Front Cover
 Front Matter
 The two victories
 After vacation
 A disappointed daughter
 The fire patrol
 Master Skylark
 Helen Keller and Tommy Stringe...
 P. Abbott
 My Dolly
 The proud Miss O'Haggin
 The escort to the color
 A magician for one day
 Hour an elf set up for houseke...
 Miss Nina Barrow
 Bean-bag song
 The last three soldiers
 A scientific toy bridge
 Deer-mice, as pets
 Squirrel town
 Another dandy
 In the walnut grove
 The big booboo and the little...
 Who knows?
 The key to the box
 Her question
 From our scrap-book
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00330
 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: VID00330
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
        Page 970
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    The two victories
        Page 971
        Page 972
        Page 973
        Page 974
    After vacation
        Page 975
    A disappointed daughter
        Page 976
    The fire patrol
        Page 977
        Page 978
        Page 979
        Page 980
        Page 981
        Page 982
        Page 983
        Page 984
        Page 985
    Master Skylark
        Page 986
        Page 987
        Page 988
        Page 989
        Page 990
        Page 991
        Page 992
        Page 993
        Page 994
        Page 995
    Helen Keller and Tommy Stringer
        Page 996
        Page 997
        Page 998
        Page 999
        Page 1000
    P. Abbott
        Page 1001
        Page 1002
    My Dolly
        Page 1003
    The proud Miss O'Haggin
        Page 1004
    The escort to the color
        Page 1005
        Page 1006
        Page 1007
    A magician for one day
        Page 1008
        Page 1009
        Page 1010
        Page 1011
        Page 1012
        Page 1013
        Page 1014
        Page 1015
        Page 1016
    Hour an elf set up for housekeeping
        Page 1017
        Page 1018
        Page 1019
        Page 1020
    Miss Nina Barrow
        Page 1021
        Page 1022
        Page 1023
        Page 1024
    Bean-bag song
        Page 1025
    The last three soldiers
        Page 1026
        Page 1027
        Page 1028
        Page 1029
        Page 1030
        Page 1031
        Page 1032
        Page 1033
        Page 1034
        Page 1035
        Page 1036
    A scientific toy bridge
        Page 1037
    Deer-mice, as pets
        Page 1038
        Page 1039
    Squirrel town
        Page 1040
    Another dandy
        Page 1041
        Page 1042
        Page 1043
        Page 1044
    In the walnut grove
        Page 1045
    The big booboo and the little booboo
        Page 1046
        Page 1047
    Who knows?
        Page 1048
    The key to the box
        Page 1049
    Her question
        Page 1049
    From our scrap-book
        Page 1050
        Page 1051
    The letter-box
        Page 1052
        Page 1053
        Page 1054
    The riddle-box
        Page 1055
        Page 1056
    Back Matter
        Page 1058
    Back Cover
        Page 1059
        Page 1060
        Page 1061
Full Text


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A.. %L~ ~'N



OCTOBER, 1897.



IT was a splendid day for the games. The
sky had never seemed so bright, the grass so
green, nor the water so blue and sparkling.
The people were gathered around the oval, row
behind row, and tier above tier; the trees be-
hind them were putting on their first touches
of crimson and gold, and in the Sound, beyond,
the white-winged yachts moved slowly into
port, dropped anchor, and ran up all their sig-
nal-flags, as if to add one more touch of color to
the already brilliant scene.
Hal felt this was indeed the day he had lived
ten years to see. He gazed at his program, with
its emblem of a winged foot on the outside and
its entry within -
1000-YARD RUN.
19 .. Philip Montgomery.. Yale University.. Scratch
- and felt sure that if only his uncle could win
that race, nothing in the years to come would
ever surpass the 26th of September, 189-.
The band played the most inspiring, enticing
airs, and at last the athletes came out, and the
fun began. The shorter races came first the
dashes, breathless from start to finish, where a
world's record was broken before the specta-
tors could realize what was happening; then

the pole-jumping, which was so fascinating
that Hal almost forgot the great event of the
afternoon for which he and all those other
people had come.
Now the bar was ten feet, and all the contest-
ants had cleared it; now it was raised, and the
tall man from the N. Y. A. C. knocked it with
his knees. Next the boy with the crimson band
tried it, hung poised in mid-air over it for a
second, then dropped gracefully on his feet. It
was so prettily done that Hal had to cheer with
the crowd even if Harvard was coming out
But hark! There was the herald calling,
"The next event on the program will be that
on page 82 the looo-yards race," and the men
were taking their places at the other end of the
field. Uncle Phil was scratch," and Hal
burned with indignation to see the other men
placed ten, twenty, and thirty yards in the
track ahead of him. He knew it was really
fair, but just then it did n't seem so. At last
the pistol sounded, and they were off. Now
Uncle Phil had reached the red jersey, now the
blue. Ah! they would be in front of the grand
stand in a minute. Still he was a length behind
No. 14. Could n't he run just a little faster?

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


No. 12.


Past the judges' stand again, and the second
round. Now they were running even, neck
and neck, and the crowd around were shout-
ing, Montgomery!" "Kilmarnock! "Mont-

steeplechase. There it was the greatest fun,
for one of the men could n't manage that jump.
He could clear the fences and wriggle over the
stone wall, but the water-jump was too much


gomery! Kilmarnock!" Hal stood on the
seat waving his Yale banner and shouting too;
only he said, Uncle Phil! Oh, Uncle Phil!"
over and over again. Now the tape was
stretched, and Hal was not to be disappointed.
His uncle's long legs stretched forward as if
the winged sandals were on his feet, and right
under his little nephew's sight he shot ahead,
touched the tape three yards ahead of No. 14,
and fell into his chum's outstretched arms as
the judge said, "Two minutes, .15 seconds."
Then Hal's cup of joy was full.
His uncle came up the field, raised his cap
to Hal's mother, and, nodding to him, said:
"Well, old chap, we 've managed to keep the
blue on top." His father and mother now said
they must go; but Uncle Phil asked that Hal
might stay, promising he would look after him,
and took him around to the water-jump in the

for him every time; and in he would go splash-
ing, and out he would come dripping, in the best
possible humor, while the people laughed, and
the band played provokingly consoling airs.
But the best of good times will come to an
end, and Hal found himself with his uncle and
three of his friends, all ready for the ride home.
He was rather surprised to see that one of his
uncle's companions was the vanquished No.
14," and that another was the Harvard man
(who finally had won the pole-jump); but he
found little time for reflection on the queerness
of grown-ups in their choice of friends, for it was
all he could do to keep his wheel abreast of the
others in their ride across to the Hudson for
the ferry to the Jersey shore. Once landed at
the foot of the Palisades, the boys were pre-
pared to push their wheels up the steep road
that led to Mr. Montgomery's house on the hill;



but as. they turned the boat-house corner a
funny sight met their eyes. An old, white-
haired negro stood beside his donkey-cart. He
had covered it with blue calico, and wound
strips of the same in and out of the harness,
while between the little donkey's ears waved the
stars and stripes. The man's head was in per-
petual motion from his efforts to feast his eyes
on his handiwork and to watch for the ferry-
boat. He now took off his hat respectfully.
I 'lowed you was gwine to come by dis
boat, Marse Phil," he said; "an' I done brought
Balaam down 'kase I had an idee you might
ride up, and res' a'ter your prodijus running .

Philip looked at the remarkable trimmings,
and duly praised them; but excused himself
from driving, saying he feared he would be
heavy for the donkey to pull that long dis-
tance. At this the old negro looked absolutely
Oh, Marse Phil," he said, when you was a
babby and done got tired, you used ter let Ole
Solomon carry you pickaback. I 'm an ole,
ole man now, suh, an' you 're gwine back to
de 'varsity, and maybe I won't live to see you
come home. Ef you 'd des let Balaam carry
you dis time, it would be something w'at I could
recollec' all de res' of my lifetime. It would




Marse Montgomery he say it wuz mighty fine
victory, suh. I reckon I done seed no sech
cause for rejoicin' sence I wuz wid de udder
darkies down in Georgia a'ter de wah."

be a great occasion fo' Balaam and me a
great honor to us bof, suh."
And Philip Montgomery jumped into that
cart and gathered up the reins, while the old




darky walked proudly alongside with the bicy-
cle, and his friends brought up the rear and
chatted of the games, as if successful athletes
driving in cramped-up donkey-carts were an
every-day sight.

Mrs. Montgomery came to give Hal a last
look that night, and found him staring with
wide-open eyes at the ceiling.
"What! awake yet, my boy! Was the ex-
citement this afternoon too much for you?
But"-and she bent over and kissed him -

"it was a glorious victory, was n't it, Hal ? Is
that what you are thinking about ? "
Yes, mother, that and something else;
and I want your opinion about it all. I know
Uncle Phil hated to ride in that donkey-cart,
and I 'm sure he knew just how funny he looked;
but he would n't disappoint Old Solomon when
he saw how he felt about it. And I think
it was just as big a thing to do that as to win
the race. What do you think? "
My son, I know it was a far greater thing,"
gently answered his mother.






BEFORE they had arithmetic,
Or telescopes, or chalk,
Or blackboards, maps, and copy-books -
When they could only talk :

Before Columbus came to show
The world geography,
What did they teach the little boys
Who went to school like me ?

There was n't any grammar then,
They could n't read or spell,
For books were not invented yet.
I think 't was just as well.

There were not any rows of dates,
Or laws, or wars, or kings,
Or generals, or victories,
Or any of those things.

There could n't have been much to learn;
There was n't much to know.
'T was nice to be a little boy
Ten thousand years ago!

For history had not begun,
The world was very new,
And in the schools, I don't see what
The children had to do.

Now, always there is more to learn,-
How history does grow!-
SAnd every day they find new things
They think we ought to know.

And if it must go on like this
I 'm glad I live to-day,
For boys ten thousand years from now
Will not have time to play!



.. "MAMA, the girls at They're all the latest style that 's out-
Sour school, What everybody wears!
SI J For our Colonial Tea
Say quaint old gowns will "There is our grand French ancestress,
be the rule; Madame la Comtesse B--.
S So some came home I thought, of course, her bridal dress
with me. Would be the thing for me.

"You're 'Dame' and 'Daugh-
ter' both, j'ou see:
And all mn ciin. rte k %ij\
Our attic's lull -I it jni be
Of gowns ,,rr, long ago.

"I chose an .rniul -- iwt l[.ouu.
To shove. tlhi girl. iwrn-



" I shook it out and brought it down.
Mama, to my dismay,
'T was just a white silk Empire gown--
One sees them every day!

';L'-- i

"And so we don't know what to do;
'T would vex a very saint!
How, when things century-old look new,
Can we be odd or quaint?"

'7 -




By C. T. HILL.

THE annual loss by fire in the United States
amounts to over one hundred millions of dol-
lars, and fully one half of this loss is caused by
the water used in extinguishing the fires. Be-
fore the introduction in 1872 of controlling or
shut-off nozzles used on the fire-hose, the per-
centage of loss by water was even greater at
least two thirds of the total loss. Previous to
the introduction of this much-needed device,
there was used what was known as an open
pipe," a plain, open nozzle with no contrivance
for shutting off the water. When it was neces-
sary to shut off, the order had to be passed to
the engineer, sometimes a long distance from
the fire; and unless the nozzle could be thrust
from a convenient window, the water would
go pouring out, spreading destruction in all di-
rections. In small fires, especially in "up-
stairs fires in private dwellings, or in business
houses stocked with perishable goods, such as
feathers, silks, etc., the unnecessary destruction
of property was very great.
To-day, fires are fought much more scientifi-
cally, and with a great deal more system, than

were those of ten or twenty years ago; and of-
ficers in command of engine companies are
usually very careful not to use any more water
than is absolutely necessary. Nearly every
hose-wagon in the New York Fire Department
to-day carries three sizes of hose the regula-
tion size, 2'-inch, used at all ordinary fires;
3-inch (known as third alarm hose," and only
used at fires of considerable magnitude), and a
small hose carried on a reel under the wagon.
This hose is iY inches in diameter, and very
easy to handle, and, on account of the ease with
which any number of lengths of it can be car-
ried about, it is that oftenest used'at small fires
in dwelling-houses, office-buildings, and flats.
With a controlling nozzle on the end, the fire-
man can dash up several flights of stairs and
into a bedroom or closet, and extinguish a
small fire before it has time to spread, using
the water only where it is absolutely needed.
To drag the regulation size (it weighs about
eighty pounds to the length) up and around
winding stair-ways, etc., would take much
longer, and perhaps give a fire time to get just


beyond the point of easy control; besides, when
the water is finally started, a great deal more is
used by this hose than is necessary, especially
in the case of a small fire. It has been practi-
cally demonstrated that a considerable amount
of fire can be extinguished with a small amount
of water applied effectively, and the use of the
small hose has 'done much to reduce the dam-
age by water at fires in dwellings and flats.
Then the Chemical Engine," used consid-
erably in the fire departments of several cities,
has aided materially in lowering the loss by
water at small fires. The preparation carried in
the tanks of these engines has a double ad-
vantage; not only does it extinguish a large
body of fire with the use of a small amount of
water, but the liquid itself evaporates quickly,


leaving very little drip" in the apartments or
floors underneath the fire.
The tanks of these engines are charged with
a solution of bi-carbonate of soda (baking soda)
and water, with a small cylinder of sulphuric
acid suspended at the top. When the tank is
inverted, this acid is emptied into the soda and
water, and the mixture at once generates car-
bonic-acid gas at a great pressure. Charging
the liquid with this gas gives it the necessary
pressure to drive it a considerable distance.

The hose is coiled around a reel on top of the
engine, and always connected with the tanks, so
when the firemen arrive at a fire all they have
to do is to run off as much hose as they need,
dash upstairs with the line, give the order to
"dump one of the tanks (there are two, car-
rying sixty gallons each), and they are all ready
to go to work. The Chemical Engine, a pic-
ture of which is shown on this page, has extin-
guished more than twenty-five fires of consider-
able size since it has been in service in the
New York Department, a little over a year. It
is stationed on the upper west side of the city,
where there are a great number of dwellings
and flats, and it has aided materially in keeping
down the fire losses in that part of New York.
With the use of improved methods such as I
have describ-
ed, the losses
by water at
fires have un-
been greatly
reduced in
the past few
years in our
larger cities,
but it is also
due to the
efficiency of
a separate or-
entirely inde-
pendent of
S-the Fire De-
an immense
amount of
property is
saved annually from destruction by water and
by fire as well.
No doubt many people have noticed, when
an alarm of fire has been sounded and the fire
apparatus arrives, a big red wagon dashing up,
filled with men wearing red fire-hats and white
rubber coats. They seem to be part of the regu-
lar Fire Department, and yet are not. They
are dressed to all appearances like the regula-
tion firemen, but their work is different, and
few people know that they represent a separate



branch of the fire service, and one entirely un-
connected with the regular department.
In New York the organization is known as
the Fire Patrol," and it is controlled and sup-
ported by the Board of Fire Underwriters, act-
ing for the various fire-insurance companies.
Practically, this detachment of the Fire Patrol,
that responds at every alarm of fire, is simply the
representatives of all the insurance companies
put together. The companies are assessed pro-
portionally for the support of this Patrol, and
the immense amount of property saved annually
by this efficient body of men proves that the
money is well spent. This organization is found
in nearly every large city in the United States,
and is known variously under such names as
Fire Patrol, Protective Department, and Sal-
vage Corps;. but their work in each city is
practically the same.
The history of the New York branch of this
novel addition to the fire service is not uninter-
esting, for its establishment dates back to the be-
ginning of the present century, at which time it
was known as the "Mutual Assistance Bag
Originally this was a banding together of
New York merchants for mutual protection at
fires. Each member of the above company "
wore a badge of distinction" at fires, consist-
ing of a round hat with a black rim and a white
crown bearing the initial letters of the organi-
zation "M. A." on the front. He was also
armed with two stout canvas bags about two by
three feet in size, having upon the outside his
name in full and the letters M. A. surrounded
by a circle. At each alarm of fire the members
of the company responded with hat and bags;
and, if a fellow-member's property was in dan-
ger, saved what they could, and conveyed it
in these bags to some place of safety.
We find among the list of members of this
organization in 1803 such names as Beekman,
Bleecker, Cruger, Cutting, De Peyster, Roose-
velt, Stuyvesant, and others as well known;
showing that many of the pioneer merchants of
New York City were incorporators of this mu-
tual fire-protective association. It is extremely
interesting to picture to the mind a group of
these sturdy old Knickerbockers, working ener-
getically amid the exciting surroundings of a

fire, stowing goods and chattels away in canvas
bags bearing names that have since become
historically famous or prominently identified
with the growth of old Manhattan.
In 1839 the present Fire Patrol was organ-
ized, practically evolving, so far -as records
show, from this same Mutual Bag Company.
Their headquarters were on Dutch Street, where
a small wagon, pulled by hand, was kept stored
on the top floor of a building. This wagon
was lowered to the street each evening at 7 P. M.,
and hoisted back again at 5 A. M.; between
these hours the fire patrolmen were on duty.
Later the service was increased by the addition
of another wagon and more men; and in 1870
the patrol was re-organized and put upon a
more substantial and more effective basis.
Three stations were opened in different parts
of the city and the companies, under command
of three officers, were taken from the regular Fire
Department. The most approved wagons and
the best telegraphic instruments were intro-
duced, and the finest horses obtainable were
purchased for the service.
It is a question whether any branch of the
regular Fire Department responded so quickly as
the detachments from these different stations;
and they presented a stirring picture as they
thundered along on their way to a fire.
The service in New York has been still
further enlarged, and to-day there are five sta-
tions, each containing two sections or two com-
plete companies; so when one section responds
to an alarm, another complete section (officer,
men, and wagon) is left in quarters. Each
station is manned by a captain, a lieutenant, a
sergeant and from sixteen to twenty-four per-
manent men, and is further strengthened at
night by the addition of ten auxiliary men who
can be called upon at any moment for service.
These are men who work during the day at
various other occupations and are paid only
for the time they are at fires. The permanent
force is also recruited from these "auxiliary
A section of this Patrol responds to every
alarm of fire in New York City. They are en-
tirely independent of the department system,
their only connection being a telegraphic one
by which they get all alarms from fire head-




quarters. When they arrive at a fire their duty is
to save property and protect it from damage by
water. This they do by removing it when pos-
sible, or by covering it in the buildings with
immense oil skin or tarpaulin covers. Twenty-
four of these covers are carried in each wagon,
and each measures fourteen by twenty feet.
This makes 6,720 square feet of covering ma-
terial, and a great deal of furniture, household
goods, or valuable stock can be protected from
water with the first wagon-load of covers.
When more are needed, another wagon is sent
These covers are not only spread over goods
upon counters, tables, and so on, but they are
fastened up at the sides of stores to protect
property on the shelves. They can be hung
over perishable goods in such a manner as to
keep them practically intact while a serious fire
is extinguished in the building above them.
The Fire Patrol men also take charge of a
building after a fire and clean out all the rub-
bish and water. They also board up broken
windows and openings made in the dead-lights
over cellars, cover roofs that have been either
burnt or cut away during the fire, and leave a

man in charge until the losses have been ad-
justed with the insurance companies.
They work in perfect harmony with the regu-
lar Fire Department, and very often are of great
assistance to the latter, helping them to make
openings in the buildings so as to get the lines
of hose in position, and aiding the regular fire-
men in other ways. Their record of life-saving
at fires is a brilliant one, several of the most
daring rescues having been performed by mem-
bers of the Fire Patrol.
Some of the wagons carry a complete set of
life-saving appliances, such as scaling-ladders
and life-nets, and the wagons also contain a
large assortment of the tools used at fires. Small
fires are frequently extinguished by the Patrol
men, for they are very often the first company
to arrive, and with the two portable fire-ex-
tinguishers, carried on each wagon, a small
fire can be, put out before the arrival of the
engines. Thus it can be seen that their value
as an aid to the regular Fire Department is not
to be underestimated.
Nor is it to be imagined for a moment that
their work at fires is free from danger. They
sometimes perform their special line of work






under even more trying circumstances than do goods, or in some of the big business buildings
the firemen. At "top story" or "upstairs" on Broadway (especially in the Dry Goods
fires in big warehouses filled with perishable District "), while the firemen are working above,

~i~- "3,

5 If I M



or on a line with the fire, the fire patrolmen are
working underneath making the most heroic
efforts to save a stock sometimes fifteen or
twenty times the value of that being consumed
by the fire. They work in a smoke-charged
atmosphere, spreading and hanging their cov-
ers while a scalding deluge of water blisters
their hands, faces, and necks; for the tons
of water being poured upon
the flames have to pass through
the fire before they descend
and often come down almost
An incident that occurred
at a severe fire in a big busi-
ness house some two years .
ago will give an idea of what
the members of these protec-
tive departments have to face
at times in order to save prop-
erty. The fire broke out about
midnight in the basement of
an immense fireproof building
on Greene Street, extending a
whole block from West Fourth
Street to Washington Place.
When the firemen arrived, half.
the basement, or practically
half the block, was in flames,
but on account of the fire-
proof construction of the build-
ing the fire was confined
to the basement part. The
fire was burning so fiercely
that the shutters of the base-
ment windows were almost red-
hot and the dead-lights over
the sidewalk were so heated
that the tar around the glass
was bubbling and running in
streams across the walk to the
gutter. The construction of
the building was very substan- FIRE-PAT
tial, and it was almost im-
possible for the firemen to make an entrance;
indeed, the windows and dead-lights had to be
broken in before they could secure access to the
building and get to work.
The basement was occupied by a straw-hat
manufacturer, and the captain of No. 2 Fire

Patrol (one of the first companies to arrive) felt
sure there must be a sub-cellar stored with a
most perishable stock. How to reach it before
the firemen began to throw water upon the fire
was the question. It seemed well nigh impos-
sible to get into the basement through the regu-
lar entrances, and to venture in while the fire
was raging as it was seemed almost foolhardy,

w- .-.. M t^ :

but he determined to reach the cellar at any
cost and find out what it contained. After con-
siderable effort he succeeded in making an en-
trance on the north side of the building (the
main body of fire was on the south end), and
groping his way through the smoke and dark-



ness, lantern in hand, he found himself in the
basement. The heat was intense and the air
stifling. Ahead of him in the corner. of the
basement he could see the flames rolling about,
crackling and roaring as they devoured case after
case of goods. Peering through the thick at-
mosphere, it was some time before he could
discover anything that looked like the entrance
to the cellar; but finally he spied a door about
midway in the basement that he felt sure must
lead to the sub-cellar. It was dangerously near
the roaring furnace ahead of him, and he thought
to himself: Can I reach that and get into the
cellar and back again before the fire cuts me
off? He made up his mind at least to make
the effort. So he walked cautiously across the
basement floor toward the door, keeping his eye
on the fire all the time. It grew hotter and hotter
as he advanced, and the perspiration was pouring
from his face in great beads, and he was almost
suffocated when his hand finally rested on the
knob of the door. He opened it and stepped
inside. What a relief! The transformation
was almost marvelous, for the change from the
heated atmosphere of the basement to the cool
air of the cellar was like stepping out of a red-
hot oven into an ice-box.
He descended the cellar stairs rapidly, and
holding his lantern aloft, looked about him. It
was as he had suspected. The cellar was filled
with immense cases of straw hats, and although,
owing to the fire-proof floor, the fire probably
could not descend, when the many streams got to
work, the damage by water would be enormous.
He hastily ascended; peering cautiously out
of the door, he found the fire had not advanced
any further. He then made his way quickly
through the dense smoke to the street.
He reported to the Superintendent of the
Patrol, who had arrived by this time, the fact
that he had been in the basement and his dis-
covery in the cellar, and told him he could do
a great deal of good if he could only take the
men down, and cover up the stock. The super-
intendent was at first loth to let him do so, for
the situation looked too dangerous, but finally
he gave permission and the captain gathered
his patrolmen about him, and armed with
covers they followed him to the sub-cellar to
cover up."

By this time the companies that had re-
sponded to the second and third alarms sent
out were at work, as well as the companies
that had been ordered into the basement; and
the air in the cellar was not as pleasant as when
the captain had first descended. The fire had
begun to settle," and the sub-cellar was filled
with a thick, murky smoke, while a constant,
scalding drip was falling from the ceiling.
In this dim, stifling atmosphere the patrol-
men went to work with a will, spreading their
waterproof covers over case after case of valua-
ble stock, while overhead they could hear the
roaring and crackling of the flames, the splash-
ing of the many streams as they were dashed
about, and now and then a dull crash as some
heavy piece of masonry was crumbled away by
the heat. These were conditions under which
few men would care to labor, and yet the mem-
bers of the Patrol were working energetically,
scarcely giving a thought to the danger that
hung above them.
At any moment the fire raging in the base-
ment over their heads might get beyond the
control of the firemen battling with it, and,
spreading, cut off all means of escape, or the
steel and iron structure of the building, warped
and twisted by the dreadful heat it was being
subjected to, might give way and send floor
after floor loaded with heavy merchandise
crashing down upon them. This and a hun-
dred other possibilities menaced them while
they labored in the murky cellar; and when
the work was done ioi covers had been spread
and property valued at over a hundred thous-
and dollars had been saved from destruction.
When No. 2 Patrol returned to quarters the
next morning (for it was nearly morning be-
fore they were through), there was scarcely a
member whose.neck, hands, and wrists were not
scalded and blistered to a painful degree, for
they had worked during nine hours in a veri-
table shower-bath of boiling water, from which
there was no escape.
Nor do they always get off so easily as in
this case; many members have been maimed
and injured at fires while in their endeavor to
protect property. This little clipping, taken
from a New York paper during 1893, tells
how one brave man lost his life in the ser-



vice, and the history of the organization has
many similar cases.

August Milner of Fire Patrol No. I was killed while
on duty at a fire last night at No. 436 Pearl Street. The
building, a picture-frame factory, was stored with naph-
tha and varnish, which made a fierce blaze. Patrolmen
Milner, Albert Donovan, James Burnett, George W.


Waddy, and Theodore F. Ailing, all members of No. I
Patrol, were at work on the ground-floor covering up
costly picture-frames with tarpaulin, when the ceiling
came down, together with a lot of picture-frames stacked
against the wall. Milner was pinned down by the de-
bris with Donovan.
The flames were spreading rapidly, but the members
of hook and ladder company No. o1 rushed to the res-
cue. Frank Orgne of No. Io pulled Donovan out. The
hose was turned on the debris to prevent the flames from

reaching Milner, who was completely covered. His
would-be rescuers had to retreat to save their own lives,
leaving him to his fate. It was said by Milner's comrade
that he must have been killed by the falling debris.

