy-trap!" said Osk,
good-naturedly, coming over the bank.
He was a strongly built youth, with a bend
in his shoulders that threw his head well for-
ward, and gave him an air of peering curiously
into things, with a pair of small keen eyes, from
under prominent brows. He had a powerful
neck, a white throat, and a short, curved nose.
There was a humorous quirk to his mouth and
he spoke with a sarcastic drawl as he came
You have n't got the deed of this property
yet, Gid. The boys said you seemed to think
you had; but I ventured to remark that you
would n't play the Grand Mogul with me."
"There's no Grand Mogul about it," Gid
replied; "but I came here on one condition,
as I told 'em that I was n't to have any loaf-
ing about the place."
"But that don't apply to me, you know,"
said Osk, laughing.
It applies to you particularly," Gid replied;
and the two stood looking into each other's
eyes, Gid with a weak assumption of authority,
Osk with amused insolence.
"How have I gained that honor--me
particularly?" Osk drawled.
Shall I tell you the truth ? Gid asked.
"If you have n't been too long out of prac-
tice, and got rusty, give us a sample."
Here it is, then! I hope you '11 like the
quality and send in your order. Fred Melver-
ton says to me, he says, 'You are not to have
any loafers around, and I warn you against that
Oscar Ordway particularly.' I did n't mean to
tell you, and hurt your feelings," Gid continued,
"but you forced me to."
Oh, you don't hurt my feelings in the least.
It 's too killing! I knew I should be enter-
tained if I came to look at you on your throne,
Gid, but I did n't expect this." Osk seemed
choking with laughter. Don't say another
word, or I shall drop. A good smart fly might
kick me over! "

"I 'm glad it amuses you," said Gideon,
blushing very red.
"Amuses me? Why, I 'm thinking how it
will tickle the boys! I know they '11 ask why
Fred Melverton did n't put me in charge, and
warn me against you, and I 'm bothered if I
can tell 'em. But see here, Gid!" Oscar be-
came less savagely ironical. "You and I are
too old friends for this. We 've been on too
many after-dark watermelon raids and grape-
spoiling expeditions together. What are you
going to do now?"
Gid could bear anything better than ridicule,
and he was glad to escape from Osk's.
I 've got to shut up the house," he replied.
"I 've had the windows open to air it off; now
I 'm going to fasten up and go home."
I thought you 'd be going about this time;
hurry up, and I '11 go with you," said Osk.
"All right," Gid replied, glad to get rid of
him in that way, "if you don't mind waiting."
I 'd sooner go in with you than wait out-
side," Osk said, making a motion to enter with
him. I 'd like to see the inside of this house;
they say it 's out of sight."
"It is-out of sight for you!" Gid ex-
claimed, trying to keep him back.
"Oh, bosh!" Osk said, forcing his way in.
"Where 's the harm?"
"If anybody knew!" Gid faltered weakly.
"Anybody ain't going to know," said Osk.
He was already inside, peering about with his
deep-set eyes, but taking care not to betray too
much admiration. "It 's all very fine, as the
toad said of the new garden-rake; but I 'd just
as lief be in my own comfortable hole. A man
can't more than live if you put him into a gold-
and-silver house," he added philosophically.
It 's dead against the rules, letting you in
here! Gid remonstrated, irritated and anxious.
I understand all that," said Osk, putting
him carelessly aside. By the way, speaking
of gold and silver, I 'd give more to see that
prize cup Fred won on the Fourth than all
these fine fixings. Do you know where it is ? "
If I do," replied Gideon, "it won't do you
any good." And he went on closing windows
and blinds, followed from room to room by his
persistent companion.

(To be continued.)




OF all the curious occurrences in this won-
derful world, one of the most comical is sud-
denly to behold a small, circular piece of earth
rise at your feet, revealing a round hole, with
a black, hairy head protruding therefrom, in a
cautious, knowing way. Your surprise keeps
you motionless, and so the spider throws wide
open the little door, and marches boldly forth.
Once, you know,
There came a' big spider,
And sat down beside her,
And frightened Miss Muffet away;

but, in your case, it is your funny little visitor
who becomes panic-stricken, and suddenly van-
ishes into the earth. Then you wonder what it
all means, and begin to search for your comi-
cal visitor's place of retreat.
But to find it is not an easy task, for so clev-
erly has the fat little workwoman concealed her
gate, that, even after the most careful search,
you are unable to detect a single spot where
the surface of the soil appears to have been
disturbed; so you do the wisest thing in your
power-go quietly back to your seat, and re-
main there in perfect silence. By this time you
have rightly suspected your shy visitor to be the
trap-door spider, and you also may be aware
that the night, which is rapidly approaching,
will lure her again from her home in search of
her evening meal. When the trap once more
shows itself, by being lifted, you understand
why you could not find it before. The cunning
spider had covered it with moss, so that, when
VOL. XXIII.-10. .

shut, no trace of it was visible. This time si-
lence is your motto; not a muscle must be
stirred; a moment more, and that queer little
house will be at your disposal ah! that was
an unlucky sneeze.
Back pops your fat friend, and down goes
the door in a flash. Never mind, there is no
harm done, after all; for this time you have
marked the spot, and can pursue your investi-
Open the door first, and look into the home
that it guards; but how difficult it is to open
that door! You succeed in lifting it gently,
about an eighth of an inch, just enough to see
the tenant hastily hooking her hind legs to the
silken lining of the trap, and her fore legs to
the sides of the tube itself, and then you are
astonished to find the little door
jerked from your fingers
and closely

shut again. On
returning to the
attack, you are
Again baffled. The
sturdy householder
defends her prem-
A TUG OF 1WAR. ises with a desperate
strength; so deter-
mined is her opposition, indeed, that you finally
desist, lest the delicate hinge of the lid should be
broken in the struggle.
Failing to take her house by storm, you try
mining, and carefully set to work to dig away


the earth around the long, cylindrical nest,
which you know extends below that funny door.
Even this does not drive the spider to desert her
home. Actual violence must be employed be-
fore this faithful freeholder will yield up her
hard-earned burrow. And when she is finally
forced to this extremity, your heart fails you,
and you almost regret driving the brave little
tenant away.
Full of life and activity when she first peered



