Front Cover
 Front Matter
 A Siberian scare
 Kitties latest
 The birthplace of President...
 Will and Tad Lincoln
 Master skylark
 Ah Gaus New-Year's celebration
 The tale of the discontented weather...
 The wonderful island of do-as-...
 The last three soldiers
 June's garden
 Katie's forest friends
 An alarm of fire by telegraph
 Miss Nina Barrow
 A boy I knew
 The true story of Marco Polo
 The kettle
 Lodgers in the nest
 A winter evening problem
 The letter-box
 The riddle box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00321
 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: VID00321
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
        Page 266
    A Siberian scare
        Page 267
        Page 268
        Page 269
        Page 270
        Page 271
    Kitties latest
        Page 272
    The birthplace of President Lincoln
        Page 273
        Page 274
        Page 275
        Page 276
    Will and Tad Lincoln
        Page 277
        Page 278
        Page 279
        Page 280
        Page 281
        Page 282
    Master skylark
        Page 283
        Page 284
        Page 285
        Page 286
        Page 287
        Page 288
        Page 289
        Page 290
        Page 291
        Page 292
    Ah Gaus New-Year's celebration
        Page 293
        Page 294
        Page 295
        Page 296
        Page 297
        Page 298
    The tale of the discontented weather cock
        Page 299
        Page 300
        Page 301
        Page 302
        Page 303
    The wonderful island of do-as-you-please
        Page 304
        Page 305
    The last three soldiers
        Page 306
        Page 307
        Page 308
        Page 309
        Page 310
        Page 311
    June's garden
        Page 312
        Page 313
        Page 314
        Page 315
    Katie's forest friends
        Page 316
        Page 317
        Page 318
        Page 319
    An alarm of fire by telegraph
        Page 320
        Page 321
        Page 322
        Page 323
        Page 324
        Page 325
        Page 326
        Page 327
        Page 328
    Miss Nina Barrow
        Page 329
        Page 330
        Page 331
        Page 332
        Page 333
        Page 334
        Page 335
        Page 336
    A boy I knew
        Page 337
        Page 338
        Page 339
        Page 340
    The true story of Marco Polo
        Page 341
        Page 342
    The kettle
        Page 343
    Lodgers in the nest
        Page 344
    A winter evening problem
        Page 345
        Page 346
        Page 347
    The letter-box
        Page 348
        Page 349
        Page 350
    The riddle box
        Page 351
        Page 352
    Back Matter
        Page 354
    Back Cover
        Page 355
        Page 356
        Page 357
Full Text

ki, 4a



- rr&
-- .--- a =----~~--~


if Ni


I $4 4Th -

.i- T j),*- N 2
K 1 V4~ K-i


Izu A

* w -F


cP) Yos






I WONDER if any one has ever heard of an
arctic ghost. Is there on record any well
authenticated case of supernatural apparition
in Spitzbergen, for example, or Greenland, or
Novaya Zemlya, or in the midst of the great
polar ice-pack ? Has any arctic explorer ever
seen a ghost or heard of one, north of latitude
65? .Ghosts seem to be plentiful enough in
the north temperate zone and in the tropics,
but, so far as I know, I am the only person
who has ever encountered one in the far
I first heard of my ghost in the winter of
1865-66, when I was exploring a route for
a telegraph line through northeastern Siberia,
and was living temporarily in a small Russian
village called Anadyrsk (An-ad'-eersk), about
four hundred miles west of Bering Strait. I
had rented from one of the natives in this vil-
lage a one-story log house of the usual Siberian
type, with a living-room and a small bedroom
in one end, a kitchen in the other, and an out-
side door opening into a square entry between
them. Over the living-room there was a rough,
unfurnished garret or attic, which could be

reached by climbing a notched log set up ladder-
wise in the entry, but which during my occu-
pancy of the house was never used, and was
empty. It had a floor of rough spruce boards
laid loosely across the joists, and it received a
little light from the door in the entry below;
but it was never warmed, and in winter its floor
was generally covered with snow which sifted
in through chinks and cracks in the neglected
roof. I was alone in this house, with the ex-
ception of a native boy sixteen or seventeen
years of age, named Yegor (Yeh-gor'), who
cooked and kept house for me, and who slept
on the floor in the kitchen. Our outside door
was never locked at night, and indeed I don't
think there was such a thing as a lock in the
whole settlement. Theft, burglary, and assault
were crimes almost unknown to the quiet, up-
right people of Anadyrsk; and as they left their
doors unlocked and unbolted from one year's
end to another, I naturally followed their ex-
One dark still night in February, between
ten and eleven o'clock, as I lay in bed reading,
I was startled by the quick and violent throw-

Copyright, 1897, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

No. 4.


ing open of the entry door, and a swift rush
of somebody into the adjacent sitting-room.
"Who 's that?" I demanded. There was
no reply, but as I sprang out of bed to investi-
gate, I was met at the sitting-room door by
what looked like the wraith of Yegor. His
long, dark hair was disheveled, his eyes were
dilated, his face was as pale as ashes, and as
he stood there, trembling violently and looking
apprehensively toward the door through which
he had just come, he seemed the very embodi-
ment of horror and fear.
"Why, Yegor! I exclaimed, "what 's the
matter ? "
For a moment he seemed unable to speak,
but with an effort he controlled himself, and
said in a low, excited tone, There 's something
walking in the kitchen."
Nonsense!" I replied. "You 've had the
nightmare, and you 're not more than half
awake yet. Nobody would come into the
kitchen at this time of night. What did you
think you heard? "
It was n't a nightmare, Barin,*" he pro-
tested. "I had n't been asleep at all. There
was nobody in the room; but the minute I blew
out the candle something walked across the
floor in heavy boots. f "
The idea of a Siberian ghost pacing the floor
of Yegor's kitchen at night in American boots
was so ludicrous and incongruous that I burst
into a fit of laughter.
Where did the 'something' get its boots,
Yegor?" I said jeeringly. "Mine are there
in the bedroom, and there is n't another pair
in the settlement."
But Yegor evidently thought the matter too
serious for joking, and merely replied that he
.was "unable to know."
"Well, come along," I said finally. "Let 's
go to the kitchen and take a look."
Putting on a fur "kukhlanka, for the night
was cold, I stepped out into the entry, threw
open the kitchen door, held, a light; and
listened. The only "things" tnat seemed to

be walking" in Yegor's department were the
cockroaches, some of which were quite big
enough to wear the boots of Lilliput, if not
the boots of America.
You see, Yegor," I said, "there 's nothing
and nobody there. After you blew out your
candle you probably dropped asleep without
knowing it, and had a bad dream."
But Yegor was not to be thus reassured; and
when we went back he begged so hard to be
allowed to stay in my end of the house that I
told him he might sleep on the floor beside the
oven. After I had blown out my light he stole
noiselessly into my room, and crawled under
my bed, where, soon afterward, I heard him
draw a long, deep breath of relief, as if for the
first time he felt himself safe.
Several days passed without any further
alarm. Yegor went back to the kitchen to
sleep, and I had forgotten all about the ghost
in boots, when, between eleven and twelve
o'clock one night, after I had gone to bed, my
attention was attracted by the sound of light,
stealthy footsteps crossing the floor of the gar-
ret over my head in the direction of the sitting-
room. My first thought was that Yegor had
gone up there to get something; but when I
remembered his fear of ghosts and recalled the
fact that the garret was absolutely empty, I dis-
missed this explanation as altogether improb-
able, and decided that the footsteps were those
of some poor wandering Korak from a neigh-
boring encampment, who had been detained in
the village overnight, and who had stolen up
into our garret to sleep because it was a little
warmer there than out of doors. I once
thought of shouting to him that he might
come down and sleep in the kitchen;'but I was
not sure that he would understand Russian.
I knew that the Koraks were accustomed to
sleep out on the snow in all kinds of weather,
and I said to myself, "What 's the use of wor-
rying about him? He '11 be comfortable
enough up there; and if he is n't, he can knock
at the kitchen door and wake Yegor." I heard

Master or Seigneur "- a title given by a Russian peasant to his superior in rank or position.
t The Russian word is sapaghee' "-that is, boots with hard soles and heels, which are known to the Siberian
natives as "American boots." Their own footgear is made of soft skins, and their footsteps are almost noiseless.
t A garment like a blouse or sweater, made of reindeer skin.
A nomadic tribe of Siberian natives.


him lie down in one corner of the garret, over
the sitting-room ikon and then, several times
afterward, I heard him turn over or move un-
easily, as if he found the floor of the garret a
hard bed.
When Yegor brought me my coffee on the
following morning, I said to him, Who slept
up in the garret last night ? "
The ghost-startled expression instantly re-
turned to his face as he replied, Nobody."
"But somebody certainly did," I insisted;
"I heard a man walk softly on tiptoe across
the garret floor about eleven o'clock, and lie
down in the comer over the ikon. I thought
at first it was you, but I suppose it must have
been some Korak. Were any of them in the
village yesterday? "
Yegor declared that there had not been a
Korak in the village for a week, and that the
sounds in the garret were undoubtedly made
by the same evil spirit that had frightened him.
"The house is haunted, Barin," he said, "and
we ought to have the priest come here and
drive away the spirits."
"What stuff!" I exclaimed. "There's no
such thing as an evil spirit, and you ought to
be ashamed, at your age, to believe old gos-
sips' stories about haunted houses and ghosts.
The footsteps in the garret were the footsteps
of a man; and if you '11 make inquiries in the
village, you '11 probably find out that it was
some Korak who did n't want to go back to
his encampment, and had no other place in
which to sleep."
If there was a man there," said Yegor, "he
must have left tracks in the snow on the floor.
Shall I go and look ? "
"Of course he left tracks," I assented. Go
and look, if you want to. You 'll find that the
footprints are those of a Korak's tor'basses. f "
The boy went out, but before he had had
time, it seemed to me, to climb the notched log
to the garret, he came rushing back and de-
clared breathlessly, There are no tracks at
all!" Inasmuch as I felt absolutely certain

that some human being had slept in that garret
and had walked across that garret floor, this
unexpected announcement was something of a
" facer "; and, not knowing exactly what to say,
I went out myself, climbed the log ladder in the
entry, and from the top of it peered into the
recesses of the dimly lighted garret. Yegor's
statement was true. The floor was covered
with half an inch or more of light snow, which
had evidently lain there for weeks; but as for
tracks, there were none. Not even a mouse had
crossed that floor since the last snow-storm.
Surprised and perplexed, I returned to the sit-
ting-room and tried to think out the puzzle.
That there had been somebody or something
in that garret the night before, I felt positively
certain; but where were the tracks? How
could footsteps that made a distinct sound fail
to leave an impression on light, feathery snow ?
Yegor lingered about the door to see what
I would say, but as I said nothing he finally in-
quired timidly what I thought.
I don't know what to think, Yegor," I re-
plied; "but if that ghost of yours in boots
walks across the garret floor again, I shall try
to get a sight at him, even if I can't see his
For two or three days after this Yegor took
refuge at night in the house of a neighboring
friend, and left me to tackle the. ghost alone;
but neither in the garret nor in the kitchen
did I hear the faintest sound to indicate that
the mysterious somebody who walked in dark-
ness and left no tracks was abroad. Meantime,
however, the news that a ghost had appeared
to Yegor in the Barin's kitchen, and that even
the skeptical Barin himself had heard the un-
clean spirit pacing the floor of the garret at
midnight, spread to every house in the village;
and the next Sunday afternoon who should ap-
pear at my door but a Russian priest, dressed
in all his robes and followed by one of the
church choir-boys with a basin of water and
a small bundle of long, flexible twigs. The
reverend father came in swinging a smoking

*In one corner of every Siberian house there is a smoky, gilt-incrusted portrait of some old Russian saint,
called an ikon (ee-kon'), before which all members of the Orthodox Greek Church are accustomed to cross them-
selves upon entering the room, and to say their prayers at night and in the morning.
tThe wandering natives of Siberia wear boots called "tor'basses" or "torbassa'," made, somewhat after the
fashion of moccasins, out of soft reindeer skin sewed with thread of dried sinews.



censer and reciting sonorously a selection from
the old Slavonic psalter. He marched sol-
emnly around the entry, the kitchen, and the
sitting-room, fumigating every nook and corner
where a ghost might lurk, and then took the
basin and the brush of twigs and sprinkled the
whole house with water after the manner of
the Greek Church. Having thus performed
his official duty, he greeted me courteously,
apologized for the intrusion, and said that it
was his custom to conduct a ceremony of
that -kind once a year in every house in the
village. I was not, of course, a member of his
church; but he had taken the liberty, he said,
of coming to my house, because there were re-
ports in circulation that mysterious noises had
been heard in it, and the minds of his parish-
ioners were disturbed.
After this visit of the Russian priest Yegor re-
covered his courage, and began again to sleep
in the kitchen. He evidently thought that no
unclean spirit" would dare to renter a house
whose floor had just been sprinkled, and whose
atmosphere was still pervaded by the odor of
incense. But he underestimated the audacity
of ghosts in American boots. At about eleven
o'clock upon the very next night I distinctly
heard again those soft, stealthy footsteps in
the garret. They seemed to proceed diag-
onally from the top of the log ladder to the
corner over the ikon, and as the night was in-
tensely cold and very still, I could distinctly
hear the faint squeaking of the frosty snow on
the garret floor under the pressure of the mys-
terious intruder's feet.
I sprang out of bed in my night-shirt, rushed
to the entry, climbed the notched log, and
with the words, "What are you doing here?"
on my lips, held the candle over my head and
looked into the garret, expecting to see a man.
But there was not a living thing there! I was
so astonished and dumfounded that I could
only stare into the empty room, while a chill,
due partly to cold and partly to a sense of mys-
tery, crinkled down my back. Less than thirty
seconds before, somebody had certainly walked
on tiptoe across that garret floor; and yet not
only was the garret untenanted, but the snow
on the floor -was as smooth and undisturbed as
it had been when Yegor and I looked at it the

week before. After listening intently for two
or three minutes without hearing the faintest
sound, I returned to my room, dressed myself,
and sat down to await further developments.
I was determined to solve the mystery of those
ghostly footsteps, even if I had to go up into
the garret to sleep. In the course of twenty
minutes I heard distinctly a noise as if some
person were turning over or moving about on
the floor of the garret just above the ikon. I
crept to the door between the sitting-room and
the entry, opened it softly, and listened. The
noise had ceased. Apparently the person who
made it had heard me open the door and had
also stopped to listen. I climbed up into the
garret, and found it dark, still, and empty as
it had been before.
By this time I had begun to feel very un-
comfortable and very much exasperated. That
something walked and moved about in that gar-
ret was absolutely certain; but how it crossed
the floor without disturbing the snow, and how
it noiselessly and mysteriously escaped every
time I went to look for it, were questions that
baffled me. The next time I heard the stealthy,
creaking footsteps overhead I put on a fur
hood and a kukhlanka, and climbed up into the
garret, prepared to stay there, if necessary, until
morning. The place was empty and still, of
course, as before; but I took my stand near
the chimney, with a candle in my hand, and
waited patiently to see whether the noises would
begin again in my presence. For twenty min-
utes or more there was not a sound. Then,
suddenly, I heard the footsteps again, louder
than ever, but instead of being on the floor of
the garret they were directly over my head. I
climbed hastily down the notched log, rushed
out of doors, and looked up on the roof. The
night was moonless, but the stars furnished
light enough to enable one to see the outline of
any dark object against the white background
of snow; and, so far as I could discover, there
was nothing on the house or near it. I then
went into the kitchen and, with some trouble,
waked the boy.
"Yegor," I said, "I have just chased your
ghost out of the garret, and he has gone up on
the roof. I want you to come outdoors and
stay on one side of the house, while I go around

1897.] A SIBERIAN SCARE. 271

the other, and perhaps we 'll be able to get a line of the western'chimney. It looked lumpy
sight of him." on one side, as if a man's figure were crouch-
As soon as Yegor waked up sufficiently to ing close against it in the black shadow. I
realize the nature of the service required of changed my point of view a little, and became
him, he was simply
paralyzed with fear.
He refused absolutely
at first to go out of
doors at all, even with
me; but when I told
him that the ghost
had apparently left
the garret through the
roof, and so might
possibly come down
the chimney into the
kitchen as soon as I
should begin the at-
tack outside, poor
Yegor decided to take
his chances in the
open;' but incessant-
ly he muttered low
prayers for protec-
tion from spirits, at
short intervals, and
trembled so with cold
and terror that his
teeth chattered. I
walked around the
front of the house,
with Yegor at my el-
bow, and examined
the roof carefully on
both sides. It was cov-
ered with old, hard-
ened snow, which in
places was somewhat
drifted; but there was .
not a sign on it of any
living thing, and I did
not see how anybody
or anything could get
access to it without a
I was just about to
outside and return to
the garret, when it suddenly struck me that satisfied that the queer object was a man dressed
there was something peculiar in the dark out- in a dark fur kukhlanka.


Who 's that ?" I shouted in Russian. "I
see you there in the shadow of the chimney!
Come down out of that!"
There was no reply, and the figure did not
move. Picking up a stick of firewood from a
little pile near the entry door, I hurled it with
all my strength at the chimney. Just as it
struck the bricks, out leaped the "ghost"-a
huge, shaggy Siberian sledge-dog, who ran
swiftly along the ridge-pole of the roof to the
kitchen end of the house, sprang off into the
darkness, and disappeared.
"Well, Yegor," I said, "there 's your ghost
at last, and it 's nothing but a dog "
Upon making an examination, I discovered
that in the shelter of the eastern or kitchen end
of the house the prevailing northwesterly gales
had formed a huge snowdrift, which rose to
within about a foot of the eaves. This sloping
drift, under the influence of wind and frost, had
slowly hardened until it would support the
weight of a man; and one or more of the vil-
lage dogs had formed the habit of climbing up

it to the roof at night, walking about on the
housetop, and perhaps lying down to sleep
against the warm side of the chimney. In the
dead stillness of an arctic winter night their
footsteps on the roof sounded to a person in
the house below exactly as if they were in the
garret; and I found afterward, by experiment,
that if a man walked across the roof at night
on tiptoe, it was almost impossible for a listener
in the sitting-room to decide whether he was in
the garret or on the housetop.
It is hardly necessary to say that neither
Yegor nor his superstitious village friends ever
accepted my common-sense explanation of the
mysterious footsteps. The story which was
current the next winter was that after the priest
drove the "unclean spirit" out of the house
with incense and holy water, it took refuge on
the roof;, and that when the Barin found it
there, and began to pelt it with chunks of
wood, the spirit suddenly took the form of an
immense dog, snarled fiercely, and immediately
vanished in a thick cloud.

Kimi TE5 LATE5T-." .- :-
By FLJ, 4 !.s
_r. ,.- 'A




ABRAHAM LINCOLN, our great War President,
was born in Larue County, Kentucky, in a
rude little log-cabin. This cabin has recently
been restored, and, so far as possible, made
exactly as it was eighty-eight years ago, when
a little, baby boy was born to Thomas and
Nancy Lincoln, or ".Linkhorn," as the name
was then spelled -humble "settlers," who had
moved to the neighborhood from Washington
County, four years before.
The few living people who remember Thomas
Lincoln, the father, say that he was a rather,
improvident man, not working long at any one
thing. He was a hard worker, but was a poor
manager; and the little family was often with-
out more than the simplest necessaries of life.
Thomas Lincoln cleared a few acres around
his cabin, and raised a small crop of corn and
grain. Then he became a carpenter and tinker,
working at such odd jobs as he could find
among the pioneer neighbors. He was away
at work at the time Abraham was born.
The neighbors heard that Mrs. Lincoln was
in the cabin all alone with the little baby, and
had little to eat except corn and potatoes.
They at once visited the Lincoln cabin, taking
such delicacies as their houses afforded. The
father returned in a few days; and the baby
was named Abraham Lincoln, after his grand-
father, who had been killed by the Indians
when Thomas Lincoln was a little boy.
When this country boy had become Presi-
dent, he often spoke of the trials and struggles
of his early days as "simple annals of privation
and of poverty."
The child's life during the time the family
lived in Kentucky appears to have been en-
tirely uneventful. He helped his mother--
after he was three years old-in the simple
household duties, went to the district-school,
and played with the children of the neighbor-
hood. The only one of young Lincoln's play-

mates now living is an old man nearly a hun-
dred years old, named Austin Gollaher, whose
mind is bright and clear, and who never tires
of telling of the days Lincoln and he "were
little tikes, and played together." This old
man, who yet lives in the log-house in which
he has always lived, a few miles from the old
Lincoln place, tells entertaining stories about
the President's boyhood.
Mr. Gollaher says that they were together
more than the other boys in school, that he
became fond of his little friend, and he believed
that Abe thought a great deal of him.
In speaking of various events of minor im-
portance in their boyhood days, Mr. Gollaher
remarked: "I once saved Lincoln's life."
Upon being urged to tell of the occurrence,
he thus related it: "We had been going to
school together one year; but the next year we
had no school because there were so few
scholars to attend, there being only about
twenty in the school the year before. Conse-
quently, Abe and I had not much to do; but,
as we did not go to school, and our mothers
were strict with us, we did not get to see each
other very often. One Sunday morning my mo-
ther waked me up early, saying she was going
to see Mrs. Lincoln, and that I could go along.
Glad of the chance,. I was soon dressed and
ready to go. After my mother and I got there,
Abe and I played all through the day. While
we were wandering up and down the little stream
called Knob Creek, Abe-said: 'Right up there'-
pointing to the east-' we saw a covey of par-
tridges yesterday. Let's go over and get some
of them.' The stream was swollen, and was too
wide for us to jump across. Finally, we saw a
narrow foot-log, and we concluded to try it. It
was narrow, but Abe said, 'Let's coon it.' I
went first, and reached the other side all right.
Abe went about half-way across, when he got
scared and began trembling. I hollered to


him, Don't look down, nor up,
nor sideways, but look rigllt at
me, and hold on tight!' But
he fell off into the creek, and a-
the water was about seven .-.r
eight feet deep, and I could inor
swim, and neither could AL.., I
knew it would do no good ft:.r
me to go in after him. So I got
a stick--a long water-sprouit--
and held it out to him. He canie
up, grabbing with both hands,

A nearer view of the exact place where the log house stood.

.:....:.. t-., -.-.".........."-..... ....'.., '

T.51 1

<'' .. ."--. .Irll i "1:"i,^; *""^, i ." ', :
-. : : ... ,: .:. ;. +,_,, 'I ..-,&7i,,+ .
F:.1''"i'i! '' x" 'oe ': ': -l .



and I put the stick into his hands. He clung
to it, and I pulled him out on the bank, almost
dead. I got him by the arms and shook him
well, and then rolled him on the ground, when
the water poured out of his mouth. He was
all right very soon. We promised each other
that we would never tell anybody about it, and
never did for years. I never told anyone of it
until after Lincoln was killed."
"Was he a bright boy at school, and did he
learn rapidly ? "
Oh, yes," he replied; Lincoln was an un-
usually bright boy, and he made good progress
in his books, better than almost any one else

in lhiol:; andi hl- studi'.:,I er hard, "illihough
he wn: yo(un. H- w:ul. git -rice-wood
buie-,l5. and lha.k them up on a log. aindl put a
ifeC ol tlihmr in the tire at a lime t': make a light
t'or himi ti read 1Ii. L.'_ok-. by. It did not make

X :, .

From a photograph by The Evans Art Co., Elizabethtown, Kentucky.
a very good light, but it was all he had at
night. Young Lincoln was never good-looking.
He was angular and awkward. His mother was



a rather slim woman of medium height. Tom
Lincoln, his father, was tall. Abe was not very
much like him, for Tom Lincoln had a fuller
face, and was of a heavier build."
In answer to a question as to Lincoln's bro-
thers or sisters, the old man brightened up and
said, Oh, yes, he had a sister. Her name was
Sally, and she was about my age. That was
one reason why I thought so much of Abe.
But when the Lincolns moved to Indiana, I
did not say good-by to either of them.
I next heard of Lincoln several years after-
ward. It was said that he would make rails
during the summer, and thus earn money to go
to school. Then' I heard no more of Lincoln,
until he was nominated for
President. I told the boys that
no matter what happened, I ,
was going to vote for Abe. I "
said I was going to vote for
him if it was the last act of
my life, because I had played
with him when a boy, and I !
was glad he had gone up in
the world; and I did vote for
him! said the old man.
Little Abe was nearly nine
years old when Thomas Lin-
coln left Kentucky to find a
home in the wilderness of In-
Twelve years ago, the cabin
in which Lincoln was born was
torn down, and the logs were
From a
hauled to an adjoining farm,
and used in the construction of another house.
The old farm had practically been abandoned,
and nearly all the people in the neighborhood
had quite forgotten, a second time within a
decade since the death of Lincoln, that he was
born on the "Lincoln Spring Farm," as the
place has always been called. The Lincoln
birthplace is fifty-four miles southeast of Louis-
ville. It can be reached from Louisville by
going to Elizabethtown, in Hardin County, a
distance of forty-two miles, and then taking an-
other road from Elizabethtown to Hodgensville,
a ride of twelve miles. The Lincoln Spring
Farm is three miles from this quaint old town,
on Nolin's Creek, directly on the public road

leading from Hodgensville to Buffalo, a village
six miles to the east. It is a pleasant twenty-
minutes' drive over a good dirt road, through a
poor, but interesting, country.
The original Lincoln cabin had been torn
down and the materials had been moved away,
as stated, by a man named Tom Davenport,
who used the logs in his own house.
Mr. A. W. Dennett, a New York gentleman,
not long ago bought the Davenport house,
recovered the logs, and, after much difficulty,
restored the cabin exactly as it was originally,
using the very same timbers, door, window, and
frames. It occupies the former site, and is in
much the same condition as it was in when the

photograph by The Evans Art Co., Elizabethtown, Kentucky.

Lincolns left it. The cabin is eighteen feet
long, sixteen feet .wide, and about twelve feet
high, counting from the floor to the ridge pole.
There is only one door and one window the
latter an opening twenty inches square. A
large open fireplace built in the most primitive
way occupies nearly the whole of one end of
the cabin. The chimney is made of small logs,
placed together just as log-houses are built.
Inside of it, flat stones placed on the ground
made the hearth, and wide flat stones placed
against the logs kept the fire within bounds
and protected the wooden chimney. The in-
side, from the hearthstones to the top of the
chimney, was thickly daubed with clay. The



chimney reaches only half-way to the roof of
the house, and is rounded off with small sticks.
This simple fireplace furnished most of the light,
all of the heat, and the sole means for cook-
ing the meals for the family. The cabin did
not have even a loft, or second story, as have
most cabins. It was built by Thomas Lincoln,
father of the President, some time about 1804 or
1805, and was entirely constructed with an ax
and saw, the simple tools of the pioneers. The
clapboard roof was anchored down by small
logs, laid lengthwise on top of the rows of oak
boards. There were no nails or hardware.
The door-hinges were of wood, and the pane-
less windows had an inside board-shutter, held
in place by raw-hide thongs. There were
chinks and mud between the logs, and the pun-
cheon floor was pegged down. It is probable
that after Abraham Lincoln's grandfather was
killed by the Indians at Long Run Meeting-
house, in Jefferson County, Ky., the family
went further into the forest, and took up a
section of land in La Rue, then part of Hardin
County. Later, to better his fortune, Thomas
Lincoln left this farm on Nolin's Creek, and
settled on Knob Creek, a dozen miles from
Hodgensville, and from there he went to In-
diana, and later to Illinois.
The Lincoln Spring Farm takes its name
from a magnificent spring at the foot of the hill,
on the crest of which the cabin stands. It is
about one hundred and fifty feet from the house,
and this beautiful spring undoubtedly attracted
the attention of Thomas Lincoln. Under a
cluster of large oak-trees there is a circular de-
pression in the ground, fifty feet in diameter,
and about fifteen feet deep. One side of this
is solid limestone, an overhanging ledge forming
the covering for a spring of clear, cool water
that issues from a cleft in the rocks, falling a
distance of four or five feet. The water gurgles
and sputters as it falls from one ledge of the
rock to another, and makes its way down into
the earth through a natural cavern, or "sink-
hole," as the natives call it. The country is
hilly, and there are many caves, and this over-
flow that so mysteriously disappears probably
escapes through some underground passage,

like the rivers that flow through the Mammoth
Cave in Edmonson County, forty miles away.
There are also disappearing rivers, or creeks, in
this section of Kentucky. Streams sometimes
end abruptly, disappearing in the ground with-
out any visible outlet, and reappearing miles
away in a like mysterious manner.
The oldest inhabitants agree that the place
has always been called "The Lincoln Spring,"
and it is more than likely that the future
President played, until four or five years of age,
under the shade-trees around this beautiful
natural fountain. The new owner of the place
wishes to convert it into a national park, a sort
of patriotic Mecca, as has been done at Mount
Vernon. The property has been surrounded by
a good substantial fence, the old, sterile hillsides
have been plowed up, and the slopes are cov-
ered with grass. Most of the young trees have
been trimmed and left standing, and in a few
years the old farm will become a spot of great
The revival of interest in the early career of
the great War President has caused many people
to make pilgrimages to the primitive city of
Hodgensville, a place of about i,ooo inhabi-
tants. Many people come in search of Lincoln
relics. Very recently a queerly-made iron can-
dle-stick was plowed up near the cabin, and it
is the general belief that it was made by the
President's father, who had a small black-
smith's forge in his yard.
The family having moved to Indiana, when
Abralam was about nine years old, and very
soon thereafter to Illinois, the serious part of
young Lincoln's life began. He worked day
and night, and read borrowed books until he
had gained a fair education, and was finally en-
abled to begin the practice of law. The life of
Lincoln after his thirtieth year is familiar to
almost every boy and girl in the wide land.
There was not a year's difference between
the ages of Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson
Davis; and it is an interesting fact that the
President of the Confederacy also was born in
Kentucky, and within a hundred miles of the
log-cabin that was the birthplace of President





SPRING in Washington was never more beau-
tiful than in April, 1861, when my two bro-
thers and I crossed Lafayette Square on our
way to the White House.
My mother had sent us "to play with the
Lincoln boys." Mrs. Lincoln had told how
lonely her sons were, and asked to have my
brothers come and play with Willie and Tad.
I was sent with them to see the acquaintance
properly begun. We had been to the White
House often before; for Mr. Watt, who had
charge of the conservatory and grounds, was
our very good friend, and showed us the rare
flowers, and talked about them, and often gave
us bouquets, which we thought marvelously
beautiful, made up by the "bouquet man on a
fixed plan-the short-stemmed flowers tied on

broom-straws and built into solid oval struc-
tures surrounded by a fringe of green.
We lingered in the Square, which was filled
with nursemaids and children, many of whom
we knew; for to-day we felt a strange reluc-
tance and hesitation. Instead of going to the
entrance and asking for the boys, as our mother
had suggested, we skirted the Treasury Building,
and went in at the little gate back of it to the
grounds. Assuring ourselves that things were
outwardly the same under the new administra-
tion, we entered Mr. Watt's office under the
conservatory, and he called up the stairs:


" Here!-Willie! Tad! -are some boys come
to see you." No answer was returned, and we
went up, and there stood the boys by the water-


lily tank, where they had been watching the
goldfish. Such quiet, shy, nice boys, I thought.
In five minutes the four boys had disap-
peared, and I saw them no more till dark, when
my brothers returned home, looking as Lar-
ney, our mulatto girl, declared-" like they
done bin huntin' coons in de bresh "; but they
had had "the best time they ever had "; they
had been "everywhere," and Mrs. Lincoln said
they "must come every day," and "Mr. Lin-
coln, I mean, the President -she called him
Mr. Lincoln, anyway- took us all on his lap,
and told us a story."
Early next morning Willie and Tad appeared
at our house, brought by one of the gardeners,
and remained all day, being sent for at night.
Thus began an intimacy which continued till
Willie's death. I think there was hardly a day
in that time when the four were not together.
Willie Lincoln was the most lovable boy I
ever knew-sensible, sweet-tempered, and gen-
tle-mannered. He was rather fair, with blue-
gray eyes, while Tad had quick, dark eyes, and
a fiery temper. Though very affectionate when
he chose, Tad was unyielding in his dislikes.
His peculiar defect of speech made it difficult
for strangers to understand him; but those
who saw him every day had no difficulty.
The two Lincoln boys were then a little
over ten and eight years of age, my two bro-
thers being a year or two older. The elder,
Horatio, or Budd as he was always called,
was fair, like Willie Lincoln, while Hally was
dark. This resemblance of the two pairs of
boys was often remarked upon.
Willie and Tad were two healthy, rollicking
Western boys who had never been accustomed
to restraint. The notice which their father's
exalted station brought upon them was at
times distasteful. Willie once said: "Was n't
there ever a President who had children before ?
I wish they would n't stare at us so!"
The first time they went to church with us,
Willie said: "Will he pray for us, do you think?
Preachers always pray so long for Pa." Dr.
Smith did pray for them, as he recognized them
in our pew. Willie's cheeks grew very red,
but Tad was sitting on the floor of the pew,
and heeded not. He was so uneasy that he
always sat on the floor a good part of the ser-

vice, drawing pictures, and amusing himself
with whatever he could find in his pockets.
On another Sunday, when he was unusually
restless, a young officer friend of ours gave
him a knife, which he thought Tad could not
open; but he did, and cut his finger, and I had
to do it up in my best embroidered handkerchief.
On this occasion I was goaded to say, "I '11
never take you to church again, Thomas Lin-
colnl "- he hated of all things to be called
Thomas,- "I just suffer agonies all the time! "
Well," said Tad, "was n't Willie sitting up
there, good as pie, and you poked me with
your toe ?"
One evening, late in May, the Lincoln boys
came with one of the men from the White
House, saying they had tickets for a noted
minstrel show then in the city. All four boys
went to see the performance, and from that
evening each one longed to be a minstrel!
They talked incessantly about it, and, in order
to make a theater, even suggested taking out
some partitions in our attic, which was cut up
into small bedrooms. But fortune favored them.
A verbal message came from Mrs. Lincoln:
"The Madam's compliments, and as the wea-
ther was very rainy and Willie and Tad had
bad colds, might Budd and Hally stay at the
White House till she returned from New
York?" This was rather alarming. Who
knew what might happen in a week? Mrs.
Lincoln was to be absent at least a week.
Not long before this a messenger had ap-
peared at dinner-time, asking whether Willie
and Tad were with us, and saying that they had
not been seen since breakfast.
They had "lost themselves" in the Capitol,
after listening in the gallery of the House of
Representatives as long as Tad would let them.
Some gentleman had given them lunch at the
restaurant of Congress, and they had played
marbles with some of the pages. Tad, at least,
had played with success, for marbles were fairly
bursting from his pockets.
After some consultation our boys were al-
lowed to accept Mrs. Lincoln's invitation. As
they were putting their clothes- into a small
valise, Willie and Tad arrived under a large
and dilapidated umbrella which Tad said they
had "borrowed from the cook." All four soon



*". *" -. 'A ~Iri
l(Yv p1' -
.k~~r '.r ta.rr1~r

t t a ra r

ih'9 ,.t ,- -. J1 C1rh aA.

c r a TO er L c,
'' F7 I,'..
d- d' J, C.,~ -tW4
*~N 1&j..7 k -" -,.~~~ I ,

S- ~.r4

Ij ',. J, -'

Joe P ~~e~C''

k) I

AA j-
(~r ,~l)-b

K~~L -.

.L~- P41 r
II F r ,: lo

C ,

FI-HE .LACK STAT E. ,.*, ',4,
, ,r -- .

i .... i ... .'..-'.-.- .. .. ..

left, with whoops of joy from Tad, and the fer-
vent assertion,"Youbet we'll have a good time!"
Next day I attended a review with my fa-

their, and had a distant view of the boys, in the
President's carriage, behaving with perfect pro-
priety. The day after, a relative was brought


4 -



from camp very ill, and for a time no one
thought of the boys; but the following morn-
ing, as I returned from an errand, the servant,
as she opened the door, said:
Ole Miss done gwine to de hospital, and
she say, 'Arsk Miss Julie, when she come, ter

was intensified on the countenance of a negro
coming down the walk; and this wild grin
rippled and spread like a wave as I went on-
orderlies, soldiers, doorkeepers, all wore that
peculiar smile. I asked where the boys were.
"Upstairs, miss," the man said; and I heard


go see 'f dem chillun doan pull down the him chuckle as he turned away. As I came
White House yit.'" along the upper corridor Tad appeared.
I went to the White House. As I ap- "Oh, Julia, come and see our circus!" he
preached, I saw that it was standing indeed, cried when he saw me. We 've got a circus
but I noticed a strange grin on the face of an in the attic. We 're minstrels. I 've got to
orderly holding some horses. Some soldiers be blacked up, and Willie can't get his dress
lounging near also wore the same grin, which on; it's too big. Pin it up, will you? Hurry!"



I took a horrified survey and said, "A cir-
cus! Does the President know it?"
"Oh, yes, he knows it," said Tad. "He
does n't care; he 's got some general or other
-in there. Come on-hurry "
Willie was struggling with the full, long skirt
and flounces of a lilac silk I had seen Mrs.
Lincoln wear at an afternoon reception, while
Budd wore a ruffled morning-wrapper which
he was pinning up in billowy festoons.
When the boys were nearly ready to go be-
fore their "audience," Tad began singing at
the top of his voice, Old Abe Lincoln came
out of the Wilderness."
"Hush!" said Budd; "the President will
hear you."
I don't care if Pa does hear, and he don't
care either," said Tad. "We 've got to sing
that in the show." And I think he did!
But, some time after, as Tad was singing a
campaign song at our house about Old Abe
splitting rails," Willie asked my mother, Mrs.
Taft, ought Tad to sing that song ? Is n't it
disrespectful to Pa ? Tad kicked the chair,
as he always did when displeased, and said,
" Everybody in this world knows Pa used to
split rails."
Mama explained why she thought it in bad
taste, and Tad said: "Well, I '11 sing about
' John Brown's body,' then." He always obeyed
my mother, though generally so headstrong.
I was at their "circus" only a short time.
A curtain of sheets pinned together was stretched
across one side of the attic. Their extensive
"repertoire" was somewhat mixed; and they
did not keep very closely to the programme
reproduced here, which Willie brought to our
house next day, asking me to correct" it. I
put in the second M (then considered necessary),
and the real names of the actors.
Willie and Budd both made a copy of this,
and the original was left in my portfolio, to-
gether with a copy Tad began to make; but
after drawing a picture of General Scott on the
.paper, he gave up the task. Tad as the Black
Statue" was a great success. Every one who
paid one cent went in, I think, though it said
"five cents" on the bill. Servants, orderlies,
soldiers, strangers, came and went all day.
I found a book in Mrs. Lincoln's sitting-
VOL. XXIV.-36.

room (there were many new books sent to her,
and she told me to take any I chose), and
went to one of the windows to read. *
By and by, I was aware of something large
and dark looming over me, and the President
- for it was he said, "Why, it 's Budd's
sister. Having great times up there, hey ? "
I jumped up, with my finger in the book,-
for Mama told us always to rise when the Pre-
sident spoke to us,- answering, "Yes, sir."
He looked kindly at me for a moment,
glanced at the title of the book, and passed on.
He seemed tired, and I thought perhaps his
visitor, the general, had bothered" him.
Budd often carried messages from the pri-
vate apartments to the office. One day Willie
asked, Why do you always call Pa Mr. Presi-
dent' ? Is it more polite ? "
"Oh," said Budd, "it is n't proper to call
Presidents by their names."
"Well, why don't you call Ma Mrs. Presi-
dent '?"
"Why, she 's just Mrs. Lincoln, only the
servants call her 'the madam.'"
Hu!" said Tad; "I shall call Pa, Pa! and
he sang, "I don't care for the corporal, I don't
care for the guard," or something like that.
One day the boys would be making a "sur-
vey" of the grounds, under the guidance of some
good-natured engineer, while the next, perhaps,
would be spent in the Patent Office with my
father. The models of locomotives and steam-
boats in his room were very interesting.
They spent a great deal of time at General
McClellan's headquarters. He was very kind
to them, and so was Mrs. McClellan. They
often went to the McClellans' house to play
with the baby. Budd was very fond of her.
Of course the boys attended every review.
Once they rode in the staff. Willie's bridle
was held by the Duc de Chartres, and Budd's
by the Comte de Paris, while the aides took
the smaller boys in front of them.
On another occasion,- a very hot day,- as
Tad had been indisposed the day before, his
mother was unwilling he should go to see
the troops. The review took place across the
Long Bridge, and as the President's carriage
passed down the line, a cart came clattering
after, drawn by a rickety horse driven by a


grinning negro boy. In it were the boys in new
Zouave uniforms, their swords at a salute !
I think many old soldiers must remember
that sight. Willie said the boys paid the darky
a quarter from their "circus money."
About this time they formed a military com-
pany called Mrs. Lincoln's Zouaves." She
gave them a flag, and they were reviewed by
the President from the portico. The Secretary
of War promised to furnish light (condemned)
rifles, but I do not remember whether they
were ever armed or not, for the company
dwindled until it was like Artemus Ward's -
" all officers." Willie was colonel, Budd major,
and Hally captain, while Tad refused every
rank but that of drum-major. The officers had
old-fashioned swords, given them either by the
Secretary of War or by General McClellan.
They spent a great deal of time on the flat
copper roof of the White House. It was sur-
rounded by a stone balustrade, and here they
built a cabin. The roof was by turns a fort"
and a quarter-deck." They used to raise and
lower the flag with due ceremony, and look for
"strange sail" through a spy-glass.
I remember once, when "Budd's sister"
ascended to the stronghold with a stern de-
mand for the scissors, she was received at the
"side with naval etiquette. They showed me
a Confederate flag at Munson's Hill, I think, and
Tad said some boats on the river were pirates."
In September Mrs. Lincoln secured a tutor for
the boys, and asked to have my brothers come
regularly to lessons there, thinking their presence
would be an incentive to Willie and Tad. But, not
long before, my father lost his government office.
After a while my father received another of-
fice, and the boys began school with Willie and
Tad. The tutor had no easy post with the two
younger boys, though Willie and Budd studied
well, and made rapid progress.
The boys had another "show" early in Jan-
uary, 1862. Among their Christmas presents
was a magic lantern; and for a week they gave
exhibitions every evening, I think in the pri-
vate dining-room. They sent the President
and Messrs. Hay and Nicolay free tickets, and
the President came in once.
I notice in my father's journal that Willie
and Tad dined with us every day for a week,

and then took Budd and Hally back for their
"show." My two brothers were often urged
to stay to dinner by the President and Mrs.
Lincoln; and if it was stormy she would send us
word that she would keep the boys over night.
Mrs. Lincoln in those days was always kind-
anxious to let the children have a good time."
She gave me pieces of music which had been
sent to her, and urged me to practise and play
them to her when I came again. I never did,
because I never practised, if I could help it.
She often said: "Get a bouquet for your
mother before you go." Indeed, Mr. Watt al-
ways gave me flowers when I came into the
conservatory. Tad was rather destructive there.
He would pick the choicest blossoms, and once
ate all the strawberries Mr. Watt was forcing!
The boys received a present of a pony
at this time, and spent most of their waking
hours riding it by turns, and petting and feed-
ing it. Twice in January, Willie and Tad at-
tended church and Sunday-school with us at
Dr. Smith's. The last time Willie came to our
house my mother noticed that his feet were
wet. She made both the boys dry their feet;
and as a surgeon (I think it was Dr. Barnes,
of the 27th New York) was calling at the time,
she asked him to take the boys home in his
ambulance, which pleased them.
On February i Budd had a severe cold and
was kept in for a few days, and Tad reported
that "Willie had a cold, too." When Budd re-
turned from a visit, he said, "Willie is dreadfully
sick; he talks about me and the pony all the
time." My mother went to inquire, and Mrs.
Lincoln told her they feared typhoid fever.
Sometimes the President would come in,
stand a while at the foot of the bed, and go out
without speaking. Once he laid his arm on
Budd's neck as he sat at the bedside, and lean-
ing over, smoothed Willie's hair.
Although on February 20, at noon, my mo-
ther brought news from the White House that
Willie was better, saying that he had held
Budd's hand and knew him, Willie died at five
o'clock of that day. Tad was overcome with
grief, and was ill for some time after.
We removed North in '63, and the friend-
ship with the Lincoln boys became only a
pleasant memory.



[Begun in the November number.]


RAT-A-TAT-TAT at the first dim hint of dawn
went the chamberlain's knuckles upon the door.
To Nick it seemed scarce midnight yet, so sound
had been his sleep.
Master Carew having gotten into his high-
topped riding-boots with a great puffing and
tugging, they washed their faces at the inn-
yard pump by the smoky light of the hostler's
lantern, and then in a subdued, half-wakened
way made a hearty breakfast off the fragments
of the. last night's feast. Part of the remaining
cold meat, cheese, and cakes Carew stowed in
his leather pouch. The rest he left in the lap
of a beggar sleeping beside the door.
The street was dim with a chilly fog, through
which a few pale stars still struggled overhead.
The houses were all shut and barred; nobody
was abroad, and the night-watch slept in com-
fortable doorways here and there, with lolling
heads and lanterns long gone out. As they
came along the crooked street, a stray cat scur-
ried away with scared green eyes, and a ken-
neled hound set up a lonesome howl.
But the Blue Boar Inn was stirring like an
ant-hill, with firefly lanterns flitting up and
down, and a cheery glow about the open door.
The horses of the company, scrubbed unreason-
ably clean, snorted and stamped in little bridled
clumps about the court-yard, and the stable-
boys, not scrubbed at all, clanked at the pump
or shook out wrinkled saddle-cloths with most
prodigious yawns. The grooms were buckling
up the packs; the chamberlain and sleepy-lid-
ded maids stood at the door, waiting their fare-
well farthings.
Some of the company yawned in the tap-
room; some yawned out of doors with steam-

ing stirrup-cup in hand; and some came yawn-
ing down the stairways pulling on their riding-
cloaks, booted, spurred, and ready for a long
day's ride.
"Good-morrow, sirs," said Carew heartily.
" Good-morrow, sir, to you," said they, and
all came over to speak to Nicholas in a very
kindly way: and one or two patted him on the
cheek and walked away speaking in undertones
among themselves, keeping one eye on Carew
all the while. And Master Tom Heywood, the
play-writer, came out with a great slice of fresh
wheat bread, thick with butter and dripping
with yellow honey, and gave it to Nick; and
stood there silently with a very queer expres-
sion watching him eat it, until Carew's groom led
up a stout hackney and a small roan palfrey to
the block, and the master-player, crying impa-
tiently Up with thee, Nick, we must be am-
bling! sprang into the saddle of the gray.
The sleepy inn-folk roused a bit to send a
cheery volley of, "Fare ye well, sirs, come
again," after the departing players, and the
long cavalcade cantered briskly out of the inn-
yard, in double rank, with a great clinking of
bridle-chains and a drifting odor of wet leather
and heavy perfume.
Nick sat very erect and rode his best, feeling
like some errant knight of the great Round Ta-
ble, ready to right the whole world's wrongs.
"But what about the horse?" said he. "We
can na keep him in Stratford, sir."
Oh, that's all seen to," said the master-
player. "'T is to be sent back by the weekly
And where do I turn into the Stratford
road, sir? asked Nick, as the players clattered
down the cobbled street in a cloud of mist that
steamed up so thickly from the stones that the
horses seemed to have no legs, but to float like
"Some distance further on," replied Carew


carelessly. "'T is not the way we came that
thou shalt ride to-day; that is t' other end
of town, and the gate not open yet. But the
longest way round is the shortest way home,
so let 's be spurring on."
At the corner of the street a cross and sleepy
cobbler was strapping a dirty urchin, who bel-
lowed lustily. Nick winced.
Hollo! cried Carew. What 's to do ?"
Why, sir," said Nick, ruefully, father will
thresh me well this night."
"Nay," said Carew, in a quite decided tone;
"that he '11 not, I promise thee! "- and as he
spoke he chuckled softly to himself.
The man before them turned suddenly around,
and grinned queerly; but, catching the master-
player's eye, whipped his head about like a
weather-vane in a gale, and cantered on.
As they came down the narrow street the
watchmen were just swinging wide the city
gates, and gave a cheer to speed the parting
guests, who gave a rouse in turn, and were
soon lost to sight in the mist which hid the
valley in a great gray sea.
"How shall I know where to turn off,
sir ?" asked Nick, a little anxiously. "'T is
all alike."
"I '11 tell thee," said the master-player;
"rest thee easy on that score. I know the
road thou art to ride much better than thou
dost thyself."
He smiled quite frankly as he spoke, and
Nick could not help wondering why the man
before them again turned around and eyed him
with that sneaking grin.
He did not like the fellow's looks. He had
scowling black brows, hair cut as close as if
the rats had gnawed it off, a pair of ill-shaped
bandy-legs, a wide, unwholesome slit of a
mouth, and a nose like a raspberry tart. His
whole appearance was servile and mean, and
there was a sly malice in his furtive eyes. Be-
sides that, and a thing which strangely fasci-
nated Nick's gaze, there was a hole through
the gristle of his right ear, scarred about as if
it had been burned, and through this hole the
fellow had tied a bow of crimson ribbon, like a
butterfly alighted upon his ear.
"A pretty fellow! said Carew, with a shrug.
"He '11 be hard-put to dodge the hangman

yet; but he 's a right good fellow in his way,
and he has served me -he has served me."
The first loud burst of talk had ceased, and
all rode silently along. The air was chill, and
Nick was grateful for the cloak that Carew
threw around him. There was no sound but
the beat of many hoofs in the dust-padded road,
and now and then the crowing of a cock some-
where within the cloaking fog. The stars were
gone, and the sky was lighting up; and all at
once as they rode, the clouds ahead, low down
and to the right, broke raggedly away and let
a red sun-gleam shoot through across the mist,
bathing the riders in dazzling rosy light.
"Why, Master Carew," cried Nick, no little
startled, "there comes the sun, almost ahead!
We 're riding eastward, sir. We've missed the
road !"
Oh, no, we 've not," said Carew; "nothing
of the sort." His tone was so peremptory and
sharp that Nick said nothing more, but rode
along, vaguely wishing that he was already
clattering down Stratford High Street.
The clouds scattered as the sun came up,
and the morning haze drifted away into cool
dales, and floated off upon the breeze. And as
the world woke up the players wakened, too,
and rode gaily along, laughing, singing, and
chattering together, until Nick thought he had
never in all his life before seen such a jolly fel-
lowship. His heart was blithe as he reined his
curveting palfrey by the master-player's side,
and watched the sunlight dance and sparkle
along the dashing line from dagger-hilts and
jeweled clasps, and the mist-lank plumes curl
crisp again in the warmth of the rising sun.
The master-player, too, had a graceful, tak-
ing way of being half-familiar with the lad; he
was besides a marvelous teller of wonderful tales,
and whiled away the time with jests and quips,
mile after- mile, till Nick forgot both road and
time, and laughed until his sides were sore.
Yet slowly, as they rode along, it came home
to him with the passing of the land that this
was country new and strange. So he began to
take notice of this and that beside the way; and
as he noticed he began to grow uneasy. Thrice
had he come to Coventry, but surely never by
a road like this.
Yet still the master-player joked and laughed


and pleased the boy with little things until
Nick laughed, too, and let the matter go. At
last, however, when they had ridden fully an
hour, they passed a moss-grown abbey on the
left-hand side of the road, a strange old place
that Nick could not recall.
Are ye sure, Master Carew," he ventured

dost come without fail to the very place that
thou art going. I will, upon my word, and on
the remnant of mine honour "
But in spite of this assurance, and in spite
of the master-player's ceaseless stream of gaiety
and marvels, Nick became more and more un-
easy. The road was certainly growing stranger

... C.' -,
.j -__ --
.- ,

r *-,. J- = .. -


timidly, "are ye sure we be na going wrong,
sir ?"
At that the master-player took on so offended
an air that Nick was sorry he had spoken.
"Why, now," said Carew, haughtily, "if
thou dost know the roads of England better
than I, who have trudged and ridden them all
these years, I '11 sit me down and learn of thee
how to follow mine own nose. I tell thee I know
the road thou art to ride this day better than
thou dost thyself; and I '11 see to it that thou

and stranger as they passed. The company,
too, instead of ambling leisurely along, as they
had done at first, were now spurring ahead
at a good round gallop, in answer to a shrill
whistle from the master-player; and the horses
were wet with sweat.
They passed a country village, too, that was
quite unknown to Nick, and a great highway
running to the north that he had never seen
before; and when they had ridden for about
two hours, the road swerved southward to a



shining ford, and on a little tableland beyond
he saw'the gables of a town he did not know.
"Why, Master Carew!" he cried out, half-
indignant, half-perplexed, and thoroughly fright-
ened, this is na the Stratford road at all. I 'm
going back. I will na ride another mile! "
As he spoke he wheeled the roan sharply
out of the clattering file with a splash of the
rein across the withers, and started back along
the hill past the rest of the company, who came
thumping down behind.
"Stop him! Stop him there! he heard the
master-player shout, and there was something
in the fierce, high voice that turned his whole
heart sick. What right had they to stop him ?
This was not the Stratford road; he was certain
of that now. But "Stop him! -stop him
there!" he heard the master-player call, and a
wild, unreasoning fright came over him. He
dug his heels into the palfrey's heaving sides
and urged him up the hill through the cloud
of dust that came rolling down behind the
horsemen. The hindmost riders had plunged
into those before, and the whole array was
struggling, shouting, and wrangling in wild
disorder; but out of the flurry Carew and the
bandy-legged man with the ribbon in his ear
spurred furiously and came galloping after him
at the top of their speed.
Nick cried out, and beat the palfrey with the
rein; but the chase was short. They overtook
him as he topped the hill, one on each side,
and, leaning over, Carew snatched the bridle
from his hand. "Thou little imp !" he panted,
as he turned the roan around and started down
the hill. "Don't try this on again!"
"Oh, Master Carew," gasped Nick, "what
are ye going to do wi' me ?"
"Do with thee ? cried the master-player,
savagely clapping his hand upon his poniard,-
why, I am going to do with thee just whatever
I please. Dost hear ? And, hark 'e, this sort
of caper doth not please me at all; and by the
whistle of the Lord High Admiral, if thou
priest it on again, thy life is not worth a rotten
Unbuckling the rein, he tossed one end to
the bandy-legged man, and holding the other
in his own hand, with Nick riding helplessly
between them, they trotted down the hill again,

took their old places in the ranks, and spat-
tered through the shallow ford.
The bandy-legged man had pulled a dagger
from beneath his coat, and held it under his
bridle-rein, shining through the horse's mane as
they dashed through the still half-sleeping town.
Nick was speechless with terror.
Beyond the town's end they turned sharply
to the northeast, galloping steadily onward for
what was perhaps a half an hour, though to
Nick it seemed a forever, until they came out
into a great highway running southward. "Wat-
ling Street! he heard the man behind him say,
and knew that they were in the old Roman
road that stretched from London to the north.
Still they were galloping, though long strings
dribbled from the horses' mouths, and the
saddle-leathers dripped with foam. One or
two looked back at him and bit their lips; but
Carew's eyes were hot and fierce, ahd his hand
was on his poniard. The rest, after a curious
glance or two, shrugged their shoulders care-
lessly, and galloped on: this affair was Master
Gaston Carew's business, not theirs.
Until high noon they hurried on with neither
stop nor stay. Then they came to a place
where a little brook sang through the grass by
the roadside in a shady nook beneath some
mighty oaks, and there the master-player whis-
tled for a halt, to give the horses breath and
rest, and to water them at the brook-pools.
Some of the players sauntered up and down
to stretch their tired legs, munching meat and
bread; and some lay down upon the grass and
slept a little. Two of them came, offering Nick
some cakes and cheese; but he was crying hard
and would neither eat nor drink, though Carew
urged him earnestly. Then Master Tom Hey-
wood, with an ugly look at Carew, and without
so much as an if-ye-please or a by-your-leave,
led Nick up the brook to a spot where it had
not been muddied by the.horses, and made him
wash his dusty face and hands in the cool wa-
ter and dampen his hair, though he complied
as if in a daze. And indeed Nick rode on
through the long afternoon, clinging helplessly
to the pommel of his saddle, sobbing bitterly,
until for very weariness he could no longer sob.
It was after nine o'clock that night when
they rode into Towcester, and all that was to


.897.] MASTER S

be seen was a butcher's boy carting garbage out
of the town and whistling to keep his courage
up. The ivatch had long since gone to sleep
about the silent streets, but a dim light burned
in the tap-room of the Old Brown Cow; and
there the players rested for the night.

NICK awoke from a heavy, burning sleep,
aching from head to foot. The master-player,
up and dressed, stood by the window, scowl-
ing grimly out into the ashy dawn. Nick made
haste to rise, but could not stifle a sharp cry of
pain as he staggered to his feet, he was so
racked and sore with riding.
At the boy's smothered cry Carew turned,
and his dark face softened with a sudden look
of pity and concern. "Why, Nick, my lad,"
he cried, and hurried to his side, this is too
bad, indeed!" and without more words took
him gently in his arms and carried him down
to the courtyard well, where he bathed him
softly from neck to heel in the cold, refreshing
water, and wiped him with a soft, clean towel
as tenderly as if he had been the lad's own mo-
ther. And having dried him thoroughly, he
rubbed him with a waxy ointment that smelled
of henbane and poppies, until the aching was
almost gone. So soft and so kind was he withal
that Nick took heart after a little and asked
timidly, And ye will let me go home to-day,
sir, will ye not ? "
The master-player frowned.
Please, Master Carew, let me go."
"Come, come," said Carew impatiently,
"enough of this! and stamped his foot.
"But, oh, Master Carew," plead Nick, with
a sob in his throat, "my mother's heart will
surely break if I do na come home! "
Carew started, and his mouth twitched
queerly. Enough, I say enough! he cried.
"I will not hear; I '11 have no more. I tell
thee hold thy tongue-be dumb! I '11 not
have ears -thou shalt not speak! Dost hear? "
He dashed the towel to the ground. "I bid
thee hold thy tongue."
Nick hid his face between his hands, and
leaned against the rough stone wall, a naked,


shivering, wretched little chap indeed. "Oh,
mother, mother, mother !" he sobbed pitifully.
A singular expression came over the master-
player's face. I will not hear I tell thee I
will not hear!" he choked; and, turning sud-
denly away, he fell upon the sleepy hostler, who
was drawing water at the well, and rated him
outrageously, to that astounded worthy's great
Nick crept into his clothes, and stole away to
the kitchen-door. There was a red-faced wo-
man there who bade him not to cry -'t would
soon be breakfast-time. Nick thought he could
not eat at all; but when the savory smell crept
out and filled the chilly air, his poor little empty
stomach would not be denied, and he ate
heartily. Master Heywood sat beside him and
gave him the choicest bits from his own trencher;
and Carew himself, seeing that he ate, looked
strangely pleased, and ordered him a tiny mut-
ton-pie, well.spiced. Nick pushed it back in-
dignantly; but Heywood took the pie and cut
it open, saying quietly: "Come, lad, the good
God made the sheep that is in this pie, not
Gaston Carew. 'Eat it come, 't will do thee
good! and saw him finish the last crumb.
From Towcester south through Northamp-
tonshire is a pretty country of rolling hills and
undulating hollows, ribboned with pebbly rivers,
and dotted with fair parks and tofts of ash and
elm and oak. Straggling villages now and then
were threaded on the road like beads upon a
string, and here and there the air was damp and
misty from the grassy fens along some winding
It was against nature that a healthy, grow-
ing lad should be so much cast down as not to
see and be interested in the strange, new, pass-
ing world of things about him; and little by
little Nick roused from his wretchedness and
began to look about him. And a wonder grew
within his brain: why had they stolen him ? -
where were they taking him ? -what would
they do with him there ? or would they soon
let him go again?
Every yellow cloud of dust arising far ahead
along the road wrought up his hopes to a Blue-
beard pitch, as regularly to fall. First came a
cast-off soldier from the war in the Netherlands,
rakishly forlorn, his breastplate full of rusty

.r__ _____.___


dents, his wild hair worn by his steel cap,
swaggering along on a sorry hack with an old


1'1~ ~~~ ~ 1 1^-*'
,' I !,
_..,., -


belt full of pistolets, and his long sword thump-
ing Rosinante's ribs. Then a peddling chap-
man, with a dust-white pack and a cunning
Hebrew look, limped by, sulkily doffing his
greasy hat. Two sturdy Midland journeymen
in search of southern handicraft, trudged down
with tool-bags over their shoulders and stout
oak staves in hand. Of wretched beggars and
tattered rogues there was an endless string.
But of any help no sign.
Here and there, like a moving dot, a plough-
man turned a belated furrow; or a sweating
ditcher leaned upon his reluctant spade and
longed for night; or a shepherd, quite as silly
as his sheep, gawked up the morning hills.
But not a sign of help for Nick.
Once, passing through a little town, he raised
a sudden cry of Help Help they be steal-
ing me away! But at that the master-player
and the bandy-legged man waved their hands
and set up such a shout that his shrill outcry
was not even heard. And the simple country
bumpkins, standing in a grinning row like so
many Old Aunt Sallys at a fair, pulled off their
caps and bowed, thinking it some company

of great lords, and fetched a clownish cheer as
the players galloped by.
Then the hot dust got into Nick's throat and
he began to cough. Carew started with a look
of alarm. "Come, come, Nicholas, this will
never do--never do in the world; thou 'It spoil
thy voice."
"I do na care," said Nick.
"But I do," said Carew, sharply. "So
we '11 have no more of it! and he clapped his
hand upon his poniard. "But, nay nay, lad,
I did not mean to threaten thee -'t is but a
jest. Come, smooth thy throat, and do not
shriek no more. We play in old St. Albans
town to-night, and thou art to sing thy song for
us again."
Nick pressed his lips tight shut and shook
his head. He would not sing for them again.
Come, Nick, I 've promised Tom Heywood
that thou shouldst sing his song; and, lad,
there 's no one left in all the land to sing it
if thou 'It not. Tom doth dearly love thee,
lad-why, sure, thou hast seen that! And,
Nick, I 've promised all the company that thou
wouldst sing Tom's song with us to-night.
'T will break their hearts if thou wilt not.