At fires in the homes of the poor these de-
tachments of the Patrol work just as earnestly
and conscientiously to save property as they
would in the expensively furnished mansions
of the rich. At tenement-
house fires they are of great
service. First they aid in get-
ting the people out; then,
gathering the goods together,
the patrolmen protect them
from water with tarpaulin cov-
ers. The majority of these fires
break out in the basements or
cellars; then, following the air-
and light-shafts to the top floor,
they spread, and do the greatest
damage in the upper stories.
To extinguish these fires, the
other floors below have to be
flooded, and were it not for the
Fire Patrol in many cases the
poor families would lose every-
thing they owned. As one of
the captains of the Patrol re-
marked: Why, it would do
your heart good if you could
hear how profuse these poor
people are in their thanks, and
'the blessings they shower on us
when they find we 've saved
their things. They go running
i 1'1':-, around, wringing their hands
't' and crying: Everything 's
lost! Everything's lost!' and
then, when the fire is out, we
lead them back and show them
their things, as dry as a chip
under the covers, and--well,
say there is n't anything they would n't do for
us! Half the time they 're not insured, and
it is n't our business to protect people who are
not; but we 're not supposed to know every-
thing, and our orders are to protect property
first and find out whether it is insured after-
wards; and it is not our fault if we save the
little all of a lot of poor creatures who half the


time have n't a change of clothes to their back.
You bet, we get to work just as quick in a tene-
ment-house fire as in a big house on Fifth Av-
enue, and we do the same work in both places,
no matter whether it's for the rich or the poor."
At serious fires in the dry-goods district, or
in big buildings and stores filled with valuable
stock, the efficient work performed by the Patrol
can scarcely be estimated. Most of these fires
also spread to the upper floors, and about the
only thing that can extinguish them effectively
is the "water-tower." This appliance is the
greatest friend and the greatest enemy that the
insurance companies have; for while it puts out
a big fire quickly, at the same time it destroys
valuable property with water. When a fire is
raging in the upper part of a high building the
water-tower can throw an immense stream prac-
tically on a line with the fire, and it can be
driven clear through a floor or loft, really wash-
ing the fire out; but the tons of water descend-
ing through the floors below play sad havoc
with a valuable stock; and in a structure filled
with silks, laces, dry goods, upholstery mate-
rials, or similar commodities, it can be readily
seen what an immense amount of damage
would be done if it were not for the quick cov-
ering of -goods by the Patrol. There is no
doubt that the annual saving to the insurance
companies by the New York organization
amounts to millions of dollars, so it can be
seen that its existence is not in vain.
In the picture on page 981 the water-tower
is seen at work at a recent big fire in New

York; and the picture also shows the stand-pipe
or monitor-nozzle at the end of the wagon that
carries the tower. Two "street-lines are also
at work, striking the fifth and sixth floors re-
spectively. While more or less of the water sent
from the street-lines is spent on the outside of
the building, the stream from the tower goes
straight in through the fifth-story window, and
very little of the water is lost outside. At a
rough estimate, there are about 1o,ooo gallons a
minute passing through these four streams, and
some idea of the drip within the building can
be formed from the miniature Niagara pouring
off the shed outside. Had the lower part of
the building been filled with dry goods or other
perishable stock, the loss would have been
enormous; but as it was filled with wines
and liquors in cases, the loss, though heavy,
was light in comparison with the amount of
water used.
With a perfect Fire Department such as New
York possesses to-day, and an efficient auxiliary
force in the Fire Patrol that I have just de-
scribed, the wholesale losses by fire of former
years ought to be. soon a thing of the past in
this great city. With the two forces combined,
we have undoubtedly before us the greatest
fire-service of any city in the world. Yet, when
we consider that in 1896 there were 4309 alarms
of fire in New York city, and that out of this
number 3890 were actual fires, we can easily
realize that there must be a perfect organiza-
tion to combat such a foe. That New York
possesses such an organization I firmly believe.


VOL. XXIV.- 124.


--; __ ,--



[Begun in the November number.]
DOWN the path and under the gate the rains
had washed a shallow rut in the earth. Two
pebbles, loosened by the closing of the gate,
rolled down the rut and out upon the little
spreading fan of sand that whitened in the
There was the house with the black beams
checkering its yellow walls. There was the old
bench by the door, and the lettuce in the gar-
den-bed. There were the beehives, and the
bees humming among the orchard boughs.
"Why, father, what!" cried Nick, dost na
know me yet ? See, 't is I Nick, thy son."
A strange look came into the tanner's face.
" I do na know thee, boy," he answered heav-
ily; thou canst na enter here."
But, father, indeed 't is I "
Simon Attwood looked across the town, yet
he did not see the town; across the town into
the sky, yet he did not see the sky, nor the
drifting banks of cloud, nor the sunlight shin-
ing on the clouds. I say I do na know thee,"
he replied; be off to the place whence ye ha'
Nick's hand was almost on the latch. He
stopped. He looked up into his father's face.
"Why, father, I 've come home "he gasped.
The gate shook in the tanner's grip. Have
I na telled thee twice I do na know thee, boy ?
No house o' mine shall e'er be home for thee.
Thou hast no part or parcel here. Get thee
out o' my sight."
Oh, father, father, what do ye mean ?"
cried Nick, his lips scarcely able to shape the
Do na ye father' me no more," said Simon
Attwood, bitterly; I be na father to stage-
playing, vagabond rogues. And begone, I say.

Dost hear ? Must I e'en thrust thee forth ?"
He raised his hand as if to strike.
Nick fell away from the latchet-gate, dumb-
stricken with amazement, shame, and grief.
Oh, Nick," cried Cicely, "come away -
the wicked, wicked man "
It is my father, Cicely."
She stared at him. "And thou dost hate my
father so ? Oh, Nick oh, Nick!"
Will ye be gone ? called Simon Attwood,
half opening the gate; "must I set constables
on thee ? "
Nick did not move. A numbness had crept
over him like palsy. Cicely caught him by the
hand. "Come, let us go back to my father,"
she said. He will not turn us out."
Scarcely knowing what he did, he followed
her, stumbling in the level path as though he
were half blind or had been beaten upon the
head. He did not cry. This was past all cry-
ing. He let himself be led along it made no
matter where.
In Chapel lane there was a crowd along the
Great House wall; and on the wall Ned Lane
and Martin Addenbroke were sitting. There
were heads of people moving on the porch and
in the court, and the yard was all a-bustle and
to-do. But there was nobody in the street,
and no one looked at Nick and Cicely.
The Great House looked very fair in the sun
of that May day, with its homely gables of
warm red brick and sunburnt timber, its cheery
roof of Holland tile, and the sunlight flashing
from the diamond panes that were leaded into
the sashes of the great bay-window on the east-
ern garden side.
In the garden all was stir-about and merry
voices. There was a little green court before
the house, and a pleasant lawn coming down
to the lane from the doorway porch. The
house stood to the left of the entry-drive, and
the barn-yard to the right was loud with the


blithe crowing of the cocks. But the high
brick wall shut out the street where Nick and
Cicely trudged dolefully along, and to Nick
the lane seemed very full of broken crockery
and dirt, and the sunlight all a mockery. ,The
whole of the year had not yet been so dark as
this, for there had ever been the dream of
coming home. But now-he suffered himself
to be led along; that was enough.
They had come past the Great House up
from Chapel street, when a girl came out of
the western gate, and with her hand above her
eyes looked after them. She seemed in doubt,
but looked again, quite searchingly; then, as
one who is not sure, but does not wish to miss
a chance, called out, "Nick Attwood! Nick
Cicely looked back to see who called. She
did not know the girl, but saw her beckon.
"There is some one calling, Nick," said she.
Nick stopped in a hopeless sort of way, and
looked back down the street.
When he had turned so that the girl at the
gate could see his face, she left the gate wide
open behind her, and came running quickly up
the street after them. As she drew nearer he
saw that it was Susannah Shakspere, though she
was very much grown since he had seen her
last. He watched her running after them as if
it were none of his affair.. But when she had
caught up with them, she took him by the
shoulder smartly and drew him back toward
the gate. "Why, Nicholas Attwood," she
cried, all out of breath, come straightway
into the house with me. My father hath been
hunting after thee. the whole way up from Lon-
don town! "

THERE in the Great House garden under the
mulberry-trees stood Master Will Shakspere,
with Masters Jonson, Burbage, Hemynge, Con-
dell, and a goodly number more, who had just
come up from London town, as well as Alder-
man Henry Walker of Stratford, good old John
Combe of the college, and Michael Drayton,
the poet of Warwick. For Master Shakspere
had that morning bought the Great House,

with its gardens and barns, of Master William
Underhill, for sixty pounds sterling, and was
making a great feast for all his friends to cele-
brate the day.
The London players all clapped their hands
as Nick and Cicely came up the garden-path,
and, Upon my word, Will," declared Master
Jonson, "the lad is a credit to this old town
of thine. A plucky fellow, I say,-a right
plucky fellow. Found the lass and brought her
home all safe and sound -why, 't is done like
a true knight-errant! "
Master Shakspere met them with outstretched
hands. "Thou young rogue," said he, smiling,
"how thou hast forestalled us! Why, here we
have been weeping for thee as lost, strayed, or
stolen; and all the while thou wert nestling in
the bosom of thine own sweet home. How
doth the beloved little mother?"
I ha' na seen my mother," faltered Nick.
Father will na let me in."
"What? How?"
My father will na have me any more, sir-
saith I shall never be his son again. Oh,
Master Shakspere, why did they steal me from
home? "
They were all crowding about now, and
Master Shakspere had hold of the boy. "Why,
what does this mean ? he asked. "What on
earth has happened ? "
Between the two children, in broken words,
the story came out.
"Why, this is a sorry tale!" said Master
Shakspere. Does the man not know that
thou wert stolen, that thou wert kept against
thy will, that thou hast trudged half-way from
London for thy mother's sake ? "
"He will na leave me tell him, sir. He
would na even listen to me!"
The muckle shrew! quoth Master Jonson.
"Why, I'11 have this out with him! By Jupiter,
I'11 read him reason with a vengeance! With
a clink of his rapier, he made as if to be off at
"Nay, Ben," said Master Shakspere; "cool
thy blood--a quarrel will not serve. This
tanner is a bitter-minded, heavy-handed man
- he 'd only throw thee in-a pickling-vat."
"What! Then he 'd never tan another



/ /

"And would that serve the purpose, Ben? "The children? Why, as for them," said
The cure should better the disease- the chil- Master Jonson, in his blunt, outspoken way,
dren must be thought about." I '11 think thee a thought offhand to serve the




turn. What? Why, this tanner calls us vaga-
bonds. Vagabonds, forsooth! Yet vagabonds
are gallows-birds, and gallows-birds are ravens.
And ravens, men say, do foster forlorn children.
Take my point? Good, then; let us ravenous
vagabonds take these two children for our own,
Will,-thou one, I t' other,-and by praise-
worthy fostering singe this fellow's very brain
with shame."
"Why, here, here, Ben Jonson," spoke up
Master Burbage, "this is all very well for Will
and thee; but, pray, where do Hemynge, Con-
dell, and I come in upon the bill? Come,
man, 't is a pity if we cannot all stand together
in this real play as well as in all the make-be-
"That's my sort! cried Master Hemynge.
"Why, what? Here is a player's daughter
who has no father, and a player whose father
will not have him,- orphaned by fate, and
disinherited by folly,- common stock with us
all! Marry, 't is a sort of stock I want some
of. Kind hearts are trumps, my honest Ben
-make it a stock company, and let us all
be in."
"That 's no bad fancy," added Condell,
slowly, for John Condell was a cold, shrewd
man. "There 's merit in the lad beside his
voice -that cannot keep its sweetness long;
but his figure 's good, his wit is quick, and'he
has a very taking style. It would be worth
while, Dick. And, Will," said he, turning to
Master Shakspere, who listened with half a
smile to all that the others said, "-he '11 make a
better Rosalind than Roger Prynne for thy new
"So he would," said Master Shakspere;
"but before we put him into As You Like It,'
suppose we ask him how he does like it ? Nick,
thou hast heard what all these gentlemen have
said what hast thou to say, my lad ? "
"Why, sirs, ye are all kind," answered Nick
unsteadily, his voice beginning to tremble,
" very, very kind indeed, sirs; but I I
want my mother oh, masters, I do want
my mother!"
At that John Combe turned on his heel and
walked out of the gate. Out of the garden gate
walked he, and down the dirty lane, setting his
cane down stoutly as he went, past gravel-pits

and pens, to Southam's lane, and in at the door
of Simon Attwood's tannery.

It was noon when he went in; yet the hour
struck, and no one came or went from the tan-
nery. Mistress Attwood's dinner grew cold
upon the board, and Dame Combe looked
vainly across the fields toward the town.
But about the middle of the afternoon John
Combe came out of the tannery door, and Si-
mon Attwood came behind him. And as John
Combe came down the cobbled way, a trail of
brown vat-liquor followed him, dripping from
his clothes, for he was soaked to the skin. His
long gray hair had partly dried in strings about
his ears, and his fine lace collar was a drabbled
shame; but there was a singular untroubled
smile upon his plain old face.
Simon Attwood stayed to lock the door, fum-
bling his keys as if his sight had failed; but
when the heavy bolt was shut, he turned and
called after John Combe, so that the old man
stopped in the way and dripped a puddle until
the tanner came up to where he stood. And
as he came up Attwood asked, in such a tone
as none had ever heard from his mouth before,
" Combe, John Combe, what's done 's done,-
and oh, John, the pity of it! yet will ye still
shake hands wi' me, John, afore ye go ? "
John Combe took Simon Attwood's bony
hand and wrung it hard in his stout old grip,
and looked the tanner squarely in the eyes;
then, still smiling serenely to himself, and setting
his cane down stoutly as he walked, dripped
home, and got himself into dry clothes without
a word.
But Simon Attwood went down to the river,
and sat upon a flat stone under some pollard
willows, and looked into the water.
What his thoughts were no one knew, nor
ever shall know; but he was fighting with him-
self, and more than once groaned bitterly. At
first he only shut his teeth and held his tem-
ples in his hands; but after a while he began
to cry to himself over and over again, 0 Ab-
salom, my son, my son! 0 my son Absalom!"
and then only My son, my son! And when
the day began to wane above the woods of Ar-
den, he arose, and came up from the river,
walking swiftly; and, looking neither to the


right nor to the left, came to the Great House
garden, and went in at the gate.
At the door the servant met him, but saw
his face, and let him pass without a word; for
he looked like a desperate man whom there
was no stopping.
So, with a grim light burning in his eyes, his
hat in his hand, and his clothes all drabbled
with the liquor from his vats, the tanner strode
into the dining-hall.

THE table had been cleared of trench-
ers and napkins, the crumbs brushed
away, and a clean platter set be-
fore each guest, with pared
cheese, fresh cherries, bis-
cuit, caraways, and
There were about
the long table, be-
side Master Shakspere
himself, who sat at
the head of the board,
Masters Richard and
Cuthbert Burbage,
John Condell, and
Peter Hemynge,
Master Shakspere's
partners; Master Ben
Jonson, his dearest
friend; Thomas Pope,
who played his finest "( Y
parts; John Lowin,
Samuel Gilburne, -
Robert Nash,and Wil- -7
liam Kemp, players f'
of the Lord Cham-
berlain's Company; 'JOHN COMBED TOOK SIMON
Edmund Shakspere,
the actor, who was Master William Shakspere's
younger brother, and Master John Shakspere, his
father; Michael Drayton, the Midland bard; Bur-
gess Robert Getley, Alderman Henry Walker,
and William Hart, the Stratford hatter, brother-
in-law to Master Shakspere.
On one side of the table, between Master
Jonson and Master Richard Burbage, Cicely

was seated upon a high chair, with a wreath of
early crimson rosesin her hair, attired in the gown
in which Nick saw her first a year before. On
the other side of the table Nick had a place
between Master Drayton
and Robert Getley, fa-
ther of his friend
Robin. Half-way
down there was //


N P,
__=~> wj"


an empty chair: Master John Combe was
That was no common party. In all Eng-
land better company could not have been
found. Some few of them the whole round
world could not have matched then, and could
not match now.
It would be worth a fortune to know the




things they said,-the quips, the jests, the
merry tales that went round that board,- but
time has left too little of what such men said
and did.
'T was Master Shakspere on his feet, wel-
coming his friends to his "New Place with
quiet words that made them glad to live and
to be there, when suddenly he stopped, his hands
upon the table by his chair, and stared.
The tanner stood there, silent, in the door-
Nick's face turned pale. Cicely clung to
Master Jonson's arm.
Simon Attwood stepped into the room, and
Master Shakspere went quickly to meet him in
the middle of the floor.
Master Will Shakspere," said the tanner,
hoarsely, "I ha' come about a matter." There
he stopped, not knowing what to say, for he
was overwrought.
Out with it, sir," said Master Shakspere,
sternly. There is much here to be said."
The tanner wrung his hat within his hands,
and looked about the ring of cold, averted
faces. Soft words with him were few; he had
forgotten tender things; and, indeed, what he
meant to do was no easy thing for any man.
"Come, say what thou hast to say," said
Master Shakspere, resolutely; "and say it
quickly, that we may have done."
There 's nought that I can say," said Si-
mon Attwood, "but that I be sorry, and I
want my son! Nick- Nick he faltered bro-
kenly, I be wrung for thee. Will ye na come
home -just for thy mother's sake, Nick, if ye
will na come for mine ? "
Nick started from his seat with a glad cry-
then stopped. But Cicely ?" he said.
The tanner wrung his hat within his hands,
and his face was dark with trouble. Master
Shakspere looked at Master Jonson.
Nick stood hesitating, between Cicely and
his father, faithful to his promise, though his
heart was sick for home.
An odd light had been struggling dimly in
Simon Attwood's troubled eyes. Then all at
once it shone out bright and clear, and he
clapped his bony hand upon the stout oak
chair. "Bring her along," he said. "I ha'
little enough, but I will do the best I can.

Maybe 't will somehow right the wrong I ha'
done," he added huskily. "And, neighbors,
I'11 go surety to the Council that she shall na
fall a pauper or a burden to the town. My
trade is ill enough, but, sirs, it will stand for
forty pound the year at a fair cast up. Bring
the lass wi' thee, Nick we '11 make out, lad,
we '11 make out. God will na let it all go
Master Jonson and Master Shakspere had
been nodding and talking together in a low
tone, smiling like men very well pleased about
something, and straightway Master Shakspere
left the room.
"Wilt thou come, lad ?" asked the tanner,
holding out his hands.
"Oh, father !" cried Nick; then he choked
so that he could say no more, and his eyes were
so full of mist that he could scarcely find his
father where he stood.
But there was no need of more; Simon Att-
wood was answered.
Voices buzzed about the room. The ser-
vants whispered in the hall. Nick held his
father's gnarled hand in his own, and looked
curiously up into his face, as if for the first time
knowing what it was to have a father.
"Well, lad, what be it ? asked the tanner,
huskily, laying his hand on his son's curly head,
which was nearly up to his shoulder now.
Nothing," said Nick, with a happy smile,
"only mother will be glad to have Cicely-
won't she ? "
Master Shakspere came into the room with
something in his hand, and walking to the
table, laid it down.
It was a heavy buckskin bag, tied tightly
with a silken cord, and sealed with red wax
stamped with the seals of Master Shakspere
and Master Jonson.
Every one was watching him intently, and
one or two of the gentlemen from London
were smiling in a very knowing way.
He broke the seals, and loosening the thong
which closed the bag, took out two other bags,
one of which was just double its companion's
size. They also were tied with silken cord and
sealed with the two seals on red wax. There
was something printed roughly with a quill pen
upon each bag, but Master Shakspere kept


that side turned toward himself so that the
others could not see.
Come, come, Will," broke in Master Jon-
son, don't be all day about it! "
"The more haste the worse speed, Ben,"
said Master Shakspere, quietly. I have a
little story to tell ye all."
So they all listened.
"When Gaston Carew, lately master-player
of the Lord High Admiral's company, was
arraigned before my Lord Justice for the kill-
ing of that rascal Fulk Sandells, there was
not a man of his own company had the grace
to lend him even so much as sympathy.
But there were still some in London who
would not leave him totally' friendless in such
Some?" interrupted MasterJonson, bluntly;
"then o-n-e spells some.' The names of them
all were Will Shakspere."
Tut, tut, Ben! said Master Shakspere, and
went on: But when the indictment was read,
and those against him showed their hand, it
was easy to see -that the game was up. None
saw this sooner than Carew himself; yet he
carried himself like a man, and confessed the
charge without a quiver. They brought him
the book, to read a verse and save his neck,
perhaps, by pleading benefit of clergy. But he
knew the temper of those against him, and that
nothing might avail; so he refused the plea,
quietly, saying, I am no clerk, sirs. All I
wish to read in this case is what my own hand
wrote upon that scoundrel Sandells.' It was
soon over. When the judge pronounced his
doom, all Carew asked for was a friend to
speak with a little while aside. This the court
allowed; so he sent for me--we played to-
gether with Henslowe, he and I, ye know. He
had not much to say -for once in his life," -
here Master Shakspere smiled with gentle pity,
--"but he sent his love forever to his only
daughter Cicely."
Cicely was sitting up, listening with wide
eyes; and eagerly nodded her head, as if to
say, "Of course."
"He also begged of'Nicholas Attwood that
he would forgive him whatever wrong he had
done him."
"Why, that I will, sir," choked Nick,

brokenly; "he was wondrous kind to me, ex-
cept that he would na leave me go."
"After that," continued Master Shakspere,
"he made known to me a sliding panel in the
wainscot of his house, wherein was hidden all
he had on earth to leave to those he loved the
best, and who, he hoped, loved him."
Everybody loves my father," said Cicely,
smiling and nodding again. Master Jonson
put his arm around the back of her chair, and
she leaned her head upon it.
Carew said that he had marked upon the
bags which were within the panel the names
of the persons to whom they were to go, and
had me swear, upon my faith as a Christian
man, that I would see them safely delivered
according to his wish. This being done, and
the end come, he kissed me on both cheeks,
and standing bravely up, spoke to them all,
saying that for a man such as he had been it
was easier to end even so than to go on. I
never saw him again."
The great writer of plays paused a moment,
and his lips moved as if he were saying a
prayer. Master Burbage crossed himself.
The bags were found within the wall, as he
had said, and were sealed by Ben Jonson and
myself until we should find the legatees; for
they had disappeared as utterly as if the earth
had gaped and swallowed them. But, by the
Father's grace, we have found them safe and
sound at last; and all's well that ends well! "
Here he turned the buckskin bags around.
On one, in Master Carew's school-boy scrawl,
was printed," For myne Onelie Beeloved Dogh-
ter, Cicely Carew "; on the other," For Nicho-
las Attewode, alias Mastre Skie-lark, whom I,
Gaston Carew, Player, Stole Away from Strat-
ford Toune, Anno Domini 1596."
Nick stared; Cicely clapped her hands; and
Simon Attwood sat down dizzily.
"There," said Master Shakspere, pointing to
the second bag, "are one hundred and fifty
gold rose-nobles. In the other, just three hun-
dred more. Neighbor Attwood, we shall have
no paupers here."
Everybody laughed then and clapped his
hands, and the London players gave a rousing
cheer. Master Ben Jonson's shout might have
been heard in Market Square.


p '....

S, I I


VOL. XXIV.-125.


At this tremendous uproar the servants
peeped at the doors and windows; and Tom
Turnspit, peering in from the buttery hall, and
seeing the two round money-bags plumping on
the table, crept away with such a look of
amazement upon his face that Mollikins, the
scullery-maid, thought he had seen a ghost,
and fled precipitately into the pantry.
And what 's more, Neighbor Tanner," said
Master Richard Burbage, had Carew's daugh-
ter not sixpence to her name, we 'vagabond
players,' as ye have had the scanty grace to
dub us, would have cared for her for the honour
of -the craft, and reared her gently in some
quiet place where there never falls even the
shadow of such evil things as have been the
end of many a right good fellow beside old
Kit Marlowe and Gaston Carew."
And to that end, Neighbor Attwood,"
Master Shakspere added, we have, through
my young Lord Hunsdon, who has just been
made State Chamberlain, Her Majesty's gra-
cious permission to hold this money in trust for
the little maid as guardians under the law."
Cicely stared around, perplexed. Won't
Nick be there?" she asked. Why, then I
will not go- they shall not take thee from me,
Nick! and she threw her arms around him.
" I 'm going to stay with thee till daddy comes,
and be thine own sister forever."
Master Jonson laughed gently, not his usual
roaring laugh, but one that was as tender as his
own bluff heart. Why, good enough, good
enough! The woman who mothered a lad like
Master Skylark here is surely fit to rear the lit-
tle maid."
The London players thumped the table.
"Why, 't is the very trick," said Hemynge.
" Marry, this is better than a play."
It is indeed," quoth Condell. See the
plot come out!"
Thou 'It do it, Attwood why, of course
thou 'It do it," said Master Shakspere. 'T is
an excellent good plan. These funds we hold
in trust will keep thee easy-minded, and war-
rant thee in doing well by both our little folks.
And what 's more," he cried, for the thought
had just come in his head, I have ever heard
thee called an honest man; hard, indeed, per-
haps too hard, but honest as the day is long.

Now I need a tenant for this New Place of
mine some married man with a good house-
wife, and children to be delving in the posy-
beds outside. What sayst thou, Simon Att-
wood? They tell me thy prentice, Job
Hortop, is to marry in July -he '11 take thine
old house at a fair rental. Why, here, neigh-
bor Attwood, thou toil-worn, time-damaged
tanner, bless thy hard old heart, man, come, be
at ease -thou hast ground thy soul out long
enough! Come, take me at mine offer-be
my fellow. The rent shall trickle off thy finger-
tips as easily as water off a duck's back "
Simon Attwood arose from the chair where
he had been sitting. There was a bewildered
look upon his face, and he was twisting his
horny fingers together until the knuckles were
white. His lips parted as if to speak, but he
only swallowed very hard once or twice in-
stead, and looked around at them all. Why,
sir," he said at length, looking at Master Shak-
spere, why, sirs, all of ye, I ha' been a hard
man, and summat of a fool, ay, sirs, a very fool.
I ha' misthought and miscalled ye foully many
a time, and many a time. God knows I be
sorry for it from the bottom o' my heart!"
And with that he sat down and buried his face
in his arms among the dishes on the buffet.
"Nay, Simon Attwood," said Master Shaks-
pere, going to his side and putting his hand
upon the tanner's shoulder, "thou hast only
been mistaken, that is all. Come, sit thee up.
To see thyself mistaken is but to be the wiser.
Why, never the wisest man but saw himself a
fool a thousand times. Come, I have mistaken
thee more than thou hast me; for, on my word,
I thought thou hadst no heart at all -and
that 's far worse than having one which has
but gone astray. Come, Neighbor Attwood,
sit thee up and eat with us."
Nay, I '11 go home," said the tanner, turn-
ing his face away that they might not see his
tears. I be a spoil-sport and a mar-feast
Why, by Jupiter, man! cried Master Jon-
son, bringing his fist down upon the board with
a thump that made the spoons all clink, "thou
art the very merrymaker of the feast. A full
heart 's better than a surfeit any day. Don't
let him go, Will this sort of thing doth make



the whole world kin! Come, Master Attwood,
sit thee down, and make thyself at home. 'T is
not my house, but 't is my friend's, and so 't is
all the same in the Lowlands. Be free of us
and welcome."
I thank ye, sirs," said the tanner, slowly,
turning to the table with rough dignity. Ye
ha' been good to my boy. I '11 ne'er forget
ye while I live. Truly, sirs, there be kind
hearts in the world that I had na dreamed of.
But, masters, I ha' said my say, and know na
more. Your pleasure wunnot be my pleasure,
sirs, for I be only a common man. I will go
home to my wife. There be things to say
before my boy comes home and I ha' muckle
need to tell her that I love her I ha' na done
so these many years."
Why, Neighbor Tanner," cried Master Jon-
son, with flushing cheeks, "thou art a right
good fellow! And here was I, no later than
this morning, red-hot to spit thee upon my
bilbo like a Michaelmas goose!" He laughed
a boyish laugh that it did one's heart good to
Ay," said Master Shakspere, smiling, as he
and Simon Attwood looked into each other's
eyes. "Come, neighbor, I know thou art my
man -so do not go until thou drinkest one
good toast with us, for we are all good friends
and true from this day forth. Come, Ben, a
toast to fit the cue."
"Why, then," replied Master Jonson, in a
good round voice, rising in his place, "here 's
to all kind hearts "
"Wherever they may be! said Master
Shakspere, softly. It is a good toast, and we
all will drink it together."
And so they did. And Simon Attwood went
away with a warmth and a tingling in his heart
he had never known before.
"Margaret," said he, coming quickly in at
the door, as she went silently about the house
with a heavy heart, preparing the supper, Mar-
She dropped the platter upon the board, and
came to him hurriedly, fearing evil tidings.
He took her by the hands. This, even more
than his unusual manner, alarmed her. Why,
Simon," she cried, "what is it? What has
come over thee ? "

"Nought," he replied, looking down at her,
his hard face quivering; but I love thee, Mar-
S"Simon, what dost thou mean?" faltered
Mistress Attwood, her heart going down like
Nought, sweetheart, but that I love thee,
Margaret, and that our lad is coming home!"
Her heart seemed to stop beating.
Margaret," said he, huskily, I do love thee,
lass. Is it too late to tell thee so ? "
Nay, Simon," answered his wife, simply;
't is never too late to mend." And with that
she laughed-but in the middle of her laugh-
ing a tear ran down her cheek.