out upon you, brave and determined in her de-
fense of her home, the spider is no sooner com-
pelled to desert her post than a total change
comes over her. Though herself uninjured, she
remains fixed on the spot whence her burrow
has been removed, or else moves slowly about,
without aim or purpose. Who will say that
spiders cannot feel grief?
Before examining more closely into the tubu-
lar nest you hold in your hand, observe what
a strange-looking architect constructed it. She
is a chubby little worker, about an inch and a
half in length, and with a large, round abdo-
men, from which project the spinnerets that
manufactured the silken lining of her nest. The
legs are short, but strong, and she is armed with
a dangerous-looking pair of fangs, so much like
those of a crab that the French call her a
" crab-spider." She sleeps most of the day, and
at night sallies forth on hunting expeditions,
from which she never returns unsuccessful. She
preys upon all insects, but especially beetles;
and down there, in what you might call the cel-

lar, you will be likely to find some remains of this
favorite game.
When the loose earth is shaken from the
nest, one can see exactly how it is made.
When the trap-door spider selects a site for her
home (the site is invariably on sloping ground),
she first sinks a tunnel-a straight, smooth, cir-
cular shaft. This task completed, she next be-
gins a lining, that the earth may not fall in.
The outer lining, as you will see, is rough, and
of a brownish color; it is laid on in flakes, and
is really so stiff and harsh that under other cir-
cumstances you would more readily believe it
to be the bark of a tree than a web woven by
a spider. But there is an inner lining to this
outer one, and this is of a wonderfully different
texture, being perfectly smooth, and of silky
softness; moreover, it is white instead of
brown, looking a good deal like unsized paper.
If you were to apply a microscope to this lin-
ing, you would find that, like the outer one, it is
formed of threads twisted together without or-
der or regularity, and of very coarse threads,
too,- coarse when compared with the webs
spun by the majority of spiders. Examining
the trap-door, you will find that it is made of
the same materials as the tube, only somewhat
thicker, and circular in shape. Is it not mar-
velous how exactly it fits the mouth of the tube,
being neither too large nor too small? -and
yet, incredible as it may seem, the inner edges of
both the tube and the door are beveled, so as to
make a certainty of their fitting tightly together.
The very shape of this little door is wonderful,
too. In the first place, no human workman
could have disguised its location more thor-
oughly, had concealment been the chief object
sought; for, not content with thatching her
door with moss, the fat little worker has hidden
its circular edge by a series of minute projec-
tions formed of moss and earth. Besides, this
strange trap is so arranged on the slope of the
ground that its own weight causes it to shut of
itself when the lifting power is removed, its hinge
being invariably on the upper side.
That hinge is another marvel of ingenuity.
Instead of being let into the door, as a human
carpenter might have arranged it, and so made
liable to slip or become displaced, it is a con-
tinuation of the inner lining of the tube, and


will hold firmly to its place so long as the nest
itself shall last.
The trap-door spider, whose odd home we
have thus studied, lives in the tropics, holding
cold-blooded Northerners in high disdain, and
plainly it prefers Jamaica, the Mediterranean
shores, Australia, and kindred climates.



OH! the horrid thing !" shrieks the little
girl at the sight of a spider; and often older
people are foolish enough to follow her exam-
ple. But if that child could be induced to
watch the insect's ways and methods carefully,
she would never be tempted again to call it
" horrid," but would soon be lost in admiration
at the unwearied little worker's cleverness and
Spiders may be divided into two great classes
- the Sedentary Spiders, who remain at home
and set traps for their prey; and the Wandering
Spiders, who roam busily over the earth, and
rely upon their own agility for providing food.
Sedentary spiders are of three main species:
(i) those that set the ordinary radiating cob-
web traps; (2) those that construct cavernous
homes with traps set outside of them; (3) those
that live in holes which they dig in the ground,
and which they line with silk.
When during your summer vacation in the
country you take an early morning walk, you
will notice thousands of cobwebs resting upon
grass and bushes; the weight of dew which
hangs on them bears ample testimony to their
strength. The spider's spinnerets are beauti-
fully adapted to the work which they are in-
tended to accomplish. If you want a lesson in
patience and sagacity, watch her process of
building, and note how cleverly she overcomes
all engineering obstacles. It takes a spider
perhaps about half an hour to construct a web
in all its completeness. After choosing the
most desirable spot, Madam Spider sets indus-
triously to work to spin a thread of great length
(large spiders make it as much as fifty feet),

which floats lightly about in the breeze until it is
caught by some branch or bough. As soon as the
little architect feels that her rope is attached, she
draws it taut; the first step is then complete,
the foundation of her dwelling is laid. Then
the mistress of the mansion proceeds in her
work by traveling rapidly along, and sending
out lines at angles. She has frequently been
known to throw these lines across running
Once made, the web is furnished with a tele-
graph. Lines are stretched from all directions



to her place of waiting; on these she rests her
feet, and is thereby apprised of the approach of
any prey. Once the victim is fairly caught
there is no possibility of escape; the spider at
once weaves a web around its body until it
becomes perfectly helpless, and is carried off
in triumph.
The den spider, who is liable to attacks from
her enemies, is the most curious study of all.
To have an idea of this creature's home, you
must imagine a hollow tube in the ground,
divided, at some distance down, till it is like
the letter Y. One top of the Y is the opening;
the other does not come quite to the surface,
but forms a blind alley. At the opening is
a lid, with a silken hinge, which our friend the
spider generally keeps prudently closed. Sup-
pose that an enemy discovers this door, and en-
deavors to open it. The spider, laying hold of


the door on the inside with her strong claws,
holds it tight. It may be that this rebuff
proves sufficient, and the assailant goes some-
where else in search of a dinner. But if the
spider finds herself overmatched, she wisely
abandons this defense, and rushes down the
tube. Just at the fork of the Y she
has an inner strong-
hold. To this she
now betakes her-