Come, Nick, thou 'It sing it for us all, and set
old Albans town afire! said Carew, pleadingly.



Nick shook his head.
Come, Nick," said Carew coaxingly, "we
must hear that sweet voice of thine in Albans
town to-night. Come, there 's a dear good
lad, and give us just one little song! Come,
act the man and sing, as thou alone in all the
world can sing, in Albans town this night; and
on my word, and on the remnant of mine hon-
our, I '11 leave thee go back to Stratford town
to-morrow morning!"
"To Stratford -to-morrow ?" stammered
Nick with a glad, incredulous cry, while his
heart leaped up within him.
Ay, verily; upon my faith as the fine fag-
end of a very proper
gentleman-thoushalt :
go back to Stratford I'
town to-morrow if thou .
wilt but do thy turn .. L
with us to-night." ii l
Nick caught the
master-player's arm as '
they rode along, al- '
most crying for very 04
joy: "Oh, that I will,
sir and do my very
best. And, oh, Mas-
ter Carew, I ha'
thought so ill o' thee !
Forgive me, sir, I did
na know thee well."
Carew winced. Has-
tily throwing the rein
to Nick, he left him to ..
master his own array.
As for Nick, as hap-
py as a lark he learned
his new lines as he
rode along, Master WTCD EAR
Carew saying them over to him from the manu-
script and over again until he made not a single
mistake; and was at great pains to teach him
the latest fashionable London way of pronounc-
ing all the words, and of emphasizing his set
phrases. "Nay, nay," he would cry, laugh-
ingly, not that way, lad; but this: Good
my lord, I bring a letter from the duke'-
as if thou hadst indeed a letter, see, and not
an empty fist. And when thou dost hand it to
him, do it thus and not as if thou wert about
VOL. XXIV.-37.

to stab him in the paunch with a cheese-knife! "
And at the end he clapped him upon the back
and said again and again that he loved him,
that he was a dear, sweet figure of a lad, and
that his voice, among the rest of England's
singers, was like clear honey dropping into a
pot of grease.
But it is a long ride from Towcester to St.
Albans town in Herts, though the road runs
through a pleasant billowy land of oak-walled
lanes, wide pastures, and quiet parks; and the
steady jog, jog of the little roan began to rack
Nick's tired bones before the day was done.
Yet when they marched into the quaint old
town to the blare of trumpets and the
cr" rifh the kettledrums. nll the long
S hne Lc ...d' a ti t he :.:a-:rrn :u or :. the
-. L.rd H;.-i Ad-
.- nnrl t.,rneath
S' thliir fl u riaing
: ."- r 1.a erc, and

the horses pricked up their ears and arched
their necks and pranced along the crowded
streets, Nick, stared at by all the good towns-
folk, could not help feeling a thrill of pride that
he was one of the great company of players,
and sat up very straight and held his head up
haughtily as Master Carew did, and bore him-
self with as lordly an air as he knew how.
But when morning came, and he danced
blithely back from washing himself at the horse-



trough, all ready to start for home, he found
the little roan cross-bridled as before between
the master-player's gray and the bandy-legged
fellow's sorrel mare.
"What, there, cast him loose," said he to the
horse-boy who held the three. I am not go-
ing on with the players I 'm to go back to
"Then ye go afoot," coolly rejoined the
other, grinning, for the hoss goeth on wi' the
What is this, Master Carew? cried Nick,
indignantly, bursting into the tap-room, where
the players were at ale. "They will na let me
have the horse, sir. Am I to walk the whole
way back to Stratford town ? "
To Stratford ?" asked Master Carew, star-
ing with an expression of most innocent sur-
prise, as he set his ale-can down, and turned
around. "Why, thou art not going to Strat-
"Not going to Stratford!" gasped Nick,
catching at the table with a sinking heart.
"Why, sir, ye promised that I should to-day."
Nay, now, that I did not, Nicholas. I
promised thee that thou shouldst go back to-
morrow were not those my very words ? "
"Ay, that they were," cried Nick; "and
why will ye na leave me go ? "
"Why, this is not to-morrow, Nick. Why,
see, I cannot leave thee go to-day. Thou
knowest that I said to-morrow; and this is not
to-morrow on thine honour, is it now ? "
How can I tell?" cried Nick, despairingly.
Yesterday ye said it would be, and now ye
say that it is na. Ye 've twisted it all up so
that a body can na tell at all. But there is a
falsehood a wicked, black falsehood some-
where betwixt you and me, sir; and ye know
that I have na lied to you, Master Carew! "
Through the tap-room door he saw the open
street and the hills beyond the town. Catching
his breath, he sprang across the sill, and ran
for the free fields at the top of his speed.

"AFTER him! stop him! catch the
rogue! cried Carew, running out on the cob-

bles with his ale-can in his hand. A shilling
to the man that brings him back unharmed!
No blows, nor clubs, nor stabbing, hark 'e,
but catch me the knave straightway; he hath
snatched a fortune from my hands! "
At that the hostler, whip in hand, and the
tapster with his bit, were off as fast as their legs
could carry them, bawling "Stop, thief, stop "
at the top of their lungs; and at their backs
every idle varlet about the inn,- grooms,
stable-boys, and hangers-on,-ran whooping,
howling, and hallooing like wild huntsmen.
Nick's frightened heart was in his mouth,
and his breath came quick and sharp. Tap-a-tap,
tap-a-tap went his feet on the cobblestones as
down the long street he flew, running as he had
never run before.
It seemed as if the whole town bellowed at
his back; for windows creaked above his head,
and doors banged wildly after him; curs from
every alley-way came yelping at his heels; ap-
prentices let go the shutter-bars, and joined in
the chase; and near and nearer came the cry
of Stop, thief, stop !" and the kloppety-klop
of hob-nailed shoes in wild pursuit.
The rabble filled the dark old street from
wall to wall, as if a cloud of good-for-naughts
had burst above the town; and far in front sped
one small, curly-headed lad, running like a
frightened fawn. He had lost his cap, and his
breath came short, half-sobbing in his throat as
the sound of footfalls gained upon his ear; but
even yet he might have beaten them all and
reached the open fields but for the dirt and
garbage in the street. Three times he slipped
upon a rancid bacon-rind and almost fell; and
the third time, as he plunged across the oozing
drain, a dog dashed right between his feet.
He staggered, nearly fell, threw out his hand
against the house and saved himself; but as he
started on again he saw the town-watch, wak-
ened by the uproar, standing with their long
staves at the end of the street, barring the way.
The door of a smithy stood open just ahead,
with forge-fires glowing and the hammer ring-
ing on the anvil. Nick darted in, past the horses,
hostlers, and blacksmith's boys, and caught at
the leather apron of the sturdy smith himself.
Hoo, man, what a dickens!" snorted he,
dropping the red-hot shoe on which he was at





work, and staring like a startled ox at the pant-
ing little fugitive.
"Do na leave them take me! panted Nick.
"They ha' stolen me away from Stratford town
and will na leave me go!"
At that Will Hostler bolted in, red-faced and
scant of wind. "Thou young rascal," quoth he,
"I have thee now! Come out o' that!" and
he tried to take Nick by the collar.

ously upon Nick, who was dodging around him
like a boy at tag around a tree. Whoy, lad,"
said he, scratching his puzzled head with his
great, grimy fingers, "where hast putten it ? "
All the rout and the riot now came plung-
ing into the smithy, breathless with the chase.
Master Carew himself, his ale-can still clutched
in his hand, and bearing himself with a high
air of dignity, followed after them, frowning.


So-oftly, so-oftly! rumbled the smith,
tweaking up the glowing shoe in his great pin-
cers, and sweeping a sputtering half-circle in
front of the cowering lad. Droive -slow
through the cro-owd! What hath youngster
here did no-ow ? "
"He hath stolen a fortune from his master
at the Three Lions and the shilling for him 's
mine! "
"Hath stealed a fortune ? Whoy, huttlety-
tut!" roared the burly smith, turning ponder-

What ? said he, angrily, have ye earthed
the cub and cannot dig him out ? Hast caught
him there, fellow ? "
"Ay, master, that I have!" shouted Will
Hostler. Shilling 's mine, sir."
Then fetch him out of this hole! cried
Care, sniffing disdainfully at the low, smoky
But he will na be fetched, master," stam-
mered the doughty Will, keeping a most re-
spectful distance from the long black pincers



and the sputtering shoe with which the farrier
stolidly mowed the air around about Nick Att-
wood and himself.
At that the crowd set up a shout.
Carew thrust fiercely into the press, the louts
and loafers giving way. What, here, Nicholas
Attwood," said he, harshly, come hither."
"Do na leave him take me," begged Nick.
" He is not my master; I am not bound out ap-
prentice they are stealing me away from my
own home and it will break my mother's heart."
Nobody breaks nobody's hearts in old
Jo-ohn Smithses sho-op," drawled the smith in
his deep voice; "nor steals nobody, another.
We be honest-dealing folk in Albans town, an'
makes as good horse-shoes as be forged in all
England "-and he went placidly on mowing
the air with the glimmering shoe.

Here, fellow, stand aside," commanded
Master Carew haughtily. Stand aside and
let me pass!" As he spoke he clapped his
hand upon his poniard with a fierce snarl, show-
ing his white teeth like a wolf-hound.
The men about him fell back with unani-
mous alacrity, making out each to put himself
behind the other. But the huge smith only
puffed out his sooty cheeks as if to blow a fly
off the next bite of cheese : So-oftly, so-oftly,
muster," drawled he; do na go to ruffling it
here. This shop be mine, and I be free-born
Englishman. I '11 stand aside for no swash-
buckling rogue on my own ground. Come,
now, what wilt thou o' the lad?-and speak
thee fair, good muster, or thou 'lt get a dab o'
the red-hot shoe." As he spoke he gave the
black tongs an extra whirl.

(To be continued.)




CHINATOWN of San Francisco was keeping
holiday, and all was gaiety and bustle.
The narrow, picturesque streets were deco-
rated with brightly-colored lanterns, while over-
head, above the roof-tops, the yellow dragon-
flags floated against a blue California sky.
It was a sunny day in February; and the
streets were swarming with a multitude of Chi-
nese-men, women, and children- all arrayed
in their richest holiday attire. The children
especially, with their bright faces and black
eyes, and in their pretty costumes, formed a
most pleasing and interesting feature of this
living Oriental picture.
Everybody seemed to be happy and good-
natured; and ever and anon, as a group of
friends met, they stopped and amid much
ceremonious bowing exchanged the compli-
ments of the season; for this festive occasion
was nothing more nor less than the celebration
of the Chinese New Year.
The idea of celebrating New Year's Day in
February may strike some of my readers as
odd. But, since this has been the Chinese cus-
tom from time immemorial, and is older, by
several thousands of years, than our acceptance
of the first of January as the proper time, the
Chinese, perhaps, are not far wrong in suppos-
ing themselves to be at least as much in the right
as ourselves. This question, however, was of
no concern to this merry holiday throng. They
were quite satisfied with the arrangement; and,
with the utmost belief in their own superiority,
they felt at heart an inborn contempt-com-
mon to all Chinese-for "outside barbarians."
(This term embraces all nations not living
within the sacred boundaries of ",The Flowery
Kingdom," and includes the inhabitants of all
the world; and these unfortunate outsiders are
broadly divided into two classes--Eastern and
Western barbarians.)
This feeling was, no doubt, shared by Ah

Gau, a very tiny Chinese boy,-the subject of
this sketch,-who, with his friend Ah Sing, was
proudly strutting through one of the crowded
thoroughfares of Chinatown. Ah Gau was five
years of age and his friend was seven. This
was one of the most eventful days of the little
man's short life; and the purpose of this story
is to relate some of his doings on this Chinese
New Year's Day.
These two little boys were dressed in the
height of fashion. Ah Gau wore a pale blue
quilted blouse reaching to his knees, and his
sleeves were so long that his hands were rarely
to be seen. He had on red silk trousers, loose
above, but tightly wound around the ankles,
while his richly embroidered shoes were pro-
vided with white-painted soles nearly two inches
thick. A round skull-cap, surmounted by a
red button, completed this most elegant cos-
tume. No wonder he was pleased with him-
self, and proud of his dazzling appearance.
But, for all this, his mind was not at ease
and his face wore a troubled look. This was
owing to the annoyance to which he had just
been subjected by a group of city boys who
had passed by. They had stopped and stared
most rudely at him, and then had burst out
into loud laughter when one of them had cried
out, See de blooming little Chinese dude! "
Though Ah Gau had paid no attention to this
insult, and had scornfully passed them by, his
dignity had been ruffled; not so much by the
rude remark as by the laughter that had fol-
lowed. The fact was that, while he was an
American born, Ah Gau understood next to
nothing of the English language; and what
little education he had acquired was received
in a Chinese school-where only Chinese was
He had rarely been outside of Chinatown,
and his knowledge of the American boy was
limited to a very low class-mainly those street


Arabs and ragamuffins who live in the slums in
and about the Chinese quarter.
He had but few opportunities of seeing a
higher type of the American boy; consequently,

C .

A L E C E GL W H L S..


it can hardly be wondered at that Ah Gau re-
garded them as little barbarians.
Ever since he could remember these little
hoodlums had tormented him even taking
the liberty, at times, of tugging at his pigtail.
He had been annoyed and abused in every
possible way. Only a few days before he had
been held up in regular highwayman fashion,
and robbed of a stick of sugar-cane which he
had just purchased.
No wonder that he had come to look upon
these white boys as his natural enemies. After
this latest proof of their rudeness, he remarked
to Ah Sing: "What ill-bred boys! They are
so wild and rude!" He added reflectively,
"But I suppose that not one of them has ever

learned any of the wise sayings of the great
and good Confucius!"
It must not be supposed that this little pagan
of five years always talked in so grown-up a
manner as this. There were times when he
romped and played like other boys. But this
was a great occasion that called forth all his
pride and dignity. It was, in fact, the first
time that he was enjoying the proud privilege
of being allowed to make New Year's calls.
He had already, made three: but his list was
a long one; and he and his friend were now on
their way to pay their respects to his uncle,
Wang Tai, a wealthy and respected merchant
who kept a Chinese drug-store.
Now and then, as they went through the
streets, they met boys of their acquaintance,
quite as finely attired as themselves. Then
they always stopped, and after a series of low
and dignified bows exchanged New Year's
greetings-each, in the meanwhile, shaking
hands with himself. It is not the custom,
nor is it considered good form, for the Chinese
to shake hands with one another. Their idea
seems a good one, and would, no doubt, be
favored by such unfortunates as Presidents and
other public men who at times are obliged to
stand for hours and shake hands with thousands
of all sorts and conditions of men.
When Ah Gau and Ah Sing met any of their
elders they were not in the least shy, and the
same exchange of salutations took place. At
all such times they behaved with great deco-
rum, quite like little old men. Chinese chil-
dren, from their earliest childhood, are treated
by their parents more or less as if grown up.
That, in a measure, is why Chinese children,
such as our little friends Ah Gau and Ah
Sing, affect that oldish manner which marks the
chief difference between Chinese and American
As Ah Gau swaggered along his mind was
hard at work. Much had been accomplished;
but still more was to be done before this day,
so crowded with great events, would end. Sev-
eral days already had been spent in making
suitable preparations for this holiday; and the
day before, as early as six o'clock, he had been
up, and, in company with the entire family, had
paid a visit to the neighboring Joss-house.



The procession for some queer reason the
Chinese always seem to walk in single file was
headed by his father, carrying the baby brother
proudly in his arms. The mother and sister
carried baskets, filled with offerings to the gods;
while Ah Gau had contented himself with pa-
rading his finery only.
The interior of the Joss-house was but dimly
lighted; and when the eyes once became used
to the mysterious and smoky atmosphere that
filled the place, strange and weird faces of gods
and demons showed through the darkness and
gazed solemnly down from rich altars upon the
visitors. A priest, seated at the entrance, had
a supply of painted candles, sticks of incense
made of sandalwood, and packets of papers
containing printed prayers.
Having bought a supply of these helps to
worship, Ah Gau and his family had entered
the inner room of the pagan 'gods. In' the
presence of these images, with hideous, painted
faces, dimly looming out of the darkness and
mystery of the incense-laden atmosphere, most
American boys of Ah Gau's age would have
been terror-stricken. He, on the contrary,
seemed to be quite at ease among these strange
things and went near to the uncanny idols with
quite an air of familiarity. He boldly walked
up to a large drum standing in one corner and,
seizing a drumstick, pounded on it with all his
might, for the purpose of drawing the attention
of the gods to the worshipers.
He then had joined with the family in placing
a large number of lighted candles and smoking
incense-sticks upon the altar; after which they
had bent themselves in prayer before the prin-
cipal image of the temple. A number of offer-
ings- cakes, fruits, and various articles of food,
as well as rice-wine-were next piled up before
this deity. Their devotions ended with the
burning of a lot of printed prayers in a little
brick furnace erected in a corner -of the Joss-
house for that purpose. As they left, a pack
of fire-crackers was set off; and then, thor-
oughly satisfied with themselves, and with minds
at rest, they had gone homeward.
On the way they had stopped to buy some
lily bulbs at the flower-market, which was a
row of booths erected along both sides of the
street, and forming a most picturesque sight.

These lily bulbs, narcissuses, are quite a fea-
ture of the New Year's decorations, and are
imported from China in great quantities for this
Ah Gau's mother, after carefully examining a
number, had bought about a half-dozen, which
Ah Gau's little sister carefully had carried
home. They then were placed each one in a
shallow, crab-shaped dish filled with pebbles
and water
Under these conditions, the bulbs continue
to sprout freely, producing, in a short time, a
fine cluster of lilies. It is believed by the
Chinese that the greater the number of flowers,
the better will be their luck during the ensuing
Every Chinese household, even the poorest, is
brightened by at least one of these plants during
the New Year's season. In addition to the lily-

booths are many others, devoted to the sale of
goldfish, birds, fruits, confectionery, and every-
thing necessary for the proper observance and
enjoyment of the New Year's festivities.
Ah Gau and his friend now arrived at his
uncle's house and entered the drug-store.



"-V '

Yl(k D:?
,a i. --

F -~p



SThe interior of this shop presented a strange
and Oriental aspect. One corner was occupied
by the household shrine, the chief feature of
which was a highly colored picture of some fa-
vorite god. The smoke of burning incense,
issuing from a brightly polished brazen vessel,
rose from the altar before this deity and filled
the air with its mysterious fragrance. Beside
the shrine, on a table, was an abundant sup-
ply of refreshment, consisting of cakes, both red
and yellow; of lichi nuts, oranges, candied
ginger, a number of boxes of cigars; and last,
but not least, of bottles containing sam-sheu,
the favorite beverage of the Chinese.
Ah Gau's uncle, dressed in a long yellow silk
blouse, was standing near this table, busily en-
gaged in doing the honors to his numerous
callers. He greeted his nephew and his friend
with great cordiality, and invited them to par-
take of refreshments; but Ah Gau modestly
contented himself with a handful of dried
water-melon seeds, which he dropped into his
capacious inside pocket.
One side of the shop was taken up by a long
counter; and shelves and drawers extended all
around the room. These were covered and
filled with a great and miscellaneous collection
of strange and rare herbs and roots. Deer-
horns, in their velvet stage, were suspended
from the ceiling. These, after being sliced as
thin as wafers, are boiled, and produce what
is supposed to be a valuable medicine. Dried
lizards, neatly spread on thin bamboo sticks,
occupied a basket at one end of the counter.
Dried toads, shark's tails, and many other cu-
rious objects used in the preparation of Chi-
nese medicines, littered the shop from end to
end; and a richly carved and gilded open-work
screen, with two dragons in the center, extended
across the middle of the ceiling.
The Chinese are very much behindhand in
their knowledge of medicine. Their methods,
which are based on ignorance and superstition,
are quite as absurd and primitive as were those
of the Europeans of the Middle Ages.
During Ah Gau's visit, a white man, very
tramp-like in appearance, entered, and begged
for alms. The uncle cheerfully handed him
some money, and he departed. He was fol-
lowed, shortly afterward, by two rather rough-
VOL. XXIV.-38.

looking young men, who wished the host a
Happy New Year. These were promptly re-
warded with a handful of cigars, which they
stowed away in their pockets; then they, too,
departed, presumably to continue their New
Year's calls indefinitely, as long as the supply
of hospitable Chinese lasted. Beggars of all
kinds reap a rich harvest on this holiday, as
they have discovered that the Chinese are then
very liberal.
The fact is, the Chinese is superstitious, and
he avoids any kind of unpleasantness on New
Year's Day, for fear that ill-luck may pursue
him during the ensuing year. An evil wish or
a suggestion of bad luck is most unfortunate;
and any allusion to death is received with su-
perstitious dread, as portending some terrible
misfortune. He takes every precaution against
anything of a disagreeable nature, and, rather
than incur ill-will, extends hospitality to every
tramp and beggar who appears at his door.
Our little friends found the constant coming
and going of visitors to their uncle's shop so
interesting that thay continued to linger, quite
forgetful of the lobig list of calls still to be made,
until the afternoon was well advanced. They
became deeply fascinated with the preparations
being made by some of the servants for the
closing ceremony of the day, the purpose of
which was to drive away evil spirits; and as
this consists of firing off great quantities of fire-
crackers, it was naturally regarded by Chinese,
as well as by American boys, as the most im-
portant and exciting event of the day.
The servants were engaged in fastening bunch
after bunch of fire-crackers, varied by an occa-
sional bomb or giant fire-cracker, to a long rope.
At sundown this was to be taken up on the
roof, and suspended from a projecting pole,
the end of this monster tail of fire-crackers reach-
ing to the ground. Ah Gau knew that similar
preparations were being made at all the other
houses along the street, and he could hardly
restrain his impatience and wait until this terri-
ble racket was to break loose. But several
hours still must pass before sunset; so he had
to subdue his impatience as best he could.
It ended by his crawling into a large teak-
wood armchair in a corner. He gazed about,
for a time, at the surrounding objects that filled



the shop; then his eyelids grew heavy; his head
nodded, and, before he was aware of it, he was
sound asleep. Ah Gau no sooner had fallen
asleep than he had a dream.
He saw, to his utter amazement, the dried
lizards suddenly become alive; and one by one
they slowly crawled out of their boxes, toward
him. The nearer they approached, the larger
they seemed to grow-until they were trans-
formed into huge alligators! As they stood
there, ranged before him, the largest remarked,
in very good Chinese: Did you ever see such
a sleepy-head ?" "His mother really should
have put him to bed!" remarked the second.
" Ha, ha! laughed the third. He thinks him-
self grown-up-look at that absurd little pig-
Ah Gau was so indignant at these insulting
comments, that his anger overcame his fear.
"You hold your tongues and mind your own
business!" he loudly shouted at them. You
think yourselves very big; but you are, after all,
only a pack of dried lizards; and if you don't
crawl back into your box, where you belong, I
will let my uncle know about this, and he will
make short work of you. Then you will be
ground up into powder and made into pills.
That's what you were made for--not to go
swaggering about, insulting your betters! "
The alligators fairly gasped, for a moment;
then they exclaimed, in tones of indignation:
"Did you ever?" "What impudence !" re-
marked the gilded dragon, from overhead.
" I 'd like to blow him up for his impudence! "
said a giant fire-cracker. "Let's!" squeaked
the little ones. "Yes!" they all shouted in
chorus; "that's what he deserves. Blow him
up, and let us make him burn and sizzle!"
The place was now in an uproar; and Ah
Gau's little pigtail stood on end as myriads of
little fire-crackers formed into companies, and,
led by the giants, charged down upon him.
He fought desperately, and tried to beat
them off. Without avail! Like a flight of lo-
custs, they all surrounded him in an instant.
His pigtail was transformed int5 a rope of fire-
crackers. And now the stick of smoking incense
volunteered his aid. He turned a double somer-

sault, and touched his fiery head to a fire-cracker
attached to Ah Gau's pigtail.
As the wick hissed and sizzled a momentary
hush succeeded the turmoil. Then followed a
most infernal din of exploding fire-crackers. It
gave Ah Gau such a start that he awoke.
He sat on the floor, rubbing his eyes for a
moment, before he realized where he was. It
puzzled and alarmed him when he discovered
that he was all alone; while the terrible din of his
dream continued and increased. Then all at
once it dawned upon him that the ceremony of
"frightening away the evil spirits was in prog-
ress. Realizing that his friends had adjourned
to the street to witness this interesting, if noisy,
process, he hurried to the door. Ah Gau had
a good view of the scene, now enveloped in an
atmosphere of smoke. Flashes of fire darted
in red tongues all along the street, and the long
rope of fire-crackers exploded with a noise and
rattle that could be heard miles away. The
din was deafening. No wonder the evil spirits
were fleeing in dismay!
Such was not the effect produced, however,
on the small American boys who had gathered
together in hundreds from all directions. Com-
bined assaults were made by them on the fiery,
sputtering mass; and though they were driven
back repeatedly by the suffocating smoke, that
only seemed to strengthen their determination
to stamp upon and rescue a few of the unex-
ploded fire-crackers.
Ah Gau gazed scornfully upon the scene,
as these demon-like figures danced in and out
of the smoke and fire. "Look at those red-
headed demons! They seem to be fire-proof,"
he remarked to his uncle. After pondering a
while, he continued: "I have been told that all
this noise and fire and smoke is to drive away
evil spirits; but it seems to bring them, like
flies around a sugar-bowl."
The seeming failure of this noisy method of
combatting the bad spirits set his young mind
to thinking. Doubts entered his little pagan
brain; and I hope that these increased and mul-
tiplied until at last they stormed that fortress
of darkness and superstition, and admitted clear
light of truth.


I <
; -/L~

- --

(Sixth story of the series entitled "The City of Stories." Begun in
the September number.)


ONE day while Yolette and the yellow-haired
youth were hunting about for an interesting
story, they saw coming toward them a man
with such a very doleful face that it made one
quite sad to look at him.
"Poor fellow! How melancholy he seems!"
whispered the Third Son, pityingly.
"Yes, he does, indeed. Perhaps that is be-
cause he has been reading some- sorrowful
:story," suggested the Princess.
At this moment the stranger spoke to them.
"Excuse me," said he, "but I see you are
tourists. Have you met any one who looked
:as if he had been kidnapped?"
No, we have not," replied the Third Son.
" Why do you ask such a singular question? "
"Alas!" the other returned, with a deep
.sigh, and gazing earnestly at the Third Son,
`"it is because I am very anxious to find a
missing person and undo the mischief I once
did him. A certain wicked nobleman, to serve
his own bad ends, came to me one day and in-
,duced me to kidnap the little Prince Zeramo,

only son of the King of the Cloud-capped
Mountains. Much against my will, I stole into
the royal palace one night and brought away
the child, whom I carried into a dark wood
and placed in the top of a tall tree. The
wicked nobleman, who had taken this heartless
means of gratifying some spite against the king,
expected that the child would soon become
food for the eagles-"
"Dear me exclaimed the Third Son, very
much shocked; "and was such the case ? "
That I know not," replied the Conscience-
stricken Kidnapper, wiping his eyes with his
sleeve; for all the while my poor conscience
troubled me so much that I scarcely knew what
I was doing. Then, soon after the dreadful
deed, I wandered away from home in a fit of
depression, and I have been going about a
prey to remorse ever since. Well, I suppose
you are very sorry for me,-you look so, at
least,- but that alone will do me no good; so
if you cannot inform me of the whereabouts
of Prince Zeramo I will go my way. May you

'I' i


always be as happy as I am wretched." With
which wish the Conscience-stricken Kidnapper,
much to their relief, walked away and left them
to continue their explorations and to read upon
the pavement of the city the following story:

A VERY long time ago there was a Weather-
cock that had been set upon the lofty spire of
a church on the top of a hill, so that it could
be seen round about the country for many
miles. One would think the Weathercock
might have been very proud and happy to be
up there so high, in full view of everybody, and
where it was looked at a hundred times a day
by those who wished to know which way the
wind blew. But this was not so: the Weather-
cock was very discontented. It was filled with
envy toward its own Shadow, which it saw go
moving off every day for a journey over the
country, while it was forced to stay in one
place, and get very dizzy sometimes, turning
on its rod at the caprice of the wind, while,
meantime, it believed that its Shadow was
away enjoying itself.
When the Weathercock awoke in the morn-
ing it would often see its Shadow gliding away,
although the sun itself had been up scarcely
five minutes. How early, then, must the Sha-
dow have risen!
One day, in a fit of more than usual restless-
ness and discontent, the Weathercock resolved
that if it could not travel as its Shadow did, at
least it might get its Shadow to tell what it saw
of interest during its journeyings. So, as the
Shadow was not within speaking-distance just
then, the Weathercock sent a swallow to ask it
to come home for a little while. When the swal-
low came upon the Shadow basking content-
edly in the sun, it said: "Shadow! Shadow!
go home at once; the Weathercock wants to
be amused."
But the Shadow replied : Tell the Weather-
cock I will be there to-morrow noon."
When the swallow flew back with this mes-
sage the Weathercock grumbled a good deal,
but it was forced to be satisfied and wait until
the time set by the Shadow. However, when
midday drew near and the Shadow began its

return, the sun became so hot that the Weather-
cock got very drowsy, and fell asleep.
By and by, after a long nap, it awoke with a
start--for the wind had risen suddenly -to
find that the Shadow had gone away, to come
back no more that day. And so it was every
noon for some time after.
One day, when the sun was covered with
clouds and it was not so warm as usual, the
Weathercock made an effort and really suc-
ceeded in keeping its eyes open until noon had
come. But it was to no purpose: the Shadow
did not appear at all that day. On the fol-
lowing day the Weathercock had better luck;
for the Shadow came, although it looked so
pale that the Weathercock felt quite alarmed.
"Are you ill, Shadow ? it inquired.
"Indeed, I am not feeling very strong to-
day," replied the Shadow, faintly. "It seems
as if I might go off in a swoon any moment."
While the Weathercock was trying to think
what to say, the Shadow gasped out:
"Oh! dear! oh dear! I am going now,"
and just then, a cloud crossing the sun, it faded
and faded until it had quite vanished.
The Weathercock was frightened at this dis-
appearance, especially when several days went
by without its coming or showing any sign of
life. The Weathercock grew very despondent
there alone during this time, the more so be-
cause it rained hard for nearly a week. It never
had felt much affection for the Shadow, but now
that the Shadow was lost, it mourned greatly
its former companion.
At last one night the rain ceased, the wind
chased the clouds from the sky, and at about
midnight the Weathercock awoke out of a
sound sleep to find that the moon was shining
brightly. Moreover, it saw lying near the edge
of the roof something dark that looked very
much like the lost Shadow. After staring a
moment at this appearance, scarcely able to be-
lieve its eyes, the Weathercock asked in a voice
that trembled slightly:
"Is that you, Shadow? "
"Truly, it is myself," the Shadow replied
very coolly.'
"And where have you been all these days ?
As you seem to have a little leisure, will you
not tell me something of your travels? A



great traveler like yourself ought to have much
of interest to relate, surely."
"Yes, I have seen some strange things in
my day," the Shadow admitted; "but I cannot
talk about them very much now, for I must
soon be off and away. I am very restless."

