• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 Old Sandy's launch
 Tippetoe
 Sir Grimbald's ransom
 Aunt Dolly's two robbers
 The doll-lady
 Kevin the fisher
 Stornelli
 "Chollemyisses Johnsing's" afflicted...
 Egg-rolling at the White House
 Arithmetic among the Greeks
 How the news came
 The squeaking fern
 A boy's ideal
 Baked books
 Boston's girl-sculptor
 A primitive form of vise
 The mysterious choir boy
 Fluffy's Easter joke
 Baby logic
 A lost story
 The wolves of St. Gervas
 A black prince
 A love song
 Easter day beyond the sea
 Dudley
 Some Swedish legends
 "The breaking waves dashed...
 Where does Santa Claus live?
 The ballad of Clarsie Clover
 The gifts
 Underground
 "Diamonds and toads" - I
 Once upon a time
 "Diamonds and toads"- II
 Dodo's recognition
 A good bad horse
 May day
 The black dog
 "Seven men to make a pin"
 The cock of Sebastopol
 Newness
 The story of my bank book
 For courage
 Australian tree-climbing
 How my little grandpa found his...
 Oats and barley, O
 Daddles: his pranks
 The time to get ready - The coming...
 The mill-pond in winter
 Back Cover














Title: Famous stories and poems
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00082536/00001
 Material Information
Title: Famous stories and poems
Physical Description: 1 v (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 25 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Freeman, Mary Eleanor Wilkins, 1852-1930 ( Author )
Green, Sarah Pratt McClean ( Author )
Butts, Mary Felicia ( Author )
Chester, Emma Sherwood ( Author )
Harrison, Burton, 1843-1920 ( Author )
Coolidge, Susan, 1835-1905 ( Author )
Humphrey, Frances A ( Author )
D. Lothrop & Company ( Publisher )
Norwood Press ( Printer )
Berwick & Smith ( Printer )
Gast Lithograph & Engraving Company
Publisher: D. Lothrop Company
Place of Publication: Boston
Manufacturer: Norwood Press ; Berwick & Smith
Publication Date: c1893
 Subjects
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1893   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1893   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1893
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
United States -- New York
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: by Mary E. Wilkins, Sarah Pratt McClean Green, Mary Felicia Butts, Emma Sherwood Chester, Mrs. Burton Harrison, Susan Coolidge, and Frances A. Humphrey ; fully illustrated.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in a color.
General Note: Color lithographed by Gast Lith. Co., N.Y.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00082536
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002223377
notis - ALG3626
oclc - 41672187

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Frontispiece
        Page 1
    Title Page
        Page 2
        Page 3
    Old Sandy's launch
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
    Tippetoe
        Page 11
        Page 12
    Sir Grimbald's ransom
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    Aunt Dolly's two robbers
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
    The doll-lady
        Page 27
        Page 28
    Kevin the fisher
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    Stornelli
        Page 36
    "Chollemyisses Johnsing's" afflicted holiday
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
    Egg-rolling at the White House
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
    Arithmetic among the Greeks
        Page 53
    How the news came
        Page 54
    The squeaking fern
        Page 55
        Page 56
    A boy's ideal
        Page 57
        Page 58
    Baked books
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
    Boston's girl-sculptor
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
    A primitive form of vise
        Page 69
        Page 70
    The mysterious choir boy
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
    Fluffy's Easter joke
        Page 79
        Page 80
    Baby logic
        Page 81
    A lost story
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
    The wolves of St. Gervas
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
    A black prince
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
    A love song
        Page 98
    Easter day beyond the sea
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
    Dudley
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
    Some Swedish legends
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
    "The breaking waves dashed high"
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
    Where does Santa Claus live?
        Page 113
        Page 114
    The ballad of Clarsie Clover
        Page 115
    The gifts
        Page 116
    Underground
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
    "Diamonds and toads" - I
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
    Once upon a time
        Page 132
    "Diamonds and toads"- II
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
    Dodo's recognition
        Page 137
        Page 138
    A good bad horse
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
    May day
        Page 145
        Page 146
    The black dog
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
    "Seven men to make a pin"
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
    The cock of Sebastopol
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
    Newness
        Page 161
        Page 162
    The story of my bank book
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
    For courage
        Page 169
    Australian tree-climbing
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
    How my little grandpa found his grandmamma
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
    Oats and barley, O
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
    Daddles: his pranks
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
    The time to get ready - The coming of the nightingale
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
    The mill-pond in winter
        Page 191
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


Q -0






*~ ~ ~ X 11'. 1





.g





'zn'
: ,




... ..













-I
jW'< VU
r~l"^l^^MY


7 Ii~


1,
*KI i
[ I\\ ,I.


I-
--ii -


A CHARGE THROUGH ST. STEPHEN'S GATE.


-Jo

J -


~ ~'B~BD~


-''l^.--'
"j-^'a^T'

^







FAMOUS


STORIES


AND POEMS




BY -
MARY E. WILKINS, SARAH PRATT McLEAN GREEN, MARY FELICIA BUTTS,
EMMA SHERWOOD CHESTER, MRS. BURTON HARRISON, SUSAN
COOLIDGE, AND FRANCES A. HUMPHREY


FULL Y ILL USTRATED




BOSTON
D. LOTHROP COMPANY
PUBLISHERS















































COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY
D. LOTHROP COMPANY.


All rights reserveLd


B 'atroob 3 Brsz:
Berwick & Smith, Boston, U.S.A.













-L:-






OLD SANDY'S LAUNCH.
'. '-, ..::
(A Prince Edward's Island Ship-yard Sketch.)

-:..-., -A-^ JUNE day with the sky so blue and fair above and the earth
so fresh and green below that you might think the world
was altogether new;not until you saw the people, the
familiar-faced people, come forth and move about, were
/ -^..,- you sure it was the same old world just rolled into a
new day.
With the high noon tide of that bright new day there
was to be a launch in the little village of L- A launch
.. was inotlhing new in a ship-building village where half a
S dozen ship-yards flourished on the banks of the deep river
'i I : which brought to it its.life and work.
a It was not altogether that the ship to be launched was
a well-built and handsome one, or that she was full-rigged
-.and had more flags than was usual, that every one seemed
interested. I think it was more because she was white.
That innate love"of purity,-the gift of every human breast,
reveals itself in the wondrous charm there is for us in
something new and white.
Amphitrite was her name, and she was fair to look upon, with her bright
flags scarcely lifted by the soft wind. No one passed that way but cast a glance
of admiration at the white ship. You had a fancy that the workmen looked
upon her as some beautiful object altogether new a fairy ship which the mists
of the night had left behind, and not one which they themselves had slowly
builded, day by day.
It was often the case that the village school, a half-mile away, was "let
out," as the boys said, on launching days.. When it was not most of them got
permission to be absent; the unfortunate exceptions who were driven to the






OLD SANDY'S LAUNCH.


seat of learning by their unrelenting home governments, were apt to be taken
with violent pains as launching time approached. At such times those ailments
were not too closely inquired into by a pitiful master who had himself once been
a boy, and they were allowed to go home. Soon after he would dismiss the one
remaining conscientious boy who had no pain, together with the six large girls
who did not care a pin" to see a launch, but who, nevertheless, as soon as they
were well out of the door, would run the whole way to the village, and secure
prominent positions for themselves on piles of timber-not disdaining to climb
to the top of an old shed, and often pushing very small boys out of their way.
This day the master himself could be seen a full hour before high water
walking about among the logs and chips, apparently doing sums in his head.
He kept well away from the boys, however; perhaps he thought the shadow of
to-morrow's lessons might fall upon them were he to venture nearer.
Old Sandy could not see the launch. The boys had talked about that among
themselves, and were very sorry. Poor old Sandy was sick sicker than any
one supposed. Many a year had he gone back and fortl among logs and chips,
a little old man with a round sunny face, kind of speech and deft of hand. He
was beloved of all the children, and held in high esteem of their parents.
Many a stray baby had he restored to anxious seekers from some hiding-place
behind a log or shed. He was even intrusted with messages between sweet-
hearts, to which he was always faithful. With the boys, of whom there was a
plentiful crop in this village, he was most popular of all.
Their fears, their joys and sorrows were all known to him. Sandy could tell
by the expression of a boy where the maternal slaps fell thickest, and always
had a word of comfort and of counsel. Scores of miniature ships had he helped
to build, and many a fierce mutiny had he quelled with his gentle voice and
kindly ways.
He lay sick in one of the little ship-yard houses upon the bank of the river
not far from the launching place; but the only window in his room did not look
that way, but rather out on the river. The head of the bed was toward the
river too, just pushed aside from the window, and he used to watch the sunlight
climb the opposite wall at his feet in the evenings, and fade, and fade, until it
was all away. One time he said, "Yes, yes," to himself, as if one had said,
"That's the way you will go sometime, Sandy."
Now the morning sunlight came in through the open door across the floor of
the outer room, making a shining pathway to his bedside. Along this sunlight
way came youthful feet, stepping gently, and the old man smiled upon his
friends who held the morning light in their faces. His heart and his house had
always been free to the children, and when Mrs. Chippins who had charge of
him during his sickness protested against such a raft of boys tramping in and
out over the floor," he looked so grieved that she made no more remonstrance.
Fred and Jim, two young friends of Sandy's, rigged a plan," as they






OLD SANDY'S LAUNCH.


expressed it, by which he was to see the launch, or at least the ship after she
was in the water. Jim's mother, a little woman who was thought none too wise
by some, was quite interested in the boys' plan, and had given them a large look-
ing-glass, some extra cord and a little advice, also a gift of jelly for Mrs. Chip-
pins. She remarked pleasantly that Sandy would be quite a "lady of Shalott."
Poor fellows, it's too much bother you are taking with me," said the old
man, when they had explained to him what they were going to do. "Poor
fellows," he would repeat, with a strange pathos, every now and then as they
went on with their arrangements.
At last they succeeded in hanging the glass on the wall at the foot of Sandy's
bed in a very scientific manner. The window sash was thought to be an obsta-
cle. "Take it out altogether, boys," he said; the summer wind is warm and
sweet." A gentle, far-away smile came over his face, as if he were a child again
playing in the fields, with the summer wind in his yellow hair.
Now it's all rigged," said Jim. If she was only on the other side of the
river we could fix it so you could see her when she starts; but as it is you can
have a fair sight of her without moving your head off the pillow. When you
hear the cheering just keep your eye on the glass, and when she swings round
you will see her slide into that glass like a picture Perhaps Fred and me'll be
on board and you'll see us too!"
"You'd better be away, boys," said Sandy, as they lingered after everything
was arranged. "She might get the start on you."
After the boys were gone Mrs. Chippins came in and was told by the sick
man that he felt very well, and would not want anything for a long time,
and she had better go out with the rest, which she did, closing the door
behind her.
After a while a little mite of a girl, with a very shabby but much-loved doll
in her hand, came to the outer door, reached up on her bare toes and opened it.
Coming in, she closed it again after her, thinking it quite a clever operation.
She played about the rooms in and out from one to the other for a time, and
then climbed intobed, settling herself snugly where she could see her own
reflection, and the doll's, in the glass.
"Mustn't make no noise," she remarked to the battered object of her affec-
tion, "'cause San'y's sick."
A white butterfly came in and fluttered about the sick man's head, and away
out again in the bright day towards the sky. The little one saw it and laid her
doll aside to watch its movements. When it was gone she said, "I specs him
lives way up in 'at 'ovley ky when him's to his own home."

Various were the groups scattered about here and there to see the launch,
each choosing a place of observation agreeable to itself. The village doctor,
with a few friends, formed one of these. This was supposed to be a somewhat






OLD SANDY'S LAUNCH.


aesthetic group, and chose a rather distant view from the bridge which spanned
the river, and where the harmony of the whole movement might be observed.
There was Mrs. D- in another place with her two daughters, and a very
clean-looking young clergyman. They formed a rather solemn group by them-
selves. Mrs. C- whose grand-aunt lived away somewhere in England and
had "Lions on her'old stone gates," just like Lady Clara Vere de Vere's, sat
high and apart on a private log, and her maid sat on another farther down.
Mrs. T- who did bead-work, and constructed surprising antimacassars every
few days, entertained a company of friends on a pile of boards. Mrs. Chopper,
who lived in a. little house in one of the yards, informed her daughter Kitty, a
maiden of thirteen springs, that she had to go across the bridge to see a woman
about some yarn," and expected her dutiful daughter to "git father's dinner and
mind the child."
"I knows where yez is going to," said Kitty, after her mother had left the
house, and she herself had climbed into the loft and pulled the pillow out of
the broken end window to get correct observations; "'tis very well I knows."
Kitty attended that launch. The maternal parent discovered her at a very
advanced stage of the proceedings with several bareheaded young ladies of her
set, occupying reserved seats on a pile of slabs. They were uniting their efforts
to get the fat baby to look at the ship, while he, with his earnest blue eyes,
looked from one to the other of them.
Several dinners were spoiled that day .in the neighborhood of the launch.
One woman; put, some slices of salt pork in a pan on the stove to fry, and then
ran out for a moment to see if she was off yet;" outside she met a friend
.and they both became deeply interested. When at length memory smote her
she fled back to her deserted hearthstone to find clouds of murky smoke, and a
few black scraps careering in a sea of angry grease.
Another woman went out to look and stood at the corner of the house with
a fork and spoon in her hand. Having the fork and spoon, gave her confidence,
and the inward feeling that she was not neglecting her duty. When she went
into her house the water had boiled off the potatoes and the pot was cracked.
A young dressmaker who was working for Mrs. H- by the day ventured
to the end of the garden fence with a long basting thread in her hand, which
she kept running through her fingers and knotting and knotting at the end, evi-
dently entertaining the delusion that ,she was quite busy. A stranger riding
through the village stopped his horse on the bridge and took a leisurely view.
A tall Indian with a bundle of baskets on his back paused and turned his sleepy
face to the white ship.
Amphitrite, eh?" said a young farmer who was not entirely indebted to
the running brooks for. his reading; "that is something like. She is a pretty
craft, too," he continued, addressing himself to the post-office clerk. "i The last
one I saw consigned to the bridegroom old and gray,' was called the John






OLD SANDY'S LAUNCH.


Higgins, painted black with a red streak, and the figure-head something very
imposing, I can tell youli; so well-dressed and respectable-looking, with the ship
fastened to his back, that I was quite interested in thinking of his making polite
bows to the mermaidens in a rough sea and without as much as blinking his
very black eyelashes; and I quite laughed to myself when I thought how dis-
gusted they would be when they found he was not a real flesh and blood man
fresh from the hands of the tailor, and liable to be led into danger and perhaps
eaten. I felt quite merry thinking of their discomfiture, and of the safe arrival


THE MIRRORED PICTURE OF THE LAUNCH.


of the John Higgins in port with his starched collar and bosom stiff as on his
launching day, and his necktie and side-whiskers quite undisturbed. Now that
young woman," he continued, as he moved so as to get a better view of the
classic figurehead, "is something like. I am not so sure but when she gets
away out among those sea nymphs but you might see her some moonlight night
slip down from her place and join some graceful dance upon the wave-caps,
or plunge down to visit some enchanted palace of the sea."
Yes, I dare say," said the young man addressed in an absent way, as he
twisted his neck to look at the pretty dressmaker with the basting thread.





OLD SANDY'S LAUNCH.


But none so happy in all the place as the boys. They swarmed over
everything; balanced themselves on the edges of things, and clung to the slip-
pery logs moved by the rising tide, and stuck themselves in the bows of the
little boats tied to the river bank; some one of the men would say, "Get off'n
there, boys," or Come down out that now, you fellows, an' git away from here
with you." Sometimes they did as they were told for a few moments at a time.
They were very full of criticisms and remarks. Her shear was too little or too
much, she was too broad in the beam or too narrow. They had views about the
masts and rigging, the length of the chain cable and the size of the anchor.
One bet she would be a bully sailor," another bet anything you like she would
not go quarter as fast as the schooner his father had lnihrl.-7 d two weeks before.
A little fellow in a faded Glengarry and holes in both his trouser legs bet a
"' thousand million dollars she would go full split across the river and smash the
wharf on the other side into splinters."
"Yes," said old Mrs. Tobins, who stood by with her sleeves rolled above her
elbows; "it's the mischief to stop them onst they gits under way."
One small exception to the happy boys was little Danny Chips, who had been
sent by his father to one of the ship-yard houses for that worthy man's pipe.
The poor fellow looked back four times in the course of a few yards for fear
" she'd go off unknownst." When he had by the aid of a chair reached the
parental coat pocket and secured the pipe down he fell, and he went creeping
back to his father with the broken pieces in his hand, to receive a slap and a
cent, and be told to run away across the bridge to the shop for a new one;
Danny's misery was great, as he was sure she would go off soon as he was out
of sight of her. Come along of me, Lit," said he to a little girl of his own
age with a ragged dress and bare head and feet, to whom he had told his sorrow.
"Yes, I'll go along of you, poor Danny," said Lit, with compassion; and she
took hold of his hand and they fairly flew across the bridge, casting furtive
glances backward until out of sight of the ship. The storekeeper was in a lofty
mood that day and could not condescend to wait upon the children for some
time-it seemed weeks to them. When at last on their homeward flight with
the new pipe they came in sight of the white ship she was down in the water.
She had cheated them, and they sat. down and wept together.
Danny and Lit were not the only disappointed ones. At least a dozen peo-
ple who had neglected their work the greater part of the forenoon had but just
turned their backs to attend to some duty, when away she went; and although
some of them saw her before she was fairly in the water, it was as nothing to
them when they had not seen the whole movement.
It was quite tantalizing the way the Amphitrite acted. She hesitated on the
ways after the last shore was knocked away. Fluttering a flag a little she would
seem to 'say, "Now I am away; look at me !" another flutter: "No, I won't go
at all; please to wait for the midnight tide." Then, "Perhaps I'll go presently."






OLD SANDY'S LAUNCH.


But just as the general attention was turned to some movement among the men
intended to give her a start," off she went, as if by some caprice of her own
will, and slid into the water like a graceful white bird. Away across the river
she started as if to reach the far horizon; but a chain rattled; down plunged an
anchor, and the white ship swung about and faced the delighted party on the
bridge, one of whose number was just then reciting:

She starts -she moves-she seems to feel
The thrill of life along her keel."

For some reason no one had been allowed on board during the launch but
those required; Jim and Fred had however plead so hard that an exception was
made in their favor, with stern orders to keep out of the way of things.
When the Amphitrite had run the length of her chain and rested quietly,
she was just opposite Sandy's window. The boys had almost forgotten him
during the excitement of the launch, but were now quite eager again.
"He can see her now," said Fred. "Yes," said Jim with a calculating look
in his bright gray eyes, "she's just slid into the glass like a picture; he can se.e
us too looking over the side." Let's wave our hats to him," said Fred. They
both waved their hats and shouted, Hulloo, Sandy! hurrah, Sandy three cheers,
Sandy!" and some little barelegged children on the shoe, without knowing why,
echoed Hulloo, Sandy! hurrah, Sandy'! three cheers, Sandy! "
Put us ashore," called Jim to a man who was rowing about to secure the
drifting timber.
"0 just stop where you are, my hearties. Nothing would do ye but ye must
git there;" and away he went after another log. Before long, however, they
prevailed upon another man to land them. They were now quite anxious to see
the result of their experiment, and hurried up the bank. Not waiting to go
round the house to the door, they went in at the window.
There she was the beautiful white ship just as they had expected to see
her; but there was no word from Sandy.
"Sanny's s'eepin' now, mustn't make noise," said the child, who had herself
been asleep, but had waked again.
Yes, Sandy was asleep, but his was the long sleep. He was launched away
upon a silent tide; but he had seen the white ship just as it glided into the
mirror and he left a smile behind him for the boys.
J. S. Brennan.









T I P P ETOE.