I 'iN


self, closing it, and holding the door tight as
before. Again a struggle takes place, and there is
a chance that the adversary may retire. But if
the spider finds her foe too strong she is still
provided with a resource. She makes a strategi-

cal movement which rarely fails of attaining its
purpose: suddenly rushing into the blind alley,
she draws the door over the opening, thus hiding
every sign of it. There she lies comfortably
concealed, enjoying the confusion of her enemy.
He rushes triumphantly down the stem of the
Y, anticipating an easy triumph, and to his utter
amazement finds it empty! He actually knew
she was there. He pushes around, searching
in every corer. Slowly and sadly lie comes to
the conclusion that he has been made a fool
of, and finally departs, dinnerless, disconsolate,
and deeply disgusted. How that clever spider
must chuckle as she listens to his receding
footsteps !
One of the simplest of nature's barometers is
a spider's web. When there is a prospect of
wind or rain, the spinner shortens the filaments
by which the web is sustained, and as long as
the weather continues variable leaves it in that
state. If the spider lengthens the threads, it is
a sign of calm, fair weather. The duration of
the fine weather may be judged by the length to
which the threads are let out. If the spider re-
mains inactive, it is a sign of rain; if she continues
to work during a shower, the downpour will soon
be followed by clearing weather. Observation
has shown that the spider makes changes in its
web every twenty-four hours; if such changes
are made in the evening, just before sunset, the
night will certainly be clear.


1 *..

},.& 'I



'* .. .,;*..s: 'T 7i f ,'1|,


ANOTHER year of ST. NICHOLAS its twenty-
third-begins this month, my hearers; and I
congratulate you and it truly and heartily. On the
whole, I hardly know which should be most con-
gratulated for what would the young folk do with-
out ST. NICHOLAS, or ST. NICHOLAS do without
the young folk !
Well, success to you both, and many a happy
return of readers and numbers and volumes. And
now here is a pleasant letter lately sent in by your
friend, Meredith Nugent.

DEAR JACK: Lately I heard of a school that is not
for boys and girls, neither is it for grown-up folks. It
is on the French coast, and the pupils of this seaside
school are oysters !
"Oysters ? you will say how can oysters go to
school-and what are they taught?" Well, they are
taught to stop gaping,-in other words, they are taught
to keep their shells closed. When their education in
this respect is complete they are ready to be sent to
Now it would never do to allow oysters to travel all
the way from the coast to Paris with their shells wide
open. They would die long before reaching that beauti-
ful city, and that is exactly what uneducated oysters always
do. Educated oysters know better. When these must
travel to Paris they keep their mouths, so to speak,
tightly shut, and they never gape during the journey.
But how any living thing can keep from gaping with
astonishment on arriving in Paris is more than I can
Now as to the method of teaching: The newly dredged
oysters are placed in water; then occasionally during the
day the water is run off, leaving the oysters uncovered
and otherwise incommoded. During the first time the
oysters are uncovered a great number of them open their
shells, and these probably feel very uncomfortable until
the water covers them again. After a few lessons of this
kind the oysters slowly learn not to open their shells
when they are expected to keep them closed. From be-

ing at first only a very short time out of water, they are
taught to bear longer and longer exposures to the air
until they have thoroughly learned the lesson of keeping
their shells closed. Then, when they are sent to the
Paris markets, they arrive with closed shells and in a nice,
healthy condition.
Yours truly, M. NUGENT.
I 'LL venture to say that hardly a member of this
congregation does not know licorice-water,--how
easily it is produced,- how dark, frothy, and deli-
cious it is, and how very few grown folk have the
courage to taste it!
Yet many of the grown men and women would
be astonished to learn the truth, that licorice-water
is a favorite and valued beverage for persons of all
ages in the Eastern world Well, it is not your
Jack's business to instruct them- poor things!
But you young folk, what else do you know
about licorice ? You probably suspect that it grows
from the soil-for you often carry bits of licorice-
root about during recess.
But what of the plant- Is it a tree? a bush ?
a vine? Does it bear flowers? Does it grow on,
year by year, till it is as big as a mighty oak ? And
is black licorice made from berry, or bark, or
root? Also, is it of any importance to man? Any
correct bit of information on this subject will be
heartily appreciated, my hearers.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: With your permission,
I should like to submit this tempting subject to the boys
of your large congregation.
Granted most gracefully. So,
boys, here is a way by which you
can make a new noise-new, at any
rate, to this part of the world. It
has been heard many a time over in
South Australia ever since I do not
know how long ago. And very
likely those who love peace and
quiet have often been saying:
"Boora gaboora-boora corrobo-
ree!" which Jack is informed means
Stop that racket! or something
of the sort.
Now look at this picture, and do
as the young Australian does when
he takes it into his woolly head to
make a perboregan, and you will
have something to see and espe-
cially to hear. Get a stout stick of
stringy-bark wood (or, if you can't
manage that, some other stout
wood, like ash or hickory, will do),
and see that it tapers like a whip-
handle andis about eighteen inches
long. Next, cut from a shingle, if
you can't get a good slice of Aus-
tralian wattle bark, a three-cornered
piece, about four inches long, of the shape shown in the
sketch. When he has these two ready, the young black-
fellow asks his mother to make for him a cord out of the
twisted sinews of a kangaroo's tail. If your mother
does n't find it convenient to do this, probably a bit of
stout fishing-line will answer the purpose. Tie your
three-cornered piece of shingle to one end of the cord,
and then tie the other end of the cord around a groove
in the top of the handle so that it will turn freely, and so


that the lash will be about as long as the stock of this
whip. Now your perboregan is made, and you are ready
to begin having fun with it. Get off by yourself,-in
the middle of a ten-acre lot would be about right,-
and swing the thing around your head as hard as ever
you can. Then stop it suddenly with a peculiar twist or
jerk, and it will crack like a horse-pistol. They say it
can be heard two miles on a still day; but perhaps it
would be well to prove this, if you can, by going about that
distance away from other folks whenever you practise.


SOME kind friend of this congregation has sent
to my pulpit a newspaper clipping which will prove
quite a joy to little folks who cannot yet read, but
who know their letters.
Try it, big brother, sister, or friend, as the case
may be. Take the little one on
your knee, and ask him or her to
help you to read it. Then, read-
ing each line aloud, you pause
at the final capitals, which must
be given by the little one, and
the meaning of the (before) sense-
less line will come out with great
effect. Although baby's services
are not required for every line,
there will be quite enough work
to satisfy so young a member of
the literary world.