"It seems to me you are always in a hurry,"
complained the Weathercock; "but at least
tell me, what land did you visit last ?"
"The land where fire is hot, where cows
walk on all fours, and where the houses are
built out of doors. The king of that country
has been away to be married. I will relate
an incident of his wedding journey. When the
king's return home with his bride was expected,
everybody and everything in the kingdom
wanted to look as well as possible. Now,

there was a certain little drop of oil which said
to itself:
"'Alas! what can such an ugly thing as I,
who dwell beside a slimy pool in a bog, do to
make myself beautiful? When the king brings
home his new queen, and everything else in the

",. ......


country is looking its prettiest, I shall feel very
gloomy to think that among them all I alone
remain as ugly as before. And it hurts me
to be gloomy; I would rather die than do it.
I think I will drown myself in the slimy pool.'

* '


"So the little drop of oil slid despairingly
down a bulrush-stock, and tried to drown it-
self in the dirty water. But instead of sinking
to the bottom, as it had thought to do, it spread
itself out very thin oh! very thin indeed -
over the surface of the slimy pool. And when
the king rode by with his queen, the sun shone
upon the oil as it lay in a film on top of the
water, so that it reflected all the colors of the
rainbow. When the young queen saw this she
clapped her hands in delight, and declared it
was the most beautiful thing in the entire king-
dom -"
Here the Shadow interrupted itself, and,

exclaiming that it must go, it edged off the
roof and disappeared.
The Weathercock was much vexed at having
its conversation with the Shadow thus broken
into; and from that hour it grew even more
anxious than before to get away from its church
spire and out into the world, where it could see
something for itself. In fact, it became so
restless and fidgeted about so busily that it
got very rickety, and one day when a hurricane
arose it was wrenched from its place and
blown far, far out to sea, where it was drowned.
And the Shadow that had traveled never was
seen afterward.


As Yolette and the Third Son emerged from
the Street of the Discontented Weathercock
they came upon the Tower Clock sitting on a
ledge with his back against a wall, swinging
his long legs to and fro.
I hope, Princess," the Tower Clock said
to Yolette, as they approached, "that you are
now fully satisfied, and that it would be just as
well to move on toward home."
"I am quite ready," replied Yolette, for I
do want to see my father; and, besides, I ought
to go back- I mean forward and finish the
letter I began to dear grandmama. I am sure
I shall have enough to write about now."

The Tower Clock immediately raised her
to his shoulder, and started off at a rapid
"Stop! cried Yolette, suddenly bethinking
herself of her comrade; we must n't leave the
Third Son behind us."
"We can't, for he is before us," retorted the
Tower Clock. "I see him just ahead, and I
will pick him up presently."
As soon as the Third Son had been lifted to
his former place on the Tower Clock's left
shoulder, the Tower Clock advanced with rapid
.strides, as if anxious to make up for lost time.
Soon he came to a gate in the outer walls of



the city, whereon hung a placard on which was
to be read the word Finis."
A few moments later Yolette, turning her
head, took her last look at the famous City
of Stories.
During the homeward journey, which did
not take very long,- for the Tower Clock's
steps were enormous, and he rested neither day
nor night,--it was noticeable that the Third
Son was melancholy. At last Yolette asked
him to tell her what made him so sad.
"Alas! he replied, "I am the most un-
happy youth alive! I, who am a third son,
and who ere this should have done many great
and glorious deeds, have been wandering about
for more than five years to no purpose whatever.
I have not so much as heard of a giant, or a
dragon, or a sea-monster, or an enchanted castle
-except in made-up stories; I have met with
no perils, I have undergone no misfortune, ex-
cept, indeed, that of having none to undergo.
I might as well not be a third son."
Perhaps when we. get home my father may
be able to give you some great deed to do,"
suggested the Princess by way of consolation.
"To be sure, giants and dragons do not grow
in our kingdom, but one might stray over the
borders. And then there is always a chance
of war, youknow."
And so they journeyed on, and by and by
they reached Yolette's father's kingdom, and
soon afterward entered the capital.
Of course the king was overjoyed at the
sight of his-daughter, whom he had long given
up for lost; and he resolved to give a brilliant
fete. Accordingly, he sent ont invitations at
Kings and princes and nobles, besides a host
of common people, crowded into the city to
enjoy the -royal hospitality. Among other
guests was the King of the Cloud-capped Moun-
tains. There also came to the festivities the
Conscience-stricken Kidnapper. Yolette was
astonished that this man should have been able
to travel so long a distance in so short a time.

Oh, that is easily explained," he replied,
when she questioned him about it. "You see,
I made a short cut. Just after we parted, in
the City of Stories, I heard that the person I
am looking for could be found here to-day."
Here the Conscience-stricken Kidnapper in-
terrupted his story with a loud sob. On being
asked the cause of his emotion, he said in a
tearful voice:
"Pardon me for having disturbed your Ma-
jesty, but I was suddenly seized by a sharp
and cruel pang. They proceed from remorse-
remorse that has been with me these many
long years. It was I who stole the little
Prince Zeramo, only son of the King of the
Cloud-capped Mountains, and this youth is
no other than he--the formerly lost Prince
Zeramo "
"Prince Zeramo!" echoed the King of the
Cloud-capped Mountains, in great agitation.
"Prince Zeramo, you say ?" Then, after ear-
nestly regarding the yellow-haired youth a few
moments, he cried joyfully: Yes; it is he, in-
deed! My son, my son !"
Ah, what a lodd is lifted from my mind !'
exclaimed the newly found prince, when he had
embraced his royal parent with much fervor.
"Now I know why I never could succeed in
doing anything heroic. It is because I am not
really a third son, after all!"
As may be supposed, the joyous event of
Zeramo's recovery caused the festivities to go
on even more gaily than before.
As a fitting close for the fete, which lasted
three weeks instead of one, it was arranged to
give up the last three days to a wedding; and
whose wedding should it be if not that of the
Prince Zeramo and the Princess Yolette ?
The happy pair were united with all pomp
and splendor, and after the other ceremonies
were concluded there was a magnificent ball.
The Tower Clock did not appear at the
revels, for he had mounted straightway to his
old place on the tower, and settled down to
his regular work.



BY MRS. H. D. Ross.

OH, that was a wonderful journey I had
To the far-away island, across the Dream
There were all sorts of things there to make
the heart glad,
And little to fret you, in Do-As-You-Please.
I '11 tell you about it;
And why should you doubt it ?
This wonderful island of Do-As-You-Please.

There were cookies and gingersnaps, dough-
nuts and cakes;
All sweet as the honey that 's made by the
There were candies and sugarplums, nuts, figs,
and dates
All over the island of Do-As-You-Please.
There was no one to say,
"You can't eat them to-day."
But you had all you wanted in Do-As-

There were apples and oranges, peaches and
And apricots growing on all of the trees.
You could eat all you wanted, for nobody cares
In the wonderful island of Do-As-You-
Oh, 't was pleasant to be,
Across the Dream Sea,
On the wonderful island of Do-As-You-

No doctor-men lived on this mystical ground,
One never was troubled with pain or disease.
And a medicine bottle has never been found
On this magical island of Do-As-You-Please.
No nurse holds your nose,
Your hands, or your toes,
While they dose you with mixtures in Do-

There were not any mamas or papas .to bother,
And no older brothers, or sisters to tease.
There was no one to say: "Now be good
to each other,"
In the far-away island of Do-As-You-Please.

When you knew you were right,
And felt you must fight--
There was no one to stop you in Do-As-

There were horns, drums, and whistles, and
hoops to be rolled,
And toys that, would squeak when you gave
them a squeeze.
Oh, the noise you could make there! For
nobody 'd scold
On the mystical island of Do-As-You-Please.
And Santa Claus, gay,
Comes around every day
On the wonderful island of Do-As-You-

And the boys and girls living in these mys-
tic lands,
Which one visits only by crossing Dream
Were never annoyed by scrubbing of hands
Or washing of faces in Do-As-You-Please.
And there, I declare,
Was no combing of hair,
In the far-away island of Do-As-You-Please.

I was told by the natives I met on the isle
That night never fell, in this country of ease,
And you stayed up till morning, and played
all the while,
Never stopping for bedtime, in Do-As-You-
No one ever said,
"You must be off to bed "
In the wonderful island of Do-As-You-

Now this is the tale of the wonderful trip
I made to the island of Do-As-You-Please.
And my little white bed was the magical ship
That bore me in safety across the Dream
But when I awoke,
I found 't was a joke,-
That wonderful island of Do-As-You-Please.


(SEE PAGE 348.)
VOL. XXIV.-39. 305



[Begun in the November number. ]



THE morning after the three soldiers had
pledged themselves to a life of exile, like the
(otherwise) practical young persons they were,
they proceeded resolutely to take stock of the
provisions they had on hand and to consider the
means of adding to their food-supply. They
had already been nearly two months in camp,
which was the period for which their rations
had been issued; but what with the generous
measure of the government and the small game
they had brought down with their carbines,
nearly half of the original supply remained on
storage in the hut of the old man of the
mountain. It is true that there was but one
box left of the hard bread; but the salt beef,
which had been covered with brine in the cask
found in the corner of the cabin, had scarcely
been touched. A few strips of the bacon still
hung from the rafters. Of the peas and beans,
only a few scattering seeds''lay here and there:
on the floor. The precious salt formed but. a
small pile by itself, but there was still a brave
supply of coffee and sugar, and the best p-art
of the original package of rice. In another
month they would have green corn and pota-
toes of their own growing, and they already had
eggs- fortunately they had killed none of their
The tract of ground on the mountain was a
half-hundred acres in extent, with an abundance
of wood and water, protected on the borders
by trees and bushes, and accessible only by the
wooden ladder by which they themselves had
come up the ledge. Their camp was in the
center of the tract, where the smoke of their
fires would never be seen from the valleys.
Overhanging the boulder face of the mountain,

just back of the ridge they had used for a sig-
nal-station, was a clump of black oaks, through
which something like an old trail led down to
a narrow tongue of land caught on a shelf of
granite, which was dark with a tall growth of
pines, and the earth beneath was covered with a
thick gray carpet of needles, clean and springy
to the feet. Along the southern cliff, and to the
west of the spring which welled out from under
the rock, was a curtain of dogwoods and birches,
and elsewhere the timber was chestnut. At
some points the trees of the latter variety were
old and gnarled, and clung to the rocks by
fantastic twisted roots like the claws of great
birds, and at others they grew in thrifty young
groves, three and four lusty trunks springing
from the sides of a decayed stump.
They were certainly in the heart of the Con-
federacy, but the plateau was theirs by the
right of possession, and over this, come what
might, they were determined that the old flag
with its thirty-five stars should continue to
float.. They, at least, would stubbornly refuse
to acknowledge that there had been any
.change in the number of States.
Q.hirig to the danger of being seen, they
agrec~i together that no one should go down
the ladder during the day. They were satisfied
that they had not been seen since they had
oC.cuIl.'ed the mountain. They had no reason
t., t;eli \. that any human being had crossed
th-'bridge since the night the captain and his
troopers had ridden away into the darkness;
but still the bridge remained, the only menace
to their safety, and with the military instinct of
a small army retreating in an enemy's country,
they determined to destroy that means of reach-
ing them.
Accordingly, when night came, Lieutenant
Coleman and George Bromley, leaving Philip
asleep in the hut, armed themselves with the ax
and the two carbines, and took their way across


the lower field to the deep gorge. They had
not been there since the. night they parted with
the captain and Andy, the guide. It was very
still in this secluded place -even stiller, they
thought, for the ceaseless tinkling of the branch
in the bottom of the gorge. They had grown
quite used to the stillness and solitude of nature
in that upper wilderness. Enough of moonlight
fell through the branches overhead so that they
could see the forms of the trees that grew in
the gorge; and the moon itself was so low in
the west that its rays slanted under the bridge
and touched with a ghostly light the dead top
of a great basswood which forked its giant
limbs upward like beckoning arms. Then
there was one ray of light that lanced its way
to the very heart of the gorge, and touched a
tiny patch of sparkling water alongside a shin-
ing rock.
They had the smallest ends of the string-
pieces to deal with, as the trees had fallen from
the other side. Bromley wielded the ax, which
fell at first with a muffled sound in the rotten
log, and then, as he reached the tougher heart,
rang out clear and sharp, and echoed back
from down the gorge. Presently he felt a
weakening in the old stick, and, stepping back,
he wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his
jacket. The stillness which followed the blows
of the ax was almost startling; and the night
wind which was rising on the mountain sounded
like the rushing of wings in the tops of the
pines on the opposite bank.
After another moment's rest, Corporal Brom-
ley laid his ax to the other string-piece. Lieu-
tenant Coleman had taken position a few yards
below the bridge, with his arm around a young
chestnut, where he could detect the first move-
ment of the swaying timbers. Fragments of
bark and rotten wood were shaken from the
crazy structure at every stroke of the ax, and
a tiny chipmunk sprang out of his home in the
stones, frightened at the chopping, and fled
with light leaps across the doomed causeway.
Now the blows fall more slowly, and after each
stroke the ax-man steps back to listen. At
last he hears a measured crackling in the resin-
ous heart of the old log. He hears earth and
small stones dropping from the abutment into
the branches of the trees below. The struc-

ture lurches to one side; there is a sound like
a dull explosion; a few loose sticks dance in
the yellow cloud of dust that rises thick and
stifling from the broken banks, and the toil-
some work of thirty years before is undone
in as many minutes.
When the dust-cloud had drifted off, our two
heroes, who had retreated for safety, came cau-
tiously back and looked over into the gorge.
They were startled at what they saw; for the
frame of the old bridge was poised in the moon-
light like Mohammed's coffin, and swaying
mockingly, as if the soul of the old man of the
mountain had taken refuge in its timbers. Its
slivered planks stood up like the fins of some
sea monster, crisscrossed and trembling, and
spread out like the broken sticks of a fan.
Good! said Lieutenant Coleman; "it has
lodged in the forked arms of the dead bass-
wood; and the mountain people will attach
some mystery to its going, as they did to its
He said Good!" because the more mystery
there was between their retreat and the enemy
outside, the better. It would be many a long
year now before anybody would be likely to
come to disturb them; and with this thought
in their hearts, they slung their carbines and
took the way back.
When they had come as far as the hollow
tree into which the cartridges had been thrown
on the first night to keep them from the rain,
they halted; and George Bromley felt of the
edge of the ax as he measured the height of
the opening above the ground with his eye.
He was not quite satisfied with this kind of
measurement, and so, leaning against the old
trunk, he thrust his right arm to its full length
into the broad, black cavity. He was about to
touch with his fingers the spot outside, opposite
to which his right hand reached, when some-
thing like an exclamation of anger fell from his
lips, and he lifted out of the opening a bear
cub as large as a woodchuck. Bromley's bare
hand had landed unexpectedly in the soft fur
of the animal, and with an absence of fear pe-
culiar to himself, he had closed his powerful
grip on the unknown object, and lifted out the
young bear by the nape of its neck. Strong as
he was, he was unable to hold the squirming


cub until he had turned it over on its back
and planted his knee on its chest.
Behind the tree there was a great dark hole
among the rocks, which was the real entrance
to the bears' den; and expecting an attack from
that quarter, Lieutenant Coleman stood quietly
in the moonlight, with his thumb on the lock of
his carbine. As there was no movement any-
where, he presently
returned to the h:l.. .---
in the tree, and pru-
dently thrust in lis -
short gun, which i, V
worked about unni
the broad flat end ,At'
the hinged ramr:.d
was entangled in li,, ,
coarse meshes of ti -
sack. The cartridge :
were bone-dry after
seven weeks in the
bears' den, and the
young cub was
thrust into the
bag, where he .
growled low
and struggled
against the un-
known power
him off. "
They had nei-
ther chains nor
cage nor strong
boxes, and when :Ih:-'
had come safely b ack: tr:
the cabin with their prizc
they were greatly ,pu:-i.
as to how they :l,.-.ui- -e-u
cure it for the night. Philip was
sleeping soundly on a bed of
boughs in one corner, and show- COMES FOR.HE
ed no disposition to wake. They CUB.
were careful not to disturb him, wishing to
prepare a pleasant surprise for him when he
should wake in the morning and find the
captured cub.
"I have it," said Bromley, when his eyes
had traveled around the room to the fireplace;
"the cub can't climb up the smooth stones of

the chimney, and we will find a way to shut it
in by blocking up the fireplace."
They unslung the door of the cabin from
its wooden hinges, and, after slipping the young
bear from the mouth of the sack into the soft
ashes, they quickly closed the opening, and se-
cured the door in place, putting the meat-cask
against one end and a heavy stone against the
other. After a
little disturbance
in the ashes all
was quiet in the
fireplace. Lieu-
tenant Coleman
went away to
his tent, and
in five minutes
after he lay
down George
Bromley was
fast asleep be-
side Philip.
At this time
the moon was
shining in at
the open door;
but shortly af-
terward it set be-
Ihind the western
rdg-es, and in the
hour before daybreak
k as unusually dark
,n the mountain.
E:ronley was sleeping
n,:,re lightly than usual,
rid. f:l:,lwing his experience
i i thlie ,iLlt. he was dreaming
,of operatee encounters with
Lb.:,; o:r thii: nm:,y have happened
because the cub in the chimney from
time to time put his small nose to a hole
ER in the door and whined, and then growled
as he fell back into the ashes.
One of the light cracker-boxes stood on
end just inside the door, and it was the noise
of this object thrown over on the floor that
startled Bromley in the midst of his dream, just
at the point where he saw the bear approach-
ing. He was awake in an instant, but the
spell of the dream was still on him, and he



wondered that instead of the huge form of the
bear of his sleep, he saw only two glittering
eyes in the doorway. For an instant he was at
a loss to tell where he was. He saw the gray-
ish opening of the window in the surrounding
blackness, and a peculiar hole in the roof not
quite covered by the pieces of shelter-tent;
and just as he came to himself the cub in the
chimney, smelling its mother, whined joy-
fully at the hole in the door. With a deep
growl the old bear scrambled over the creaking
floor to her young one. Instinctively Bromley
put out his hand for his carbine, and then he
remembered that both guns had been left lying
on the stone hearth. At the same time Philip
awoke with a start, and the she-bear, scenting
her natural enemies, uttered a growl which was
half a snarl, and was about to charge into
the corner where they lay, when Bromley
snatched the blankets and threw them so dex-
terously over the gleaming eyes that in the
momentary confusion of the brute he had time
to drag and push Philip through the open
door and out of the cabin.
Furious as the beast was, she had no dis-
position to follow the boys into the open air.
Her natural instinct kept her in the neighbor-
hood of her imprisoned offspring, where she
sat heavily on the two carbines and growled
fiercely. The bear now had full and undis-
puted possession of the cabin, as well as of the
entire stock of fire-arms, which absurd advan-
tage she held until daylight, while Bromley
and Philip sat impatiently in the lower limbs
of an old chestnut where they had promptly
taken refuge. Bromley had secured the ax
in his retreat, and while Philip sat securely
above him, he guarded the approach along the
sloping trunk, and would have welcomed the
bear right gladly. They were near enough to
throw sticks upon the "A" tent, and before
daylight Lieutenant Coleman was awakened
and was lodged in the branches with them.
"How very fortunate !" said Philip from the
top of the tree. "We shall have a supply
of jerked bear's-meat for the winter."
Not so long as the bear sits on the car-
bines," said Bromley, with a grim smile.
If we could get that young cub out of the
chimney said Lieutenant Coleman.

Or the old bear into it," suggested Philip.
"Either way," said the lieutenant, "would
put us in possession of the guns, and decide
the battle in our favor."
By the time they had, in their imaginations,
dressed the bear and tanned her skin, it began
to be light enough to enter upon a more vigor-
ous and offensive campaign. This idea seemed
to strike the bear at the same time, for she
came out of the door, and, after sniffing the
morning air, shambled three times around the
cabin, smelling and clawing at the base of
the chimney in each passage. Having made
this survey of her surroundings, she returned
to her post and lay down on the carbines.
These carbines were old smooth-bore mus-
kets cut down for cavalry arms and fitted
with a short bar and sliding ring over the lock-
plate, which was stamped "Tower--London,
1862." They carried a ball fixed in front of a
paper cartridge, and were fired by means of
a percussion-cap. The pieces were loaded
where they lay, with caps under the locks.
There was a crevice between the logs at
that side of the chimney where the door was
held in position by the stone, and the wooden
spade which Philip had used in his planting
could be seen from where the three soldiers
sat in the tree, lying across the grave of the
old man of the mountain. Lieutenant Cole-
man and Bromley slipped down to the ground
and ran around to the back of the hut. The
end of the door could be seen against the crev-
ice, which was just above the level of the floor.
The men took care to keep close to the chim-
ney, so as to be out of sight of the bear, and
when they had fixed their lever under the edge
of the door they easily raised it high enough
to let out the cub.
When this was done they mounted to the roof
of the cabin, Coleman armed with the wooden
spade and Bromley with the ax. The bear came
out presently, with the cub at her side, its thick
fur gray with ashes. The two were headed to
pass between the tent and the chestnut-tree, and
when the old bear stopped at the foot of the
trunk and raised her head with a threatening
growl, Bromley stood up on the roof and
hurled the ax, which slightly wounded the bear
in the flank and caused her to charge back to-.


ward the cabin, while the bewildered cub scram-
bled up the tree in which Philip sat.
Philip only laughed, and called loudly to his
comrades to get the guns. At the sound of his
voice the she-bear turned about, and seeing her
cub in the tree, began scrambling up after it. At
this quite unexpected
turn in affairs Philip
began to climb higher,
no longer disposed to
laugh, while Bromley
jumped down on the
opposite side of the
cabin and secured the
carbines, one of which
he passed up to Lieu-
tenant Coleman on
the roof. Now Cole-
man had a clear eye
and a steady hand
with a gun, and would '
have hit the heart of
the bear with his bul-
let like the handiest
old sport of the woods,
but as the animal
crouched in the crotch
of the tree a great limb
covered her side and
head. By this time I
Philip was as high as
he dared to climb.
The cub from the
ashes was -hugging
the same slender limb,
breathing on his naked
feet, and the old bear,
with bristling hair and
erect ears, was growling
where she lay, and putting
out her great claws to g.:, akl't
after Philip. This was tlhe i.ritical
moment, when Bromley r.in run:ler rhe
tree and shot the bear. HI3 ball went
crashing into her shoulder instead of between
the ribs behind, as he had meant it should. It
was just as well, he thought, when he saw her
come rolling along the trunk to the ground
as if she were thrice dead. If he had only
.known bears a little better, he would probably

have exchanged carbines and kept a safe dis-
tance from the animal; and even then, in the
end, it might have been worse for him.
He had only broken her big, shaggy shoulder,
and as he came near to the wounded brute she
rose suddenly on her hind feet and dealt him


such a whack with her sound paw as nearly
broke his ribs and sent him rolling over and
over on the ground. Bear and man were so


mixed in the air that even Coleman feared to
risk a shot. Poor Bromley, crippled and bleed-
ing at the nose, lay almost helpless on his back
under the tree, and in this state the maddened
bear charged furiously on him, her foaming and
bloody jaws extended. Half stunned and more
than half beaten, he had retained his cool nerve
and a firm grip on his empty carbine; and as
the bear came over him, with all his remaining
strength he crushed the clumsy weapon into
her open mouth like a huge .bit. She was so
near that he felt her hot breath on his face, and
saw her flaming eyes through the blood which
nearly blinded hisown. Bromley felt his strength
going. The breath was nearly crushed out of
his body by the weight of the bear, baffled for
an instant by the mass of iron between her jaws.
Philip, drawing up his toes from the cub, forgot
his own peril as he gazed down in terror at the
struggle below. At the moment which he be-
lieved was Bromley's last, a quick report rang
out from the roof, and the great bear rolled
heavily to one side, with Lieutenant Coleman's
bullet in her heart.

It is not to be supposed that in the excite-
ment of destroying bridges and killing bears
Lieutenant Coleman neglected the signal-sta-
tion. Morning after morning they waved their
flag, and watched the summit of Upper Bald.
through the glass. No one could be more
eager than were the three soldiers without a
country to hear some further news of the old
government they had loved and lost. They
even turned their attention to Chestnut Knob.
The entries in the diary show that this duty
was continued hopelessly through September
with no reply to their signals from either moun-
That disaster had overtaken the armies of
the United States they accepted as a fact, and
busied themselves about their domestic affairs
that they might, being occupied, the more

easily forget their great disappointment. The
flesh of the bear was cured in long strips by the
cool air and hot sun. To protect themselves
from another unwelcome surprise, they removed
the short upper ladder from the ledge in the
cliff, and the bear cub, which had become a
great pet under the name of Tumbler," was
allowed the range of the plateau.
In this month of September the soldier exiles
built a comfortable new house on ground a
little in front of the old hut. Its walls were
constructed of chestnut logs, cut from the grove
to the west, where they could be easily rolled
down the hill, after which they were scored
with the ax on the inner side, and notched so
as to fit quite closely together. The roof was
made of rafters and flattened string-pieces, and
covered with shingles which they split from
short sections of oak, and which were held in
place with the nails that had been provided for
the station. The floor was of pounded clay;
raised a foot above the ground outside. It
was a prodigious labor to bring down on rollers
the great flat stone which they dug out of the
hillside for the fireplace. After this was laid
firmly for a hearth, they built the chimney out-
side, laying the stones in a mortar of clay until
the throat was sufficiently narrow; and after
that they carried the flue above the ridge-pole
with sticks thickly plastered with mud. The
house had two windows under the eaves oppo-
site to each other; and the doorway, which was
in the gable end facing the fireplace, was fitted
with the door from the old cabin, which they
had no doubt had been framed down the moun-
tain, and brought up by Josiah after midnight,
and most likely it had been paid for with some
of the strange goldpieces which had excited the
suspicions of the gossips in the valley.
It was a wonderfully comfortable house to look
at, and almost made them long for the fall rain
to beat on the roof, and for the cold nights when
they could build a fire in the great chimney.

(To be continued.)



[Begun in the November number. ]



JUNE hardly knew how she ever got down-
stairs and into her own garden, it was all done
so quickly and in such agony of mind. Roy
had gone home, and Leila was alone, moving
about strangely, with her arms stretched out.
"Oh, why does n't some one come? she
cried in a sobbing way.
What is the matter ? What has happened ?"
Oh, June, where are you? Where are you? "
Darling, I am standing right beside you!"
cried June, in terror, taking her sister's arm.
Oh, where is mother? Go and tell mo-
ther !" begged Leila, her blue eyes opened to
their widest extent.
Yes, of course I '11 tell her, dearest; but
tell her what ? "
That I can't see anything; not you, nor the
sky, nor the sunlight -nothing! -I 'm blind! "
My darling! June clasped her hands in
despair. Leila's eyes were wide open, as clear,
as blue, as beautiful as the sky, and as unsee-
ing. For one hopeless, horrible moment, June
stood as if turned to stone, and then her capa-
bility for prompt action came back to her.
That terrible, blind staring into the glowing sky
must be stopped. Something must be done.
She caught her sister in her arms, and all but
carried her into the house, Leila moaning all
the while, Where is mother ? Has n't anybody
sent for mother? Why does n't mother come?
Oh, June, I '11 never see her again!"
Her cries filled June's heart with anguish,
but she hardened herself against breaking down,
and mechanically did what her common-sense
prompted. She laid Leila on her bed, and dark-
ened the room, and placed cooling bandages
against the poor eyes which were weeping

themselves out in futile tears. She shut out
every straggling beam of light, using shawls,
blankets anything that came to hand.
"Is that any better, dear ? she asked.
Is what any better? What have you done?
Oh, why does n't mother come? "
Not to know whether the room was
shrouded, or whether the fiery sun was beating
in! Oh, poor Leila! June seized a hat, and
kneeling by the bed, told the despairing child
that she was only going for a doctor, and then
for mother, and that she must try not to mind
being left alone for a while, that she would soon
be back. But Leila caught her by the wrists,
and implored June not to leave her.
As I am blind -blind what can a doctor
do? If you leave me, June, I shall die! Sit
here with me till mother comes home! "
"That would be madness," thought June;
and covering her ears with her hands to shut
out Leila's sobs and entreaties, she sped into
the street. The sunlight cut into her eyes, and
as she thought of the wild little figure waiting
in the darkened room, a suffocating feeling
pressed upon her heart like a weight.
As she passed the Allisons' house, an idea
came to her, and she ran swiftly up the steps
and rang the bell.
'A slow, slow footman came to the door, and
gazed at her sleepily. Pushing him gently
aside, she ran past him and stood desolately in
the dim and spacious hall. Then she wrung
her hands together and called:
Roy dear Roy if you are in the house,
come to me quickly, for I need help!"
She heard an astonished murmur from the
floor above, and then Roy came flying down the
stairs. He led her into the drawing-room, and
she hurriedly told him her story.
"And I can't wait a minute, you see, Roy;
but you must go in and sit with Leila, for she
is almost insane with grief and fright."