IPPETOE lived in the funniest little house you ever saw, perched away up
on four stilts like some kind of a shingled bird's nest. Everything was
funny about Tippetoe, the house, the town, and Tippetoe herself.
The town was like another kind of bird's nest sunk between two mighty
rivers so that when the waters couldn't get into it for the high banks around it,
they crept under it and up through its low places, till with its lakes and ponds
it made a better town for ducks than pl-ople.
Tippetoe was a good deal like a duck herself, and whenever the rivers were
high -and the water came creeping up around the stilts, you might have seen
her paddling about in a leaky old flat-boat, her sunbonnet swinging in the
breeze, and her kinky hair kinking all the tighter in the moist warm air.
"'s. a lonesome little nigger," Tippetoe used to say sometimes with her big
eyes looking solemn; but people who saw her splashing in the water, or fishing
for lucky-bugs off the high sidewalk, didn't believe it very much.
"Lucky-bugs is mighty nice-frisky too," her white teeth shining, "but
dey ain't society fer me.".
Mammy couldn't help matters a bit either, for Mammy was off all. day wash-
ing or house-cleaning, so that Tippetoe had to be left alone.
F.i their along the high walk that led past Tippetoe's home was a beautiful
house with a broad green lawn where Judge Safford lived. But lovelier than
all the, Judge's lovely things, his lawn, or his flowers or his fountain, was a cer-
tain little picture that used to frame itself sometimes in his big windows a
picture with eyes like stars and cheeks like the pinks in his garden. Tippetoe
used,to steal up where she could poke her shiny face between the bars of the
iron fence and stare at it. Baby May stared back with interest.
"Little blackie," she said; "Little angel!" said Tippetoe, and even at this
long distance they grew to be friends.
One day when the sun was bright, and the smell of the pinks was like spice
in the garden, Mrs. Judge beckoned to Tippetoe, and let her in through the
garden-gate. Baby May had been lonesome too, but now she laughed till her
yellow locks danced and till Mamma Judge laughed too, for Tippetoe told such
stories as never were heard before. She told all about the water-babies that
pelted her face when she splashed her long stick at them, about the mussels and
lucky-bugs and long green water-weeds, till Baby May begged to see the funny
things and sent Tippetoe racing home for her bug-bottles.
"La, Mammy," Tippetoe said that night while she and Mammy ate their
corn-bread, she am like de Lawd's angels, an' I'd jes' grubble in de dust wid
my Sunday do's fer her, I would!"






TIPPETOE.


"Dey ain't no dust roun' heah to grubble in," Mammy said with a laugh,
and Tippetoe laughed too.
All the next day the little black girl went singing about the cabin, thinking
happily, "She's society ef I don't see her-je-' to.know she's dar! "
It was in the late afternoon when the water was all red and gold from the
sunset, and the first stars were coming out, that Tippetoe, leaning out over the
water to watch for Mammy's coming, suddenly heard a splash and gurgle that


TIPPETOE SAVES A LIFE.


made her turn quickly to look toward the end of the swaying walk. A gleam
of something white she saw, and then a flash of sunny hair.
The black skin grew ashy. Lawd, dat chile's been trying' to fish too!
She's tumbled in! She has, she has! Gord! Ef I jes' could swim !"
Wildly she sprang through the low door and down to the edge of the walk,
remembering all in a minute that she had left the old flat-boat around at the
back of the house and that before she could get it Baby May would drown.
Then, with her frightened eyes gl;iiing white, she jumped into the still water
and struck out somehow for little May.
Under the rickety walk she caught her, and held her with one straining
hand while with the other she clung to the jagged edge of boards.
Hole on, honey! Don't be skeered !" she said, and then she screamed.






SIR GRIMBALD'S RANSOM.


People came running in twos and threes, and rowing across the water in
their odd-looking boats. Just when Tippetoe felt that her aching arms could
hold out no longer, strong hands reached down and drew out the two little drip-
ping figures covered with the .drifting scum and twigs.
"My ahms is got de misery like toof-ache," Tippetoe sighed, her round face
drawn with pain, "but I got dat chile, swim or no swim!"
While the big Judge cleared his dignified throat, and his pretty wife hugged
the white and the black baby alternately, Tippetoe was saying with a shaky
little laugh: "She war de scummiest little angel I eber saw."
"You're an angel, you brave, loving little soul," said Mrs. Judge through
her shining tears," but, thank the good Father, you're only little earth angels,
both of you !"
Maud Rittenbouse.





A VALENTINE.

9J-WAS an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth
: .In the old-time Scripture day;
But I tell my love that a heart for a heart
Is by far the better way.
William Zachary Gladwin.





SIR GRIMBALD'S RANSOM.

LIKE the sands of the sea, like the stars of the sky,
Was the Saracen host as their hoofs thundered by:
The Knights of the Cross like a field of ripe grain
Were mown down before them in windows of slain.

Sir Grimbald -none braver, none truer than he
Had England discovered twixtt moorland and sea -
Sir Grimbald stood up in the ranks of the dead,
And scorned to take flight though his comrades had fled.












































O.


TEN TO ONE WERE UPON HIM, LIKE HOUNDS ON A DEER.






SIR GRIMBALD'S RANSOM.


"Now God and St. George give me grace," prayed the knight,
"To slay me these infidel dogs in fair fight!
My Constance Christ keep her shall not blush for shame,,
Though she die of her grief, when she next hears my name."

Ten to one were upon him, like hounds on a deer,
But three bit the dust at the point of his spear,
And two tumbled headlong, unhorsed by the shock
Of an onslaught that left him as firm as a rock.

Could Constance have seen him at last overthrown,
No shame for her lord the sweet lady had known;
Nay, even his foes in the desperate strife
Were fain, for such valor, to spare him his life.

In Saracen stronghold they held him instead
Till the Saracen chief set a price on his head:
And the ransom, ah me! that he chose to demand
Was not silver or gold but a little white hand !

"A little white hand from a woman's small wrist,"
Quoth he, is a trifle will hardly be missed -
A trifle that spouse to a husband so bold
Will count it a shame to herself to withhold."


Ah, woe for Sir Grimbald! In anguish he cried,
"Would God thou hadst slain me Would God I had died!"
But messengers marched over land, over sea,
To bear Lady Constance the cruel decree.

In her bower they found her, a sweet English rose,
Grown pale with the dread of unspeakable woes;
For she wept through the day, and she waked in the night,
And dreams of her lord filled her soul with affright.

Oh, wan were her cheeks, and her eyes wild with fear,
When the bugle-call rang, and the envoy drew near;
But the rose bloomed again when the errand was said,
And she knew that her hand was the price for his head






SIR GRIMBALD'S RANSOM.


" Only that ? Nothing more ?" Like the sunbeam that lies
On a snowbank, the light that flashed out from her eyes;
Like the. laugh of a child, like the song of a bird,
In its eager consent, rang her answering word.

"Draw your sword here's a hand will not wince at the stroke;
'Tis a leaf from a rose, 'tis a twig from an oak!
Take the ransom so small such a captive to free,
And bring him back quickly -my dear lord to me."


"DRAW YOUR SWORD-HERE'S A HAND WILL NOT WINCE AT THE STROKE."


The red lips that smiled and made never a moan
As broadsword cut sharply tih.liugh sinew and bone,
The bright eyes that sparkled through womanly tears,
Are dust of the ages these hundreds of years.

But after two centuries' roses had bloomed,
They opened the crypt where brave Constance was tombed;
And some that had flouted the story of old
Were fain to confess it was truth that was told.






AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.


For the skeleton frame that lay mouldering there,
Half-hid in a tangle of faded gold hair,
Lacked just for completeness the little right hand
That brought her lord home from the Saracen's land !
Mary Bradley.

NOTE. The story of The Conped Hand (as it was originally called) is a tradition in the family of Sir
Julian Pauncefote, the present British Minister to the United States, in whose possession are various docu-
ments attesting its truth. It dates back to about the middle of the thirteenth century, when Grimbaldus de
Pauncefort, one of the bravest of the brave knights of King Edward I., married Constantia de Lingaine, a
noble lady whose beauty and high-hearted courage made her a fitting mate for the valiant soldier. He sailed
with Prince Edward to Tunis in the last crusade, and was there taken prisoner by the Saracens, who brutally
refused all ransom save the lady's right hand. There are ancient MSS. in the Lambeth Library describing
the lordly titles and privileges of many generations of Paunceforts; but the cherished legend of the family
is that of the true-hearted Constance. From these MSS. we extract a mention of her effigy in the church of
Cowarne Magna, Worcestershire.
"In the vestry is an antient Monument of a woman cut in Alabaster without her right hand. This the
Inhabitants say was one of the Paunceforts whose husband being taken, prisoner by the Infidels, and she
being an earnest suitor for his release it would not be granted bat by sending her right hand, which she with
a Masculine courage caused to be cut off and sent accordingly, & therefore was thus portraced."
This monument was in existence as late as the last century, but unfortunately is no longer to be seen.
The effigy of Sir Grimbald, however, is still to be found in the old church of Much Cowarne, as it is now
called; and hard by are the ruins of Pauncefort Court, where for many years after the loss of her right
hand Lady Constance dispensed her gracious hospitalities with the left.








AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.

(A True Story.)

T HE girls laid down their books as I came in, followed by Tom and Dick. I
Shad promised them a story that day instead of a reading.
"Do let it be a true story, Aunt Dolly, please," said my serious Agnes.
Agnes is eight years old.
"And about girls, Aunt Dorothy, all about girls! Don't have a single horrid,
distracting boy in it," said pretty Ethel.
Ethel is ten.
"Girls? fudge! Tell us a rattling good story about a band of robbers armed
to the teeth, and a brave fellow that defies them, and defeats them, too, all with
his naked hands."
And Tousley Tom," as the girls called him, paused for breath, with his feet
braced, his fists doubled, and his rough dark hair on end.
Tom is fourteen.






AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.


Anyway, Aunt Dolly, make it come out right. I wish there would never
be another story.in the world that didn't come out right," said Dick.
Dick with his peachy cheeks and corn-silk curls is half-past six.
"I wouldn't be so chicken-hearted, Dick," said Tom. "A story can't' come
out right,' as you say, for everybody. Now, robbers -they must be punished
- they oughter be !"
"Oh! but they needn't be punished so severely," pleaded Dick. We might
always play they didn't know any better."
"But how can I please you all when you make so many conflicting de-
mands ?" I asked of the small vampires.
"Oh! you can, you know you can," said pretty Ethel; you can do any-
thing. We call you the 'Witch Auntie,' when we're by ourselves."
There was that Jack in your last story. He was a jolly good fellow; spin
us another yarn about him." Tom aspires to nautical slang.
"But, children, I cannot think-wait a minute, though, I believe I can think
of a story that will meet the most of your requirements. But I have never told
it, and I am not at all sure that I want to tell it."
Is it true ? "
"Yes, Agnes, it is absolutely true."
"And all about girls ?"
"Chiefly about a girl about three years older than you, Ethel."
Then it just simply can't be interesting," growled Tom. No adventures,
no robbers-"
It is an adventure, with two real live robbers."
"And does it come out right?" was Dick's eager demand.
Yes, Dicky. The principal robber was punished, but I think not too
severely."
The children, naturally, simple-hearted sycophants, were fluttering about me
in the late hours of a gray February afternoon. They drew my chair into the
cosiest corner by the glowing, fire, crowded an extra cushion behind my back,
shoved another under my feet, patted my hand and my hair, begging in every
inarticulate way for the story. I feel a sweet, flattered sense of kinship, with
them thus about me, that warms my heart: for ties of blood I have none.
"This story is not for babes," I said hesitatingly.
"Dick doesn't count," said Tom. "He'll drop off in two minutes."
They were sensible, non-excitable children, and did not know the meaning of
fear; so I yielded.
And I began:
"You know, or perhaps you do not know, that, when I was about eleven
years old, I came to this country from London, with my dear father and mother;
and that they both died in less than two years, leaving me alone.
Our relatives in England consisted of a single family of far-away cousins,






AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.

who spent a great portion of their time in foreign lands. They were far grander
people than we were, and we scarcely knew them; so, naturally enough, I and
my little property were left, not in their care, but in charge of a dear friend of
my father, who had come from England with us, and had, since that time, been
a member of our family. Are you going to sleep, Dicky ?"
"No, ma'am," said Dick brightly, "you just said you'membered our family."


AGNES AND ETHEL.

And this guardian of yours was our papa, I know so much," said Agnes,
" and the story is going to be about yourself. 0, good !"
Tom looked rather dubious, but respectfully held his tongue.
"Your papa and mamma were married soon after my father died, and then
they kindly took me, forlorn little orphan that I was, into their own cheery
home. I had lived with them but a few months when my cousin, with his wife
and two sons, were lost in a storm at sea, and my twice great-aunt, who was the
only remaining relative, and who had been for years an invalid, sank, and in a
few days died from the shock of this sad news. Then followed the announce-






AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.


ment that I was the sole heir to my cousin's large estates in the north of
England.
Papers of identification and I know not what were soon speeding back and
forth across the ocean, and finally your papa came in one day with a thick pack-
age tied with red tape, which he waved triumphantly aloft, exclaiming that it
was worth a pretty penny to me. The proofs were all collected and the for-
malities all complied with, at last, and with the presentation of those papers I
was to come into possession of my property."
"How perfectly lovely," exclaimed Ethel; "and you were only a little older
than I am now ? "
Only fourteen, Ethel; and it would, indeed, have been perfectly lovely, as
you say, if my dear father and mother had been with me, and if I could have
forgotten my poor cousins, who, it seemed to me, ought still to have been enjoy-
ing the property themselves. However, there was the fortune, and we planned
to go and look after it, your papa, your mamma and I, as soon as your mamma,
who was not strong, should be able to bear the voyage.
I must tell you a few more particulars or you will not understand my rob-
ber story. Your mother had at that time a most capable housekeeper, a stately
and severe English matron who had evidently seen better days. Mrs. Middleton
did not communicate to us any facts of her earlier history; but we saw she
was a woman of some education and refinement, as well as of strong good sense,
and we treated her with great respect. We made her, in fact, quite one of the
family, but she was so reserved, so taciturn even, that we never felt familiar
with her.
"She was distantly polite to the other members of the family,.but towards
me she seemed to feel a rooted aversion; and the reason, so far as I knew of
any reason, was this: there was a young man, Carter Skales, who occasionally
visited at our house a rising young lawyer who had read law in your papa's
office. He was considered both handsome and agreeable, and he always treated
me kindly and politely, little girl though I was. But to me there was always a
suggestion of something sinister and cruel about the man; I detested and
avoided him.
Oddly enough, as it seemed to me, Mrs. Middleton appeared personally to
resent my dislike of Carter Skales who was a favorite with her. I had even
seen them talking confidentially together in the hall more than once; and with
the egotism of my fourteen years of my selfish nature, I should say I felt
sure they were talking about me.
Now, after all this prelude, I am coming to my story. Dicky, are you
asleep ?"
"No, ma'am; Ihaven't thought of such a thing."
"He is winking with both eyes as fast as he can wink," said Tom, stooping,
with a hand on either knee, to the keener scrutiny of his little brother's face.





AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.


Well, when your papa displayed the papers that assured me of my fortune,
he held in his left hand another package which he told your mamma must be de-
posited in the bank at once.
"I remember she laughingly asked him if he would not wait until after
luncheon; and before the meal was finished, as it chanced, a message was
brought in which called him to another town in great haste, and upon business
which would detain him at least over one night. A carriage was called to drive
him to the station, he gave a few hurried directions, and was gone in five
minutes.
There were left in the house only your mamma and I; the housekeeper and
two maids. The coachman slept over'the stables.
"It was a cold, dark day in early winter, and the cold dark night shut down
upon us early; I remember I sat with your mamma in her room until nearly mid-
night, and that even after I had retired to my own room I did not feel in the least
sleepy. Lying back in my easy chair before the grate, I lost myself in dreams
of the wonderful things I would do with my money. I would found a hospital,
and -"
And all at once you heard "
"That's right, Tom. All at once I did hear or see I don't know which
- a gentle turning of the handle of my door."
Was it locked ? "
"It was locked, with the key on the inside; and it was also bolted with one
of those safety bolts that are set, not on the door but in the casing, a little
thumb-piece upon the door alone being seen."
"What fun!" said Agnes, to sit there, as snug as a bug in a rug,' and
watch a burglar at work upon a bolt like that."
I sat perfectly still, with my eyes, of course, riveted to the door-knob.
Then I both saw and heard the key turn around in the lock, as if of its own
accord."
"Aha nippers," cried Tom.
Then the handle was cautiously turned again."
"It was that housekeeper, I suppose," Ethel said calmly.
"Nothing of the sort," cried Tom hotly. "Didn't she say there was a robber
in it two of 'em ?"
There was perfect quiet for a few minutes," I resumed, then the key was
pushed out of the lock and fell to the floor; and then I saw something that
thoroughly aroused, if it did not frighten me."
A man's face, looking through the transom ?"
"No, Tom; there was no transom. What I saw was a long loop of fine steel
wire come creeping through the keyhole, feeling its way right and left, above
and below, for the little thumb-piece or handle of the bolt, one turn of which
would unlock my door."






AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.


"A 'finder' I've seen 'em," said Tom.
Oh Aunt Dolly, what did you do ?"
"Don't be afraid, sister," said Dick to Agnes, who was never in her life
afraid of anything, Aunt Dolly promised to make it come out right."
"I will tell you what I did. I was not at all afraid. I softly slipped off my
shoe and hung it on the door-knob, over the keyhole, and under the handle of
the bolt, which was two or three inches above the knob; and there I held it as
quietly and firmly as possible."
"Well, you are a trump, Aunt Dolly! I always said so." And Tom run his
hands through his shaggy hair and strode up and down the room.
"I could feel that awful little wire loop rummaging inside my shoe, trying
to discover what the obstruction might be, trying to push it aside. Then the
' finder,' probably concluding that it could not- in this way find the bolt, with-
drew, and in its place came a very long sharp tool, something like a shoe-maker's
awl, which began slowly but persistently to work its way through the sole of my
shoe. Of course I could only hold on, and that I did with both hands, making
the sole as firm as possible. I was not frightened, but simply amused. Fancy a
professional burglar, with his kit of tools, both strange and awfu', which but to
mention were unlawful being outwitted by a little girl's house-shoe.
The awl, however, did its work; and, before I knew it, it had been with-
drawn, and a long slender flexible wire was pushed deftly through the little hole
which it had made and was waving aimlessly about, in search of -it knew not
what. The temptation was strong to seize this wire, to wrench it away, or wind
it about the door-knob, or heat it red-hot in the lamp. While I was cogitating
upon my next move, I heard a truly awful sound."
"I thought he'd try the 'jimmy' next," said Tom.
The sound that I heard was a low muttered exclamation, as of disgust or
anger. It came, not from the hall outside my door, but from directly behind me
in my own room among the curtains of my bed."
"There! there Didn't she say there were two ? howled Tom, in a frenzy
of delight.
How perfectly awful !" exclaimed Ethel, with a shudder.
"It's coming out right," Dick murmured drowsily to my shoulder, and in
another minute was fast asleep.
"I turned my head a little," I went on, and saw the dark outline of a man's
form, standing at the foot of my bed. There was a sudden rush forward, and
some heavy black stuff was bound tightly over my mouth. The man wore a
mask which left only his eyes uncovered; he pointed his pistol at my head and
whispered though not so fiercely as a burglar ought -' Make a move and I'll
shoot!' Then he backed to the door and said something in an angry, spluttering
whisper to his bewildered confederate, who seemed then to go away."
What a mercy, Aunt Dolly, it didn't turn your hair white," said Ethel.





AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.