There is a farmer who is YY
Enough to take his EE,
And study nature with his II
And think of what he CC.
He hears the clatter of the JJ '
As they each other TT,
And sees that when a tree DKK
It makes a home for BB.
A yoke of oxen he will UU,
With many haws and GG,
And their mistakes he will XOQ
When plowing for his PP.
He little buys, but much he sells,
And therefore little 00;
And when he hoes his soil by spells
He also soils his hose.

I AM told that the tea-plant can be cultivated to
great advantage in one of the United States,-per-
haps in more than one,-but South Carolina, they
say, has produced a fine brand, and will continue
to do better and better in its cultivation.
The dear Little Schoolma'am says this does n't
specially concern boys and girls; but the Deacon
thinks it does. "For," says he, when the dear
little milk-consumers and cambric-coffee-drinkers
grow up they will not have to go to China or Japan
or any foreign country for their tea."
Why not look into this matter?

story for your chicks: "
One day not long ago a small black and white kit-
ten wandered into the grounds of the Institute at
Flushing. Its fur was rough, and it was sad and
wretched because its own mother had deserted it. It
seemed to have not a friend in the world; so for com-
panionship, or perhaps to secure a bite of food
now and then, it began to associate warily with the
chickens at the barn. Among a number of hens
with a horde of small chickens, was one old hen
in particular, who possessed a brood of four chicks.
Something about this old hen attracted the mother-
less kitten, and the two became friends.
Of all this, however, little was known by the
people of the house. But one day, somebody (per-
haps it was Mr. Northrup, who has especial charge


..1 .I
--6I ''*'l*,' '. ,

1:, L/*^i&ii-

of the garden and the stables, and all that) re-
ported that one of the hens was curiously engaged.
Several persons went out, and there was the old
Plymouth Rock hen on the ground, with her own
brood crowding under one wing, while under the
other was a little kitten whose head and shoulders
could just be seen sticking out among the feathers,
looking satisfied and comfortable, as you can see in
the picture I send with this.
The kitten has now grown too large to be cared
for by its strange foster-mother; yet almost any
day for a long time, especially when light showers
were passing over, one might have seen the little
kitten under the wing of the good old hen.
Yours very truly, TAPPAN ADNEY.




ON Monday morning Dolly's clothes
All need a thorough tubbing;
So Prue and I put in the day
With washing, rinsing, rubbing;
With boiling, bluing, bleaching, too,
As all good washerwomen do,
Till Dolly's clothes are clean as new
And we have finished scrubbing.

On Tuesday comes the ironing,
The starching, sprinkling, pressing;
For doing gowns up prettily
Is half the charm of dressing.
And from our irons all the day
We have to coax the cats away,
For with them they will try to play-
And that would be distressing!

On Wednesday, thread and needle fly
With basting, whipping, stitching;
With hooks and eyes and buttonholes
To keep our fingers twitching.
And while the scissors snip, snip, snip,
We patch and darn and mend and rip,
Till all is trim from tip to tip,
And Dolly looks bewitching.

It' fl I A


On Thursday afternoon
we take
A recess from our

Dress Dolly up in all
her best
And call upon the
So she may learn to sit
up straight,
Nor come too soon,
nor stay too late,
And always think to
shut the gate
At Tompkins's and

On Friday, dusting-rag in hand,
We hurry up the sweeping,
And air the household furniture
While Dolly still is sleeping.
We dust the mantels
and the chairs,
The closet-shelves and
kitchen stairs,
And shake tlwh. rugs
and Aortitres
Like truly-true

On Saturday we bake our bread,
Enough to last till Monday,
With sugar-pies and apple-
For Dolly's dinner
With doughnuts round
as napkin rings,
And cookies fit for
queens and kings-
For oh i it takes just lots of
To feed a dolly one day!



I-._- ..,. t. '' -".. _i- ;' .

', ,,1 ,, ,
'...~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ---.'-,---...''-'- -._--.L.- :- ,' .. i,,,,,'l.n

I\ rning t i 'th1 1i .: :.-
Has mc s pa'-tr ,ralln'!

I lu't 'rn lthe Ilrncr.i in atll. tn .r '

:..'"';"". .' ,' 'T a region ha- in ;t'ire
'7''' -._ \ And Unclx Sam ei:c':lar'l tl e l nijit
A 'ark lorcx crf r .I' i.
S1".)r c k r r i* 1: iI .

The people favor equal rights-
Both men and women vote:
\\ 'nming. State upon the map
S' I nearly square, you note.
-! 't i~~- '' ; '
t a. I : 1 I~J,. .< ,, .; .--'

`5 7c-;, l~

This State has plains along the east,
And westward mountains high,
Where Pike's Peak lifts his snowy head,
Aloft to greet the sky.

Now all of these west mountain States
Have gold- and silver-mines;
Where great machines break up the ore,
And furnace fire refines.

And Colorado's mines are rich:
Her scenery, too, is grand;--
To make the valley farms produce,
They irrigate the land.

The Arkansas and Platte are fed
By little streams, that flow
From showers upon the mountain-sides,
And melted mountain snow.