From the windows of the New Place there
came a great sound of men singing together,
and this was the quaint old song they sang:

"Then here 's a health to all kind hearts
Wherever they may be;
For kindly hearts make but one kin
Of all humanity.
And here 's a rouse to all kind hearts
Wherever, they be found;
For it is the throb of kindred hearts
Doth make the world go round!"

"Why, Will," said Master Burbage, slowly
setting down his glass, "'t is altogether a mid-
summer night's dream."
So it is, Dick," answered Master Shakspere,
with a smile, and a far-away look in his eyes.
"Come, Nicholas, wilt thou not sing for us
just the last few lines of 'When Thou Wakest,'
out of the play ? "
Then Nick stood up quietly, for they all were
his good friends there, and Master Drayton
held his hand while he sang:

"Every man shall take his own,
In your waking shall be shown,
Jack shall have Jill,
Nought shall go ill,
The man shall have his mare again,
and all shall be well! "

They were very still for a little while after
he had done, and the setting sun shone in at
the windows across the table. Then Master
Shakspere said gently, "It is a good place to


"Ay," said Master Jonson, "it is."
So they all got up softly and went out into
the garden, where there were seats under the
trees, and talked quietly among themselves,
saying not much, yet meaning a great deal.
But Nick and Cicely said Good-night, sirs,"
to them all, and bowed; and Master Shakspere
himself let them out at the gate, the others
shaking Nick by the hand with many kind
wishes, and throwing kisses to Cicely until they
went out of sight around the chapel corner.
When the children came to the garden-gate
in front of Nick's father's house, the red roses
still twined in Cicely's hair, Simon Attwood
and his wife Margaret were sitting together
upon the old oaken settle by the door, looking
out into the sunset. And when they saw the
children coming, they arose and came through
the garden, to meet them, Nick's mother with
outstretched hands, and her face bright with
the setting sun. And when she came to where
he was, the whole of that long, bitter year was
nothing any more to Nick.
For then ah! then a lad and his mo-
ther, a son come home! the wandering
ended, and the sorrow done!
She took him to her breast as though he were
a baby still. Her tears ran down upon his

face; yet she was smiling a smile like which
there is no other in all the world a mother's
smile upon her only son, who was astray, but
has come home again.
Oh, the love of a lad for his mother! the
love of a mother for her son unchanged, un-
changing, for right, for wrong, through grief
and shame, in joy, in peace, in absence, in sick-
ness, and in the shadow of death oh, mother-
love, beyond all understanding, so holy that
words but make it common!
"My boy!" was all she said; and then,
" My boy my little boy "
And after a while, "Mother," said he, and
took her face between his strong young hands,
and looked into her happy eyes, mother, dear,
I ha' been to London town, I ha' been to the
palace, and I ha' seen the Queen; but, mother,"
he said, with a little tremble in his voice, for all
he smiled so bravely, "I ha' never seen the
place where I would rather be than just where
thou art, mother dear!"
The soft gray twilight gathered in the little
garden; far-off voices drifted faintly from the
town. The day was done. Cool and still and
filled with gentle peace the starlit night came
down from the dewy hills; and Cicely lay fast
asleep in Simon Attwood's arms.




A LITTLE child lived in black silence. There
never was midnight so dense as the darkness
that enveloped his mind. Sight and hearing
were gone utterly and forever. The child knew
absolutely nothing, except that sometimes from
somewhere Something put food into his mouth,
and moved him about when necessary. His
world was limited by as much of his little
crib as he could feel with his hands, and by

the touch of this Something that cared for
his wants.
The merest babe knows the sunlight and its
mother's voice and face. Five years had passed
over this little boy as he lay on his hospital cot,
but he knew less than a month-old infant-
less, indeed, than the least of the beasts of the
field. He was completely shut up in a living
tomb of flesh, with no communication between




himself and the great world about him. Yet
within that prison was a healthy brain, open to
all the possibilities of life.
Since the terrible sickness that had come to
him in infancy, little Tommy Stringer had lain
thus among strangers. His mother was dead;
his father could not help him. From his birth-
place in Washington, Pennsylvania, the help-
less sufferer had been removed to a hospital
in Allegheny. But no institution wanted
this troublesome charge, who would re-
quire the constant attention of a teacher.
So the almshouse seemed the only haven
for Tommy. There at least he could find
a shelter.
But it was not to be so. Light was
ahead- the glorious light of knowledge.
One who had' been similarly shut in by
the walls of a triple affliction was to lead
Tommy Stringer out into the bright light
that she herself enjoyed. It was during
the summer of 1890 that the news of '
Tommy's sad plight came to Helen Kel-
ler. The sensitive soul of this ten-year-
old girl was deeply affected. She, if no
one else, would save the poor boy.
Thenceforth Tommy became the bur-
den of Helen's thought and conversation.
She talked about him to her friends; she
wrote letter upon letter asking aid for
him. At this time occurred a pathetic
incident that was the means of turning
toward the little blind boy the kindly
interest and generous gifts that accom-
plished his rescue.
The pet and playmate of Helen when
she was at home was a beautiful New- P
foundland dog. Through a foolish blun-
der, this animal was shot by a policeman.
When the news came to Helen, she had
no word of reproach, but simply said,
with beautiful charity, I am sure they never
could have done it if they had only known what
a dear, good dog Lioness' was."
The story of her loss was published widely,
and from far and near- even from across the
ocean came to Helen offers of money or an-
other dog. The little girl had only one answer
to all these kind expressions: she was grateful,
but she did not care for another dog to take the

place of Lioness. Nevertheless, the gift would
be accepted, if the donor so desired, on behalf
of a little deaf, dumb, and blind boy for whom
she was trying to raise money enough to bring
him to Boston to be educated.
In every direction Helen sent this message,
always in a specially written personal letter
that was marked by the sweet simplicity and
remarkable ability of the author. For a long

-" '4

i ;




7 t4. 1 P. IcQLL/

time these letters averaged eight a day, and a
marvelously versatile and eloquent little pleader
Helen showed herself. She also wrote for news-
papers articles addressed to children, as well
as general appeals--never any two precisely
alike. Helen instituted for herself a rigorous
course of self-denial (abstinence from soda-wa-
ter and other prized luxuries), that she might
save money for her one great object. The re-



suit of all this effort was the securing of suffi-
cient funds to insure Tommy at least two years
of education at the Kindergarten for the Blind,
Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts.
Thither, on April 1o, 189r, came "Baby
Tom," as Helen called this five-year-old child.
It was a pitiful spectacle that greeted his Bos-
ton friends when the boy was brought to the
kindergarten. His life had been spent mostly
in bed (it was the easiest place to care for him),
and he could not walk at all, nor even stand
with confidence. Of signs for indicating his
wants he had none. He was as a little beast,
tearing and destroying his own clothes and all
else destructible that was within his reach. His
temper and stubbornness were fearful.
To the appalling task of giving the first rays
of light to this child, Helen and her teacher set
themselves until a permanent instructor could
be secured. With almost inconceivable pa-
tience and love, kind friends began the educa-
tion of this untutored mind. The lessons of
discipline, regular habits, and obedience had to
precede and accompany the teaching of man-
ual speech.
How could this child, who had not the re-
motest conception of any sort of language, be
taught to talk ?
The method, simply stated, was this: Every
time that bread was given to him the letters
"b-r-e-a-d were formed in the manual alpha-
bet on the boy's own fingers, and also in his
hand, by the fingers of his teacher. Again and
again this was repeated, thousands of times.
It was slow work. The mind had lain too
long without knowledge to receive easily the
idea of speech. Even after the teachers were
sure that Tom understood the definite connec-
tion between the word bread," and those fin-
ger-motions, he refused to use his knowledge,
because of his strange perversity. At last, after
nine months of teaching and waiting, the little
fingers voluntarily spelled b-r-e-a-d," and the
beginning had been made.
Other words soon followed, and ere long the
mystery of speech was comprehended. Tom
took his place in the kindergarten classes and
learned all that was taught the other boys.
Reading, writing, arithmetic, sloid, gymnastics,
and other studies were undertaken; and to-day,

in almost all respects save such as are entirely
dependent upon eye and ear, he is as well edu-
cated as the average boy of his years.
Helen remained only a short time at the kin-
dergarten, assisting in the teaching of her
charge. Before very long she removed to an-
other city, and while her interest in him con-
tinued unabated, she was unable to be with
him or to meet him.
Now, after a separation of some years, Helen
has again met her little prot6g6; but it was not
the Tommy Stringer whom she rescued from
a black and living tomb five years ago. That
was a fearsome, weak, and untrained child -

An infant crying in the night,
An infant crying for the light,
And with no language but a cry.

Physically and mentally he was as pitiful a
spectacle as one's eyes would care to behold.
Scarcely able to walk, knowing no word or
sign, he was less than an animal, save for his
soul and the possibilities within him.
The Tom Stringer who now sat by Helen Kel-
ler's side, his fingers nimbly speaking to hers, his
face lighted up by a smile of happy intelligence,
was a new boy a ransomed soul. The
trembling limbs and attitude of fear had been
supplanted by a confident, manly carriage and
a sturdy, robust physique. Once the boy's
mind was an utter blank; but now fingers and
tongue could not move rapidly enough to ask
all the questions of his inquiring brain, or to
convey the messages that his full soul longed
to speak. Then all was ignorance; now few
other boys of ten can surpass in many lines
the knowledge of Tom Stringer.
But it is of the meeting of these two wonder-
ful children that I would here write. Helen
had been for weeks longing to see her little
friend, and to many verbal messages had added
her own written invitation to Tom and his
teachers to visit her at her Cambridge home.
Tom himself, although recalling little or no-
thing of his past acquaintance with Helen, and
altogether ignorant of the debt he owed her,
had begun to look forward with pleasure to
the visit.
I fear that Helen's greetings to her old friends,
Tom's teachers, were not so protracted as they



otherwise would have been; for all the while that
she was welcoming them in feminine fashion,
her hand was quietly moving about to discover,
if possible, her long-desired visitor. When she
did touch his head, her fingers ran over it
lightly for an instant, and then her arms were
about his neck. The expressive features of
the blind girl lighted up with a rare joy,
and throughout the visit her countenance was
What a fine big boy he is The dear little
fellow! was her contradictory exclamation of
delight when at last she found her voice. Then
her swift-moving fingers began to spell mes-
sages of affection into Tom's chubby fist.
All this time she was running her other hand
over his face, or lifting up his hands to her own
face and curls. Tom's comment of pleasure on
touching her soft hair delighted her.
It was many moments before Miss Sullivan,
Helen's devoted friend and teacher, could per-
suade her pupil, with the small company of
friends, to be seated. The two blind and deaf
children, by some subtle instinct, seemed to
know at once their community of interest, and
together they sat in a wide window-seat, talk-
ing with eagerness and ease, and absorbed in
each other.
This is not the place to report fully the merry
chatter and eager words of these two souls that
so marvelously dwell apart from the world in
their realm of innocence.
Tom's originality is a keen delight to his
friends; and one of his latest fancies is the
building of a mythical "pleasure house" for
himself. It is to contain ninety-four rooms,
which he has peopled with imaginary characters.
This he needs must describe at length to Helen,
to her amusement and enjoyment. As one
fancy after another was revealed to her, she
broke out into exclamations of wonderment
and pleasure. What a romantic name! she
commented, when Tom told her that "New
Garden was to be the site of his great abode.
Of course, New Garden, like the names of
many of the people who are to share Tom's
mansion, is entirely a fiction of his own brain.
Helen's interest in this story was unabated from
beginning to end, and she interrupted the nar-
rative several times to remark on it or to ask

questions. Throughout, it was punctuated by
the spontaneous laughter that is one of Helen's
most beautiful characteristics.
The strangeness of their meeting impressed
her deeply. She stopped her conversation with
Tom long enough to speak of this. She had
been reading Tom's hand, following the move-
ments of his fingers, as he spelled out the words
with a rapidity that would make an inexpe-
rienced onlooker dizzy, by keeping her own
hand partly closed over his. I suppose Tom
is not used to having people read his hand in
this way," she suggested.
When Tom's teacher mentioned to Helen
that perhaps he would give her a nickname, as
is his custom with other intimate friends, Helen
was delighted, and asked many questions about
this fancy of his. Tom long ago became pos-
sessed of the strange notion of applying the
names of animals to his teachers and other
companions, and he has adhered to it consis-
tently ever since, never misplacing a name.
One teacher he calls Fly," another Toad,"
another Cow," another "Horse," etc. He
himself is Rabbit." So when Helen spoke
into his hand her request, he promptly named
her Blackbird." At this she was filled with
wonderment. "Do you suppose he thinks I
have on a black dress ? she asked me. Tom's
reasons are not to be found out, and I could
not answer, being as much in the dark as to
the connection between Helen Keller and a
blackbird as the rest of the company. It was
Helen herself who suggested the likeliest
reason -if there was any particular reason.
"Don't you think this is it ? "raising her hand
to her throat, where a golden bird was fastened
as a brooch. He felt this, and must have con-
nected a bird with me because of it." None the
less, she was highly flattered to be honored with
a special name of her own by the little fellow.
The progress that Tom had made since
Helen last met him amazed and charmed her.
In answer to an inquiry concerning Tom's edu-
cation in articulation, his teacher asked him to
speak to her with his lips. The strange picture
that was then presented I shall never forget.
The children sat together, facing each other,
each countenance illumined with an animation
that the possession of every faculty could not


have increased. The older one's accomplish-
ments are remarkable, so that in all things save
the senses of sight and hearing she is not one
whit behind the most cultured and favored of
young women. The other child is following
close after, her, along the same pathway that
she has pursued, knowing not his deficiencies
even as much as his companion knows hers,




* I



and withal richly encompassed by her tender
There they sit, neither having seen since ba-
byhood a ray of light, or having heard the
slightest sound, and yet speaking together in ar-
ticulate, audible words that all present could
understand, yet which were not heard by either
of the speakers!
One finger of Helen's delicate hand touched

Tom's lips, and her thumb rested lightly upon
his throat near the chin. He spoke to her sen-
tence after sentence, and she repeated aloud
after him the words that he uttered, answering
them with her fingers. The significance, the
marvelousness of it all, was overwhelming. I
doubt if the world has ever seen a greater tri-
umph of education.
Helen's teacher here brought to her two
small tokens, and told her that she might give
them to Tom as keepsakes, whereat the girl
manifested a fresh enthusiasm and eagerness.
The first was a tiny and delicate Swiss chalet,
carved in wood, which she handed to him
with a few words, explaining that it was her
gift to him, and in her zeal touching his hand
upon her own breast and then upon his to rein-
force her meaning. She expressed doubt as
to his ability to discover the nature of the
ornament--so slight and elaborate was it.
When Tom promptly pronounced it a house,"
adding further information about the barn and
stairs and fence, her delight knew no bounds,
and she fairly trembled with pleasure.
While Tom proceeded with a minute exami-
nation of his new possession, Helen sat: impa-
tiently waiting to offer the other gift a small
glass mug incased in silver. She asked me if
Tom liked flowers, and suggested that he might
keep some in this vessel. Then, laughing
softly, she said that she would give the ob-
ject to him upside down, so as to puzzle
him as to its nature; but Tom instantly righted
it, and told what it was, adding that it was like
a soda-water glass from which he had drunk
that afternoon. Helen was mightily pleased,
and laughed over Tom's fondness for soda-
water, confessing to the same taste herself.
Just before farewells were spoken, Helen
turned to the friend seated beside her, and re-
marked, What a wonderful boy Tom is! I
am very proud of him. I love him dearly, and
I hope he will learn to love me." Who can
doubt his gratitude to her ? It will be a worthy
study to watch the developing friendship of
these two children, who even now have been
drawn together so strangely.


(A Tradition of Westminster Abbey. Seepage 1052.)


'T is a saying that stolen sweets are sweeter,
And so with my hero it was, I think,
"P. Abbott "-if Philip, or Paul, or Peter
'T will never be known; there 's a missing link.

The legend declares (without praise or censure)
A youth had been challenged to sleep all night
In the gray old Abbey; a madcap adventure,
But madcap adventures were his delight.

In the Chapel of Kings, in Westminster Abbey,
You may see the stone that was brought from Scone,
And above it, the armchair, old and shabby,
Where every king has once had his throne.

Monarchs in marble, greater or lesser,
And at least three queens of the English land-
In a circle they lie, round the good Confessor,
Crown on the head and scepter in hand.

Gone from his tomb are the wondrous riches
It once did hold, both of gems and gold;
But you still may see the Gothic niches
Where the sick awaited the cure, of old.

Beggar or lord, poor drudge or duchess,
Alike might they hope for the good saint's aid;
And they left their jewels, or dropped their crutches,
As token that not in vain had they prayed.

'T was St. Edward's Day, and the throng, glad-hearted
With the blessing of peace, had gone its way;
The last red beam of the sun had departed,
And twilight spread through the chapel gray.

And the marble kings on their marble couches
Once more they are lying in state, alone
Save for a nimble shadow that crouches
Behind the stone that was brought from Scone;
VOL. XXIV.- 126 27. 1oo0



And the aged verger was never the wiser,
As he passed that stone and the oaken chair;
Though watchful was he as watchful miser,
He never discovered my hero was there.

When the keys at his leather girdle jingled,
How loud did they sound in young Abbott's ear!
And when they were still, how the silence tingled!
How dim was the light! -yet why should he fear?

The night was before him, the shadows were dreary,
As forth from his hiding-place he crept.
There was nothing to do; his eyelids grew weary,
And into the chair he crept, and slept.

Never before, and nevermore since then,
Hath any but royalty sat in that chair;
But my hero himself, I hold, was a prince then
Of the Realm of Youth and of dreams most fair!

But with the dawn his slumbers were broken,
And, rubbing his eyes, he sat bolt upright.



P. ABBOTT." 1003
'T were folly," he cried, "if I left no token
To prove that I stayed in the Abbey all night!"

So he carved his name, and carved it quaintly,
As pleased him best, on that ancient seat.
And the sculptured kings in the dawn smiled faintly -
But never a one forbade the feat!

Then, somehow and somewhere,' discreetly he flitted;
And when the old verger returned for the day,
"I warrant," he muttered, with bent brows knitted,
"Something uncanny hath passed this way!".

With the record of things and of statesmen and sages,
This of a mischievous youth is shown:
"P. Abbott"-a name that has lasted for ages,
Nicked on the seat of that oaken throne!



WE went to the party, my dolly and I;
The neighbors all smiled at us fluttering by,
White ruffles, pink sashes, and little pink shoes-
We were dressed just alike, not a ribbon to choose!

My dolly was prettiest, though, and so clever--
The little girls wondered, and said, Did you ever?"
And, Oh, what a dear!" when I just let them see
How charming and cunning the darling could be.

For she did what I told her, as quick as you please;
She sang like a bird, and she talked like a breeze;
She danced, too oh, yes! like a leaf in the air -
There was no doll, I tell you, like my dolly there!

And you need n't look sniffety -need n't say, Pooh!
That sort of a fairy-tale does n't fool you;
For you 're certainly sure that no doll ever did,
Ever could, sing and dance just because it was bid."

She did, though! Now listen, and you shall confess
'T is the truth I am telling, no more and no less.
The doll at the party, so clever and jolly,
Was my own little, dear little, live sister--Dolly!




THE proud Miss O'Haggin
May ride in her wagon,
Her landau, or drag, in
The park all the day;

But she 'd give all her leisure
And wealth beyond measure
For one half the pleasure
Down Haggerty's way,

When young Danny Gilligan
Drives Maggie Milligan
Down Murphy's hill ag'in
In his "coopay."


THE new cadet at the National Military
Academy, whether he has come from the little
country school with its home-made flag and
staff, or from the city school where floats some-
times a flag big enough to cover half the roof
of the other school, has been taught to re-
spect the beautiful emblem of his country; but
he will learn at West Point, as soon as he begins
his career as a future officer of the army, how
thoroughly he is to be trained to honor it in his
daily life. The laughing school-boy salute he
has perhaps given the Flag from time to time
now becomes a matter of sober ceremony, so
rigidly required and handsomely ordered that
it at once sets him to thinking; and the good,
sound patriotism that was in him all along soon
envelops every glimpse and ceremony of the
Colors with a sacredness that will deepen day
by day.
One of his first lessons is to doff his cap each
time he passes the Color-line" where the
Color is guarded by a sentinel. Every summer
the cadets pass several months in camp on the
lovely banks of the Hudson, and beneath the
grand old trees of the academy grounds.
During certain hours of the day a long line
of stacked rifles extends along the front of the
camp. Across the two stacks in the center of
the line is laid the Color, rolled about its staff.
Up and down by this flag marches a natty

cadet sentinel, and woe be unto the unlucky
cadet who tries to pass this sacred trust without
raising his cap.
So during his life at the academy this lesson
of respect is contiAued, and when he has "doffed
the cadet and donned the brevet, and changed
the gray for the blue," and reported for duty
with his regiment, he finds the same lessons be-
ing taught the enlisted men, and then probably
for the first time does he realize the full impor-
tance of those early lessons taught in that far-
away school-house.
There is nothing that more conduces to make
a good, true, and loyal soldier than to incul-
cate in him love and respect for the Flag he has
sworn to uphold and defend. To bring about
this end, there are certain ceremonies in the
army that are intended to impress the wearers
of the uniform with the dignity of the Flag.
One of these ceremonies is called the Escort
to the Color," and it is the finest and most im-
pressive of all military observances. Every re-
giment carries two flags: one the National, the
other the Regimental, which carries the number
and name of the regiment. These flags are
kept at the residential quarters of the colonel,
or at his office, Where they are zealously cared
for. It is when the regiment parades, and these
flags are to be brought to the troops, that the
Escort to the Color is carried out.







When the regiment has formed line on the
parade, the colonel details a company to bring
the Colors and escort them to their place in the
line. The company marches in column of
platoons, headed by the band, which does not
play as the march down the front of the line is
made. The two color-sergeants, old and faith-
ful soldiers appointed to these desired places by
reason of long service and military bearing,
march between the two platoons. Upon arriv-
ing in front of the building where the flags are
kept, line is formed, the band standing on the
right of the escort.
The first lieutenant, with drawn sword, and
the two color-sergeants, or color-bearers, who
are followed by a sergeant armed with a rifle,
enter the building and receive the flags. When
the color-bearers appear, followed by the lieu-
tenant and the sergeant, they halt at the en-
trance and form line, facing the escort. Arms
are presented, and from the field music (the
trumpeters) comes a thrilling call named to the
Color," during the sound of which all stand
motionless with arms at the present. After the
sounding of the Color has ended, arms are
brought to the order, and then column of pla-
toons is reformed, the two color-sergeants taking
places between the two platoons; and, thus
guarded, the march is taken up, the band play-
ing a spirited air.
Around the shady main avenue of the post
marches the escort, each soldier erect and
appearing as if he felt that the flags were
entrusted to him alone instead of to the com-
pany of which he forms so small a part.
How each man steps out to the strains of the
march, probably Sousa's inspiring "Stars and
Stripes Forever!" Down past the officers'
quarters, the porches of which are filled with
the wives, daughters, and sweethearts of the
officers parading, goes the escort. The respect
shown for the Flag is not confined to the
wearers of the army blue; for as the escort
passes each house, these true and loyal women
cease their talk, and stand quietly till the Flag
has passed, when the interesting discussion or
the latest news is resumed. 'Past a group of
enlisted men not required to attend the parade
marches the escort. Each man stands at "atten-
tion," and removes his cap. A group of small

boys at play is next passed. Every one, a true
soldier's son, stands, cap in hand, till Old Glory
has passed. I have seen this same small boy
grow up, pass through the Point," and com-
mand one of the platoons in the escort after
graduation, and maybe in the same company
commanded by his father. This march around
the post has at last brought the escort opposite
the right of the line of paraded troops, when
the colonel commands attention, and down the
line passes the glittering guard.
On reaching a point in the front of the center
of the paraded command, the escort forms line
facing the regiment, the two color-sergeants
marching to the front till twelve paces in front
of the colonel and his staff. Arms are then
presented to the Flags by command of the colo-
nel, and while the trumpeters again sound to
the Color" the Flags are allowed to fly to the
breeze, the lances are lowered in acknowledg-
ment of the "present," and now the moment is
one to fill the soul of every lover of his country
with a thrill that is indescribable. The silk and
tasseled flags, caught by the rays of the sun,
shine and glisten in front of the solid ranks of
blue-and-gold uniforms massed across the deep
green sward of the parade-ground- a picture
difficult for any pen to portray.
After the sounding of the Color, the two ser-
geants march to their places in the parade; and
the escorting company, having faithfully carried
out its sacred duty, now wheels into column of
platoons, and headed by the band with inspir-
ing music, proceeds on down the line and
around in the rear of the regiment, whence,
without music, it goes to its proper place.in the
line, and the formal dress-parade is begun.
After parade the Color-guard escorts the Flags
to the place where they are preserved.
There is in the army no ceremony so impos-
ing, nor any that is watched with so much interest
by the visitor to the army post, as the one de-
scribed, nor one so much liked by those whose
pleasant duty it is to perform it.
There is another ceremony that, while not so
formal as that described, is but little less im-
pressive, and a very beautiful one. At sun-
down the trumpeters assemble, and when the
companies on their barrack esplanades have
assumed the "parade rest" the "retreat" is



sounded. At the last note the corporal, who
has been standing ready with lanyard drawn
taut, fires the evening gun; and as its report
sounds through the garrison, the full band,
standing at the foot of the flag-staff, strikes up
the "Star-Spangled Banner," which is played
slowly till the Flag has reached the foot of the
staff and is gathered in by the guard, ready to
escort it to the guard-house. Here it is kept
till reveille," when, at the sound of the morn-
ing gun, it again mounts to the top of the staff.
The writer knows of one regiment in our

the flag has existed, and history records many
instances where the displaying of the flag or
standard has turned what was almost a defeat
into a victory. It is not strange, then, that this
love for the standard of a regiment should
exist, or that the old' flags retired from use
should be safely guarded and highly prized.
In the writer's regiment there are several old
flags most highly prized and most carefully pre-
served in a glass case in the colonel's office,
where they are shown to visitors to the post.
Among these are several that were carried


army in which the Colors are kept at the
quarters of the colonel. When the escort
arrives at the door, the Flags are handed to the
sergeants by the colonel's wife, who considers
this her sacred privilege; and in another regi-
ment the colonel's daughter assumes the care
of the Flags, and none else may touch them.
Thus we see that this love and veneration for
the Flag is not confined to those of the garrison
who wear the army uniform.
From time almost immemorial this love for

through the Civil War, and on their silken folds
are painted the names of the battles in which
the regiment fought. One tattered old flag,
carried in the Mexican war, bears the marks
of thirty-five bullets received within twenty-five
yards of the enemy's fort.
To some who witness the ceremonies where
so much honor is paid the Flag, they may seem
but idle drills; but to those who take part they
have a greater significance, and always cause
an exultant thrill to pass through the soldier.