"Children, when that dreadful mask came back and glared into my face, I
fell into a chair, sick and faint with terror. But when the man spoke to me in
an undisguised voice, and, quickly removing his mask, showed me a face that I
knew well, my fears suddenly vanished and blank amazement took their place.
"It was Carter Skales."
"I knew that grim old housekeeper had something to do with it," said Ethel.
As I looked into my burglar's face, with, I am sure, no expression in my
own but utter bewilderment, he turned away and seemed for a moment to be
occupied with the fastenings of his mask. In that moment I regained the use of
my faculties; in fact I now felt perfectly cool and self-possessed."
." You were in a beastly hole, all the same," said Tom. Tom aspires even to
English slang.
Of course I cannot now recall all that the man said, but he tried first of all
to reassure me. He apologized for his sudden and savage appearance, and de-
clared that he intended not the least harm to me, but only good, as I should
presently see. His disguise was only to serve in case of interruption. The
stupid man outside my door had gone; he had been told to guard it, only, and to
wait; on no account to touch the lock except upon a signal. Many things
Carter Skales would explain to me at another time. Now he only asked that I
would be perfectly quiet for a few minutes and listen to him. The bandage was
simply to prevent my uproar before he could speak to me.
As I was effectually gagged and all but smothered, it seemed natural to
suppose that I would at least comply with this request.
After telling me how much he had admired my nerve, and had stood a
while to see what I would do, he went on to say that he would far rather have
talked with me by daylight, in the parlor; but that he knew I would not listen
to him unless I was forced to do so, and would not remain to hear him out. I
nodded my muffled head in vigorous assent to this.
I am very fond of you, Dolly,' he said in a fatherly tone, I always have
been. And when I see you in danger of being cheated and ill-used, I must and
will protect you, even against your own wishes, knowing you will thank me
when you are older.
"' I know how shocked you will be at what I have to tell you; but you
must know all. The man you have trusted as your guardian intends to rob you
of your property. I have the proofs to show you; but he has the money and
the papers, and the only way to get them is for you to take possession of them,
now, to-night, while you have the chance. And I have come here to help you
do it to see that you do do it,' he added."
"Oh! the wretch! my papa dishonest! exclaimed Ethel.
"I wish I'd been there !" shouted Tom, waving his arms, and upsetting the
hassock and a chair or two as he pranced around. His hair stood up perfectly
straight, and his black eyes blazed.






AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.


Of course I could not do or even say anything, and he went on to unfold his
plan. This false guardian of yours has just finished proving up your estate,'
he said, 'and to-day, as you know, he brought the last papers home with him,
and also a package of money several thousand dollars -which is yours, though
he probably did not tell you so. We will take these to-night, and be off to Eng-
land directly. What do you say?'
"I shook my head as hard as I could.
"' See here !' he said, read that.'
"And he held up before my face a paper which, even to my childish eyes,
was a palpable forgery a letter written ostensibly by your papa to some friend,
telling him that he had succeeded to a large property in the north of England,
and that he was going abroad presently to take possession.
Seeing that I remained unconvinced he proceeded to explain the legal right
of a person to take his own property under any-circumstances, and wherever it
might be found.
".' You can explain in a letter to your would-be-guardian,' he said, that act-
ing under the advice of a good friend and a competent lawyer, you have simply
taken your own, and gone home. You need not fear he will follow you I will
attend to that.'
"But still I shook my head.
"' You won't do it ?' said Carter Skales. Well, then, I tell you that you
will. Children cannot be expected to know what is for their best good. I fore-
saw this, in fact. Whatever I may seem to do to-night, you will be thankful, in
after years, that you had so kind and wise a friend.
"' I will draw up a letter which you will copy and sign. Then we go down
to the library and secure the papers and money. I can locate them pretty
nearly3 but I presume you know exactly where they are. You will go ahead
and I will follow with perfect quiet though of course my watcher is at
hand.'
"There was not a sign of mercy about the man, and I was quite as de-
termined.
The hall clock struck one.
"Could it be but one o'clock? It seemed ages since I had carelessly said
good-night and sauntered up to my room.
"' When the clock strikes the quarter-hour we must be outside the house,'
he said, and seated himself at my writing-desk.
As he wrote a sudden thought came to me.
Upon a small table beyond the fire-place stood a little tray and upon it two
wine glasses and a bottle of old port, just as your mamma had left them there
that day. Above the table, a little to the right of it, hung a bell-cord, the bell
communicating with the housekeeper's room, and, as by good fortune, a small
fancy bag was hanging over the cord, quite concealing it. If I could contrive






AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.


to ring this bell, and so arouse Mrs. Middleton at exactly the right moment, she
might meet us in the hall, and my plan went no farther. I could only trust
to her coolness and good sense for the rest.
I was well aware that the undertaking was full of peril. Even if I could
succeed in pulling the bell-cord unobserved, there was the danger of arousing
Mrs. Middleton too soon, and if a disturbance should be heard in the house be-
fore my door was unlocked I might be killed outright, or dragged away through
a window and there upon my table, in my own handwriting, would remain
that lie.
"Of course I know now that the danger was wildly exaggerated by my ex-
cited fancy, that at the slightest hint of outside interference my kidnaper would
doubtless have dropped from a window and taken to his heels in very lively
fashion. But the risks were very real to me, though I was ready to face them."
I don't know about the danger not being real-you never can bet on a
burglar," said Tom.
"The letter was finished in a minute, and perforce I copied it. Then, by
gesture, I asked my captor to tell me the time it was ten minutes past one.
I turned toward the door, and Carter Skales followed with his pistol pointed,
though as I saw rather shakily, at my head.
"'I am so glad, Miss Dolly,' he was saying in a wheedling tone. 'I am so
glad that you understand me, and that you have the good sense and the nerve
to accept my plan.'
I turned and looked him squarely in the eye with contempt and scorn. It
was a rash a foolish thing to do boys and girls of fourteen are rash and
foolish sometimes; but what I saw convinced me that the man was at least as
much frightened as I was at what he was doing. His gaze as well as his hand
was unsteady, and his face was ashy pale.
"As if moved by a sudden impulse I went to the little table, filled a glass
with wine, and motioned to him to remove the bandage from my mouth that I
might drink. He seized the glass, as I had hoped he would, and, as he drank, I
dropped my hand behind me and gave the bell-cord a frantic pull.
The hall clock struck the quarter, and the glass fell from his hand and. was
broken. I filled the other and by motions repeated my request. He seized this,
also, as eagerly as at first, and again I pulled the cord desperately. Then, show-
ing him that the bottle was empty, I signified that I was ready to start.
"While he was fumbling at the bolt I fancied I heard the opening of a dis-
tant door. Then my own door -wung noiselessly open, and I moved swiftly
down the hall.
"' Stop !' he whispered, and marched me back into the room. He closed the
door and stood with his back against it while he readjusted his mask, and I
waited, feeling that a second's delay might be death to me.
"He next produced a box of matches and a small dark lantern; then he






AUNT DOLLY'S TWO ROBBERS.


again opened the door and peered up and down the long hall, then motioned me
to proceed.
S' Stop !' he whispered again, not so fast.'
"We glided down the stairs and through the lower hall without a sign or a
sound; but as we passed the door of the dining-room I noticed that it stood ajar.
A few steps more and I heard a rush, a smothered cry, and a staggering fall.
My robber lay on his face upon the floor, and Mrs. Middleton stood over him
with -"
SA long, glittering knife said Tom.
"Pshaw Tom; with a rolling-pin.

The next thing I knew, I was lying upon my bed, and narrow bars of light
were slanting in through the closed shutters. Mrs. Middleton sat beside me,
but so haggard that I scarcely knew her.
"As I opened my eyes, she rose abruptly and walked to the window, but not
before I had seen two great tears roll down her cheeks.
Oh tell me,' I cried, did you--was he -'
He is not at all seriously hurt,' she said.
Where is he ? please, please tell me all about it.'
"' He is in my room. Dolly, it is but just dawn, and not a soul but our-
selves knows what has happened. Will you'- she hesitated, and a dark painful
red surged over her changed face; then she said, Child! I have not been very
good to you. But will you keep this thing a secret ? You have not been really
harmed. For -he is my son.' "

The fire had burned low and I picked up the poker.
0 yes, Agnes dear. His mother got him off to Australia, and herself
soon followed."
"0 yes, Mistress Dolly! and it was your money that took them there,"
said a deep voice from out the twilight somewhere above my head as I leaned
forward to mend the fire.
0 yes, and you have always thought we knew nothing about it," said
another voice, a merry, sweet voice at my elbow. "And we shouldn't have
known, but before she went away Mrs. Middleton came to me in a broken-
hearted way, and told the whole story."
And the children's papa and mamma came forward into the firelight. Then
the flood of repressed exclamations broke forth, and everybody was talking at
once.
And then as the dinner-bell rang, we went merrily out to the dining-room,
past the very scene of my little tragedy, and not a soul thought of it, at least
the children had hardly realized that it had taken place in that very house !
Sydney Quarles.









THE DOLL-LADY.

O NCE there was a sweet doll-lady,
-.. Came from Paris o'er the sea,
Wore a cloak of finest satin,
~ Ostrich plumes her velvet hat in,
And a gown all 'broidery.

Ah, her manners were so charming!
SShe could sing, and curt'sy low,
Walk and dance a minuet -
SSweetest doll you ever met,
You'd have surely said, I know.

But alas, this sweet doll-lady
Came to visit small Miss Rose!
First she lost her golden tresses,
Then she lost her lovely dresses,
SThen she lost her eyes and nose.

She was soon a helpless cripple;
t She was never put to bed,
r- Could not sing she was so jaded-
All her waxen roses faded,
And at last she lost her head.

What this pretty sweet doll-lady
Must have thought, is plain to me,
Just before her execution -
That a new French Revolution
Had arisen this side the sea.
Mary E. Wilkins.











































w1 w ., I I


INTERIOR OF: A GREER PALACE.































A WINTER MORNING IN A CITY PARK.


KEVIN THE FISHER.

r- \WAS Kevin the Fisiher of Polscath Town,
SAnd a goodly youth was he;
(None like him could wrestle or run)
Strong and brave as a sea-god's son,
.And lithe as a willow-tree.

Far out at sea in the twilight gloom,
One e'en when the sun was down,
He drew his nets through the salt sea-spray,
And snared in the glistening mesh there lay
A sea-beast sleek and brown.






KEVIN THE FISHER.


It looked in his face, the sleek brown seal,
With such mournful eyes and mild,
That his heart was wrung for the creature's pain,
And he gave it back to the waves again,
To its home in the waters wild.

And lo there rose through the darkening foam
A lady marble-pale -
He scarce might know did he dream or wake
(So fair she was), till her sweet lips spake
'Neuth the folds of her gleaming veil.


"And 0," she said, "I have sought thee long,
Now will we never part,
Dear to me, dear, for thy comely face,
Dear to me, dear, for thy blithesome grace,
But most for thy gentle heart."





KEVIN THE FISHER.


S S\-ift she stepped in the
rocking boat
."By the light of the low,
.. red moon;
She set the prow to the
., fading west:
"Row, beloved, and row
I thy best,
That we reach my palace
soon!"

Andl aye she sang as they floated on,
: ; iiAl over the blue sea-rim;
.'.i.Shie sing of a palace beyond the
deep,
iWhe li t he v ,i- eat winged winds lie fast asleep,
.Aud lthe golden lights burn dim.

Ti Te tloatted over the far sea-rim
To aI ilhce nor shore nor sea,
STha t. i wasil all clamor of viewless things,
'A l hirlvin.. niiurmuring mist of wings -
The i:-tt-( where the drowned folk be.

And on, and on, through a mist-world wide,
Where the wan lights flashed and fled -
She screened her eyes with her milk-white hand:
"I see the sheen of the silver ,ti'and.
And my father's halls," she s.id.

There .were emerald leaves on every tree
That gil'- along that shore,
And berries of ruby, fair to see:
" Here," she said, shalt thou dwell with me
For ever and evermore."


Now seven long years were come and gone
In the shadowy halls and fair
Of the Sea-king's palace beyond the foam,
When his heart waxed sore for the sight of home
And tlhe folk abiding there.









































































C"YET TAKE THIS CASKET CARVEN FAIR,
AND SEE THOU GUARD IT WELL."






KEVIN THE FISHER.


"0 fair and glad is our wedded life,
Yet fain, fain would I see
My father's cottage in Polscath Town,
Yon windy uplands bare and brown,
My kin and mine own countries "

The salt tear stood in that lady's e'en,
And heavy of heart was she:
"De;ir-im} -l:ve, thou must have thy will,
But a voice in mine ear it bodeth chill
Thou'lt never win back to me.

"Yet take this casket carven fair,
And see thou guard it well;
Deep and deep is it graven o'er
With many a word of the hidden lore,
And many a secret spell.

But lift ye never the carven lid,
And look ye ne'er within;
Lift it not, for our leal love's sake
Grant me this for my heart would break
If back ye should never win."

0 many a day was come and gone
Or ever he won to see
The pale sands glimmering far away -
The fishing-village in Polscath Bay,
The shores of his own countries.

And to and fro, as the sun went down,
He strayed with faltering feet,
For all seemed fraught with a dreary change;
The dwellings all were new and strange,
SAnd the faces in the street.

"Now what hath chanced to my native town
Since seven short years have sped ?
Stranger, of courtesy tell to me
Where Kevin the Fisherman's house may be,
And whither his folk are fled ?"





KEVIN 7HE FISHER.


" kevin the Fisher is dead long syne,
And crumbled his cold hearth-stone;
And living kindred none there be
Of that brave lad who was lost at sea
Four hundred years agone."


FA41 IT iU E[' F.i- T PfrrE P I..AM,


He set his foot on the yellow sand
And looked across the bay:
"And it's O, for the shores of my outland home't
The Sea-king's palace beyond the foam-
But how shall I find the way?"

He drew the casket from out his breast
And set it upon his knee;
Vain as the word of the idle wind,
Clean forgotten and out of mind
Was the word of his fair ladye.







KEVIN THE FISHER


The hinges moved with a long, low moan,
As the casket opened wide;
There was naught to see, as he gazed within.
But a small cloud rising, white and thin.
That sped to the water-side,


Fast it fled o'er the purple foam,
And over the far sea-rim;
He wrung his hands, and he cried aloud,
But it vanished away, the thin white cloud--
And his heart died down in him.


For palsied and faint grew voice and limb
Till he might nor speak nor stand;
He stretched his arms to the fading West,
But his head fell forward upon his breast
As he sank on the wet sea-sand.


"Farewell, sweet wife, in the outland hornme
I never again shall see !"
His floating hair waved hoar and gray,
Old, and withered, and dead he lay
On the shores of his own countries.
Graham R. Tomson.


,



rz-,
-- ~- .
4~
C
----7~9--
~_S.l~-~L






























fl









STO RNELLI.
.(For a Tuscan Baby's Bedtime.)

FLOWER of the plum!
Now, Baby, let me take your flower-soft hand,
To reckon with a kiss one little thumb.

Flower of the strawberry!
Two kisses on the tiny forefinger,
And for the middle finger shall be three.







"CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING'S" AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.

Flower of the peach!
F::.:r kisses on the finger that comes next
And five to count the last; One ;=ore for each!

Flower of the rose !
Five fingers of the little rose-white hand,
The foot has five pink rosebuds for its toes.

Flowers pink and white!
Fall from the tree of dreams on hands and feet-
So many kisses, baby, and good-night!
E. Cavaga.





"CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING'S" AFFLICTED
HOLIDAY.

IT'S scandalous," beamed good Father Johnson indulgently, "but dey'll outer-
grow it; and de little ones conjubilates mo' out o' der ol' Mammy and
Pappy on 'Ap'il Fool' day dan dey does out er all de res' de holidays conjuncti-
fled. Then," he added not without grave satisfaction, Chollemyisses got de
toofache dis Ap'il Fi'st, and I reckon dat'll put de squelcha' onto some o' dese
yer scand'lous high com'tabobbums."
Chollemyisses, with his forlorn cheeks tied up in an allaying poultice, re-
garded his father with eyes preternaturally grave and bright. All within the
cabin and without was alive with little Johnsons, each with grave face and eyes
luminous.
"Mammy! mammy!" cried a weird little figure dancing on the doorstep.
Come see dis yer flock o' wil' gooses flyin' over 'qtiick mammy. Come! "
Mammy turned her innocent comely black face from the dishpan, wrung her
hands, and waddled quickly to the door. There she stood and lifted those large
,confiding eyes to the heavens.
The April sky was of fleckless blue, untouched by wing of bird, and a sudden
thought came to mammy. "You black T'addeus! she exclaimed wrathfully,
but brought her damp hand down on the air.
"Ap'il Fool! mammy," squealed Thaddeus, now visible only as a pair of
shining black orbs around the corner of the house.
Father Johnson, considerably older than the comely mammy, shook his
P:lrr: Ulysses.






"CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING'S" AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.


patriarchal gray head with laughter. It was a laugh of delicious appreciation,
and yet imbued with that tone of tender indulgence which he always showed
towards the younger and inferior intellect of his wife.
"How many mo' Ap'il Fool days you gwine to trot to dat do' to see flock o'
wil' gooses fly over, inie ?" said he. "Las' ye'r Ap'il Fool you trot to dat do'
jes' de same. Yeah befo' dat. How long you t'ink befo' you 'arn dis yer Ap'il
Fool 'bout de flock o' wil' gooses flyin' over, Minnie ?"
With the smile still on his features, he lifted his hand for his pipe on the
shelf over the stove. Deliciously he drew a match and lit it but at the first
puff sprang to his feet with an exclamation of horrified disgust and dismay.
The clay pipe lay on the floor shattered amidst the unsavory foreign contents
there revealed.
"How many mo' Ap'il Fools," said Minnie, standing, shaking, with her hands
on her sides, while tears of laughter rolled down her cheeks, how many mo'
Ap'il Fool days you gwine to smoke ol' rags an' angle-wo'ms? Las' yeah you
smoke ol' rags an' angle-dog wo'ms. Yeah befo' dat. How long you t'ink befo'
you 1'arn dis yer Ap'il Fool 'bout ol' rags an' angle-dog wo'ms ?"
Father Johnson said nothing. He looked about deliberately for some one of
his children.
The house and premises had become suddenly totally void and silent. Father
Johnson put on his hat and started out towards the little dim wreck of a barn
over the brook. But that also looked so unpromising and silent that he turned
abruptly and retraced his steps.
"I always 'lows de chillun to cut up dese yer shines on Ap'il Fool day,
Minnie," said he. Odda days I l'arns 'em de duty of truf and respectability to
parents. Dey ain't doin' nuffin mo' no' what I 'lows."
He seated himself with dignity before a large mechanical organ and fervently
seized the crank.
"What chune do you p'efer dat I plays to you, Minnie ? said he, pausing,
with the punctilious politeness of an Italian tenor.
Oh, wal' den," said Minnie, tossing her head rather indifferently, I spec's
I'd rada' heah De Moockin' Bi'd,' ef I heahs any."
"I don' like your preferation to dese yere lively an' jig-hoppin' chunes,
Minnie," replied Father Johnson, and proceeded forthwith to turn out a strain
of an entirely different measure.
Minnie listened without any affectation of pleasure, but thoughtfully and
without resentment, until her eye fell upon a neat and portly package that had
suddenly appeared upon the doorstep.
Look-a-da', pappy!" she cried, joyfully interrupting him, without other
warning; reckon Miss Lucy up to de big house done sont us down fat goose !
Done tol' me she was gwine ter sont us down fat goose one o' dese yere days."
"You seem running' to gooses to-day, Minnie," said the patriarch, visibly






"CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING'S" AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.

trembling with elation himself, though still firmly continuing his lugubrious
duty at the crank.
Minnie carried the package to the table and unwound it, her face wreathed
with anticipatory smiles.
"'Tis fat goose, I know by de hef," said she, tenderly lifting it, and as she
did so the last wrapping fell off, and there fell to the floor an artfully contrived
symbol indeed of that fowl upon which she doted; the skin whereof was com-
posed of generous quarterings from one of her own work aprons, and whose
luscious parts were but weeds and mire, of the earth earthly, with joints deftly
articulated and defined by means of choice extracts from her own chip heap.
Father Johnson's face at first expressed only a reflection of the wrath and
dismay on Minnie's own. But on second thought he turned himself discreetly
to the organ, and by the time mammy could look to him for sympathy and sup-
port in her indignation, his countenance was fairly beaming with a superior and
humorous smile.
"'Pears like you fo'git what kin' of a day dis day conjubilates, Minnie," said
he. "'Pears like yo' mem'ry so sho't you fo'git but what dis day might be
Gawge Washin'ton's birf'day, or Fas' day, or some such conjubilation."
It's gwine to be a Fas' day to one set of niggas I knows of," cried Minnie;
" and Chollemyisses Johnsing 's one o' dem niggas wa't I knows of, w'at it's
gwine to be a Fas' day to !"
She picked up the similitude of a goose, and walked indignantly with it to
the brook. As she threw it in, she fancied she heard a ripple of human mirth
mingled with the plash of the waters. She peered severely into the bushes on
the other side of the stream but discovered nothing, and again all was still.
Her thoughts, however, usually so placid, seemed to have become diverted
into an entirely different though no less distressful channel as she returned to
the doorstep and sat down. She fanned herself with her apron as she again in-
nocently intruded on Father Johnson's sedate grinding at the organ.
"Miss Lucy up to de big house, she mighty trouble' in her min', ain' she ?"
said she; "'bout dese yer men w'at's trompin' over de kentry wid dey photo-
graph machines an' chains an' sich, w'at I heern tell dat if dey don' run 'em
some oda' way, dey gwine ter run de.keers right plum t'ro Miss Lucy's lawn!"
Mammy paused, exhausted, while Father Johnson's deliberations at the organ
became a wail.
"De debble- de debble '11 cotch 'em sho', Minnie, 'fo' ever dey 'complishes
it! It's been my pra', Minnie -Minnie, it's been my pra'," said Father Johnson,
choking, while the organ wailed, dat de Lawd '11 sheer 'em off. Sheer 'em
off, oh, Lawd," he pathetically vociferated, to the accompaniment of the organ,
" f'om ou' po' o'phan Miss Lucy's prummises; sheer 'em off down onto Judge
Shipman'sol' rock pastur which it's harder bed and betta fo' de keers to run
on! sheer 'em off, oh, Lawd!"






"CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING'S" AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.

The music had now reached a liveliness and vigor with which Minnie fully
sympathized. Sheer 'em off, oh, Lawd! she joined in fervently.
An' comfo't ou' Miss Lucy's h'a't," concluded Father Johnson, turning and
wiping the perspiration from his brow.
"Can't dey nuffin' be done, I wonda," sighed Minnie, "'bout dese yer
discom-"
She paused, helpless and embarrassed, before the superior education of her
husband.
Father Johnson, who had learned by experience the futility of instructing
Minnie in words of length and importance, simply continued his rhapsody at the
organ.
But her perplexity was turned by the apparition of her eldest-born, Chol-
lemyisses, running violently towards the house, his hand on his bandaged cheeks
and his face otherwise distorted by excitement.
Pappy pappy 01' Unc' John got de conniptions dreadful, an' dey done
sont me tell you come right over !"- Father Johnson, without one glimmering
of unworthy suspicion, rose and prepared himself for departure.
"You see w'at you been doin' dis day, Chollemyisses," said Minnie reproach-
fully, "an' ol' Unc' John lyin' in de conniptions!"
An' mammy!" cried Chollemyisses, almost in the same breath, dey'ss a
letter to de pos'-offis' fo' you, w'at dey's somefin' in dat letter so impollatant,"
for Chollemyisses was already a hopeful pupil of his father's facility in lore--
"so impollatant, dat dey won't gib dat letter to nobody but you, mammy, an
dey done sent me tell you come right over!"
"De Laws Sakes!" exclaimed Minnie, rising, and arraying herself in shawl
and turban.
"Chollemyisses !" she called back, you hab to cotch de chicken w'at yo'
pappy gwine to hab fo' ou' suppa an' sot 'em roas'in'."
"Yes, yes, I cotch 'im," obediently replied Chollemyisses.
"An' sot'em roas'in'!"
"Yes, yes, mammy, I sot 'em roas'in'."
As Father Johnson's form disappeared in one direction, and mammy's in the
other, Chollemyisses seated himself at the organ, while a six-in-hand of little
Johnsons drew the baby round and round the house in a raisin box on impromptu
'wheels, at a rate which would have made an on-looker's teeth chatter, but which
was, metaphorically, but as "nuts" to the'soul of that infant Johnson.
As Chollemyisses sat gorging his delighted ear with strains both quick and
sad, he- remembered what he had heard mammy and pappy say, while he had
been hidden in the loft, about dear Miss Lucy up at the big house and those sad
"discombobbalations."
I So having fished out the shattered -form of the humanly constructed goose
from the brook, and set it roasting, to the simple wonder and edification of the






"'CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING'S" AFFLICTED HOLIDAY,

six-in-hand and the baby, he suddenly disappeared, followed by the whole de-
voted group, from the scenes which their forms had so recently enlivened.
Miss Lucy up at the big house doted on her occasional visits from Chol-
lemyisses, the six-in-hand, and the baby, and always gave tangible proof of her
appreciation in the way tof large slics of bread covered with molasses.
She took the comical baby up in her arms, who however ignored her atten-
tions, being solemnly absorbed in the bread and molasses.
Each little culprit Johnson was wedded to a huge slice of this confection,
when Chollemyisses detected in the distance the approach of those very sur-
veyors who, report said, might cast the ploughshare of smoke and traffic through
Miss Lucy's beautiful still lawn.
Chollemyisses, looking up, thought he saw her sweet face pale and her lips
quiver, though she was apparently absorbed in the six-in-hand and the baby. A
gleam of despair and resolve and fun widened his own wild dark eyes, his band-
aged cheeks compressed themselves after a convulsive sort of sob and laughter
mingled, and unobserved he sped swiftly and noiselessly away.
Before the invaders could well plant their feet on Miss Lucy's premises, an
apparition presented itself to them- Chollemyisses, bandaged, breathless, wild
with excitement; his dark trembling finger pointed them toward the trunk of
one of the great elm-trees on the lawn; the tip of a shady-looking beaver hat
glanced out ominously from behind that tree trunk, under it floated in the
fearsome contrast of lunacy a stream of long light hair, borne now this way,
now that, by the breeze, while a little farther beneath appeared the long muzzle
of a gun, aimed steadily.
"It's de crazy man! gasped Chollemyisses; "w'at he hides hisse'f in a cave
whar' dey carnt nobody fin' him, an' he stamp his foot 'n shake his head--like
dis! an' say he ain' gwine let no keers run tro' Miss Lucy's prummises, an' he
shoot de fus' man put he foot fo'most. Fo' de ma'cy sake, gemmen, sheer off !
Sheer off o' dese yer prummises! "
Chollemyisses wrung his hands, the insane beaver nodded, the wild hair
floated, the gun muzzle was firm. The head surveyor did not advance a step
from his position.
"Did he shoot you?" he inquired of Chollemyisses, regarding his bandages.
"No, sah!" said Chollemyisses thoughtfully; "dis yer dis yer's on'y jes a
little toofache."
"Well, the world's wide enough for our road without stirring up lunatic
asylums. Let that sort rest," said the head surveyor; I only came up here
any way as a little matter of speculation." And he withdrew with his forces.
Miss Lucy from the window watched this mysterious retreat, accompanied by
Chollemyisses' wildly gesticulating figure. She followed the direction of his
hand and saw, away down her lawn, a tall hat nailed to one of the elm-trees, a
wig of flaxen hair, mysteriously like her Aunt Minerva's (who had gone out that







"CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING'S" AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.

afternoon in her second-best wig), and officially borrowed in fact from Chloe,
Aunt Minerva's maid, and a gun reposing along two crotched sticks.
Not a doubtful spectacle from this side, but Miss Lucy put two and two to-
gether. She saw her small, hitherto undubbed knight endeavoring to remove
these articles and approach the house surreptitiously, and she turned ,and dis-
creetly veiled her eyes.
Sometime afterward, the knight approached her with an air of reckless inno-
cence that went to her heart.
"Miss Lucy," said he, "I done been running' so, 'musin' myse'f, hea' and da, I
done los' all de 'lasses off my bread."
Miss Lucy gave him a strange look. "Tell Dinah," said she "no, wait,
Ptolemy Ulysses (Miss Lucy's own father had named Ptolemy Ulysses, and so
she spoke the words very tenderly), wait, Ptolemy Ulysses, I'll go with you
myself."
"Ptolemy Ulysses," said Miss Lucy, literally soaking and enveloping and
swimming his bread in molasses she cut another slice, which she immersed in
like manner would you like to drive to town with me in my phaeton to-
morrow, and get a new suit of clothes, and a blue cap, and a pair of tall
boots ?"
Yas'm, Miss Lucy," said Chollemyisses, shining, gasping, wondering.
"And a cart for your goat ? and Miss Lucy suddenly remembered some
of Chollemyisses' tenderest ambitions some cologne and peanut sticks ?"
My Gawrd! yas'm, Miss Lucy."
"Ptolemy Ulysses," said Miss Lucy, blushes chasing one another over her
fair cheeks, "it isn't--isn't right--to play tricks, you know--not even on
the first of April, Ptolemy Ulysses."
Yas'm, Miss Lucy," said Chollemyisses, gravely regarding from his own
bandaged face, Miss Lucy's hot cheeks, rippling mouth and lovely downcast
eyes; and accepting with this vague reproof both hands full of undeniable
sweetness, he turned and fled, with the delicate consideration of a Chesterfield.
Chollemyisses still hovered rather doubtfully about the premises, however.
He doubted if the prodigy he had left roasting in the oven at home would prove
satisfactory to Mammy and Pappy Johnson on their returnthither.
Sometime later Miss Lucy found him still wandering disconsolately. "Is
there anything you want, Ptolemy Ulysses?" said she sweetly, bending toward
him her beautiful face
"Miss Lucy," said he, lifting an ingenuous countenance, "I done lef' a -a
Ap'il Fool goose ter roas' in de oven, I did an' I done wish I c'd have r'al, fat
goose ter take t' mammy and pappy." Miss Lucy comprehended with lively
sympathy.
Ten minutes later the six-in-hand, handled by Chollemyisses, plunged friskily
down the hill toward the Johnson cabin, and by the baby's side in the raisin box






"CHOLLEMYISSES JOHNSING'S" AFFLICTED HOLIDAY.

reposed the limp form of the biggest and fattest goose on Miss Lucy's premises.
Chollemyisses left the baby in the box and appeared with a somewhat curious
and pale smile at the cabin, holding forward the goose.
The all-forgetful and illuminating sunrise on the features of Pappy and
Mammy Johnson informed him that he had nothing to fear. He returned for
the baby, at which signal the six-in-hand all unhesitatingly entered, with some
sweet sense of being thus metaphorically embraced and forgiven.
Considerably later as they sat at the supper table, where the roasted goose
formed the steaming center-piece and joy, "Chollemyisses," said Father John-
son, in a musical and liquid voice, dey's one question w'at I wan's to ask you,
in view o' some o' de 'speriences w'at I'se 'sperienced dis day -is you r'al'y had
de toofache to-day, Chollemyisses? Speak de truf, my son; you fada' loves
you.
"Yes, pappy," said Chollemyisses, regretfully, "I is-a yittle. An' I spec's
ef I hadn' had dis yer harntin' mis'ry in my toof, pappy, some folks 'ud got
mighty well fool' roun' dese yer prummises to-day."
Father Johnson with his usual courtesy served first his wife, then by order
of age the small female Johnsons, and then again addressed himself in the same
mellifluous tone to his eldest son.
Cholleniyisses, is you any happiah -any happiah an' bettah at de close ob
dis evening' hou', my son, fo' dese yer fool-conjurin's an' high com'tabobbums w'at
you'se been up to to-day ? Do you 'fink it could be said o' you to-day, my son,
dat you has been wo'kin' among de reapahs ?

'Oh wha' am de reapahs dat gacda's in
De heaps um piles f'um de fiel's o' sin.'

Has you been among dem reapahs to-day, Chollemyisses?"
"No, pappy," said Chollemyisses sadly, and wistfully eying the goose.
"But de keers has done sheered clar off away f'om Miss Lucy's prummises an'
lMiEs Lucy gwine ter take me t' town to-morrow fo' to git c'lone an' peanut
sticks, an' all sich like as dat! "
Father Johnson's spoon plunged into the goose-stuffing as if an electric bolt
had been applied at the elbow.
"Chollemyisses," said he brightly, "I believe you am, like you fada', pa'ticu-
lumly fond o' de sage an' ingyin complements to de fowl ?"
"I 'lows dey's de bes' pa't ob de goose, pappy," responded Chollemyisses.
The amount of this refection which was now passed steaming down the line,
on Chollemyisses' plate, beside a favorite selection of the wishbone, caused his
eyes to gleam and banished from his consenting memory every recollection of
the toothache.
Sarah Pratt McLean Greene.



































































A MAY DAY FROLIC


^ *


~,"~L~~










EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.
(A bit of Washington Folk-Lore.)

F you should happen to be in Washington on any
SEaster Monday, you might witness a children's
sport that does not exist in any other part of
America.
S.- .At the Easter season the Washington parks
Q begin to look attractive. Hyacinths, crocuses,
tulips, cydonias and many native plants are in full
bloom. The grass is emerald, the air balmy.
Early on Monday morning you would see thousands of children, boys and
girls, of all grades and shades, rnarehiing in the direction of the White House,
little baskets on their arms: All strangers who have never heard of this annual
procession wonder why so many children are up and dressed, spick and span, so
early, and why one and all they are marching toward the southeast gate of the
Executive gardens.
I am now to .tell you.
For more than a week all the boys and girls of Washington, from six to six-
teen years of age, have been worrying
about their Eas-ter eggs. Fathers and
mothers, older sisters, friends and rela-
tives have been helping them to get up
the prettiest eggs in town, decorating
them in every fashion fancy can con- I .
ceive and colored calico and "pas"
dyes can execute. No doubt you color
eggs also; but yours do not have to
be examined, scrutinized, compared by
many envious eyes, as do ours.
Washington breakfasts are over
early on the morning of Easter Mon-
day; then all these artists in eggs are --
off for the White House, dressed in
pinafores and gay colors; not in their
Sunday clothes. Rich children go with AT THE GATE.
their white-capped nurses; poor chil-
dren with one another; but each and all carry the pretty basket or satchel of
hard-boiled eggs.
Without any previous announcement, or saying "By your leave, sir," they






EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.


march into the President's grounds, south of the Mansion, and take possession.
Genera! Grarnt loved to go out and sit on the benches and watch the gay com-
pany, smoking his Havana the while, Nellie Arthur used to take part in the
egg-rolling. Mrs. Cleveland found infinite delight in the fun. One Easter Mon-
day during Mr. Cleveland's term the tots arrived too early and found the gate


E R D N WE. -S G N

EASTERN MONDAY IN THE WHITE HOUSE GROUNDS.


locked. The watchman was not on hand, so they banged and rattled until the
President came down and let them in himself.
Master Ben McKee, Miss Mary Dodge McKee and Miss Marthena Harrison
have, since their residence in the White House, kept up the interest of their
predecessors, and Grandfather Harrison, not to be outdone, orders out the
Marine Band.
The children used to divide their affections between the Capitol grounds and
the President's grounds. But one season, after a long rain, they injured the
sodding, and Congress drove the fairies away. I cannot tell you whether that
had anything to do with elections; but I know that many who voted for the
cruel measure have since had their career cut off suddenly !
The first thing on the programme is to get acquainted, to march around by
twos and by threes, and to admire one another's pretty eggs, commenting as
little girls, especially, know how to do.






EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.


The next fun starts itself. Some little girl goes to the top of a pretty knoll
and drops an egg. No one tells her to do it. You know how that is. She just
does the thing, and that is all. She runs screaming after the egg for fear it will


"BABY" MCKEE AND BENJAMIN HARRISON MCKEE, WITH THEIR NURSE-READY TO JOIN IN THE EGG-ROLLING.

be broken. The little companions join the chase. As if by magic, hundreds,
.nay, thousands of eggs are rolling down hill, and Jack and Jill go tumbling after.
Act third is egg-racing. Two or more eggs are started down the knoll to-
,gether. Perhaps fifty boys and girls will be interested. They laugh, scream,
coax, scold, talk to the rival racers and even sprinkle salt on them to encourage





EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.


them in their downward course. Youngsters bet on the race, chiefly eggs, and
are as much interested as the old turfmen at Brighton.
There is not a particle of use in your saying, "I should not see any fun in
that! you might just as well tell the kitten that she is hopelessly silly to get
so much fun out of a ball of yarn.
Perhaps you would enjoy act fourth better. Well, follow me to a quiet little
hummock over there. A pretty, priggish boy of eleven or twelve and a lovely
girl of ten or eleven, not appreciating the general racket, are indulging in a
peculiar sport.
One of them goes to the top of a knoll and starts an egg down the slope.
The other at the bottom holds an egg to receive the one descending. The egg
that is broken is eaten between the young pair with much fun and banter. It
takes some science to receive the broadside of the rolling egg with the point of
the one held in the hand.
All this fun is kept up pretty lively during office hours, from nine A. M. until
four P. M., when many hundreds of grown children come to join in the sport,
and to turn it into an out-of-
door dress parade.
Act five is usually re-
served until these old folks
arrive. The principal char-
acter in this act is the pro-
fessional egg-eater." He i l
may be a big man, but is
generally a dirty little urchin
from the street, and, more -
times than not, his face is v _
black, his hair is crisp, while ...
his eyes and teeth rival in white-
ness the glair of the eggs he i,
about to devour. His own res,:uil',e-
did not allow him to lay up a :t.,ie.
of eggs. But he is full of coura:e.
He approaches a large group ,:f I. Nin aZnd ''
girls and grown folks, grins, b;ow,. wiigle-. "..
wipes his mouth ard says pleasantly:
"I kin eat all you'll gimme."
This is a signal for side-splitting mirth. They WANT TO PICK?"
take him at his word. They form a ring about
him and pass in the shelled eggs as he calls for them. The show gets funnier
with the disappearance of each egg; the assembled crowd cheer the hero on,
and quite frequently the eggs give out before his indomitable appetite. Every-






EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.


body is convulsed with laughter and prophesies all sorts of dire disaster on the
grinning martyr. One little negro, last Easter, actually devoured in a few
minutes twenty-six hard-boiled eggs and walked off with a wistful, hungry look
upon his sable countenance.
A novel feature or two have been added to the egg-rolling custom in the last
year or two. The red balloon man has found his way into the garden and now


















CHASING EGGS DOWN THE SLOPE (from an istanItatedousphotograpl).

some well-to-do gentleman buys him out, and sets them adrift one at a time, to
the immense pleasure of hundreds.
In this singular Easter sport you can see how folk-customs have been amended,
or how they grow.
When this writer was a-boy, the custom of e-_-r.:lliii- was common as far as.
Baltimore, and was practiced in the adjacent counties of Virginia. There are,
hundredsrof gray-haired men and women in the vicinity of the Capitol who used
to greet the return of spring, not after the manner of the Japanese by worship-
ing 'the cherry blossom, but by going out in little squads to roll eggs. The
colored people said: Lit was de bes' way to bring on lub."
With deep regret some of us have seen this local folk-sport driven from post
to pillar until the Prei-il nt of the United States is its patron saint. And now,
last year, the rough play of a rough class got the upper hand and threatened to
drive nice children from the park. I think it would be a very great pity to
frighten away from the National Capital a pretty local, custom which could never
be restored. I have been tempted to write to Mrs. Harrison and ask her to in-
struct the watchmen to put rude and disturbing children out of the park on that






EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.


day. Men are spending lots of money to preserve antiquities;. why not give
a little attention to the conservation of antique folk-customs ?
Do you ask now how did such a queer custom arise near Washington ?
I am not now inquiring about egg myths, mundane eggs, ovolas in Greek
architecture, cosmic eggs, solar eggs, and such matters. These questions would
take us many miles from Washington and many centuries back from this blessed
Easter day, 1891.
But here is a funny custom, confined within very narrow limits, and practiced
so far as we know in no other part of America. Perhaps my young readers will
indulge me in a bit of antiquarian research.
The vicinity of Washington was settled by North England and Scotch people.
One of them, named Pope, owned the very hill on which the Capitol stands and
where I have gone egg-rolling many a time. He called his hill Rome, and the
little stream that issued therefrom Tiber, although it would not fill a two-inch
pipe. Himself he called the Pope of Rome. At the other end of the town lived





















A QUIET "ROLL" ALL BY THEMSELVES.

Davy Burns, who owned the land on which stands the White House, the patent
office and the post-office. Just south of the President's grounds is yet standing
the Burns cottage, a mute witness of Easter happiness for more than a hundred
years.
I think I may safely say that the egg-rolling, now confined to the Presi-
dent's grounds, was formerly practiced on Easter Monday everywhere in the






EGG-ROLLING AT THE WHITE HOUSE.


vicinity of Washington, since this district was settled by Scotch and North England
people. In Bohn's antiquarian libi-ry, printed in 1883, you will find Brand's
Popular Antiquities of Great Britain. In this work it is stated that in the north
of England, in Cumberland and Westmoreland, the
Sboys were accustomed to beg on Easter Eve for eggs,
which they called Paste eggs. Of course Paste is
a corruption of Pasque or Pascua, referring to the
Paschal lamb or Easter Festival. These eggs were
boiled hard and dyed with various colors, and the
boys played with them in the fields, rolling them like
S bowls and tossing them like balls. Mr. Gordon-
Cumming told us long ago in Scribner's of a place
S called Bannock Brae, at Grantown, in Scotland,
where from time immemorial the young folks of
Strathspey have assembled on May mornings to roll
S, their bannocks or barley cakes as solid as hard-tack
and their hard-boiled eggs.
AN EGG-EATER.
And, if you wish to carry the matter back still
further, all over Druidical Europe the favorite mode of divination was by roll-
ing some object down a hill-side, generally a circle or a wheel of burning
wood.
It would be easy to pursue this subject further, inquiring into the origin
of the Easter egg, the story of rabbits lioing eggs, of the goddess Oastera after
whom the day is named, of dyeing eggs to represent the beauties of spring
when the great sun-egg comes rolling down the sky from the far off south land,
but the matter would fill a book.
I am only showing you how the Washington children came by the pretty
Easter custom which is altogether their own.
Otis T. Mason.


THE DAVY BURNS COTTAGE.

























































































































AN EVENING ENTERTAINMENT.


--~-~-c -:i-






I-F

~r~t
:'?
'









ARITHMETIC AMONG THE GREEKS.


AND what do these figures mean? Why, you must
452952 6448 L know that this is the way in which Greek boys and
6415 699 girls do examples in long division.
832 "What a queer way !" you say; "just look! they put
the divisor at the right hand, and they put the quotient
000 underneath the divisor." And some of you are wondering
why you see no sign of any multiplication, and you are ask-
ing: "Have the scholars done this all out on their slates and merely put these
figures on the blackboard, or are they so wonderfully smart that they multiply
and carry and subtract in their heads, and write merely the remainder on the
board?"
We have all wondered in the same way in visiting Greek schools, have pitied
the pupils for this seemingly cumbrous method and at the same time admired
their ability, as we supposed, to do so much in their heads and have so little
appear on the board. But the other day we had it all explained to us by a
Greek master who claims that he approves this method, and considers it
simpler than any other.
And this is his explanation: "452952 is to be divided by 648. It looks as if
it would go 7 times, so I say in my mind 7 times 6 are 42; 42 from 45 gives me
3, I bring down the 2 making 32; 7 times 4 are 28; 28.from 32 leaves 4, but 7
times 8 are more than 49, so I must try anb6thler figure. I will try 6; 6 times 6
are 36; 36 from 45 leaves 9 oh!- that is a large enough remainder; I needn't
go any further.
"Then there is another way we have," the master went on to say, to try if
our quotient is correct: instead of multiplying 648 by 7 we divide 4529 by 7
and find that the result is less than 648; we try 6 and find that the result is a
sum larger than 648, so we conclude 6 is the first figure
of our desired quotient."
All this is preliminary, and of course to those who are 452952 648
accustomed to the methods does not take so long as it has 6415 699
taken here to read it. Now we come to the real division 5832
and we will let the master continue his explanation:
"Having found the first figure of the quotient to be 6, 000
I work the example in this way: 6 times 8 are 48; it takes
1 to make 49 (for the 9 above I must consider as a 49), so I write down the 1;
6 times 4 are 24 and 4 (for I made the 9 a 49) make 28. It takes 4 more to
make the next higher figure containing a 2, viz.: 32; so I write down the 4
and carry 3 in my multiplication of the next figure 6, getting thereby 39. It





BITTER-SWEET.--HOW THE NEWS CAME.


takes 6 more to make 45; I write down 6; so I have 641 to' which I bring
down the next figure 5, giving me 6415.
I proceed with the second and third figures in the quotient in the same way,
and in this example I find that it is necessary to add nothing to my last multipli-
cation to make the product equal to the figures above. This proves that there
is no remainder and that 648 is contained in 452952 exactly 699 times."
American School, Broussa, Turkey in Asia. L. S. Crawford.


BITTER-SWEET.


HOW THE NEWS CAME.

9 WAS 'a hawk first caught the glimmer from the top of Bradford's Hill;
-i_ Swift he flew to tell the mastiff who keeps guard at Saunder's mill;
Loud the mastiff barked, He's coming! Sun is coming! Coming soon! "
And a little squirrel heard it far away at Hazeldoon;
Like a flash the squirrel bounded up the hill and down the glen,
And he told the joyful message to a sleepy little wren;
Up she started, chirping loudly, Sun is coming! Almost here "
And her eager little chirping woke our brave old chanticleer;
Boldly he sang out the tidings, loud and clear as call could be -
And the rooster by his crowing told the gladsome news to me.
Amos R. Wells.










THE SQUEAKING FERN.


H ARRY and I went off to the jungle. Harry is eight, and I am past nine,
and the jungle is at the end of our garden. Our garden is very big;
first there is a long stretch of lawn with a few flower beds; on the right is a
slender wire fence and some very tall forest trees, and on the left, beyond the
conservatory, there are thick shrubberies of rhododendrons.
After the lawn comes the Lake, with swans and all sorts of ducks, and after
the Lake, down ever so many ii-.,iu stone steps, comes our dear "jungle."
Harry and I like it better than all the rest of the garden. There are wild
flowers there, and no end of scrambling places among the trees and bushes. A
dear little brook runs through it with a tiny bridge over it; you can hardly see
the water for the ferns and rushes and sweet flags that grow on each side of the
little stream. Behind it is a sort of hanging wood, and at the end of this the
water comes tumbling down into our brook over ledges of stone, as if it was glad
to run away from the lake where everything is kept tidy, and to come plunging
down to play with Harry and me in the jungle." We call this waterfall the
"rapids" ; what fun we have had there, sending paper boats and branches down
those "rapids." Sometimes they reach the bottom safely, but they often come
ashore, and lose themselves among the ferns that grow between the wood and
the waterfall.
Mother is very fond of a fern that smells like a lemon, a pretty pale green
fern, and it grows close to the rapids." Poor dear mother was ill again, so
Harry and I got a whole holiday, and went off to the "jungle."
Harry," I said, let us do something for mother; she loves ferns quite as
much as you love Bob." Bob is Harry's pony. He cannot bear to miss his ride;
that is why he is not as fond of Sunday as I am. Harry, don't you think it
would be nice to dig up one of those lemon ferns, and plant it in a pot ? I
should think we could carry it in-doors."
Harry looked what I call superior. It is a curious look, and it suits his fair
square freckled face. It is not a rude or scornful look, only it makes me know
that I have said something foolish.
"The difficult thing is the digging," he said slowly. Harry almost always
speaks slowly; boys do not jabber as girls do. "The carrying is nothing at all."
But, Harry, I know where mother's fern-spud is, and the ground up there is
loose, just like a hedge-bank, don't you see ?"
"I'll see when you bring the fern-spud, though it is awkward to dig on a slant,"
Harry said.
The fern-spud was kept in the boat-house, and I fetched a trowel too, so that
I might help Harry.






THE SQUEAKING FERN.


We set to work near the top of the "rapids" ; Harry's face soon grew so red
with digging that I began to laugh.
Just like a girl," Harry said. If you had really to dig, you wouldn't laugh
I know, Nellie."
Let me help, won't you ?"
Harry did not answer. He stood up and wiped his face with his handkerchief;
the gardener sometimes does it, and I expect Harry thought it was a part of dig-
ging. The trowel I had brought was a good big one, and Harry had so loosened
the earth that I could dig down quite easily. I pulled up the trowel, and put
both hands into the hole; I have seen mother do this and lift out a fern quite
easily, but this one stuck fast.
I say, Harry, it has the funniest root you ever saw; it feels like a big round
ball. You are so strong, I believe you can pull it up without any more digging.
Why, Harry, it's enormous I could hardly hold it if it were out of the ground.
I'm sure it won't go into the flower-pot you brought for it."
Out of the way there."
When Harry speaks like that, one always has to do what he says directly, so I
jumped up and made room for him. He crouched down and put his arm round
the mass of earth, and pulled at it with all his strength.
He looked up at me with a frightened face. "What are you doing, Nellie?
Why do you make that squeaking?"
"I didn't squeak."
But Harry was lying down flat on his face with his ear close to the hole.
Come here, Nellie, listen," he said in a frightened voice.
It was awful! As I stooped to listen, something alive was squeaking as if it
was dreadfully hurt right down at the bottom of the hole.
I was very fond of reading any books I could find, and I knew all about the
Mandrake.
Come away, Harry," I whispered, "it's the shrieking Mandrake, it must be.
Oh! come away, do, or something dreadful will happen to both of us."
Bother your Mandrakes." Harry's face was redder than ever; he dragged
the fern out of the hole, and flung it with its big ball of earth to the ground.
There it lay squeaking louder than ever; I looked at Harry and I could see that
he was as frightened as I was.
"Can't we put it back again ?" I whispered, "perhaps some of it is left be-
hind." I peeped cautiously into the hole.
Harry pushed me away, but I had seen that the hole looked smooth and
round. Harry knelt down and put his hand in. I thought this was very brave
of Harry, because there might really have been something alive in the hole.
I was so surprised to hear him burst out laughing; he held out his hand full
of nuts, but as I took one, I saw it was only an empty shell, with a round hole
in it.





A BOY'S IDEAL.


All this while the fern was squeaking so pitifully that I could scarcely take
my eyes from it.
"Why do you laugh? I a.l;.~-; it seemed to me Harry was cruel to laugh.
"You'll see presently," he said, "come along, Nellie." He lifted up the big
squeaking ball and set off toward the house.
We had been told to keep quiet, so Harry took the path behind the con-
servatory that leads to the housekeeper's room.
Mrs. Davis was busy at her table when we came in with our squeaking ball;
it squeaked worse than ever, and Mrs. Davis looked terribly frightened.
"Mercy me! Master Harry, what have you been doing ? What have you
got there, sir ?"
"We've got a find, Mrs. Davis; I want a sieve or a wire cover, if you please,
and then you shall see our treasure." Harry is always polite to Mrs. Davis.
I felt desperately excited till she came back with a wire cover, and then the
most wonderful thing happened. Harry wrenched the poor fern in two, and
there tumbled out on the table the prettiest, fattest, brown Dormouse you ever
saw, with big, shining black eyes, and such long whiskers. It stood an instant
looking scared, and Harry popped the-cover down before it recovered from its
fright. It is my Dormouse now, for Harry has given it to me, and mother has
bought me a cage for it, and I have had it more than a year. It is quite tame;
it comes out on to the table and eats out of my hand. In the winter we gave it
a little nest, and it soon crept into it and slept sound for several weeks.
P. S. I forgot to say that Harry and I went back to the "rapids," and we
dug up another fern and put it in a pot for mother.
Katharine S. MacQuoid.





A Booy ideMl.

r'",i hat oh1t sort of coat is tRat you wear,
,O VV O Tom, the tailor's son?
"My Father let me have my way,
From my desi-n 'twas done.
,'v le pockets For knives and tops and balls.
And some For candy too;
-. .'.--!. N .,Now don't you think this sort oF coat
i;.:J is just the thins For you? "
iT~ -~3_ ,,





















I. .7

P 'A


WINTER SPORT.










BAKED BOOKS.

IN Eastern Turkey, lying between the Euphrates and Tigris rivers, is a strip of
country small in size only one half the area of Pennsylvania but vast in
historic interest.
Chaldea is now a trackless region, covered with the sand of the desert, and
inhabited by Arabs living in mud huts and reed villages along the river banks,
or by tribes of Bedouins moving from place to place with their flocks of sheep, herds
of camels and goat's-hair tents.
It seems all but incredible that this featureless, forsaken land could once have
been a paradise of beauty, the home of an industrious and great people.
Yet near the junction of the two rivers, Sir Henry Rawlinson believed, lay
the Garden of Eden; and we know that four thousand years ago Chaldma was
the home of the intelligent and prosperous Accadians who dwelt in cities, well-
built with sun-dried or kiln-baked bricks, full of palaces, temples and luxuries.
The appearance of the country was then very different. Lovely flowers and
beautiful palm and orange-trees lined the borders of the Euphrates and the
canals, which carried fresh waters in every direction to keep the land fertile,
while gardens and orchards and parks enriched the homes of the people.
Wise men watched the heavens at night from.the tops of high observatories,
naming the stars and marking their courses. Generals marshaled their armies.
Slaves and prisoners were building temples and palaces. Artists, poets, judges,
priests and sculptors thronged the cities, while flocks and shepherds' tents covered
the plains.
But now were you in that country you would see only an arid desert, with
here and there large mounds,, looking like great sand hills, dotting the plain, ris-
ing sometimes to the height of one hundred feet.
Archaeologists had long believed these mounds to be the graves of ancient
Assyrian and Chaldean cities, but it was not until 1842 that any real effort was
made to discover what the mounds did contain. In that year M. Botta, the
French consul at Mosul, made excavations in one of them, and was rewarded by
bringing to light an Assyrian palace.
Since many mounds have been opened and wonderful treasures discovered.
Cities with their temples and palaces have been uncovered, and thousands of
works of art, household utensils, war implements, jewelry, etc., have been taken
out and sent to the museums of the world.
One of the buried cities opened is Ur, the city in which Abraham lived dur-
ing his early life. It is believed that most of the discoveries carry us back to
his time, four thousand years ago; he may have looked daily upon some of these
buildings when he lived in Ur of the Chaldees."





BAKED BOOKS.


The most interesting of the relics are the brick tablets, which were the books
of the Accadians, and upon which are written songs, hymns, deeds, bills-of-sale,
stories, proverbs, prayers- indeed the Accadian literature.
The writing on these tablets is peculiar, being wedge-shaped; at first no one
was able to read it. At length it was found that some of the tablets contained
writing in the old Assyrian script (the key to which Sir Henry Rawlinson had
discovered) side by side with the wedge-shaped or cuneiform writing. It seemed
probable, which was true, that the meaning was the same in each, one being a
copy of the other. By careful comparison an alphabet of the Accadian was
made, and thus these queer little clay

\ ^^j^K *^M ine.- th1i' dii-cv.i',v, s:ihol;.- have
Sbeen t.-.t.rlA iin- thin.m. ,lnl rwe know









now a frie h od t, ake ltt cllll .



into a block, two or three inches long and about the same width, smoothing the
wrote tm-en.
When an Accadian was going to writeV /

to a friend, he would take a little clay,
soften it with water, and then mould it
into a block, two or three inches long and about the same width, smoothing the
surfaces off neatly. He would then take the cylinder signet which he wore
around his wrist, and roll it over the tablet, stamping its impression upon the
soft clay. This was the writer's signature. Then with a sharp-pointed reed
or stylus, some six inches long, he would write above and below the signet
impression, filling the tablet on both sides with the small wedge-form characters.
The letter was then put into the oven and baked until the clay became hard.
The next thing was to make an envelope. More clay was worked into a thin
sheet and folded over the tablet, covering it entirely; and what is strangest
of all, an exact copy of the contents of the letter was written on the outside of
the envelope Again it was put into the oven and baked once more.
A great number of tablets have been found; many of them are deeds or
business contracts preserved among the records of families.
If an artist wished to draw a hunting scene, a portrait, or any picture, he






BAKED BOOKS.


made a tablet in the same way, only larger, sometimes a foot square, traced the
design on the soft clay and then baked it.
Some tablets contain histories of heroes or stories of the gods; when these
were long, a large number of tablets, in some cases over one hundred, were neces-
sary. They were used like the pages of a book, and the writing was continued
on one after another until the story was complete. To indicate the various tab-
lets belonging to a series, a title was given consisting of the first words written
upon the first tablet. Thus in one document that has been found, covering over
seventy tablets, the first words are, When the gods Ann (and) Bel;" this be-
came the title of the story, and at the end of the first tablet in the series is
written, "The first tablet of When the gods Ann, Bel;" at the end of the
second tablet, the second tablet of When the gods Ann, Bel-" so through the
seventy. Each tablet also begins with the last line of the tablet preceding.
In the royal cities were great libraries where these writings were preserved
under the charge of librarians. The books were catalogued, also upon clay tab-
lets; and for still further convenience small oval tablets recorded the titles of
the various series of works.
It is thought that rooms on the upper floors of palaces were set apart for
the libraries. There with elaborate system the tablets were arranged according
to their subjects. Abraham may have visited, on many an occasion, the library
in the palace of Ur, and read the very tablets which after all these centuries
have been recovered, and are being studied by the learned of our day.
When the mounds were opened these baked books were found, in many cases,
broken and widely scattered, fragments of the same tablet being picked up in
places far apart, but patient search, skill and scholarship have recovered and
republished them.
Rev. J. M. Thompson.







.. ...A A




=: '' '.'- .,









BOSTON'S GIRL-SCULPTOR.


(Theo Alice Ruggles.)