__ -__-.;--_-__''-_. --' ,


>- <* __


J. 1
'(hi '':-.

III~ 1



BY a mistake, which we regret very much, the name
of the author of "The Dragonfly's Ball" was wrongly
printed when that bright story in verse appeared in our
September number. We now gladly correct the error--
with all due apologies to our clever contributor-by
stating that the author of the poem is Katherine Berry
di Zerega. ____
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I was greatly interested in the
article called Carrier-Pigeons of Santa Catalina," in the
September number of ST. NICHOLAS, as I own a very
pretty pair of carrier-pigeons. One is pale blue, with
dark-blue feathers on its neck, wings, and tail. When
it moves about the feathers on its neck change from a
beautiful purple to green and blue. The other one is
pink, with a pale-blue cast, and white in its wings and
tail. They are young, and at this writing have their first
eggs. They are not trained to fly far yet. I often won-
dered what I should name them; and out of the many
names mentioned in ST. NICHOLAS I have named the
female "Vesta" and the ale ae "Blue Jim." I also own
a beautiful pair of old fantails that are snow-white, and
they have young about a week old. A flock of these
white fantails make a very pretty sight. I remain your
constant reader, ALICE C. B--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : We are twins twelve years old,
and we were born in Tokio, Japan. Our father is a mis-
sionary in that country, and we have always traveled
about with him. It is great fun to see all the heathen
who try to push past each other going into the mission-
house; for each one wants to get in ahead of the other.
They have long benches in the mission-house for the
people to sit on, and those who get there first get a seat,
but the later ones have to stand; so that is why they all
want to get there first. We have heard lots about the
war between China and Japan, and of course we wanted
Japan to win. We are visiting friends in America now,
and we like it very much. We brought a little Japanese
girl over here with us, and we like her very much; she
is our only good friend over in Japan. She thinks the
American ways very odd, and it took her a very long
time to learn English well enough to make people un-
derstand her. Her name changed to English means
Light of the Morning." We think it is quite pretty,
don't you? Mother and ourselves are going back to
Japan in the fall. We remain your little friends,
P. S. We can't write very well in English, but you will
excuse that, dear old St. NICHOLAS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: One day a friend and myself
were riding our bicycles, when we met a drove of cows.
We did not dare to pass them, so we took our bicycles
over a fence, through a field, and a farmer's yard.
When we were on the road again we looked for the cows,
but they had gone.
I am thirteen years old, and have taken you four years.
You will always be just as dear to me as you are now,
even if I live to be a hundred. Your loving friend,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Two years ago last Christmas
my grandpa made my sister Louise and me a present of
the ST. NICHOLAS, and we have taken it ever since, and
enjoy reading it very much.
I have three sisters and a brother, and we are spend-
ing this summer at my father's ranch, which is about
twenty-five miles west of Denver. The nearest post-
office to our ranch is about five miles away, and to reach
it we have to go on horseback over a steep, rocky trail.
When we get within a mile of the post-office we turn
down a deep gulch. We ride down the bed of the creek
quite a way, and then tie our horses and walk the rest of
the way. There are great, high mountains all around
our house; and right in front of it is a spruce-tree which
is about eighty feet high.
A while ago we used to go out and get great bunches
of columbines, but it is rather late for them now. There
are lots of stumps of trees around here, and the birds
build their nests in them. One day we found a turtle-
dove's nest with three eggs in it. We used to go and
look at it almost every day. One day we went to see it,
and found, instead of the eggs, three g little birds without
any fea others on them; and a little later, when we went to
see them, they had all flown away.
I remain yours truly,

DEAR S'r. NICHOLAS: The other day we were watch-
ing a wasp run up and down the window, faster each
time, in wasp's fashion, of course trying to get out. After
many vain attempts it fell suddenly on to the window-sill,
buzzing and beating it with its wings in a very wild way.
Then it lay perfectly still, and we thought it was dead.
In the evening we were standing by the open window
enjoying the cool air after a hot day, when, wanting to
throw the dead wasp out, we found that it was fastened.
The creature in its fury, probably at not being able to
get out, had wedged its sting so firmly into the wood
that it was unable to pull the sting out again. It just
shows the great strength such a tiny animal has.
I thought this little incident might interest your read-
ers, so I write, hoping to see it printed soon.
Your faithful reader, L. E. R--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl nine years
old. I thought I would write and tell you how much
we like your magazine, the stories in it are so nice. I
have just been reading "Jack Ballister's Fortunes." I
have a little brother and a little sister. We live in Wilt-
shire, at a little town called Warminster, quite close to
the clowns. It is so nice on the downs we often go up
there. It is nothing but green hills for miles and miles.
Sometimes people lose their way if they are on tlhe
downs when it is foggy or dark. We used to live in
Salisbury. There is a beautiful cathedral there which
has the highest spire in England. The downs near here
are called Salisbury Plain. Stonehenge is on Salisbury
Plain. It is said to have been a Druids' temple. The