S-, _.- -9-
--' ~ ~ _,== z ,- -



* Vc- A
o -'~

MY great-grandfather lived to a remarkable
age. The last time I saw him he looked as if
his rosy face had been wrapped in white cotton-
wool to preserve it, so fluffy and snowy were his
beard and hair. It was when I went to visit
him in Calabria that I saw him for the last
time, and I was then a small boy in kilts, so I
do not remember much that happened.
All I recall distinctly is the impression made
upon me by the castle in which he lived -a
great gray stone structure perched high upon a
cliff that overhung the sea, while the curlews
whirled and sang their strange wild songs sev-
eral rods nearer the beetling waves, that ever
gnawed at the foundations of those large and
worthless crags. I think they were curlews,
though, now I mention it, they do seem large
for curlews at that time of year.
But all this has little to do with the story.
If they had been puffins I should have acted in
precisely the same way. When my great-grand-
father died I was the only surviving relative,
and consequently, after the proper legal steps
had been taken, I was told that I must enter
upon the ownership of the Calabrian castle.
My lawyer wrote to me, inclosing the title

Seeds and the big key of the
front-door, and very politely
said in his letter that he hoped
I would enjoy my visit more
than he had enjoyed his.
This remark I did not understand until after-
ward; I believed that he had found the journey
unpleasant, or had been unable to secure proper
lodgings at the castle itself.
I was surprised that my attorney had not told
me something about my great-grandfather's
affairs, for I had long been curious as to how
he passed his time. But not a word threw
light upon my late venerable relative's business
or pursuits.
All this made me anxious to waste no time in
claiming my inheritance. I was an artist, and
living in Rome at the time; and, feeling rich
because of the fortune I hoped to secure from
my great-grandfather's estate, I chartered a
small sail-boat, loaded it with the necessary
stores and supplies, and, glad of even so short
a holiday, set sail without delay for the Cala-
brian coast.
In ten days we had reached the Lipari Isl-
ands, and soon after anchored in a little bay
that abounded with curlews--or whatever they
were. This bay was but a mile or two from
the rugged mountain-path that led up the cliff
whereon I could see the walls of my great-
gran- that is, of my castle. As it was late in



the evening, I decided to pass the night in the moment that goats do not speak Italian every
boat, ascending to my castle next day. day.
So, bright and early I arose, and carrying Well, if you take my advice," said the goat,
only a small wallet containing my lunch, I be- shaking his head solemnly, "you won't go.
gan to make the ascent. About half-way to That is all I wish to say. Take my advice,
the top I met a picturesque young shepherd, and give it up. I am older than you are."
who was watching his goats and whiling away I am no judge of the age of goats; even the
the time by slinging stones at the birds the little ones have beards that are sometimes white,
curlews. I stopped and asked him the nearest so that was no proof. I felt rather irritated at
path to the castle, that is, to the front-door, being told I was younger than a goat, though,
He listened until he clearly understood what now I can think it over calmly, I don't see
I had said, and then, crying out Corpo di why I should have minded. Very likely it
Baccho at the top of his voice, he went was true; at all events, the advice was good,
bounding away over the rocks so fast that even as I found out later. But while I was uncer-
the goats looked after him with anxiety. tain how to continue the conversation, the goat
"Pretty manners these Italian peasants have!" turned in a dignified manner and disappeared
said I to myself; but there was no use in cry- over the crest of the mountain-path, wagging
ing over lost'shepherds, and I resumed my his tail warningly.
upward climb, longing for an elevator. I stood for a moment in doubt, and then
Just as I came
out upon the level
sward that lay be-
fore the castle, I ..
heard a scrambling ..
behind me, and .-,' J
turned, expecting -. ,. ;'
to see that the '' '.-
shepherd-boy had -
repented of his '
rudeness. But in-
stead of the boy
I saw one of the
goats a gray -
bearded old patri-
arch of the flock, J. =
who in some weird_ I
way reminded me
of my great-grand-
father. -- '
The goat wore II
a sad expression;
and, as I faced him, ..
he raised his right -
foreleg and pointed
at the castle, at the ''TAKE MY ADVICE, AND GIVE IT UP,' SAID THE GOAT.
same time saying,
in excellent Italian, though with a strong Cala- turned again toward the lofty gateway of the
brian accent: castle, now only a few rods distant. Grasping
"Are you going into the castle ? the big door-key, I walked bravely across the
Yes," I replied, hardly realizing for the drawbridge, which creaked and shook under me.



Finding the keyhole without difficulty, I inserted
the end of the key in the lock.
With a grating and growling the bolt moved,
the gate swung open, and I found myself in a
narrow passage leading beneath two archways
and into an open courtyard. Passing through
the arches, I entered the yard a very pleas-
ant place. The sun was now high enough to
shine upon the lawn; birds not curlews, this
time were quarreling cheerfully in the trees;
a fountain was playing in its marble basin; and
all things breathed peace and quiet.
Come," I said to myself, there is nothing
so far to frighten even a weak-minded goat. I
wonder if he was older than I am! I see no
reason for being scared by the flight.of an igno-
rant boy, and by the talk of- But it is queer,
too, when you think of it, that a goat should
I made up my mind to put aside all foolish
thoughts, and to inspect my new inheritance;
especially as it was time I should find a place
where I could rest and take some of the lunch
from my wallet, for my climb had made me
both hungry and thirsty.
I turned back toward the entrance to the
courtyard, having noticed there a flight of steps
that led up into the castle, and had no sooner
reached the open front door than I saw the
head of that important old goat peering at me
from the edge of the plateau.
You 'd better come out," he bleated. I 'm
older -"
But I had lost my patience with him, and,
picking up a bit of plaster from the pavement,
I let drive at his head. He bobbed down;
and I never saw him again.
Then I climbed the winding stair, and found
myself in a corridor over the gateway. This
led me into a prettily furnished reception-room,
from which opened a dining-hall. From the
dining-hall I went on into a gallery of paint-
ings- ancestors, I suppose; for at the end of
the gallery was a fresh-looking and very natural
portrait of my great-grandfather. .
As I stood gazing upon his lineaments, I
thought the left eye of the picture winked at
me. Then, as I still gazed, I was assured that
the portrait had winked, for it did it again, and
again;- that is, unless I am mistaken, the por-

trait of my lately deceased great-grandfather
winked three times with its left eye.
This was becoming serious. If a shepherd-
boy runs away, that is nothing remarkable. A
goat who speaks Italian is certainly unusual;
but when to these is added an ancestor's por-
trait that winks three times at you with its left
eye, then you begin to be aware that something
may be confidently expected. But I am not
easily abashed, and I reasoned with myself.
"What is all this?" I said: "A running
boy, a talking goat, a winking ancestor;-what
are these,, to disturb a man with- a good con-
science ? What do they signify ? Nothing,
nothing whatever! A truce to idle fears! "
Thus reassured, I went calmly on with my
examination of the great rooms, seeking a con-
venient place in which to lunch.
I came at length to the library, or such it
seemed to be an apartment in a tower, with
windows on four sides, rows of book-shelves
about a large table in the middle, a stuffed croc-
odile hanging overhead, and other signs of
literary pursuits, from which I argued that this
was my ancestor's work-room or study. His
high-backed chair was still by the table, and I
seated myself, opened my wallet, and arranged
my simple repast before me. When I was
about half-through, I heard a sepulchral groan.
"Ah," I exclaimed, "the goat again! and
I thought no more of the matter until there
came a wild scream.
Aha," said I, "the curlews! -But this
time I was not quite so sure that it was a cur-
lew. I know no more of curlews than I do of
goats; and yet, somehow, that cry was not the
sort of thing one imagines a curlew would make.
Before inquiring further into these noises,
however, I resolved to finish my lunch; and so
I ate the last crumbs of bread, cheese, and
Neapolitan doughnuts without being further
disturbed. Then, much refreshed, I resolved
to examine the contents of the study.
Beside me upon the table was a.curious ink-
stand. It was of brass, or gold, possibly, and
had two receptacles for the ink. Between these
wells was a carved figure representing such an
odd little gnome as one may often see upon
penwipers, clocks, and paperweights-a hump-
backed creature in a jerkin, hose, and peaked



hat. His hands held a tiny hammer, and this
was raised as if he were about to strike a bell
that hung beside him.
"A very pretty device," I said; and I
reached out, seized the little hammer, drew it
back, and let it- go.
Clang! there came a deep, muffled sound as
of a cathedral bell far away.
Singular tone the-bell has," I remarked;
and I struck it again.
Clang! It seemed much deeper and louder
than before. Again I struck it.
The third time there rolled out a clamorous
resounding peal that almost stunned me; and..
then -
I might have been warned by the boy, and
the goat, and the wink, and I should have been
prudent enough to reflect that ringing the bell


twice was all that any cautious man should do.
Three is such a dangerous number!
As the bell rang for the third time, the four
windows of the tower flew inward, a heavy va-

porous smoke drifted in, the windows flew back
again, the smoke became rolled together into a
cloud and began to take upon itself a form.
This form soon resolved itself into a very slim
Sbut gentlemanly fellow who was dressed in an
old-fashioned costume all of snuff-color. When
he.appeared he was seated cross-legged, like a
tailor, upon the table in front of me.
We gazed upon each other with mutual sur-
prise. He did not seem to know me, and I
certainly had never been introduced to him.
"What game are you up to now ? he sud-
denly asked me, putting.on a pair of eye-glasses
and examining me very closely. I don't think
much of this new shape of yours."
"Are n't you rather -familiar? I inquired.
Yes," he said, with a smile. "That 's my
"Being familiar is your business ? "



"Being a familiar," he said, correcting me.
"And what is a familiar ? I inquired.
Where 's the old gentleman? he asked
suddenly, ignoring my question.




He is n't, any more," I said -" that is,
he 's dead, you know."
My!" said he; asking, after a moment,
"who told you so ?"
His lawyer."
"Well, well," said my queer visitor, then I
suppose it must be so. But it is very thought-
less of him, and very inconvenient. What am
I to do, then, with Grufflebub ? "
"Who or what is Grufflebub ? I asked.
"Grufflebub," said he, "is the Enchanter. I
have him here. Grufflebub, appear!"
He waved his hand as he spoke, and sud-
denly in the middle of the room I saw a tall man
dressed in a Moorish costume, standing with
his hands tied behind him, guarded by a small
and ugly Dwarf who carried a battle-ax.
Then my visitor went on:
You called the old man your great-grand-
father, so I suppose you must be his heir and
successor, if he is, as you say, dead."
I nodded, and waited further information.

"Then I '11 introduce myself. I am your
great-grandfather's Familiar, or assistant spirit.
I aided him served him, in fact, in his busi-
ness. You knew that, did n't you? "
Not at all," I answered. I thought my
great-grandfather was a man of letters or a stu-
dent. I never thought he -"
Was a magician? Why, certainly, and
very distinguished. One of the last things he
did was to send me after Grufflebub."
"And why? I asked.
Grufflebub was also in the same business.
He was an Enchanter,--and is yet, for that
matter,- but a thoroughly bad one."
You surprise me," I observed, looking re-
proachfully at the Moor, who defiantly sniffed
at me. What did he do ? "
All sorts of mischief. He had four princes,
two princesses, several druggists, one schoolmas-
ter, and a piano-tuner shut up in dungeons at
the time I captured him."
That was certainly wrong," I remarked,




and I frowned at him; but the Moorish En-
chanter simply began to whistle, to show that
he did n't care. At this the Familiar said to
the Dwarf:
Make him stop that! "
The Dwarf raised his battle-ax, and cut off
the Enchanter's head, whereupon the head flew
up to the ceiling and went sailing about like a
toy-balloon. I noticed that there was no more
blood shed than if a doll's head had been cut
off. In fact, the Enchanter seemed to be
stuffed with something that looked like pink
Does n't that hurt him ? I asked.
"Not at all," answered the Familiar; "but
he does n't like it. You see, he can't talk or
whistle until we put his head on again. You
don't know much about magic, do you ? "
Nothing whatever," I replied. In fact,
when I touched the bell here, it was entirely by
accident. Do you always appear when the
bell sounds ?"
Yes," answered the Familiar; I have to."
"And how can one make you disappear ?"
I asked innocently.
By means of a wave of your grandfather's
wand," said the Familiar. It is probably in
the drawer of the table there."
I opened the drawer, and saw a black stick
about as long as my fore-arm.
"Is this it ? I asked, showing it.
"Yes," the Familiar replied; "that indeed
is the very same -"
But I had waved the wand before he could
end his sentence, shouting, "Away with you
all !" and no sooner were the words pronounced
than Familiar, Enchanter, and Dwarf were
gone, and I was again alone.
"I am well rid of them," I said to myself
"To think of being associated with such crea-
tures! My great-grandfather must have had
peculiar tastes. I am surprised to think of his
being a magician. What a sly old fellow he
must have been! I should like to talk with
him about it. I wish his picture was alive, could
talk, and would appear here now."
There I was with the magic wand in my
hand, making a wish without a thought of the
consequences! No sooner were the words
pronounced than the portrait or image of my

great-grandfather glided through one of the
closed windows and stood on the other side of
the table.
"You have summoned me," said the figure
from the portrait.
"Quite by accident," I replied coolly. But
now you are here, I should like to ask you a
few questions."
"They shall be answered," said he.
"Are you really dead ? I asked.
"Quite so," he replied.
"Do you mean to stay so ?" was my next
Can't help myself," replied the portrait,
with an unpleasant smile.
Very well," I remarked, somewhat relieved.
Now, is there anything you would like me to
attend to in winding up your affairs ? "
"There are a few matters I had to leave un-
finished," said the image; "but I 'm afraid you
will find them rather troublesome. In the first
place, there 's a giant down in the cellar whom
I had meant to finish off the first rainy day.
You might slay him."
Slay him!" I exclaimed, greatly shocked.
"How can I slay him? Why, I don't know
anything against him. It would be cold-
blooded cruelty."
"But you can't release him," the figure in-
sisted, but without any emotion, for he would
do an enormous amount of damage."
Bother the giant! "I exclaimed, perplexed
by this argument. "Why can't he just die of
his own accord? I wish he would- that
would save me a lot of trouble "
"He is dead," said my great-grandfather's
How do you know? I asked in surprise.
"Because you have wished it," replied he.
"Anything you wish will happen, while you
hold that wand in your hand."
I gazed at the little stick, and turned it about
in my hands. Then I again addressed the
speaking likeness.
What else did you wish to see me about? "
I inquired.
About carrying on the business here."
"What business ? "
The Magic business. I don't know of any
one else to attend to it."



But," I objected, I have no talent for it,
and I don't like it. What good does it do ? "
Heaps of good," he answered readily.
"Now, for instance, I know of a charming
young man who is just starting out to seek his
fortune. Soon he will come to a city where
there is a beautiful princess, who declares she
will never marry. He will fall desperately in
love with her at first sight. Then she will tell
him she has vowed never to marry any man
who does not bring her a feather from the wing
of the great golden swan that once a year visits
the highest peak of the Calabrian Mountains."
"Well ? I asked, as the ghost paused.
"Well, you can get it for him, and charge
him well for it."
"But I don't care to," I answered coolly.
"If the princess does n't wish to marry, she
prefers to be single, no doubt."
But, my dear boy-"
"I wish you 'd go back to your frame," I
said impatiently; and he did. I was alone again.
What a number of people there are," I re-
flected, "who like to bother themselves with
other people's business! What have I to do
with all these creatures? For my part, I wish-"
But I stopped myself just in time. I still
held the wand in my hand, and I remembered
that I must be careful.
It is certainly very pleasant to think that I
can have whatever I choose to call for," I said,
turning the little wand over in my fingers. "I
suppose I might be rich, or beautiful, or accom-
plished, or learned, good at repartee, or wise.
Which shall I choose? "
I began to revolve in my mind the various
things I had longed for; but I could n't fix
my choice on any of them. I desired to be a
little cautious, for sometimes we don't like the
things we think we shall like. At length, before
making trial of the wand's power, I resolved
to see a little more of my new castle.
I wandered at will through the lofty rooms,
examined the queer old furniture and tapestries,
opened windows, stood upon balconies, went
up long flights of stairs, and poked about in
dusty nooks to my heart's content.
Gradually I forgot my recent annoyances,
and began to take pleasure in the quaintness
of this medieval castle. So wandering, I came

at length to an octagon room at the top of a
lookout tower, projecting from an angle of the
walls one of the highest points of the castle.
The view was exquisite. Against the after-
noon sky were purple mountain peaks; near at
hand were broad fields and gnarled forests; and
here and there I saw, as I leaned from the win-
dow, broad roads leading far away.
Charming! I exclaimed, entirely absorbed
in my admiration of the scene. One might
be happy here for years. I wish I had a coach
and four here, and then I might drive -"
I said no more, for I was suddenly jammed
against the window-sill with a bang, and a ter-
rible commotion began in the small room be-
hind me. Crash! smash! riekety-slam-whack!
There they were -the coach and four horses,
crammed into the octagon room, and all the
frightened team kicking like circus mules, try-
ing to reduce the coach to splinters, and suc-
ceeding only too well.
I feared every moment that I should be re-
duced to smithereens, and instantly remembered
my wand.
"I wish I was out of this.room! I yelled.
And I was out of the window, and falling
like a stone! If the tower had been lower, that
would have been the end of my adventures; but
it was very high, and before I had fallen more
than five or six stories, I gasped out:
"I wish I might stop falling "
I stopped instantly--so quickly that the
wand dropped from my hand, and I remained
hung up in the air, about twenty feet away from
the castle wall.
It was' better than being smashed, but ex-
ceedingly inconvenient. There I was, out of
reach of everything but thin air. There was n't
a creature in the castle, so far as I knew, nor
any likelihood of passers-by. I thought of
balloons, but dismissed the idea as useless; even
a parachute would not have served me, for I
could n't fall if I tried.
For some minutes I was helpless; but at
last, noticing that there was a light breeze blow-
ing, I spread out my coat, and to my joy
perceived that I was moving. The wind,
however, carried me away from the castle, and
toward the open country.
I floated along comfortably enough, keeping



a sharp lookout below, and after about half an
hour perceived, to my delight, a small boy who
was flying a kite. I called to him:

Hi, there, Johnny "
He looked all around, but did n't see me.
"Below, there, Bub! I called.
This time he saw me, and, to my great sur-
prise, began to laugh.
"What are you laughing at ? I asked.
To see a man flying," was his answer, as
he became sobered; for my tone was very
"That's nothing to laugh at," I said; "on
the contrary, it 's very unpleasant."
"What do you do it for, then ? he asked.
"Little boys should n't ask questions," was
my reply, for I did n't care to answer. "If I
wish to fly why, what is that to you? "
He made no answer, but sat down on a rock.
Now, little boy," I said, I just sailed out
from the castle by the sea, and I dropped some-
thing when I started. I want you to get it for
me. If you do the errand quickly and well, I
will give you a lira."
"It is n't enough," said the boy, closing his
eyes and mouth, and shaking his head hard.

I will give you ten," I shouted.
I '11 do it," he answered, jumping up.
I explained to him that I wanted a little
black stick that I had dropped, and told him
about where he would find it; then I added:
But you must let me keep your kite for you
while you are gone."
I said this for two reasons: I wanted to be
sure he would come back, and I meant to make
the kite useful when he returned.
He hauled in on the string until the kite was
nearer the ground, and then brought the line
into such a position that I could grasp it. As
soon as I had taken hold the boy let go, and
started at full speed for the castle.
But I had forgotten my strange condition!
No sooner did the boy let go, than the kite be-
gan to rise in the air, taking me with it. You
see, I had no weight for I could n't fall.
Away I went, dragged along through the air,
and so scared that for a time I did n't know
what to do. Then my common sense returned.
.I let the cord run through my fingers when the
wind blew hard, and held on lightly when the
wind slackened.
But despite all I could do, I was carried
nearly a mile away by the time the boy re-
turned, and would, no doubt, have gone farther
but that the end of the string caught in a
tree and held fast, just about the time I saw,
looking back, that the boy had returned. He
stood for a moment waving his hands in the
air, and then, with the swiftness of light, I shot
back to my starting-point, and remained hang-
ing in the air above the little fellow's head.
I did n't understand this at the time; but
now I see that the boy must have wished, with
the wand in hand, that I would return. My
rapid flight had torn the kite to bits, but luckily
I still had the string.
Now," I cried, tie the stick to the string,
and let me haul it up."
"Where 's my kite? asked the boy.
"It 's broken," I answered, "but I will
get -"
"Well, that's mean I wish -" the boy be-
gan, angrily.
But luckily I stopped him. I gave such a
shout that he was frightened into silence.
Don't you say a word! I yelled. Here is




your money,"- and I threw down the coins,-
"send me the stick, quick "
He picked up the money, pocketed it, and
then tied the wand to the string. I drew it up
breathlessly; and, no sooner was it safely in my
possession, than I cried, Now I wish I was
safe and sound, and happily and comfortably
back in my Roman studio "
And there I was, with nothing to remind me
of my strange experience but the little black
I found myself seated in my favorite easy-
chair, and quite contented in mind. I looked
at the wand, and wondered what it was best
to do with it. After a while my mind was
made up.
"I wish the castle was sold, and the money
safely in my trunk," I said, quite calmly. Then,
never letting go of the wand, I went to the
trunk and opened it. There was a large pack-
age of banknotes in one corner.
Excellent! said I, closing the trunk and
locking it. Returning to my easy-chair, I pre-
pared to make my last wish.
Taking a long breath, I said, slowly and
solemnly: "I wish that hereafter there shall
be no magic at all! "

The wand disappeared.
"Good!" I exclaimed; "I am rid of all
temptation! and I went out to dinner.
For a few days I walked about as usual, only
occasionally reflecting upon my strange expe-
riences; and at the end of the week there came
a letter from the same lawyer who had written
to me before.
His letter informed me that, hearing nothing
from me, he had sent one of his clerks to exam-
ine the old castle. The clerk had returned
with the astonishing intelligence that the whole
cliff upon which the castle had stood was gone
-having apparently slipped away into the sea!
Well, well I exclaimed, upon reading of
this remarkable occurrence; "so the whole
affair was a bit of magic-boy, goat, curlews,
castle, and all! It was lucky I sold it! "
But just then an idea struck me. I ran to
my trunk, unlocked the lid, and threw it open.
Alas! it was empty !
The money had been magic, too!
Since then I have never longed for anything
that comes without effort--for whatever is
worth having is worth working for; but when-
ever I hear an Italian curlew or meet a talking
goat, I think of my one day as a magician.

There once was a happy MhVIA

Who played on an old concertina.

He dressed very well
nd in his lapel,
e carelessly stuck a verbena.

aprolJn Wells.