T was a beautiful morning in the summer of 1887, but quite too early for any
stir among upper-tendom, when two forlorn travelers, still dazed by a rough
night on the Portland steamer, found themselves alighting from a suburban train
at the charming village of Brookline, just four miles out from Boston.
With the ease of long acquaintance one led the way, soon turning into a
rocky, sloping alley, topped by a sign-board, before which her companion paused
irresolutely.
Oh! never mind that," laughed the leader, "come right along Private
way, dangerous passing in Brookline means only that the corporation refuses to
be responsible for accidents that may happen in streets opened by private
enterprise."
ER:'-;id--'i, the procession of two advanced, skirting a high wall which shut
off all view to the right until the leader suddenly plunged into its seemingly
solid surface, the other bewilderedly following and finding an opening in which
some stone steps led upwards to a little gate.
Passing through, there was a delighted exclamation, "Oh, charming! for
something like a park lay about them, .deliciously cool and green, in which were
set down, after a neighborly, cheek-by-jowl fashion, several houses of varying
architecture, each a distinct home, yet all sharing, in common, the well-kept
grounds, so shadowy and sunny in the early morning.
A circling drive, followed by the two, led to a house which was brown and
cosey, and a ring at the : bell brought a surprised domestic to the door. Upon
entering, and at the sounds of our voices, one or two sleepy-looking heads ap-
peared above the upper balustrade, and some one exclaimed, "Why, girls, is it
you? Come right up "
This charming place, really facing an aristocratic avenue, but approached
more expeditiously and romantically by the back way, is the home of Boston's
girl-sculptor, Theo Alice Ruggles.
At breakfast we met her a graceful girl of sixteen, with a Venus de Milo
form; dark, carelessly-curled hair tied into a bunch behind and tossed over one
shoulder; bright, inquiring eyes, and an air as easy and unconventional as a
child's. Indeed, she seemed nothing but a child when, breakfast over, she called
her two dogs, Glaucus and Jack, for a romp.
Glaucus was a tall, beautiful greyhound; Jack, a; terrier, with eyes of wicked
sharpness, and a nose poking into everybody's business and pockets. Up and
down on the green she raced, laughing, every movement free, for, without any
especial knowledge of Mrs. Jenness Miller, Theo's mother had adopted many of






BOSTON'S GIRL-SCULPTOR.


her ideas in her own and children's dress, every garment being sufficiently loose
for gymnastic exercises, and of the simplest cut and finish; both her daughters
are well-developed girls, agile and supple as young Indians.
When an hour later Theo started with her master for the Boston studio, I
noticed her dressing; she was in a full-skirted, plain-waisted gray flannel, finished
with an easy, rolling collar; a jersey
street jacket, and a man's gray felt- .v
hat with wide brim--not a piece of i
jewelry in sight, and only the. one
useful ribbon which held her hair in
place. Thus in the studio she is ready c
for any work, with- never a thought of
clothes to hamper her.
In the parlor, on an improvised
pedestal covered with black cloth,
stood her first study from life: the head
and bust of a little Italian girl, the
delicate, hunger-pinched features tell-
ing a pathetic story.
"She was such a starved little
mite," explained hthe young sculptor,
referring to the model who was picked
up in the North End slums of Boston,
"and so dirty! I had to wash off a
little, but I didn't. dare to touch her i o
hair see how matted it is. Thought
we'd never fill her up, so as to, get
that wild hungry look out of her eyes,
though we ransacked all the studios
on our floor for provisions--in fact, .
it's there yet, isn't, it ? looking reflec-
tively at the pure white bust, in which THEO ALTOE RUGGLES.
the little one's soilure was quite refined (From 6fe photograph.)
away, if not her want.
This bust took the bronze medal in the Department of Fine Arts at the Me-
chanics Fair that autumn- an honor for a first head from life. Subsequently
the same bust was given a place in the Salon in Paris, and received much notice
from press and public.
But if you think that being able to model in clay or plaster, showing a knowl-
edge of anatomy which astonishes the doctors, makes the young sculptor any-
thing but a girl at heart, you would change your mind upon seeing her.
I remember that one day the guests and herself (with the two inevitable






























W7~"


.---.. -


"BOSTON'S GIRL-SCULPTOR IN IHEI STUDIO.


r-.
c ~i
--1 L_
~~P~rs,
II~.._~ .


"~
r~~f-i~~u..~
--
e~f,.
,,
''' ~,


~~~~~i r


leF u

;d-;CI

~~~.I~ "~





BOSTON'S GIRL-SCULPTOR.


dogs) went for a walk along one of those delightful English-like roads for which
Brookline is famous. The dogs were chained together, much to their discomfort,
and Theo's amusement, for if Jack saw something like a rabbit at his right,
Glaucus was sure to espy a possible squirrel at his left, when there was a pulling
in opposite directions worse than that of two political parties! Glaucus, being
the stronger, generally
towed poor, howling Jack
along, though sometimes
Sthe latter's quickness made
(. him get the better of his
more aristocratic compan-
ion. And over their antics
s aTheo laughed till she had
SAl. to sit down on a stone wall
t. and wipe the tears from
her eyes. At length the
handsome fellows, being
,t actuated for once by the
: same impulse, rushed
S-. madly forward, and one of
..:~ the guests, who was inno-
cently searching for flow-
ers, found herself flat on
the ground, wrapped about
by dogs and chain in a
tangle which threatened
her total extinction, at
which situation the wicked
little sculptress nearly turn-
bled over backwards in her
child-like mirth.
There could scarcely. be
a more idyllic life than
hers has always been. The
_large rooms up in the
THE SHEPHER LAD. French roof. show plainly
(Bu8t by Theo .4 1;' shown in the Salon of'88.) what fun -lie zd:l her-elder
sister and brother have had
together. Here are Horace's tools and timber, Nan's old dolls and worn-out
music, Theo's bits of clay modeling and first childish drawings, with the usual
litter of books and toys each young mind evidently allowed full scope for the
development of its natural bent.





BOSTON'S GIRL-SCULPTOR.


They have been fortunate in an indulgent father and a mother whose every
heart-beat has been for their welfare--fortunate, too, in a life free from all
unhealthful excitements, with no craving for grown-up gaieties. Dress has been
the matter of least concern, and "society" quite ignored; thus the modest
means of the parents have gone to meet the requirements of an unusually liberal
education.
From what ancestor Theo received her strong bent for sculpture is an un-
answered question. Neither parents, nor grandparents, showed any leaning that
way, nor did they suspect the tendency in this child until she had entered her
"teens."
Before this time Mr. Ruggles had bought a pleasant furnished cottage by the
sea, to which the family migrated every summer. Not far away was a clay-bank,
in which Theo soon found a most delightful play-spot. She found it fun to
mould the soft sticky stuff and make the other children stare over the pretty
images she fashioned and then baked in the sun! They, meanwhile, with good-
natured alacrity, helped hler all they could, in the first stages of modeling, leaving
to her the finer work, at which many strangers strolling by stopped to gaze with
real surprise and admiration.
The winter she was fourteen was a snowy one; and one day as her mother
returned from a shopping excursion into Boston, she saw several people standing
about, intently observing something in the yard, and exclaiming with pleasure.
One gentleman, who is quite an art connoisseur, pointed to this object. He said:
"I tell you, Mrs. Ruggles, you should cultivate the talent in your daughter--
that is an unusually fine piece of modeling Looking, Mrs. Ruggles saw the
snowy representation of a horse lying upon its side with its legs outstretched, as
if about to rise.
The muscles and veins were surprisingly visible and perfect; and, until the
snow melted, the horse was visited by many people, who seemed unanimous in
declaring the girl had a great future before her.
Mrs. Ruggles, meanwhile, said little, but like another nmo:thl r of long ago,
" pondered all these things in her heart." Was her child really different from
others about her? Was her life to be unlike the ordinary lot that maidens
choose ?"
She began making inquiries in a new direction. How did people become
sculptors ? Who had thus won distinction in the past ? Where could she find
suitable masters for her daughter ?
Her first inquiries were disheartening.
The girl was refused admittance into the classes at the Boston Museum of
Fine Arts, and also into several art schools, because she was too young. But
there is always a door if we grope long enough, and one was finally found by the
anxious mother, leading into the private studio of Mr. H. H. Kitson, well and
favorably known by his bronze called "The Music of the Sea," in the Boston





BOSTON'S GIRL-SCULPTOR.


Museum, his bust of the Queen of Roumania, and who is now doing the important
Farragut statue for the city of Boston.
Here, Theo began work in earnest, modeling from the antique, and studying
anatomy with a faithfulness that has given her a knowledge of the "human form
divine really wonderful in one so young.
She was still a child, when, one day some kindly-intentioned friend sent in a
large book of anatomical plates, thinking to assist the girl, but lo! the student
developed at once into a critic. Taking the huge volume on her lap (you
couldn't do it, girls, with your tight sleeves and corsages!) she innocently began:


p -1:,






ON THE BANKS OF THE OISE.
(Modeled by Theo Alice Buggles whlen eighteen; received Honorable Mfention" in the Salon of '89.)


"That's bad-very bad! See, that is supposed to be a man's neck; yet the
muscles are weak and womanish; besides, that depression isn't right at all-
wait! I'll show you!" Craning her pretty neck in exact imitation, she did show
them to their entire satisfaction.
So it was with every plate -she seemed to know exactly what appearance
of arms, neck, or body should follow every movement, and, when tested, not
once was a criticism at fault.
The next fall, '87, it was thought well to take the young worker abroad, and
her mother accompanied her, setting up a modest manage in Paris, where they
would be handy to L'Ecole des Beaux Arts, and where she could still have the
free, simple home life. Mr. Kitson, who was also abroad on a commission for






BOSTON'S GIRL-SCULPTOR.


Providence, R. I., soon joined the household, directing her studies as before.
In May of '88 she daringly sent two works to the Paris Salon--I say "dar-
ingly," for no artist, however old or famous, may send more than two at a time;
and both were accepted and well-placed; they were favorably noticed.
Her mother wrote home, in amusement:. "The work was mentioned as of
much merit by Mr. Theo Ruggles, afterwards corrected, with the addition that the
critic had unknowingly paid a high compliment to a young lady of seventeen."
A "high compliment," really, because the work showed that force and
freedom usually ascribed to a man.
The subject thus referred to was a bust called The Shepherd Lad."
Meanwhile, Mr. Kitson was called to reside in the household of the King of
Roumania, in order to model the bust of the Queen, and, often having occasion
to mention his promising little pupil, Her Majesty was graciously pleased to send
the girl a complete Roumanian costume.
In the fall the family moved to the Parisian suburb called Auvers sur Oise
(or Auvers on the river Oise) where the sculptors found snug quarters in the
old studio of the artist Daubigny, full with interest to the student of art.
Here the delighted girl could renew her old, joyous, out-door life, and when
not at work was generally romping by the river with three pet greyhounds.
But amid her frolics an idea was working which found shape at length in an
exquisite work of art, called "On the Banks of the Oise."
It represents a nude boy thrown easily upon one thigh, and gazing into the
imaginary stream, as if resting after his plunge.
This work found ready acceptance in the Salon of '89, and connoisseurs say
it is a figure worthy of the Greeks, while unbounded astonishment is expressed
that such a sculpture has been produced by one so young.
She received Honorable Mention;" this means more than is apparent, per-
haps, to the American eye or ear, for it is the only instance at the Salon where
the honor has been conferred upon a woman for sculpture. It is said that as she
received her award, exclamations from all sides of "sijeune/! sijeune!" greeted
her and lasted until she took her seat.
At this same time she sent a bust of a child to the American Department of
Fine Arts in the International Exhibition, and this head was selected by the United
States Commissioner as a standard of the works of art to be exhibited-a de-
cision which caused much dissatisfaction among American sculptors, who declared
the standard too high.
This work by a girl of eighteen! Her success and the public notice does
not turn her head. As a painter in Daubigny's studio says of her:
"She is just the same; a woman at work, a child at play --accepting her
successes as carelessly as a baby grasps after the moon apparently quite
unspoilable !"
Fannie E. Newberry.










A PRIMITIVE FORM OF VISE.


T HERE is nothing in this world so interesting as the inventive genius of man;
and yet we erect statues to almost everybody else rather than to inventors.
A gentleman told me that the fellow-citizens of Rumsey, the reputed originator
of the steamboat, had done him the honor to set up his figure in a room by the
side of a case filled with
strings of buttons collected
by some little girls ten years
ago, when that was the craze.
But you will not see many of
these great benefactors of
mankind memorialized even Fig. A.
so well as that.
They are making a great effort now to preserve the
old things used by the first settlers of America and set
them up in Chicago in 1893. But once in a while I get behind Columbus
even, and I have a good example of Esquimau ingenuity to show you now.
The interesting device here figured is not patented; and yet it is very
effective.
When the Esquimau wished to make a dipper to bail his canoe, or for a drink-
ing vessel, .he used to whittle and grind a strip of spruce wood to the desired
thickness and shape. By dint of soaking in hot water he slowly
bent the strip into the form shown in Fig. A. His vise for holding
the work in place consisted of two short sticks, which are the jaws
of his vise, and two strips of soaked spruce root split, which may be
called the screw. When these strips dried they shrank a great deal,
Fi. B and having been wrapped around the ends of the clamping sticks
(Fig. B.) they drew in drying like the cooling tire on a wheel. While the vise
was doing its work the Esquimau cooper or tinker, as you please, drilled little
holes through the overlapping portions (Fig. C.) and sewed the parts together
with splints of spruce root or of whalebone. The bottom
was then deftly fitted in and secured in place by neat bits
of wood like shoe pegs. .
The advent of the dinner, working in the salmon can- -
neries, has furnished this dainty workman with a cheaper Fi.l C.
dipper, and you are not likely to see further examples of this curious invention,
one specimen of which is in the National Museum at Washington.
Otis T. Mason.























4, '41. -





I-

K"
'p4' i' r %


DOWN IN THE MEADOW WITH GRANDPA.


" I ;


















." -' '. /
L:


v LW ; 4 '. /







THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.

I WAS sitting in the church one night just after a rehearsal, awaiting I knew
not what, running my fingers over the organ keys in search of some restful
chord or strain, which should in some measure recompense the nervous exhaus-
tion consequent upon a rehearsal of a choir of twenty-five boys.
I had tempted almost every form of composition. Luther's grand hymn,

My God, what do I see and hear,
The end of things created,"

touched no answering chord. I was not in a mood to grapple with such serious
questions. Processionals and retrocessionals, of which a score had chased
through my mind and found expression through my fingers in every combination
of stops of which the organ was capable, would not satisfy the demands of my
mood. Not until I began Lead, kindly Light, lead Thou me on," did I find a
sentiment which could in any way meet my needs.
How long I was playing, and how many hymns of the plaintive order I gave
myself up to, would be difficult to say. The sun had given place to a darkness
which could be felt, and but for a thorough knowledge of the particular organ
which it had been my privilege to have charge of for so many years, I should
have made sad work of my combinations. The organ was blown by a water-
motor, so I had no conscience about keeping a blow-boy beyond his time, or
over-taxing his muscular abilities.






THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.


An indistinct rap at the inner choir-room door recalled me to a consciousness of
the departed light, and my returning sense suggested that perhaps I could see
better in the surrounding darkness than if I should light the gas suddenly.
Come in," I said, if you can find your way in the dark. I have neglected
to light the gas because my match-safe is empty, and because I preferred the
twilight in which to extemporize," I added in explanation, and then awaited the
naming of my visitor's errand.
I like the darkness," said a light, but sweetly sympathetic young voice. I
am used to it, and then I can think better."
"Well, my little man, or woman, whichever you may be, what, pray, do you
have to think about at your age ? Fun and frolic ought to be your business, the
whole world your playground, and the present your opportunity," said I.
I am a boy only, now, but if time would hurry I might then be a man, and
that would be a very different thing," said the pathetic little voice. I am in
the way now-boys always are, you know."
Wait a minute, my man. Do you suppose boys try very hard to please,
especially when a game of marbles is in progress on the other side of the fence,
or a hockey-game is in full swing, or a small boy is waiting for you to go skating,
and is making day hideous with those throat-scraping, gurgling yells in which the
average boy delights ? "
The young voice answered readily: "I have no marbles or tops. I can't
play hockey, nor skate. My sport is sifting ashes, cutting wood and bringing
coal; my work is picking horse-hair, and it makes my throat sore with coughing,
there is so much dust in it."
The pathos of the little fellow's words, taken with the accompanying sigh, was
indescribable.
All that must be changed," said I. Sunshine abounds here, and there are
birds and flowers and trees and brooks and rivers for all; you and I will take a
holiday soon. Nature holds loads and loads of beauty, and she gives freely to
everybody."
Perhaps," said the unseen little cynic, after a pause.
"Well, and now to what may I attribute the honor of this call ?" said I.
"I heard you wanted some boys for your choir, and if you could let me join
I think I should be happy. I love to sing, or rather I love music, and I think I
should love singing if I was allowed to try; it is the only pleasure I have. As
it takes me a long time to carry home my sack of hair to the factory, I enjoy
singing as I sit down to rest. Please don't say no, it has taken me so long to
get courage to come to you," and the voice trembled away into silence.
"My dear little man, I will not say no,' I answered; on the contrary I
will say 'yes' without further ceremony. I must, however, lay down one of the
rules of our choir, one which must be obeyed by any who join. There are two
rehearsals a week, and every member of the choir must be present; and there






THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.


are certain other rules which must be observed, but those I will say nothing of
until your acquaintance with us shall be longer. One must always be tidy in
appearance, for one thing. The rehearsals are Tuesday and Friday evenings, land
the boys are expected'to be here promptly at seven o'clock."
I waited a moment for some response, but none coming I resumed:
"There may be some extra rehearsals appointed, as we are approaching a
,church festival, but there will always be sufficient notice given."
Still no response. I was conscious of some little doubt in the boy's mind,
which I reasoned was due to timidity, but feeling sure I could find some place in
my large choir for such a forlorn little soul, I went on :
It is my custom to try voices before giving any encouragement, but I find
in yours, as you speak, so much sympathy, and you express such a fondness for
music, that I will simply trust you to do your best when you join us."
The little fellow came towards me I was still sitting on the organ-seat-
and reached out apparently after my hand which I extended; he shook it warmly,
touched his lips to it, and with a hasty, nervously whispered" Thank you," passed
into the choir-room, and thence out into the night.
"What a peculiar atmosphere this little personality has brought with him,"
thought I. Outraged innocence, oppression, wrong! My mood of pensive
depression had changed to a feeling of aggressive warfare in the service of a
little bound soul.
In making a transcript of the day's doings I was first apprised of my neglect
to take my visitor's name and address, but I said to myself, He'll be here
to-morrow night and then I can ask."
Rehearsal night came, and with it a score of noisy boys and almost as many
noisy young men. It was really difficult to draw the age-line between them.
All sorts of good-natured nonsense were entered into with as much zest by the
twenty-year-old boy as the ten-year-old. Both were genial, free, hearty, happy,
honest and kindly. Good material for me to find an evening's enjoyment with.
I must say I spent much time that night looking towards the door, expecting
my little friend of the dark interview, and many times during the evening it
seemed as though he were in the room, so strongly was I impressed by his influ-
ence. I was feeling much disappointed at his failure to be present, when, upon
turning out the last gas jet, and taking my key in hand to lock the door, there
was a little rustle, and my hand was grasped, and I knew my new boy was there.
Excuse me, please," said he, "for not seeming to keep my word to you, but
I was here all the time and heard nearly the whole rehearsal. As I was a little
late I did not come in; I don't know any of the boys, and besides a pause;
and for some reason unknown to me I respected his silence.
Well, my little man," I said, "you must summon your courage, and you
must get in to rehearsal at the usual time that is one of my strong points of
discipline, and of course I can make no exception in your case."






THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.


"Yes, sir, I will try to be on hand at the next rehei;r-l,." he said. I know all
the music for Sunday; there was nothing new that you rehearsed. Through the
window I have heard every rehearsal you have held for six months, missing only
two evenings. If you will come up into my music room I will sing it all to
you.
He started away and I followed.
Out into the night, up the hill, through woods, into a clump of soft
pines my little magnet led me, although I moved with much difficulty, it was so
painfully dark. He guided me to a rock; I seated iyv-ilf upon a shelving sec-
tion, and awaited the rehearsal."
"Your first hymn was Pleasant are Thy courts above,'" said he, and I
know every word."
Without further parley, a voice which fairly thrilled me, began to sing; the
volume was amazing, the sweetness indefinable.
Without a comment, he went rapidly from one hymn to another, and then
said, I know the offertory anthem, too."
My throat was too full, my feeling too strong, to bid him sing it, nor would I
have broken, if I could, the spell cast upon me by the powerful, intense, rich
young voice.
Not waiting my assent, he began the exquisite song from Naaman:,
I dreamt I was in heaven."