stones are so large that no one can think how they were
put there. They were once all standing up in a circle,
but most of them have fallen down.
Your loving little reader, KATHLEEN C- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : Mama has taken your magazine
twenty years for my sister who is now married, and I
always look forward to your coming with great impa-
tience. I have a little clog named Guy." I have taught
him how to play hide-and-go-seek, tag, house, and to
beg for his dinner. He is a cocker spaniel. We have
had him since he was a little puppy, and he is almost six
years old now. The lady from whom we got him brought
him herself all the way from New York to Oregon.
Then he used to have a little red jacket and cap, and sit
on a chair, put his paws on the back of the chair, bend
his head and say his prayers. It was very cute, I think.
I enjoy reading the letters from foreign lands, in your
magazine, especially from Germany, as I am very fond
of German. Hoping to see your magazine prosper for
a long time to come, I am your loving and faithful little
reader, EDNA S. O- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you eight
years, and my mama took you when you were "Our
Young Folks." I have eight hundred stamps, and nearly
as many traders. Wishing you a famous life, I remain
yours, loving you like a friend, EDWIN B. D- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been learning of the
Japanese at school, so I am going to write and tell you
about them. Japan is situated on four large and three
small islands. The people always take off their sandals
before they go into their houses. They sit on the floor
almost all of the time, but some of the most modern have
chairs and more furniture than the other people. They
are very fond of bright colors. They wear blue and yel-
low, mostly. Their shoes that they wear when it rains
are called clogs; and they look something like little stools
with two legs. They make their houses and furniture
out of bamboo. They generally have only two rooms
in their houses, and when they have a great deal of com-
pany they put screens around the walls of the rooms, and
leave a space between the wall and the screen large
enough for some one to sleep. They eat rice.
Your little friend, ALICE C-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAs: I thought your readers would
like to hear about my trip to Mexico. It took us five
days to go to Mexico. We stayed at Hotel Iturbide
first, and then we went to Orizaba. While we were at
Orizaba we stayed over Palm Sunday. The children
paraded around with palms in their hands; and from
our hotel window my brother and I saw three mountains
on fire. And from there we went to Vera Cruz. It was
so hot in Vera Cruz that my brother got sick, and we
went up the mountains to Jalapa. There the streets
were queer and narrow, and they were very steep, so
that buggies could not go on them; everything was
carried on a donkey's back. From there we went to
Puebla. When we were in Puebla it was Holy Week;
all the stores were closed, and people were '"-in" a
nice time. And then we went to the city of :.[.: ,...
There we saw them on Good Friday burn images of
Judas Iscariot on the streets. They put powder or fire-
crackers in the images, and set fire to them.
Your loving reader, JULIA HELEN D--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live on a rice-plantation
about eighteen miles from New Orleans. I suppose
you would like to hear how rice grows. In February
or March the farmers plow the ground, and after that
they sow and harrow the rice. When it is up they have
to put water on it. The water is brought into the fields
by means of pumps and siphons. If the Mississippi
River is low the pumps are worked both day and night
to keep the water by the levee for the siphons to take
over the levee. If the river is high the siphons only are
used. When the rice is about one foot high, people
go in the field to pull the grass out. After that the rice
is threshed and sent to New Orleans on boats.
They also grow sweet and Irish potatoes, corn, pea-
vines, and other things.
A friend of mine, named Stuart L--, lends you to
me. The stories I like best are "President for One
Hour," "A Boy of the First Empire," Chris and the
Wonderful Lamp," and Fighting the Fire." Every
evening my cousin and myself go swimming in the
river. I have a horse named "Bill." I will close,
wishing you obn succs.
Your monthly reader, HENRY H- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw, as I was reading your
magazine for August, a letter to you from a little girl,
who wrote that during the founding of Kentucky by
Boone, his own daughter and two other girls were
stolen by the Indians; and as I was reading it, mama
said that one of those other girls (Elizabeth Calloway)
was my great-great-grandmother, and that the Indians
stole the girls to have them teach the Indians how to
make butter.
I am sorry I don't know more about them, but I
don't. Your affectionate reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am spending my vacation
at the North Beach near Boon Creek.
Half a mile from us is the Copalis Rock, which is
half a mile out in the Pacific Ocean.
On July 21 the tide was so low that I, with a party of
others, touched it.
On top of it is a house made to shoot the sea-otters
Last week some of the Indians went out in their
canoes, and brought in three sea-otters, which are valued
at from three hundred and fifty dollars upward apiece.
One day we drove up the beach twelve miles to
Grandville Point, and the scenery was beautiful all
the way-high cliffs rising up on one side, with the
ocean on the other side.
There is a rock with an arch through it, and another
rock that is veryligh and large, and has a great many holes
in it, in which the sea-birds, sea-parrots, and sea-pigeons
build their nests. The swells come up behind some
of the smaller rocks, and then break over them in foam;
and then the water runs down in little cascades and
little waterfalls.
I have gathered a great collection of moonstones,
agates, and shells. Your loving reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been living in Fred-
ericksburg a little over a year, and find it a very old-
fashioned town, having a good many relics of the war.
A little while ago papa found an old bayonet stuck in
a tree-stump, about three miles out of town.


The National Cemetery, the site of the great battle of
Fredericksburg, is beautifully kept by the United States
Government, and contains the graves of about fifteen
thousand soldiers.
One woman who lived next the battle-field said that
the night after the battle was fought the field was blue
with Union soldiers.
I live only two doors from the house where George
Washington's mother lived; and two squares below us
is a big stone with a step cut into it which is worn down
by the number of negroes who stepped up there to be sold
at auction.
I am a Northern girl, so it is all very queer to me, es-
pecially the great number of negroes. It seems to me
as if there are about four negroes to every white man.
Mama says she has either bought or subscribed for
the ST. NICHOLAS for twenty years.
Hoping to see this letter in print,
I remain your admirer, BEATRICE Y-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first year I have
taken you, and I think you are a fine magazine. I live in
Kansas, on a ranch, where you can see thousands and
thousands of horses and cattle every day. In the fall

we cut up fodder-that is, the corn; husks and stalks
are all cut up by steam-power when green, and kept un-
til winter for cattle. We store the fodder in a large
shed where in the winter time we keep all the imple-
ments that are used in the summer. The ranch is
called the "Q. G." ranch, because some years ago, when
branding cattle was greatly done, this was our brand.
I would rather live on a ranch than in a city, for when
I visit a city I always feel so cramped up, some way, and
I long for the country again. When my papa ships his
loads of cattle and hogs, I love to watch the ranchmen
load them at the stock-yards.
I remain your loving reader, BENJAMIN J. B-- .

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Grace Guernsey,
Hortense Heath, Cyrus Brewster, Jr., Leila R., F. X.
Williams, Virginia," Blanche E. Sayre, R. J. Clemens,
Louisa Pearce, Bessie R. T., Margaret A. M., Bessie
Moulton, Pansy K., Dora, May C., J. Leoni P., Bella
Mehler, Emma Stuver, Will B. Weston, Y. Ethel B.,
Eleanor Haywood, Helen Van A. Schuyler, Rosamond
Underwood, Mabel W., Mamie Baird, Elsie W., Con-
stance E. Bradford, Beth Opp.

' *- '' -i_- ~

I ^I
jt I1 i I's 5.

-I '-' s7 '" ''o"" t sy".,
G s m

RHINOCEROS. t Come on, Ci, let's buy tickets."
GIRAFFE. "iWhy waste your money?"