Of course I '11 go. You run on to the doc- would be if I forgot how your face looks!" And
tor's, and I '11 stay with the poor, dear little then the bitter weeping came on again.
girl." "Now, if these- young people will leave us,"
June scrambled to her feet and seized Roy's said the oculist, looking kindly at Roy and June,
hands, not only to thank him, but also to pull "we will see if there is anything to be done."
him out of the house. So she was soon speed- I shall be where I can hear you call, if you
ing on her way again, and feeling that Leila want me," said June, heroically obedient.
was at least not facing her terrible affliction in It was terrible downstairs. To hear the foot-
utter loneliness, steps above; to hear murmurs, quick footsteps,
Their family physician was very much dis- deep questions and plaintive little replies, chairs
tressed at June's story, but he said that the scraping, once a faint cry from Leila-to hear
case needed a specialist's skill, and he sent the all this, and to do nothing, was almost more than
pale little messenger to an oculist. Then June could bear.
June had to take an electric car to Oakland, Roy, more fortunate, was sent on an errand,
where her mother had a secretary's position. and could expend some of his energy in move-
That weary ride And how was she to break ment. June could do nothing but wait.
the news ? But her mother guessed half of her Finally there was a lull in the proceedings
errand at the first sight of her face. up stairs, and then the oculist's kindly voice was
There is something terrible the matter," said heard to say:
Mrs. Miller, gathering up her things like one in Don't trouble yourself to come down, Mrs.
a dream,-" something the matter with Leila." Miller; your little girl needs you more than I do.
She wants to see you," said June, throwing I can find my way out very well." Then he came
herself into her mother's arms. That is, she downstairs. June crept to the door and opened
wants to feel you near her, for she cannot see it for him. His face was grave, and a trifle sad.
you any more. She is blind!" "Tell me one thing," said June, imploringly.
"Now tell me all," said the poor mother, "Will she ever see again?"
when their journey back home was begun.
What little there was to tell was soon over; CHAPTER VIII.
and the rest of the trip was made in silence.
When they reached their house, the oculist
was just entering, and they all went in together. "WILL she ever see again?" repeated June,
They found that Roy had taken the afflicted in misery.
child in his arms, and was trying to cheer her; "We must always hope for the best," an-
but although she had stopped crying, she was swered the oculist, evasively.
talking restlessly in a plaintive, impassioned way. That means that she will be blind for life!"
"They used to tell me not to, Roy; but I cried the girl.
would do it. I used to read by the firelight, "No," said the oculist, kindly; "and yet your .
and in the sunlight, and by no light at all. And sister's trouble is a very complicated one."
when they would say, 'Leila, put that book "Her eyes look all right."
down; don't sit reading, reading all the time,' "Yes; the disease has been defined as 'a dis-
I used to think it was rather unkind of them, ease in which the patient sees nothing; neither
and I would creep away somewhere else, that does the doctor.' "
they might not see me, and on I would go again. June flashed a piteous look at him. "It is not
Oh, if I only, only had done as they told me!" funny to us," she whispered.
Hearing the sound of footsteps, she slipped "My dear girl," interposed the doctor, gravely,
from Roy's lap, and stood swaying uncertainly "it is not funny to me, either. The definition
in the middle of the room. Then, with a cry, I gave you merely states the case as it is: there
she ran as straight into her mother's arms as if is nothing to see on either side, and so the trou-
her eyes had been of the keenest. ble is the most difficult to deal with."
"Dear mother!" she cried. "How terrible it "Is it curable?" insisted June.
VOL. XXIV.-40.




"There are one or two recoveries on record,"
replied the doctor, trying to be kind.
"Have you ever known of a curable case?"
There was a miserable silence. The doctor
broke it by exclaiming vehemently:
That is the way with you young people: you
try your eyes in every conceivable reckless way,
doing the thousand and one things you are
warned against, as if your eyes were of an espe-
cial make and not liable to injury. When a
grown person absolutely forbids you to read,
you shut the book with a slam, as if you were a
martyr to a wilful person's tyranny. You bend
over when you use your eyes, you read in bed,
you sit in cross lights, in spite of warning, in
spite of entreaty. And when you finally pay
the penalty for your wicked disregard, you rebel
against Heaven, and wonder why you are so
"It would be better to admit the justice of the
punishment, and to pray that it may be as short
as possible; yes, that 's what I '11 do," said
June, thoughtfully.
It is never too late to pray, my dear child,"
replied the doctor approvingly. But I should
have thought you to be one to take refuge in
"Why not both?" asked June, with a wan
little smile.
The doctor studied her face for a while in si-
lence; he finally put the result of his scrutiny
into words.
"If you want to devote yourself to months
of absolute slavery, you can give your sister
the only chance of recovery there is."
"Tell me what I am to do I will do it! "
"If you can keep her constantly interested,
amused, light-hearted, and hopeful; if you can
give her your life and health and strength -
not now and again, but daily, hourly, perpetu-
ally; if you can keep her body healthy and her
mind happy, there is one chance in a thousand
that her sight will come back to her."
June was practical enough to know what
would be required of her. Everything would
have to be put aside,- her studies, her music,
her friendships, her long rambles, her amuse-
ments, everything. But though she thought of
all this, there was not a second of hesitation.

I '11 try," she said simply; but the doctor
was acute enough to understand that the quiet
words meant more than a score of hysterical
"Look here," he began shrewdly, "if you
go into this thing too devotedly, you '11 do
more harm than good."
"I don't understand," faltered June.
"Why, if you deny yourself all recreation
you will break down, and the knowledge that
she has been the cause will give your sister no
peace of mind."
"You mean "
Have all the fun you can."
"Well, I '11 do that too," said June, very
The doctor seemed vaguely touched.
When the great specialist went away, with
his hands behind him and his head bent in
thought, he paused once to address, apparently,
an intelligent sparrow which hopped compan-
ionably beside him.
"That 's a girl in a thousand!"
The sparrow flew away to debate the re-
mark in a wrangling manner upon a hedge.
And now hard times commenced for June.
To read to Leila, to take her out, to keep her
amused, took almost every moment of time.
And yet she could not let her garden go entirely.
If they needed money before, the need was now
fifty times greater, since the oculist's charges
were high, and Leila required delicacies. So
June used to get up early in the morning while
Leila was asleep; but although she worked
doggedly, the results were unsatisfactory the
flowers would not grow as they ought. Roy
volunteered to assist, but after he had pains-
takingly uprooted every choice seed June had
planted, leaving a mass of wild morning-glories
victors of the field, June was obliged to deny
herself the luxury of his help.
"I am as sorry as-I don't know what,"
he exclaimed ruefully.
"Don't mind," said she, heroically. Fates
seem against me; but I '11 stick to this garden,
if I fall and am buried in it!"
"That's the talk," commended Roy; then
he added sheepishly: "By the by, June, I took
your advice, and said, 'Poor Sarah!'"
"What did you say ?" queried June. It was



a moment before she remembered to what Roy
was referring. The time since their talk had
seemed so long; but her interest reawakened.
" Oh, yes, I know. Do tell me what she said."
Said nothing," volunteered Roy, rubbing
suggestively at his ear.
"Oh, you don't mean to say -! "
"Yes, I do; she boxed it. But I really
think it was more in embarrassment than
How nice I "
"That 's one way of looking at it," agreed
Roy, dubiously.
Of Sarah herself June saw very little; but
the lame girl seemed to take a new interest in
life. June sometimes caught a glimpse of her
on the porch, and each time she was writing,
writing, with the scowl smoothed away, and a
cheery light on her face. She seemed to long,
too, for June's companionship, but that busy
young person could give very little of it.
I 'd come over every day if I could, Sarah;
but you know I can't. Still," said June, with a
lucky inspiration, taking a blue scarf from her
neck, if ever you want me very badly indeed,
just tie this scarf to your shutter, and I '11 come
as soon as I see it."
That is quite a romantic idea," said Sarah,
approvingly. "For I hardly ever catch sight
of you in your garden now."
And indeed she was right. It went to poor
June's heart to watch the tender buds all friz-
zling up on the trees for want of attention. It
seemed as if dollars were dropping away un-
der her very eyes, even though she had not
realized a cent as yet. But one slow clump
of St. Joseph lilies gave her a fund of satisfac-
tion. That particular flower was always sala-
ble, and, moreover, brought the highest price
in the business; so, eventually, June withdrew
her care from the many ungrateful freaks in her
garden, and confined herself to tending the
lily-bed. The tardy buds appeared in great
profusion--tiny little things that would take
weeks and weeks to mature. And oh, how
busy the weeks were It is strange, but of busy
times there is very little to write. All I can

say is that the spring months glided into sum-
mer months, and the roses which glowed in
other gardens came most sparsely to June, and
came most grotesquely stunted; that summer
glided into autumn, and that every minute
of the lagging time had its imperative duty.
Leila twined herself around June as a frail vine
around a sturdy tree; she looked to her for
everything, and it is but fair to say that she
got it.
Go to the window, June, and tell me all
you can see," was her usual request at evening.
"I can see the grave of my past, and the
glory of my future," announced June, dramati-
cally, one dull November twilight.
What is it ? asked Leila, snuggling against
the tragic speaker, and gazing out into the
blankness with steady, unseeing eyes.
"The grave of my past is a gruesome col-
lection of lop-sided chrysanthemums. If I
were to offer them for sale, I should be taken
before the lunacy commissioners. The hours
of labor they represent!"
And the glory of the future ? asked Leila,
with another conifortable snuggle.
A bed of St. Joseph lilies as is lilies !" re-
sponded June, unctuously.
"What else do you see ? "
"Misfit; she 's at her old occupation of chat-
tering her teeth at a bird out of her reach. I
should think the occupation would be worn
Dear little Misfit!"
Dear, if you like; but scarcely little. By
now she is the lankiest cat in the county."
"I know; I have felt her."
Must feel like an eel; does n't she ? asked
June, interested.
Not ..ci.il ," said Leila, with a thankful
shudder; "what else do you see ? "
Much dull sky, a suspicion of fog, a few
dusty little swirls of wind, two dogs in the
street dying to become acquainted, but turning
their heads in.liff;i. Ilr) aside; and-good gra-
cious! "
For as June spoke she saw the blue scarf flut-
tering wildly from Sarah's window.

(To b cnlldnud.)



KATIE lived in
the forest. When
7 her father died
her uncle sent her
there. Hethought
the animals would
kill her, but they
did n't. In fact,
they took great
care of her. There was John, the ele-
phant; James, the crocodile; the tiger
who had no name, and the monkey who
had a great many; and they all were very __
kind, and helped her build her house
and cook her breakfast. There
was the alligator, George, who was
sulky; but the crocodile was a dear.
One day Katie said to him:

' Crocodile, Crocodile, give me a ride,
And the elephant Johnny will run by
our side;
We '11 swim up the river together, and
You '11 turn your long tail, dear, and
swim down again.

" We '11 swim up the river and through the dark wood,
For there lives the tiger, so gentle and good.
He '11 give us some cake and he 'll make us some tea;
You know he is always good-natured to me.
" For I met him one day,- I was quite a small girl,-
And his poor coat and whiskers were all out of curl;
So I combed him and brushed hims as fine as a prince,
And he's always been so much obliged to me since.
"He 's very old now, dear, but once he was young,
And fought with a lion, and climbed trees and sung;

"p a
,' ~


He can sing a bit still, and his tea is so nice,
And perhaps he will give us a strawberry ice.

"So stand still, my Jimmy, and let me get on,
For the day is so fine and my lessons are done.
We '11 swim up the river together, and then
You '11 turn your long tail, dear, and swim down

One day Katie was walking by the water-
side, and there she saw a water-wagtail. He
looked so happy that she thought he must have
had something very good to eat; and so she
asked him:

" Little Water-Wagtail, running by the lake,
For your little tea and dinner, oh! tell me what you

To which the water-wagtail answered (for he
was a truthful bird):

" A little lady beetle in a little purple gown,
And a little drop of water to wash the beetle down."

One day when the elephant came out of the
woods his behavior was very strange indeed,-
so strange that Katie said:

Who 's that by the banyan tree,
Humming like a bumblebee,
Jumping like a dancing bear,
Lifting up his trunk in air;
And his howdah all aslant?
Why, it 's John, the elephant! "

But the most dreadful thing happened when
Katie and John and James all came back from
a journey together and Katie made the tea.
James, the crocodile, never talked much; he
thought a great deal at least, so Katie said to
herself, and it is certain he was always eating.
He liked all sorts of things, from pork to straw-
berries. He liked pork best, but when Katie
offered them he never refused strawberries.
But that day he would n't touch them nor any-
thing else, and so Katie said:

"Crocodile, what is the matter, my dear?
Please tell me what is it about. Do you hear?
I 've offered you strawberries, treacle, and cake;
Oh, crocodile dear, is there nothing you'll take?

"What can be the matter, oh, what can it be?
Oh, is n't he sad and pathetic to see?
He looks just as if he were going to cry,
And I really believe there 's a tear in his eye.

" His mouth is turned down and his eyes are turned up-
John, reach me your trunk dear, and hand him the cup.
What, no! won't he take it? Oh, dear, what a bore!
He never refused tea and sugar before.

"Come here by my side, Jim, and tell me your woes.
I '11 stroke your old paws and I '11 tickle your nose.
He 's looking quite cross, and he always has been
The best-natured crocodile ever was seen.
"Perhaps it is temper, perhaps it is pride,
Perhaps it 's a pain in his little inside.
Never mind, Jim, I know that one always is sad-
Why, every one is--when his stomach is bad.
"Perhaps that old turtle was hard to digest.
If you swallow them whole they are gritty at best;
And pelican meat is delicious, they say,
But you should n't eat more than a dozen a day.

"Or, perhaps, by mistake you have swallowed a stone
Instead of a toad; that 's provoking, I own.
Or perhaps you 're in love but you 're gouty and fat,
And I 'm sure that you can't be as foolish as that.

"What is it, my darling? I wish you'd explain.
Has the old alligator been teasing again?
I know that his language is often provoking,
But then it's his way to be laughing and joking.

"Come here! Can't you move, dear? What makes you
keep still?
I 'm afraid you must really be dreadfully ill.
Why! what is the monkey there laughing at so?
I must really myself go and look at you-oh!

"Oh, John, you old booby, what are you about?
Do look where you 're sitting, you clumsy old lout;
No wonder poor Jimmy looks sorry and pale-
You 've been sitting an hour on the crocodile's tail "


It was quite true that the alligator made
himself very unpleasant by teasing, and no one
disliked him more than Jim, the crocodile.

"Said George, the alligator, to James, the crocodile,
'I really don't believe, Jim, I ever saw you smile.
They say it is their conscience which makes some

The parrots are shrieking-the parrots can see;
And you know how they tell all their secrets to me.

"Oh, gallop, my Johnny, there 's no time to think,
There 's no time for stopping to eat or to drink;
Through thicket and jungle, through cactus and mire,
Oh, gallop, my Johnny, the forest 's afire!

people sad,
But I really can't believe, Jim, you are so very bad.' "It 's coming, it 's coming, there 's red in the sky!
The silly birds chatter and
scream as they fly.
SThe monkeys are shrieking
S --.,-"; -I know what they
Of_- say-
; ... 'Our favorite tree will be
S- ashes to-day!'
0;1 -7 .. .. ..,- .

*v ., ', O//


But that same evening a parrot came and
settled on Katie's shoulder and talked in her
ear. She said to James, Hide yourself in the
mud, James, there 's danger"; and then she said
to John:
"Elephant, elephant, reach me your trunk,
You have eaten two trees, you have washed, you have
And I know when you 've started you never will
And you '11 need all your strength, for the forest 's
"The north wind is blowing, and high overhead
The smoke cloud is rising, a column of red.

"The forest is falling. Oh,
hark! What a crash!
You can see the flames
now -how they flicker
and flash!
The sparks are all over
your beautiful back.
Oh, gallop, my Johnny,
there 's death on our
track !

"Oh, look! There 's the
tiger! Oh, tiger, come
We both are delighted to
see you, my dear! "
How he bounded and leapt!
How he roared as he
came! -
And his yellow coat shone
Like a garment of flame!

" We 've come to the river -
the river at last.
Just one effort more, and
the danger is passed.
My Johnny is clever, my
Johnny can swim.

The brown rushing water is nothing to him.

"And now we've touched ground-we are climbing
the bank.
Oh, whom should I praise, John, and whom should
I thank?
And whom should I kiss if I should n't kiss you,
My swift-footed Johnny, the strong and the true?

"And I '11 never forget how the forest took fire,
And how nothing could stop you and nothing could
tire -
And how fresh you looked, too, when the journey
was done,
And how Katie was saved by the elephant John."



But Katie's wicked uncle heard she was alive,
and sent to fetch her; and this is what hap-
pened to his messengers:

'One, two, three- one, two, three,
The wicked men creep silently-
Crawling, creeping,
Climbing, leaping
Over rock and fallen tree.
The wicked icing across the sea
Has sent them here for me.

"All alone, all alone,-
They have left me all alone.
Jim, the crocodile, has gone,
So has naughty John;
And through the thicket, up the brook,
And past my garden-look!
The wicked men come on.

"Nearer, nearer! I can see
Each cruel, ugly face.
Here 's a hollow tree,
Here 's a hiding-place !
Will they see me? Will they find me?
I look before me and behind me.
Oh, what shall I do?
Oh, if Johnny only knew!
And what will Jimmy say
When he finds me stolen away?

"Nearer, nearer, nearer yet!
How their cruel brows are set!
Now they 've gone inside my house.
I '11 lie as quiet as a
Now they're coming

Now they look about;
Now they're talking--they're in doubt.
They wonder where I 'm gone.
But where are Jim and John ?
They have left me all alone.

"Nearer, nearer,
Plainer, clearer,
Grows each face and cruel eye.
Oh, Jim and John,
Where are you gone?
Come at least to say good-by!

"What 's that yellow streak?
I dare not breathe or speak.
There 's the tiger-there he lies,
Waiting with his quiet eyes,
Hidden in the thicket near.
How I love you, tiger dear!

"With a roar, with a bound,
Like lightning through the air,
While the woods echo round,
He leaps from his lair.
Oh, who can stay the path
Of my tiger in his wrath?
Oh, who can stand before
His rage, when his roar
Shakes the ground?

"One, two, three; one, two, three;
The wicked men they turn and flee-
They run with might and main,
And they '11 not come here again.

"Oh, tiger, tiger, is that you? -
My tiger brave and strong and true-
And did you leave your quiet cave,
And lose your sleep to come and save
Your poor deserted little friend?
Oh, give your paw to me, and bend
Your head that I may stroke your ear.
I am so glad to see you, dear!
I 'll come and brush you every week,
S And make your coat so nice and sleek.
S I '11 make you fine as fine can be,
And feed you well, and make your tea,
K'-' And you '11 repeat those funny rhymes
And tell me stories of old times -
About the lion whom you beat-
While I am sitting at your feet;
And John and I will work for hours,
And gather moss and leaves and flowers
To make you up the finest bed,
And heap a pillow for your head;
And you will teach me how to climb,
And we shall have the finest time!
My tiger, brave and strong and true-
Oh, tiger, I am proud of you!"




By C. T. HILL.

"AN alarm of
fire by telegraph!"
How much these
few words suggest
to the mind: The
fright, the confu-
sion, the destruc-
tion of property,
and the possible
loss of life. The
puffing engines and
the shouting men,
the crashing of
glass and the
splashing of water,
S and, perhaps, final-
Sly the smoldering
remains of a once
comfortable home
e laid waste by na-
n:- mture's most destruc-
S tive element -fire.
All this is men-
A STREET BOX. SENDNG N All this is men-
ALARM. tally pictured when
we read the little technical phrase found in
the daily ledger kept in every engine-house in
New York City.
This book, known as the "house journal,"
contains a record of all alarms of fire, whether
this particular company is called or not.
The movements of the officers and men are
also recorded here, the hour and moment of
their leaving quarters each day for meals, and
an entry made of any event pertaining to the
workings of the department.
As we scan this book over, we come to an
inscription in red ink, something like this:
6.15 P. M.: Rec'd an alarm by telegraph from Station 448.
In this memorandum 448 is the number of the
fire-alarm box from which this alarm was sent--
they are known technically as "stations."

This inscription is unsatisfactory and disap-
Turning back a few pages we come to an-
other entry that is more explanatory. It reads
something like the following:

10.45 A. M.: Rec'd an alarm of fire by telegraph from
Station 357.
Proceeded with 'company and apparatus and found
fire to be at No. 143 West I6th St. Took double hydrant
in front of No. 150 W. I6th St., and reported to Chief
of 7th Batt.
Was by him ordered to stretch line into basement of
house, where a Iy-inch stream was kept Io minutes.
Company's services being no longer required, was
ordered to return to quarters. The following officers
and men accompanied apparatus. .

Then comes a list of the officers and men
going to the fire, and of those who were absent,
and a statement of why each was absent, for a
fireman is held accountable for every moment
of time while he is on duty, and his superior
officer must know at all times when he is at a
fire; and if he is not, the cause of his not being
there. The above entry, like the other, is made
in red ink, for all records of fires are made in
that color, to separate them from the ordinary
routine work, which is inscribed in black.
Now, let us trace or follow up this particular
alarm of fire and find out why it was sent out,
and how it was conveyed to the firemen, and
how they received it. This leads us into the
mysteries of the "Fire Alarm Telegraph Sys-
tem," without which the science of fire-fighting
to-day no matter how quick the horses, no
matter how complete the apparatus, and no
matter how eager the men to respond -would
be utterly helpless.
We will begin by examining the street boxes,
or "stations," as they are called, as it is from
them that the alarm is first sent. They are
found on almost every other corner in New
York City, or, at least, within three or four blocks


of one another. As practically every city or
town of any size in the United States has the
same sort of boxes, the readers of ST. NICHOLAS
are probably well acquainted with them, so we
will examine only the "keyless box," that is
used .extensively in New York City.
This box forms part of a lamp-post, the post
being so constructed that the box is inserted in
the middle. The box is painted a bright red, and
the lamp at night shows a red light, thus making
it easily discernible either by day or night. The
wires from the box are conveyed down through
the center of the post to conduits buried in the
street, and thence on to fire headquarters,
White letters on a red pane of glass, in the
lamp over the box, give directions how to send
an alarm,-the same direc-
tions in raised letters are
found on the face of the box.
If we turn the large brass
handle on the outside
as far as it will go, a
Sloud gong will ring
inside. This is not
the alarm, but simp-
ly a warning bell to
notify the policeman
on the beat that the
box is being opened
and to prevent the
sending in of mali-
cious or false alarms
of fire, an offense that
is punishable in New
York State by a fine
KEYLESS BOX, OUTSIDE. of $I00 and one
Showing the directions for opening es ronment
the outer door and for seeing an year's imprisonment.
alarm. Turning this handle
as far as it will go opens the outer door, and we
find inside another door, with a slot at the left-
hand side, and at the top of this slot a hook
projecting. By pulling down this hook once and
releasing it, we set at work certain clockwork
mechanism inside, and this sends in the alarm.
When the first officer arriving at a fire dis-
covers that it is of enough importance to war-
rant his sending for reinforcements, he opens
this inner door and with the Morse key"
sends in a second, third, fourth, fifth, or sixth
alarm, as the case may be, or a call for any spe-
VOL. XXIV.-41.

ci l ippara.tu- that he may
nee :l. The inspectors of
L.:..e" *:."n also carry on
a1 :or!t. -rsition in the
,: .hIrr c alphabet with
[tie ,-[.irator at head-
quarters on
t teLet us ex-
amine the
causes that
Sled to the
'a d i sending in
of an alarm
from box
3 357,andalso
ii I, .i- i s the pulling
t Ii"l .... i--k in one of
-i ;these lamp-post boxes.
KEYLESS BOX, OPENED. A pan of grease frying
Showing the inner door,and hook. on the kitchen range in
the basement of a house in West Sixteenth Street
boils over and sets fire to the floor, The ser-
vants, discovering the kitchen in flames, run
screaming from the house. The owner, who
happens to be up- stairs at the time,
runs down. :,nd1 l .-eer r e iht, il
of fire reflecW Csn th.e: .,?.- ni,-int
stairs, dash: tor di- r, ,r-
est fire- a' : i l k,._,
to send in al ,l. rn,.
This box
happens to
be on the
corner of
Street and
Seventh "
the handle J,
opens the The inner door opened, showing the camor leverthao
operatesthe clockwork, and the Morse ey and sounder
outer door, for sending telegraph messages to headquarters.
the warning bell rings, he pulls down the hook
on the inside door once, and releasing it, lis-
tens. What does he hear? The buzzing of



machinery at first, and then "ting, ting, ting! "
on a little bell inside. A pause, and ting,
ting, ting, ting, ting!" Another pause, and
then "ting, ting, ting, ting, ting, ting, ting!"-
357, the number of the box.
This is repeated five times in quick succes-
sion, and then the buzzing stops. The alarm
has been sent. It may seem like an age to


the owner as he stands waiting for the firemen
to appear, but it is a matter of only a few
seconds; for within twenty seconds this station
number is ringing in a score or more of
engine-houses, and within one minute and a
half six companies of apparatus are on their
way to this box.
He looks up and down the avenue, and what
does he see ?
Turning into Seventh Avenue at the inter-
section of Greenwich Avenue, five blocks to the
south of where he stands, a fire-engine appears,
drawn by three plunging gray horses. As
it straightens out in the broad avenue, they
dash madly toward where he stands. A hose-
wagon follows, filled with sturdy men donning
rubber coats and fire-hats. The bells of both
engine and wagon are ringing furiously, and
the whistle of the former keeps up a series of
short shrieks.
It is truly an inspiring sight, and he almost
forgets the destruction that threatens his home.

As he looks up the avenue he sees approach-
ing from Twentieth Street, four blocks to the
north, another piece of apparatus--a heavy
affair that sways from side to side as it swings
from one car-track to another. This is a
truck" or hook-and-ladder company, and it
is preceded by a light wagon containing two
men, one driving, while the other looks eagerly
ahead for the appear-
ance of fire. This is
the chief of the 7th
Battalion, who after-
ward has charge of
the fire. Whistles and
bells in the two ad-
joining streets to the
north of him tell of'
the approach of more
engines. One is com-
m ing from the east, the
other from the west.
The engine approach-
ing from the east turns

teenth Street, two
blocks above, just as
NG GRAY HORSES." the one coming from
the south is over a
block away. It is now a mad race between
the two to see which will first reach the box.
The one approaching from the south has the
advantage of a clear run up the avenue, how-
ever, and arrives at the corner before the other.
The man at the box indicates by pointing to
his home the location of the fire, and the driver
of this engine, who knows the hydrants in his
district as well as he knows the stations, turns
the corner on a run and pulls his horses up
beside a hydrant nearly opposite the fire.
Another truck company has. followed this
first appearing engine, also coming from the
south. Another battalion chief has turned the
corner of Fourteenth Street, coming from the
east, and following him a strange-looking ap-
paratus-a four-wheeled wagon, carrying what
one might almost call an enormous cannon
with an inverted muzzle--this is a "water-
tower." Still another detachment dashes to-
ward the box from the north. This is a big
red wagon drawn by two noble animals that



are covering the ground
with great leaps. It is .
filled with men wearing .
white rubber coats and
red fire hats. This is a ''
section ofthe fire-insur-
ance patrol, and they i -.
come to protect prop-
erty from damage by
water, and to save what
they can. The third
engine coming from
the west, follows and
pulls up at a hydrant
on the corner, and
"awaits orders." i
The first company
to arrive have rushed I
into the basement with -
their hose. The engine "THE ENGINE A
is at work in an instant, and a few dashes of
water extinguish the fire. The fire-insurance
patrolmen go through the building, opening
windows to let the smoke escape, and ascer-
tain the amount of damage done. Members of
the first truck company to arrive assist the men
from the engine company in putting out any
remaining traces of fire, by pulling down wood-
work, plaster, etc., in the kitchen. The other
companies stand ready to get to work until
ordered to quarters by the battalion chief;
and soon there is little evidence of a fire beyond
a wet pavement and a badly wrecked kitchen.

In reviewing the events that have followed
the pulling of the hook in this box, we find that
within three minutes from the time the alarm
was sent in, an engine and a truck company
were on hand. In two minutes more three
other companies had arrived, and in exactly
seven minutes from the instant the hook was
pulled down, three engine companies, two hook-
and-ladder companies, a water-tower, and a sec-
tion of the fire patrol, with two battalion chiefs,
were on the spot, and ready to go to work.
In all, about fifty-five men, with ten pieces of
apparatus -a small fire department in itself.

II ____
I-. Ii' iiil' IiL -~


~----------- -



This is not remarkable; for if we consider
that there are, on an average, from ten to
fifteen alarms of fire a day in New York City,
we can realize what an ordinary event this be-
comes. It is partly due to the efficiency of the
fire-alarm telegraph system that this rapid con-
centration of fire forces is possible. Let us visit
fire headquarters in East Sixty-seventh Street,
and see how the alarms are-received and sent out.
We find the telegraph bureau a large, well-
lighted room on the sixth floor of the building.
In the middle of this room is a raised platform,
perhaps a foot in height; and this platform
is surrounded on three sides by cabinet-work,
almost like immense bookcases, and reaching
nearly to' the ceiling. A passageway on both
sides of this cabinet-work makes the back easily
accessible; and an entrance through the middle
leads to the battery-room in the rear of the
bureau. There is a post in the center of this
passageway studded with push-buttons," and
within this three-sided inclosure are the various
delicate and intricate machines for receiving
and recording the alarms, most of the instru-
ments being protected from injury or dust by
cases of glass.
The face of the cabinet-work on both sides
is filled with keys, sounders, switches, and all

manner of electrical devices for receiving and
transmitting alarms of fire, and all the private
telegraph signals used in the work of the fire
An operator comes forward, and under his
guidance we will look into the methods of at-
tending to a most important branch of the fire
service that of receiving and recording an
alarm of fire from a street box, and transmitting
the same to the engine companies nearest to the
fire, in the shortest possible time. We are first
to see the "register," or machine that records
the alarm as it comes in from the street box.
This machine not only indicates the pulling of
a fire-alarm box by clicking off the number of
the station, but prints it upon an endless tape
of paper about a foot wide.
We find a station recorded thus:

i 4 Station 147.