Had the Shunamite's child been telling his own story, he could not have lent
such angelic charm to it as did this strange child.
Finishing the song, by the aid of a gleam of light through the pines I saw
the little wraith arising from his knees, and I was sure that in his singing he had
invoked other aid than his own.
My mind, presently returning to its natural functions, was busy with reflections.
Surely," said I, I cannot broach common subjects just now; such as to ask of
his name, his home, his former life."
"Didn't you like my voice ? you don't speak," said the boy suddenly.
"My boy," said I, iho are you ?"
"' Only a waif,' says my aunt, whom she has to take care of.' "
How blind What is your name ?"
Wallace; but don't ask any more, please. You do not need to know where
I live. I will be near whenever you want me in the evening; I will not fail
you when you need me." The pathos of his tone demanded a respectful reti-
cence as to further questioning.
"When you wish to go," he continued, "I will lead you down the hill and
hold the branches back for you to pass. I go down this way," and the voice
turned from me.
Completely mystified, my curiosity was as completely aroused. My knowl-






THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.


edge of the geography of the lI,-.ility suggested that if he went'in the direction
of his voice, he must travel through a low, marshy country road for more than
three miles before he came to a habitation.
"I shall hope to see you at the next rehearsal," said I, with as much deference
as though addressing some one of rank, and to whom I was under heavy obliga-
tion. You need not wait for me to go down, though, as I like the solitude of
this place, and would stay a while longer."
The boy thrust his little hand into mine. I am glad you like my sanctuary,"
he said. I asked the mill superintendent what to name a place which I con-
sidered sacred, and he told me I could call it my sanctuary.' You are the only
one who has ever been here with me. I say my prayers here, sing my hymns
and listen, and sometimes out of the stillness of the night come sweet sounds,
which-I cannot, understand, but which rest me, make me contented, and turn my
pain and unhappiness into peace and good-will towards everybody. Do you
mind if I.say this to you? I have nobody to talk to; my mother and father are
both dead, and my aunt says I am an idle dreamer, but my stops here are the
only rest I have. I must be up at work at five o'clock, and work until six at
niigt. then carry my pack to the factory; it is on my way back that I rest
here."
I-had concluded to respect the little fellow's desire that I would not ask into his
life. I hli:'pe.1 hi would disclose to me more of his own accord; moreover, I had re-
solved to visit the mill and trust to my own eyes and what I might learn from others
in regard to this t rn.ige little personality. Yet a great dread of knowing too much
of him had seized me, and I was completely held by an overwhelming pity and
sympathy.
"I must be-on my way now," said the little fellow," or I shall lose my sleep.
Good-night," and he was gone.
Being withdrawn from my immediate presence, his influence lost its control-
ling power; that, and the chill in the air, moved me to retrace my steps. My
mind, however, dwelt upon the child; in fact, I don't know that he left my
thoughts through the night; he was foremost in my mind upon awaking, and as
you will see was with me most of the day.
After breakfast I went directly to the factory. The superintendent being out
of his office, I was allowed to go into the various departments. I saw only those
men and women one always sees in factories; nowhere a glimpse of my boy.
When the sulperintelndent came I made my errand appear to be only that of
a visitor who had come out of curiosity to know what was going on in his native
town. In answer to my question whether he employed other hands not in the
factory, he said he allowed some people to carry out the hair-braids to pick and
bring back in sacks; upon being more particularly questioned, he could not
identify any little boy who had apparently seen better days.
But," said he suddenly, there is one boy with .a very sweet voice, who





THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.


comes here every night to bring back his work; he's an odd stick- asks the
strangest questions! he is a poor, little, uiif,:r,'tilitc "-
But I had listened too long. I could not bear, after all, to know. What is
that coming towards us ?" I interrupted.
Oh! that is the machine which twists the hair and makes it into ropes, such
as you saw in the store-room as you entered."
The superintendent may have noticed that my interest in the work came to
rather an abrupt end, and I soon left the factory, and wandered aimlessly up into
the village.
My pity for Wallace was to my mind explained, and my sympathy went out
to him from every fiber of my body, and my plans for his relief and comfort


THE REHEARSAL" AMONG THE PINES.


would have taxed a far heavier pocket-book than my own. Relief he must have
if he were in the hands of harsh people who were probably grinding him to the
dust to get the income of his work. When I should see the boy again I had
concluded just what to do.
When r,-hl--al night again came my mind was strangely absent from my
work, for Wallace was not present, despite his promises.
My work ended at last and I hurried to close up. I felt that my mysterious
boy might be but a short distance away, perhaps at "the sanctuary." As I
stepped over the threshold, the little fellow sprang out from behind the horse-
sheds to welcome me.






THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.


"You must come directly into the church," I said; "I must have a talk with
you. You have missed your second rehearsal. Easter is approaching, and I
must know what you intend to decide upon, so that I may get some other boy to
do your solos if we cannot agree." I spoke in a rather arbitrary tone, as if to
bring him to a sense of duty; but it cut me to the quick even while I spoke.
I could not come in; I came, but stood outside. You don't know what you
ask," cried the boy. Oh, how I had hoped you would love me for what I
would like to be, rather than what I am." The poor child's sobs were most
pathetic, but he did not know my sympathy for him.
"Let us have a clear understanding; then you will feel better," said I.
Back into the choir-room we went, I directly to the match-safe, where I
scratched a match which missed.
Oh, iple.. d:n't! said the little fellow in a tone which would have melted a
stone; but following my desire to know the worst, I tried again, and was successful.
As soon 'as I could see, coming in from the dark, I looked towards the little
figure half-way back across the room, its face covered with its jacket sleeve, as if
to shut out the light.
I held out my arms to him and was standing before him when he lifted his
head. I am sure my arms did not relax, nor the expression of my countenance
change as I beheld a being most untrue to nature; hump-backed, with one leg
shorter than the other, and a face which the traces of a fell disease had rendered
almost repul-ive. He was ragged and untidy in almost every sense.
I was ready to repent of my action, when he jumped into my extended arms.
" If you had spurned me I should have died," he said, and he wept piteously. When
I could find words, in the most mechanical manner possible I took out some music
and asked him to catch the melody as I played it to him. He was quick, eager,
and I found no trouble in teaching him whatever I liked.
"I will meet you to-morrow night at the sanctuary, my little fellow, and we'll
lay some definite plans for the future," said I; not to-night."
The next day was a busy one. Kind friends placed me in funds, and I was to
provide for him in every respect.
When I met him at the sanctuary, his place in the church was first to be
settled, as that was his particular business with me. He could not go into the
church with the choral procession, since he was lame; so I said, Did you ever
blow an organ? "
"No, sir; do they have to blow them ?"
Oh, yes; in some churches they hire boys to blow them whenever they Are
played upon; but ours is somewhat different. You might take a chair behind
the organ, and sit where you can reach the handle, which plays up and down.
Then if it should stop while I am playing, or a little ivory piece which-we call a
'tell-tale' should come below a black mark, you could take the handle and blow.
For this service the church would pay you fifty cents a Sunday."





THE MYSTERIOUS CHOIR BOY.


And can't I sing, too ? I will sing and blow at the same time. I am pretty
strong sometimes."
"Yes; you may sing as much as you like; and sometimes I will put a cassock
and surplice on you, and you may sing a song."
With his tears and lips both on my hand, one could hardly tell which was;
the hotter.
Now you must take me to your aunt," I continued. I have some business
with her."
Without any hesitancy the little fellow started towards the woods; on, on
through pasture, meadow and forest, over walls, brooks and fences, I followed
his painful, lame step, until we came upon the open country, which must have-
been fully three miles from the church. At last we came to a small house-
before which the boy asked me to stop, until he might enter and prepare the way,.
probably, although he said he would like to open the front door for me.
I was met by a woman of middle age, whose manner was that of one driven
to bay: gray eyes, sharp nose, heavy pointed chin; her attitude as I seated my-
self was that of one preparing for a fight. With her arms akimbo, and a voice of
brass, as harsh as a cymbal, she accosted me :
Well, what has he done now ? nothing much, I'll vow his principal
trouble is not doing He is a good candidate for ihe work-house, he is all idle'
dreamers should be made to work, and if I had nothing else to do he should be
made to work his stent every day."
"When he gets a little older Wallace will see the importance of being'
methodical and industrious, and will know that such things mould a manly char-
acter, as you and I know. But the object of my visit is to see if you will allow
me to take him for a few months and cultivate his musical inclinations. He has.
a fine voice, and a great love for music, and with some training he may prove a.
credit to you."
"I have no money to spend on him," she replied; "it is only through my
everlasting looking out for him that I can make him earn his salt. He isn't.
mine and I have no interest in him except to have him look respectable. He is
my sister's child and no special credit to her,"
I glanced about, but the child had withdrawn. I recalled the rags and
unkempt hair and wondered where the respectability came in.
Upon questioiingthe woman I found the boy had never attended school and
could not write his name, so far as she knew. I lost no time in learning that he
had never been given to his aunt, that she had never adopted him; my course:
was clear.
I finally became legally possessed of the boy, and began a course of common-
school education in the church rooms. He made most remarkable. progress; his
love for study was so great that I called in friends to witness his demonstrations
when some new principle was unfolded to him.





FLUFFY'S EASTER JOKE.


So much encouragement came with this little fellow's progress that I added
others to his class and soon I had a full-fledged school which proved of great ben-
efit to choir and church.
We had daily service as one of the results of this movement, and although at
the first there was much skepticism expressed by the most interested churchmen,
yet finally and to-day the custom has made that church the most popular in the
surrounding country.
Wallace prospered in whatever he undertook.
At Easter, behind the lattice work which inclosed the organ, he sang, "I
know that my Redeemer liveth." The effect was that of some great benediction
bestowed. Many in the congregation said they were conscious, of some sacred
intervention in their behalf. I for one marveled at the soulful interpretation of
the words, and for once I excused the inadequate setting which Handel has given
them.
I had made my meetings with him at hours when the choir-boys were not at
hand; and not until he had sung several solos so feelin-gly as to impress, yes, to
awe some of the least reverent, did I let them know of his deformity.
After he had thus won their admiration, their tributes to his wonderful talent
were touching, and in many instances were illustrations of those traits of charac-
ter, manly, loyal, fine, which are rarely attributed to boys. There were no
coarse jestings at his expense, and I do not recall one instance of allusion to his
painful deformity, except with respectful consideration, lest he should hear.
He was the center of attraction whenever he was in the choir-room, and the
boys abandoned all games and boisterous play to congregate about him.
From being a missionary in such a small way,.he became a power to lead.
Now he holds the position of-instructor in the school, beloved by us all.
Henry Kirke White, Jr.




FLUFFY'S EASTER JOKE.

IT'S the best joke on Polly!
I think it just jolly -
SFor,.let me tell you, my dear,
She'll hunt for her Easter Eggs here,
But she'll never get me -
Now, mark you, you'll see, -
How she opens her eyes Mi-~ Polly McMicken-
When, instead of an E,-': she finds me a Chicken.
V.dc...i.. March.





















































































I I i .


-, '

,1,11.,


OUT QO REACH.


.... h


'-*


--
-~L" ~
~--.~i -



L--


, *, ,*Lf


rr t, L































BABY LOGIC.

SHE was ironing her dolly's new gown,
Maid Marian four years old,
With her brows puckered down
In a painstaking frown
Under her tresses of gold.

'Twas Sunday, and Nurse coming in
Exclaimed in a tone of surprise:
"Don't you know it's a sin
Any work to begin
On the day that the Lord sanctifies ?"

Then, lifting her face like a rose,
Thus answered this wise little tot:
"Now don't you suppose
The good Lord He knows
This little iron ain't hot?"
Elizabeth W. Bellamy.









A LOST STORY.


WHEN I was a little girl, I used to spend my summers at my grandfather's
in the country. It was a delightful old place with a hall through the
house, where the sun shone in at the wide doors, open at each end, and made a
bright patch on the clean yellow floor.
Around the wall hung some badly painted portraits, and some very fine sad-
dles, with here and there a silver spur, or a gay Mexican grass bridle.
At the landing stood the tall old clock, husky in its voice now, and above
that the library was ranged all around the upper hall.
Here and there among the sober old books, was a book of stories, left by
aunts and uncles long gone.
I used in the long afternoons. to take a book from these, and go across the
meadow to the old mill that ceased its grinding when the war came and took
away the darkies who ground and the darkies who ate the meal. It was a
sleepy old place; the meadow on one side all alive with bees; gentle golden
Italians, and sober brown bees,all swinging and darting, making a curious mov-
ing network of -hi.d,'v over the meadow.
On the other side the water tinkled over the broken dam that was still high
enough to keep a dark pool behind it. This pool was very picturesque, shadowed
with pale green willows and bordered with reeds.
One hot afternoon in late summer I went softly upstairs, not to disturb
grandfather's nap, and hunted out my favorite Hans Andersen that I had not
seen since the year before, and putting on my sun-bonnet sallied across the
meadow to the mill.
It was before the day of tramps, and I was not afraid to find my way up-
stairs in the resounding old building. I threw open the big window doors letting
the sounds from creek and meadow meet, and the sun stream across the floor,
and I arranged myself in a couch of old sacks for a long afternoon with Hans
Andersen.
First I read "The Story from the Sand Dunes," and then my favorite Ugly
Duckling." That story was ever new to me, and at every reading I thrilled at
the wonderful transformation.
Now after I had finished it, and was lying back upon my sacks, idly fingering
the leaves of the book, I found something pinned among them. It was slips of
printed matter, and as I took it out, I saw that it was "The Gray Goose's
Story," and as nearly as I remember it I will tell it to you.

Here I float, around and around, always solitary.
"A long, long time ago, when I was young, and had just had the cruel wound





A LOST STORY.


that made me drop with a broken wing into this little lake, I thought that I
should fly again some day, or that some of my kind would come to keep me com-
pany. They did for a year or two, when the flocks flying over my head heard
my eager honk;' they settled down, covering my little lake, and I was almost
happy. But I asked so many questions, and every year there were more young
ones that thought me tiresome, and after a while they flew high when they flew
by, and then I ceased to cry to them.
Ah, it was bitter to see them flying toward the great beautiful North, and to
know that I should have to swim around and around my little lake, and at last
die all alone among the reeds.
"But one morning when I took my head from beneath imy wii, .. I found that
the night had brought a sharer of my solitude. A queer, ungainly brownish bird
was sitting among the reeds with its head beneath its wing. I swam up close to
its side, ready to welcome it joyfully, but it never stirred. Two days and
nights it sat there motionless; until I began to fear that it was dead; then it
lifted its head and looked around with so sad a gaze that I forgot its ugliness in
pity. I moved away.,
"Late that afternoon I swam along by its side, and that night we slept by
each other, and the next day the stranger told me her story.
"She (her name was Cygnet) had been coming North with her mother and a
great flock of relatives, when she became too weak to fly farther, and dropped
unnoticed from among them. A week later, when she could fly, she had joined
a flock of geese, but they had tortured her first by jeers, and then, angry that
so ugly a bird was among them, pecked at her, and wounded her, until she had
fallen exhausted into my lone little lake.
It was no longer lonely. Two of us swam around, and slept in the reeds.
Here in this quiet lake we could spend our days. I could never fly, and Cygnet
would not seek again a world that had treated her so harshly. She was a sweet
creature, whose only sore point was her looks. She would not even look at her
reflection in the water. She remembered only too well her hideousness.
Two years! two long happy years we lived in the little lake together.
And then, a little fear began to grow in my heart. Was Cygnet changing, or
was it only my love for her that made her seem .so graceful and lovely? And
then she lost her brownish feathers. Was she getting white ?
"After days of struggle, I could no longer deceive myself. I had here,
secluded because she believed she was too hideous to venture into the world,
the beautiful Whistling'Swan!

"Nobody can ever know what I suffered. I knew that Cygnet was not
likely to find out what she was, at least while I lived, or that Nature had not
formed her to be grateful for this quiet nook, and for the society of a broken-
winged gray goose.






A LOST STORY.


. ..... ... r, y .. **.. a




.-- -:,- _* '* -,^ :.- -_ *-- -*. ..-~s ^s *5=
*_ - .. .
~1:--- -l' .. ^.-^'-*. '* i


THE DAY OF DEPARTURE.


For a whole year I brooded over my trouble. I knew that I had no right
to keep her.
"She was in all of her beauty now. And one day as we floated along to-
gether- I like a gray spot by the side of the flashing silvery creature I
begged her to turn her head and look at her own reflection.
Would you scorn me ?' she cried reproachfully; and then I told her.
"She would not believe me at first; then coyly she turned her head and







A LOST STORY.


looked at herself, so poorly mirrored in the water. And then as she realized
herself, her neck arched as it never had before, and she floated with twice the
stateliness.
"I could say nothing then of her leaving me, but I knew she must go.
What was this life to the happiness she would enjoy among her own kind in the
great 1,'.,itifil free North!
"Next day a flight of swans shadowed us for an instant, and then I knew
that I must speak.
"She listened calmly at first, but when I told her that she must signal the
next flight, she would scarcely listen. Never, never would she leave me, she
said.
"And then I had to entreat her to go. I told her of all the delights in store
for her-the freedom, the bracing air, the great lakes, and best of all, the
friends! And then I told her that I should be happier thinking of her enjoying
her young life. She listened impatiently, then,I could see, longingly.
"Very soon another flight of swans approached. 'Now!' I cried; and
almost involuntarily she gave the peculiar whistle that she did not need to learn,
and for the first time rose from the lake. Once she wavered, and seemed about
to return, but the swans came to meet her, and she flew away with them, and I
never saw her again.
"I float around the little lake, I am very lonely, but I am not unhappy. I
remember my beautiful swan, and I know that somewhere she is happy. I shall
swim around and around, and some day, I shall swim into the reeds, put my head
under my wing, and never lift it again."

After I finished the Gray Goose's story, I lay back again among the sacks
and went to sleep. Hours after when I awoke I looked for it, and it was gone.
The Hans Andersen book lay there open, but the slips were never found. Did
it blow away ? or did I'sleep after the Ugly Duckling and dream it all ?
If any of you have read it anywhere will you please tell me where ?
I may have left out a great deal, I know that I have told it very poorly, and
I may not have caught the& best of it. I only write this in the hope that some
one will tell me where to find my lost story again.
Anna Leacb.


-E"




















































































IN THE SHADE OF THE APPLE TREE,











-














THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.

THHERE never seemed a place more in need of something to make it merry
than was the little Swiss hamlet of St. Gervas toward the end of March
some years since.
The winter had been the hardest ever known in the Bernese Oberland. Ever
since November the snow had fallen steadily with few intermissions, and the
fierce winds from the Breithorn and St. Theodule had blown day and night, and
the drifts deepened in the valleys and the icicles on the eaves of the chalets
grown thicker and longer. The old wives had quoted comforting saws about a
"white Michaelmas making a brown Easter," but Easter was at hand now and
there were no signs of relenting yet.
Week after week the strong men had sallied forth with shovels and pickaxes
to dig out the half-buried dwellings, and to open the paths between them, which
had grown so deep that they seemed more like trenches than footways.
Month after month the intercourse between neighbors had become more diffi-
cult and meetings less frequent. People looked over the white wastes at each
other; the children ran to the doors and shouted messages across the snow, but
no one was brave enough to face the cold and the drifts.
Even the village inn was deserted. Occasionally some hardy wayfarer came
by and stopped for a mug of beer and to tell Dame Ursel, the landlady, how
deep the snows were, how black clouds lay to the north, betokening another fall,
and that the shoulders and flanks of the Matterhorn were whiter than man had
ever seen them before. Then he would struggle on his way, and perhaps two
or three days would pass before another guest crossed the threshold.






THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.


It was a sad change for the Krine," whose big sanded kitchen was usually
crowded with jolly peasants, and full of laughter and jest, the clinking of glasses
and the smoke from long pipes. Dame Ursel felt it keenly.
But such jolly meetings were clearly impossible now. The weather was too
hard. Women could not easily make their way through the snow, and they
dared not let the children play even close to the doors, for, as the wind blew
strongly down from the sheltering forest on the hill above, which was the pro-
tection of St. Gervas from landslides and avalanches, shrill yelping cries would
ever and anon be heard, which sounded very near. The mothers listened with
a shudder, for it was known that the wolves, driven by hunger, had ventured
nearer to the hamlet than they had ever before done, and were then just above
on the hillside, waiting to make a prey of anything not strong enough to protect
itself against them.
Three pigs have they carried off since Christmas," said MBre Kronk, and
one of those the pig of a widow! Two sheep and a calf have they also taken,
and only night before last they all but got at the Alleene's cow. Matters have
come to a pass indeed in St. Gervas, if cows are to be devoured in our very
midst Toinette and Pertal, come in at once! Thou must not venture even so
far as the doorstep unless thy father be along, and he with his rifle over his
shoulder, if hewants me to sleep of nights."
0, dear!" sighed little Toinette for the hundredth time. How I wish the
dear summer would come! Then the wolves would go away and we could run
about as we used, and Gretchen Slaut and I go to the Alp for berries. It seems
as if it had been winter forever and ever. I haven't seen Gretchen or little
Marie for two whole weeks. Their mother, too, is fearful of the wolves."
All the mothers in St. Gervas were fearful of the wolves.
The little hamlet was, as it were, in a state of siege. Winter, the fierce foe,
was the besieger. Month by month he had drawn his lines nearer and made
them stronger; the only hope was in the rescue which spring might bring.
Like a beleaguered garrison, whose. hopes and provisions are running low, the
villagers looked out with eager eyes for the signs of coming help, and still the
snows fell and the help did not come.
How fared it meanwhile in the forest slopes above ?
It is not a sin for a wolf to be hungry any more than it is for a man; and
the wolves of St. Gervas were ravenous indeed. All their customary supplies
were cut off. The leverets and marmots and other small animals on which they
were accustomed to prey, had been driven by the cold into the recesses of their
hidden holes, from which they did not venture out. There was no herbage to
tempt the rabbits forth, no tender birch growths for the strong gray hares.
No doubt the wolves talked the situation over in their wolfish language,
realized that it was a desperate one, and planned the daring forays which re-
silted in the disappearance of the pigs and sheep and the attack on the Alleene's






THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.


cow. The animals killed all belonged to outlying houses a little further from
the village than the rest, but the wolves had grown bold with impunity, and as
Mere Kronk said, there was no knowing at what moment they might make a
dash at the center of the hamlet.
I fear they would have enjoyed a fat little boy or girl if they could have
come across one astray on the hillside, near their haunts. But no such luck
befell them. The mothers of St. Gervas were too wary for that, and no child
went out after dark, or ventured more than a few yards from the open house
door even at high noon.
"Something must be done," declared Johann Vecht, the bailiff. "We are
growing sickly and timorous. My wife hasn't smiled for a month. She talks of
nothing but snow and wolves, and it is making the children fearful. My Annerle
cried out in her sleep last night that she was being devoured, and little Kasper
woke up and cried too. Something must be done."
"Something must indeed be done," repeated Solomon, the forester. "We
are letting the winter get the better of us, and losing heart and courage. We
must make an effort to get together in the old neighborly way; that's what we
want."
This conversation took place at the "Krone," and here the landlady, who
was tired of empty kitchen and scant custom, put in her word:
"You are right, neighbors. What we need is to get together, and feast and
make merry, forgetting the hard times. Make your plans and trust me to carry
them out to the letter. Is it a feast that you decide upon? I will cook it. Is
it a musiker fest ? My Carl there can play the zither with any other, no matter
whom it be, and can sing. Himmel! how he can sing Command me I will
work my fingers to the bone rather than you shall.not be satisfied."
Aha! the sun," cried Solomon; for as the landlady spoke, a pale yellow
ray shot through the pane and streamed over the floor. That is a good omen.
Dame Ursel, thou art right. A jolly merrymaking is what we all want. We
will have one, and thou shalt cook the supper according to thy promise."
Several neighbors had entered the inn kitchen since the talk began, so that
quite a company had collected; more than had got together since the mass on
Christmas Day. All were feeling cheered by the sight of the sunshine; it
seemed a happy moment to propose the merrymaking.
So it was decided then and there that a supper should be held that day week
at the '"Kr6ne," men and women both to be invited, all, in fact, who could pay
and wished to come. It seemed likely that most of the inhabitants of St. Gervas
would be present, such enthusiasm did the plan awake in youni,- and old. The
week's delay would allow time to send to the villagers lower down in the valley
for a reinforcement of tobacco, for the supply of that essential article was run-
ning low, and what was a feast without tobacco ?
We shall have a quarter of mutton," declared the landlady. Neils Auster-






THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.


man is to kill next Monday, and I will send at once to bespeak the hind-quarter.
That will ensure a magnificent roast. Three fat geese have I also, fit for the
spit, and four hens. Oh! I assure you, my masters, that there shall be no lack
on my part. My Fritz shall get a large mess of eels from the Lake. He fishes
through the ice, as thou knowest, and is lucky; the creatures always take his
hook. Fried eels are excellent eating! You will want a plenty of them.
Three months maigre is good preparation for a feast. Wine and beer we have
in plenty in the cellar, and the cheese I shall cut is as a cartwheel for bigness.
Bring you the appetites, my masters, and I will engage that the supply is
sufficient."
The landlady rubbed her hands as she spoke, with an air of joyful anticipa-
tion.
"My mouth waters already with thy list," declared Kronk. I must hasten
home and tell my dame of the plan. It will raise her spirits, poor soul, and she
is sadly in need of cheering."
The next week seemed shorter than any week had seemed since Michaelmas.
True the weather was no better. The brief sunshine had been followed by a
wild snowstorm, and the wind was still blowing furiously.
But now there was something to talk and think about beside weather. Every-
body was full of the forthcoming feast. Morning after morning Fritz of the
"Krine could be seen sitting beside his fishing holes on the frozen lake patiently
letting down his lines, and later, climbing the hill, his basket laden with brown
and wriggling eels. Everybody crowded to the windows to watch him -the
catch was a matter of public interest.
Three hardy men on snowshoes with guns over their shoulders had ventured
down to St. Nicklaus and returned, bringing the wished-for tobacco and word
that the lower valleys were no better off than the upper, that everything was
buried in snow, and no one had got in from the Rhone valley for three weeks or
more.
Anxiously was the weather watched as the day of the feast drew near, and
when the morning dawned, every one gave a sigh of relief that it did not snow.
It was gray and threatening, but the wind had veered and blew from the south-
west. It was not nearly so cold, and a change seemed at hand.
The wolves of St. Gervas were quite as well aware as the inhabitants that
something unusual was going forward.
From their covert in the sheltering wood they watched the stir and'excite-
ment, the running to and fro, the columns of smoke which streamed upward
from the chimneys of the inn. As the afternoon drew on strange savory smells
were wafted upward by the strong-blowing wind, smells of frying and roasting
and hissing fat.
Oh, how it smells -how good it does smell! said one wolf. He snuffed
the wind greedily, then threw back his head and gave vent to a long O-w !"






THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.


The other wolves joined in the howl.
What can it be ? Oh, how hungry it makes me cried one of the younger
ones. O-w-w-w! "
What a dreadful noise those creatures are making up there," remarked Frau
Kronk as, under the protection of her stalwart husband, she hurried her children
along the snow path toward the "Krine." "They sound so hungry. I shall
not feel really safe till we are all at home again with the door fast barred."
But she forgot her fears when the door of the inn was thrown hospitably
open as they drew near, and the merry scene inside revealed itself.
The big sanded kitchen had been dressed with fir boughs, and was brightly
lighted with many candles. At the great table in the midst sat rows of men and
women clad in their Sunday best. The men were smoking long pipes, tall mugs
of beer stood before everybody, and a buzz of talk and laughter filled the place.
Beyond in the wide chimney blazed a glorious fire, and about and over it the
supper could be seen cooking. The quarter of mutton, done to a turn, hung on
its spit, and on either side of it sputtered the geese and the fat hens, brown and
savory and smelling delicious. Over the fire on iron hooks hung a great kettle
of potatoes and another of cabbage.
On one side of the hearth knelt Gretel, the landlord's daughter, grinding
coffee, while on the other her brother Fritz brandished an immense frying-pan
heaped with sizzling eels which sent out the loudest smells of all.
The air of the room was thick with the steam of the fry mingled with the
smoke of the pipes. A fastidious person might have objected to it as hard to
breathe, but the natives of St. Gervas were not fastidious, and found no fault
whatever with the smells and the smoke which to them represented conviviality
and good cheer. Even the dogs under the table were rejoicing in it, and sending
looks of expectation toward the fireplace.
"Welcome, welcome!" cried the jolly company as the Kronks appeared.
"Last to come is as well off as first if a seat remains, and the supper is still
uneaten. Sit thee down, Dame, while the young ones join the other children in
the little kitchen. Supper is all but ready, and a good one too, as all noses tes-
tify. Those eels smell rarely. It is but to fetch the wine now and then fall to,
eh, Landlady?"
SNor shall the wine be long lacking," cried Dame Ursel, snatching up a big
brown pitcher. "Sit thee down, Frau Kronk. That place beside thy gossip
Barbc was saved for thee. 'Tis but to go to the cellar and return, and all will
be ready. Stir the eels once more, Fritz, and thou, Gretchen, set the coffee-pot
on the coals. I shall be back in the twinkling of an eye."
There was a little hungry pause. From the smaller kitchen behind the
children's laughter could be heard.
It is good to be in company again," said Frau Kronk, sinking into her seat
with a sigh of pleasure.





THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.


"Yes, so we thought, we who got up the feast," responded Solomon the for-
ester. "'Neighbors,' says I, we are all getting out of spirits with so much cold
and snow, and we must rouse ourselves and do something.' 'Yes,' says they,
' but what ?' 'Nothing can be plainer,' says I, 'we must' Himmel! what is
that?"
What was it indeed ?
For even as Solomon spoke, the heavy door of the kitchen burst open, letting
in a whirl of cold wind and sleet, and letting in something else as well.


THE UNBIDDEN GUESTS.


For out of the darkness, as if blown by the wind, a troop of dark swift shapes
darted in.
They were the wolves of St. Gervas, who, made bold by hunger and attracted
and led on by the strong fragrance of the feast, had forgotten their usual cow-
ardice, and stealing from the mountain-side and through the deserted streets of
the hamlet, had made a dash at the inn.
There were not less than twenty of them; there seemed to be a hundred.
As if acting by a preconcerted plan they made a rush at the fireplace. The
guests sat petrified round the table with their dogs cowering at their feet, and
no one stirred or moved, while the biggest wolf, who seemed the leader of the
band, tore the mutton from the spit, while the next in size made a grab at





THE WOLVES OF ST. GERVAS.


the fat geese and the fowls, and the rest seized upon the eels, hissing hot as
they were in the pan. Gretchen and Fritz sat on their respective corners of the
hearth, paralyzed with fright at the near, snapping jaws and the fierce red eyes
which glared at them.
Then, overturning the cabbage-pot as they went, the whole pack whirled and
sped out again into the night, which seemed to swallow them up all in a moment.
And still the guests sat as if turned to stone, their eyes fixed upon the door,
through which the flakes of the snow-squall were rapidly drifting, and no one
had recovered voice to utter a word, when Dame Ursel, rosy and beaming, came
up from the cellar with her brimming pitcher.
Why is the door.open ?" she demanded. Then her eyes went over to the
fireplace where but a moment before the supper had been. Had been; for not
an eatable article remained except the potatoes and the cabbages and cabbage
water on the hearth. From far without rang back a long howl which had in it
a note of triumph.
This was the end of the merrymaking. The guests were too startled and
terrified to remain for another supper, even had there been time to cook one.
Potatoes, black bread and beer remained, and with these the braver of the guests
consoled themselves, while the more timorous hurried home well protected with
guns, to barricade their doors, and rejoice that it was their intended feast and
not themselves which was being discussed at that moment by the hungry
denizens of the forest above.
There was a great furbishing up of bolts and locks next day, and a fitting of
stout bars to doors which had hitherto done very well without such safeguards;
but it was a long time before any inhabitant of St. Gervas felt it safe to go from
home alone, or without a rifle over his shoulder.
So the.wolves had the best of the merrymaking, and the villagers decidedly
the worst. Still the wolves were not altogether to be congratulated, for stung
by their disappointment and by the unmerciful laughter and ridicule of the other
villages, the men of St. Gervas organized a great wolf hunt later in the spring,
and killed such a number that to hear a wolf howl has become a rare thing in
that part of the Oberland.
"Ha! ha! my fine fellow, you are the one that made off with our mutton
so fast," said the stout forester, as he stripped the skin from the largest of the
slain. "Your days for mutton are over, my friend. It will be one while before
you and your thievish pack come down again to interrupt Christian folk at their
supper."
But in spite of Solomon's boast, the tale of the frustrated -feast has passed
into a proverb, and to-day in the neighboring chalets and hamlets you may hear
people say: "Don't count on your mutton till it's in your mouth, or it may fare
with you as with the merrymakers at St. Gervas."
Susan Coolidge.






















4 r^- ----- ,
-^


miJ


AN ARABIAN ROSE-GARDEN.









A BLACK PRINCE.


S-HE other day a black boy from Angola came
:,.. to visit me in my curiosity shop at the
1\' i' M-m. He could not speak English, but his
i -'- I'.,',ter.tor, Mr. Chatelain, acted as interpreter of
.- :i- language -the soft M'bamba tongue.
..' i Jeiry's mother is a princess and his father a
.1, -li:emker; it is not inconsistent with royalty in
.' 'Al ri:-i to make shoes, so Jerry may also be called
.. '.,, -a son of Crispin.
/ The footwear that Jerry makes, I can
',; .' tell you, is not much improvement upon
Sthe ancient sandals. He prepares the
'i' leather himself and sews an ample com-
., portable shoe resembling a moccasin.
SBefore knowing Jerry long one finds
't he has sharp eyes and that they have taken
S~i iiiany things since he was a boy. There
i'i i s .i to be no kind of wood, skin, fur, grass
"r t lier materials used in making the curiosities
.,: .:. .... l:oi eightt from Angola by Mr. Chatelain, that
'.T I v does not know.
DOLL ADE B. JERRY BAT NATIONAL MUSEUM. Perhaps the life of savage children makes
them observant; they learn the secrets of the
woods and streams, they become intimate with insects and animals. I have
noticed this among colored children in Washington; they know more of trees
and animals than white children.
While the young Angola prince was here, he made some African handiwork
for the Museum. When asked if children in Angola played with doll-babies, he
laughed an affirmative. When Mr. Chatelain asked him to make an Angola doll-
baby he grew grl.\ av and explained that it would be beneath his dignity. "That
is children's work, and I am grown," said he. However, we prevailed on him,
and he took up with shamed face the red, white and yellow cotton stuff that
makes up the odd doll iii the picture.
There were many seams and pieces to be joined; in fact, it took Jerry the
better part of three hot August days to finish the doll to its tufted turban. It
was amusing to see him represent the thick African lips by sewing in an oval
piece of yellow cloth where the mouth ought to be. A string of bright-colored
beads was fastened around the doll's neck. All its clothes are sewed on; per-





A BLACK PRINCE.


haps M'bamba children do not care for the dressing and fixing" that our little
girls so much enjoy.
Our African prince can carve, shape, fit and put together most of the tools,
weapons, clothing and ornaments used by his people. He can play all the strange
African musical instruments as well as shoot a bow, throw a club with accurate
aim, or hurl a spear. He really has trained, sensitive, deft, sure fingers.
He decorated a carved club with beadwork, made a bead basket and neck-
lace; in this work he used the greatest deliberation and patience, as though
time were no object, threading the beads and measuring now and then
to get the rows of different colors even.
Amid the sights in Washington, Jerry did not have an opportunity
to grow homesick except sometimes at night; it is said he was often
homesick at night. I should like to know
what particular impressions of America he will
carry back to Angola in that woolly pate of
his. The elevator surprised him, the huge un-
gainly street-sweeping machines filled him with
terror. I imagine he will astonish the natives
when he relates the things he has seen.
The scientific people at the Museum wished.
to photograph him in native costume. He
mildly suggested that since he was in America
he must dress like Americans, but finally en-
tered into the spirit of the thing and person-
ated the shoemaker, carrier and musician before
Mr. Smillee's camera.
He considered Americans unduly inquisi-
tive when they measured his head, height and t
length of limbs at the Army Medical Museum,
and no doubt he inquired of himself what an
American visitor to Angola would think if the
natives persisted in measuring him. Nor did
he understand why he should be shown a
number of colors when he could easily see
that blue was green.
But the summit of Jerry's disgust was JERRY, IN ANGOLA MUSICIAN'S DRESS, PLAYING
reached when a cast of his head was being THE "HUNGA."
taken. To have cold plaster spread over one's face, to sit and wait a long time,
meanwhile breathing through two small quills until the plaster hardened, and
then when the mask came away to have it bring out by the roots many small
hairs of a hoped-for beard, was enough to inspire any one with aversion toward
a sculptor. Jerry told Mr. Chatelain that the next time a cast of his head was






A BLACK PRINCE.


wanted he would not submit to it. This is unusual insubordination from Jerry;
he is polite and easily entreated.
The colored men at the Museum took a deep interest in Jerry. They hung
upon every word he uttered when he was conversing with Mr. Chatelain; not
understanding his language, they would move nearer and put up 'their hands
with the familiar attitude of conveying more sound to the ear. One man
thought that by speaking very loud and very plain he could make Jerry compre-
hend; but he was compelled to be satisfied with Jerry's entire available stock-
in-trade, I do not know English."
A curious custom of the M'bambas is that of placing groups of terra-cotta
images at the cross roads in honor of great travelers. When a box of these













W.HCHANOLWE~E
BEADED BASKET AND CLUB MADE BY JERRY.

grotesque figures was being unpacked, Jerry rather boastfully said that on his
return home he expected to be thus honored for his great trip across the ocean
to America. There terra-cotta men and women are supposed to represent -
though with African ideas of dress, etc. the different races of people the tray-
ler sees on his journeys into strange lands.
There is in the Museum a very peculiar musical instrument called hunga,"
and Jerry mended it and played upon it. It consists of a bow with a string to
which is attached a fez-shaped gourd with its lower end cut off. The string is
held between the finger and thumb and beaten with a thin piece of grass stalk
while the gourd is placed over the stomach; the gourd being moved about gives
different tones to the string. Jerry's tune was very much like the banjo music
one hears on a Southern plantation; it is made up of two long followed by two
short beats, a short pause and one short beat, repeated in rapid succession thus:
- The whole rehearsal was interesting, and was photo-
graphed probably it was the first time a photograph of a real African playing
the "hunga" was ever taken.






A LOVE SONG.


Should any of the readers of this volume visit the Museum they can see
the life-size model-figure of Jerry in his native costume standing in the West
Hall among Indian, Chinese, Polynesian, Papuan, Malay, African and other
statues representing the races of men. He looks so natural that he seems about
to speak to the girls and boys that often throng about the pedestal upon which
he stands.
Walter Hough.


A LOVE SONG.


LOVE doth walk in many a land,
Under many roofs doth dwell,
Taketh beggars by the hand,
And the crowned king as well,
Whispers soft to young and old,
Now doth stoop, and now aspire,
Laughs at poverty and gold,
Plays alike with frost and fire;
Since the happy world began,
Love hath been twixtt maid and man,
Sometimes flouting, sometimes pouting, as it goes and comes again,
Now a plague and now a bliss,
Now with frown and now with kiss--
But the sweetest of all lovers is a little lad of ten!

Love hath many snares to set -
Who shall know his changeful wiles ?
Some to joy and some to fret,
This with tears, and that with smiles;
Love sets many a one to dance
When his happy pipes do play,
And the skies of old romance
Arch the somber world to-day;
Till the days of time shall end
Love will be twixtt friend and friend,
Now deceiving, now believing, as it goes and comes again,
Full of shade and full of sun,
As the changing days do run -
But the fondest of all lovers is a little lad of ten!




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

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