HIDDEN GRAINS OF CORN.-1. Corn-elia. 2. .. Corn-et 3 A-corn. NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "There is this difference between -rri.
4. Barry Corn-wall. 5. Corn-er. 6. Corn-ucopia. 7. Corn-ice, ness and wisdom; he who inks himself the happiest man, .11,
ZIGZAG. Mediterranean. 1. Mouse. 2. Sense. 3. Lade n. 4 is so; while he who thinks himself the wisest man, is generally the
Merit. 5. Treat. 6. Comet. 7. Parts. 8. Error. 9. Adder. 10. greatest fool."
Annoy. i. Freed. 12. Cream. 13. Vixen.
QHIDDENNx. Across: LearN.- 2. Corn-elat 3. Corn-et. A-corn. NUERIBACKWARDS AND FORWARDS. i. Revel. Spool 3. Tuber.
Id. 4.Barry Garb 5. Drab. 6. GolfCorn-ucopia. ness and wisdom 7. Live. 8. Slap. 9. Ward. o.
WORD-SQUARE. diter. Scrap. Chair. 3. Raise. 4. Aisle. 5. s so; while he ho thinks himself the wisest man, is generally the

INTERSECTING WORDS. From i to 2, granted; 3 to 4, leaning; Rapid. 4. Tapered. 5. Tiron. 6. Den. 7. D. II. 1 2. Tag.
Sto 6, dinnersat. Cross-woidsmet Gradual. 2. Broiled. Granaddery. 3. Tudor 4. Watered. 5. Gored. 6. Red. 7. D. III. Sedan.
Slander. re. Guessed. 2. Early. 3. Drums. 4. Ales 5. Nyssa. IV. S. 2. Cap.

ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER were received, before August 5th, from McG."-Paul Reese

-G. B. Dyer-"Jersey Quartette"-"Three Drews and a Crew"-Paul Rowley-Horton C. Force-Florence and Flossie-Ken-
neth C. McIntosh-James Maynard, Jr., and his Father-"Tod and Yam"- L. 0. E.-C. E. Coit-RobertW. Haight-Helen O. Koerper
-Mary Lester and Harry-Jo and I-Emily B. Dunning-Clive-Josephine Sherwood-Alexine-Sigourney Fay Nininger-
Shrimp"-Id a and Eloise R.- ". Eat. Lake"-Isabel H. Noble- Clara A. Anthony -Charles Tas Effie Talboys-"p eand
Ides. Star.

WOD-SQi E Hackstaff-Geo. Fer Fallsburg"- "The Trenton Trio "- Jacob"-Two ittle Brothers- M. Mc

Blanche and Fred-"The Butterflies "-" The Kittiwake."

INTERSECT PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER were received, before August pered.5th, from Eliza H. I-"Wisdom" 2Tag.
to 6,Brynhild," 2 M. S.Tuls-wolds -May H. and M ary A. C., -MTudorary K. RWatered. Gored. 6. Red t. M.ath. Sedan.ws,
Ethel Slander. ark, WQu Entries.ht, 3-Mama and Nichola Lester Overfelt, 2- Aryes. Page, 5-Alfred Thomas Eas-p.
ILLton, EugeneD T.al I-I olmes. Crossords:i Donald Cole. Capon. 4. Sapoli. Nich Polyp. Nip. -. Hallock. S. 2.
Bottle. Collar. 4. Hammer. 5. Goblet. 6Walrus. Pun. 3. Pages. 4. Sugared. 5. Nerve. 6. See.-. D.

Laura M Zinser, 9 Ansers, to e acknowledged in the Hollyberries, mst e received not later thaelen Smithe th of each bonnie B, and
should arene addressed to ST. and B., 8 "I. Honor Swarof TEarl and Mabel ackson, 4SeenTheenWicked St., Ne Bob Bright, 7ty.
Mortimer F. S., 7 Emily R. H.,PUZZLES IN THE- Mu Alpha," 7Gertrudere received, before Auuand Daisth, from Chrissi F., cGEdith Vande-
- G. B. Dyer- ersey Quartettehe Three Drew an d M. E. I. B.," 2Paul RoHelen W. Horton C. Force Florence and Fossie- Kennit,
6eth C. McIntosh- James Maynard, Jr., and his Father-"Tod and Yam"- L. E. C C. E. Coit- RoberatW. Haight- Helen O. Koerper
-- ry Lest4-Marguerite Sturdy, 7-Frand lyn ily Dnnig-Cve phi Sherwood- Aleine Sigourney Fay Nininger-
" Shrimp "--Ida and Eloise R.- "Camp Lake"--Isabel H. Noble--Clara A. Anthony- Charles Travis -Effie K. Talboys --"lee and
Co."-- Mai E Hackstaff-- Geo. B. Fernald- Fallsburg"- "The Trenton Trio "- "Jacobil "- Two Little Brothers-- H. H. McG.
Blanche and Fred --" The Butterflies "-" The Kittiwake."
ANswERs TO PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST Nc'IaEa were received, before August s5th, from Eliza H. F., s-- "Wisdom," 2
LBrynhild," o-- M. S. Turrill, 0--May H. D. and Mary A. C., --Mary K. Rake, o-- E. A. Jobs, s--Robert H. Mathews, -
Ethel S. Clark, I-WWm. P. Bonbright, 3--Mama and Nicholas, 9- C. Lester Overfelt, a -Mary R. Page, 5- Alfred Thomas Eas-
ton, i Eugene T. Walter, I Florence Kiper, a Donald Cole. o-- Edgar Bamps, e-- Nicholas C. Bleecker, 2-- G. A. Hallock, 2-
Laura M. Zinser, g 9- J. Philbin, 6--" She and I," 7-" Hollyberries," 5- Grace Busenback, 2 -Helen Smith, 5- Bonnie B., 2
--Clarence Anderson, I- E. and B., 8- I. Honora Swartz, 6--Earl and Mabel lackson, 4--" The Wicked Six," 8- Bob Bright, 7-
Mortimer F. 5., 7-Emily R. H., o Mu Alpha," 7 Gertrude Klein, 5 Buttercup and Daisy," 5- Chrissie F., o Edith Vande-
grilt [vens. 8- F. Gayeneche, "Merry and Co.," p "M. E. I. B.," 2-- Helen W. Holbrook, -- "Cononicut," 9-" Knott Innt,"
6-G. B. D. and M., 6--Dickson H. Leavens, 3--" Clarissa Starrs," 6- E. C. C. E., 7-" Tip-cat," 9--W. Y. Webbe, 5--E. V.
K., 4- Marguerite Sturdy, 7- Franklyn Farnsworth, 8.


I. A GLOSSY fabric. 2. Part of an amphitheater. 3.
Dogma. 4. Lifeless. 5. Spruce.

WHAT heights unsealed, what depths explored,
What dangers braved my first to gain!
Men risk their lives, nay, sell their souls,
In the mad strife, so often vain.
My second looks to Tubal Cain,
If not for ancestry, for art,
And every nation, every age,
Assigns to him a useful part.
My whole,--how tenderly we scan
The foibles of this gifted man !
In not another can we find
The fun and pathos so combined. M. J. w.