. ". /




A STURDY young elf was skipping along
through the queen's garden one day, with his
hands in his trousers-pockets, whistling an air
then very much in vogue among elves, when
he chanced to espy a glorious calla-broken
from the stem, and standing upside down in
the middle of the walk. There it stood snowy
and crisp, where some rude, boisterous wind
had tossed it, after having snapped it clean
from the mother stalk.
Now you must know the elf was an infinitesi-
mal atom of fairy flesh and blood no taller than
a small-sized butterfly when it stands on its
head; and to him this capsized calla looked
for all the world like a great white tent, glis-
tening with dew-diamonds in the morning sun.
The elf stopped skipping and whistling to steal
wondering near. Drawing his hands out of his
trousers-pockets, he folded back one side of the
VOL. XXIV.- 128. 1o

white petal, and peered in. All was cool, fra-
grant emptiness, save for the golden pistil which
the elf thought was the tent-pole. Then he
stepped in, and gave a low chuckle of complete
satisfaction as he breathed the sweet purity,
and gazed upward through the white stillness
to the pointed, shadowy roof.
Nowhere could a more daintily perfect dom-
icile be found for an elf than this; and he re-
solved straightway to set up housekeeping in a
tent. But how should ie remove his niew piece
of property to some shadier and more retired
nook in the woods? For an elf to set up an
establishment in the queen's garden would be
not only audacious, but most imprudent; for
might not a vigilant gardener brush away elf,
shelter, and all some fine morning ? Or might
not her majesty's robe trail over his roof as she
strayed up and down the flower-bordered walk?

sS n'U




Or perchance an officious maid of honor might
fleck it away from her satin shoe-tip, or a gal-
lant courtier beat it down with a wanton blow
of his riding-whip. Surely it behooved the elf
to convey his treasure to some safer spot; but
how? Then he bethought him of his patrician
friend the peacock, who just now came with
stately strut down the broad path.
"Good morrow, my lord," quoth the elf.
"In sooth I am in a sorry plight."
"And what may be the cause of your vexa-
tion?" asked the noble bird, looking down
with a grand sort of kindliness at the perplexed
little man and his overturned calla.
My lord," answered our hero, I have
found this most delightful tent, which seems
to be of no service here to any one, and I would
fain pitch it in the woodlands yonder, hard by
the brook, but my strength is not great enough
to convey it thither."
Then the cunning elf looked very humble
and very miserable, so that his great friend and
patron took compassion upon him, and, bid-
ding him follow, lifted the tent daintily in his
beak, and bore it through the great garden,
across the broad park, to the woods beyond,
according to the elf's wish. The little fellow
was profuse in his thanks, and his lordship the
peacock strutted away much puffed up with the
consciousness of having done a handsome thing
-a very handsome thing, indeed.
Ah! the elf was a happy fellow as he stood
off and surveyed the graceful outlines of this
fairy structure, perched upon the brink of the
purling beck near a forest of rushes.
A wish and a fulfilment cause another wish,
and, as the elf leaned in his tent-door, he saw
not far away his friend the spider, spinning in
the sun. Her silver threads shone against a
background of dark leaves, as she busily wove
them in and out, in and out, after a wonderful
Ho, there, my good dame called the elf;
"pr'y thee, make me a curtain to hang before
my door, that all the prying eyes of the wood
may not see into my home. Weave it close
of silver threads, and I will catch you a goodly
meal of flies if it be done before nightfall."
The rather sour-visaged grandam signified
her willingness to fulfil his behest, and the en-

terprising manikin then determined that he
would go in search of something to serve as a
bed; for night would come, and there would be
nothing to lie upon but the ground; moreover,
his home looked barren without furniture or
household goods of any kind.
As he hopped airily along, he glanced back-
ward proudly, every now and then, at his pretty
abode, and hugged himself by way of congratu-
lation. He was thus hopping and looking
backward when he stumbled and fell sprawling
over a pebble; whereupon he uttered so loudly
an exclamation of disgust that it awakened his
friend the owl, who sat napping on a bough
above him. Seeing the elf's ludicrous plight,
she gave a sleepy laugh, which was well meant
but rather grating, especially to the nerves of
the fallen elf, who looked up, saying sharply,
" Oh, Mother Owl, 't is you, I see. It takes
wisdom like yours to see the fun in a fall." But
he was'a merry manikin, and, picking himself
up, he too laughed and told the owl of his
new home, and how he was trying to set up
housekeeping. Mother Owl blinked sagely -
so sagely that the elf thought possibly she might
have some suggestion to offer as to where he
was to procure the wished-for bed. The elf
was right; the old mother assured him that if
he would walk along the highway until he
came to a patch of meadow-land to the left, he
would find one living there called Mistress
Thistle, who was a good, sensible body, though
somewhat difficult to approach, and doubtless
she would help him. For," said the owl,
"my friend the ass has often spoken of her to
me, and he knows her to be a lovable old
soul, though rather coarse, my dear elf, rather
"So she helps me to a fine bed, good mo-
ther, I care not how coarse she may be," re-
plied the elf. I will seek out this Mistress
Thistle and ply my powers of persuasion. Good
day to you, mother! Your wisdom is matched
only by the sweetness of your voice "; and
off tripped this arch flatterer, with a funny little
twinkle in the corner of his eye.
"Pooh-hoo!" said the owl, and straightway
fell a-napping.
As the elf pursued his way, he met many of
his friends, little creatures of the wood going



about their different ways in the sunshiny morn-
ing, like the good, honest little folk they were;
and all had a kindly greeting for the elf, whose
jolly countenance was well known and well
liked in all the country round.
He soon came to the meadow, and there sat
Mistress Thistle with an astonishing purple cap
on her broad head. As the elf approached, he
doffed his own cap to her, and called up a
very respectful "Good morrow" from where
he stood beneath her in the meadow.
"Sweet Mistress Thistle," said he,
with a sober gallantry which sat
funnily enough upon his mis-
chievous face and elfin fig-
ure, I was advised by
that dame of wise re-
pute, Mother Owl, to
come to you this
morning to make an
earnest request, she
having assured me of
your benevolence and
willingness to serve
your fellow-creatures.
I am fitting up a new I
home for myself, yon- 4
der in the woods, and
I have naught to lay -
my weary bones upon
at night save the 1
ground, which is
somewhat damp in that
locality; and as a crea- ,
ture of your sense well .
knows -"
"There! child, say 's- -
no more!" cried the V i
homely but warm-
hearted thistle; "I "'PERCHANCE YOU CA
have that which will
protect your blessed bones from the damp-
ness, and cause you to slumber soundly withal."
Thereupon she shook down to him a shower
of the fluffiest buff-colored down, deliciously
soft, which fell in a generous heap at his feet.
By my faith, Mistress Thistle, 't is a goodly
gift, and one for which I am most grateful,"
said the elf heartily, as he bowed his thanks.
Just then a bee flew past them, loitering la-

zily, and the thistle nodded her head to him,
calling, "Tarry one moment, I pray you, good
Master Bee, and if your bag be empty I would
have you lend it to this little gentleman who is
fain to carry this down of my making to his
home in the woods yonder; for he will have
much ado about it if you be not so good as to
help him."




Marry, that will I!" returned the bee in
his hearty bass; "not only will I help him with
the use of my bag, but I myself will carry his
bundle to the wood; for the sun is now well up,
and our friend here might find his burden irk-
some in the noonday heat."
The elf protested, but, the jolly old bee would
hear of no other plan, and quickly stuffing his
bag with the down, he flew off over the mea-




dow and away in the direction of the wood,
leaving the elf to bid adieu to the thistle, and
bow himself off with smiling thanks.
As the elf strolled homeward through the
noontide heat, he came to a neat little green
house in the woods, made all of rushes; here
lived his friend the toad, who now sat before
the door in a dingy old spotted dressing-gown,
looking like a drowsy Dutchman. He had
eaten altogether too hearty a breakfast, and in
consequence was feeling and looking very stu-
pid. His mouth drooped and his eyes goggled
at the elf, who greeted him as an old friend, and
seated himself in the shade of the porch.
"Here is pleasant news for you, friend
Toad," said he. I have pitched a tent not a
dozen of your hops away from here, and shall
henceforth be your neighbor."
H'm! grunted the toad, with a lazy lack
of enthusiasm which might have disconcerted
anything except an elf; but elves are happy-
go-lucky little beings who believe that a very
kindly meaning may lurk under many an odd,
mode of expression, and an elf has a way of
twisting the bright side of things outward as
breezes turn birch leaves silver-side up.
Thus our tiny man took the toad's grunt as
an expression of entire satisfaction and ap-
proval. And by the way," cried he, as a new
thought struck him, "you may prove yourself
at once to be of a right neighborly spirit by
giving me one of those excellent stools for which
you are so famous. Perchance you can spare
one out of all your thrifty store ? "
The toad nodded and signed to him to walk
in and help himself. Nothing loath, the elf dis-
appeared under the rush roof, and soon came
forth bearing the tiniest toadstool, very white
and soft, and fit to be a fairy queen's foot-stool.
What could be better," quoth he, "for my
new household? Let me know, my good
friend, when I can be of service to you, and
you will find me not forgetful of this favor."
H'm!" grunted the toad again; "better
take another, a larger one, for a table."
This was a happy idea, and the delighted elf
at once acted upon it.
As he was bidding adieu to the toad, his
friend the humming-bird darted by; but see-
ing the elf, he turned back and poised with airy

grace upon a birchen spray. He was dressed
with all his gorgeous elegance, wearing a rich
coat of crimson velvet and a jaunty cap of
green. Rubies and topaz gleamed here and
there, and he had an air of ease and refinement
which proved at once that he was a frequenter
of courts, though somewhat of a gay and dainty
Bohemian. With careless good humor, he of-
fered to bear one of the elf's burdens; and the
latter, after thanking him cordially, told him of
the tent and all the morning's success. Then
they started off, the elf trudging slowly beneath
his table, and the bird flying with languid grace,
balancing the toadstool upon his back.
"How go matters at court ?" asked the elf,
as they went through the sun-flecks and shadows.
Oh, not so well as one might wish," re-
plied the bird. "But one's heart need not
break for all that. Doubtless you have -heard
of that rusty-coated young minstrel who has but
lately made his way to court, and beguiled the
queen's favor with the witchery of his voice.
A shabby plebeian, as you would say yourself,
should you happen to meet him in daylight."
Here the humming-bird surveyed his own
elegance with satisfaction, and hummed lightly:

"If the rose-queen turn away her face,
Hath not the gentle primrose grace?"

and the elf saw that condolences were not
needed by this cavalier, who was even now
flashing aside to greet a saucy cardinal-flower.
A sweet maid," said the humming-bird,
as he rejoined his companion, and together
they reached the tent.
Dame Spider had already completed her
work, and there floated a soft curtain of silver
sheen before the elf's door.
When he entered, courteously bidding the
bird to do likewise, he found that the bee had
piled in one corner the fluffy heap of down, and
had left also a little pat of honey wrapped in a
wild-rose petal-a delicate attention fully appre-
ciated by the elf, who had a sweet tooth. And
some kindly creature had brought a great golden
buttercup-bowl filled with morning dew, and set
it down beside the honey. The elf invited his
friend to sit at his table and share the noontide
repast, which the bird readily consented to do,
and a merry meal they made of it.



During the rest of the day the elf was so
busy receiving his cordial neighbors, who called
to bid him welcome to his new home, that when
night came he was glad to draw his curtain,
slip off his clothes, and jump into bed. As
he lay thinking over the events of the day, a
firefly came to the door, offering him the use of
his lamp; but the elf called out sleepily that he
had no need of it, yet thanked him heartily
all the same. In the distance, off toward the
meadow, his friends the crickets were gather-
ing for a moonlight dance. Their fiddles were
squeaking blithely, and the elf thought, as he
heard the merry little din, "Who would dream
that those sober, black-coated crickets were
such jolly fellows, carousing thus night after
night ? A festive life they lead of it. Now, my
friends the frogs take life too seriously; 't is a
dismal tune they have, one tone for all times.
Ah, well! 't would be a funny world, filled all

with fiddle-squeaks and dancing crickets. There
goes my friend the firefly, swinging his lantern
- a genial soul, but given to late hours. Ah,
Mistress Thistle, my dream should be of you!
In sooth, 't is a comforting couch. What a
pleasant world'is this -not one of my fellow-
creatures so selfish he cannot pause to hear an-
other's hopes and plans; not one so stingy he
cannot give something from his store to help a
brother's need." Then the nightingale's song
floated in to him, through the golden moon-
light, from the queen's garden. "Ah! sighed
the sleepy manikin, "yonder minstrel has a
tuneful throat, though my friend Sir Skylark
says his method is miserable. Ah, well! his
music satisfies her heart, and the favor of one
rose is enough for a bird's life, or an elf's
either. In sooth, a sweet lulla lulla-by by
-by-" and the elf was fast asleep in his little
white tent.



[This story was begun in the February number.]

THERE were a good many tears shed, and
much emotion was shown on both sides, when
the day of departure came. Grandy was very
lachrymose, and not being able to change her
mind, changed her traveling-dress three times,
to Claudine's intense annoyance. Donaldson
cut for her a bouquet of his choicest exotics.
Friulein had crocheted her a shawl. Mabel
had made her a tea-cozy, and Catherine a foot-
warmer. Mrs. Aubrey gave her a lovely sketch
of the place, framed in flowers from the garden.
Arthur had turned her out an ebony book-
rest in the carpenter's shop in. the basement,
being really fond of the timid, gentle old lady.
Grandy almost wept over each present in turn.
Nina had some lovely gifts also, and there
were some things said to her that greatly

touched and pleased the wayward, generous
child. She went with all the cousins to say
good-by to the peacocks, the Pleasaunce, the
lake, the swans. She went to see the cottagers,
and told them all they had better come to
America-"just the best country that ever
was in the world." She begged the cousins
to do this, also; making many plans for the
When in the carriage, she sprang out to give
another fervent embrace to Mabel and "those
darling twins," Di and Deb, who looked on
placidly at the leave-taking. She hugged "dear
Uncle Aubrey," whom she immensely admired.
She left Louise Compton on the terrace with
her cousins, and was half-way down the avenue
when Herbert came tearing up and thrust in at
the window something that looked like a ham,
shouting, Take it, Nina; it's my new tennis-
racket," and dashed away again.
"The young lady were weeping when she
passed through the lodge gates, that she were.



I see her as plain as could be," reported the
wife of the keeper, when next she saw Mabel.
"Dear, dear Nina i" was Mabel's comment.

Nina's English adventures ended here--at
least such of them as I have been able to re-
cord; but great events were soon to follow.
It is impossible to give them or their conse-
quences in detail; and indeed it is very painful
to say anything about the next four years of
her life, for the suffering and discipline that were
to make of her the noble woman that she is
to-day had begun.
They had been only a few weeks on the Con-
tinent when Mrs. Andrews received letters from
home that deeply agitated her. A fatal illness
developed, and it was painful to see the way in
which, during the week afterward, her eyes fol-
lowed Nina's every movement. And no won-
der; for she had heard that her trustee, the
respectable and respected Mr. Foster, had lost
Nina's fortune in speculation, and made his es-
cape to a foreign country. In ten days poor
unhappy Mrs. Andrews died. In a fortnight
after that Marian and Nina were on their way
home. Arriving in New York, they made some
stay there, in the course of which it became
clear that Nina's large fortune had really van-
ished as completely as morning mists disappear
before the rising sun.
Poor Marian was fairly terrified to think of
her position. "She has not been used to the
least self-denial," she thought, and she must
exercise the greatest. Out of mistaken love,
they have exposed her to all the worst risks
of poverty, without having done anything to
teach her the right use of wealth. She has al-
ways gratified her every whim, at whatever cost.
How will she learn to do without, not luxu-
ries, but necessaries? Poor, poor child! She
can't even braid her own hair, and has hardly
so much as put on her own shoes and stockings
in her life. And she has n't a cent! How
wise of the Aubreys to give their children either
a profession or a trade, although they are the
children of rich parents, and will be rich some
day. What is to become of poor Nina?"
And that very day it was that Nina com-
plained of her back for the first time the poor
little back that was to ache so long and so

wearily! She became worse, and Marian, see-
ing her so nerveless and languid and unlike her-
self, sent for their family physician. He came.
He made a careful examination. "There is a
slight lateral distortion of the spinal column,"
he said; and then afterward, when alone with
Marian: I should not have been surprised to
see her bent half double. You must know that I
have known Nina since she was five years old,
when I saw her for the first time one night at
the theater, where she had fallen asleep with
her head lying on the balcony railing. A lovely
little thing she was, and I could not help won-
dering what fool had brought her there, and
wishing I could send her to bed. Later, I was
called in to attend her, and I knew all about
her. Her dress, habits, amusements; have been
alike senseless. She has been on the go from
morning till night, but has had no proper ex-
ercise. She has eaten irregularly and taken
food that would have taxed the digestive powers
of an ostrich. She has worn thin shoes (with
high heels coming out of the middle of her foot)
in midwinter, by way of protecting herself from
cold, and has put on outer wraps or no wraps,
according to her fancy. She has kept late
hours, such as would have tried the health of
a strong adult, and risen early by way of re-
cruiting her nervous energies and waste of
forces. Her mind has been stimulated into
premature activity by her surroundings- not
by her studies; and, what is far worse, she has
been brought up in a hot-bed of emotional ex-
citement. I see this sort of thing every day.
You need not trouble yourself to tell me her
symptoms that her growth has been arrested,
that she is excitable, exhausted by any exertion,
always tired and peevish and ailing. Parents
bring such cases to me constantly, and say:
' Doctor, we cannot imagine what is the matter
with Lucy, or J ohn'; and on inquiring, I find out
these facts. Then I tell them sarcastically that
is just the way to produce sound minds in sound
bodies; to get strong, well-knit frames, firm
muscles, sound organs of digestion, vigorous
and healthy functions, mental and physical-
when I don't lose my temper and tell the truth
He then entered into the treatment of Nina's
case, and told Marian what to do for her.



When he had gone, Marian sat down and
wept for thinking of Nina's troubles. What
could, what should she do for her ? -how tell
her? She took a week to decide what her
duty was in the matter. It finally was found
out that, to get rid of an importunate insurance
agent, Mrs. Andrews had five years before taken
out a policy for a few thousands; and this little
sum, or rather the interest on it, was now all
that Nina had. Marian felt that it was a great
mercy that she had even that. It then became
a question of whether she could live on a few
hundred dollars a year, and where. The first
question remained to be put to the test of a
trial; but while much sympathy was expressed
for the child's singularly friendless state and ter-
rible reverse of fortune, nobody came forward
to offer Nina a home. There were no near
relatives, no friends who cared to assume such
responsibilities. There was no fairy godmother.
So, as they were at considerable expense where
they were staying, and the small sum in Mrs.
Andrews's possession when the crash came was
almost exhausted, Marian took Nina's hand one
day, and held it fast in hers, while she explained
the complete change in all the circumstances and
conditions of her life. She concluded by saying,
" I see nothing for it, dear, except for you to go
home with me to Maryland. We own our little
home there, and living is cheap; and I can get
teaching in the neighborhood, and you shall
help me to keep the boys in order, and with the
housekeeping. Do you think you can be happy
with us? It would be luxury to me to be at
home, even if I had to do the grates and knives
and boots. For you it will be a great I fear
a very trying change from anything you have
ever known, for we are poor. But then you have
to learn to be poor, too, now, you know; and if
you have the dinner of herbs,' you will be
'where love is.' We will go to work briskly,
and you shall learn something that will qualify
you to earn an honorable and useful living-
something congenial to you, too, into which you
can put all your heart. Will you come ?"
Of course Nina answered yes. There was no-
thing else to say or to do. She was vaguely
aghast at finding herself poor. It felt "so
queer, somehow," she said. But as yet it was
only a word, and signified to her mind nothing

worse than "old clothes, and peppermint candy,
and cabbage for dinner," as she told Marian,
who both laughed and sighed to hear her. She
sat on Marian's lap a long while with her arms
around Marian's neck, and when other plans
were suggested, would only reply appealingly,
" Oh, Marian, let me stay with you, for I do
love you so."
To Maryland they went, then -to a quiet
neighborhood, to a small, shabbily-furnished
house, to a family consisting of five healthy,
happy, merry boys (whom Marian had by
superhuman efforts kept together), and two
old aunties, one white and one black, and both
as good as gold Miss Maynard, the sister
of Marian's mother, and old Aunt Hebe, black-
est, best of factotums, an ex-slave, and, accord-
ing to her own account, deir mudder's nurse
befo' dey was born, any one of 'em."
Aunt Hebe cooked, cleaned, and waited at
table, where, in her own imperious and grotes-
que fashion, she furtively lectured the children
on their manners. Manners gwine take you
furder 'n money, and don't you forgit dat,"
she would say in an undertone, with an aw-
ful roll of her eyes; or "Feltc widout please
don' bring no bread, chile"; or "Elbows
off de table, buttercakes on de plate "; and as
she was in a position to enforce her hints,
she was more successful than most mentors,
especially as, after the fashion of Southern
family servants, she did not hesitate to make
much more direct appeals to them. "Yo' ma
lef' you to ine, and I 's gwine to bring you
up like all de fambly, to be quality," she always
told them.
Well, Miss Maynard patched and mended,
and nominally managed the house that Aunt
Hebe really ruled like a benevolent despot.
And Marian walked through all weathers to
her pupils, and Nina never even knew, until
years afterward, that she took in sewing in
order to be able to keep Nina there and provide
her with some comforts.
The next two years were trying to the poor
child. It was impossible to screen her alto-
gether from the hardships that all suffered in
common, and the change had come so sud-
denly- she was so utterly unprepared for it in
body and mind that she could not reconcile

1897.] -



herself to it, and her thin face took on a pen-
sive look that was very sad to see.
It was not until Marian's tender love and
beautiful unselfishness and patience penetrated
the garment of heaviness in which Nina had
wrapped herself, that she at all realized what
pain she was giving by her fretfulness, discon-
tent, and sadness. From that moment a light
dawned in her soul. She tried to be patient
for Marian's sake, to be content with what they
could give her, to bear her deprivations bravely.
Then she grew observant of the self-sacrifice,
the tenderness, and the goodness that she had
before accepted as a matter of course; and the
light was brighter and brighter, though there
were dark days, when the food, and the noise
of the boys, and the loneliness while Marian
was away at work, seemed insupportable.
Marian was most ingenious and clever in
devising work that would occupy and not tire
Nina-work by which she should earn some
money. Five-dollar bills had been as plentiful
with her as "leaves in Vallombrosa," almost;
and now she had to work for a month to earn
one such greenback. She was fond of dress,
and she had to go shabby. She longed for
ices and fruits and delicacies, and she had dry
bread and a glass of milk for her supper, and
often little else when things were at the worst.
The days when she had money to throw away
on anything and everything seemed like a
dream. The shoes she earned for herself, and
that cost two dollars and wore out so much
too soon, were not much like the rows of satin-
lined, fur-topped, patent-leather affairs that she
used to throw around and abuse as "ugly,
horrid things." She would very gladly have
tried on dresses now, if there had been a Norah
McFarlane to make them.
The Aubreys often wrote to her. They of-
fered her aid with much delicacy, but Nina
looked fierce over the letter first, and then burst
into a perfect passion of tears.
I 'li starve before I '11 let the English sup-

port me, if they are my half-cousins," she cried,
and was not to be soothed until Marian agreed
that the kind offer should be gently but defi-
nitely refused. It was hard, terrible for her.
But there is no teacher like adversity, and she
gradually learned the lesson set her, and Ma-
rian was an angel of goodness to her. She
would not let Nina's mind prey upon itself, nor
her education suffer; but read to her, talked to
her, and ever fixed her thoughts on a brighter
future for which she must fit herself. And that
future came, and found her ready for it. An
influential friend of Marian's induced her to
take up kindergarten work, for which she was
naturally fitted, and in which she found full
scope for her unusual abilities. And Nina, who
had undertaken to assist Marian, became a very
different girl from the child she had been: a
girl with every one of her noble and attractive
qualities purified and perfected by years of self-
denial, development, and discipline, ready to
take her place in the world and to make it a
little better, brighter, and sweeter place because
of her life in it.
Marian is at the head of a "Free Kinder-
garten" in one of our Eastern cities; and
Nina's loving heart, her bright intelligence, her
great love of children, her natural nobility of
character, make her a most valuable and valued
assistant in this work, in which she delights.
I saw her not long since with fully a dozen
little ones clinging about her skirts, her face
still keen and intellectual in expression, but full
of a new power and sweetness and meaning. I
asked her how she liked the system and her
work for I have known her all her life.
"Like it? I love it! If there is anything
for which I am profoundly grateful, it is my
work that, and Marian, and the loss of my
money, but for which I should have lived and
died a spoiled darling," she answered earnestly.
You always were, and always will be, a dar-
ling! said Marian, putting one arm around
Nina, and drawing her close.




By eCristopher Valentine.

Bean-bap, bean-ba, flying througb tbe slay,
6ome and let me catch you--
1Do not fly too big)
Row send you bact again ;
Do not fly too low,
Fall into my bands, and then
Idp again you go I

Bean-bag, bean-bay, sailing in tbe sun,
Why do you come down so soon
When your fligth's begun
Spread your wings and fly away
4 'd change you to a bird
Were 9 a fairy who could say
ibhe secret, magic word I

Bean-bag, bean-bag, would n't it be funny
gf 4 were but a princess,
(nd you a bap of money?
But if you fell upon her nose
'i would make the princess scold I
Beans are safer, suppose,
(iban silver or than gold !

VOL. XXIV.--29.



[This story was begun in the November number.]
WHEN it was quite settled that they would
have no supplies for the winter unless they
bought them from the people in the valley with
their gold pieces, as the old man had done be-
fore them, they settled down to their reading
again, foraging by turns for every edible thing
they could find, and putting off the evil hour
when they should be forced to reveal them-
selves. The more they read of the abolition
periodicals the more they loathed their neigh-
bors in the valley, and shrank from communi-
cating with them. They knew that these people
in the mountains seldom owned slaves them-
selves; but they felt that they were in full sym-
pathy with all the cruelties of which the yellow-
and blue-covered pamphlets treated. If the
guineas in the hoard of Hezekiah Wallstow
meant anything, they represented the propor-
tion of the gold which had been contributed by
anti-slavery societies in England; and they be-
gan seriously to consider their moral obligation
to return the entire sum to its rightful owners.
In order to accomplish this just purpose, their
lives must be preserved during the approaching
winter, and seeds secured for another planting.
After that, they would find means to replace
with iron the gold they had used in the con-
struction of the mill, and of various household
contrivances, and when the treasure was again
restored to the cask, they would find some way
to open communication with the benevolent
anti-slavery societies.
By the end of October they had eaten the
last of their meal. There were a few clusters
of purple grapes on the vines, and to these
they turned for food, still dreading, with a dread
which was born of the pamphlets they were read-
ing, to make any signs to their enemies. For

two days more they stained their hands and
faces with the juice of the grapes, until an ex-
clusive fruit diet, and meditation day and night
on the awful wickedness of men, had weakened
their bodies and began to affect their minds.
The dread hour had finally come, and they
could no longer delay making signs of their dis-
tress. To this end they collected a pile of dry
wood, and heaped it on the point of rocks, in
full view of the settlement of Cashiers. It was
growing dusk when everything was ready to
start the fire, and Philip had come from the
house with a lighted torch. At the moment he
was about to touch it to the dry wood, Brom-
ley snatched the torch from his hand and ex-
tinguished it in the dirt. Coleman and Philip
tried to prevent this rash act of their comrade,
and in their weakness gave free expression to
their anger; but Bromley stamped out the last
spark of the fire without paying any heed to
their bad language and frantic gestures.
"Are you mad ? he then cried, retreating a
little from what threatened to be -an assault.
What do you think will be our fate at the
hands of these people, when we are found in
possession of such books as we have been read-
ing? We should be imprisoned like Lovejoy,
or branded like Walker. We might pay with
our lives for your recklessness to-night."
Philip and Coleman were shocked at the
danger they had so narrowly escaped, and
thanked Bromley for his forethought and
his prompt action.
Of course they must bury the books, but
they would have all of the next day to attend
to that; and with many expressions of thank-
fulness they returned to the house and crept
into their bunks. When morning came they
were weak and hungry, with nothing whatever
to eat; but in spite of all this they heaped the
anti-slavery books and pamphlets on the earthen
floor, carefully separating .them from the works


on temperance. They had come to regard
these books as little less than sacred, and they
naturally shrank from burying them in the
ground. Happy thought! there was the
Cave of the Bats. So, packing them into the
pails, the soldiers carried the books in two toil-
some journeys by torchlight to the middle of
the cavernous passage, and laid them carefully
together on the stone floor. They were well-
nigh exhausted by this exertion; but after a
rest they found strength to close the entrance
with brush and earth, and to cover their work
with pine-needles.
Half-famished as Lieutenant Coleman and
his comrades were, they could only drink from
the branch, and wait patiently for night. The
poor old paralyzed rooster, sitting in the chips
by the door, looked so forlorn and hungry that
Philip set him out among the dry weeds, and
lay down on the ground beside him, so as to
be ready to turn him about and set him along
when he had plucked the few seeds in his front.
As for the bear and the five crippled roosters,
they shambled and hobbled about, and shifted
bravely for themselves.
There were still many things to consider as
to how they would be received by these people,
and what success they would have in exchang-
ing United States gold-pieces for food and
clothing. Perhaps they would be obliged to
buy Confederate notes at ruinous rates of ex-
change. Perhaps their visitors would confis-
cate their gold-pieces at sight, and take them-
selves down the mountain as state prisoners.
They must keep some coins in their pockets for
barter, which was their object in summoning
their dubious neighbors; but it would certainly
be prudent to conceal the bulk of their money.
So the last thing the soldiers did on this No-
vember afternoon was to dump the gold that
remained in the cask into a hole in the ground,
and cover it up.
As soon as it began to grow dark on the
mountain they set fire to the pile of wood,
which was presently a great tower of flame,
lighting up the rocks and trees, and forming a
beacon which must be seen from valley and
mountain for miles around. At that hour, and
in the glare of their own fire, they could see
nothing of its effect in the settlement; but they

were sure it would be watched by the families
outside every cabin; and in this belief they
moved about to the right and left of the flames,
waving their arms in token of their distress.
Surely a fire on this mountain-top, where no
native had set foot for seven long years, would
excite the wonder of the people below. It
could be kindled only by human hands, and
they would be eager to know to whom the
hands belonged.
In the morning, the three soldiers crept out
to the smoldering remains of their fire, which
was still sending up a thin wreath of smoke.
On the distant road through the valley they
could see groups of tiny people, evidently
watching and wondering. They could come
no nearer than the bridgeless gorge, and so,
weak as the soldiers were, after they had made
every effort to show themselves in the smoke,
they made their way to the head of the ladders
and climbed down to the field below. Philip
stopped behind to run up the old flag on the
pole; for, whatever effect that emblem might
have on their neighbors, they were determined
to stand by their colors. They found a few
chestnuts and dried berries in the old field,
which they devoured with wolfish hunger as
they crept along toward the gorge.
They hoped to see human faces on the op-
posite bank when they arrived; but there was
no one there to meet them. They were not
greatly disappointed, for it was still early in the
day, and the people had a much longer jour-
ney to make from the valley. There was the
same old-time stillness on that part of the
mountain: the tinkling brook in the bottom of
the gorge, and the soughing of the wind in the
tops of the tall pines on the other side. There
were still some sticks of the old bridge wedged
in the top of the dead basswood the bridge
that had served the old abolitionist in his life-
time, and the destruction of which had served
the purpose of the soldiers equally well.
The mild November sunshine lay bright on
the faded landscape, and the soldiers sat down
on the dry grass to await the coming of their
deliverers. If one of the tall pines had been
standing on their own side of the gorge they
would have used their last strength to cut it
down and fell it across the chasm. They had



put on their old blue overcoats, to make a de- waiters. Why did no one cometo their relief?
cent appearance before the people when they They knew that their fire had been seen where
arrived; but hour after hour crept slowly by, the presence of a human being would be re-
and nobody came except Tumbler the bear, garded as little less than a miracle by the
dwellers in the valley.
What if they had ac-
cepted it as a miracle
altogether, and avoid-
ed the place accord-
ingly ? They were
ignorant people, and
therefore probably su-
perstitious; or else
they were a people as
cruel and heartless as
they were described
to be in the "Weekly
The rustling wind
,! _in the tree-tops, and
the occasional tapping
of a woodpecker in
the forest beyond, be-
came hateful sounds
to their impatient ears.
Bromley, who was the
strongest of the three,
and the more indig-
nant that no one came
to their relief, wan-
dered back upon the
old field, where he
found a few more
chestnuts, which he
divided equally with
his half-famished com-
rades. Every mouth-
ful of food helped to
keep up their strength
and courage; and
now the slanting rays
of the afternoon sun
reminded them that
they must repeat their
"THEY SET FIRE TO THE PILE OF WOOD." signal, and that no
who had backed down the ladders and sham- time was to be lost in gathering wood for
bled across the field to join them. By the sun another fire. There was still hope that relief
it was past noon when he came; and as he would come before dark, and Philip was left
seated himself silently in the gloomy circle, he to watch with the bear, while Coleman and
made but a sorry addition to the anxious Bromley returned to the plateau.