If we examine this machine closely we shall
find five oblong vulcanite (or hard-rubber)
cases back of that part that does the printing.
Each of these little cases contains ten sounders,
and each sounder represents a circuit. There
are from ten to fifty boxes on each circuit, so
that this machine records the alarms from over


a thousand boxes A delicate steel rod con- to come in, that we may better understand what
nects each sounder with a little brass elbow- is being done.
joint that does the printing, somewhat like the All along the side where the register stands
key of a type-writing machine. As each click are a number of telegraph keys, one for every
or pulsation of electricity comes through a circuit sixty in all, there being ten extra cir-
sounder, this little rod is pulled back. It de- cuts, besides those connected with the reg-
presses the elbow-joint, and this prints a dash ister. They are similar to the keys in every
upon the paper. There are fifty of these little telegraph office. In the corner, on the same
elbow-joints all in a line, one for each circuit, side, there are eight extra keys. These operate
so that boxes on different circuits print upon the "combination circuits," the engine-houses
different parts of the paper. being on circuits just as the boxes are. With
We can better understand a circuit" if we these the operator rings the combination bell
imagine a long wire reaching, say, to the Bat- that I have just described. Above each there
tery five miles away- and returning to head- is a large push-button not unlike a stop in an
quarters. Branch wires running from this main organ. A number is on the face of each, and
line connect with boxes at different places along they represent the circuits controlled by the
the way. No two adjacent boxes are put on keys. A large hand-lever is also here, which
the same circuit. Thus we find a circuit con- throws on an extra-heavy current of electricity
nected with a box at Fifty-eighth Street and whenever it is necessary to use these circuits, a
Broadway, and the next box on the same line light current only being kept on them at all
is at Forty-sixth Street and Eighth Avenue, other times.
twelve blocks away. This is to prevent the Toward the front of the platform, and near
possibility of two boxes on the same circuit, or the right-hand side of the inclosure, stands an-
wire, being pulled at once for the same fire. other machine, a most important one. It stands
This delicate and' ingenious instrument pre- upon a cabinet or pedestal of its own, and this
vents the possibility of confusion of this kind oc- machine, called "the repeater," controls the
curring, for even if two stations were to click ringing of the big gongs in the engine-houses.
off at the same time, although it might
not be possible to count the clicks, the
numbers of the boxes, being on different
circuits, will be found printed clear and
distinct on different parts of the paper.
The operator, divining that both have
been pulled for the same fire, sends out
only one on the combination key.
In every engine-house there is a small
bell that begins to ring offthe alarm as it
comes in. This is called the "combina-
tion," because it not only tells the num-
ber of the box, but it allows a weight
to fall that springs a "trip," or lever,
that in turn releases the horses. Shortly
after this begins, a very large gong rings
out in loud strokes. Should the firemen
fail to count the strokes of the small bell, THE REGISTER.
they cannot fail to count those of the big gong. It is carefully inclosed in a glass-case on all
We will now go back to the telegraph bu-' sides except that facing the register. Here
reau and see how these strokes are sent to the there is a small round opening near the bot-
engine-houses. We will first look at another tom, through which projects the shaft of one
instrument or two before we imagine an alarm of the larger wheels of the machine. A brass



disk, or button," is pushed on this shaft when
an alarm is being sent out, and controls the
number of strokes that this instrument rings
upon the big gongs.
In the center of the platform, and directly at
the front, stands another machine that is really
a wonderful piece of mechanism, a tall, up-
right instrument, also inclosed in a glass-case.
There are four disks or circles to be seen on
the front of it, three in a row and one direct-
ly in the middle, over the
three. Each circle consists
of four wheels, one on top
of the other. These wheels
are so numbered on their
rims that by moving them
around any combination of
THE SPECIAL. figures can be made. For
example, by moving the first three wheels
around until 2 shows on the fourth or last;
the second wheel around until 3 shows on the
third, and the first around until 4 shows on
the second wheel, we get 234,
the wheels moving from left to
right, and the last, or bottom,
wheel showing the first number.
Beside the upper or top circle,
there is a pointer resting upon
a dial numbered from i to 5.
This pointer controls the num-
ber of rounds sent out by this
machine. By setting it at fig-
ure 2 upon the dial, and pres-
sing it down, after we have
set the combination of num-
bers, this instrument will send
out two rounds of 234" to
all the engine-houses.
This instrument is called the
"special," and is used for sending out the
second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth alarms, and
all the special calls used in the service, and can
be used for transmitting all regular alarms in
case the other instrument breaks down. It
is connected by the "big gong" circuit with
all the companies in the department, and any
combination of strokes on the large gongs can
be rung with this instrument. It is entirely au-
tomatic, and, after the numbers are properly
set on the wheels, never makes any mistakes,

and is really the most important and ingenious
machine in the bureau.
Having thus seen all the principal instru-
ments, and understanding their uses, we will
now see what happens when an alarm comes in.
An operator sits at a desk in the middle of
the platform, answering and attending to the
telephone calls coming from the different engine-
houses, for this desk is the central office" of
the department. Another operator moves about
in front of the switchboard on the other side
of the platform, testing the strength of currents
on the different circuits, etc. There are always
two operators on duty, sometimes three, night
and day. They work in shifts, or "tours," as
they are called, of eight hours each, three tours
making up the day.
Suddenly there comes a buzzing of machin-
ery in the direction of the register, followed
by a loud "click," -a pause and four more
clicks another pause and seven more clicks,
- 147, the station I have already mentioned.

This is repeated five times, the number of
rounds the box sends in, but before the first
round has clicked off, the operator at the desk
has stepped quickly to the register, and glances
at the tape. He turns as quickly from this to a
cabinet in the center of the platform and at the
back of the telephone desk, and opens a drawer.
This cabinet is made up of wide, shallow
drawers, and as he opens this one we see that
it is full of rows of little brass disks about two
inches in diameter and a quarter of an inch


thick, each resting over a wooden peg that is
fastened to the bottom of the drawer. These
are the disks, or "buttons," that operate the re-
peater, or big-gong instru-
/ ment. There is one for
S4 7. every station, or box, each
S one cut differently; and
as there are ten or ele-
ven hundred boxes, it can
be seen how many there
He takes out the one bearing the number of
the station that has just come in-147-and
passes it to the other operator, who by this
time stands beside the repeater. With this
disk there. are two others, made of cardboard,
also bearing the number of the station and hav-
ing beneath two rows of figures. These figures
are the numbers of the circuits or wires over
which this alarm has not to be sent. He passes
one to the operator beside the repeater, and,
retaining the other, he steps quickly over to the
" combination keys," and pushing down the
lever that throws on an extra-heavy current of
electricity, with a firm, quick touch he sends in
the alarm to the companies nearest the fire.
When he has sent in two rounds, or the num-
ber of the box twice, his fellow operator at the
repeater pushes the little brass disk that he
holds in his hand on the shaft that projects
through the round opening in the glass case of
the latter instrument, and pressing a push-but-
ton, it begins to revolve. As we watch it re-
volving we see the first little projection on the
rim of the disk press against a steel spring be-
side the shaft, long enough to let one pulsation
of electricity pass through the machine. This
allows some small cylinders at the top to revolve
once. This means one stroke on the big gongs
in the engine-houses. When the second pro-
jection reaches this spring it keeps it back long
enough for four revolutions of the cylinders,-
that means four strokes on the big gongs,- and
the last and largest projection allows the cylin-
ders to revolve seven times, meaning seven
-strokes, thus completing the number.
This button, or disk, revolves twice, sending
-out two rounds of the signal. In the mean-
time, the other operator has sent out two more
rounds on the combination key, so that the

firemen responding to this box receive the num-
ber of the station six different times and on two
instruments, leaving little chance for mistakes.
In sending out an alarm in this manner, every-
thing is done very quickly more quickly than
it can be described. Not a word is spoken.
Conversation of any kind might cause a mis-
take that would result in the possible loss of
valuable property and many lives. Each op-
erator knows exactly what he has to do, and
does it silently and quickly.
Even in the case of a large fire, when one
alarm follows the other in the most rapid man-
ner, there is little confusion, if any at all. A
visitor to the bureau would scarcely realize that
an alarm had been received and sent out until
it was all over, so systematically is everything
When the operator at the combination has
finished his task, he turns to a large book beside
him, and ascertains the numbers of the com-

panies who respond to that box. This book is
called the "assignment book," and is issued
for the benefit of the different companies of the
department; for it tells the number of each
box, and its location, and the companies that



are assigned or expected to respond to that
particular box, on the first, second, third, fourth,
fifth, and sixth alarms; also the order in which
they are supposed to arrive. Having found
the numbers of the companies "due" upon
this station, the operator turns to the post in
the middle of the platform, and under the row
of push-buttons headed "out" he pushes in
the numbers of Engine Companies 31, 55, and
12, and Hook-and-Ladder Companies 6 and 8,

and Water Tower No.
I, thus putting them
" out of service." This
means that they have
left their respective
quarters, and cannot
be depended upon to
respond to any other
alarms that might
come in from their
district. As he pushes
in these buttons, little
round disks bearing a
similar number drop
down in an annun-
ciator at the top of
the cabinet-work over
the switchboard.
By referring to this
annunciator the ope-
,rator can tell at any
time just what com-
panies are "out of ser-
1vice," and should other
alarms come in from
their neighborhood
while they are "out
of quarters," he will
have other companies
respond. When the


companies return from
a fire the Morse instruments announce their
return by a series of little clicks. This is the
captain or officer in charge sending in his re-
turn taps," or "three-fours," as they are known
technically, that is, 4-4-4 and the number of
the company, thus informing the bureau that
his company is back in quarters once more, and
ready to respond to other alarms. The opera-

tor replies, "2-3," meaning "all right," on the
Morse key, and then, turning to the push-but-
ton post, under the heading "in," pushes them
back "in service" again. Shortly afterward
the officer in charge of the fire calls the opera-
tor up on the telephone, and tells him the
location of the fire and amount of damage
to building and stock or furniture. This ac-
count is afterward entered in a "journal" kept
in the bureau, and three copies are sent down
to the commissioners'
rooms, where records
are kept of all fires,
no matter how slight.
This finishes the
routine work in this
bureau of receiving
and transmitting "an
alarm of fire by tele-
graph." The opera-
tion is gone through
ten or fifteen times a
day--some days less,
SA i others many more. In
the dead of night, in
the early hours of the
morning, while we
are sleeping, eating, at
work or at play, the
operators alwayshere,
wide- awake, and ever
on the alert ready
to answer the call for
help that may come
from the "little red
box," and to send it
on to those who will
aid us in saving our
homes from destruc-
OUT AN ALARM ON THE tion and ruin.
ATION. tion and ruin.
After this, when we
see a fire company responding to the call of
duty, we shall better appreciate the methods
that have been used to send them on their

noble errand. And when we glance through
the pages of a metropolitan engine company's
" house-journal," we shall better understand how
much meaning is hidden beneath that little
phrase an alarm of fire by telegraph."




"TAKE that thing away! It 's a horrid,
faded, hideous old jacket, and I '11 not put it
on. Take it away, Claudine! I hate the sight
of it!" exclaimed Nina Barrow to the meek
French maid who was dressing her.
"MMais, Mademoiselle -" began Claudine,
"Nina, don't behave in that way!" said Mrs.
Andrews, Nina's doting grandmother. "What
is the matter with your jacket? It is n't old.
and it is n't faded. It is cut in the latest style,
dearie, and fits you so nicely, and is so warm
and comfortable. Let Claudine put it on you,
Claudine approached Nina, jacket in hand.
" Permettez -"
"Let me alone! Take it away! I won't
wear it, I say, stupid!" said Nina, her face
waxing red and redder, her forehead disfigured
by as ugly a frown as ever appeared on a bright
young face.
Oh, darling! exclaimed Mrs. Andrews.
"You will catch cold if you go without it."
Claudine retired a little into the background,
still holding the jacket.
Nina," continued Mrs. Andrews, "you ought
to be ashamed of yourself. Oh, there never
was such a child! What am I to do with you ?
Here, Claudine. Put it on her."'
Claudine obediently attempted to do as she
was told, but Nina, in a fury now, jerked away,
and, raising her hand, administered a sharp slap
full in the maid's face, saying, "There! I told
you to let me alone."
"Nina, Nina! Oh, you naughty child, to
do that! How dare you? Oh, you bad child!
What am I to do with you? Aside to Clau-
dine. "Get her white opera-jacket trimmed
with swansdown, and we '11 persuade her to
VOL XXIV.-42. 3

wear that." Claudine, with a red face and
tearful eyes, approached her with the white
"Darling Nina," said Mrs. Andrews, "put
on this pretty jacket. You know you always
liked it. You always look so nice in white.
Cousin Marian is coming to-day and I want
you to look nice!"
"I don't care a snap 'bout Cousin Marian;
and I ain't going to put it on. And there 's
the end of it," said Nina.
"Go away, Claudine; let me be!" cried
Nina, as the allied forces moved upon her. A
short sharp struggle ensued; but Mrs. Andrews
soon sank into a chair, exclaiming, Oh, that
child, that child! She will be the death of me! "
Claudine, for het share, had received in five
minutes such treatment as made her glad to
retire into the next room sobbing and com-
plaining, but conquered. Nina finished her
toilet, and when she was quite ready, gave a
kick to the white jacket, which had fallen upon
the floor. Then swishing her short skirts from
side to side with an absurd air of importance,
she announced that she was going to breakfast.
When Mrs. Andrews reached the restaurant
downstairs, she found Nina with half a dozen
or more dishes set before her, ordering as
many more, as follows:
"Charles, we want three kinds of fish, re-
member, and lots of fried onions on my steak.
And take away these heavy old rolls that you
are always bringing, and give us tea and choc-
olate, both strong. And, Charles, no Saratoga
chips, 'cause I 'm sick of the sight of 'em.
And be quick, for I sha'n't wait a minute.
And you bring me a beautiful big bunch of
grapes for Claudine; she likes them, and I 'm
going to give 'em to her because we had a fight
this morning. You 'd better bring a whole box."
Here Mrs. Andrews entered solemnly.
Sit down, Grandy; and don't stop Charles!


I've told him what to bring.. And don't you
be all day, Charles, or we '11 have John for our
Mrs. Andrews ate almost no breakfast. Nina
dipped into everything that was before her,
talked a great deal in her high sharp voice, lec-
tured Charles at her pleasure; and then, with-
out making any excuse or asking permission, left
the table, and went off to a vacant one and
began piling the napkins up into a pyramid.
A servant entered presently, followed by a

-.-, -,' ..


lady in deep black, who kissed Mrs. Andrews,
saying, "Excuse my coming right in, Cousin
Elizabeth. They told me you were in here."
Mrs. Andrews welcomed her kindly and bade
her take a seat; ordered fresh tea, asked all
about her journey, and called to Nina to
"Come and see Cousin Marian." That well-
bred young person, however, refused to come.
A little later, however, she drew near, out of
curiosity, and her grandmother introduced her
to the visitor. "Cousin Marian, this is Nina."

Give me a kiss, dear," said the young lady,
who had a sweet, sad face, clear eyes, and the
pleasantest voice possible.
Nina stared at her for a moment, and then,
graciously allowing herself to be kissed, resumed
her seat and began eating again. The meal
proceeded, and Mrs. Andrews was quite enjoy-
ing the meeting with her young relative when,
looking up, she perceived that Nina was wrig-
gling and fuming in her seat, and evidently in
the worst possible humor.
Eat something, darling. What is the mat-
ter ? Was n't there anything you liked? Ask
Charles to get you some stewed mushrooms.
You can always eat them, you know, dear."
Nina, who liked to be the central feature of
every gathering, was glad to have gained her
grandmother's attention, but showed it only by
tossing and bridling and wriggling more than
ever, until at last her secret vexation found vent
in words. "I 'm going," she said. "You 've
gone and given my breakfast to her."
"Dear me! Cousin Elizabeth, I had no
idea that I was depriving Nina of her break-
fast," said Miss Brewster.
"That was my beefsteak," said Nina pout-
ingly. "I ordered it just as I wanted it. You
had no business to give it away, Grandy."
"Hush, Nina! What will Cousin Marian
think? I did n't know you wanted it," said
Mrs. Andrews, in humble apology.
What Miss Brewster thought was, fortunately.
not written in the middle of her forehead. Her
face expressed only a vivid surprise. She made
one more attempt to appease Nina. "I am
sorry, dear, but surely you can take something
"I don't want anything else. I want my
own beefsteak," insisted Nina.
"Oh!" remarked Miss Brewster, and it was
a voluminous speech, heard aright.
"And as I can't get anything to eat, I 'm
going," added Nina, and she left the room.
"Poor child! She was disappointed about
her breakfast. Dear Nina has so much charac-
ter, Marian," remarked Mrs. Andrews placidly.
"I should judge she has her share of will
and -" "Temper" was on the tip of Miss
Brewster's tongue. She stopped and blushed.
"Oh, she is wilful, very wilful sometimes!"



replied Mrs. Andrews. "I hope you will be
able to manage her, Marian."
I hope so, Cousin Elizabeth,-" echoed
Miss Brewster; and at this moment in marched
Nina, who interrupted the speaker without the
least hesitation, saying imperiously, "I want my
box of grapes; it is under your chair."
Miss Brewster rose, tall and slender, gentle
and graceful in her black draperies.
Without any apology or word of thanks, Nina
picked up her box and left the room.
Claudine, still tearful and depressed, was sew-
ing at the window. Nina ran up to her.
Oh, you old poky-poky! Here! Take this.
Here 's a whole box of grapes. I got a box
'cause I wanted you to eat all you could."
She ran off again as she spoke.
Oh! the good little imp commented
Claudine, in French, as she lifted out a splendid
bunch of malagas and began eating them.
When they were ready to leave the dining-
room Miss Brewster offered Mrs. Andrews her
arm. Thank you, my dear," said the old lady;
I 'm not very steady nowadays on my feet."
SAs they passed through the office, Mrs. Andrews
asked, What is the clerk standing there for? "
The clerk was waiting to speak to Mrs. An-
drews, it seemed. He was very quiet, very
polite, very respectful, but the gist of his re-
marks was that the proprietor felt obliged to
insist upon Mrs. Andrews keeping one and the
same table while she was at the Columbia;
three changes having already been made to
suit her grandchild's convenience.
Much mortified, the old lady went to her
room, where she heaped reproaches upon Nina's
Oh, I don't care what the clerk says," said
that young lady. It 's none of his business,
and I'm going to tell him he'd better come off
his perch, that's all."
Nina, how often am I to tell you about
talking slang?"
Oh,. I, pshaw -! I 'm not the only one;
everybody talks it. I guess you do, don't
you? Nina asked, turning suddenly to Miss
Brewster. "It is nothing to do it, is it ? "
"It is n't a sin, if that is what you mean,
except against good taste; but I would advise
you not to do it, dear," said Miss Brewster.

"Why not?" asked Nina sharply.
"Well, in the first place, if you really want
to know what I think about it, slang is stupid,
generally. It has little or no point or wit, and
by a little thought and care you can say what
you have to say in good, clear, pure English.
In the next place, it is apt to be vulgar, coined
by vulgar people, and used by vulgar people to
express petty ideas. I would n't use it at all,
dear, if I were you. I used to, a little, at one
time; I caught it from people about me. But
fortunately I gave it up before it became a fixed
habit," said Miss Brewster.
She spoke very simply and kindly. She was
not lecturing Nina, who looked at her sharply
and was about to speak, when unfortunately
Mrs. Andrews broke in with "Cousin Marian
is a lady. She would n't do anything vulgar."
Nina's hot temper flamed into her face.
"Neither would Nina, I am sure," hastily put
in Miss Brewster; but she was too late, for
Nina burst out into such a speech, so rude,
so disrespectful, so full of anger and all im-
pertinence, that I should be quite ashamed to
write it down.
The scene I have described took place in a
handsome suite of rooms at a fashionable family
hotel, where Mrs. Andrews had been for years
spending her winters, and where, consequently,
scarcely anything that Nina did'excited much
Nina Barrow was only twelve years old, and
she was not an infant phenomenon, nor one of
the poor little creatures who wander about the
world in this or that circus, riding bare-backed
horses, or jumping through paper hoops. She
was not in public life at all,--at least not nomi-
nally. But if she had been one, or all, of these
things, she could not have been better known at
certain watering-places and hotels from Maine
to Florida. Indeed, I am afraid she would not
have been flattered if she could have known
how generally she was disliked. Of how well-
bred people called her "a terror of a child,"
and "completely spoiled"; and servants a
limb and a piece." Of how foreigners, tak-
ing her behavior and manners for a text, wrote
home the most unflattering accounts of "these
American children." Of how some mothers
used her as a dreadful example of all that a




child ought not to be, and would not allow their
little ones to be with her. Of how old ladies and
old gentlemen shook their heads over her, and
recklessly declared that "young America" had
no training, no courtesy, no respect for anything
or anybody, and that it was so different when
they were children. Of how people predicted
the most tragical things for her when she
should be grown, and should have come into
the large fortune that they knew would be hers
some day; and of how few, very few, pleasant
or kind things were ever said about her by
Nina was the only child of Mrs. Andrews's
only daughter. Her parents had been.lost at
sea when she was three years old, and her
grandmother, in whose care she had been left
while they were abroad, had been at first almost
prostrated by this terrible blow. As soon as she
had recovered sufficient interest in life to care
for anything, she conceived a most passionate
affection for her orphaned grandchild, as was
only natural; and from that moment she
showed it by the most excessive indulgence of
her charge. This was natural, too, but it was
a great mistake. For Nina was a child for
whom nothing more injurious could have been
devised. She was high-tempered, she had a
strong will, she had a quick intelligence, a
most generous and affectionate heart. More
than most children, she needed wise, firm, lov-
ing control, guidance, teaching; but the poor
child never had learned the very first lesson of
wholesome, happy childhood,- obedience.
From the first Nina had gone her own wil-
ful way, and had done daily a great number
of the most foolish things possible, and many
that were wrong, as well as foolish, and had
given trouble and annoyance to every one
about her, and had been a constant source of
perplexity and anxiety to the Grandy," whom
she really at heart loved. At first it was enough
for her to regulate her own life, and habits, and
movements -if her very irregular and eccentric
conduct in all these matters can be said to have
been "regulated" at all. The poor child was
allowed to eat when and what she chose. She
wore what she liked. She did precisely as
she pleased, and she-pleased to do a great
many unpleasant and foolish things.

As time went on, it would be hard to name
anything that had not been given to Nina. From
babyhood, everything that she could want, did
want, did n't want, had been lavished upon her
with the most reckless, senseless profusion. At
Clovermeadow, a beautiful country place in
New Jersey, where Mrs. Andrews spent a part
of each year, there was a large room lined with
cupboards and filled with toys alone. She had
every sort of doll that the wit of man has in-
vented, or the taste of woman clothed. Dolls
as big as herself, dolls not an inch long. Dolls
that were wound up and walked; dolls that
were wound up and talked. She had farm-
yards, trains of cars, Swiss villages, theaters,
dancing-girls, puppet-shows, games of all kinds,
puzzles. And yet, with all this elaborate ma-
chinery for amusement, she was not half so
happy as the little street-boy that Hood speaks
of, whose cherished toys were "two bricks, an
old shoe, and nine oyster-shells."
The trouble was that she was perfectly sur-
feited with fine things, and on rainy days would
play for five minutes with some toy, declare
herself" sick" of them all, complain of its being
"so dull," mope, whine, get into mischief, and
give trouble without end. She cared nothing
for her possessions after the first flush of curi-
osity was over. It never occurred to her, of
course, to think that there were sick and poor
children in the world to whom her discarded
toys would have given delight.
Often, when younger, she had envied poor
children, while looking out of the window and
seeing them dancing merrily about a hand-
organ, or playing on the pavement, and would
wish that she could take part in these interest-
ing amusements, she was so tired of all those
provided for her. Even to take her grand-
mother's expensive copy of some beautiful
book and smear the pictures, according to her
fancy, with red, yellow, and brown patches of
paint, palled upon her before she was half
through the volume. What wonder that at ten
years of age she often complained that there
was "nothing to do," and felt that there was
nothing worth doing; and had an air of general
discontent, looking ever to her own amusement
- never to the pleasure or comfort of others.
Yet, if having her own way could have con-



tented her, Nina certainly would have been
happy. The curious thing, though, about al-
ways having one's own way is that it is pre-
cisely the thing that makes both children
and grown people most miserable.

WHEN Miss Brewster, on the day of her ar-
rival, went to her room to unpack her things
she was not in a cheerful mood. She had had
a long and fatiguing journey; she was entering
upon a perfectly untried field of duty; and she
was very homesick. The prospect of being com-
panion to a kind old lady, and governess to one
child, had been welcomed by her, for she was a
poor girl and had to make her own way in the
world, and to help her family. She had grate-
fully accepted Mrs. Andrews's. offer, and had
hurried on to New York lest something should.
jeopardize her brilliant prospects. But now she
could not help feeling disheartened, and she was
thinking most disapprovingly of Nina as "a
child sure to be a torment," when, without a
knock or an apology, Nina came in, closed the
door, and took a seat. She did not understand
Marian's look of surprise at the intrusion.
I am going to see you unpack your trunk,"
she said as she settled herself comfortably, and
began rocking backward and forward
Oh! you are, are you?" said Miss Brew-
ster. "Well, dear, if you are very good and
quiet, you may."
Nina, surprised to have accorded as a favor
what she had taken for granted, went on to
say, It 's great fun watching people pack and
unpack when they 've got lots of things, and
their bonnets are all squashed, and you don't
know what is coming out next. Mrs. Jones, in
36, had seven of the biggest trunks you ever
saw, just stuffed, and the lady in 42, she 's got
fifteen just crammed and rammed, 'cause she 's
just come back from Europe. Is that all the
trunk you 've got? Why it ain't much bigger
than my doll's! What did you get a zinc trunk
for? Miss Thompson, in 24, would n't let her
maid get one, 'cause she says they 're vulgar,
and she would n't have it going round with
her to the watering-places."

"Oh, Nina, Nina! exclaimed Marian, and
then stopped. To find fault with any part of
this speech was to find fault with it all, and
while she quite longed to tell the child that
she ought not to go into private rooms unless
invited, or to gossip, and that there were more
vulgar things than even zinc trunks, she wisely
held her tongue for the present."
Meanwhile Nina was examining the labels on
the objectionable trunk and the contents; also
the initials "R. B. B." painted on one end.
"That 's not your name, is it ? she asked.
"No," replied Marian, the trunk is n't mine.
I had to borrow Rob's-Rob is my brother."
"Goodness! Well, you did n't have much
to put in it, to be sure. Are these all the dresses
you 've got? Let me see this one,"-tugging
at one half hidden. "What's that? What's
this ? picking up various articles.
"Go back to your chair, Nina," said Miss
Brewster quietly. I can unpack without your
assistance"; and Nina, encountering her calm
glance did as she was bid, very much to her
own surprise and dawning chagrin. She had
thought to go though and look over Miss
Brewster's possessions as she did Claudine's.
"I don't at all mind your looking on, though
there is very little to see," said Miss Brewster,
moving about the room as she spoke, arrang-
ing and putting away her clothes. Let me
see; my best dress shall hang there, my morn-
ing one here on the next peg; this is just the
place for my dressing-gown and slippers, and
here are brass pegs already in the door for my
shoe-bag. Now my work-basket and books
and desk you can put over there, if you would
really like to help, dear."
Nina did n't move. She had not been ac-
customed to do anything for others, or to un-
selfish actions and thoughtful attentions. She
was there simply to gratify her own curiosity;
so she only colored and looked resentful, and
began chattering again: "Claudine's got a
cashmere dressing-gown all embroidered down
the front, and her best dress is a great deal bet-
ter than yours -it 's heavy, heavy black silk,
not thin and shiny like this, and it is all
trimmed up. But you should see Miss Mil-
ler's, in 35 She 's the best-dressed woman in
the hotel. She changes her dress sometimes



five times a day, and she's got just stacks of
'em. She's got millions upon millions, Bridget
says, and never gives anything to the servants."
"See here, Nina, here 's a book that I
brought you," interjected Miss Brewster, anx-
ious to stem this torrent of gossip. It is the
'Wonder Book,' and you and I will read it
aloud together. We shall have some nice after-
noons, I hope. And, dear, you mean kindly,
I am sure, but you should not comment upon
anything that I have. As to dresses, I have all
that I require or can afford, and I can pro-
vide myself with all that I need. Miss Miller
is rich and I am poor. I cannot dress as she
does if I would, and I would not if I could.
Nor does a great variety of costly and beautiful
clothing add to the happiness of any one, or the
esteem in which they are held by people whose
good opinion is worth having. People should
dress and live in accordance with their means
and position in the world. But rich or poor,
the only real test of the true lady lies in things
quite independent of these: in intelligence,
gentleness, courtesy, good-breeding, personal
refinement. You will understand all this as you
grow older. And I must tell you this, Nina,-
for you are put in my charge now,- a lady
does not discuss her equals, lie they friends or
strangers, with servants. So do not talk of any
one in the hotel with waiters or maids, dear
child, or listen while they talk, or repeat what
you hear. Just run away to me when they
begin, and we will find something pleasanter
and more profitable to do. What are you
going to do this afternoon?"
Oh, I 'm going to the matin6e with Sadie
'Turnbull and Bessie Simpson. I 've been to
the theater times and times this winter, and to
lots of other things,-more than Sadie Turnbull
and Bessie put together. I wanted to take
Louise Compton with us to-day, but her mother
would n't let her. She 's got the kind of mo-
ther that won't let her do a thing. She is just
as strict as anything, and Louise does n't have
a good time at all. And she 's always got
.something to do- to study, or to walk, or to
'hear her mother read. Her mother 's always
reading some book to her when me and Sa-
,die- "
"Sadie and I! corrected Marian, hastily.

"-when we go around there to get her to
go down town to get ice-cream and candy.
She sends her to the park with the governess,
where she can't have a bit of fun. And she
would n't let her go to Sadie's yellow lunch.
I 'm awful sorry"-" Very sorry," interjected
Marian -" for Sadie. And you never knew
such a lot of lessons as she has to learn. She
won't let her wear a single speck, or grain, or
mite of jewelry -not even a ring I 've never
seen her in what I should call a stylish dress
since she 's been coming to school. But I like
to make the girls stare and keep them down,
and it spites Belle Dixon beautifully. We don't
speak. She wants to be the most popular girl
in the school, and it's such fun, 'cause she 's
too mean to get nice things for the other girls;
and she buys them stale old candies, about
twenty-five cents a pound, and cheap flowers,
and the girls laugh at her so behind her back,
and she buys marrons for herself and keeps
them in her, desk, and big bunches of Jack
roses. Her father is in the legislature, and
she 's just as mean as she can be to May Briggs,
and says her father is nothing but a newspaper
reporter, and has to sit up in a cage and write
down every word that her father says, for his
living. And she makes her cry like anything.
And I gave May my best sash and my canary
to stop crying, poor little thing! and I 'd like
to pound Belle. She can't.do a thing to me;
she's weak in the wrists."
Marian listened aghast at the account the
child was unconsciously giving of herself,-
her life, habits, tastes, standards of action,
thoughts, character, and training,-or, rather,
lack of training. She literally did not know
what to say, where to begin to reform evils that
cried aloud in this little Christian heathen, this
civilized savage, this white Topsy who had
simply "growed." For Marian had, herself,
known the great advantage of being reared by
refined, intelligent, loving parents, who still had
a share in her every thought, word, and deed,
so deeply had they influenced her.
1" How shall I reach or teach this child ? she
thought. "How till this garden of weeds in
which the lovely flowers of pity, justice, affec-
tion are so rapidly being choked? Oh how
careful I shall have to be if I am to succeed!