EXAMPLE: Take a p from a certain shrub, and leave
an iron pin. Answer, p-rivet.
I. Take a p from a wild animal, and leave part of a
flower. 2. Take a p from an atom, and leave a particu-
lar thing. 3. Take a p from tropical trees, and leave a
gift of charity. 4. Take a p from a jewel, and leave a
nobleman. 5. Take a p from a certain country, and
leave another country. 6. Take a p from a bird, and

leave the hero of a novel. 7. Take a p from a fruit, and
leave a valuable organ. 8. Take a p from an adherent
to a party, and leave a mechanic. 9. Take a p from a
surgeon's instrument, and leave a dress of state. 1o.
Take a p from a preacher, and leave a crime. II. Take
a p from to trifle with, and leave to change. 12. Take
a p from an allegory, and leave fit for plowing or tillage.
13. Take a p from roasted over a fire, and leave curved.
14. Take a p from part of a horse's foot, and leave be-
hind a ship. JULIA B. C.
ACROSS: I. Dishonor. 2. To eat into or away. 3.
Heroic poems. 4. A long, pliable strip of leather. 5-
An important vegetable product.
DOWNWARD: I. In furnish. 2. A pronoun. 3. A
verb. 4. Kitchen implements. 5. Prepares for publi-
cation. 6. Having the color of unbleached stuff. 7.
To settle from a vertical position. 8. A childish name
for a parent. 9. In furnish.

I. I. ANYTHING small. 2. An ecclesiastical head-
dress. 3. A fertile spot. 4. Stumbles. 5. A beast
of burden.
II. I. A chart. 2. Land belonging to a nobleman. 3.
Imbecile. 4. Impelled by the use of a pole. 5. A color.
III. I. To force in. 2. Swift. 3. A common fruit.
4. A city of Italy. 5. A lair. "SAMUEL SYDNEY."


ILLUSTRATED FINAL ACROSTIC. * * (Longfellow) for lunch, and not
till then did we learn that, in the confusion of starting,
WHEN the four objects in the accompanying illustra- our well-stocked lunch-basket had been forgotten. We
tion have been rightly guessed, and the names (which wandered on in the dense woods, the children tired
are of unequal length) written one below the other, the and thirsty. We could find no spring,-not even *
final letters will spell the name of a famous * (Longfellow)wehadlatelycrossed.
English Quaker. The little hot hands were * *
S4 * (Bryant) they
AN OBLIQUE RECTANGLE. picked. We passed *a *
* (George Eliot) and -
a * (Whittier) wearing a
...... ragged * s (Burns),and
though (Trow-
bridge) did not molest us, they frightened the
L1 ; Just here, to my joy, we met *

S' (Ingelow) who was a *.in
1 * (Kate Putnam
Osgood). By liberal payment I induced her
to sell me a pail of milk, which I 4-
S* (Ingelow) among my thirsty
troop. Next came * * *
S (Lowell) and drenched us tothe skin. Gladly
I. A LETTER.. swamp. 3. One of a would I have sent in my a* *-
wandering tribe. 4. The musical scale. 5 * (Longfellow) while leading what
A coin. 6. A small drum. 7. A memento. proved to be a stormy * (Bry-
8. To be disobedient to authority. 9. The ant) toward home, which we finally reached
principal post at the foot of a staircase. 10. in safety, though quite exhausted by *
Lawful. II. Pertaining to Latium. 12. A .. * (Wordsworth).
lampoon. 13. A price free from any deduc-\ L. E. JOHNSON.

tons. 14. A letter.


1-2 does not consider that apples 2-3-4 be-
low 1-2-3 even in strawberry time, so I will
1-2-3-4 a few for sauce," said 6-7-8 fond
daughter of an aged 1-2-3-4-5-6. This she
did, and afterward sewed up 2 3-4-5-6 in his
coat. 7-8 said, "That Io-II well done, 9-lo-
II." (She was still at school.) But perhaps
that would have been understood without the


INSERT, in place of the stars, the name of
a poem by the author whose name follows:
One hot morning *a * *
* a * (Mrs. Browning)
next door led me to ask their tired mother
to let me take some of her little girls for a
day * (Bryant). -
She gratefully complied with my request, and
immediately called ** (Tennyson) .
" *" (Tennyson)" (Hood)
and" -* (Coleridge) "get
ready at once," cheerfully adding, "You will
meet 4 4 a *
(Mrs. Browning), and she may go also." --
My party was growing very large for the size of my
lunch-basket, but knowing that there was another girl, I
asked," Does * (R. Browning) to
join us ? "No," said her mother, "but you can let
*a * * (Tennyson)
take her place."
We waited long in the lane by the mill, and at length we
started, Bertha gaily singing * *
(Wordsworth) as we filed over the bridge into the woods.
Then began our trials. It was noon, * *-

To make me, you have only to breathe;
Behead me, and still I 'm a breath;
Beheaded again, a man I become
Who revels in pillage and death.
To cut off his head is surely no wrong
When quickly to wrath I transmute;
Another head lost, and when money you lend,
The interest I teach to compute.
The last head removed, I 'm a goddess of
Who follows where discord and mischief are
rife. M. E. SAFFOLD.


I # 2

* *i

...5 6

a 3 4 4

FROM I to 2, a daughter of Pyrgeus, from
whom the town of Lepreum in Elis was said
to have derived its name; from I to 3, the mother of Apollo
and Diana; from 2 to 4, the god of song and music; from
3 to 4, one of the Eumenides; from 5 to 6, the goddess of
the morning; from 5 to 7, a Latin hero, who fought on
the side of Turnus against IEneas from 6 to 8, the open
spaces where the gladiators fought; from 7 to 8, sea-
nymphs; from I to 5, the moon; from 2 to 6, a grand
division of the earth; from 4 to 8, a growth of which
Ceres is goddess; from 3 to 7, the son of Faunus, who
was killed by Polyphemus. HULME.


. ..

ii i

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