The postmaster in the Cove might be less
superstitious, they thought, or less hard-hearted
than the people in the valley. If their strength
held out they would have two fires that night.
No chance should be neglected. As Coleman
and Bromley dragged together a few dead
limbs upon the edge of the great boulder, they
hoped that the postmaster had found the re-
mains of the telescope, as they knew he had
found the army-blanket which fell from the
balloon, so that when he saw their fire he
would connect it, in his mind, with the other
objects which had come flying down from the
It was after sunset when Philip and Tumbler
appeared on the plateau. No one had come
even so far as the gorge; and Philip helped to
carry the last of their wood to the rocky point
where the blackened embers of the first fire lay
in the thin ashes. Coleman and Philip re-
mained to kindle this beacon, while Bromley
went to the Cove side with a lighted torch and
a bundle of fat pine-knots. When Bromley
saw the first smoke of the other fire across the
ridge, no light had yet appeared in the windows
of the small post-office. Moreover, with his
strong eyes, he was sure he saw some object
moving along the road in the direction of the
He waited a little while, waving his torch,
and then he applied it to the dry leaves and
sticks at the base of the pile, which flashed
quickly into a blaze. Bromley was not con-
tent to move about in the light replenishing his
fire, but, as often as a fat pine-knot had become
enveloped in flame, he separated it from the
pile and poked it over the edge of the great
smooth rock, to flare against the black storm-
stains as it fell, and perhaps to start a new fire
in the cove bottom. A brisk east wind was
blowing across the mountain, which carried the
smoke and sparks over the long roof of the
Bromley remained late in the night at his
work; but at last his strength and his will-
power yielded to the weakness that comes with
hunger. An overpowering drowsiness com-
pelled him to leave the fire and go stumbling
over the hill to the house, where he found
Coleman and Philip already asleep.

WHEN the three soldiers awoke on the morn-
ing which followed the kindling of the two fires,
Philip was too ill to leave his bunk, and Lieu-
tenant Coleman and Bromley were too weak to
drag themselves as far as the rocks where the
embers were still smoking. The sun was shin-
ing on their United States window, and when
they looked out at the door, the old flag of
thirty-five stars was floating bravely on the
fresh wind.
Three cheers for the Stars and Stripes, and
for Sherman Territory! cried Bromley, and the
weak cheers so exhausted the two men that
they sat down on the wooden bench in a state
of collapse. Faint as they were from hunger,
they were still fainter from thirst, and after a
moment's rest they staggered over to the
branch and drank their fill of the cool water,
and laved their feverish faces in the stream.
They brought a cup of the water to Philip, who
lay quietly in his bunk, and was altogether so
weak that they werd obliged to hold him up
while he drank.
"There, there," said Coleman, as they eased
him back on his pillow. "You must keep a
good heart, for some one will surely come to us
Philip looked brighter for the draught of wa-
ter, but he only smiled in reply. The sun was
warm outside, but the act of drinking, while it
had greatly revived and encouraged Coleman
and Bromley, had so chilled their starved bodies
that they put on their overcoats and buttoned
them up to the throat. They could do no
more in the way of calling for help than they
had already done. Men had died of starva-
tion before, and it might be their fate to perish
of hunger, but they felt a strong faith that the
fires they had built for two nights on this unin-
habited mountain would bring some one to
their relief. They regretted now that the read-
ing of the abolition books had influenced them
to delay so long their appeal for help. To
reach them their rescuers must fell one or more
of the tall pines across the bridgeless gorge, but
they were too weak to go down the ladders,
and what wind there was blew across the moun-



tain in the direction of the gorge, so that they
would not hear the sound of an ax a mile away.
Time had never dragged so slowly. The sun
came in at the open door, and by the marks
they had made on the floor, as well as by the
shadows cast by the trees outside, they could
judge closely of the hour. They could hardly
believe that it was only ten o'clock in the morn-
ing, when it seemed as if they had already
passed a whole day in vain hope of relief.
It was such a terrible thing to await starva-
tion in the oppressive stillness of the mountain,
that Bromley, almost desperate with listening,
went to the branch and hung the bucket on the
arm of the old Slow John, which presently be-
gan to pound and splash in its measured way.
Dismal as the sound was, it gave them some-
thing to count, and relieved their tired ears of
the monotonous flapping of the flag and of the
rustling of the barren corn-stalks.
They talked of the old man who had died
alone on the other plateau. He, too, might
have died of starvation. There were no signs
of food in the deserted house when they had
discovered it. They had never thought of it
before, but his cunning agent might have been
a villain after all. He might have grown weary
at last of lugging casks up the mountain by
moonlight, and getting the old man's gold by
slow doles. He must have had some know-
ledge of the treasure for which he dug so per-
sistently afterward, and in his greed to possess
it he might have deliberately starved the old
abolitionist. They thought of Hezekiah Wall-
stow burning beacon fires in his extremity,
when there was a good bridge to connect the
mountain-top with the valley, and yet he was
left to die alone. The thought was not encour-
aging to Coleman and Bromley in their weak-
ened, nervous condition, and tended to make
them more than ever distrustful of the natives
to whom they had appealed.
* They withheld these disturbing suspicions
from Philip, but the more they pondered on
the subject the more they were convinced of
the barbarity of the Confederates and of their
determination to leave them to their fate.
Lieutenant Coleman wrote what he believed
to be the last entry in the diary. It was No-
vember 7, 1871; and on the cleansed paper

of the book which treated of deep-sea fishing
he stated briefly their starving condition and
their fruitless efforts to summon relief. They
still had the tin box in which the adamantine
candles had been stored, and into this Bromley
helped to pack the leaves of the diary, already
neatly tied in separate packages, and labeled
for each year. If he had had a little more
strength he would have carried it to the forge,
and sealed the cover of the box which contained
the record of their lives. As it was, they set it
on the mantelpiece under the trophy formed of
the station flags and the swords and carbines,
and laid a weight on the lid.
After this was accomplished, Lieutenant Cole-
man lay down and turned his face to the wall,
and Bromley seated himself on the bench out-
side the door, too stubborn to give up all hope
of relief. The warm sun lighted the chip dirt
at his feet, and seemed to glorify the bright
colors of the old flag as it floated from the
staff. He forgot his desperate situation for a
moment, as his mind turned back to the battle-
days, when he had seen it waving in the sulphu-
rous smoke. It gave him no comfort, however,
to think of his old comrades and the dead gen-
erals and the cause that was lost; and when his
eyes fell on the ground at his feet, he tried to
keep them fixed on a tiny ant which came out
of a crumbling log. The small thing was so
full of life, darting and halting and turning this
way and that Now it disappeared under the
log, and then it came out again, rolling a
kernel of corn, climbing up on one side, to fall
ignominiously down on the other. Bromley
was just about to pounce on the grain of corn
and crush it between his teeth, when he heard
a sound on the hill, and, raising his eyes, he
saw two men coming on toward the house.
They carried long bird-rifles on their shoul-
ders, and to his starved vision they looked to
be of gigantic size against the sky.
He could only cry out, Fred! Fred! Here
they come "
These electric words brought Coleman's hag-
gard face to the door, and even Philip turned
in his blankets.
The strange dress and wild appearance of the
two soldiers, one clinging to the door of the
house, and the fantastic effect of the afternoon



sun on the stained-glass window, as if the in-
terior were on fire, so startled the strangers that
they lowered their rifles to a position for de-
fense, and turned from the direct approach, un-
til they had gained a position among the rus-
tling corn-stalks in front of the door. The
various buildings and the evidence of cultivation
on the mountain-top staggered the visitors, and
the haggard faces of Coleman and Bromley led
them to believe that they had come upon a
camp of the fabled wild men of the woods.
They had never before seen a stained-glass
window, which to their minds suggested some
infernal magic, and so the two valley-men stood
elbow to elbow, in an attitude for defense, and
waited for the others to speak.
Come on, neighbors," said Bromley, hold-
ing out his empty hands. We are only three
starving men."
One of the valley-men was tall and lank, and
the other was sturdily built; and at these pacific
words of Bromley they advanced, still keeping
close together.
"We don't see but two," said the stout man,
coming to a halt again. "Where 's the other
one at ?"
He 's too weak to get out of his bunk,"
said Lieutenant Coleman. "For pity's sake,
have you brought us food ? "
That 's just what we have," said the rosy-
faced, stout man, who came on without any
further hesitation. We 've brought ye a corn-
pone. We 'lowed there might be some human
critters starvin' up here." With that he whisked
about the thin man and snatched a corn loaf
from the haversack on his back.
How did you all ever git here ? said the
thin man. "Hit 's seven year since the old
bridge tumbled into the gorge."
There was no reply to this question, for Brom-
ley was devouring his bread like a starved wolf,
while Coleman had turned away to share his
piece with Philip.
The eagerness with which they ate seemed
to please the two valley-men, who were willing
enough to wait a reasonable time for the in-
formation they sought. It was a good oppor-
tunity to give some account of themselves, and
the rosy-faced man made good use of it.
"We 're plumb friendly," he said, ." and

mighty glad we brought along the bread, ain't
we, Tom? Might n't 'a' done it if hit had n't
'a' been for my old woman insistin'. She 'lowed
some hunter fellers had got up here and could n't
git down ag'in, and she hild fast to that idea
while she was a-bakin' last night, time your
fire was a-burnin'. Hit certainly takes women
folks to git the rights o' things, don't it, Tom ?
My name is Riley Hooper, and this yer friend
o' mine is Tom Zachery, and we 're nothing' if
we ain't friendly."
Poor Philip was unable to swallow the dry
bread, and Coleman came to the door with the
golden cup in his hand, and begged one of the
men to bring a cup of water from the branch.
Tom Zachery hurried off on this mission of
"Hit 's a wonder," he exclaimed, when he
came back with the dripping cup, "that you
all ain't been pizened afore this, drinking' out
o' brass gourds. That 's what ailed Colum,
long time he had the green sickness. But his
woman was cooking' into a brass kittle, and
that might 'a' made some difference."
The two men now pressed into the house
to see Philip; and Bromley, whose hands were
at last empty, and whose strength was fast re-
turning, came after them.
"I 'm jest nacherly put out," said Hooper,
when he saw the condition of Philip, "that I
did n't bring along something' to warm up a
cold stomic. Poor feller! Say, where 's your
fryin'-pan at ? I '11 fix a dose for him. Here,
Tom, wake up! Fill this skillet with water out
o' the branch 'thout no flavor o' brass into it,"
and as he spoke he whisked Tom around again
and took the haversack from his shoulders.
" No, ye don't," said he to Bromley, who came
forward for more bread. No, ye don't, my
boy. I 've viewed starvin' humans afore. What
you want to do is to go slow. A dose o' gruel
is jest the ticket for this yer whole outfit."
The rosy-faced man was too busy with the
fire and the gruel, and too eager to improve
the condition of the men he had rescued, to
ask any disturbing questions, and Tom Zachery
was so considerate, in the presence of actual
starvation, that he seated himself on a three-
legged stool, and stared at the stained-glass
windows and the flags and the curious map on



the wall. It was just as well that Bromley still prevented the visitors from asking ques-
had removed the golden castors, years before, tions, it was a dread of overwhelming bad news
from the legs of the stools, when they were that sealed the soldiers' lips. They had be-
found to make ruts and furrows in the earthen come so settled in their convictions, and so con-
firmed in their strange
blindness, that they
n shrank from hearing
the mortifying par-
ticulars. So the five
men sat staring at
one another, each
party waiting for the
other to begin.
"Sojer coats," said
the lean man, nudg-
ing his companion.
"And cavalry guns
and swords," said the
rosy-faced one, cast-
ing his eyes on the
"And my affyda-
vid," said the tall one,
"if them ain't the reg-
'lar old signal-flags -
one, two, one."
Lieutenant Cole-
man was thankful that
his visitors had said
nothing disagreeable
thus far, but he feared
every moment that
they would make
some insulting re-
marks about the old
flag, which they could
see through the door-
Bromley restrained
himself as long as he
could, and then, in
reply to the three
mild observations, in
floor. Tom Za.chery would have been more detected a shade of sarcasm, he exclaimed:
astonished than ever if he had found himself "Well, what of it? We are not ashamed
rolling about on double eagles. of our uniform or of our arms."
When the hot gruel had been served, Philip "There ain't no reason why ye should be,
was so much revived as to be able to sit up on my buck," said the rosy-faced man. Soldier-
the edge of his bunk. If it was delicacy that in' is as good a trade as any other."



Hit 's better 'n some," said the tall one.
Gentlemen," said Lieutenant Coleman, who
began to fear remarks more personal, "you
have saved our lives to-day. We shall never
forget your kindness, or cease to feel ourselves
your debtors. You see our destitute situation.
We need food for the coming winter, and seed
for another year, for which we are able to pay;
and if you know who owns this mountain-top,
we shall be glad to arrange, through you, to
buy it."
"Well, now, I 'll be switched," said the rosy-
faced man, "if he ain't a thoroughbred as
soon 's he gits fed up a little. Wants to buy
these yer rocks, does he ? Tom, who do you
reckon owns this mounting ? "
Dunno," said Tom, with a grin, "if you
don't own it."
"Well, I do," said Hooper, expanding him-
self with an air of proprietorship, "and there
hain't nobody never disputed my title to this
upper kentry."
"Are you willing to sell it ? said Lieuten-
ant Coleman.
"I '11 sell anything I 've got," said Hooper,
looking more rosy and smiling than ever, so
I git my bigger."
"Very well," said Coleman. "If we take
the mountain-top, from the deep gorge up, at
what price would you value it ?"
"Well, now," said Hooper, "if you really
mean business, this yer trac' ain't worth a for-
tun'. Timber-land in these parts brings a dol-
lar an acre when hit brings anything. Rock-
land like this, without no timber onto it, is
worth fifty cents; but, considering' the improve-
ments and the building's he continued, "I
reckon seventy-five would be dirt cheap. Hit
ain't ever been surveyed, but I 'low there 's
two hundred acres above the gorge."
Lieutenant Coleman already had his hand in
the pocket of his canvas trousers, and, bring-
ing out two double-eagles, he handed them to
the rosy-faced proprietor as a first payment.
Hooper jumped up from his seat and took the
two yellow coins in his hands, and chinked them
together, and tossed them about as if he feared
they might bur his palms.
Hanged. if hit ain't United States gold
money, Tom," he exclaimed, passing one of
VOL. XXIV.-130-131.

the coins to Zachery, who was equally excited.
" We hain't viewed that kind o' money for seven
years in these parts, have we, Tom ? "
Tom indorsed his companion's statement in
pretty strong language, and Lieutenant Cole-
man hastened to say that if the money was not
satisfactory, they could probably agree upon
some rate of exchange. At this point of the
conversation, the two mountaineers exchanged
some words in a whisper, and the soldiers be-
lieved they were agreeing upon the discount
between United States and Confederate money.
To fill up this awkward break in the conversa-
tion, Lieutenant Coleman began again to ex-
press his gratitude to his rescuers.
Now, hold on, Captain," exclaimed Hooper,
facing about. "Whatsoever me and Tom has
done, we have done willing and nobody will-
in'er, and we 're goin' to stand by ye to the
end; but we ain't goin' no further in this busi-
ness till you tell us how ye got here. The way
we study hit out, you ain't treating' me and Tom
"Pardon me, my good friends," said Lieu-
tenant Coleman. "I'had no intention of being
unfair. We came here in the summer of 1864,
in the line of our duty as Union soldiers, and
when the war ended with the success of the
Confederate army-"
"What! cried the two men together, gasp-
ing in amazement at what they heard ; and then
they burst into peals of laughter. "Whoop!"
cried the rosy-faced man, slapping his leg and
throwing his wool hat to the floor as if it had
been a brickbat. If that ain't the jolliest
thing I ever heard, and hit 's kind o' serious-
like, too. Why, man, there ain't no Confed-
eracy! The Confederacy was played out long
ago. Hit 's the old United States, from Can-
ada to the Gulf of Mexico, and from the
Atlantic Ocean clear across to the Pacific."
And General Sherman ? gasped Philip.
He 's general of the army up in Washing-
ton right now, and Gineral Grant is President,"
cried the rosy-faced man.
Somehow the interior of the house grew
vague and misty, as if a sea-fog had swept in
through the windows. Everything and every-
body danced and reeled about, until the sol-
diers fell away from the embrace of their de-




liverers, quite exhausted by the excitement over
the news they had heard.
While all this was going on, Philip lay back
on his blanket and shed tears of joy over the
wonderful news. In fact, there was n't a dry
eye in the room. Even the eyes of the men
from Cashiers glistened with moisture, as they
vied with each other in discharging facts, like
cannon-balls, into the ears of the astonished sol-
diers. They gave them a brief history of the
end of the great war, of the tragic death of
Lincoln, and of some of the events which had
since taken place in the United States.
"There were thirty-five stars on the old
flag when we came here," cried Lieutenant
"There are thirty-eight now," said Hooper.
"Thirty-eight!" repeated the soldiers, look-
ing at each other in amazement. "Thirty-eight!"
The soldiers ate some more of the bread from
the haversack, and with renewed strength they
went out into the afternoon sunlight, Coleman
and Bromley supporting Philip, and all five
sat down under the old flag. And as they
sat there together like brothers, the soldiers told
the others why they had first come to the
mountain, and the bad news sent to them by
flag, and the resolution they had made, and all
that had come of it. And when they had done
speaking, Tom Zachery, whose face had grown
longer and sadder as he listened to their story,
said he had something to tell them for which he
hoped they would forgive him.
I was only a boy in the war-time," said
Tom, and I lived with my kin-folks in a set-
tlement at the foot of the tenth mountain.
Gineral Thomas commanded the Home Guard
brigade, with headquarters at Quallatown, in
the Cherokee entry, and he had signal-flag
men like you all, and 'mongst the rest there
was one named Bud Bryson. Now, Bud was
mighty peart, and he boasted as how he could
study out any cipher that ever was made, if
only he had time enough. So when the Gin-
eral heard that there was a Yankee station on
that mountain, he sent Bud with a spy-glass to
make out the cipher and read the telegrafts for
him. Many 's the day I stayed out on the
South Ridge with Bud, and wrote down the
letters as he read 'em off, and, turn 'em which

way we would, we could never make head or
tail of 'em. It wasm z q j -g and such
fool letters, and after two weeks' hard work Bud
Bryson was no nearer to making' sense of the
letters than when he began, though he did al-
ways say that if they had only give him time,
he would 'a' studied out the trick.
But the Gineral got tired o' waiting' on Bud,
and one day he sent a squad of fifteen cavalry
soldiers to capture the stations. The soldiers
started up the mountain in the early morning,
with Bud to guide 'em and give 'em points. I
went up with the rest, just to see the fun, and
when we got to the top, the soldiers rushed in
on two sets o' men sawin' the air with their flags
and sending' messages both ways. Lieutenant
Swann was the officer's name, a big red man,
and mighty mad he was when the soldiers took
him. They searched him from head to foot,
and 'mongst the papers on him they found the
secret cipher Bud had been working' for.
"What with guardian' the prisoners and the
prospect of capturin' more, fifteen troopers was
too scant a crowd to divide into two squads,
and so the Captain ordered Bud to stay on the
mountain and give the stations ahead enough
news to keep 'em quiet until he come back.
"That game suited Bud mighty well, and
havin' nobody to help him, he made me stay
with him to take down the letters. We had
the camp just as they left it, with plenty o' ra-
tions and coffee to drink such as we had n't
tasted for years, and every time Bud looked at
the flags he burst out laughing It was some-
where near the end of July when we took the
mountain, and that same afternoon Bud began
to bigger the letters of his first message crooked,
according' to the cipher, and git it ready to send
on. 'Tom,' he says to me with a grin, 'I
reckon we better kill off Gineral Sherman first';
and then he rolled over on the blankets.
Next morning' he sent the message, and
when the telegraft come back to know if the
news was true, he sent word it was, 'honor
bright,' and signed the Lieutenant's name,
'James Swann.' Hit was three weeks before
the squad got back from Chattanooga way, and
all the time Bud kept sending' lies about great
Confederate victories. He was keerful what
he sent, too, and figgered on the dates, and



kept all the messages he had sent before wrote
down in order, so he would n't get mixed.
When we got all ready to leave Bear Clift,
which was the tenth station, Bud flagged an
order to hold on -that relief was coming .
Now, after we started east, we picked up a
station every morning; and as soon as Bud got
his hands on the flags, he begun to lie more
than ever, closing' up the war with a dash. We
had over fifty prisoners when we took the three
men off from Upper Bald, and there havin' been
six on every other station, we naturally thought
we had found the last; and the cavalry went
away with their prisoners to Quallatown."

AFTER the straightforward story of Tom Zach-
ery, which explained the cunning method by
which Lieutenant Coleman and his comrades
had been deceived by the flag-messages, the
soldiers could feel no resentment toward Tom.
They were so happy in the possession of all the
good news they had heard that they would
have shaken hands with Bud Bryson himself,
if he had been one of their rescuers.
Now, I reckon," said the rosy-faced man as
he got on his feet to go down the motintain,
considering the way things has turned out,
you won't keer about investing' in property
in this upper kentry; and I '11 give ye back
your money," he continued, looking fondly at
the two yellow coins.
Coleman and Bromley, however, insisted that
a bargain was a bargain, and that they wanted
the land more than ever. They should go
away, they said, the next day if Philip was
able to make the journey; and Lieutenant
Coleman pressed more coin upon Hooper, for
which he was to bring them a supply of cloth-
ing, which they could wear as far as Asheville.
It all seemed like a dream to the three be-
lated soldiers when their visitors had gone;
but Bromley, who was the more practical, re-
minded his comrades that the anti-slavery so-
cieties must long since have been disbanded,
and that the gold was their own by right of
discovery. So, after making a supper of the
corn-bread from the haversack, Coleman and

Bromley fell to work with a will, stripping the
mill of its golden bands and hinges and hasps;
and late into the night the windows of the
forge glowed and beamed, and the ruddy fire-
light streamed out through the cracks in the
logs, where Bromley, the -goldsmith, was smelt-
ing and hammering the precious metal into
bars, and beating into each, while it was sbft,
the impress of a double-eagle, reversed.
When all the gold was repacked in the very
cask in which they had found it, and so wedged
and padded with leaves of the temperance books

that it no longer chinked when it was moved,
a book-cover was nailed on the head, and the
package was addressed to Lieutenant Frederick
Henry Coleman, U. S. A., Washington, D. C."
The tin box containing the diary, and the
flags and swords and such books as they wished
to keep, were gathered together and packed
for transportation before the men came back
the next day. Old Tumbler, the bear, became
the property of Tom Zachery, who had taken a
great fancy to him. The rosy-faced Hooper,
who was to have charge of their landed pro-



perty on the mountain, had brought his steer-
cart as far as the gorge to take down Philip
and the baggage.
When the three soldiers got out of their tat-
tered clothing, and into the butternut and gray
suits which had been borrowed for them from
the neighbor folk, the misfits were such that they
looked hardly less comical than before. Philip's
hat was a bell-crowned beaver, and he carried
in his hand the alligator-skin bag which had
belonged to the beautiful lady of the balloon.

On the other side of the gorge they met
the postmaster and more of the people from
Cashiers, who had come up to escort them
down the mountain; and they were all more
jolly than you can think, the people giving in-
formation, and the soldiers learning something
new and surprising at every step of their progress
to the village.
And so ends the history of the three soldiers,
who remained in voluntary exile for seven years,
and were happily rescued at last.






HAVING been asked by a youngster in whom
I am interested to build a toy bridge, it oc-
curred to me to teach him the principles on
which a railroad "truss-bridge is constructed,
so that the building of the toy would be an ob-
ject-lesson in engineering.
The materials used were a cigar-box, some
soft iron wire, and a piece of half-inch board.
The cigar-box was cut up into half-inch strips,
and a hole was burned with the wire near each
end of each strip. The four inclined wooden
end posts have holes eight and a half inches
apart; the four vertical posts have holes five
inches apart; and the two "upper chords"
have holes seven inches apart. The six lower
wires, or "bottom chords," have loops or "eyes"
at seven inches' distance; the four "cross-
braces" of wire on the sides have eyes eight
and five eighth inches apart. The six floor

and upper beams are half an inch square and
four inches long. The flooring consists of three
pieces of the half-inch board, which are four
inches wide, seven inches long, and which are
cut out on the ends (as may be seen in the
illustration where one of the pieces of flooring
lies on the table, lower side up) to fit the
floor beams. The wires that form the top
braces are easily fitted after the other parts
are in place. Screws hold the bridge at the
joints, and the parts are easily put together
by noticing their relation in the picture. It
will be seen that the parts of the bridge are all
hinged together that is, they are not rigidly
fastened, but are free to turn on the screws
which unite them. This makes it certain that
each member shall be subjected only to a sim-
ple push or a simple pull, to either compression
alone or tension alone; and for this reason the


:' rh:


wooden parts are called "compression mem-
bers," while the wire parts are called "tension
members." This arrangement, so that each
part shall have no twisting or bending to re-
sist, makes the strongest possible bridge out of
a given amount of material.
All bridges of this class depend upon a prop-
erty of the triangle: that it is impossible to
change its shape without lengthening or short-
ening one of its sides. Of four-sided figures
this is not true. On examining the sides of
this bridge, it will be found that they are en-
tirely made up of triangles fastened together by
the screws, although the same wire or piece of
wood sometimes belongs at the same time to

two triangles. These triangles depend upon
and support one another, so that if one mem-
ber of one triangle should break, the whole
structure might fall.
In planning real bridges, it is found by calcu-
lation which of the members will be under com-
pression, and which will have to stand tension;
and they are made of wood, or of cast-iron
columns, or of metal rods accordingly.
In a bridge constructed on these principles
the material is used to the best advantage, so
that a comparatively light structure possesses
great strength. The little bridge from which
the illustration was made sustained a weight of
twenty-five pounds.



WHILE rambling one evening in the woods, I
sat down on a rock close by a shaded bank all
overgrown with soft green moss and feathery
ferns. Not far away there was an ancient tree-
stump, with a hole running in underneath it;
and what should I see peeping out from the
hole, but the head of a little reddish-brown
animal. At first sight I took it to be a chip-
munk. Its large black eyes seemed full of ap-
prehension, and as I moved it drew back out
of sight.
On rolling over the stump, I discovered be-
neath it some withered grass carefully rolled
into a globular nest. Cautiously drawing my
handkerchief around this, I tied it up, with
whatever it contained, and hurried homeward
with my treasure. On emptying the handker-
chief into a box covered with wire gauze, I
found that I had captured two beautifully deli-
cate and elegant creatures, somewhat larger than
mice. Their fur was thick and soft, a rich vel-
vet of reddish-brown on the back, and snowy
white beneath. Their feet also were white.
But their chief beauty lay in their eyes great,
black, liquid orbs half protruding from the
head. No gazelle ever had eyes half so lovely.

They soon became quite tame, and without
showing any fear would allow me to put my
hand into their cage to give them fruits and
berries. They carried their nest into a corner
of the cage and reconstructed it there.
After about two weeks I procured a large
cocoanut, sawed, it in two, and taking one
half of it, made in it a little doorway. When I
put this into their cage, turned mouth down,
they seemed to go wild with the excitement of
delight. In and out they ran through the little
doorway a hundred times in succession. Some-
times they would jump up on top of the cocoa-
nut and survey it all over; and then, after
" washing their faces with their delicate white
paws, jump down, and again run inside. Soon
they made up their minds to take possession of
it as their home. Their nest in the corner they
pulled to pieces, and carried it off mouthful by
mouthful into the little cocoanut hut. There
they have lived ever since.
During the daytime they sleep; but when
evening comes on they busy themselves run-
ning and jumping about the cage; and they
have never once in three years tried to gnaw
their way out.



SThey take nuts from my fingers now; and it
is ridiculously amusing to see one of them run-
ning off with a large walnut, almost as big as
himself, rolling and pushing it with his little
paws, striving to force it in through the door
in the cocoanut; and when the mouse finds
that he cannot push it in from the outside, he
himself gets inside, and putting out his head,
tries to pull the nut in after him with his teeth.
Their favorite food is nuts, which of
course they cannot crack, and yet they
get at the inside very cleverly; for with
their sharp chisel-teeth they dexterously
gnaw a hole through the hard shell,
and then scoop out the meat from the
interior. In a hazelnut they make only
one hole; but they know that there is
a division in a hickory-nut, so in that
they make two holes, one on each side.
They understand too, somehow or other,
that in a walnut there are several di-
visions, so for each of the compart-
ments they make a separate opening.
A bad nut they will very seldom take
the trouble to look into. How they
divine that it is bad is a mystery, but
they can nearly always tell.
They are fond of nice pears and ap-
ples, and one such fruit will last them
both for a week. They get no water;
the pear or apple does for drink.
It is a pretty sight to see one of them
sitting up on its haunches on top of a
large rosy apple, holding a filbert be-
tween its fore paws, while with its long
lower teeth it greedily scoops out the
savory kernel. Sometimes the other
one will come over to take away the
filbert from the one that has opened
it, and then they have a contention,
and they frequently chase one another '''
around the cage, while the coveted
filbert many times changes owners.
In summer they spend very little time in their
cocoanut, preferring to sleep outside in the cool-
ness, generally perching high up on a branch
placed in the cage for the purpose. They run
up this branch as nimbly as squirrels, and
usually squat there all through the heat of the
day, close together on one of the thicker twigs,

coming down whenever they feel thirsty, to take
a bite at the juicy apple.
Every year, when October comes around, they
make themselves wondrously busy, carrying all
the nuts they can find into their cocoanut
dwelling. When that is filled they pile them
around the door, and store others in the corner
of the cage. But no matter how many they
may have, they will always eagerly take more

4b ;L

------ -------------_-_------*

from my fingers when I offer them, and will
add them to the store.
A few times, while I was brushing out their
cage, they have jumped out into the room and
hidden themselves away among my books; but
invariably when I go and sit quiet in my chair
they go back to their cage, with its snug cocoa-



nut habitation and tempting store of juicy apple
and luscious nuts.
The country people call this pretty little crea-
ture Deermouse," on account of its color and
beautiful eyes. Naturalists call it Hesper'omys,
which means "evening mouse "-- a prettier name,
although it is a shame to use the word mouse in
speaking of them, for they are much more like
squirrels in their charming ways.

They are apparently fond of music; for if I
whistle a little tune they will come out of their
nest and appear to listen with great interest.
Any unusual object or strange movement ex-
cites their curiosity. The artist who made the
picture, not being good at whistling, used to
move the fingers of his left hand, so that they
might watch it and sit still, while his right hand
was busy with the pencil.



WHERE the oak-trees tall and stately
Stretch great branches to the sky,
Where the green leaves toss and flutter,
As the summer days go by,
Dwell a crowd of little people
Ever racing, up and down-
Bright eyes glancing, gray tails whisking -
This is known as Squirrel Town.

Bless me, what a rush and bustle,
As the happy hours speed by!
Chitter, chatter- chatter, chitter,
Underneath the azure sky.
Laughs the brook to hear the clamor;
Chirps the sparrow gay and brown:
"Welcome! Welcome, everybody! -
Jolly place, this Squirrel Town."

Honey-bees the fields are roaming;
Daisies nod, and lilies blow;
Soon Jack Frost,--the saucy fellow,-
Hurrying, will come, I know.
Crimson leaves will light the woodland,.
And the nuts come pattering down;
Winter store they all must gather--
Busy place then, Squirrel Town.

Blowing, blustering, sweeps the north wind
See! The snow is flying fast.
Hushed the brook, and hushed the sparrow,,
For the summer-time is past.
Yet these merry little fellows
Do not fear old Winter's frown;
Snug in hollow trees they 're hiding-
Quiet place is Squirrel Town.


(Sequel to "The Three Dogs," written by the same author, andprinted in ST. NICHOLAS for November, 1895.)


IT seemed to Mop's" master, after the
passing away of Mop, that the master's earthly
account with dogs was closed.
The pain of parting was too great to be en-
dured. But another Dandy came to him, one
Christmas morning, to fill the aching void; and
for a time again his life is not a dogless one.
The present ruler of the household has a


pedigree much longer and straighter than his
own front legs. Although he comes from a
distinguished line of prize-winning thorough-
breds, he never will be permitted to com-
pete for a medal on his own behalf. The Dog
Show should be suppressed by the Society for
the Prevention of Cruelty to Dogs. It has
ruined the dispositions and broken the hearts

of very many of the best friends humanity ever
Mop's successor answers to the name of Roy
when he answers to anything at all. He is
young, very wilful, and a little hard of hearing,
of which latter affliction he makes the most.
He always understands when he is invited to
go out. He is stone-deaf, invariably, when he
is told to come back. But he
is full of affection, and he has.
a keen sense of humor. In
the face he looks like Thomas
Carlyle, and Professor. John
Weir declares that his body
is all out of drawing!
At times, his devotion to,
his mistress is beautiful and
P touching. It is another case
of Mary and the Lamb," you
know. If his mistress is not
.-' visible, he waits patiently about,
S and he is sure to go wherever
she goes. It makes the chil-
-- dren of the neighborhood laugh-
.i and play. But it is severe upon.
-- -the master, who does most of
the training, while the mistress,
gets most of the devotion. That.
is the way with lambs, and with,
dogs, and with some folks!
Roy is quite as much of a.
fighter as was any one of the
three other dogs; but he is a little more par-
ticular in his likes and his dislikes. He fights
all the dogs in Tannersville; he fights the Dris-
lers' Gyp almost every time he meets him;
he fights the Beckwiths' Blennie only when.
either one of them trespasses on the domestic:
porch of the other (Blennie, who is very
pretty, looks like old portraits of Mrs. Brown-



ing, with the curls hanging on each side of the
face); and Roy never fights Laddie Pruyn or
Jack Ropes at all. Jack Ropes is the hero
whom he worships, the beau ideal to him
of everything a dog should be. He follows
Jack in all respects; and he pays Jack the sin-
cere flattery of imitation. Jack, an Irish setter,

" He waits patiently about."

ever Jack does, that does Roy; and Jack knows
it, and he gives Roy hard things to do. He leads
Roy to the summit of high rocks, and then he
jumps down, realizing that Roy is too small to take
the leap. But he always waits until Roy, yelp-
ing with mortification, comes back by the way
they both went. He wades through puddles

"He pretends he has forgotten all about it."

" He tries very hard to look pleasant."

"He poses willingly and steadily."

is a thorough gentleman in form, in action, and
in thought. Some years Roy's senior, he sub-
mits patiently to the playful capers of the
younger dog; and he even accepts little nips
at his legs or his ears. It is pleasant to watch
the two friends during an afternoon walk. What-

He is stone-deaf when he is asked to come back."

up to his own knees, but over Roy's head; and
then he trots cheerfully away, far in advance,
while Roy has to stop long enough to shake
himself dry. But it was Roy's turn once! He
traversed a long and not very clean drain, which
was just large enough to give free passage to



his own small body; and Jack went rushing
after. Jack got through; but he was a specta-
cle to behold. And there are creditable eye-
witnesses who are ready to testify that Roy
took Jack home, and sat on the steps and
laughed while Jack was being washed.
Each laughed on the wrong side of his
mouth, however,-Jack from agony, and Roy
from sympathy,-when Jack, a little later,
had his unfortunate adventure with the loose-
quilled, fretful Onteora porcupine. It nearly
cost Jack his life and his reason; and for some
time he was a helpless, suffering invalid. Doc-
tors were called in, chloroform was administered,
and many delicate surgical operations were per-
formed before Jack was on his feet again; and
for the while each tail was drooped. Happily
for Roy, he did hot go to the top of the Hill-
of-the-Sky that unlucky day, and so he escaped
the porcupine. But Roy does not care much
for porcupines, anyway, and he never did.
Other dogs are porcupiney enough for him!
Roy's association with Jack Ropes is a lib-
eral education to him in more ways than one.
Jack is so big and so strong and so brave,
and so gentle withal, and so refined in man-
ners and intellectual in mind, that Roy, even
if he would, could not resist the healthful influ-
ence. Jack never quarrels except when Roy
quarrels; and whether Roy is in the right or in
the wrong, the aggressor or the attacked (and
generally he begins it), Jack invariably interferes
on Roy's behalf, in a good-natured, big-brother,
what-a-bother sort of way that will not permit
Roy to be the under dog in any fight. Part of
Roy's dislike of Blennie Blennie is short for
Blenheim consists in the fact that while Blen-
nie is nice enough in his way, it is not Roy's
way. Blennie likes to sit on laps, to bark out
of windows-at a safe distance. He wears a
little sleigh-bell on his collar. Under no cir-
cumstances does he play follow-my-leader, as
Jack does. He does not try to do stunts; and,
above all, he does not care to go in swimming.
The greatest event, perhaps, in Roy's young
life was his first swim. He did not know he
could swim. He did not know what it was to
swim. He had never seen a sheet of water
larger than a roadside puddle or than the sta-
tionary wash-tubs of his own laundry at home.

He would not have anything to do with the
Pond, at first, except for drinking purposes;
and he would not enter the water until Jack
went in, and then nothing would induce him
to come out of the water -until Jack was
tired. His surprise and his pride at being able
to take care of himself in an entirely unknown
and unexplored element were very great. But
when he swam ashore the trouble began.
Jack, in a truly well-bred manner, dried him-
self in the long grass on the banks. Roy dried
himself in the deep yellow dust of the road a
medium which was quicker and more effective,
no doubt, but not so pleasant for those about
him; for he was so enthusiastic over his per-
formance that he jumped upon everybody's
knickerbockers, or upon the skirts of every-
body's gown, for the sake of a lick at some-
body's hand and a pat of appreciation and
Another startling and never-to-be-forgotten
experience of Roy's was his introduction to the
partridge. He met the partridge casually one
afternoon in the woods, and he paid no particu-
lar attention to it. 'He looked upon it as a
plain, barnyard chicken a little out of place;
but when the partridge whirled and whizzed
and boomed itself into the air, Roy put all his
feet together, and jumped, like a bucking horse,
at the lowest estimate four times as high as his
own head. He thought it was a porcupine!
He had heard a great deal about porcupines,
although he had never seen one; and he fan-
cied that that was the way porcupines always
went off!
Roy likes and picks blackberries the green
as well as the ripe; and he does not mind hav-
ing his portrait painted. Mr. Beckwith con-
siders Roy one of the best models he ever
had. Roy does not have to be posed; he poses
himself, willingly and patiently, so long as he
can pose himself very close to his master; and
he always places his fore legs, which he knows
to be his strong point, in the immediate fore-
ground. He tries very hard to look pleasant,
as if he saw a chipmunk on the bark of a tree,
or as if he thought Mr. Beckwith was squeez-
ing little worms of white paint out of little tubes
just for his amusement. And if he really does
see a chipmunk on a tree, he rushes off to bark



at the chipmunk; and then he comes back and
resumes his original position, and waits for Mr.
Beckwith to go on painting again. Once in a
while, when he feels that Mr. Beckwith has
made a peculiarly happy remark, or an unusu-
ally happy stroke of the brush, Roy applauds


tumultuously and loudly with his tail, against
the seat of the bench or the side of the house.
Roy has two distinct wags-the perpendicular
and the horizontal; and in his many moments
of enthusiasm he never neglects to use that par-
ticular wag which is likely to make the most
Roy has his faults; but his evil, as a rule, is
wrought by want of thought rather than by
want of heart. He shows his affection for his
friends by walking under their feet and getting

his own feet stepped on, or by sitting so close
to their chairs that they rock on his tail. He
has been known to .hold two persons literally
spellbound for minutes, with his tail under the
rocker of one chair and both ears under the
rocker of another one. Roy's greatest faults
are barking at horses'
Sheets and running
away. This last is
very serious, and often
it is annoying; but
there is always some
excuse for it. He gen-
erally runs away to the
Williamsons', which is
the summer home of
his John and his Sarah.
t He knows that the Wil-
liamsons themselves do
not want too much of
him, no matter how
John and Sarah may
feel on the subject;
and he knows that his
own family wishes him
to stay more at home;
but, for all that, he
runs away. He slips
off at every opportun-
ity. He pretends that
he is only going down
to the road to see what
time it is, or that he is
simply setting out for
a blackberry or the
i afternoon's mail; and
j when he is brought
aRROLL BECKWITH. reluctantly home, he
makes believe that he
has forgotten all about it; and he naps on the
top step, or in the doorway, in the most guile-
less and natural manner; and then, when no-
body is looking, he dashes off, barking at an
imaginary ox-cart, in wild, unrestrainable im-
petuosity,, generally in the direction of the Wil-
liamsons' cottage, and bringing up, almost in-
variably, under the Williamsons' kitchen stove.
Several autograph letters of Roy's, in verse,
in blank verse, and in plain, hard prose, signed
with his own mark,- a fore paw dipped in an



ink-bottle and stamped upon the paper,-
were sold by Mrs. Custer, at varying prices,
during a fair for the benefit of the Onteora
Chapel Fund, in 1896.
His latest poetical effort was the result of his
affection for a Scottish collie, in his neighbor-
hood, and was indited

Should Auld Acquaintance be forgot,
And the Dogs of Auld Lang Syne ?
I '11 wag a tail o' kindness yet,
For the sake of Auld Ladd Pruyn.


^ asB SS~r

Roy's is a complex character. There is little
medium about Roy. He is very good when
he is good, and he is very horrid indeed when
he is bad. He is a strange admixture of abso-
lute devotion and of utter inconstancy. No-
thing will entice him away from John on one
day, neither threats nor persuasion. The next
day he will cut John dead in the road, with

no sign of recognition. He sees John, and he
goes slowly and deliberately out of his way to
pass John by, without a look or a sniff. He
comes upstairs every morning when his mas-
ter's shaving-water is brought. He will tor-
ment his master sometimes for hours to be
taken out to walk; he will interrupt his master's
work, disturb his master's afternoon nap, and
refuse all invitations to run away for a walk on
his own account. And the moment he and his
master have started, he will join the first abso-
lute stranger he meets, and walk off with that
stranger in the opposite direction, and in the
most confidential manner possible!
There are days when he will do everything
he should do, everything he is told to do, ev-
erything he is wanted to do. There are days
and days together when he does nothing that is
right, when he is disobedient, disrespectful, dis-
obliging, even disagreeable; and all this on
It is hard to know what to do with Roy: how
to treat him; how to bring him up. He may
improve as he grows older. Perhaps to his
unfortunate infirmity' may be ascribed his un-
certainty and his variability of temper and dis-
position. It is possible that he cannot hear
even what he wants to hear. It is not impos-
sible that he is making-believe all the time.
One great good thing can be said for Roy: he
is never really cross; he never snaps; he never
snarls; he never bites his human friends, no
matter how great the provocation may be. Roy
is a canine enigma, the most eccentric of char-
acters. His family cannot determine whether
he is a gump or a genius. But they know
he is nice; and they like him!



SWAY, branches of the walnut-tree, sway gently to and fro;
And chatter, squirrel, down to me, as back and forth you go;
And blow, you winds, from out the south; and shine, you setting sun!
And I will be your willing guest until the day is done.





AND one day the wind was blowing-
the wind was blowing a perfect gale, and
the little Booboo went out in the garden

to ride.
He rode on the

big Booboo's shoulder,


and held very tight to his ear, for he was
afraid the wind would blow him away;
and it did blow his hat away up'-up,
and away and away. It was a nice little

white little new hat, too, but he never saw
it again !
And the big silver poplar tree that
grew by the garden gate shook in the
wind, and bent in the wind, and quivered
its shining leaves.
And the two little cherry-trees that
grew by the side of the lake shook in the
wind, and bent in the wind, and quivered
their shining leaves.
And all of the roses on all of the bushes
nodded and bowed in the wind.
Everything that grew in the garden was
moving and twisting and dancing and
turning about in the wind. It was very
exciting to Robbie.
I '11 catch the wind and hold it! he
cried. "The roses do not like to shake.
The trees will be tired, papa And he
threw out his little arms and tried to catch
the wind.
His father laughed.
"The wind says: 'Woo! woo! I '11
catch you, little Booboo, and toss you
about like a leaf. But there 's not a boy
or a man or a giant can get his arms
around me! '"
And Robbie rode on his father's shoul-
der out through the gate, and down the
lane, and into the apple orchard. And all
the apples that grew on the trees shook in
the wind, and bobbed in the wind, and fell
with a bounce to the ground. The ground
was covered with apples; all over the
ground the apples lay.
And the little Booboo ran about under
the trees, and picked up apples and put



them in a basket; and the big Booboo ran "Where is our little boy ?'
about under the trees, and picked up ap- And all at once Robbie's mother looked
ples and put them in a basket. around and said:
"Where is our little boy ?"
Robbie was nowhere in sight!
And his father said:
.' A. :. -" I 'm afraid he has blown away !"
5. And his mother said:
A. I 'm sure he has blown away! "
And they looked and they looked and
they looked and they looked, but no-
where could they find him!
All of the time Robbie was hid in one
of the largest baskets deep down in one
S" of the baskets He hid there just for fun.
i And oh, how frightened his father was,
and oh, how frightened his mother was,
when he popped up his head and cried:
"Boo! boo! I see you looking for
Sr me. I did n't blow away!"

And a big apple fell with a
bounce on the big Booboo's head,
and a big apple fell with a bounce
on the little Booboo's head.
And the big Booboo said: "I
wonder who will cry for a big,
big bump on his head?"
And the little Booboo said, "I 'll
not cry for a big, big bump on my
He looked up and smiled, but the
tears rolled down his cheeks !
And mama came out with a bas-
ket and picked up apples too. And
she said:
Who ever, ever knew the wind
to blow like this ?"
And all at once Robbie's father
looked around and said:




I WONDER why, I wonder why,
Though a little boy may try,
He can never keep his look
Fixed on any lesson-book
While the other boys without
Run and romp, and laugh and shout,
And the sun is never still
On the school-room window-sill,
And the sky just sparkles blue-
I wonder why he can't -don't you?

I wonder how-it 's stranger yet-
Though a little girl may get
All her lessons learned, nor stir,
Looking straight ahead of her,
Turning neither left nor right,
Those great eyes, so clear and bright,
She can just as plainly see
Through that window there, as he,
Watch the games and frolic, too,-
I wonder how she can -don't you?



" WHAT would you do," said the little key,
To the teak-wood box, "except for me?"

The teak-wood box gave a gentle creak
To the little key; but it did not speak.

"I believe," said the key, "that I will
In the crack, down there by the chimney-

"Just so this proud old box may see
How little it 's worth except for me."

It was long, long afterward, in the crack
They found the key, and they brought it

And it said, as it
chuckled and
laughed to it-
"Now I 'l1 be good'
to the box on
the shelf."

But the little key
stopped, with
a shiver and
For there was a
bright new key

in the lock.
in the lock.

And the old box said: I am sorry, you see;
But the place is filled, my poor little key."



As every one asked her the question,
Dear little curly-haired May,
Of course she thought it the nicest
Of all polite things to say.
VOL. XXIV.- 132.

So when her bald-headed uncle
Was leaving, she asked, with a sigh,
"Won't you please give me one of your curls,
Just to remember you by?"



" WHAT would you do," said the little key,
To the teak-wood box, "except for me?"

The teak-wood box gave a gentle creak
To the little key; but it did not speak.

"I believe," said the key, "that I will
In the crack, down there by the chimney-

"Just so this proud old box may see
How little it 's worth except for me."

It was long, long afterward, in the crack
They found the key, and they brought it

And it said, as it
chuckled and
laughed to it-
"Now I 'l1 be good'
to the box on
the shelf."

But the little key
stopped, with
a shiver and
For there was a
bright new key

in the lock.
in the lock.

And the old box said: I am sorry, you see;
But the place is filled, my poor little key."



As every one asked her the question,
Dear little curly-haired May,
Of course she thought it the nicest
Of all polite things to say.
VOL. XXIV.- 132.

So when her bald-headed uncle
Was leaving, she asked, with a sigh,
"Won't you please give me one of your curls,
Just to remember you by?"


KING ALFRED of England, having no means
of measuring time, noted the hours by the burning
of candles marked with circular lines of different
colors, which served as hour-lines. To prevent
the wind from blowing out the candles, he had
them incased in horn scraped so thin as to be
transparent. Glass was then little, if at all,.known
in England. Thus lanterns may be said to be the
invention of a king.

GLASS was early known. Glass beads were
found on the bodies of mummies over three thou-
sand years old.
THE interrogation-point is said to be formed
from the first and last letters of the Latin word
quaestio (an asking), placed one over the other,
thus: '; the exclamation-point, from the Greek
word lo, signifying joy, placed in the same way: '.

IT seems hard for us to understand that the
distance of the earth from the sun is about 3,000,-
ooo miles less in December than it is in June--
but it is true.
THOUGH Rome is called "the Eternal City,"
the name by right belongs to the city of Damascus
in Syria, which is the oldest city in the world. As
long as man has had written records the city of
Damascus has been known.

IT is a curious fact that George Washington
drew his last breath in the last hour of the last day
of the week, in the last month of the year, in the
last century, dying on Saturday night, at twelve
o'clock, December 14, 1799.

THE Revolutionary War, from its first outbreak
at Lexington, April 19, 1775, to the final disband-
ing of the army, April 19, 1783, lasted just eight
years to a day.

THE following three great generals were never
defeated: Alexander the Great, who died 300 B. C.;
Julius Casar, who died 44 B. C.; the Duke of
Wellington, hero of Waterloo, who.died 1852.

THE sea horse is a small, bony fish with a head
much like that of a horse, found on the Atlantic
coast, in size from three to six inches long; but a
California species is often eight to ten inches long.
It looks as though its body was covered with tiny
spangles, and it shines like silver. It always
swims erect, carrying its head with the neck
curved like that of a proud horse. Its two eyes
have the power of being independent of each
other, gazing two ways at once.

IN May, 1797, Napoleon Bonaparte rode to the
top of the bell-tower or campanile of St. Mark's,
Venice, on horseback, that he might signal to his
fleet the surrender of the city.

LUXEMBURG, the great French soldier, was
called "the Upholsterer of Notre Dame" from the
number of captured flags he sent to be hung as
trophies in that cathedral.

ACCORDING to the Mohammedan creed, ten
animals beside man are admitted into Paradise.
These ten are: I, the dog; 2, Balaam's ass; 3, Solo-
mon's ant; 4, Jonah's whale; 5, the ram of Ish-
mael; 6, the Queen of Sheba's ass; 7, the camel
of Salet; 8, the cuckoo of Belkis; 9, the ox of
Moses; o1, the animal called Al Borak, which
conveyed Mohammed to heaven.

THE eyes of bees are made to see great dis-
tances. When absent from their hive they go up
in the air till they see their home, and then fly
toward it in a straight line and with great speed.
The shortest line between two places is sometimes
called a "bee-line."



OUR word "school" is derived from a Greek
word meaning "leisure." The education of men
was obtained not so much from books in ancient
Greece as from lectures on philosophy, the public
assembly, the theater, the games, and the law-
courts, where most of their unoccupied time was
THE church known as "St. Mark's in the
Bowery," New York, contains an ancient colonial
shrine inclosing the tomb of Petrus Stuyvesant,
the last of the Dutch governors of New York.
AN acre was originally as much as a yoke of
oxen could plow in a day, but in the thirteenth
century it was made by law of its present size.
The word "acre" is from the Latin ager, a culti-
vated field.
THE scallop abounds on the coast of Palestine,
and in old times pilgrims returning from the Holy
Land used to wear one on their hats to show that
they had been there.
AMONG the superstitions of the Seneca Indians
was one most beautiful one: When a young
maiden died they imprisoned a young bird until
it first began to try its powers of song; and then,
loading it with caresses and messages, they loosed
its bonds over her grave, in the belief that it would
not fold its wing nor close its eye until it had
flown to the spirit-land and delivered its precious
burden of affection to the loved and lost one.
WHEN Columbus discovered South America,
near the mouth of the Orinoco, the Spaniards
found an Indian village built over the water on
piles. As it reminded them of Venice, they called
it Venezuela, or "little Venice."
QUININE is made from Peruvian bark -the
outer part of a medicinal plant, called cinchona.
It was so named from the wife of Count Cinchon
of Peru, in the seventh century, who, by its use
was cured of intermittent fever."

THE scent of the camel for water is said to be
very keen. He can smell it a great way off; and
oftentimes the travelers who are suffering for water
will let the camel take his own way, and he will
take them often to a place where water may be
WE are indebted to John Adams for our na-
tional motto, E Pluribus Unum." While he was
minister to England, Sir John Prestwick suggested

it to Mr. Adams as a good motto to indicate the
union of the colonies. It was submitted to Con-
gress, and adopted by Act of Congress, June,
1782. The eagle in its beak bears a ribbon on
which is the motto. In the early days of its use
the eagle bore also in its talons a bundle of thir-
teen arrows; but when in 1841 a new seal was
made to take the place of the old one, which had
become worn, only six arrows were placed in the
talons. *Whether this change was ordered by law
or not is not known. The old Latin motto was in
use in England as far back as 1730 on the "Gen-
tleman's Magazine."
IN winter the skylark of England does not sing;
but in the early days of spring the great flocks of
these birds break up, and then go in pairs to look
for places to build their nests and rear their young
ones. And then the charming song of the skylark
is heard in all its sweetness. While the mother bird
is brooding over her eggs to warm them, her mate
often rises into the air, and then with quivering
wings mounts vertically upward so far that he
looks like a mere speck in the sky, and all the
time pouring forth his rich and beautiful song, but
at last ceases his song before descending again to
the nest. One of the most beautiful poems in
the English language is Shelley's "Ode to the
WATER has mixed with it a good deal of air, or
fishes could not live in it. They breathe in oxy-
gen and breathe out carbonic acid gas, and the
carbonic acid gas is used up, and oxygen given out
by the sea plants, the same as is done by plants
on land. If there were no plants in the sea the
carbonic acid gas would increase so as to kill all
the fishes and other animals living in it.
IF any one were to undertake to walk, one way
only, through all the streets of London, he would
be obliged to go a distance of 2600 miles, or as
far as it is across the American continent from
New York to San Francisco. This will give an
idea of the distance one would have to go to see
thoroughly even the greater part of the city of
London-the largest city in the world.
IT is estimated that Australia contains nearly
seven thousand species of plants not found else-
HARD or anthracite coal was not discovered till
1790. This bed of Pennsylvania hard coal is the
richest in the world.

THE Bible was written by degrees during a
period of 1600 years. It was anciently called The
Books," but for the past 700 years the "Bible."

THE great Thirty Years' War began at Prague
and ended at Prague.



THE FRONTISPIECE to this number shows a little
Dutch Princess in her very best starched ruff and party
dress. She lived in Holland probably about the time
the "Pilgrim Fathers were building the first house in
Paulus Moreelse, the painter of the portrait, was a
musician, poet, and architect besides being good-looking
and witty. His little sitter looks as if she were about
to smile at one of the artist's funny sayings. We are
not surprised to learn all the great ladies were eager to
have their portraits painted by the skilful hand of Paulus
Moreelse; and that he was popular with his brother-
artists may be assumed from his becoming Master of the
Guild of Painters in Utrecht.

OUR READERS will recall that the exploit of "P.
Abbott," which Miss Thomas celebrates in her poem,
has already been told in ST. NICHOLAS for September,
1896. Mr. Thrasher's article, Out-of-the-Way Corners
in Westminster Abbey," relates the incident, which is
there illustrated by a full-page picture. Miss Thomas
writes, in her note sent with the poem, "I saw the name
myself in the seat of the old Coronation Chair."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a girl of eleven. Your
interesting magazine was a Christmas present. We all like
it very much indeed. I like "The Last Three Soldiers "
and Master Skylark" best. Upon the next square to
me stands the Connecticut capitol- a very fine building,
built of granite, and the dome is gold-leafed.
I think that Nathaniel Niles is right about checking
horses. We have a horse; he is a large black beauty.
When we are out riding, I sometimes get out and walk
down the road a little way, pluck a handful of grass, and
call him. Papa does not make him go fast. Every
morning I cut up some potatoes. I take them out and
feed them to the horse.
One afternoon, when we had come in from riding, I
went to the barn, and entered his stall to give him his
hay. He would not let me come in the door at first,
and I did not know what to make of it. So I stood
still, and he came up, rubbed his nose against me, and
went to his manger. I like horses very much. I have
a wheel, too; and I and some of my playmates go off for
a ride. I take much delight in reading ST. NICHOLAS.
From your faithful reader, CHRISSIE GARVIS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You have never received a
letter from this place, I am very sure, for it is an island
off the coast of Peru. The nearest port is Pacasmayo,
between which place and the island a little steamer runs

every week to carry the mail. We have been here only
a short time; but I know what the life is, as I lived for
more than two years at another such island in Chile.
It is a very lonely life; nevertheless I enjoy it, as I have
plenty to do. I love animals very much, so I always
'have many pets.
As in many other places of Peru, there is supposed to
be buried treasure on the island. The story is that some
pirates brought thirteen boxes, containing 20,000,0oo
Spanish ounces, and buried them here. Several people
have searched for this money; but it has not been found
as yet, and probably never will be.
The word "Lobos means seals. The island is well
named, for there are many of these creatures about here.
They make a noise which is very human. One day,
while out walking, we heard it, and I could hardly be
convinced that it was not a man's voice. There are
also many pelicans. They are such ugly birds, and al-
ways appear to me as if they think they know all there
is to learn in the world. Pelicans must have very keen
sight, for when flying some distance from the water, they
will suddenly dive down, like an arrow, after some poor
little fish they have seen.
Living in these lonely places, your magazine is a great
comfort to me. I enjoy reading the stories very much,
as they are always so interesting.
I remain your devoted reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am an army boy, seven years
old. My papa is in the 7th Cavalry. I am on a visit
home to see dear grandma. This is the first ST. NICH-
OLAS I have ever had. I shall get it every month if I
don't tease my little brother. He squeals very easy.
Your magazine is very nice. Last year I was out in Ari-
zona, where we had real Indians. One's name was
Rabbit. I am umpire in a baseball team.
Your faithful reader, MARION P. VESTAL.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eleven years
old. We live on a beautiful lawn, sloping down to the
river. I am the second one of five girls; and there are
two little twins ten months old. We have been taking
you five years, and enjoy you very much.
I must tell you a funny saying of one of my little
cousins, a little girl three years old. Her mother re-
proved her one day at the table for being naughty.
Crossing her hands, and casting down her eyes, she re-
plied: I know I'm weak and sinful."
Hoping that we may take you many years longer, I
am your little friend, SUSIE LEE SCHMELZ.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: How often I have wished to
write to you, but kept putting it off. I want to tell you
a story about my little sister Carol.
My mother had allowed Carol to drink weak tea
with her meals instead of milk. One day Carol was
taken out to lunch at a friend's house; and the friend,


never dreaming that a child could drink anything other
than milk, placed some before her in a broad, low, fancy
cup. Carol gazed at the milk in silence for a while, and
then astonished her hostess by remarking disdainfully:
"I are no cat! "
Carol is nearly four years old, and I am eight. We
were born in Wiltshire, at a little town called Warmin-
ster, England. Your loving little reader, JAMIE RYAN.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in Plainfield, N. J., and
I used to live in Union, N. Y.: but moved July I. We
have a horse, so we drove through. The distance is
about 219 miles, and we drove it in about five days.
We drove through the Delaware Water Gap. I will
tell you about it as it may be interesting to some of your
readers. A long while ago the country back of the Gap
was all a large lake, having been formed by the
Delaware river which here came against a ridge of
rock; of course it could not flow any farther than the
rock, and the water flowing in all the time made it a very
large lake. After a while the water got so strong that
it broke this rock, and found its way to the ocdan. This
has been proved in one very good way- that is, that
rocks like those on' the Gap have been found thirty and
forty miles down the river.
I can hardly wait for you to come each month, be-
cause I am in a hurry to read the continued stories.
Yours truly, DON DEWEY.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Our kind and benevolent su-
perintendent, Dr. S. Wolfenstein, has taken your in-
structive and interesting magazine for us orphans the
past nine months, and we enjoy the reading and appre-
ciate his kindness very much. My favorite story is
Master Skylark."
The scenery surrounding this asylum is very beauti-
ful; there is a large lawn with shade, fruit-trees, and
green, velvety grass in front; the green-house has vege-
tables planted in rows on one side; a small ravine with
trees and grass in it, besides the ruins of a barn,
makes it look country-like on the other side; and in the
rear is our play-ground. There are many things in this
yard to make it look pretty; but that which I think
makes it look most so is another large ravine which
winds in a half circle around it. In this ravine-we
call it hill -are trees of great height, grass, bushes, and
flowers. On the opposite side of the ravine are our
neighbors' houses, which are built of wood, with the ex-
ception of one, which is of red bricks. They are all
very small, some not more than two stories high, and
have small lawns in front of them. After a rainy day,
when the sun shines brightly, looking out of a window
from the highest story of our school-house upon this ra-
vine, the water there looks like a small silvery river,
winding in and out among bushes, grass, and trees. I
think that this ground on which the Orphan Asylum
now stands was once the Indians' burial-ground, be-
cause an Indian tombstone is in the ravine.
Your enthusiastic reader, PAULINE SURIA.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl ten years old;
and I have no mother, and I go to St. Gabriel's school.
It is not like other boarding-schools, because it is
more of a home for children. Only children under ten
years can come, but can stay until they graduate.
There are two boys, one baby-girl, and myself.
The name of the owner of this school is Miss Bishop.

She is just like a mother to us. There wasa little baby-
boy, named Franklin, that came to the school, and he
was a very sweet baby. The little baby that lives here
now is Faith. She is only ten months old. She does
a great many sweet things, and we all love her very
much. We are staying in the country for the summer.
I have taken you for two years, and I enjoy you very
much. I have read "Miss Nina Barrow." I have
read most of the letters in the "Letter-box." I will
send you one of our books, so that you will know what
a nice place it is. It is quite cool to-day.
I remain your faithful admirer, IRENE C. CHASE.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two sisters eleven and
seven years old. We have taken you for several years,
and we could not do without you. We both were born
in China. Our papa is a medical missionary. Nan-
king was the capital of the empire in the time of the
Mings, five hundred years ago. The tomb of the foun-
der of the Ming dynasty is here, and we often go to see
it. Nanking is still an important city, and it is the
home of the Viceroy who governs three large provinces
and more people than are in the United States.
One day not long ago a Chinese official came to see
papa, and he said that Lady Liu, the Viceroy's wife, had
invited us two girls to make a visit to her. Mama
thought it was only Chinese politeness, but in a few
days he came again and set a time for us to go. We
rode in a chair with four bearers. Behind us was our
amah, or nurse, in a chair and a man on horseback to
take care of us. Beside the gates of the Yamen we no-
ticed the large bright-colored pictures of the guardian
deities of the gate. Our chairs were carried through
two gates and two courts and set down in a large open
building. We sat in them while our card was taken in.
Then we were conducted through a wide doorway and
a narrow passage-way to the garden, where the official
who had brought us the invitation met us.
The garden is a large plot of ground that is very
pretty. The Judas-trees, peach-trees, apple-trees, and
camellias were all in blossom, and there was a little
grove of bamboo near the wall. In one corner there
was a bank of the purple wild-radish and of the yellow
oil-plant that looked very beautiful. In one part of the
garden there was a small lake. In the lake there was a
large stone junk, and a bridge with railings on the side
of it led to the boat. Across a narrow part of the lake
was a winding bridge that was very pretty. There were
geese swimming in the water, and they looked like
swans. There was a great deal of rock-work in the
garden. Some rocks were piled up so as to make gate-
ways, others were made into stone steps leading up to
little platforms with railings around them. There were
several little pavilions also with seats in them, where
one could rest and take a cup of tea, and there was one
large pavilion with steps leading to it and winding
porches about it for the entertainment of guests. In the
walks white pebbles were placed among the stones in
designs of stars and other ornamental patterns. Before
we left to see the ladies of the Yamen, the officialprom-
ised us that on our return we might fish in the lake.
We now were taken to see the Viceroy. He is an old
man with gray hair, and he shook hands with us and
seemed glad to see us. As no man except the Viceroy
is allowed to enter the ladies' apartment the official told
us to go with the amah who had come out to meet us.
She took us to a room for refreshments, and there we
met the women of the Viceroy's household. The ladies
wore fine clothing of bright-colored silk and satin, and
their feet were exceedingly small. There were two lit-
tle boys, grandsons of the Viceroy, five and four years



old. They were not allowed to walk, but were carried
everywhere by their amahs. They all seemed to think
that we were great curiosities, and they felt of our hair
and our hands and our clothes, and talked about us as if
they had never seen a foreigner before.
For refreshments we had lotus-seed soup, Chinese
vermicelli cooked in chicken soup, salted pork, sponge-
cake, and biscuit. Then we were shown the private
rooms of the ladies, and we had a visit with the Viceroy.
He seemed to enjoy the picture books that we had given
to his grandchildren. After this we went to the garden
and fished in the lake. We caught one.fish, and others
caught three more and gave them to us to bring home.
One of us had to leave our fishing to go and see the lit-
tle grandson who was crying for us. After he stopped
crying the ladies gave us each a fringed and embroidered
silk handkerchief and a fan, as souvenirs of our visit.
At three o'clock the ladies had their dinner.
When the ladies were coming into the garden there was
a great commotion and a cry of Tai tai lai liao Tai
tai lai liao! Tseu Tseu Ts which meant "The ladies
are coming! The ladies are coming! Go out! Go
out! and all the men immediately hurried out of the
garden. When it was time for us to go home, one of
the amahs told us that the ladies were very sorry that
they had not treated us with more politeness, and that
they hoped that we would come again. We said that
we could not wish for greater politeness and that we
should be very glad to come again. Then we were
taken to our chairs and carried away, having spent a
very pleasant afternoon.
Your friends,


ALL those who have been to Newport during the
month of August and have seen the beautiful illumination
of the yachts of the New York Yacht Club have seen
something to remember. We were staying at Saunders-
town, a small place on the west side of Narragansett
Bay, about three miles from Newport. Jamestown is
situated opposite Newport, on Conanicut Island, and a
feny connects the two places. The town reaches from
one side of the island to the other. On the west side is
another ferry, which runs to Saunderstown. One of
these ferryboats a jolly party of about fifty people char-
tered, and at half-past five o'clock, on the evening of Au-
gust 6 (the night of the illumination), we started. We
went down Narragansett Bay and around the end of
Conanicut Island, which is called Beaver Tail, from its
resemblance to the tail of a beaver.
The moment we came in sight of Newport a dazzling
mass of colored lights met our gaze. Rockets were
whirring in every direction, illuminated flags were fly-
ing, and all kinds of fireworks were being set off on the'
roofs of the houses. Entering the harbor a large black
mass loomed up before us, which we soon discovered to
be a French war-ship. She had two search-lights going,
one on each side. The sailors on board gave us nine
lusty cheers as we passed. The huge breakwater at the
mouth of the harbor was covered with Japanese lanterns,
and numerous searchlights in the harbor made it very
bright all around. On one house on the shore they had
an immense pin-wheel some ten feet in diameter; on
another house a huge star. Everywhere you looked
were beautiful colored lights and fireworks. The boats
themselves were brilliantly dressed. One yacht had a
line of red, white, and blue lights extending from the
bowsprit to the top of the fore-mast, then to the main-
mast, and from thence to the stern. These lights were
turned on and off alternately. The Fall River boats

were covered with colored lights, making a most beauti-
ful spectacle. The Naval College was decorated in a
very unique manner, the square building and each
window being outlined by electric lights. At the tor-
pedo station a large flag was suspended high in air with
a search-light turned on it -a most impressive sight.
During the evening there was a beautiful little parade
of boats. It was headed by a small steam-launch dressed
with white canvas in the shape of a swan, covered with
colored lights. This came from the French man-of-war,
and won the first prize. Another was a flat-boat with a
miniature lighthouse on it with a large lamp on the top.
Some of the boats contained bands of music, and from
many of them fireworks were being constantly set off.
The entire display was wonderfully brilliant, and
some of our party who had seen the carnival at Venice
and other exhibitions in this country and abroad said
they had never seen this one at Newport equaled.
Toward midnight the lights began to diminish, and
we turned our faces homeward, leaving the harbor very
reluctantly. VAN WYCK BROOKS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you one year, and
I hope I shall always be able to take you, for I could
not get along without you.
I live in the midst of a twenty-acre orange orchard;
and we have very many birds, for a great deal of the
surrounding country that is not irrigated is barren des-
ert. The quails, that usually live in the chaparral, at
nesting-time come right into the orchards to build their
homes, my papa says for protection from wild animals.
In May I was in Los Angeles visiting my Auntie Jean,
and papa and mama and little sister Gladys went into
the mountains for a short camping trip. The house was
left entirely alone, and a pair of quails built a nest under
a lantana bush not more than fifteen feet from the front
door. They are not Bob White, but the California blue
quail, and they have a different call, like this: Kit-kat,
kee-ow. Kit-kat, kee-ow."
When we were all home again the old quail was not
frightened, but came every day to lay an egg, until she
had thirteen; then she began to sit. She left the nest
for a little while every morning, as soon as it began to
get light, long before sunrise, and then later in the day
her mate would come to some place near by and call,
when she would always go to him. I suppose he knew
where there was something nice for her to eat. She had
been sitting about two weeks when one day we heard
her mate calling her for a much longer time than usual.
He generally gave only two or three calls, when she im-
mediately went to him; but now he called a great many
times, sometimes coaxing, and sometimes commanding,
and then he flew up into an Australian fern-tree, a little
way off, where he could see better, and kept calling.
Mama said they were the most human sounds she had
ever heard a bird make, and she knew something must
be wrong, so papa went out to the nest, and there he
found a little heap of feathers, and one egg of the thir-
teen broken--but no quail. And the poor papa-quail
sat out in the tree, and called in such a distressed way.
We supposed a coyote that had come unusually near
the house in the night must have caught the poor bird.
I am sure the other ST. NICHOLAS boys and girls will
like to hear about it.
Very truly yours, BOYNTON MORRIS GREEN.

WE thank the young friends whose names follow for
pleasant letters received from them: Ruth R. Arm-
strong, Edith Medora Hyde, Helen Garrison, Joe B.
Roberts, Charlotte F. Babcock, Emily Albert, George
Henry Searle.


NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "All that I am my mother made me." GEOGRAPHICAL PRIMAL ACROSTIC. Great Britain. I. Greece.
ILLUSTRATED DIAGONAL. Corot. I. Crown. 2. Conch. 3. 2 Rome. 3. Egypt. 4. Arabia. 5. Turkey. 6. Brazil. 7. Rus-
Coral. 4. Canoe. 5. Cleat. sia. 8. Ireland. 9. Tartary. so. Alaska. si. Italy. 12. Nor-
CONUNDRUM CHARADE. Downright. way.
PROGRESSIVE NUMERICAL ENIGMA. i. Legends. 2. History. A CIRCULAR PUZZLE. Paul Jones. I. Pipes. 2. Acorn. 3.
SHerring. 4. Sundry. 5. Thinking. 6. Scarlet. 7. Orange. Umbrella. 4. Locust- 5. Jug. 6. Obelisk. 7. Nest. 8. Ele-
8. Potentate. 9. Catnip. phant 9. Skate.
NOVEL ACROSTIC. Rudyard Kipling. Cross-words: i. Rankly. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. I. I. A. 2. Ode. 3. Ocana.
2. Unripe. 3. Dapple. 4. Yellow. 5. Affirm. 6. Rounce. 7. Adamant. 5. Enact. 6. Ant. 7. T. II. I. A. 2. Ant. 3. Al-
Dagger.- RIDDLE. Flag. ten. 4. Antenor. 5. Tenor. 6. Nor. 7. R.
CURIOUS ZOSLOGICAL CHANGES. a. Bull, gull. 2. Buck, duck. CENTRAL ACROSTIC. James Abram Garfield. Crosswords: i.
3. Roe, doe. 4. Moose, goose. Rat, cat. 6. Monkey, don- Major. Snake. Lams. 4. Piece. 5. Paste. 6. Llama.
key 7. Seal, teal. 8. Dog, hog. 9. Mouse, louse. so. Crake, 7. Amble. 8. Tares. 9. Nears. xo. Names. n. Buggy. 12.
drake. Frame. r3. Tired. 14. Rifle. 15. China. x6. Green. 17.
WORD-SQUARE. I. Ship. 2. Home. 3. Imps. 4. Pest. Belle. 18. Andes.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the x5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July 15th, from No Name--Two Little Brothers--
"Jersey Quaretette"-"Buffalo Quartette "-" M. McG."-Nessie and Freddie Josephine Sherwood.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July o5th, from Agnes La Boyteaux, i -Mary K. Rake, x -
"The Trio," o--Violet Millis, Betty, 5-" Class No. 19," 9-Theodore Leon Redford, 4-Emma Drake, o--Lucille Dyas, 3-
Frederic Giraud Foster, 2- G. Bernon Dyer, 9- Sabra Scovill, G. P. T. and R. G. P., i F. Tack, I Roberta C. Whitelock, I
- Florence Freiler, i -Paul Reese, 9- Sigourney Fay Nininger, lo-C. D. Lauer and Co., 8- Katharine S. Doty, ix "Merry and
Co.," ii -Win. A. Lochren and Uncle, 7-Alfred C. Finney, 4 Mattie E. Sutherland and Margaret H. Aiken, 4 -J. B. P. M. H., 8
- Marguerite Sturdy, 8 Morgan Buffington, 7- Mabel M. Johns, 9 E. E. Washburn, 3 -Allil and Adi, 8 President of the 0.
Club," 6 Florence and Edna, 6.


THE diagonal, from the upper left-hand letter to the
lower right-hand letter, will spell the name of a scientific
man who has made himself very famous.
CROSSWORDS: I. Utterly careless or heedless. 2.
Unconventional. 3. Formation. 4. Pertaining to a re-
past. 5. Attrition. 6. A country of Europe. 7. De-
serted. 8. Denied upon oath.


2 4

2 I 3 4

6 5 7 8

To spend time in idleness. 2. A cereal grass. 3. A
preposition. 4. In feat.
4); An exploit. 2. To close. 3. A Latin preposition.
4. In feat.
III. CENTRAL SQUARE: I. Part of a book. 2. A
feminine name. 3. A range of mountains. 4. To go

6). To worry. 2. Margin. 3. A feminine nickname.
4. In feat.
8). Part of a bicycle. 2. Wrath. 3. A musical note.


I. I. A FRAUD. 2. To engage for wages. 3. Fur-
nishes with means of defense. 4. Network.
II. I. The opening inclosed by the threads of a net.
2. A feminine name. 3. To pass overlightly. 4. Mis-
chief. "P. KNUTTZ."


ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When these are rightly guessed, and placed
one below another, in the order here given, the zigzag,
beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell the
name of a popular American author.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A Hebrew prophet. 2. The
Scriptures of the Mohammedans. 3. The father of King
Arthur. 4. Part of an amphitheater. 5. To sever. 6.
To guide. 7. A cluster. 8. A decree. 9. A bird. 1o.
One of the signs of the zodiac. It. A relative. 12. To
quench. 13. A young pigeon. 14. Pertaining to the
sun. 15. Less. 16. Anguish. 17. A river of France.



1. IN ST. NICHOLAS. 2. Equal value.
garret. 4. A controversialist. 5. A subs
combined with cream of tartar. 6. A post
7. Solemn ceremonies. 8. A stroke with a v

EACH of the eight small pictures may be described
by a single word. When these words have been rightly
guessed, and placed one below another, in the order in
which they are numbered, the initial letters will spell
the name of one whom Ruskin called the "swiftest of'
painters and gentlest of companions."
I. MATURE. 2. Certain days in the Roman calendar.
3. To look forth from concealment. 4. To catch sight
I. BEHEAD fear, and leave to peruse. 2. Behead to
shun, and leave empty. 3. Behead fastidious, and leave


a dessert. 4. Behead peril, and leave wrath. 5. Behead
a large animal, and leave to capture. 6. Behead to
3. A loft or whip, and leave a tree. 7. Behead imaginary, and leave
stance often to distribute. 8. Behead to unclose, and leave an en-
poned case. closure. 9. Behead having a lower position, and leave
'hip. 9. In thin air.
E. C. W. The beheaded letters will spell the name of a flower.
MY first is in run, but not in walk;
My second, in cackle, but not in squawk;
My third is in walk, but not in run;
My fourth is in bayonet, not in gun;
My fifth is in comb, but not in wig;
My sixth is in carriage, but not in gig;
My seventh, in luck, but not in fates;
My whole is one of forty-five states.

(Reading across.)
I. I. In stole. 2. A large tank. 3. A fertile spot in
a desert. 4. A metal. 5. In stole.
II. I. In stole. 2. An inclosure for swine. 3. A
hard metal. 4. An affirmation. 5. In stole.
III. I. In stole. 2. A body of water. 3. The most
unimportant. 4. A beast of burden. 5. In stole.
IV. I. In stole. 2. Likely. 3. To destroy. 4. A
bond ofunion. 5. In stole.
V. I. In stole. 2. To rest. 3. Airy. 4. A com-
mon article. 5. In stole.
VI. I. In stole. 2. The juice of plants. 3. An arti-
cle of furniture. 4. To urge importunately. 5. In
VII. I. In stole. 2. A falsehood. 3. Border. 4.
Part of a harness. 5. In stole.
VIII. i. In stole. 2. Reserved. 3. A number. 4.
Still. 5. In stole.
IX. l. In stole. 2. A famous woman. 3. To over-
throw. 4. Epoch. 5. In stole. HAROLD HODGE.

MY first is an article which we all use;
My second, a drink which we never refuse;
My third is a measure,- no very great length;
My fifth is a letter--you '11 find it in "strength";
My fourth is a vowel, found in "apparition."
My first with my second, a small preposition;
My third, fourth, and fifth are one very charming;
My whole was a man, in strength most alarming.
Though my whole is a mountain of very great height,
Yet my whole you may find in my whole, if 't is right.


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