(. I



How I shall have to watch and guard myself
first, and her afterward. She is so clever, so
keen-sighted, that she will not be deceived by
anything that is not true. I must begin by
loving her, and teaching her to love me. That
is perfectly clear; and, fortunately, she has a
warm heart. But she will give obedience only
where she feels respect. And love, like faith,
can move mountains, but not in a day. I must
first be patient, and then be patient, and then be
more patient, and then be most patient. I will
talk matters over with Cousin Elizabeth, and
see what authority I am to have, what her plans
and views are."
While these thoughts had been passing
through her mind, Nina had tired of the si-
lence; and when Marian looked up, she saw
that the child had opened her box and desk on
the table, and was examining their contents.
Her first impulse was an angry one, for she was
not accustomed to such liberties; but she
caught the sharp rebuke on the very tip of her
tongue, and, rising from her chair, went over
and joined Nina, and said quietly:
"Sit here, dear, on my lap, and I will show
you my things, and tell you about them."
"Well, you are good-tempered," commented
Nina, who, hearing her approach, had made
some hurried attempt to collect the scattered
effects and replace them. Miss Miller would
be just furious. But it 's great fun going into
all the packages and bundles when Grandy 's
been shopping. I saw everything I was going
to get Christmas two days before, though she
had'em all tucked away where she thought I'd
never find them. But I did. I always do."
"Did you enjoy Christmas? Was it a pleas-
ant day to you ? asked Marian with intention.
"No, it was horrid -perfectly horrid. It
snowed hard, and I had to stay in, and Miss
Miller and Mrs. Rhodes both locked their
doors, so I could n't get in and see their Christ-
mas presents. The Billings's baby was asleep,
and the nurse would n't let me wake it, and
Bridget made an awful fuss 'cause I broke a
cup Mike sent her; and there was only the old
presents, and I had seen 'em all, and was tired
of 'em; and Bob, the elevator-boy, said he
was n't going to take me up another time.
Was n't it impudent of him ? But I got even

with him! I would n't give him the money
Grandy sent him. I gave it to the night-por-
ter, and he said I was a little lady. The dinner
was n't anything. Just the same old things as
every day, 'cept for the fuss and plum-pudding.
And I burnt my fingers with the brandy, and
I cried and cried and cried, till Mr. Jobson
raised a row. Mr. Jobson's got a temper, I tell
you! He threw the coffee-pot at Charles' sis-
ter Annie the other day for taking one of the
dining-room pitchers upstairs, and then-"
Nina, dear," interrupted Marian, don't
talk of the servants or of their quarrels. You
talk very frankly, and I want to ask you this:
Don't you think it was a mean thing for the
girls to eat Belle Dixon's candy, good or bad,
and then laugh at her and abuse her behind
her back ?"
"Yes, I do. I never would take one, and
sometimes I was dying for some."
That was right. Never offer or receive fa-
vors unless you can do so in a sincerely friendly
spirit. You know the Arabians will protect and
befriend their worst enemy if he has eaten of
their salt. And there is nothing that compels
one to accept a gift; but if we do take it, we
are bound by it to courtesy, and kindness, and
gratitude. Remember that, dear. I am glad
you tried to comfort May Briggs. It was very
kind of you, and very wrong of Belle to try to
humiliate her. Think how much nicer it would
have been for both if she had tried to protect
her, instead. Are you good at arithmetic?
One kind act, no matter how small, done for
somebody each day, makes a great many in
a year-three hundred and sixty-five! Re-
member that, too, Nina, for I think you will
like to do kind things. I have heard of your
doing two to-day, which is a double allowance."
Nina's sharp, shrewd face softened. She
fixed her eyes upon Marian. She was trying
to make her out.
Now," continued Marian, we will have a
look at these. I would n't exchange the con-
tents of this box for the crown jewels of Eng-
land, and there is n't money enough in the
treasury at Washington to buy them."
Nina was all eager anticipation.
Look at the box first. Is n't it prettily in-
laid ? My dear little brother Charlie made it


for me. He saved his money, earned by clean-
ing out an office for Mr. Dummond, a lawyer
who lives near us; then he bought the wood
and tools, and then did the work during his
holiday vacation, often at night with the door
locked. He designed the pattern himself, and
only see how beautifully every little bit is fitted
in. And all to surprise me on my birthday.
Every bit represents a loving thought. Well,
at first, I could scarcely find anything good
enough to put in it. But you will see that I
did." She opened the box.
"Why, Cousin Marian, there is n't anything
so very pretty," said Nina, much disap-
pointed when a few inexpensive trinkets and a
huge, old-fashioned gold watch were disclosed,
but already sufficiently .affected by the air of
gentleness that surrounded Marian to change
her sentence and give it a more polite turn.
"You should just see my jewelry."
"Well, you shall show it to me. But look.
This is my mother's wedding-ring. This is a
little locket that she gave me, with her hair in
it and my father's. Was n't her hair lovely and
golden? This,"- laughing,- "is a dreadful
breastpin, big enough for three, and suspiciously
brassy, and clumsy, and utterly inartistic, of
course. Dear old Rob bought it for me with
the first five dollars that he ever earned, type-
writing. And I wore it every Sunday for sev-
eral months, and he never has suspected what a
horror it is. I mean to show it to him some
day when I;e is a man, and we shall have such
a laugh. This is a really handsome pin Cou-
sin Elizabeth's gift. And this,"-holding up the
watch,--" is my very greatest treasure. It was
my father's and was given to him by the people
of his native town to show their respect for him.
He was the captain of a ship and he saved an-
other ship and a great many lives at the risk of
his own during a terrible storm. My heart
swells with pride whenever I look at it."
"It does n't look like the watches they have
nowadays, but that was splendid! Tell me all
about it," said Nina, intensely interested.
"Not now, dear; I am tired, and must lie
down presently; but some day soon. And
anybody who has the money can buy one of
the new watches, but not everybody can have
such a dear, noble, brave father as mine.

Honor is the brightest jewel in the world, dear.
Now we '11 put them all back in Charlie's box."
Nina, do you think that if I had gone pok-
ing, and peeping, and prying into Charlie's
room when he was doing this for me, to find
out what he was about, that I should have
done anything except spoil all his pleasure, and
my own, too ? Would n't it have been very
unkind ?" Nina nodded affirmation. "Well,
now you see, my child, why you did not enjoy
your Christmas gifts, and why you had no right
to look at your Grandy's parcels. Everybody
has private rights. All refined people perfectly
understand this. And honorable and well-
bred persons respect them, and maintain them.
You are as welcome as you can be to see the
contents of my box; but you ought not to have
taken my permission for granted. I would
have as much right to go into your room and
turn out everything you have, and look at them,
and comment on them as long as I pleased.
You would not like that, I am sure, and you
would be quite right. People's private affairs
and private possessions of every kind are their
own. You have no right to meddle in their
affairs, to open or read their parcels or letters,
to listen to their conversations without leave, or
take or touch one single thing that is theirs.
If you feel curious about them, you must wait.
If some chance gives you the opportunity of
gratifying your curiosity, you must not avail
yourself of it. If anything is told you in confi-
dence you must never betray it in any way to
anybody; it is most dishonorable. All this is
just the golden rule of doing as you would be
done by, and I want you to be not only a
thoughtful little lady, but something even bet-
ter, and sweeter, and higher. Now come, give
me a kiss, and run away and leave me to rest.
We have had a nice afternoon, have n't we ? "
Nina had had a fresh experience, certainly.
She disliked "being lectured,"- but had she
been lectured? This smiling, pretty, sweet
Cousin Marian had said some things that might
have been that, but she had been so pleasant
all the while, so gentle and affectionate. This
Cousin Marian was not like any one else whom
she knew,-that was clear. Attracted, dis-
armed, she ran into Marian's outstretched arms,
gave her a hearty kiss, and left the room.

(To be continued.)




[Begun in ite December number.


ALL The Boy's religious training was received
at home; and almost his first text-book was
"The Shorter Catechism," which, he confesses,
he hated with all his little might. He had to
learn and recite the answers to those long
questions as soon as he could recite at all; and,
for years, without the slightest knowledge as
to what it was all about. Even to this day
he cannot tell just what Effectual Calling," or
"Justification," is; and I am sure that he
shed more tears over Effectual Calling than
would blot out the record of any number of
infantile sins. He made up his youthful mind
that if he could not be saved without "Effec-
tual Calling whatever that was he did not
want to be saved at all. But he has thought
better of it since.
His earliest visit to Scotland was made when
he was but four or five years of age, and long
before he had assumed the dignity of trousers,
or had been sent to school. His father had
gone to the old home at St. Andrews hurriedly,
upon the receipt of the news of the serious illness
of The Boy's grandmother, who died before
they reached her. Naturally, The Boy has little
recollection of that sad month of December,
spent in his grandfather's house, except that it
was sad. The weather was cold and wet; the
house, even under ordinary circumstances, could
not have been a very cheerful one for a young-
ster who had no companions of his own age.
It looked out upon the German Ocean--
which at that time of the year was always in
a rage, or in the sulks, and the house was
called "Peep o' Day," because it received the
very first rays of the sun as he rose upon the
British Isles.
The Boy's chief amusement was the feeding
of flour-scones and oat-cakes to an old goat
VOL. XXIV.-43. 3:

that lived in the neighborhood, and the daily
walks with his grandfather, who seemed to find
some little comfort and entertainment in his
grandson's childish prattle. He was then al-
most the only grandchild, and the old man was
very proud of his manner and appearance, and
particularly amused at certain gigantic efforts
on The Boy's part to adapt his own short legs
to the strides of his senior's long ones.
After they had interviewed the goat, and had
watched the wrecks with which the wild shore
was strewn, and had inspected the castle in
ruins, and the ruins of the cathedral, The Boy
would gaze upon his grandmother's new-made
grave, and his own name in full -a common
name in the family,- upon the family tomb in
the old kirkyard; all of which must have been
very cheering to The Boy, although he could not
read it for himself. And then, which was bet-
ter, they would stand hand in hand for a long
time in front of a candy-shop window, in which
was displayed a little regiment of lead soldiers,
marching in double file toward an imposing
and unconquerable lead fortress on the heights
of barley-sugar. Of this spectacle they never
tired; and they used to discuss how The Boy
would arrange them if they belonged to him,
with a sneaking hope on The Boy's part that,
some day, they were to be his very own.
At the urgent request of the grandfather, the
American contingent remained in St. Andrews
until the end of the year; and The Boy still re-
members vividly, and he will never forget, the
dismal failure of Auld Lang Syne as sung
by the family with clasped hands as the clock
struck and the New Year began. He sat up
for the occasion or, rather, was waked up for
the occasion; and of all that family group he has
been, for a decade or more, the only survivor.
The mother of the house was but lately dead,
the eldest son and his son were going the next
day to the other side of the world; and every


voice broke before the familiar verse came to
an end.
As The Boy went off to his bed he was told
that his grandfather had something for him,
and he stood at his knee to receive a Bible !
That it was to be the lead soldiers and the lead

citadel he never for a moment doubted; and
the surprise and disappointment were very great.
He seems to have had presence of mind
enough to conceal his feelings, and to kiss and
thank the dear old man for his gift. But, as
he climbed slowly up the stairs, in front of his
mother, and with his Bible under his arm, she
overheard him sob to himself and murmur, in
his great disgust: "Well, he has given me a
book. And I wonder how he thinks I am going
to read his confounded Scotch! "

This outburst upon the part of a child who
could not read at all, gave unqualified pleasure
to the grandfather, and he never tired of telling
the story as long as he lived.
The Boy was never a regular member of
any fire-company, but almost as long as the
old Volunteer Fire Depart-
ment existed, he was what
was known as a "Runner."
He was attached, in a sort
of brevet way, to Pearl Hose
No. 28," and later to "Eleven
Hook and Ladder." He knew
all the fire districts into which
the city was then divided; his
ear was always alert, even in
the St. John's Park days, for
the sound of the alarm bell,
and he ran to every fire, at
any hour of the day or night,
up to ten o'clock P. M. He
did not do much when he got
to the fire but stand around
and "holler." But once-
a proud moment-he helped
steer the hook-and-ladder truck
to a false alarm in Macdougal
Street; and once a very
proud moment indeed he
went into a tenement house,
near Dr. Thompson's church,
in Grand Street, and carried
two negro babies downstairs
in his arms. There was no
earthly reason why the babies
should not have been left in
their beds, and the colored
family did not like it, because
the babies caught cold! But
The Boy, for once in his life, tasted the de-
lights of self-conscious heroism.
When The Boy, as a bigger boy, was not
running to fires he was going to theaters, the
greater part of his allowance being spent in the
box-offices of Burton's Chambers Street house,
of Brougham's Lyceum, corner of Broome
Street and Broadway, of Niblo's, and of Castle
Garden. There were no afternoon perform-
ances in those days, except now and then when
the "Ravels" were at Castle Garden; and


the admission to pit and galleries was usually
two shillings otherwise, twenty-five cents.
His first play, so far as he remembers, was
"The Stranger," a play dismal enough to de-
stroy any taste for the drama, one would sup-
pose, in any juvenile mind. He never cared
very much to see The Stranger again, but
nothing that was a play was too deep or too
heavy for him. He never saw the end of any
of the more elaborate productions, unless his
father took him to the theater (as once in a
while he did), for it was a strict rule of the
house, until The Boy was well up in his teens,
that he must be in by ten o'clock. His father
did not ask him where he was going, or where
he had been; but the curfew in Hubert Street
tolled at ten. The Boy calculated carefully and
exactly how many minutes it took him to run
to Hubert Street from Brougham's or from
Burton's; and by the middle of the second act
his watch-a small silver affair with a hunt-
ing-case, in which he could not keep an un-
cracked crystal-was always in his hand. He
never disobeyed his father, and for years he
never knew what became of Claude Melnotte
after he went to the wars, or if Damon got
back in time to save Pythias before the curtain
fell. The Boy, naturally, had a most meager
notion as to what all these plays were about, but
he enjoyed his fragments of them as he rarely
enjoys plays now. Sometimes, in these days,
when the air is bad, and plays are worse, and
big hats are worse than either, he wishes that
he were forced to leave the modern play-house
at nine-forty-five on pain of no supper that night,
or of twenty lines of Virgil" the next day.
On very stormy afternoons the boys played
theater in the large garret of The Boy's Hubert
Street house; a convenient closet, with a door
and a window, serving for the Castle of Elsi-
nore in "Hamlet," for the gun-room of the
ship in Black-eyed Susan," or for the studio
of Phidias in The Marble Heart," as the case
might be. "The Brazilian Ape," as requiring
more action than words, was a favorite enter-
tainment, only they all wanted to play Jocko
the Ape; and they would have made no little
success out of the Lady of Lyons if any of
them had been willing to play Pauline. Their
costumes and properties were slight and not al-

ways accurate, but they could launch the curse
of Rome," and describe two hearts beating as
one," in a manner rarely equaled on the regular
stage. The only thing they really lacked was.
an audience, neither Lizzie Gustin nor Ann
Hughes ever being willing to sit through more
than one act at a time. When The Boy, as.
Virginius, stabbed all the feathers out of the
pillow which represented the martyred Vir-
ginia; and, when Joe Stuart, as Falstaff, broke
the bottom out of Ann Hughes's clothes-basket,
the license was revoked, and the season came
to an untimely end.
Until the beginning of the weekly, or the
fortnightly, sailings of the Collins Line of steam-
ers from the foot of Canal Street (a spectacle
which they never missed in any weather), Joe
Stuart, Johnny Robertson, and The Boy played
" Deerslayer" every Saturday in the back-yard
of The Boy's house. The area-way was Glim-
mer-glass, in which they fished, and on which
they canoed; the back-stoop was Muskrat
Castle; the rabbits were all the wild beasts
of the forest; Johnny was Hawk-Eye, The Boy


was Harry Hurry, and Joe Stuart was Chingach-
gook. They talked what they fondly believed
was the dialect of the Delaware tribe, and they
were constantly on the lookout for the ap-



preaches of Rivenoak, or the Panther, who
were represented by any member of the family
who chanced to stray into the inclosure. They

carefully turned their toes in when they walked,
making so much effort in this matter that it
took a great deal of dancing-school to get their
feet back to the "first position again, and they
even painted their faces when they were on the
war-path. The rabbits had the worst of it!
The campaign came to a sudden and disas-
trous conclusion when the hostile tribes, headed
by Mrs. Robertson, descended in force upon
the devoted band, because Chingachgook broke
one of Hawk-Eye's front teeth with an arrow,
aimed at the biggest of the rabbits, which
was crouching by the side of the roots of the
grape-vine, and playing that he was a panther
of enormous size.
Johnny Robertson and The Boy had one
great superstition--to wit, Cracks! For some
now inexplicable reason they thought it un-
lucky to step on cracks; and they made daily
and hourly spectacles of themselves in the
streets by the eccentric irregularity of their
gait. Now they would take long strides, like a
(To be con

pair of ostriches, and now short, quick steps,
like a couple of robins; now they would hop
on both feet, like a brace of sparrows; now
they would walk on their heels, now on their
toes; now with their toes turned in, now with
their toes turned out -at right angles, in a
splay-footed way; n6w they would walk with
their feet crossed, after the manner of the hands
of very fancy, old-fashioned piano-players,
skipping from base to treble over cracks.
The whole performance would have driven a
sensitive drill-sergeant or ballet-master to dis-
traction. And when they came to a brick side-
walk they would go all around the block to
avoid it. They could cross Hudson Street on
the cobblestones with great effort, and in great
danger of being run over; but they could not
possibly travel upon a brick pavement and
avoid the cracks. What would have happened
to them if they did step on a crack they did not
exactly know. But, for all that, they never
stepped on cracks of their own free will.


S ,//



[Begpn in the June number.]



MARCO, having told his readers many won-
derful things about Kublai Khan and his court
and people, then addressed himself to some
narration of his adventures in traveling about
the great Mongolian Empire. This part of his
book he begins by saying:

Now you must know that the Emperor sent the afore-
said Marco Polo, who is the author of this whole story,
on business of his into the Western Provinces. On that
occasion he traveled from Cambaluc a good four months'
journey toward the west. And so now I will tell you
all that he saw on his travels as he went and returned.

The journey which Marco took was along
the boundary of Cathay, or China, nearest to
the Indian Empire; the provinces of the Mon-
golian Empire through which he passed are
now known as Shansi, Szechwan, and Tibet.
We are not able to find on a modern map all
the exact places of which Marco makes men-
tion in his account of his journey through the
Western Provinces. But some of the names of
cities are found easily enough. For example,
Pianfu, one of the cities first mentioned in
Marco's journal, was undoubtedly Ping-yang-
Fu, as the city is now called. We are not so
certain about Chaicu, which lies two days' ride
farther west.
When Marco goes on to speak of the great
river Caramoran, it is easy to identify that water-
course with one of the famous rivers of China.
He says:
When you leave Chaicu, and travel about twenty miles
westward, you come to a river called CARAMORAN, so
big that no bridge can be thrown across it; for it is of
immense width and depth, and reaches to the Great
Ocean that encircles the Universe I mean the whole
earth. On this river there are many cities and walled



towns, and many merchants too therein, for much traffic
takes place upon the river, there being a great deal of
ginger and a great deal of silk produced in the country.

This could be none other than the Hoang-
Ho, or Yellow River, sometimes called "the
Sorrow of China," on account of the great de-
struction of life and property it brings by its
floods. We must bear in mind that when
Marco wrote, nobody actually knew what water,
or land, lay to the eastward of China; therefore
he speaks of the Great Ocean that encircles
the Universe "; and this was usually known as
the Ocean Sea." As the Amazon and the Mis-
sissippi rivers were unknown then, the Yellow
River of China was the largest known, and
Marco was the first to bring back to Europe
any detailed accourit of that stream.
After crossing the Yellow River and travel-
ing two days westward, Marco reached the city
of Chacanfu, and then eight days westward
brought him to Kenjanfu, of which he makes
mention after this manner:

And when you have traveled those eight days' jour-
ney, you come to that great city which I mentioned,
called KENJANFU, which in old times was a noble, rich,
and powerful realm, and had many great and wealthy
and puissant kings. But now the king thereof is a
prince called MANGALAI, the son of the Great Khan,
who hath given him this realm, and crowned him king
thereof. It is a city of great trade and industry. They
have great abundance of silk, from which they weave
cloths of silk and gold, of divers kinds, and they also
manufacture all sorts of equipment for an army. They
have every necessary of man's life very cheap. The
city lies towards the west; and outside the city is the
palace of the Prince Mangalai, crowned king, and son
of the Great Khan, as I told you before.
This is a fine palace and a great, as I will tell you.
It stands in a great plain abounding in lakes and streams
and springs of water. Round about it is a massive and
lofty wall, five miles in compass, well built, and all gar-
nished with battlements. And within this wall is the
king's palace, so great and fine that no one could ima-
gine a finer. There are in it many great and splendid
halls, and many chambers, all painted and embellished


with work in beaten gold. This Mangalai rules his
realm right and well with justice and equity, and is
much beloved by his people. The troops are quartered
round about the palace, and enjoy the sport that the
royal demesne affords.

Kenjanfu we know to be Singanfu one of
the ancient and historic cities of China. It
was once the residence of the Chinese Emperor,
and is now the capital of the Province of Shansi.
It is renowned as the seat of a Christian colony,
of which a remarkable memorial remains. The
Christian missionaries who penetrated this re-
mote region long before the coming of Marco
Polo were Nestorians from Persia, or from
Constantinople, it is not certain which. They
were Asiatics, and took their name from Nesto-
rius, one of the early Christian bishops, who
flourished in the fifth century of the Christian
era, and whose seat was in Constantinople. A
tablet has been found in a ruined temple near
Singanfu, on which are inscribed in Chinese and
Syriac characters a full statement of the sum
of the Christian doctrine, an account of the
arrival of a Christian missionary with books,
the Emperor's approval of the doctrines, and
his order for the erection of a church. This
tablet, which is seven feet high and three feet
wide, and is surmounted by a carved likeness
of a cross, is the oldest Christian monument in
Reaching the southern part of Shansi, Marco
approaches Manzi, or that part of the Empire
which lies south of the Yellow River. The
capital of the province, he says, is called Ac-
balec Manzi, which signifies The White City
of the Manzi Frontier.'" In these later days,
we Americans have had a White City; it was
built for the Columbian Fair, in Chicago.
Passing through Tibet, Marco's next advance
was into the Province of Yunnan, in the ex-
treme southwestern corner of China, north of
Siam, and east of Burmah. Even in these
modern times very little is known of Yunnan,
the best account of the country having been
written by Mr. T. T. Cooper, an English trav-
eler, who was killed by one of his own native
guard, in Burmah, in 1878. It is not likely
that Kublai Khan knew much about that most
remote of his conquered provinces, and so
young Marco was sent to bring to the Khan

whatever information he could pick up concern-
ing the country and its resources. Here is
part of his report.


In this country gold-dust is found in great quantities;
that is to say, in the rivers and lakes, while in the
mountains gold is also found in pieces of larger size.
Gold is indeed so abundant that they give one saggio of
gold for only six of the same weight in silver. And for
small change they use the porcelain shells, as I men-
tioned before. These are not found in the country,
however, but are brought from India.
In this province are found snakes and great serpents
of such vast size as to strike fear into those who see
them, and so hideous that the very account of them must
excite the wonder of those who hear it. I will tell you
how long and big they are.
You may be assured that some of them are ten paces
in length; some are more and some less. And in bulk
they are equal to a great cask, for the bigger ones are
about ten palms in girth. The head is very big. The
*mouth is large enough to swallow a man whole, and is
garnished with great pointed teeth. And in short they
are so fierce-looking and so hideously ugly, that every
man and beast must stand in fear and trembling of them.
There are also smaller ones, such as of eight paces long,
and of five, and of one pace only.
The way in which they are caught is this. You must
know that by day they live underground because of the
great heat, and in the night they go out to feed, and de-
vour every animal they can catch. They go also to
drink at the rivers and lakes and springs. And their
weight is so great that when they travel in search of
food or drink, as they do by night, the tail makes a great
furrow in the soil as if a full tun of liquor had been
dragged along. Now the huntsmen who go after them
take them by a certain gin [trap] which they set in the
track over which the serpent has passed, knowing that
the beast will come back the same way. They plant a
stake deep in the ground and fix on the head of this a
sharp blade of steel made like a razor or a lance-point,
and then they cover the whole with sand so that the
serpent cannot see it. Indeed the huntsman plants sev-
eral such stakes and blades on the track. On coming
to the spot the beast strikes against the iron blade with
such force that it enters his breast and rives [cuts] him
so that he dies on the spot, and the crows on seeing
the brute dead begin to caw, and then the huntsmen
know that the serpent is dead and come in search
of him.
This then is the way these beasts are taken. Those
who take them proceed to extract the gall from the in-
side, and this sells at a great price; for you must know
it furnishes the material for a most precious medicine.
Thus if a person is bitten by a mad dog, and they give him
but a small pennyweight of this medicine to drink, he is



cured in a moment. Again if one has any disease of the
skin and applies a small quantity of this gall he shall
speedily be cured. So you see why it sells at such a
high price.
They also sell the flesh of this serpent, for it is excel-
lent eating, and the people are very fond of it. And
when these serpents are very hungry, sometimes they
will seek out the lairs of lions or bears or other large
wild beasts, and devour their cubs, without the sire and
dam being able to prevent it. Indeed, if they catch the
big ones themselves they devour them too; they can
make no resistance.

This was Marco's first view, we must sup-
pose, of alligators or crocodiles. No wonder
he gazed upon these horrid serpents with so
much amazement. But, if we leave out his ig-
norance of the name, we shall find that his ac-
count of the alligator, as he is now known, is
accurate enough. The creatures are caught
and killed now precisely as he narrates; and
their habits are the same as he describes them.

But we can well imagine that the incredulous
Venetians, to whom these traveler's tales were
told, winked to each other and smiled in their
sleeves" to hear such marvelous accounts of
strange beasts.
Concerning the use of shells as money, it is
hardly necessary to tell the bright youngsters
who read these chapters that shells of the
variety known as cowrie are still used in some
parts of India and in the islands of the South
Pacific for money. Marco found many people
in Tibet and other Indo-Chinese provinces who
used cakes of salt for small change. Salt is
costly; everybody must have it, and, in default
of small money, it was and is used in making
change. A saggio, of which Marco makes
mention, is one-sixth of an ounce; so that one-
sixth of an ounce of gold would be exchanged
for one ounce of silver; nowadays one gets a
larger proportion of silver for gold than that.

BY L.4.\ E.L&TCV S.

OH, I am a kettle! a kettle am I!
S"' I never shall strive to deny it.
There's nothing about me that's sneaking or sly:
Deception, I never shall try it.
Bubble, I say! and hubble, I say!
-^ Some folks may not like it, but that is my way.
I mind my own business, and give no trouble;
Bubble, hub-bubble, hub-bubble, hub-bubble !

They say I am black; I admit it is true:
A respectable tint, and I love it.
I never, no, never set out to be blue;
As for yellow or red, I 'm above it.
Bubble, I say! and hubble, I say!
& I 'm ready to talk any time of the day.
Heap on the coals, and my song I will double;
Bub-bub-bub-bubble, bub-bubble, bub-bubble!





No birds, they say, in last year's nests! My Lady Bird her nest did line
What, ho! but there are other guests! With down of silkweed soft and fine;
No songs they sing, no wings have they,- And here and there with dainty skill
These quiet people dressed in gray. She trimmed it with a lichen frill.

A rose-bush blossom-
Sed at her door,
And dropped pink
r petals on her
But months ago away
she flew,
And all her well-
fledged nestlings,

And much surprised
to-day she 'd be,
Could she the present
lodgers see;
I Ikno\ e 'd nrver bid them stay--
iThese humIi ,!e people dressed in gray.

Yet 't i- nor *r.Ange that Mistress Mouse
Sh,:uld cho:,se thl, nest for her own house.
T --T rLud i; :old, the grass is dead;
il_-, li.3 ,1 i, :uld warmer be," she said.

.. Bci -s, ji ,ri\ leaves I'11 get,
A'i' i Irl,: thelli n a coverlet."
thier-e ,e IVe. this very day,
Victl, i1i h-et .lilduIren, dressed in gray.

-- -\Arn, \e h ir .- winter sun peeps out,
_ll irr.l[,ct IIn lrs they run about;
A.-\rid, .i l ,i ,J:oi. n they gaily go,
An1ld 3e0 lji, [iir footprints in the snow.

;: .a,. :.. ,.: t, I have not heard.
I like to: kno:v what Lady Bird
T: hii-tre-: M:'ue, next spring, will say,
.. .--' 1 II they\ .hi:,uld c(lh nce to meet some day!



IT was about half-past nine one winter even-
ing. The family were all gathered in the
" Cosy," as the upstairs sitting-room was
called, whiling away the few remaining minutes
before bed-time. The school-boy had long ago
laid aside his books, with a feeling of thank-
fulness that to-morrow's lessons were well pre-
pared, and he and paterfamilias were just
finishing up a domino tournament that had
been running for a number of evenings.
Grandma, at her corner of the table, was deeply
absorbed in a book; mother and sister were
embroidering; brother Max was looking over
his day's accounts; and the school-teacher had
just ceased work for that night, and helped her-
self to a reserved seat on the hall stairs to join
in the talk and fun.
Dominoed! calls out the school-boy with
glee, as he clicks down his last domino.
Beaten again! We've had three tournaments,
and I 've beaten father in every one."
"That means I sha'n't play with you again
for one while," says paterfamilias, with the rue-
ful expression appropriate to the occasion.
Then, feeling that it is necessary to explain his
misfortunes to the assembled multitude -" I
could n't draw a thing that would fit in, and
he dominoed me four times running before I
could get rid of the double-six. Did you ever
hear of such luck! No, don't ask me to play
again. I 've had enough for one night."
Exultant over his success, and eager to score
new triumphs, the school-boy now turns to the
"Here 's a question for you, Miss Russell.
A boy walks around a pole, and there 's a
monkey on top of the pole; the monkey turns so
as to face the boy all the way around. Does
the boy walk around the monkey or does n't
he? "
Now the teacher has had some experience
with the school-boy's puzzling questions before;
VOL. XXIV.-44.

and expecting some catch, tries to look at it
from all points of view, much as a dog walks
around and around some strange object, gin-
gerly sniffing and putting out a paw now and
then before he ventures upon finalities.
"Well, that depends," she begins cautiously.
"How high is your pole ? "
I did n't say. That does n't have anything
to do with it, anyway."
"I've heard that before," remarks mother;
"but I can't seem to remember just what the
answer was."
"Well, I should think the height of the pole
would make considerable difference. If the
monkey is above the boy's head, I don't very
well see how he could walk around him," an-
swers the teacher. "Is the pole any taller than
the boy?"
"Yes; the pole is taller than the boy"-
and the school-boy nods reassuringly. But
alas, and alas!-there is a twinkle in the school-
boy's eye that indicates fun ahead.
"And the monkey stays on top of the pole ?"
"The monkey stays on top of the pole."
Of course he does n't walk around the
monkey. How can he ?" the teacher says with*
"No; of course he does n't!" This from
the mother.
"But he does," puts in paterfamilias; He
has been through the mill, and is now enjoying
the troubles of the novices.
Walk around the monkey, when the mon-
key 's above his head? Why, that 's absurd,"
protests the teacher.
He does--absurd or not."
Well, I 'd like to know how. I don't see
how he can walk around anything that's higher
than his head."
Nor I."
Everybody is in a proper frame of mind now,
and the school-boy begins to relish the fun.


"Well," he begins, "the monkey 's on the
pole, is n't he ?"
"And the boy walks around the pole ?"
"Well, then, if the monkey's on the pole,
and the boy walks around the pole, he walks
around whatever is on the pole, too. See ? "
The teacher looks rather puzzled, but not
wholly convinced yet.
No, sir; he does n't walk around the whole
pole; only that part of it that is as high as his
head," she argued.
Is that the answer ? that the boy does
walk around the monkey ? asks mother.


o p

Y ; ....- ---- --- -........
................ .........

... ..................

"Yes, around anything that 's on the pole."
"I don't believe that," says the teacher, a
little rebelliously. "You can't walk around
what 's above your head."
"Did n't you ever walk around a house?"
Brother Max has laid aside his accounts, and
asks this question in the most innocent manner
"Why, why,- but-"
Or around a square with lots of houses, and
maybe a church or two in it ? "
Feeling very much as if what had looked so

inoffensive had turned out to be an active little
torpedo, the teacher wilts and beats a hasty
retreat amid general laughter.
But it is n't a second before she is back again:
"But, still, I don't believe yet that the boy
walks around that monkey. Now just listen to
me. Here's a geometrical proof: If you move
a point around so that its distance is always
the same from a center, you make a circle,
don't you ? "
After a little study and the drawing of a fig-
ure on paper, the family assents.
"Well, now, which occupies the most space,
a point or a line ? "
They are cautious now about answering, but
it is finally decided that the line may take up
more space in a given direction.
Now, suppose we take this lead pencil for
the line, set it up on end, and move it around
as we did the point. The point described a
circle; the line describes a cylinder--like a
This takes more studying, but assent is at
length given.
The boy is a sort of a straight line; and
the cylinder he describes in his walk around the
pole incloses only the part of the pole as high
as he is. The boy does n't walk around all,
the pole or around the monkey, which is on that
part of the pole above his head. Q. E. D."
But victory does n't perch on the teacher's
banner yet.
You walk around the house, and you walk
around the monkey," persists the school-boy.
But you don't really walk around the whole
house. That 's only a figure of speech in which
you transfer the meaning of a part to the whole.
Besides, just how far does the inclosed space,
that the boy is supposed to walk around, ex-
tend in an upward direction? If it extends
above his head at all, there is no reason why it
should ever stop. If the boy walks around the
whole house, then he walks around the star
just above that house. To 'walk around a
house' is only a figure of speech in which you
transfer the meaning to the whole, simply be-
cause there is no need of a more detailed expla-
The school-boy has n't studied geometry, and
wonders what all this puzzling talk is about.



Brother Max is about half won over, and the
rest of the family keep silence; but it is n't an
assenting kind of silence. They are only gath-
ering their forces. The teacher feels that the
air will be full of arguments in a few moments,
and chooses to make off, before her doubtful
victory can be called into question.
If the monkey is on the pole, he 's on the
pole; that's all there is about it," remarks pater-
familias, and forthwith dismisses the question
from his mind, and turns to the evening paper.
The school-boy begins to pick up the dominoes,
chuckling over his evening's success: he has
come out winner in the third tournament, and
set the whole family to arguing over the mon-
key on the pole. His sister wonders what
people want to go to arguing for, anyhow, and
keeps on with her embroidery.
The teacher, however, is getting warmed up
over the question, and can't go to sleep. She
suddenly returns again with an apologetic "Posi-
tively my last appearance, this time. I 've got
something more to say about that monkey, and
here's a diagram to illustrate it. I wanted you
to see it before you all went to bed."
Every one is considerably amused by this
time, and the diagram, after arousing some
curiosity, furnishes still greater amusement.
"Here is the pole," explains the teacher, in-
dicating the line AB, and the monkey on top
of it. X is the boy, and YZ the cylinder he
describes in walking around the pole. I forgot
to make the monkey face the boy, but you can
imagine that he does. The boy walks around
the monkey, you say? Very well. Now we

won't move the monkey at all; but suppose we
build this shed, M N P Q, so that the pole
may rest on it at 0, and cut away O B. The
boy, you said, walked around the monkey;
now the monkey has n't moved an inch, and
the boy takes the same path as before C Z C.
Does he still walk around the monkey ? "
The silence is intense as each one traces the
diagram and thinks out the problem for him-
"In other words, if a boy walks around his
dining-room table, does he walk around the
cupola which is directly above it, and which
might be connected with it by a pole ?"
"That depends," Brother Max began, thought-
fully. "Don't you remember that the monkey
'turns so as to face the boy all the way around'?
If the monkey does that, the boy never is on
more than one side of the monkey being
always in front. What do you say on that
The family seem dismayed. Here is a new
world to conquer. But before any of the speak-
ers begins the debate, another voice is heard.
All this time grandmother has been quietly
reading her book. Now she closes it with an
If the monkey is on the pole, and the boy
walks around the pole, he walks around the
monkey on the pole."
This is final so far as that family is con-
cerned; and with a laugh of relief the family
break up to dream of poles .and monkeys and
boys, and boys and monkeys and poles.
What do you say about it ?



CORNELIS DE Vos the Elder, the Flemish artist whose
painting of his daughters is the frontispiece of this num-
ber of ST. NICHOLAS, was born over three hundred
years ago in the town of Hulst, but passed much of his
artistic life in Antwerp, where he died in 1651. He was
a friend of the great Van Dyck, and a pupil of Remeeus.
Apparently, he had two very charming little daughters.

PERHAPS no portrait of a royal personage has been
more frequently copied in books of history and biog-
raphy, than Holbein's famous picture of King Henry
VIII. of England. Most of our readers are no doubt
familiar with it, and so they will enjoy the interesting
picture on page 305 of this number,- a copy of a paint-
ing by Sir Joshua Reynolds, in which the famous artist
has shown an English boy in a costume copied after that
of bluff King Hal. The garb and the pose are alike in
the two pictures; but it is a pleasant surprise to find, in
place of the stern and rather forbidding features of King
Henry, the cheery, smiling face of a sturdy little lad.

READERS of this magazine will remember the accounts
of Helen Keller's life which were printed in ST. NICHO-
LAS for September, 1889, and June, 1892, and also the
remarkable letter from Helen herself, describing her
visit to the World's Fair at Chicago. Her many
friends among our readers will be glad to know that
this doubly-afflicted yet happy girl is now studying
with the regular classes at the Gilman Preparatory
School in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and that she has
already successfully passed examinations in several stud-
ies, for Radcliffe College. It is a pleasure to quote
here a few extracts from letters written on her type-
writer, during the past summer, by this gifted and sweet-
souled blind girl.
BREWSTER, MASS., July 22, 1896.
MY DEAR FRIEND: After leaving New York, we
spent three very busy weeks in Boston, visiting friends
and arranging everything for next year. We visited the
school at Cambridge where I am to continue my educa-
tion, and saw Mr. Gilman, the principal. He is a very
kind gentleman, and Teacher thinks his school an ideal
one; so I am looking forward with eager delight to pur-
suing my studies there, though it seems sometimes as if
I could never accomplish all that I wish to. But I am
going to think I CAN; for I know patience and perse-
verance always conquer in the end. You know the old
adage about a faint heart and a fair lady. Well, I think
it is equally true of a College degree. A faint heart never
succeeds in anything, does it? At any rate, I am deter-
mined to do my best, and I do not believe that any effort
we make. to attain something beautiful is ever lost.
Somehow, somewhere, sometime we shall realize our

From Boston we went to Wrentham to visit some
friends who have a lovely farm in the country. There
is a charming lake near their house where we went boat-

ing and canoeing every pleasant day. We also slept
in a tent several times, and it was lovely to feel that
we were sleeping where the beautiful moon and stars
could keep their benign watch over us .
Helen Keller heartily enjoyed her school-life of
many months at the Wright-Humason School in New
York, where she was taught articulate speech. We per-
sonally have heard her repeat the whole of Longfellow's
"Psalm of Life," clearly and with admirable expression
and feeling.
From Wrentham we went to Philadelphia to attend a
convention of teachers of-the deaf. We stayed at the
Pennsylvania Institution at Mount Airy, a pleasant coun-
try-place outside of the city. I am sure I need not tell
you we had a busy time. We attended the meetings
and receptions, and talked with hundreds of people, in-
cluding Monsieur Magnat, of Paris, a distinguished edu-
cator, who has done a great deal for the deaf in France,
and Mr. Banerji, of Calcutta, who is endeavoring to es-
tablish a school for the deaf in his native city. I made
a little "speech" one day, telling the members of the
Association what a great blessing speech has been to me,
and urging them to give every deaf child an opportunity
to learn to express his thoughts in living words. After-
ward we attended a reception, and shook hands with
about six hundred people. I must confess I do not like
such large receptions; the people crowd so, and almost
overwhelm us with questions and personal remarks
which are not always pleasant to hear. And yet it is at
receptions like the one at Philadelphia that we often
meet friends whom we learn to love and honor afterward.
But we were more than glad when the convention was
over, and we could turn our faces Brewster-ward. Now
we are settled down in this quiet little town -as the old
stories have it. We are well, and having a happy, rest-
ful time; but my summer is not a vacation in the usual
sense; for I study a good deal with Teacher's assistance.
I study arithmetic, German, French, and history every
day. We are now puzzling ourselves over Fontaine's
fables in French, and I am reading and rereading "Wil-
helm Tell" in German. But you must not think I am
working too hard. I am enjoying myself greatly, and
besides, you know, if I- do not have something to take
up my mind, I am apt to get restless. You see, I am
very ambitious to start well next year.
Sometimes we take long, delightful drives in the woods,
which are always full of treasures-wild roses, ferns,
huckle- and blueberries, and in places the softest, sweet-
est carpet of pine-needles you ever saw. Then, too, we
have the ocean, with all its mystery and beauty, only a
mile distant, and numerous lakes and ponds filled with
frogs and pond-lilies. So you can easily understand how
much we enjoy the rest.
In an accompanying letter her devoted teacher, her
second self, Miss Anne M. Sullivan, writes as follows:
Now that a definite plan for Helen's future has been
decided upon, people are more than ever interested in
her. It seems to me the sweetest and greatest moment
in Helen's life thus far. She is just sixteen. Certainly
up to the present time her abounding heart of love and
her spontaneous enthusiasm for all that is good have
drawn people to her in a wonderful way, and it now re-
mains for her to show the world what more may be ac-
complished under the greatest misfortunes.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for a year and
six months, and I loved the "Prize Cup" and "Marco
Polo." I live in a little village called Higham, about a
mile from Gadshill Place, of which you printed an account
two or three months ago. It is a lovely old house with
two of the largest cedars I have ever seen in the garden,
which is on the other side of the road. There is a very
pretty old church near us, which was built in the reign
of Henry I., and where King Stephen's daughter Mary
is buried; and they have put a stone on the top of her
grave. You can just read "Mary" on it. Our house is
said to have an underground passage; but we have never
found it. I remain your loving reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: There is a very pretty story con-
nected with one of the "historic military powder-horns,"
the picture of which was given in an interesting article
on that subject from the pen of J. L. Sticht, of the United
States Navy, which appeared in the October number of
ST. NICHOLAS. It is of a sixteen-year-old Connecticut
lad, who, at a tender age, was serving his country in the
ranks of the Continental Army under General Washing-
ton, and endured the rigors and privations which the
troops underwent during the terrible winter of 1777-8
at Valley Forge. While the army was encamped at that
place, about thirty of the soldiers, among wh6m was young
Jabez Rockwell, the boy referred to above, had lost their
powder-horns, and there seemed to be no way to replace
The camp butchers who supplied the troops with meat
had saved ten horns from the cattle killed by them, and
they proposed to give them to the men who had lost
powder-horns. As there were three times as many appli-
cants as there were horns, the butchers were at a loss
how to divide them so as not to incur the displeasure of
the disappointed ones. The soldiers finally agreed to
leave the distribution to the commander-in-chief.
One day General Washington was riding through
camp, when they appealed to him to make the division.
He readily consented to do so, and hit upon this novel
plan: Taking from his pocket paper and a pencil, he said
he would write a number which would be between 1500
and 200o, and the ten soldiers who should guess the
nearest to this number should receive the horns. He
wrote 1776, the year of the Declaration of Independence.
But one man guessed this number. Four others of the
successful ones guessed half-way between these points,
choosing the number 175o. Jabez Rockwell was one of
these four. The possession of the horn brought happi-
ness to the young soldier, and it was not long before he
had it scraped and polished and prepared to hold its al-
lotment of powder. It was first called into action at the
battle of Monmouth on the following June, and was car-
ried by its owner through the war to its close, and was
last used at Yorktown in 1781. This record is inscribed
on the horn, as shown in the picture in ST. NICHOLAS:
"Jabez Rockwell of Ridgebury, Conn. His Horn
made in Camp at Valley Forge, first used at Monmouth,
June 28, 1778 & last at Yorktown, 1781." Below this
his grandson has caused to be written: May it be sa-
credly kept is the wish of his grandson, Charles F.
A few words about this youthful hero and one or two
incidents of his after-life may be of interest in this con-
nection. Jabez Rockwell was born near Ridgebury,
Connecticut, October 3, 1761, and was hardly fifteen
years of age when the Declaration of Independence was
declared. He enlisted before he was sixteen in the Con-
tinental army, in a regiment recruited by Benedict Ar-
nold, and fought in his division, and was wounded at

the battle of Saratoga in 1777. He was next transferred
to the army under Washington, and then Lafayette. He
was in nine battles, including Saratoga, Monmouth, and
Yorktown, where he witnessed the surrender of Lord
At the close of the war he returned to Connecticut,
where he married in 1784, and afterward removed to the
wilds of Pennsylvania, locating near Milford, the present
county seat of Pike. He died in 1847, near Honesdale,
Pa., and was buried with Masonic and military honors.
Jabez Rockwell venerated Washington above every
other man, and next to him his last commander, the
gallant Frenchman, General Lafayette. When the lat-
ter visited the United States for the last time, in 1829,
Rockwell, who was then sixty-eight years old, and three
other Revolutionary soldiers-Joshua Hutchins, Thomas
Gay, and Samuel Whittaker-walked all the way from
Milford to New York City, a distance of seventy-two
miles, to see their old commander. They arrived the
second day, weary, footsore, and with clothing travel-
soiled by the long march, and proceeded to the hotel
where the General was quartered. The clerk looked at
them in astonishment when they asked to see Lafayette,
and in a haughty tone he told them they would not be
permitted to do so. They pleaded that they had walked
a long way from the mountains of Pennsylvania for no
other purpose than this; but the clerk could not be
moved. He ordered them away, saying their appear-
ance was sufficient to indicate that the General would
not care to see them.
This answer kindled anew the warlike fire which lay
dormant in the breast of the old Revolutionary hero,
and Jabez Rockwell said in tones that would brook no
"Young man, we have traveled on foot two days to
see General Lafayette. We fought under him before
you were born; we are now under the same roof with
him, and if it is necessary to have another fight to see
him, we are ready."
These words had the desired effect. The clerk said
he would send up their names, but as the Mayor of the
city and the Congressional Committee, of which Henry
Clay was a member, were in the parlor with General
Lafayette, arranging for his welcome, their request
would probably be refused.
When the cards bearing the names and regiment to
which the old soldiers belonged reached Lafayette, he
requested Henry Clay to bring the men in; and the cor-
dial welcome they met with from their old commander
repaid them for the toilsome journey they had under-
gone, and the tramp homeward.
SJabez Rockwell was a life-long Democrat, but at the
age of eighty-three, when Henry Clay ran for President,
in 1844, he deviated from his principles and voted for
him, because of his courteous treatment to him and his
three comrades on the occasion of their visit to Lafayette.
For the foregoing facts the writer is indebted to Mr.
Charles F. Rockwell, of Honesdale, Pa., the grandson
of the subject of this sketch, a "chip of the old block,"
and the last owner of the historic powder-horn, until his
recent gift of the treasure to a society, where it will be
secure for all time. W. H. NEARPASS.

THE following very creditable little poems are by
George Macaulay Stevenson, ten years old.
SUMMER comes along the hedges,
Dancing down from rocky ledges,
Fair and sweet.
And where'er she puts her foot
Springs a flower,
Growing fairer every hour.



What's better than an English day
Spent in the old-fashioned way?
What's better than the fields in May,
Or the curds, the cream, the whey,
Or the brown bee's sleepy lay,
Stealing all the flowerlets' honey,
Which to them is golden money?

Sing the praises of our June
When fairies dance "an clair de lune";
Think not of the gloomy past,
Ne'er think misfortunes ever last.


FAR down the road, beneath the tall trees swaying,
Far down the road into the wood of green,
There 's where the fays are ever, ever playing,
Cushioned on downy moss with velvet sheen.

Down to the shore the elves go singing, singing,
Down to the moonbeam-silvered lake,
Down to the lake, where bells are ringing, ringing,
Dancing till you and I awake.

Then when the dawn comes they go flying homeward
Back to their homes beneath the toadstool's shade.


WHEN in the firelight's glow we sit,
And shadows along the crossbeams flit,
Then Granny tells us awful tales
Of how the elves of long ago -
Stole the milk from out the pails,
And robbed the oxen of their tails,
And scampered over hills and dales,
Working mischief on their way
Until the dawn of each new day
Put an end to all their pranks,
And quick they hid in woods and banks.
And in a corner we shiver in fear,
And then we get a terrible fright,
For terror has sharpened up our ear-
A rat is scraping behind the bed!
O fire! throw far your beams of red.
When the last glow fades from the sky,
Then we must say our sad good-by
To stories, till to-morrow night
When fires leap up in waning light.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write to you
and tell you how much I like you. We have taken you
in for over a dozen years, and still continue to do so. I
live in London; but at present I am in a school at Lau-
sanne, in Switzerland, with two of my sisters; and we
are going to stay here one or two years. Lausanne is a
lovely spot, as it is situated nearly on the borders of the
Lake of Geneva, and is closed in with mountains, which
look especially lovely at this time of the year, as they
are covered with snow.
Last August we went on a beautiful excursion in the
mountains, and we saw the Glacier du Rh6ne. It did
seem so funny, as it was in the middle of summer, and
the glacier was one mass of snow and ice. My sister
and I have got two little tortoises, which we brought with
us from London; they are wonderful little things, as they
are only the size of a shilling, and can swim beautifully.

We call them "Adam" and "Eve." We have also got
two baby guinea-pigs. I and my sisters all ride bicycles,
and when I am at home I do a great deal of bicycling;
but now being at school I naturally do not have much
chance of riding a bicycle.
I remain your devoted reader, GEORGIANA Q-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am twelve years old. We
have taken the ST. NICHOLAS for many years, and have
always enjoyed it very much. We came to San Jos6
from New York about a year and a half ago, and I like
it ever so much. The famous Almaden Quicksilver
Mines are only ten miles away, and Lick Observatory
only twenty-eight. We are situated in the Santa Clara
Valley, which is noted for its green and dried fruit.
Papa has a ten-acre prune and cherry orchard, the
former of which (five acres) bore seventy tons of green
prunes last year.
I enjoy your Letter-box" ever so much, and hope we
may always be able to take your magazine.
Your little friend, GRACE HOLT.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am an American girl; but I
am spending a part of my vacation in the pretty little town
of Nairn on Moray Firth. This firth is beautiful. On
clear days one can see every crack and cranny in the
cliffs opposite, as well as the different colors of the fields.
Several mountains form a background to the view. The
firth is about five miles wide opposite Nairn.
Most of the dwelling-houses here have pretty flower-
gardens, and some of them are covered with roses.
They had some Highland dances here a few weeks ago.
There were sword-dances and reels, both very graceful
and pretty. The sword-dance is done between and
around crossed swords. The dancers must not step on
the blades, but they may on the hilts.
The Highlanders wear a kilt and plaid of the tartan of
their clan. The plaid is a long, wide scarf, thrown over
the shoulder and fastened with a silver brooch, which
sometimes holds a giant topaz. The kilt stops at the
knee, and their stockings are turned down. The knees
are bare. In one of their stockings they have a dirk-
a kind of dagger.
Cawdor Castle is near Nairn. It is one of the seats
of the Earl of Cawdor, and is three or four hundred
years old. Its grounds are perfectly lovely. In them
are great trees, ferns, mosses, winding streams, hills, and
ravines. There are many deer and rabbits in the park.
When we were there the men were shooting.
I await you with impatience every month.
Your interested reader,

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Minda Gottleib,
Jack Church, Francis McMeehan, Mary B. Cooke, Kath-
arine M. Le Boutillier, Alice Jones, Virginia W., Gilbert
Maurice Congdon, D. Courthope, Emilie Cooke Burns,
Mildred C. Dickson, Ruth Parmelee, Walter L. S.,
Chauncey S. De Witt, Elsie Doolittle, Lewis C., Harry
Caperton, Jr., George Buxton, Sadie B. Turner, Alice K.
Potter, Islay M. McColl, E. W. Scudder, Hender Schuy-
ler, Alice Pearson, Marjorie Hoysrodt, Ruth Stetson,
Mary S. Stranahan, Gertrude Cannon, Morris Ashley,
Daisy Ullmann, Elsie Dinsmore, Gertrude Helene Heydt-
mann, A. S., George V. N.


DIAGONAL. Marion. I. Moslem. 2. Baltic. 3. Heroic. 4. HIDDEN LETTERS. St. Nicholas.
Crying. 5. Sharon. 6. Obtain. WORD-SQUARES. I. Toast. 2. Order. 3. Adore. 4. Serve.
ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS. I S. 2. Cap. 3. 5. Trees. II. Dazes. 2. Alert. 3. Zebra. 4. Error. 5.
Cyrus. 4. Saranac. 5. Punic. 6. Sac. 7. C. II. C. 2. Stare.
Mat. 3 Medal. 4. Caddies. 5. Taint. 6. Let. 7. S. III. I. Two ZooLOGICAL AcROSTICS. I. Saint Nicholas. i. Swan.
C. Cat. 3. Camel. 4. Cameras. 5. Terry. 6. Lay. 7. S. 2 Axis. 3. Ibex. 4. Nepa. 5. Toad. 6. Napu 7. Ibis. 8.
IY. I. C. 2. Pat. 3. Pupil. 4. Capotes. 5. Title. 6. Lee. Carp. 9. Hawk. io Oryx. Ia. Lion. 12. Auks. 13. Seal.
. S. V... S..Yes. 3. Yacht. 4. Sectary. 5Shaky. 6. 1. Reindeer. Clumber. Bubale. 3. Coati. 4. Lion. 5.
Try. 7. Y. Eland. 6. Vole. 7. Mouse. 8. Tapir.
RHYMED TRANSPOSITIONS. Pares, spare, pears, rapes, spear, DIVIDED CITIES. I. Jackson. 2. Hartford. 3. Charleston. 4.
reaps, parse. Boston. 5. Bangor. 6. Frankfort. 7. Springfield. 8. Madison,
CONUNDRUM CHARADE. Pat-rol. 9. Brooklyn. so. Cleveland. x. Raleigh. s1. Newport.
The wave is breaking on the shore, Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The echo fading from the chime, The flying cloud, the frosty light;
Again the shadow moveth o'er The year is dying in the night;
The dial-plate of time! j. G. WHITTIER. Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. TENNYSON.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and should
be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle Box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER were received, before November igth, from M. McG. W. J. Fabian
- Jersey Quartette "- Josephine Sherwood Grace Edith Thallon-- "Dondy Small"--" Buffalo Quartette" "Four Weeks in
Kane "- Sigoumey Fay Nininger- Katharine S. Doty.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER were received, before November 15th, from Mary C. Beecroft, I Marion A.
Barker, 2--G. B. Dyer, ii- "Hickory Nut," i Mary K. Rake, 2-Albert L. Vencill, I -'Charlotte Schram, i- "Alsie," i--L.
M. Eckfeld, i- Claudice Piper, 3- George Barnes, i- J. K. and Co., 5-Jo and I, ir Mamma and Will, 5 Naomi," 2-" Two
Little Brothers," x -Effie K. Talboys, 6-Achille Poirier, lo- L. O. E., iz "Sand Crabs," 9-" Daniel Hardin and Co.," 7-Jessie
and Ralph Sharot, 2 -No name, Pelham Manor, 8 -Marguerite Sturdy, I -"Little Pilgrim," 2-Clara D. Lauer and Co., i -John
P. Reynolds, 3d, -Paul Reese, zo--Helen Lorraine Enos, I.


WHEN the following names have been rightly guessed
and written one below another, their initials will spell a
point of land first rounded by Lemaire and Schouten in
CROSS-WORDS: I. A mountain system in Russia. 2.
A mountain system in South America. 3. An island in
the Egean Sea. 4. A lake of North America. 5. A
city of France. 6. A river of South America. 7. A
city of Italy. 8. A famous river of Africa.

MY first is in apple, but not in pear;
My second in hole, but not in tear;
My third is in knot, but not in bow;
My fourth is in finger, but not in toe;
My fifth is in frightened, but not in bold;
My sixth is in silver, but not in gold;
My seventh is in long, but not in short;
My eighth is in vessel, but not in port;
My ninth is in borrow but not in lend;
My tenth is in winter, and that is the end.
My whole is the name of a poet.


ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When these are rightly guessed and placed one
below another, in the order here given, the zigzag, be-

ginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell a union.
The initial letters are the same as the zigzag.
CROSS-WORDS: I. To wince. 2. A kind of tea. 3.
Minority in age. 4. A jolting motion. 5. Unequalled.
6. A small mug or cup. 7. A monk's hood. 8. Gos-
sip. 9. A pendant mass of ice. Io. A long, broad boat
used by the Eskimos. II. Sprightly.

HET clod swind vare no eht yci revir,
Eht slafeles charnbes pamlicon nad viresh,
Teh wons culsod sewep no, ot a rayder nute,-
Nac sheet eb eht thare nad het henvase fo nuje?


I. BEHEAD and curtail a nocturnal animal allied to
the monkeys, and leave an Australian bird.
2. Behead twice and curtail twice the European bison,
and leave a monstrous bird of Arabian mythology.
3. Behead twice an animal of Peru, and leave a South
American rodent.
4. Behead a small hound, and leave a large bird.
5. Behead a domestic bird, and leave a wild one.
6. Syncopate a bird, and leave a useful animal.
7. Syncopate a bird, and leave a domestic animal.
8. Behead one fish, and leave another.
9. Curtail a wild swan, and leave a large deer.
o1. Curtail twice a curious animal of India, allied tc
the weasel, and leave a rodent. L. E. JOHNSON.



1. IN the United States. 2. A beast of burden. 3.
A place of public contest. 4. Of no value. 5. To act
in a cowardly manner. 6. To demand. 7. In the
United States. D. H. D.


ALL the words pictured contain the same number of
letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below the
other, in the order numbered, the diagonal (from the
upper left-hand letter to the lower right-hand letter) will
spell the name of an English poet and essayist.

MY primals name the Christian name, and my finals
the surname of a famous Englishman.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length): I. Covered with a
layer of any substance. 2.' One of the Sandwich Islands.
3. Pertaining to northern regions. 4. Comment. 5.
Small. 6. An original form. 7. Bends downward.


a a

a ** a *

cable. 3. Public. 4. Inclosures.
strel. 2. A city of China. 3. An assumed character.
4. Colors.
III. CENTRAL SQUARE: I. Transferred to another

for an equivalent. 2. Above. 3. A masculine name.
4. To fall in drops.
with shoes. 2. A small animal. 3. Minerals. 4. A
2. Mimics. 3. Low. 4. To discover. L'H.

THE traveler in darksome ways,
Astray beneath a stormy sky,
May well my first, unless his gaze
My second somewhere can espy.
My second, if no traveler find
With those its fortunes who control,
Must sink beneath a fate unkind;-
He only can expect my whole.

THE letters in each. of the words printed in italics may
be transposed so as to form the name of a tree.
In a cabin a mile north, on the river Wye, lives old
Lem with his pet lamb. Clouts of old crape fill the place
of window-panes and doorpanel. Possessed of ample
means, he has not cared to wear other covering than a
ragged dolman, nor to drink from any but a cheap blue
mug. At night-he goes to reap the harvest of his melon
patch. He will take a lamp in one hand to allure in-
sects; and a tile or lump of rock in the other, with which
to slay a possible weasel. L. E. J,
A MAN came running down the street;
He ran, and never tarried;
You 'd think that he could hardly walk
With all the things he carried.
I. Some instruments of music, first;
2. Some parts of noble ships;
3. A wooden box; (4 and 5) two kinds of fish;
6. And several ends of whips;
7. He tightly held a noble stag;
8. He weapons also bore;
9. Two tops of trunks were on his head;
o. And yet two caps he wore;
II. He carried children going to school;
12. Two quadrupeds, not small;
13. And weathercocks,- some blue, some red;
These were by no means all!
14. The steps of a hotel; (15) some flowers;
16. Two buildings; (17) lofty trees;
18. A noble monument, erect.
All these he bore with ease!
And yet, to all appearances,
He empty-handed ran,
And looked as if he carried naught-
That over-burdened man!
I. To abrade. 2. Cowardly. 3. Those who fix
values. 4. A broad street. 5. To read. 6. To close
the eyes of a hawk. ELLA W. FOOTE.
I AM composed of twenty letters; and my whole is a
distinguished singer.
My 10-17 is a preposition. My 6-4-16-11 is an Egyp-
tian goddess. My 15-12-19-2 is to emit. My 5-3-7-18-
13 is to color slightly. My 8-9-1-20-14 is to protect.


*1 .1 ~ / r ~,

S ---
?I /

:.~2~ ~t: r-

Ji --s n fz

r~~- T~ '* ?.


r----l- 4_ 1I cr;7t -

7j 4: ,sI

C ~~ 1 Ii)
17 1E" ~=i A.:~

SI I r ;''' A
IF'1 1 '. 1- 1.

i iv

11!j 'Fir~

121 : l~jc~01

s' h t! l;


. . . . . .

University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs