• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 Miss Butterfly
 The bluecoat school
 A child's Christmas in France
 Little brother
 The elf's Christmas
 Winter ranch life
 The rollicking Mastodon
 From Cordova to Cathay (first...
 A heathen missionary
 A morning call
 Mamsey's giglio spoon
 Christmas tide
 The passing of the sheep
 The pilot of the Nantucket...
 A Christmas carol
 About conch-pearls
 In the "pratus-box"
 The elf's tennis match
 Hetty's red gown
 From Cordova to Cathay (second...
 A race
 The happy little home
 Alexander the little's foreign...
 The tax-gatherer
 The rag market at Bruges
 A German lesson
 From Cordova to Cathay (third...
 A business boy
 The rivals
 The tansy cake
 An old colonial capital
 There is always room
 Willie and the treedeedle
 The little old man
 A mistake
 From Cordova to Cathay (fourth...
 A little boy's love
 The April child
 Ebno'l Amed
 How we played Robinson Crusoe
 The "firsts"
 How Patsey found his fortune
 Sam's definition
 A song of fair weather
 The prince's dilemma
 Back Matter
 Back Cover






Group Title: Famous stories : gems of literature and art
Title: Famous stories
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00083795/00001
 Material Information
Title: Famous stories gems of literature and art
Physical Description: 194 p. : ill. (some col.) ; 26 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Lothrop Publishing Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: Lothrop Publishing Company
Place of Publication: Boston
Publication Date: c1895
 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 -- 1895   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1895   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1895
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: with numerous illustrations.
General Note: Contains prose and verse.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00083795
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002223376
notis - ALG3625
oclc - 04913465

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    Title Page
        Title Page 1
        Title Page 2
    Miss Butterfly
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
    The bluecoat school
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
    A child's Christmas in France
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
    Little brother
        Page 19
    The elf's Christmas
        Page 20
        Page 21
    Winter ranch life
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    The rollicking Mastodon
        Page 28
        Page 29
    From Cordova to Cathay (first paper)
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    A heathen missionary
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
    A morning call
        Page 44
    Mamsey's giglio spoon
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
    Christmas tide
        Page 49
    The passing of the sheep
        Page 50
        Page 51
    The pilot of the Nantucket shoals
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
    A Christmas carol
        Page 66
        Page 67
    About conch-pearls
        Page 68
        Page 69
    In the "pratus-box"
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
    The elf's tennis match
        Page 74
        Page 75
    Hetty's red gown
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
    From Cordova to Cathay (second paper)
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
    A race
        Page 96
        Page 97
    The happy little home
        Page 98
        Page 99
    Alexander the little's foreign mission
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
    The tax-gatherer
        Page 106
        Page 107
    The rag market at Bruges
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
    A German lesson
        Page 117
    From Cordova to Cathay (third paper)
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
    A business boy
        Page 127
    The rivals
        Page 128
        Page 129
    The tansy cake
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
    An old colonial capital
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
    There is always room
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
    Willie and the treedeedle
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
    The little old man
        Page 154
    A mistake
        Page 155
    From Cordova to Cathay (fourth paper)
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
    A little boy's love
        Page 164
        Page 165
    The April child
        Page 166
    Ebno'l Amed
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
    How we played Robinson Crusoe
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
    The "firsts"
        Page 182
        Page 183
    How Patsey found his fortune
        Page 184
        Page 185
    Sam's definition
        Page 186
        Page 187
    A song of fair weather
        Page 188
    The prince's dilemma
        Page 189
        Page 190
    Back Matter
        Back Matter
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
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FAMOUS


STORIES


GEMS


OF LITERATURE


AND ART


WITH NU/MER 0 US ILL USTRA TIONS


BOSTON
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY








































COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY
D. LOTHROP COMPANY.

COPYRIGHT, 1895,
BY
LOTUHOP PUBLISHING COMPANY.

All rights reserved.












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V.




".i..," 1-ER reEal name was Betty Fry.
-Jack Tyler, then but four years old, fast-
ened the nickname upon her. Her mother took her abroad the year after she left
school she would not have been graduated had she staid there sixteen, instead
of four years and Mrs. Tyler, the Frys' next-door neighbor, gave a lawn party
the week succeeding the return of her traveled friends. Miss Betty, at nine-
teen, was blue-eyed and plump, with peach-blow cheeks, in which dimples came
and went whenever she opened her rosy lips, and a profusion of auburn hair
that made an aureole about a tossing little head. Her Parisian costume was as
gay as good taste would permit, and Jack fairly blinked when she fluttered
down upon him in passing, darted half a dozen swift kisses upon his face and
curls, and called him the darlingest darling her eyes had ever lighted upon."
This is Miss Betty Fry, my son," explained his stately mother. i Speak
to her, as a gentleman should."
Jack arched a chubby hand over his eyes, more in dazzlement than bashful-
ness, and piped up dutifully :
"How do you do, Miss Butterflyi? "
The name took, inevitably, and stuck fast to her as long as she lived.
At school she had skimmed text-books as her tiny feet skimmed the ground,
complaining, merrily, that all she was taught went in at one ear and straight
out at the other. In music, languages and drawing, her acquirements were of
the same sketchy order, with no staying power." She had but one talent -
that of being happy through and through, always and everywhere. She soaked




MISS BUTTERFLY.


herself in sunbeams until she radiated them at the pores. Everybody agreed
that there was nothing in her," yet everybody was fond of and petted her.
People liked to have her around as they liked to cultivate flowers and buy bric-
a-brac, and set harmonious bits of color in shadowy corners. She was the only
daughter of the richest widow in her native town, and her three brothers were
married men before she was emancipated from the fashionable seminary where
she had learned so little.
Years went on multiplying years, and although she made no account of them,
they kept tally upon the peach-blow and creamy skin, and stole, a pound at a
time, of the flesh that at nineteen had looked so pure and sweet. Her eyes had
faded to baby blue," and had paler rims about the irises; her hair was bleached
to the color of Milwaukee brick-dust, and the rings and waves that once made a
glory above her face were dry, stiffened wisps. The dimples were shallow
ravines, instead of mirthful pools, and Time had dug out the temples, and scraped
at the outer corners of her eyes. Jack Tyler was a mustachioed business-man,
with a four-year-old namesake of his very own, and Miss Butterfly was still
better known by the sobriquet he had bestowed upon her than as Miss Elizabeth
Fry, the owner and sole resident barring her servants of the fine old home-
stead upon the hill.
It was queer, said the gossips, that with all that money, and her pretty face
and coaxing ways, she had never married; yet she did not look like a woman
with a history. She chatted a great deal, and laughed a great deal more than she
talked. A local poet had once written some verses comparing her laugh to water
running down hill over a pebbly bed. The bed of the stream might be getting
dry now, but the brook what there was of it continued to go through the
motions. She had lost none of her little fluttering mannerisms. In anybody
else they would have been called flighty at her age; affectations she should have
outgrown a score of years ago. At her mother's death, which did not take place
until the daughter was forty, the new mistress had retained the full staff of
servants, and the gossips had their whisper about that, too:
If ever there was a woman who had it easy but there, now Who could
have the heart to begrudge that good-hearted little thing, who had never done a
hand's turn for herself, the wealth she seemed to enjoy so heartily ?"
I was an intolerant chit of fifteen, who had lived in Book-land and Dream-
world until I was clothed in self-conceit as with a garment, when, on one raw
December afternoon, I rang Miss Fry's door-bell. While waiting to be admitted,
I surveyed the winter-bitten grounds encompassing the great house, and shivered
under my furs at their bleak aspect. Shrubbery was done up in straw tents;
fountains were robed in sackcloth, and the top-dressing of manure spread over
the turf looked, with the hoar-frost upon it, like ashes. The gray stone front
of the dwelling had been enlivened by window-gardens in the summer, and
their absence gave it a jail-like look.







MISS BUTTERFLY.


"And the woman who lives here has no aim and no outlook in life," mused
I priggishly. She is a unit with never a cipher at her back to give her value.
Were she to die to-morrow the world would be none the poorer. It is the old
fable of the butterfly who sat in the rose's heart all summer and starved in the
winter."
S"Is Miss Fry at. home?" I inquired of the maid who interrupted my
moralizing.
"Yes, ma'am. Walk in, please."
"But she has company," as the tinkle of a guitar and a babble of singing
proceeded from the library.
O, no, ma'am; no more than common. There's no invited party."
We reached the inner door just as the music ceased, and a wilder clamor of
small voices arose. "Please, Miss Butterfly, now sing Said I, said I.' "
The hostess did not observe me, and I drew back into the comparative
obscurity of the hall to watch the animated interior. Miss Fry, in a sheeny
satin the color of a robin's egg, with costly laces drooping over her chest and
wrists, sat upon a low ottoman, guitar in hand, the center of a troop of children.
A smart twang of the strings silenced the hubbub, and the song began in a voice
that reminded one of a thin trickle of syrup, just on the turn toward sharp-
ness. The children shrilled out the chorus after each line, every mouth
stretched to its utmost. Miss Betty told me afterward that she had heard
the ditty ever since she was a child, or had picked it up somewhere -just so.
She never knew how she learned anything."

A little old man came riding by, An acorn fell as from the sky;
(Said I, said I,) (Said I, said I,)
My dear old man, your horse will die,' Ah! why did you not stay on high?'
(Said I, said I.) (Said I, said I.)
And if he dies I'll tan his skin,' Why, if I had, you surely see,'
(Said he, said he,) (Said he, said he,)
And if he lives I'll ride him again,' 'That I could never be a tree,'
(Said he, said he.) (Said he, said he.)

"A little bird came hop! hop! hop! "An ugly worm crept on the ground;
(Said I, said I,) (Said I, said I,)
My pretty bird, your feathers drop,' 'Poor thing! to death you're surely bound,'
(Said I, said I.) (Said I, said I.)
'Oh! I shall only keep the best,' But I was only born to die,'
(Said he, said he,) (Said he, said he,)
'And with the rest I'll line my nest.' Or I'd not be a butterfly,'
(Said he, said he.) (Said he, said he.) "

A fire of logs blazed high in the chimney, flickering whenever the shrill
chorus burst forth. The children, of whom there must have been twenty, sat
and lay upon an immense tiger-skin spread in the full glow of the flames. Four
or five had crept as close to the hostess as they could get, crushing the satin
folds with infantine heedlessness.







MISS BUTTERFLY.

Trying to arise as she espied me, she found herself thus anchored fast, and
sank back with the gurgle that used to be fascinating and was now only funny.
"I am a prisoner, you see. Come in, my dear child, and help yourself to a
seat. I'm ever and ever so glad to see you."
"I am afraid that I am an intruder," said I, in obeying the request.
Not a bit; not a bit of it, I assure you. These precious pets have a way


v
^ --
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'.7 -

HOW D YOU DO, MISS BUTTERFLY
than discretion, and more spirit than tue By
II *' I
.. '-' "- : -. -''


..-.- -. c: -








than discretion, and more spirit than tune. By


of running in to enliven my
solitude when it is not fit
weather for them outside.
It is always bright and warm
here, and they know it-
bless their hearts! I'm never
so happy as when the house
is brimful of them. They
know that, too, the cup-
ning little things and their
mothers are good enough
to indulge me. You won't
mind if our concert goes on
for a few minutes longer,
will you, dearest girl ?"
Everything she sang had
a chorus, and all the children
joined in with more zeal
and by the guitar was laid


aside; the folding-doors between library and drawing-room were thrown open,
and there was an uproarious game of hide-and-seek over the rich carpets-
"almost as good," averred one youngster, as playing upon the grass." The
least of the party the oldest of which could not have been eight years old -
kept nearest to Miss Betty all the while, and were coached" by her in the
mysteries of the romp. Biscuits and milk -the latter in dainty little mugs -
were dispensed at four o'clock, soon after which, nurses, older sisters, a brother
or two, and a couple of mothers, arrived to escort the guests to their homes.
At the outcry of protest that ensued, Miss Betty made herself heard.
"If you'll promise to go home quietly, like dear, good lambies, you shall see
my butterfly take his supper."
They trooped at her heels to a large Wardian case set in a bay window. It
was full of ferns and flowering plants, and as she raised the peaked lid, we saw
upon the pink waxen blossom of a beautiful begonia a large brown-and-blue
butterfly, asleep or torpid.
le's taking his afternoon nap," gurgled Miss Betty. "Wake up, my
E.. u~:-, and have your tea."






MISS BUTTERFLY.


She slid him dexterously from the pink petals into a palm that was now,
alas! neither pink nor plump, and carried him back to the fire. Sinking down
upon her ottoman, as the insect poised upon her uplifted hand she held to him
a drop of honey upon the tip of a pearl paper-knife.
Hush hush she breathed to the impatient spectators. "He must get
warm before he gets hungry. That's the way with all teeny-weeny things, you
know."
As the warmth of the withered palm passed into the downy body, the odd
pet raised his wings and waved them gently in the firelight; successive thrills
shook his frame; the antenna vibrated, and we could see the proboscis undo
itself, coil after coil, and dip into the honey drop.


" PLEASE, MISS BUTTERFLY, SING 'SAID I, SAID I.' "


"That is the most comical exhibition I ever saw," ejaculated one of the
mothers. "How did you tame it, Betty?"
"It did itself; checking the gurgle lest it should jar her proteg6. I found
him outside, hanging to the window-sill for dear life, on Thanksgiving Day.
He had come to look for the jardini6re that stood there all summer, I suppose.
So I took him in, and warmed him, and fed him, and have kept him in the fernery
ever since. You wouldn't believe how much company he is for me. On sunny






MISS BUTTERFLY.


days I give him a promenade on the south window over there, or let him fly
about in the conservatory, and he gets quite gay. Usually, he sleeps most of
the time, however."
"But," struck in the other matron -by the way, she was Jack Tyler's wife
-" naturalists tell us that the butterfly is an ephemeron."
"I beg your pardon ?" said Miss Betty inquiringly.
I mean repressing a smile that he lives only one day after leaving
the chrysalis."
"They must be mistaken," Miss Betty opined, amiably complacent. This
one has been with me three weeks yesterday. I expect to keep him until
spring. All that a butterfly wants is sunshine and honey. When he gets both
he can't help being contented. And this one has such a lovely disposition."
She put him back tenderly upon the begonia, when he ceased to sip and
curled up the hair-like tube through which he had drawn his food. Then she
helped get the children into cloaks and caps, kissed each pair of lips, and thanked
their guardians for lending them to her.
"Now, sit down, honey," she bustled back into the library to say to me.
This chair, please," pushing a low and luxurious one toward me, then pulling
up another for herself.
It seems almost sinful for me to be so comfortable," I said, from the depths
of my --,tin nest.
Her little laugh trilled out, and I thought of the cricket on the hearth.
"Now, my idea is that it is really wrong not to be comfortable and happy.
When nobody else is the worse for it, of course. I just love to see people hav-
ing the loveliest sort of times; gay as larks, happy as kings, pretty as butterflies,
and all that, don't you know?"
This introduced my errand. My mother hoped Miss Betty would be inter-
ested in the case of a poor family in the lower part of the town, and had charged
me with the sad story. My unspoken contempt for my auditor's intellectual
status was increased by the interjections with which she hearkened to me.
"Dreadful! "Impossible Heart-rending Poor woman!" Oh!
the poor dear little darlings," were, to my notion, puffs of the idlest breath
ever exhaled. When at length she raised herself from the yielding cushions
far enough to touch a silver bell upon the table nearest her, I supposed that the
subject was dismissed.
Tea, Mary, please," to the maid who appeared on the instant. How well
this luxurious sluggard was served when hundreds had neither fire nor home
upon this bitter afternoon. And tell Annie to send up some of her nice tea-
cakes with it, Mary, please. I am sure Miss Dowling will enjoy them. There's
nothing that warms the bottom of one's heart like a cup of hot tea. How good
your mother is to the poor and the afflicted! Quite like a ministering angel, I
do always maintain."







MISS BUTTERFLY.


I despised her utterly as she chirped on. She was trite, vapid, and, I was
sure, heartless; a weak, silly, aimless sentimentalist. When the tea and cakes
came I could not enjoy them, delicious as they both were. The china was
exquisite; the gold spoons tinkled against it with a bell-like chime; into the
summer air of the room stole the odors of the adjoining conservatory; there
were rare pictures, statuary and tapestries. The whole world was padded, and
warmed, and scented for this useless little insect. What mattered it that winter,
and poverty, and illness, and sorrow were in other homes, so long as she still sat
in the rose's heart ?
My casket, please, Mary," twittered the thin voice, after the tea-service
was removed. And turn the gas up, just a little."
The-casket an East Indian toy, all ivory, gold and ebony was unlocked,
and the smell of sandal-wood gushed forth. Miss Betty giggled in adjusting
her eyeglasses.
"My eyes are weak by artificial light. They ought not to be, but I have
done so much fancy-work. I so often hear of interesting cases after dark, that
I keep checks ready made out. It saves eyesight, and time, and trouble, don't
you know? Ah "
She had fumbled among the papers in the casket until she found what she
sought, and passed it over to me as she might a postage stamp.
"Tell your mother how awfully obliged I am to her, and beg her to let me
know if I can do anything else for those poor dear prot4ges of hers."
I lost breath and wits upon seeing that the check was for one hundred
dollars.
O, Miss Butterfly! Oh I beg your pardon." I stopped there, red as
fire and longing to sink clean out of sight.
She laughed in short, spasmodic jerks, as if something attached to her vocal
apparatus were going to pieces.
No offense, I do assure you, my blessed child. All my children call me
that, and I don't object. God made butterflies, I suppose, and they couldn't be
ants if they wanted to. I admire energy, and thrift, and all that, immensely,
but, as my slangy nephews say, I wasn't built that way. I don't murmur.
The Bible says there are diversities of gifts. All that a butterfly wants is sun-
shine and honey."
I repeated the phrase often and again that winter. I cannot say that I
found entertainment in the society of one whom, from that afternoon, I learned
to love, but there was gratification in the sight of the simple kindly creature
living out her life with the zest of a child. I went to her almost daily, and
always found her the same; never ruffled in spirit, never unkind in speech,
always carefully and richly dressed, and ever eager to share her sunshine and
honey with all about her. The fancy crossed my mind, soni.tiime-s, tliat. she
was growing thin, and, occasionally, in the forenoon, there was a sIrange gray-







MISS BUTTERFLY.


ness in her complexion; but there was no abatement in her gayety. The chil-
dren swarmed about and over her, as lawlessly as ever; her girl-nieces and
college-nephews gave parties in her big rooms, and granted her request to be
allowed to order and pay for the luncheons, dinners and suppers served by her
servants. She still twanged the guitar and chirped quaint ditties to her
" babies," and played waltzes with stiff and willing fingers by the hour for older
merrymakers. The casket of filled-out checks still flew open before a tale of
woe could be finished in her hearing. With it all went the light, sometimes
flippant, prattle of commonplace nothings, and the weak giggle that was no
longer fascinating. I caught myself wondering, as I saw her feed and talk to
her butterfly, if both were not alike inconsequent, and as well content to take
in all of present delight without premonition of to-morrow's frost or cloud.
One windy day in March, the old Fry house was burned to the ground with
stables, graperies and conservatories. My mother and I, hastening to the scene
at rumor of the disaster, found Miss Betty in a remote corner of the shrubberies
sitting upon an iron chair in the shelter of a clump of evergreens. Nobody was
near her, and she had a dazed, white look, not in the least her own. The
servants were all busy trying to save something from the flames, which still
roared' horribly a little way off. Somebody, probably her maid, had wrapped
our little friend up in an ermine opera-cloak with a white silk hood trimmed
with fur. I could but liken her, in imagination, to a frozen miller moth, as she
sat huddled together, crushed into the fir-branches.
We took her home and put her to bed.
"Thank you, sweet child God bless you! she whispered, when I stooped
to kiss the face so pitifully and strangely shrunken and pallid.
"You will soon be all right now, dear Miss Betty."
"0, yes!" opening her eyes to smile. "Very, very soon. It would be
sinful not to be thankful and happy. Everybody is always so good to me.
Surely goodness and mercy have fol" -
She never spoke or moved again.
When we saw that stupor, not sleep, had stolen over her, we sent for her
family physician. Beside her death-bed we learned that she had battled bravely
for two years with an insidious, and what she knew to be a mortal disease.
She would not let me tell the truth even to her brothers," said her only
confidant. It 'was not worth while to disturb them before it was absolutely
necessary,' she said. How she kept up her usual mode of life, and her spirits, I
cannot comprehend. She was either the pluckiest or the least sensitive being
I ever knew. I cannot decide if she were more of a benefactress or of a
butterfly."
"I can," sobbed my mother.
So could I.
Marion Harland.





























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A DREAMLAND SHEPHERD BOY.


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looking through another fence beyond that, to one of the great
S clean-paven yards of the famous school called Christ Hospital,
where many red-cheeked bareheaded boys are shouting
SfRE^o 5oy. and running. They are plunging about, evidently quite
happy, and not encumbered at all, apparently, with their pecu-
liar dress. This dress has never been changed, in color or in
any important detail, since Tudor times; and it is sure to take
the amused attention of an American the moment he passes
Through Newgate Street. Let us examine it respectfully.
There is a contagion, to begin with, of bright yellow stock-
ings, and that alone provides the funniest spectacle!-these flying odds and
ings, and that alone provides the funniest spectacle !--these flying odds and




THE BLUECOAT SCHOOL.


ends of boy looking for all the world like some wild scrimmage of storks,
with their lively cheerful-colored legs in fullest evidence. Their knee-breeches
are of dark-blue; they wear a narrow red leather belt, and the white bands"
instead of a collar, shaped like those of the French clergy to-day; bands which
the English clergy dropped several generations ago. The coats, also dark-blue,
have skirts falling all around, as low as the ankle, and when a boy wants some
fun, he has to bundle up yards of unwieldy cloth behind ; which adds, you may
be sure, to the queerness of his general appearance. Sometimes he is so happy
as to possess a jersey for play-hours, and a cap no bigger than the palm of your
hand, which he may put on in the street, if he chooses, but which he never does
choose, even in mid-winter. The little Blues, with their long yellow legs and
browned faces, cannot fail to make a curious picture to the modern eye;
and everybody must stop to watch them, and smile, and sigh, and wish to be
twelve years old again, with no worse vexation than a lesson in Caesar, and no
future anxiety beyond the winning of a game! As you look at them from
their front gates, the gray height of the glorious Hall of the school confronts
you; beyond, and to your left, is the
four-pinnacled tower of the old church
-, '. where Captain John Smith is buried;
to your right are Smithfield, Little Brit-
... ain, and the storied neighborhood of
St. Bartholomew's, where the Jacobean
*. gables elbow the more precious Norman
"'" .masonry; and the melancholy highway
..'.- .where you stand shows you the grim
.prison, almost opposite this area, over-
i flowing with youth and blameless joy.
,. Once you are within the Bluecoat pre-
..y cincts, you become conscious of the
'" near overhanging dome of St. Paul's,
S- which, when viewed from the doors of
4 the Writing School, seems to fill the
whole horizon and sky, and sustain you,
like an eternal thing. But changes
.- come, even here; and not very long
after you read these few pages, Christ
Hospital may be sold or leveled, its
THE STATUE OF THE FOUNDER. .
(The boy-king Edward VI.) laws altered, and its army of nearly
eight hundred boys transferred to the
country, away from the sad town which will be lonely without their eyes and
voices and eccentric hose, familiar here for three hundred and fifty years.
The many buildings are not all ancient. Little remains of those considered




THE BLUECOAT SCHOOL.


commodious enough in the last century, which sheltered such young heads as
Camden's, Stillingfleet's, Samuel Richardson's, Coleridge's and Leigh Hunt's, and
Charles Lamb's. Ages before them, ;-i:.-n. the Priory of the Grey Friars stood
here; and somewhere under these very flags monks and knights, and a Queen
of England, are l1..--,-ini, having lain
down penitent in the shadow of monas- f
tic altars. The Hospital, as it now is, .'r
was founded by "the boy-patron of .
boys," Edward VI., who had one ques-
tionable habit for a young oraint. that
of cheerfully signing the death-warrants
of his uncles. The royal charity has r o
had great endowments from private
hands, which are, alas! lessened in our
more selfish day. Another king, Charles
II., a clever vagabond who made out
to do a few such kindly deeds as this,
started the Mathematical School in
1673, and the lads who belong to it
wear his badge upon the shoulder. l- b "
When a child is appointed to CIi-rt "
Hospital, he makes it his home, and is
chosen to rank in the department best IN THEOLDEST CLOISTERS.
suited to his abilities. Some study the
classics, some are preparing for sea-service, some are faouri-hing a pen all the
afternoon over accounts or outline drawings. The boys have a Court of Gov-
ernors whom they never see; but the President, Treasurer and Almoners busy
themselves with house-affairs, and the masters and matrons
are everywhere and always at their side. The discipline
/o w is very strict and steady. The boys make their own beds,
S set and Clear off their own table, polish their own boots and
S -,- so forth.
They have frequent half-holidays, beside the three vaca-
Si i tions, when, if their conduct has given satisfaction, they are
KNve free to visit their relatives and friends, and dispose their
." o picturesque figures among the city parks and streets.
I i tte They sleep in airy wards or dormitories, each in his.
little bed, and about forty beds abreast; and they all eat to--
gether in the magnificent Hall, with its organ and spacious
Gothic windows, erected in 1829. They have a very liberal supply of what.
vould hardly be a favorite drink of American boys -beer! Every pleasant.
day, a signal is given in the south playground, seven minutes before dinner-




THE BLUECOAT SCHOOL.


time, and the jolly crowd stops short, abandons its bats, hockey-sticks,
balls, and roller-skates, lets down its coat-tails, and falls into squads and com-
panies, preceded by a dozen of the more musical youngsters, who have or-
ganized a very creditable brass band; and so, left, right, left, away they march
from the wind and the sun, until the last straight little soldier is swallowed
up in the dark arches and disappears. They have a beautiful library, a museum,
a picture-gallery, a gymnasium (with a splendid swimming-bath in which the
boundary-lines of three parishes converge), and several wide cool cloisters for


OUTSIDE THE GREAT HALL, AT DINNER-TIME.


playgrounds in hot or wet weather. At their doors is Christ Church, where the
innumerable family kneels on Sunday at Morning Prayer and Evensong. Clus-
tered about the great Hall are more chambers and dwellings than would go to
make a sizable village, and in these live the warden, the professors, the kind old
steward, and the society of domestics; all in their offices striving and succeed-
ing, to make the Bluecoat School very dear to the Blues.
Although the pupils pay nothing for what is, in the American sense, a
thorough and excellent public-school education (for a "public school in Eng-
land, as you know, means something far more lordly and exclusive) you are not
to infer that the boys are mere paupers and hoodlums. Dependent they must
be; but if the fathers of any of them earn a thousand dollars (two hundred pounds)




THE BLUECOAT SCHOOL.


a year, the b
majority are


oys are still eligible for the nomination to a vacant place. The
pretty little fellows, with very sweet manners, which could not
be matched in our country, except, perhaps, at some
high-class private school. And it often happens that
S a grown Grecian who has shown talent and a dispo-
-: sition for study, is sent up from Christ Hospital, with
loud plaudits and a generous purse of money, to a
l gc career in one of the great universities. The aver-
i age lad leaves his desk and goes into business at
fifteen or sixteen; and some shy nursling from the pre-
paratory house in Hertford comes up to London, and
passes under
the tutelary im- -


age of good King Edward-to dwell
some seven years in the absentee's
stead.
The place is rich in its own privi-
leges, and traditions, and dramatic
customs. I have not told you how |
the whole young flock call upon the
Lord Mayor in Easter week, and re-
ceive, every one, a gleaming shilling-
piece new from the mint; nor how
they sup in public each Thursday in
Lent, and make their annual parting
memorable with a quaint procession,
and speeches, and song; for these
things, would fill a separate article.
Nor have I said a word of the con-
stant training which they receive, in
order to make them serious and manly
Christians, fit to grapple with the
rough old duties of our life. But I
leave you to look at the pictures of .-
some of these wards of the Three King- -.-'-- ..:- -- 1 -
doms, and repeat with me, for the child
Charles Lamb's sake, the words of the
venerable toast: "God bless the reli- TH ST ENTRANCE WI STATUE OF BLUECOAT BOY.
gious, royal and ancient foundation of Christ Hospital! May those prosper who
love it, and may God increase their number! "
Louise Inogen Guiney.


!


!




















































































































'a ------ -


STREET CHARMERS.









A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS IN FRANCE.

IT was Christmas Eve, and the streets of the old French city of Tours were
thronged with people hurrying to the Cathedral for the Christmas mass.
It lacked but fifteen minutes of midnight, and a few belated peasants from the
adjoining village of St. Symphorien quickened their pace as they approached the
great stone bridge. Among them was a sweet-faced young woman, Felicie Gar-
nier, proprietress of a tiny vegetable shop in the street of the Tranchee. She
led by the hand her little eight-year-old son who at that moment was standing
perfectly still in the surprise of his new experience. Come, my little man,"
said the good Felicie, smiling down proudly upon her brave Pierre, "we must
walk faster. The bridge, the Rue Royale and voild, we are at the Cathedral."
The child's face was radiant. It was the first time in his life that he had been
beyond their little shop door after dark.
The scene was far more wonderful than any he had pictured to himself, as
his mother had described it, over her washing by the river-side. "The river
will not look like this," she had said one day,
-. straightening back for a moment of rest from
S--- ---. -" 1-i'li'. -,-o the linen which she was vigor-
i ..' : _ously beating on a smooth
-- stone. "See, now it is blue,

S- when the sky is black above
--.-it, the river too grows black."
-,-- "- How then can we find our
-' -"t-- .w, ay?" queried the boy.
.... T. .,...---- -- _=" Ah, by the lamps, my Pierre.
--:. The lamps shine bright on the
S- i' 1.' idge and a thousand lights are in
-- A ti'_ vwii-1\s of the great houses, and the
1' good God will aLid; us safely to the Cathedral, that we
"NOT LIKE THIS," SAID FELICIE.. may kneel before the beautiful manger and pray for the
soulof the beloved papa." And Pierre sat silent, won-
dering how his own beautiful Loire could grow black and ugly and dark.
And now the evening of his long anticipation had come. There lay the
river below, dark and mysterious but beautiful still, its ripples gleaming like
burnished metal in the half darkness, and shimmering merrily in the bright
light cast from the bridge lamps. Beyond lay the old town with its many lights
an enchanted city, and over all stretched the great starry heavens. The city,
the river, the sky were all wrapped in solemn darkness made visible by myriad





A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS IN FRANCE.


lights. Pierre's little heart beat fast till it seemed to clatter in his bosom as
loudly as did his wooden sabots on the stone pavement. Presently he began to
find familiar objects among the city towers, the tower of Charlemagne, St. Mar-
tin's tower, and finally, the Cathedral spires. Lifted black against the sky, they
were like hands outstretched to Heaven. Pierre's eyes followed them and lo, the
fingers pointed to a bright star !
"But yes, my little man," said
the mother. Flicie, "the star
stands always over the manger to
lead the wanderers to the Holy Ill '
Child." u
They turned at last into the
Cathedral Square, into which all i i 'I
the narrow streets were pouring ". .
throngs of people. Pierre clung N'}:I; i
fast to his mother's hand and they ,. '' .. .
mingled in the crowd pushing their -
way through the doors. F4licie .' I
paused at the nearest b'nitier to 1
dip her fingers in the holy water .1. II
and cross herself. Then advancing 4 r :;
a few steps along the central aisle, ir- e
she bowed her knee toward the
grand altar, Pierre gravely follow-
ing her example..
The boy had often been to the
Cathedral before, on bright Sun-
day mornings, and it had always :,
been with a lingering sigh of regret
for the sunny square, that he had
turned into the cold dark interior.
But as to-night he had found his AT THE BEN TIER.
whole world changed, so too the
Cathedral on a Christmas Eve was totally unlike the Cathedral of a Sunday
morning. The mysterious gloom of the vast interior, illumined by glimmering
lights from the burning tapers seemed to the poetic child's mind like the
solemn grandeur of the midnight through which he had just been led, and his
vague feeling of awe was quickened into genuine reverence. In the cathedral
of Nature he had learned how to enter the cathedral of stone. With a serious
air he walked by his mother's side toward the manger which was the ultimate
object of this Christmas pilgrimage.
By the steps of an altar in the transept chapel was a rude wooden structure





A CHILD'S CHRISTMAS IN FRANCE.


filled with hay in representation of the manger in the Bethlehem inn which re-
ceived the infant Saviour. In the midst of this straw cradle lay a large waxen
doll, smiling out of bright blue eyes upon the surrounding worshipers.
None were more devout than Felicie and Pierre. The boy, young as he
was, had caught something of the true Christmas spirit. The river and the
starry sky had taught unspeakable things to the child heart; and now, as he
began to whisper softly his Pater Nosters, his prayers seemed to him to be rising
.on the wings of the beautiful Christmas music which soared up from the choir
and lost itself amid the arches of the Cathedral.
F4licie hardly knew how she got her sleepy Pierre over the bridge and up


"HE FOUND HIMSBILF THE CENTERl OF A MERRY GROUP."

the steep street of the Tranch4e, home again to the little shop. The savory
odor of soup seemed to arouse the drowsy child. He suddenly found himself in
the little parlor in the center of a merry group of familiar faces. There was
the dear grandmamma kissing her boy on both cheeks, and kind Madame Bonnier
from the bakery over the way; there were Father and Mother Dupin from the
next house and all the good neighbors who had made up the party to and from
the Cathedral. And what a fine cake it was in the center of the table, larger,
it seemed to Pierre than any he had ever seen in the windows of the grand pastry






LITTLE BROTHER.


cooks of the Rue Royale, and gorgeous with pink and white icing. He clapped his
hands with delight at the marvel. And how happy they all were to see him
happy. The pastry cakes (pates) were delicious, his favorite honey-cake (pain
d'epice) more spicy than ever before, and Madame Bonnier's Christmas biscuits
(estevenous) were baked, so they said, as no one in Tours knew how. It was a
merry supper. Grandmamma bustled around to see that all were bountifully
served, and over the good things many a pleasant tale of bygone times was re-
lated by Father Dupin, many a gay laugh rang through the little room. Pierre
was kissed and petted and feasted to his heart's content, until the gray light of
dawn peeped in through the back window and the party began to disperse.
The day brought no stockings filled with the gifts of a Santa Claus, no tree
decked with candles and tinsel. These are unknown delights to all French
children of the provinces educated in the Romish Church. Pierre had learned
the story of the Christ-child's birth from the celebration of the midnight mass in
the Cathedral, and the neighborhood feast had been his Christmas merry-making,
his share in the peace on earth, good will to men."
Estelle M. Hurll.







LITTLE BROTHER.

L ITTLE brother did not wake
When the sun shone out to-day;
Did not answer when I called,
Asking him to come and play.

So I brought him all his toys.
"Nay," they said, in grave surprise,
Brother is an angel now ;
He has gone to Paradise."

Then I laughed in my delight,
Tossing top and ball aside;
But they wept with faces hid,
And I wondered why they cried.
H. R. Hudson.












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THE little brown elf and his friends, one night,
That swept to their fire and haltedsy -
















Including a ticket for s-elf and friends"
Lilian Crawford True.
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S ,I .- ---4 I --' -





THE ELF'S CHRISTIMAS.

THE little brown elf and his friends, one night,
SHad a half-awake dream of a fairy sleigh
That swept to their fire and halted,say-
For as long as the wink of a northern light.

It staid as long as that light could wink,
And it brought to them something What do you think ?

Why the morning disclosed a wonderful sight
Of gifts that were left for this wandering fay,
Including a ticket for "s-elf and friends"
To the land that summer to winter lends -
The far-away land of Florida.
Lilian Crawford True.








































































































































AMONG THE PALMETTOS AND IALTS.


_ __










WINTER RANCH LIFE.
(First Series.)

[Rae is a real girl and these are real letters. She is a little city waif without schooling, who spends a
winter with her adopted mother on the ranch of an English gentleman in the Rocky Mountains; the young
youth" mentioned being a lord in embryo. Necessary changes made in spelling and grammar have de-
stroyed much of the piquancy of these letters. EDITORS WIDE AWAKE.]

DECEMBER 12th.
I AM in a beautiful place. The mountains are very high up in the sky. The
rocks seem to point out like the steeple of a church. The snow is on the
ground. It is cold early in the morning, and late at night. 'In the daytime
the sun shines very bright. It is quite hot sometimes. I am sitting on the
piazza while I write this letter.
I like to stay out here very much. We have pigs, and cows, and horses, and
mules, and two little calves, and two big ones. We have a dog named Shax,
and we have two cats. One cat is black, and one cat is gray. The black cat is
very polite, but the gray cat is not, and we do not like her so well. Shax is not
always in time for his meal. He goes off when it is ready, and sometimes he
comes when we do not want him.
I had a pleasant ride coming up here. I had a very pleasant ride to-day out
in the woods. We went to get wood, and we piled it up in the wagon. We had
to sit on the wood. It was very hard for the mules to drag it over the snow and
stones. The gentlemen cut the wood, and we burn it. There are four gentle-
men here. One of them is quite a young youth. They are very polite. We
get their meals for them. There are no children here. I would like a little
girl to play with. We like to look out and see the gentlemen throw sticks for
Shax to go after them. When he does not see where the stick went, then they
motion.
One day one of the gentlemen went out to shoot a rabbit. After a while he
found it and shot it and brought it home. He cut all the skin off and laid it on
the cellar door, and brought the rest of it in for mamma to cook. After a little
while I saw the cats carrying the skin off, and he ran out and pulled it away
from the cats, and hung it over the clothes-line. He gave me the skin. I put
it further on the line, and it blew down, but the cats did not touch it for I was
watching them. I put it back on the line. Then one of the gentlemen nailed it
to the shop. And the wind blew and the skin blew down. And the pig ate it up.
I found a bluebird in the snow, and I picked it up. It was dead. I asked
one of the gentlemen to cut the wings off. They are very pretty.
I like it here very much. There are trees all over the mountains. It is
more beautiful every day. The snow falls on the mountains, and the sun shines







WINTER RANCH LIFE.


on the snow, and more snow comes every day, and not so much sunshine. One
night the sky was beautiful. It was green and purple and red, and all sorts of
colors that are pretty.
I like to look at the sky when it begins to be night. After a little a star
peeps out; then it comes clear out. After a little another star comes out, and
then another until all are out, and the sky looks perfectly charming. Then the
moon comes out and shines on the snow, and there are not so many stars. It
seems to be a queer thing that when the moon shines so bright you can't see so
many stars. And I said so. And one of the gentlemen said, "Whoop-la!
Sometimes the more light you have the more you can't see! And I said,
"Why ?" And he only said, Whoop-la !"
If you were here you would tell me, wouldn't you ?
RAE.

JANUARY 4th.
When the jointed doll came to me, the head was off. I am going to have it
put on again. I have named it Johnny. Do you think Johnny is a pretty
name ? Miss Edith is my best girl. She has bangs and lovely eyes that open
and shut. Mr. Goodman gave her to me for Christmas. My dolls live in the
kitchen in the corner. They never get sick although it is so cold now we can-
not walk on the piazza. Jack Frost walks there, and spends his time making
pretty leaves and flowers and ferns all over the windows. Jack Frost is like
Santa Claus; if you should see him he wouldn't be there. That's a queer thing,
but when I said so Mr. Charles said, This world is full of queer things." And
I said, What things ?" and he said, Well, your spelling for one." And I
said, Yes, when you tell me which way the letters go! And then I was
afraid I had been impudent. I despise being impudent. It isn't polite, and
sometimes I have to go to bed for it. And I despise going to bed in the day-
time But Mr. Charles only said, "Whoop-la! This is a sad world And I
said, Why? and he said, Sometimes a ray of hope comes to me, and some-
times a(r)ray of questions." And I asked him to explain. And then mamma
called me, and we made gingerbread nuts. I am progressing in cooking. I have
helped to make tarts, and I have assisted in making cake. I have not improved
my mind much. Mr. Frederick thinks it is because I have not any mind to im-
prove. Mr. Frederick hears my lessons sometimes when I ask him to. I have
been studying out of my geography. I think it is very interesting, but I cannot
remember it. I like to read. I can remember that well enough, but my geog-
raphy I cannot remember. It is harder to get right than spelling. This is
what I do every day: I dust and keep things neat, and I help make beds
and wash dishes.
Mr. Charles is a nice boy when he wants to be, but sometimes he leaves his
things around. We very often stumble over his boots.






WINTER RANCH LIFE.


We had two pigs once. We had one pig killed, so we have only one pig now.
It runs about.
An English gentleman came here to spend two days. He keeps his mind
well improved, but he keeps his hat on in the house, and his coat needs to be
mended badly. He is some-
what pious, but not so pious
as Mr. Goodman. Mr.
Goodman has a great many
Bibles in his room, and he
prays by himself some-
Se h.w.y-;:"lr:i: S times. I think he is very
kind. He gave me Miss
: Edith. Sunday we had
prayer time, and we had
S .. singing and reading out of
the Bible. People came
here to service, and they
had to be fed. There is
not a church for twenty
miles away.
RAE.

JANUARY 21st.
I must tell you about
our dear little black puss.
.. He runs up on top of the
'"shed and sits there in a
-.way that looks very affect-
V.. ing, with his paws hang-
_-- ,..,---
e. l ing down in front, and
A" looking at me out of his
Y big, green eyes. The gray
.' cat does not seem to be.so
bright and frolicsome as
"I A IN A BEAUTIFUL PLACE.,," she used to be.
Mr. Charles shot a mag-
pie. It was black and white. A lady came up here on Sunday. She told us
that she had twenty-four pink birds. She said she was going to make a twenty-
four pink birds baked in a pie. She gave me six of the wings.
One night mamma was reading, and I asked her what she was laughing
about. She told me she was reading about Miss Knag. She had charge of the
dressmaking for a lady whose husband was not supe-rior. Miss Knag was gaudy,







WINTER RANCHl LIFE.


but not neat. I've no doubt she was not made to mend when she was young.
Gaudy means fussing, and frizzing hair, and wearing ribbons, and putting ear-
rings on, and bracelets, and finger rings. Miss Knag had a girl to help her sew.
She was very shy and quiet, not grinning, nor lolling on windows and doors to
get people to look at her, but she kept her eyes on her work. When young
men were silly, she tried to think of something she had read, so as not to smile.
Miss Knag dressed as gay when she had wrinkles as if she were rosy and plump.
It would have been better to have improved her mind, and attended to
poor folks.
Last night Mr. Charles brought a paper from England for mamma to see. It
was full of pictures. One page showed all about soldiers and their wives. One
picture was sad and silly- a drunken soldier had to be dragged out of a saloon
by his wife. I am not going to marry ever, because I do not know whether the
man will be drunk or not. I hope my time will be better spent in teaching
children than to do anything like that.
Mr. Charles has an English book with silly, funny pictures, and funny, silly
reading under them. I was going to tell you about them, but mamma says to
write something sensible instead of that bosh.
Mr. Charles is in such a hurry to go to the post-office that he sets everybody
into fidgets. He goes on horseback. He has to ride a long ways, and then the
stage comes along and he gives them the letters. Sometimes the snow is so deep
that we cannot send any.letters, and we cannot get any. The windows are so
frozen up we cannot see out of them. It is very cold here.
RAE.

FEBRUARY 6th.
The snow is still on the ground. I go to walk when the sun is shining.
It is so cold here that the cows are shivering. It is pitiful to look out and see
the poor animals standing out in the snow. They get in the shed and drive
the dog out in the cold. The little black cat is not well. I do wish there was
some way to make him well. He does not seem to agree with his food. Mr. Fred-
erick said that 'most two miles up in the sky was too near Heaven for cats to be
very happy. And I said, Why ? Wouldn't cats be happy in Heaven ?"
Mr. Frederick has a very improved mind. Mr. Charles seems to be very
fussy. He wants this and he wants that, and he don't want this and he don't
want that. Mamma gets all out of patience with him. If I had fifty boys I
would bring them up to want this and to want that. I would not allow them to
grumble over things because things do not suit them. He comes out and says,
" What are you going to have for a pudding ?" Mamma tells him. He says,
"No sugar in it ? Mamma says, No He asks her what else we are going
to have for dinner. Mamma tells him, and he smiles at her enough to say,
" That is not much of a dinner "







WINTER RANCH LIFE.


Mr. Charles is more industrious than Mr. Frederick. He stays out of doors
to make himself useful. Mr. Frederick and Mr. Charles have to be amused.
When mamma sits down to write, they come out to talk. They say: "Put up
that beastly pen, and talk to me and "0, but, I'd like to whack the cad who
stuffed my dad that it wouldn't be bad to have a thousand cattle on some hills!"
and "I'll be blowed for a duffer, if things are not going to smash like three
o'clock "
Such talk is not nice in a young youth. I'm glad we do not speak the Eng-
lish language Mos'tronary" is not right speaking, and oatmeal and molasses
is not good eating, even if they call it pawidge and trickle." Mamma cooked
a rabbit for them, and they called it juggedd hare !" And when mamma made
a jelly-cake they said, Give us some more of that jam sandwich!"
English gentlemen- seem-to be queer! .They are not like American people.
RAE.


A DEPUTATION OF BEGGARS.
































































































GRETCHEN THE IARKET-MAID.








THE ROLLICKING MASTODON.

A ROLLICKING Mastodon lived in Spain,
In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree.
His face was plain, but his jocular vein
Was a burst of the, wildest glee.
His voice was strong and his laugh so long
That people came many a mile,
And offered to pay a guinea a day
For the fractional part of a smile.
The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide-
Indeed, 'twas a matter of family pride;
And, oh! so proud of his jocular vein
Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

The Rollicking Mastodon said one day:
I feel that I need some air;
For a little ozone's a tonic for bones,
As well as a gloss for the hair."
So he skipped along and warbled a song
In his own triumphulant way.
His smile was bright and his skip was light
As he chirruped his roundelay.
The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along,
And sang what Mastodons call a song;
But every note of it seem to pain
The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

A Little Peetookle came over the hill,
Dressed up in a bollitant coat;
And he said, "You need some harroway seed,
And a little advice for your throat."
The Mastodon smiled, and said, "'My child,
There's a chance for your taste to grow.
If you polish your mind, you'll certainly find
How little, how little you know! "
The Little Peetookle, his teeth he ground
At the Mastodon's singular sense of sound;
For he felt it a sort of a musical stain
On the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.





THE ROLLICKING MASTODON.


"Alas and alas Has it come to this pass ? "
Said the Little Peetookle; Dear me !
It certainly seems your terrible screams
Intended for music must be!"
The Mastodon stopped; his ditty he dropped,
And murmured, Good-morning, my dear.
I never will sing to a sensitive thing
That shatters a song with a sneer "
The Rollicking Mastodon bade him "adieu."
Of course, 'twas a sensible thing to do;
For the Little Peetookle is spared the strain
Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.
Arthur Macy.









.-"f 94


? .


AN EFFECT IN SHADOWS.








FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.
(First Paper.)

THE BRIDGE THAT SPANNED THE WORLD.

O NE day, in years long gone by, an anxious-faced
stranger walked the streets of Cordova. The
old Moorish capital was now a Spanish city. The king
and queen of Spain held there both court and camp;
-upon the palace of the caliphs floated the flag of Spain;
--- -. -, above the buttressed tower of the mosque of a thou-
A MULETEER. sand columns, which the pious Caliph Abderrahman
long before had built, gleamed now the golden cross.
From palace to cathedral, from camp to court, the anxious-faced stranger
wandered, and men said he was a foolish Genoese sailor with some absurd idea
about finding Cathay, the land of gold and spices.
But one day, suddenly, the camp and court of King Ferdinand and Queen
Isabella broke away from Cordova and set themselves before the walls of
Granada, the last unconquered city of the Moors.
Thither the stranger followed it; there again did he renew his solicitations
and his pleas. And how at last he succeeded we all know. For that anxious-
faced waiter upon royalty at the Spanish court and camp was Christopher
Columbus, the Genoese.
Three years ago, as Commissioner for the Columbian Exhibition, I went to
Spain to study the beginnings of American history. The central figure of that
history is Christopher Columbus. I shall ask you to now revisit with me all the
most important places identified with the great Genoese after he became in-
teresting as the man with a purpose. From Cordova to Cathay, we shall follow
him. We shall take him at the outset of his career of discovery and follow him
to the end. I am, you will see, assuming that Columbus is the hero of America's
initial appearance upon the stage of history. In doing this I do not deny the
great Norsemen anything; I only assert that the Italian made his discovery
known, while the first visitors did not; and through Columbus the way Was
opened whereby America was peopled with those who brought with them the
blessings of civilization.
In the last decade of the fifteenth century Spain's star was in the ascendant.
Following-the successive invasions of the Phoenicians, the Carthaginians, the Van-
dals and the Goths, came the Moors, at the opening of the eighth century.
Gothic power terminated with the fall of Roderick, the last Gothic king, who
was overwhelmed beneath the Moorish flood that poured across from Africa.





FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


For nearly seven hundred years the Moors possessed the better part of Spain;
they built mosques and palaces; they intended that their descendants should
possess this fair land forever. They gave to Spain a distinctive people and
oriental forms of speech and of architecture. The Moorish invasion had been
almost miraculous in its wide-spread conquests; but finally came the time when
they, too, must succumb, and to the prowess of Northern arms. Down from the
mountains of the north, from the Asturias and Pyrenees, swept the Castilian
armies, wave after wave, until the soil and cities the Africans had won with so
much bloodshed were wrested from them, and the conflict of centuries culmi-
nated, in 1492, in the fall of Granada and the expulsion of the Moors from Spain.
Toward the close of the fifteenth century, the only strongholds remaining to the
Moors lay in Andalusia, the southernmost section of Spain. This section is called
by the Spaniards, because of
its delightful climate, its fruit-
ful fields and its natural ad-
vantages as a dwelling-place
for man, La Tierra de Maria
Santissima -" land of the
most Sacred Virgin."
When at last the union of
Isabella and Ferdinand joined
Sgthe forces of Aragon and
Castile, then appeared pos-
sible the long-deferred, long
hoped-for scheme of univer-
sal conquest and the ultimate
S. expulsion of the Moors from
Spanish territory. The most
THE MOSQUE OF A THOUSAND COLUMNS," CORDOVA. fascinating episodes of that






them the watchful sentinels flashed blazing signal-fires at the appearance of
the enemy.
Even to-day these towers may be seen in various places, lone and solitary
landmarfinals, useless now around the fruitful valleys they were built to guwarfare oc-
Centuries have slipped by since the beautiful Vega or great plain of Granada, and from their summit-
surrounding it.




Standing conspicuously upon every hill-crest overlookincay. One such atalayare the
rose above the Hill of Elvira, always visible watch-towers. These from they called their atalaa sunset, a blackfrom
them the watchful sentinel against the brilliant sky. This tower sign-fi took a the objective point of
the enemy.
Even to-day these towers may be seen in various places, lone and solitary
landmarks, useless now around the fruitful valleys they were built to guard.
Centuries have slipped by since the danger signals flamed from their summit-
platforms, and they are now fast going to ruin and decay. One such atalaya
rose above the Hill of Elvira, always visible from the Alhambra at sunset, a black
sentinel against the brilliant sky. This tower I took as the objective point of





FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


my first foray. One May morning, attended by the gardener Jose, whom I had
engaged as my guide, I left the quaint cottage in old Granada, where I had
taken lodging, crossed the beautiful grove of elms to the Alhambra, and thence
down the Darro, through the half-sleeping city of Granada, seeking the distant
hills. Had I but the time and space I
should like to tell of the beauties of the
palace we left behind, and the elm grove
in which I have heard the nightingales .
singing at midnight, as well as the golden-
sanded Darro, down the right bank of <..
which we strolled until it took its last ;
plunge beneath the arches that span it "* '..' .: ,
and finally hide it from view beneath the '' :. -
77* THE ATALAYA OF ARBOLOTE.
vivarambla- the favorite rambling-place I(Oer ATALng Granada.)
(Overlooking Granada.)
of the Moors. It was delightfully cool in
the grove, where the birds were twittering preparatory to their matin music,
and until we were well out upon the plain beyond Granada we did not feel the
heat of the sun.
Three hours later we were reclining at the foot of the tower, which is locally
known as the Atalaya of Arbolote, and from which we had a view outspread that
rewarded us for our long and somewhat dusty walk. Nearly all the Vega lay un-
rolled before us. At our feet lay the remains of the old Roman Illora, dating from
a period near the birth of Christ; beyond, Granada, dark in the valley, with the
Hill of the Sun, crowned by the Al-
hambra, above it; and still beyond,
-" "'y' ':'"'' the shining crests of the Sierra Ne-
S- '-'_ ,- ...". vada, broadly breasting the sun

S- -" like silver shields new-burnished for display."

i-. As in the time of Columbus, so it
is now: smiling plain, dark masses of
,. olive-trees, silver threads of streams
A DISTANT VIEW OF SANTA FE. coursing emerald meadows, frowning
battlements capping the Alhambra
hill, and glistening snow-peaks lying against the sky. Columbus saw all this,
and though he has left no description of the scene, its beauty did impress him,
for in his voyagings through the island-dotted seas, over which we shall follow
him, he constantly recurs to the charms of Andalusia.
But Granada and the Alhambra we have left behind; before us, seen in the
distance far across the beautiful Vega, lies a city seldom visited by strangers,
a city sleeping in the memories of the past, and with no tie connecting it with
the present. It is Santa F6, the City of the Holy Faith.






FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


Four centuries ago and two years more, the armies of Isabella and Ferdi-
nand had advanced their line of conquest to the mountain-wall around the Vega.
One after another, the Moorish towns and cities had fallen before the implacable
Ferdinand: Zahara, Antequera, Alhama, Loxa, Illora, Moclin; until, in 1490,
Granada stood alone, isolate, crippled, yet
... proudly defiant.
M... t.- In April, 1491, the Spanish army,
S.. : horse and foot, fifty thousand strong,
.: poured over the hills and into the Vega,
intrenching themselves upon the site of
-- "Santa F6. It was a situation strategically
important, in the center of the plain.
s se ALoAMBRA Granada lay full in sight before them.
(As seen oser the roofs of Granada.) Granad
Where to-day rise the towers of its great
cathedral, the minaret of a Moslem mosque towered skyward, and from its
summit the Muezzin called the faithful to prayers: Allah il Allah! Great
God! Great God! There is none but the one God! Come to prayer! Come
to prayer It is better to pray than to sleep "
So near were the soldiers of Ferdinand to the object of their desires that
they could almost hear the summoning cry of the Muezzin. Upon the site of
the fortified camp, which was first of tents, then huts of wood and stone, was
founded in the year 1492 the royal war-town of Santa F4. It may be seen, as I
saw it that hot day in May, 1888, scarcely
lifting itself above and beyond broad fields
of barley, wheat and alfalfa.
A semi-somnolent city is Santa F6, com- '
pletely walled about, with most picturesque
gates facing the cardinal points. If the :
term dead-and-alive may be applied to -: --
any place, it certainly may be to this. l -' -
Yet its history is interesting, and no -
student of the conquest of Granada can ----= "" ...
afford to pass it by without at least a THE CITY GATE OF SANTA FE.
peep into its past. Although we are deal-
ing with Columbus, yet we may not neglect the historical accessories that
make his story worth the telling. A hundred books, at least, in this Columbian
year, will tell the tale of his life and adventures, but will only repeat what is
already familiar to all, until the reader and the listener will weary of Columbus.
Hence it is to avoid the cyclopedic and biographic I shall aim, and shall present
the unfamiliar scenes of his adventures as viewed by myself.' Since a multitude
of writers are already on the search, hunting the victim from the cradle to the
grave, we will not join in, but will lie quietly in ambush; perchance we may






FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


gain glimpses'of the great man unawares. So I will claim the privilege of
digressing a bit, merely to relate one of those exciting encounters that took
place while the army was encamped at Santa Fe, and which, while it enlivened
the monotony of camp life, kept up the spirits of the men.
Among the fiercest of the caballeros in command under the Spanish king, as
the army lay before Granada, was, the historians tell us, Hernando del Pulgar.
Casting about one day for an opportunity to distinguish himself, he espied the
city gate of Granada but negligently guarded. Galloping through it, he some-
how evaded the Moorish sentinels and penetrated even to the great mosque
in the center of the city. Losing not a moment, he dashed up to the door
and with his poniard there affixed a bit of wood with the Ave Maria printed on
it. Then he wheeled about and darted through the gateway with great clat-
ter of hoof and clank of
weapon, and, hurling cries
of defiance at the astonished
Moors, escaped with a whole
skin to the camp.
The Moors at first were
puzzled to account for this
foray; but when they finally
found the Ave Maria pinned
against the great door of the
mosque, they were beside
themselves with rage. And
the next day an immense
Moor, Yarfe, one of the
most powerful and renowned
of the Moslem warriors, in-
solently paraded before the THE HEAD OF THE MOOR, AT SANTA -E.
Christian host with the sa-
cred emblem attached to the tail of his horse and dragging in the dust. At the
same time he defied all the cavaliers, or any one of them, to meet him in single
combat before the assembled armies.
Now, Ferdinand had forbidden any of his nobles to engage in this manner
with the Moors, because their cavaliers were better horsemen, more skilled in
the feats of the tourney. They generally came off victorious from such en-
counters, thus greatly weakening the esprit de corps of the Spanish host.
But this insult to the Christian religion could not be borne, and the cavaliers
all burned to avenge it. A fiery young Castilian, Garcilasso de la Vega, rushed
before Isabella and importuned her to allow him to defend the holy faith against
this pagan Moor and rescue the Ave Maria from further defilement.
I1er permission reluctantly granted, he armed himself completely and went






FROM CORDOVA 10 CATHAY.


forth to meet the Moslem. Yarfe was almost twice his size, and was mounted in
a superior manner. And yet, notwithstanding the apparent odds against him,
young Garcilasso killed the boastful Moor, rescued the sacred emblem, and laid
the head of his adversary at the feet of Isabella.
The site of this memorable encounter and the spot where Isabella sat to
witness it, are marked by a great stone cross protected by an artistic canopy.
Subsequently a church was erected in Santa Fe, in which to-day the sacristan
can show you a silver lamp presented by Isabella; but the strangest thing about
this church stands between its two great towers. At a distance it resembles a
large kite, but nearer view discloses it as a memento of that stirring episode of
the siege of Granada. The marble head of the vanquished Moor, of heroic size,
lies placidly between the towers, and above him rises the lance, or an effigy of
it, used to slay him, flanked with palm leaves and across them the precious
placard of the Ave Maria.
Thus, everywhere in Spain, are we reminded of the days of chivalry and
romance, and the scenes of the distant past are brought vividly before us.

But at the door of Isabella's silken tent another hero stands awaiting royal
favor. He asks no boon of her; he does but seek her aid to carry out his
schemes of conquest; he craves permission, like Garcilasso, to enter the lists
against the infidel.
The Moors are conquered, but mayhap' there are other pagans, in the world
unknown beyond the sea. He, Columbus, with the aid of his sovereigns and
by the grace of God, would go forth single-handed to battle for the faith.
It is the month of January, 1492. Briefly the story of Granada's downfall
may be told. That month Granada capitulated, and the last stronghold of Islam
in Europe passed from the Moors forever. The year that saw the star of Spain
in the ascendant was the birth-year, also, of the history of civilization in America.
The two great events are coeval; for as the Star of the Orient sank toward
Africa, the Star of the Occident rose upon the horizon. The same year that
witnessed the greatest victory of the Spaniards, by which their nation was
advanced at the time to the foremost place on earth, likewise beheld the open-
ing of a career of conquest in unknown regions, the magnitude of which the
imagination fails to grasp. And it was to come about through the genius of an
obscure, almost unknown, individual, humbly waiting his sovereigns' pleasure at
Santa Fe. Here in this city of the camp, American history had its beginnings;
here the crucial -test was applied that decided for all time the fate of millions of
human beings across the ocean, and changed the character of Spain and her peo-
ple. Her victories hitherto had been on land; for centuries she had been en-
gaged in wresting from the infidel her own lost territory; foot by foot, year by
year, until at last the great work was accomplished. Now, before their wearied sol-
diers had recovered breath, while their arms were yet tired with wielding the






FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.

sword, while the blood of their slain was still fresh upon their weapons, the
Spanish sovereigns were again importuned by this Genoese adventurer.
Little wonder that Ferdinand grew impatient and Isabella wearied of his
plea. In the light of their own unsurpassed achievement, when even the
Pope hastened to congratulate them upon their unqualified success in ridding
Europe of the hated Moslems, the schemes of this Unknown must have appeared
ridiculous. The wonder is that they should have maintained him, idle, persis-


*~ ..* *i*


-, -*.


THE BRIDGE OF PINES.
(Here the royal courier overtook Columbus and turned him back to the discovery of America.)

tent, an attendant upon their camps for years, from Cordova to Granada. At
last, he had gone away disheartened, but he had returned again at the solicitations
of Juan Perez, the queen's old confessor, and at the instance of Isabella herself.
He had returned as persistent, as calmly confident of ultimate success from some
quarter, as before. He abated no jot or particle of his ridiculous demands; he
wanted ships and caravels, sailors, provisions, munitions, articles for barter; he
demanded that he be made Admiral of the Ocean Sea and Viceroy over the re-
gions discovered; that he be granted the privileges of- the aristocracy, and one
tenth of the revenue of the yet undiscovered country; in truth there seemed no


-' :I~~E~i~c~- :i:'


i"'i~!

~~ji7


,






FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


limit to his demands. And this from an unknown man whose only claims were
to possessions yet to be possessed nothing more nor less than veritable
" Castles in Spain !"
Perhaps, if the serious queen ever did take a humorous view of a situation,
she may have seen the funny side of this magniloquent proposition and have
yielded at last out of sheer weariness.
At first, however, notwithstanding the
urgent solicitations of her respected con-
S_ fessor, Isabella could not bring herself to
accept the terms of Columbus, and he de-
.- parted again, this time fully resolved to
"- abandon Spain entirely. But he was not
;: to do so, for he had not accomplished
-t more than two leagues of his journey back
..- to the Convent of La Rabida before he
was overtaken by a messenger from Isa-
GATEWAY AND TURRET AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE bella, promising acquiescence to his de-
BRIDGE OF PINES.
mands. Whether or not the queen did
this of her own volition, or whether her treasurer, Santangel, offered to find
the requisite money for the outlay, or whether she proffered the pledge of her
j.\i-l, areiii., ,-i- fi, the hi-t,,i.,i to settle.
Thus far the historians seem to be all at sea," and makes this or that state-
ment based more upon his prejudices than on any actual knowledge he possesses
of historical facts. The chances are that,
since they were probably already pledged, |
Ibabella did not offer to pledge her jewels i
to aid in furnishing the sinews of war for.
the siege of Granada. '
But let it suffice that she promised _. .
assistance, and, once embarked in the en-
terprise, gave the future admiral both ''_ '' '
pecuniary and moral support. All the more '.' .-
creditable is this to Isabella, since it was -.-
done at a time when the royal treasury
THE GRANITE CROSSES OF ZUlUIA.
had been completely exhausted by the (Where Isabella escaped from the oor.
drafts upon it for the Moorish wars, and
when she might have been supposed to be already sated with the glory of
conquest and not anxious for further adventures.
The place at which the royal courier overtook Columbus has been preserved
in tradition ever since; it is pointed out to-day with unerring finger. He had
reached a river flowing through the Vega, spanned then as now by a bridge,
known as the "Bridge of Pines." It is locally known as Pinos puente, and






FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


was the object of another little journey by Jose and myself, after we had visited
and I had photographed Santa F6. We had noted it from our eyrie at the
atalaya tower, and one day, through seas of scarlet and crimson poppies, we had
descended to the valley of the bridge. The Bridge of Pines is picturesque
as well as historic; it is a creditable monument to the artisans who erected it,
and-to the great event that here took place. Even though the discussions took
place at Santa Fe, still this spot may be looked upon as the one at which the


THE TAKING OF MOCLIN.
(From a carving on the choir-stall of Toledo Cathedral.)

Columbian career was opened as the turning of the tide in his fortunes as
well as the turning-point in his journey. For this reason, and in view of the
far-reaching consequences of this departure, I have chosen to call this Pinos
puente, the "Bridge that Spanned the World." It is a structure of stone and
masonry, with a gateway and a turret, spanning the stream over two high
arches, and is nearly always a scene of busy life.
Jose and I rambled along the banks and climbed the hill above, where are
the remains of an ancient Moorish fort, finally resting at a meson where the
simple folk served us quite cheerfully with coarsest fare the best they had.






FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


Another trip on another day was to Moclin, on the outer verge of the Vega,
where the Moorish fortifications are exactly as left after being battered by the
cannon of King Ferdinand in the year previous to the fall of Granada. Among
the wood carvings around the silleria, or choir-stalls, of Toledo cathedral, is
one depicting the taking of Moclin ; the whole siege of Granada, in fact, is there
illustrated.
At other times we visited successively Loxa, Illora and Zubia, at which last
place Isabella suffered a narrow escape from the Moors, and where a group of
great granite crosses marks a religious station or shrine. Granada and its en-
virons present a field for exploration to the enthusiastic student of history,
whether he be interested in the closing
-- ...scenes of Moorish domination, the life of
Sp--.- Fi-,;.,.l and Isabella, or the dawning
'.- ''" of American history. Around Columbus,
f' however, cluster the associations of Santa
S Fe and of the Bridge of Pines, at the
.:.:::,..: "-:; A-.. opening of this drama of the siege of Gra-
nada; thence he followed the court as
i.' -- it advanced to take possession of the
-- -city. Tradition relates, with an air of
MY GARDEN IN GRANADA. authenticity, that in the Alhambra itself
Columbus was a visitor a while, and that
he walked gloomily its marble corridors while the issue of his voyage was
pending. According to the 1p.Ihit lkin.- historian, a memorable interview be-
tween him and his royal master and mistress took place in the Hall of Justice,
the Sala de la Justicia, or Sala del Tribunal. It bounds one side of the famous
" Court of the Lions," is seventy-five feet long, and is most profusely, yet
delicately ornamented, while the vista down its mosaic pavement is : i, nr.-inii.
in its beauty. Tiles and inscriptions are on every side, and a lovely latticed
window ',ini.-.uy just a hint of a perfumed 'I nl.-'u beyond. Here, did the
swart Moors recline and dream away the noontide hours ; here the stern caliphs
sat, and here, so it is said, Isabella received Columbus.
During a month of delightful i1:,--. I dwelt within the garden walls of an
Eden-like retreat in Granada, sallying out upon excursions as narrated; wan-
dering through the Alhambra by moonlight and by -1 .li.-J-l11. and weaving about
the departed Moors, the Christian conquerors and Columbus himself, the tissue
of a fabric I have herein attempted to unfold for my readers' entertainment.
Frederick A. Ober.










A HEATHEN MISSIONARY.
(Lines on a Japanese Doll.)

IN a vase on my mantel he stands, looking down;
Stands, said I ? He hangs securely
By a hairpin, hooked in the belt of his gown,
To hold him firmly, surely,
To the vase's rim; neathh his dangling feet
A porcelain abyss yawns steepy,
Yet he looks on the world with a gaze most sweet,
Calm, bland, but never sleepy.

I first beheld him chez Vantine,
'Mid divers dolls Oriental ;
The wisest face among ninety and nine,
All placid, wise and gentle.
By a 1r.- .- -1i' bit of modern pelf-
A sordid silver quarter -
I won a sage to my mantel-shelf,
And daily I bless the barter.


I keep him there enpulpited,
(" Enthroned has too worldly a seeming)
With his wide-sleeved, open arms outspread,
In mild benevolence beaming.
To the sky-blue top of his black-fringed pate,
He bears the subtle aroma
Of an antique race and an ancient date;
Oh toy were a sad misnomer.


Not his a simpering, soulless face,
Like doll from frivolous Paris,
Nor like the round-eyed ruddy grace
The German girl-child carries.
Too humble he the babe to calm,
Who cries for glare and glitter;
His sapient smile has mystic balm
For grown-up folk that's fitter.






A HEATHEN MISSIONARY.



I. ..a ,_..jh ,-- n_.




._^ -:' .-,---"... "















JAPPY, THE SAIT."
S..L







I c h hs g i p ho












"JAPPY, THE SA T."


, I catch his glance in passing, how













He smiles down on my hurry!
I smile response, and straight my heart
Beats lighter for the smiling.
Jappy, my household saint thou art,
Gracious, benign, beguiling
Gracious, benign, beguiling !






A HEATHEN MISSIONARY.


'Tis true thy garb is coarse and quaint,
Thy locks are stiff and scrappy,
Thy lip's sweet curves too red with paint,
And yet thou mak'st me happy.
I love thy scorn of worldly gear;
Thy smile's the flower of the ages.
Now foolish fret shall flee from here -
We'll both of us be sages.

Mayhap some esoteric saint,
Thy old sires cultivated
In lands and centuries far and faint,
To thee has transmigrated.
So, Jappy, lean down from thy place
With smile serene and gentle,
And preach the charm of a placid face
To at least one Occidental.
Mary McL. Watson.


A DAUGHTER OF THE PURITANS.






























































































A LONG-EARED PET.
























A MORNING CALL.


OME, little master!
Open wide the door.
Here's a time for joy and fun,
Here's a time to bark and run -
Such a sky and such a sun never were before !
All the boughs are dancing on the shining trees,
All the clouds are dancing with the dancing breeze,
Life and sport and sparkle seem to bound and leap -
Don't you hear them calling? Are you still asleep ?
Listen to the music by the sleigh-bells played;
Look at all the snow-balls waiting to be made;
Think of shouts and tumbles, laughs and barks and noise
All the happy tumult dear to dogs and boys !
Come, little master,
Can you still delay ?
Here are two who wait for you
Let us off to play!

Come, little master!
Till we see your face,
Something that we long for seems
Dim and distant as in dreams,
Something fair and kindly lacks in the morning's grace.
It may be the kind hand with its gentle touch,
It may be the brown eyes that we love so much;





MAMSEY'S GIGLIO SPOON.


It may be the glad voice sounding clear and true -
It is something, master, that belongs to you.
And until we see it, here we sit and wait
Though the world is calling and the day is late,
Though the world is calling, and the way is clear,
Waiting for our comrade still we linger here.
Come, little master!
Wherefore now delay?
Playmates true are here for you,
Prithee, come away!
M. E. B.







MAMSEY'S GIGLIO SPOON.

AMSEY is making a collection of souvenir spoons.
-- She picked up the first one herself last year in
SSienna at the time of the famous medieval festa.
It bears the design of the fabulous Roman wolf
with the twins, this being the device of Sienna.
When Mamsey asked why, she received the
Svague response: Sienna is the younger sister of
i Rome." But later she read that Senio, son of
Remus, flying from the wrath of his Uncle Romu-
lus, stopped where Sienna now stands and built
THE GIGLIO, EMBEM OF FLORENCE. himself a castle." The city which grew up about
the castle adopted the family device La Lipa," as the Siennese say.
Mamsey proudly displayed the pretty ricordo to the children at home,
giving to each one sip of truly tea" out of its golden bowl. The second spoon
came from Venice and bore, not a gondola's prow as many of them do, but the
winged and ringed lion of St. Mark's. The third was sent from Munich by
Lady Gay, its design being the Miinchenes Kind," the little monk from whom
the city is called; as, Miinchen or Munich.
The fourth was a Florentine specialty, a minute copy of the grotesque Diav-
olino made long ago by Gian of Bologna for the palace of the Vecchietti.
Now, alas! the palace has been torn down owing to the mad modern passion for
straight streets and right angles which is causing the ruthless destruction of
historic landmarks both in Florence and Rome. The quaint bronze imp, which





MAMSEY'S GIGLIO SPOON.


for three centuries grinned over the mercantile transactions of the Old Market,
was to have been placed in the National Museum; but therd is a rumor that it
has been sold out of Italy.
Mamsey's fifth spoon came as a Christmas gift from Rome, bearing, as it
needs must, the Roman wolf and the Roman twins. Somewhat longer and
larger and heavier than the spoon of Sienna, befitting the superior grandeur of
the Eternal City and her condescending acknowledgment of Sienna as a younger
sister.
The sixth was a tiny bit of elegance from Paris, tipped with transparent
colored stones which, held against the light, was suggestive of a stained glass
window. Reading upon the pasteboard box the name of Tiffany," gave
Mamsey the sensation as of walking down Broadway.
Six pretty spoons and a story about each one of them.
Sunday evenings at tea the children were each allowed to use one as an
historically-artistic treat.
But now comes our little Folly's inspiration.
One morning early he appeared at Mamsey's bedside.
Mamsey," he said, please tell me when your birthday will be. I know it
comes in March but which day, please ? "
Mamsey had been making up her mind to discard birthdays, so she answered
whimsically :
"I've decided not to have one this year! "
Not have a birthday, Mamsey!" cried the child, with widening eyes.
" Why, how can you help it?"
Mamsey smiled.
I've thought of a way," she said. You see, dear, I've had so many of
them; one every year for such a long time. One may weary of anything. I
shall halve mine and discount them after this."
Mamsey laughed to herself, but the boy persisted.
Please tell me, Mamsey !"
Mamsey reflected as though over an abstruse problem.
After all, I may as well submit to one more not to disappoint you. It will
be on the twentieth, Folly."
Two days later Mamsey found a note in her work-basket. It was written
with a stubby lead pencil in big blurred letters on a scrap of wrapping paper.

PRECIOUS MAMSEY :
Didn't you say once that I might walk into Florence some day all alone? When you let me go I would
like to take my ten francs with me if you will let me. The ten francs that the Princess May gave me for
Christmas. I would rather not tell you for what I want the ten francs. Will you let me take the ten
francs? It is very necessary for me to take the ten francs. I can go alone because it is only as far as the
Via Tornabuoini.
Your Affectionate Son,
FOLLY.





MAMSEY'S GIGLIO SPOON.


Now Mamsey is gifted with powers of divination and she smiled to herself.
-'It will be a giglio spoon a birthday gift for me she divined. She called
the boy and said:
"Now, my dear little Folly, I will let you have your ten francs and
walk to Florence -but not alone. You are too small to spend ten francs by
yourself. You would be sure to buy something you would not care for. I will
ask Herr August to take you; will that do, Folly? The boy was delighted.
And you will not ask me for why, Mamsey? "
No, dear, I will not ask you for why."
Herr August, the children's friend, smiled over Mamsey's divination and
entered into the spirit of Folly's surprise, as only Herr August could. One day
Mamsey took her trio to the Bargello, that stern old prison-palace of the Middle
Ages which is now transformed into the National Museum.
They looked in vain for the Diavolino and paused before the exquisite
bronze of Mercury by Gian of Bologna.
"Why, he made also the Diavolino !" exclaimed Bonnie, for the Florentine
imp is her favorite spoon.
"Yes;" echoed Don, "and the big green statue, of Cosimo I., in the
Piazza della Signoria."
Mamsey pointed out the winged cap and sandals of the Mercury, and bade
them observe the delicate poise of the figure which seems about to spring into
the air and wing its untrammeled way far up above the clouds. Then to im-
press the aerial god upon the childish minds, Mamsey added: One of the
Florentine spoons bears this flying Mercury."
Bonnie instantly nudged Folly with a vigorous elbow.
"A Mercury spoon, a Mercury spoon! she whispered.
Be quiet! shrieked Folly ; she will hear you."
Mamsey's face was marvelously impassive, but that evening she said to Herr
August: Folly will wish to buy a Mercury spoon, but please do not let him
spend more than his ten francs."
Thus the day caine when Folly trudged off to town in his dainty white
flannel sailor suit with the ten francs tucked safely away in his breast pocket.
Herr August met him at the square of San Marco, and changed the trip into a
treat by giving him cakes and chocolate at what Don calls a sweet shop."
Then but why tell where they went ? Mamsey divined, but she did not
follow.
For a week to come the five children kept the secret bravely. Only Laddie,
the scamp, confided to Mamsey -
"Folly bringed you a buful 'poon "
And Lella asked again and again; "What me give you for you birfday,
Mamsey? "
March twentieth came all too quickly. After thirty, birthdays are so will-





MAMSEY'S GIGLIO SPOON.


ingly skipped. It proved that Folly's inspiration had spread through the family
in a way Mamsey had failed to divine.
Laddie and Lell came first with their offerings bookmarks. Laddie's was
blue and Lell's was rose because she is a bit of a rosebud herself.
Object-blind folk might have seen only two colored cardboard slips with a
pearly hand at the end of each, and along whose length meandered the modern
legend: Pear's Soap. Insures a Skin Like Ivory."
But Mamsey saw two dainty birthday gifts from loving baby hearts. Bonnie
had worked day and night over an embroidered tea-cloth which she now pre-
sented wrapped in the folds of Garva's latest newspaper.
Best and last appeared a slender package of soft white tissue-paper, upon
which was written: For my precious darling Mamsey."
Mamsey made big eyes; she was never so surprised in her life. Slowly she
unrolled the soft tissue to find the prettiest of silver spoons with a golden bowl,
twisted stem and device of the Florentine giglio.
Now, Folly knows that Mamsey loves the giglio, emblem of Florence, the
fair flower city. It is a conventionalized lily, or rather iris, such as spring wild
and free upon the meadows and hills about Florence. Even before the old, old
days of the Florentine Republic, the blue iris and the deep red lilies of the fields
had bestowed upon the old walled town the appellation that is hers to-day, the
" Lily City." Mamsey promised to use the giglio spoon for her very special
own," whereupon all the younglings jumped about the room in delight. All
but Don whose face was overcast.
"I only have nothing to give. I-did not think of it. Why should the others
think always and never I? I should love to give you something, Mamsey."
It was so like our moony Don. His voice trembled and his throat choked
with the big lump we all find so hard to swallow. Mamsey smiled at him.
Let me tell you, Don; I bought myself a new inkstand the other day. A
red one with a lid that clicks. You might make me a present of it. It is
stupid to buy things for one's self. The inkstand shall be your gift to me."
Don's face grew suddenly radiant.
Oh! I'm so glad, Mamsey. Besides, it is useful, 'specially for you.
After writing, Mamsey will refresh herself with a cup of tea served on my
tea-cloth," said Bonnie.
And sip her tea with the giglio spoon," chirruped Folly, with a flourish of
two hilarious heels in the air so very expressive that it left nothing more to
be said.
Jean Porter Rudd.





























THE CHORAL.
(From a Painting by Walther Firle.)


CHRISTMAS TIDE!

C HRISTMAS tide is a time of cold,
Of weathers bleak and of winds ablow;
Never a flower -fold on fold
Of grace and beauty tops the snow
Or breaks the black and bitter mold.

And yet 'tis warm -for the chill and gloom
Glow with love and with childhood's glee;
And yet 'tis sweet with the rich perfume
Of sacrifice and of charity.
Where are flowers more fair to see ?

Christmas tide, it is warm and sweet:
A whole world's heart at a Baby's feet!
Richard Burton.















WI


THE PASSING OF THE SHEEP.

AT a very early hour one September morning in Florence, I was aroused to
semi-consciousness by a most unusual noise, and, as I lay half-asleep, I felt
as though I ought to arise and investigate the cause of it. A sudden horror
came over me that something was. wrong with the steam pipes, but quickly
followed the remembrance that I was in Italy, where we have no such dis-
turbers of. the domestic peace. Still the strange noise beat upon my ears, and
finally sounded like the tinkling of many small bells in the dim distance.
I was just settling myself for one more nap, feeling sure that the strange


~7. E-:,e7
Jk






THE PASSING OF THE SHEEP.


sound was beyond my province, when the bleating of a sheep brought me
quickly to my senses, and I remembered to have heard that at this season the
shepherds come down from the mountains with their flocks, to take them to the
warmer plains below. So I hastily aroused the sleeping children, who only
needed the word "lambs to make them broad awake, and we flew to the
windows, and lo 1 what a sight was there.
The whole street and sidewalk below, as far as we could see in either direc-
tidn, was filled with a moving mass. Hundreds and thousands of sheep and
lambs; flocks following each other in quick succession, with only room enough
between for the shepherd, who always leads his sheep with a big crook. The
indispensable green umbrella is always over one shoulder, and he is generally
carrying one or more tiny lambkins in his arms.
There was no trouble with refractory sheep racing off in the wrong direction;
all were content and happy to follow their beloved shepherds, at whose sides
trotted the faithful dogs (the friends, and not tormentors of the sheep), and
the big leaders of the flocks, that wore the bells. It was the tinkling of these
hundreds of bells that had aroused me so early. Never shall I forget that
strange, weird sound as it rose and fell on the early morning air.
These numerous flocks of sheep pass through the city twice a year in the
spring, when they leave the warm lowlands around Perugia for the Northern
mountains, and in autumn, when the frosty air drives them back to the plains.
And as they must pass through the cities on their way, they are obliged to
linger outside the city walls until all business in the streets is suspended, when
the night guards open the ponderous gates and allow them to pass through.
It was an impressive sight to see those hundreds of sheep following their
leaders so happily, and spoke volumes for the friendly relations existing between
them, and contrasted strongly with the remembrance I had of sheep driven by
men and chased by dogs, until the poor frightened creatures did not know which
way they ought to go.
Then came home to me with a new force and beauty the familiar words of
Jesus, descriptive of the good shepherd :
"And he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them; and the sheep
follow him, for they know his voice."
Belle Spalding.

























THE PILOT OF THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.

JACK WINTER burst into the cheery New England kitchen with a wild
whoop. It was Friday afternoon; the next day was Saturday, and Jack
was going fishing.
Gran'ther Green, with his great iron-bound spectacles, sat in his own particu-
lar corner reading the Cape Cod Item. The Widow Winter was frying dough-
nuts, and several little Winters were grouped around her with an air of
expectation.
What's that parcel, Jack?" inquired the widow from her place at the
frying-pan.
"Oh! that ?" said Jack. That's a chart; Captain Seth Mallow lent it to
me. He's teaching me navigation, you know. It's a chart of Nantucket and
the 'Vineyard' and the 'Cape.' It's got everything down on it, but it ain't
half right. Old Man' Shoal is about two miles out, and there ain't any' slue' in
Point Rip, and lots of things are wrong; but then, some of those Government fel-
lows made it a long time ago, and of course it ain't natural they should know as
much about these waters as we do. And, mother, I'm going fishing to-morrow
- going before daylight so as to catch the tide; 'Hunk' Coffin's going with
me; the mackerel are running like everything on the Rip,' and I'll bring back
a barrelful, or my name's not Jack Winter."
Jack was a Nantucketer, a Nantucketer born and bred. Most of his life had
been spent on the little island, and like all the rest of the male inhabitants he
was as nearly amphibious as it is possible for a human being to be; land or
water, it was all the same to him; he was equally at home on either element.
He knew just the place on Maddequet to lie and wait in the early spring for
































































"WHAT'S THAT PARCEL, JACK?" INQUIRED THE WIDOW.







THE PILOT OF THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.


the brant as they passed over on their northern journey, and every foot pond"
among the hills where the black duck settled in the winter twilight.
Probably few who read this story have ever been on the quaint little island.
You may visit it if you like, for now it is quite a famous summer resort; but
you can never see it as Jack saw it. In the old town electric lights sputter
on the corners, and the tinkling bells of the street-car and the whistle of the
locomotive mingle with the roar of the surf at S'conset. Even the moorlands
where Jack used to hunt plover seem to have changed.
Jack had been to Boston once, and once to Halifax in his uncle's brig, but
that was the extent of his travels; his world was a small one, but what there was
of it he knew thoroughly, in spite of his youth. He was a little over sixteen
then, and there were few better pilots over the dangerous shoals from Gay Head
to Monomoy.
Of course he wanted to go to sea; in the old days no self-respecting Nan-
tucket maiden would have thought of marrying a man who had not made at
least one whaling voyage; but his mother had so far managed to keep him
at home.
Get your education' first," said Gran'ther. Edication first if you ever
want to be a master."
And so Jack had bided his time.
Sometimes he would steal into the parlor, a funny little room in the front of
the house that was kept closed and darkened except on occasions of great cere-
mony, and take down from the hook over the mantel an old navy sword with
which he would lunge fiercely at the prim, straight-backed chairs and the shiny
horse-hair sofa.
It was his father's sword; the sword of a gallant young seaman who had sailed
to the war with Farragut and never returned.
The widow, too, sometimes slipped into the parlor to look at the sword.
Maybe she did so on this night, after all the rest of the household had gone to
bed, and if the visit brought a momentary sigh I am sure it was changed to a
smile when she peeped into Jack's room, where he and Hunk were snoring in
unison beneath the bedclothes; for, stretched from the bed and out of the window
into the -.., r.-:n was a stout piece of cod-line. The inner end was tied to Jack"s toe,
and old Seth Williams, when he went to pull his lobster pots at three o'clock in
the morning, had agreed to give the other end a good "yank" as he passed by.

It was pitch dark when the boys emerged from the house, that hour which
the proverb -iy.- is the darkest, the one just before dawn. Jack's toe ached a
little from the energetic pul1,', but his spirits were high.
A short walk brought them to the wharf, and in a few moments they were
embarked in Jack's old weather-beaten cat-boat.
She's pretty well used up, ain't she, Jack ? remarked Hunk.






THE PILOT OF THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.


"Yes, she is; but she's got to last this season," replied Jack. Take the
tiller, Hunk, while I sweat up' the peak; and the boat, under the influence of
the light southerly breeze which fanned her tattered sail, glided silently into
the darkness.
Slowly she rounded Brant Point, looking dim and ghostly in the gloom, and
then away to the noth'ard" and "west'ard," just skirting the Koskata flats, and
heading as near as might be for the glimmering light on Great Point.
They were now out upon the sound; the inner harbor lay behind them, and
with a free sheet and a steady breeze the little boat bounded merrily over the
short seas.
Barely visible to windward stretched the low shore of the island, curving like
a big horseshoe, with Great Point at the extreme northern end, upon which
stood the lighthouse for which the boys were steering. Following the line of
the coast and jutting some three miles into the ocean from the point, was the
dangerous reef known as Point Rip. Its outer extremity was marked by a buoy,
but well in near the shore there was a passageway of deep water a slue, the
fishermen called it.
Far away over the land, they could once in a while catch a glimpse of the
light on Sankaty Head, on the south shore of the island, flashing its warning to
any mariner who might be so unlucky as to be in the vicinity; for beyond that lay
the shoals the dreaded Nantucket Shoals, stretching to the south'ard and east-
'ard twenty miles or more to the lightship on Great South Shoal which marked
the limit of the danger space. Woe to the stranger who ever found himself
within that space of shifting sands, tide rips and cross currents; only a local
pilot, and a good one at that, could ever get him out. He might as well throw
his chart overboard; it was useless in that neighborhood.
"Are you going to try the slue, Jack ? asked Hunk, as Jack moved aft,
having finished coiling up the gear."
"Yes," answered Jack. "I think it will be daylight when we get there; all
that I want is just light enough to see the water, and I'm all right. Let her go
straight for the point, Hunk."
As Jack predicted, when Great Point was abeam the dawn began to break.
To an unpracticed eye the water looked alike everywhere, but not so to Jack.
The slight difference in the color and appearance of the deep water was his
guide, and under his direction the boat shot through the narrow channel. The
next moment she was rolling lazily on the long ground swell of the Atlantic.
The sound was passed, the boys were on the ocean.
All plain sailing now," cheerfully remarked Hunk..
"I don't know, Hunk. I don't much like this long swell; and the sky looks
nasty, too."
Hunk glanced to the east'ard, and sure enough the dawn did look red and
threatening.






THE PILOT OF THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.


"Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning," he muttered to himself.
Suddenly Jack straightened himself up and took a long steady look to
wind'ard.
"It's a-coming ; just our luck "
"What is ?" asked Hunk.
Fog," replied Jack laconically. See it ? and he pointed to the south,
where faintly visible on the horizon appeared what seemed to be a low bank of
yellow clouds. Then he added:
"Well, let it come; I think I can find Fishing Rip even if the fog is thick
enough to cut; if we can't, we'll see what we can pick up off Sankaty. Let her
go southeast."
They sailed on this course for an hour or more, while slowly but surely the
fog came drifting in. Little by little the land was shut out from view; first
Sankaty and then Wauwinnet faded away, and at last Great Point was swallowed
up in the yellow mist.
Pleasant," remarked Jack, as the mainsail gave a great flap to windward, for
with the coming of the fog the wind had almost departed. "I suppose we will
have to drift around here till the wind takes it into its head to blow again.
Well, it don't much matter, for I think it would be pretty risky business running
out to 'Rip' the way the weather looks to-day. There is one consolation; we
are not likely to get run down in this part of the world."
For another hour the boat drifted with the tide. They had lowered the sail.
"It's no use letting her flap herself to pieces," Hunk had remarked economi-
cally; and then he had got out their deep-sea fishing lines -not that they
expected to catch much of anytli -o'. but it was something to do. We might
hook a flounder or two," remarked Jack.
They fished in silence for a while, and soon both boys were nodding over
their lines. Jack roused himself and peered over the side.
"I say, Hunk, we are drifting pretty fast. The tide here runs like a" -
"Mercy on us! What's that ?" suddenly ejaculated Hunk.
Jack was on his feet in an instant, straining his eyes in a vain endeavor to
pierce the fog. The sound that had so startled Hunk was one with which both
boys were familiar the hoarse blast of a fog-horn.
Think she'll run us down ? asked Hunk under his breath.
"Not with this wind," observed Jack rather dryly. A fisherman out of his
reckoning, I guess. Get out the oars, Hunk."
The fog-horn sounded again, this time much nearer, and a few moments
later, dimly discernible, its size magnified to mountainous proportions by the
"loomage of the fog, there could be distinguished the towering sails and then
the black hull of a large ship.
"A square rigger, by Jove exclaimed Jack. What in the mischief can
she be doing in here ?"






THE PILOT OF THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.


The little boat and the big ship drifted slowly toward one another. There
was a slight commotion on the forecastle, and then the lookout's voice was heard
as he reported:
"Something on the port bow, sir. I think it is a small boat."
Ship ahoy !" sang out Jack.
"Halloo came the response.
"What ship is that ?"
United States frigate Constitution. Who are you ?"
"Cat-boat F a, / jy, fishing."
"Golly! but she's full of men; look! and Hunk gazed open-mouthed at her
tall black sides pierced with a dozen gun ports, from each of which a dozen
heads were craned, eager to catch a glimpse of the strangers. Her to'gallant
forecastle was crowded with men and boys, and on the bridge aft a group of
officers in dripping oil-skins seemed to be holding an anxious consultation.
One of them presently hailed the boat:
"Where are we?" he asked.
On Nantucket Shoals," answered Jack.
Come aboard for a moment, if you please," continued the officer.
There was a quick, sharp order; a seaman sprang into the chains; the end of
a heaving line fell into the boat, and the next moment they were alongside,
climbing the slippery accommodation ladder.
A dapper young gentleman in the uniform of a midshipman met them at
the gangway. Jack found out afterward he was called the gentleman of the
watch." He conducted Jack to the bridge, while Hunk, too much astonished to
move, seemed rooted to his position in the gangway.
He was surrounded at once by a group of some half-hundred laughing,
questioning youngsters, all boys about his own age.
They were midshipmen from the Naval Academy on their yearly practice
cruise, and the Constitution was the practice ship.
It takes a good deal to dampen the enthusiasm of a midshipman; neither the
wet fog nor the presence of the ship in a dangerous locality, a fact that most of
of them had already guessed, seemed to have much effect on their excess of
animal spirits.
Jack, on the bridge, however, encountered a very different atmosphere. On
the faces of the otfi.'.-!'r was imprinted an unmistakable look of anxiety. The
navigator walked rapidly to and fro, every now and then popping his head under
the oil-skin cover to examine the chart; the officer of the deck toyed nervously
with the speaking-trumpet, and the captain, extending his hand to Jack as he
mounted the bridge, looked like a man who had been up all night, as in fact
he had.
"I am Captain Somerset," he said. "Maybe you can give us some informa-
tion. Are you acquainted with this locality?"






THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.


i
-i-
~.


_-ii~i
i


:~r~P
,r

'I
~
.;1


' MR. WINTER, I ENGAGE YOU AS PILOT."


The current question had


also at the same moment.
Then," he said, "we are drifting right on to Old Man Shoal ?"
"Yes, sir," responded Jack.
The captain was prompt to make up his mind. He turned quickly to the
officer of the deck.


77


--`------~I---`- ~~


"Well," said Jack, "I
was born and brought up
'." over there on Nantucket,
and I don't think there are
many rocks or shoals to
'the west'ard of the Cape'
That I don't know."
'Maybe you can tell
". us where we are; that is,
exactly; of course I know
approximately," added the
captain.
Yes, sir; I can. You
are about one mile from
'Old Man,' and it bears
broad off the port bow."
--Butt tlh.i i- impossible," interrupted the
n;xi -_,it. W\\ have been steering north by
-:t -iii-'.- ii1.1it. Old Man Shoal must be
1i- inil-- t.i tlil westwardd" and he popped his
heul int, tlI,-- -I1- ut-box.
Ca1.'&p iin i ci -t' set looked at Jack inquiringly.
"" It i v 1.1 .i- :,:iunt of the currents," he' ex-
pl:in.:l.1; "" a.ni ,..n't tell anything about the
oi:., i.-t .-in tl'.--,-' shoals, except from experi-
enr,.-- ; thli_. ri.un --very which way, and change
on.ce I. i7i,-.- in a tide. Just now, off to the
-i-.t'ji it'- i.lniing strong to the north'ard;
1dow I.- tie- li'i.ltship it is just about turning
to til- ..,-t'.li. :aid here it is running to the
n,, tlt] ':~l ,1 ..1 vi -t'ard like a mill-race."
J.cTk. in tlihe novelty of his position, had
fl.','itrtj f,-ii tilh moment the fact, of which he
w,1-s fully a;i..ire, that the vessel drifting with
the strong tide was driving directly on the
dangerous shoal.
recalled it to his mind, as it did to the captain's


THE PILOT OF






THE PILOT OF THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.


Get the starboard anchor ready for letting go, Mr. Marline. How much
water have we?"
"Five fathoms, sir, last cast."
"By the deep four," sang out the leadsman in the chains.
-" Lively, my man; another cast. Down with the helm, quartermaster; hard
down. Mr. Marline, let go the starboard anchor," he shouted.
Hold on, Captain; for Heaven's sake, don't anchor here," earnestly inter-
rupted Jack. Try and tack her. If she won't tack we can still anchor, as a
last resort- and get ashore while we have a chance," he muttered to himself.
"I'll tell you as soon as we get around why it won't do to anchor here."
Captain Somerset glanced searchingly into Jack's face; something there
seemed to reassure him, for he turned abruptly to the officer of the deck.
Go about, Mr. Marline," he said.
"Do you think she'll go round in this light breeze?" inquired Jack
anxiously.
I don't know, but we can try; at any rate, your idea is a good one. If she
won't tack we are no worse off than we were before," answered the captain.
"There is a heavy tide on the weather bow, you know," Jack continued
shyly, for he had just begun to realize that he had been giving directions to
these old officers who had sailed ships before he was born.
Very true, my boy. Remember, Mr. Marline, a late haul of the head
yards ;" and turning to Jack with a twinkle in his eye," I say, my lad, you seem
to be about as lively a sailor for your years as one is likely to run across.
Where did you say you came from ?"
"Nantucket, sir; they breed that kind there," Jack answered simply.
"Ready about! Stations for stays shouted the officer of the deck through
the trumpet.
The crowd of middies gathered around Hunk vanished like mist before
the sun.
Pandemonium seemed to reign supreme- for the space of ten seconds; men
and boys rushed hither and thither with what would have appeared to a lands-
man's eye the utmost confusion, and then suddenly, as if by magic, the tumult
died away as quickly as it had begun. Even before the shrill pipe of the boat-
swain had ceased, every man stood silently at his station.
Jack now for the first time had an opportunity to look about him. From his
place on the bridge, just forward of the mizzen mast, he saw stretched before
him the broad flush-deck of the frigate; the crew, mostly composed of boys, with
here and there a sprinkling of grizzly tars, all aft at the main and crojic"
braces, silently waiting the word of command to swing the after yards.
They looked very different from the midshipmen he had pictured in his mind-
the young gentleman in Captain Marryat's novels, with his roundabout and ever-
lasting spyglass, whose chief function in life seemed to be to worry other people.






THE PILOT OF THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.


This was evidently a different lot; there was an unmistakable air of business
about their tar-stained overalls and sunburnt and not over-clean hands and
faces.
"I guess those fellows who are always talking about crawling in through
the cabin windows never saw this part of it," he soliloquized.
With the helm hard down the big ship came slowly up into the wind; down
came the head sails at the order, and relieved of the pressure forward she luffed
rapidly.
By Jove, I believe she would tack in a calm" thought Jack.
Flap went the spanker, the premonitory signal that the wind was nearly
ahead, and then the order, Haul taut! Mainsail, haul! There was a rush of
feet, a creaking of blocks, the after yards flew round and the vessel fell off"
slowly on the other tack.
"Hoist away the head sails Haul well taut; let go and haul! and the head
yards swung quickly into place. "Reeve and haul the bowlines Haul taut the
weather lifts and braces! "
The sails bellied out with the light air, the ship forged slowly ahead and
the evolution of tacking was completed.
"I did not think she would do it," remarked Jack, turning to the captain.
"Well, you see she did, and now we are around; what next? One thing is
certain, we can't go in far on this tack."
"No, sir; about four miles; then one must tack again," answered Jack.
"Excuse me, Captain, but now that we are well clear of that shoal, whatever
it is," interrupted the navigator, don't you think we had better anchor and
wait for clear weather? We are actually surrounded by shoals, and I don't'
believe mortal man can get her through in a fog like this."
Yes; I think you are right. We'll run for a few minutes longer and then
bring to; but hold on;" continued the captain ; the pilot said something about
not anchoring. I say, Mr. Pilot, is there any reason why we should not
anchor now ? "
Jack felt rather flattered at being addressed so ceremoniously, but he answered
quietly:
"Yes, sir, there is; we can't anchor, we must keep on."
But why ?" sharply inquired the navigator. It is the simplest thing in
the world to drop an anchor under foot and wait for the fog to lift."
Well, sir," said Jack, hesitating a little, "it seems a little bit cheeky for a
boy like me to be giving my opinion here amongst all you officers, but I know
our shoals and I know our weather. Do you feel this long swell that is rolling
in? It's the longest ground swell I ever felt on the shoals, now the glass
is low, and -
How is that, Mr. Marline ?" asked the captain.
"Right, sir; been falling since midnight," answered the officer.





THE PILOT OF THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.


"And," continued Jack, "with a falling barometer and a heavy swell from
the south'ard, look out for nasty weather. With the red dawn this morning,
and with this fog and the generally dirty look of the weather, we are almost sure
to have it strong from the southeast. I am sure we'll get it before nightfall ; if
we do, you might as well be at anchor on Niagara Falls as here. As for getting
out through the fog, I am willing to guarantee to anchor you under the lee of
Nantucket Island, if the wind holds."
The officers gathered together in a group to discuss the situation, and Jack
retired to the farther end of the bridge, but he could not help occasionally hear-
ing a few words of the consultation. Captain Somerset evidently was disposed
to take his advice, but the other officers seemed to be opposed, the navigator
especially. Jack heard him remark: Why, he's only a boy, not as old as some
of our young gentlemen on board."
The captain appeared dubious, for upon him rested the entire burden of the
responsibility.
"Jack," he said earnestly, are you sure of what you say ?"
Yes, sir; dead sure. In a little while this fog will turn to rain, the wind
will haul round to the southeast, and then we are in for it."
He had hardly spoken when the warning cry from the officer of the fore-
castle ran along the deck, All in the wind forward, sir."
You see, itis beginning now, sir," Jack continued; and the vessel's head fell
off a point or so as the quartermaster jammed the helm up.
"Yes; I see it is," Captain Somerset answered slowly, and then suddenly:
Mr. Winter, I engage you as pilot. The vessel is in your charge, sir.
Orderly, tell the cabin steward to bring some breakfast on deck for the pilot."
In the meantime Hunk had not been idle. As soon as he recovered his
presence of mind, he proceeded to answer as well as he was able the hundred
and one questions poured upon him from all sides, and then under the guidance
of some of the older midshipmen proceeded to explore the ship. On the berth-
deck where the middies slung their hammocks, at pretty close quarters it
must be confessed, barefooted negro boys were running to and fro with platters
of beefsteak and steaming cups of coffee, for it was nearly the hour for eight
o'clock breakfast. On the gun-deck he noticed a space shut off from the rest
by a screen of canvas.
"That is the sick bay," explained his guide. "About a dozen fellows are
down with the typhoid, and what's worse, the surgeon's got it, too, and they are
afraid he's going to slip his cable; that's the reason 'the old man' is so anxious
to make a port, and got us into this mess."
Hunk breakfasted with his new friends and learned a good deal about mid-
shipmen in general, and practice cruises in particular; but as this story deals
with Jack the pilot, and not Jack the midshipman, we will return to the bridge
where our hero and Captain Somerset were at their breakfast in solitary grandeur.





THE PILOT OF THF NANTUCKET SHOALS.


Jack allowed the frigate to proceed on her southerly course for an hour or
more and then tacked.
The weather began to show unmistakable signs of change; and, as he had pre-
dicted, mixed with the fog came a chilly drizzling rain, so fine as to hardly be
distinguished from the mist itself. The wind blew in light, fitful squalls, shifting
slowly to the south'ard, and the ship creaked and groaned as she rose and fell in
the long swell.
Of all on board, Jack alone was aware of the position of the ship and the
peculiar dangers which menaced her. The shoals of Nantucket are rarely
visited by mariners, and it was nothing remarkable that the officers were
entirely ignorant of the existence of the dangerous currents; even the positions
of the shoals were uncertain, for the charts of this region are untrustworthy.
To understand the situation, let us glance for a moment at the chart. Old
Man Shoal lies off the southeast corner of the island. When Jack boarded the
frigate the wind was light from the northeast and she was headed well clear of
the shoal; but the strong westerly current was drifting her directly upon it,
hence Jack's anxiety to tack and stand to the east'ard, as on this course he could
stand on for three or four miles before encountering the very shallow water of
the line of broken reefs which extended like a belt to the northward till they
nearly met the Point Rip, jutting from the northern end of the island. The
passage between these shoals was marked by the buoy at the end of the Rip,"
and to get the ship out of her present dilemma this buoy must be found. Her
only salvation was through the passage; for to the westward lay the island, to
the eastward the long line of shoals, and behind her, stretching for twenty miles,
was the broken ground.
True, the ship had come in safely from that direction, but to get out was a
different matter.
Jack knew that, long before they could gain the open sea, the gale would be
upon them, and blowing directly ahead, and they would never be able to beat
against the wind and the heavy sea that would "raise" at once in the shoal
water. For the same reason they could not hope to ride out the gale at anchor;
no ground tackle was ever made strong enough to hold a ship in the short
angry seas that rolled over the shoals in a southeast gale.
All this Jack explained to Captain Somerset as they talked together on the
bridge.
The experience Jack had gained knocking around in all sorts of weather in
his old cat-boat now stood him in good stead. Ordinarily the ship might have
been safely navigated by the usual methods, the log and the compass assisted by
the lead line; but in the currents lay the unknown and dangerous factor. The
salvation of the ship depended upon Jack's local knowledge of these currents.
It's a fine wind now to the buoy," he remarked to the captain as he gave
the quartermaster the course. We ought to make it in two hours."








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"JACK, MY BOY, YOU HAVE SAVED THE SHIP!" EXCLAIMED THE CAPTAIN.





THE PILOT OF THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.


Captain Somerset said nothing, but nervously paced the deck; his reputation,
possibly his commission, hung upon the slender thread of a boy's knowledge.
Little by little the ordinary noises of ship life ceased, the old sailors conversed
beneath their breath, and even the careless middies peered anxiously ahead.
They had now run nearly the allotted two hours, the wind and sea continued
steadily to rise, but the fog held on as thick as ever.
Jack watched the compass narrowly; great drops of sweat stood upon his
brow and he almost repented that he had undertaken the job.
With the freshening wind the ship ploughed through the mist; before her lay
what ? The buoy and safety, or the .,:-::-' rocks of the Rip ?" Jack strained
his eyes to their utmost tension as if to pierce the fog by sheer force of will.
" Oh for one moment of daylight," he groaned; one sight of Great Point Light."
There was a momentary lull in the breeze, flap went the spanker as, the wind
suddenly falling dead calm, the ship rolled sluggishly to windward; and then
patter, patter came the rain falling in great drops perpendicularly from the sky.
"The calm before the storm," thought Jack; if this rain beats down the
fog before we get it, we'll be all right."
"Mind your helm, quartermaster," came the warning cry from the officer of
the deck, and the next instant came the first puff of the approaching gale.
Heeling to her gun ports the ship sprang madly forward, and as if by magic
the remnant of the fog in strange fantastic shapes went dancing away to leeward.
"I see it, sir; dead ahead. sir," shouted the lookout.
Jack sprang to the weather-rail and heaved a heavy sigh of relief as he
recognized the object of his search bobbing on the dark water; but in spit- of
himself his voice trembled a little as he turned to the officer of the deck,
Round the buoy, if you please, sir, and stand in close hauled on the port tack."
"A splendid landfall, by Jove," exclaimed the captain, shaking Jack warmly
by the hand. Jack, my boy, you have saved the ship."
The navigator popped his head for the last time into the chart-box and then
slowly withdrew it. He was a prim, punctilious man, but a just one. Walking
slowly along the bridge to where Jack was leaning on the weather-rail, he ex-
tended his hand. "Mr. Winter, I have done you an injustice; I beg your
pardon," he said solemnly.

Two days later the storm abated, the frigate in the meantime lying comfoi-t-
ably at anchor under the lee of the horseshoe arms of the island. Although
the wind had gone down, the surf still roared savagely on the south shore, and
Jack pointed out to the captain the place where he had thought of anchoring,
now a seething mass of froth and foam.
"Not a very comfortable anchorage, eh, Captain ?"
No, not very," he answered smiling; "you have saved the old Constitution
that's a fact,- and now if you will make out your bill for pilotage, and" -





THE PILOT OF THE NANTUCKET SHOALS.


Excuse me, sir, I can't do that; I could not do it legally, any way, you know,"
exclaimed Jack, for I haven't any license. I don't want to, either," he continued.
" It's the duty of one sailor to help another in distress."

That afternoon the Widow Winter and Captain Somerset had an interview in
the little front parlor; and Jack heard his mother say, as the captain opened the
door to depart :
"I believe it is the wish dearest to his heart; we Nantucket mothers expect
our sons to go to sea, you know and serve their country, too," she added, as
her eye lingered for a moment on the old sword.
A fortnight passed, and Nantucket settled down to its regular humdrum
existence.
Hunk and Jack had gone fishing again, and this time returned with the
promised barrelful of mackerel.
One morning Gran'ther appeared in a flurry, with a letter. It was a big
one, with Official Business, Navy Department," stamped in the corner.
It was addressed to Mr. John Winter and, whatever was in it, the letter
seemed to please the boy immensely.
Three days later, bag and baggage, Jack departed from his island home.
In a little while came another letter for the Winter cottage, this time for
the widow.
It was postmarked Annapolis, Md.
I wonder if the boy can pass the examination ?" said Mrs. Winter.
"I'm a little 'feard, Mary," remarked Gran'ther, as he handed her the letter;
" they say it's powerful hard."
The widow tore it open and read it quickly to the end, and then with a smile
thrust the signature under Gran'ther's spectacles.
There, in a bold boy's hand, was subscribed, semi-officially: JoHN WINTER,
Midshipman, U. S. Navy.
Alexander Ritchie.




I .... .- 1 7


/ .

















"--"cicrrn


IE:E :i 1 t' I1..e sparrows on the wall
S -- r ... -fliI. ai en-fall.


When gloomed apace the village doors
Between the silent sycamores,
he h,-I r. ..1 -. ,i r11. 1 m y sti. *i.:.: -.
A r i i-,. ilh-i -..,ii t,.' -ladne-' -..Ai -
T'i,,:- 1,; ..f' ,:, *. v I.; i -,!! aw alke.





T L,-_, i.>l-: i t,,' ,I :, : ...;;:elj at tl_, iin
-rij ii.l ti.- ii. i, .. ii.,. t!ie inri.
A i..-\ 1 I .1 k..1 r.- tLe lea,
rh,:-, ie. ,, ;_i _. -: l1 111 could see.
T i,-- ,- -. i .v:. ii1' -*:..:.- to be ;
i.,-. r.1,i ii.t i ... .. Iethlehem!
W li,,, t-.,.l i,.. l,..- tr. .:,-' Dethlehem ?


S i~
-:c-z., -.
'at- ^-


11 I,. l!1.-,. twelve angels, clothed in light,
Art mi.l.ll,. eightt at middle night;
With! i:..ti-irl ss peers of kindred wing
Th-vy llI 1. as distant bugles ring,
B" i.:1,-.i.l rtie- cradle of the King !
ThI .- ,- ...f iHeaven, the Prince of earth
S 1-',,.: .:,.- .1 i.abe of human birth!"






A CHRISTMAS CAROL.


-.000 F 71
1: 1 11 1 r


P r.


C 'h il Li \l d I,,- i ,n .'l 'br -r,: ]i ', il :

For every hour a warning charm,
For every moon a sweet alarm,
For every gate of Heaven a psalm;
Nor ring a note of self or sin -
O, twelve o'clock when Yule comes in I



L.i

And joy shall hail from clime to clime
At Christmas time, at Christmas time,
Till every life that walks or wings,
And Death itself saluting sings
The Lord of lords, the King of kings;
And all the world shall smile again
With peace on earth, good-will to men.
Theron Brown.


I






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a(


(/i Re King-'s k tcb
colder and cold
'L1 The sbeward wa vas


n zrew
er and colder.
u.ite' at


a 1. 55
To indc ou.t the reason and
never discovered
The, cook stirring up
Chili caucej


ABOUT CONCH-PEARLS.

MANY people have the impression that the pearl is found only in the oysters
gathered beneath the waters of tropical America, Persia and India.
It is true that these bivalves frequently secrete the most valuable specimens
of the opaque gem, but they cannot claim the exclusive production of these
much-sought-for articles of commerce.
Oysters grown in any locality frequently contain a prize, while even the
fresh-water clam, which has its home in the beds of the clear-running streams of.
New England, is eagerly hunted, in the hope of finding an occasional pearl.
Nearly every boy or girl has paused before some well-kept garden to admire
the beautiful conical-shaped shells arranged along the sides of the walks, and
wondered what creatures had used these houses for their habitations.
These are the conch-shells; they are found in great profusion about the
Bahamas and West India Islands.
This species of mollusk are pearl-prodli_.ini. and although the gems do not
rank in price with those taken from the oyster, they are considered by many to


0 1





ABOUT CONCH-PEARLS.


be much handsomer, as they are of a most delicate shade of pink, and as a rule
are quite large, not infrequently being found the size of a pea.
A perfect one of this dimension may be purchased in the West Indies for
forty or fifty dollars, according to the financial condition of the finder; but in
the markets of Boston or New York it would bring a much larger sum.
Some few years since, on Key Francis, a small coral island some twelve
miles off the northern coast of Cuba, I met a party of conch-hunters who had
come from the mainland.
All they had to do was to roll up their trousers, wade out upon the reefs
where the water was shallow and gather the clumsy fellows as they crawled
slowly along the bottom.
The oyster-divers spread their catch in the sun to allow the fleshy substance
to decompose, then the shells are washed and the pearl sought for. But the
conch-hunters pursue a different course, and one which seems very cruel.
They take a common fish-hook, to which is attached a piece of string perhaps
two feet in length, insert the sharp point into the orifice of the heavy shell
and bury the barb in the head of the helpless creature. The conchs are then hung
in rows upon poles, whose ends rest on crotched sticks driven into the ground.
Slowly the mollusk is drawn from its abode by the weight of its own habi-
tation, but so tenacious are they of life that two hours or more will elapse ere
they will let go their hold and give up the ghost.
The shell is not as yet wholly clean, but a thorough rinsing round in a tub
of water will dislodge any pearl which may be lurking within.
One would think that the shells could be broken, but many blows with a
heavy hammer would be.needed before any impression could be made on the
flint-like substance, and this is too arduous a task for the languid Cuban.
The conch-pearl hunters never get very rich ; scarcely more than one out of
a thousand conch shells contains a prize, and half a dozen men would not be
able to gather and cleanse half that number in a day.
The shells find a ready market at one dollar and a half or two dollars per
hundred, according to their beauty, and thus the native is enabled to earn a
living even if not fortunate enough to obtain a pearl.
Marlton Downing.






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,. .. : -_ -., ,% ._ ."- -_.-- _:_: :,, _.:_ -~ 11-- = -- ,;: _










IN THE "'PRATUS-BOX."


4 TANTER drinker water "
S Patsy Calloran, if you say that another once before recess, I shall
shut you in the wood closet! "
Miss Carberry's eyes were very bright, and her cheeks were very pink.
Patsy knew that for a bad sign. He turned to the map of Africa and began
a terrible ,iij':;'. that was meant to show Miss Carberry how hard he was
-t i iii .
Instead of saying over the names, however, he was merely saying
"Bz-bz-bz like an enormous bumble-bee or an angry blue-bottle fly in a corner
of the window-pane.
Miss Carberry didn't like bumble-bees or blue-bottle flies. She walked care-
lessly up behind Patsy and stopped him suddenly in the midst of a terrible bz !"
that sounded like a whole hive of bumble-bees.
The next minute Patsy found himself tumbled all in a heap into what the
boys called the 'Pratus-box." And then the button turned.
The given name of this little dark closet was the Apparatus-box," and it
meant a place in which to keep globes and pointers and chalk and old maps. It
was also used sometimes, as you have seen, to put naughty boys in.
Patsy shivered as the button snapped, and he was caged as fast as any bird.
"It's dark as a pick-pocket," he muttered, and began to cry and wipe
his dirty face on his little I'1..- sleeve. It was hot, too. Miss Carberry's
headache must have been very bad indeed or she never could have done it.
He was getting rather drowsy, and might have gone off to sleep to the tune
of "seven-times-five-are-fifty-five," as Lillie Dorr was droning it, when a sudden
rustling and shuffling away of books and other litter from the desks made him
sit up and listen with both his ears. Somebody was speaking to Miss Carberry,
and MiE-. Carberry was answering in tones wonderfully soft and sugary.
"It's the committee-mans," said Patsy to himself. "I'm going to see
something !"
So he fumbled somewhere in his rags and produced a penknife. A very
good one, too. Patsy could trade knives with anybody.
Softly and cautiously, as a little mouse begins to nibble in the closet, Patsy
began to bore a little hole in the "'Pratus-box." How much you can see out
of one little round hole! Patsy saw two thirds of the schoolroom out of this
one, and there was the platform with three old men on it in three old rickety
chairs that they'll have to sit very still in, or they'll go smash-bang on the
floor," thought- Patsy. Two of them had gold-headed canes, and one wore a
wig that had slipped a little unstraight." All this PR t-y noted with interest.






IN THE "'PRATUS-BOX."


The hole, or rather the light that came through it, let Patsy see better inside
as well. *Now what do you suppose was the first thing his eye lighted on as he
looked around him?
A popgun !
O, Miss Carberry! Didn't you know didn't you ever learn "in the





I,
I, II

I I I'I '.I ir1 -,,


THE THREE COITMITTEE-MEN ON THE PLATFORM.


Normal," or did you not come at it somehow by the light of nature, that a boy
and a popgun were always meant to go together ?
But oh for a look at Patsy's eyes, big and black in the darkness.
I've got some peas in my pocket, I know," he said in an excited voice,
"and if I don't straighten his crooked wig for him, it'll be 'cause I can't."
The mild old gentleman on the edge of the platform put his hand to his ear
in a troubled way, as Patsy's popgun opened fire. Then he ran his fingers
through his hair, making his wig crookeder than ever.
Finally he turned to Miss Carberry with a kind of gentle amusement that
made Patsy (who had taken many a ride in his musty old chaise ") ashamed of
himself in the 'Pratus-box."
"I'm afraid, ma'am- ahem! that ahem !-- some of your boys are a
little roguish this morning."
Why what are they doing ? said Miss Carberry, astonished. She hadn't
seen anything.






IN THE "'PRATUS-BOX."


Oh nothing very bad," smiled the blessed old man. "I was a boy once.
Haven't forgotten it. Firing peas, ma'am."
Let me catch one of them! said Miss Carberry, as grimly as if she were
an ogre or a dragon, instead of a very pretty young woman with pink cheeks and
the brightest brown eyes in the world. Every boy on the back seat shook i:i
his shoes.
Oh! ain't it jolly fun ? chuckled Patsy in his closet; and he began boring
more cannon holes," as he called them. Six in all he made. And an old
pointer or two made excellent carriages to mount his popgun battery on.
It was so hot in there that by and by Patsy got tired. He wanted a drink
of water more than ever. At last he snuggled down in a heap of dusty maps
and fell fast asleep.
Meantime a thunder-cloud had rolled up big and black out of the west. The
three old men said they must be going. Miss Carberry looked nervously at the
,:,..;ed black sky, and thought of her new hat with the daisies on it.
"Let the school out," said the committee, and one of us will take you
home."
In two minutes the schoolroom was empty; the little girls were scampering
home with their aprons over their heads; Miss Carberry was spinning along in
the musty-smelling chaise, and the school-
house door was locked with Patsy left
fast asleep in the 'Pratus-box."
About nine o'clock that night Miss
Carberry dropped the comb she was draw-
ing through her long brown hair and broke
it into half a dozen pieces.
"You poor dear little thing! she
said, gazing at it in horror; but she didn't
mean the comb.
Before you could tell of it, she had
tucked the brown hair up under a turban,
snatched up a half-eaten box of bon bons,
whisked downstairs into the pantry for
cakes and cold chicken, and was darting
along the rose-hedged lane that led to the
schoolhouse.
Patsy heard the brass key in the door AIN'T IT JOLLY FUN? CUCL TY.
and began to cry as loud as he could.
Miss Carberry was glad to hear that. Patsy came out quicker than he went in,
and Miss Carberry drew down his frowsy, cobwebbed head into her lap and
cried too.
I'm so sorry, Patsy -here, take a cream-cake do forgive me, won't you ?






A PROMISE.


-have some candy I forgot all about you in the thunder-shower oh! you
want some water, you poor little fellow !"
And away she flew to get him a dipper of water from the coolest corner of
the well.
Patsy was a good deal bewildered. He wasn't used to being waited on and
feasted. He was rather glad
-- ., on the whole. He didn't
7'I .... have pound cake and chicken
1'=_ old is and candy every day.
SMiss Carberry took him


I' and apologized. His father
and mother had hardly missed
i k him. They weren't apt to
PIi- know Patsy's down-sittings
S and uprisings very precisely.
Two good things came
South of the afternoon's
imprisonment.
_,.I Miss Carberry and Patsy
S-! i -- each made a resolution that
I;! ------------
night and kept it. Patsy
told his, sitting on the floor
with his mouth stuffed full
SI'M SO SORRY, PATSY,' L HE SAID.
of pound cake.
"Ain't go'n' t' ever fire any more peas 't the c'mittee-nran," he said. "Kind
o' sorry I plagued you so !"
Miss Carberry kept hers to herself, but the children found it out after a while.
She isn't going to ever put anybody else in the 'Pratus-box."
Anna F. Burnhanm.





A PROMISE.

S HOULD life be melancholy
All the winter long,
There comes at last an April day,
And the bluebird's song.
Mary F. Butts.































THE ELF'S TENNIS MATCH.

SAID the Little Brown Elf to his friends, one day -
In the regions of Christmas past:

" There comes a time when it's wise to play
Lest, withered with age and with wisdom gray,
Wefling but a joyous life away,
And our time has come at last."

So they played high jinks on the sands at noon
In the palmetto land of the turtle and coon,
In order that none might be able to say,
"They studied too hard and fast."

But between you and me,
I never could see
Where the difference lay
'Tween their study and play.
Lilian Crawford True.





















Jil
'' I'' '!'


A STUDY IN ANIMAL NATURE.



















LEASE, sir, can I take out Sanford and Merton ?"
Mr. Peters, the librarian of the new Belfield library,
looked over the top of his spectacles in his absent-
minded way.
l The fact was, the volumes were not yet ready for
circulation, it being necessary to hire some one to cover
them. The girl who had spoken seemed about thirteen
years old, and she blushed with timidity as she made her request. He noticed
her more attentively.
She wore a calico gown, faded, but carefully starched and ironed, long
pantalets, and a green gingham sunbonnet- which she had taken off and was
swinging nervously by the string. Her glossy black hair was combed straight
back from her forehead, and cut squarely off at the nape of her neck. It was
plain that she was not one of the village girls, with whom clipped or shingled"
hair, and longer gowns without pantalets, had been for some time in vogue;
she evidently belonged to one of the outlying districts," where change seldom
came and the same mode of dress prevailed indefinitely.
Whose girl are you ?" Mr. Peters asked, with interest.
"Mr. Prior's. I am Hetty Prior, sir."
"I thought likely. Well, now, I don't like to refuse you the book, you've
come so far. Over two miles, isn't it? Here. But promise you'll cover it;
they're all to be covered before going out."
"Thank you, sir." Hetty's dark eyes expressed more than her timid words.
She clasped the story-book close, and started away.
She had not been gone ten minutes when Mr. Peters exclaimed:
"Why didn't I hire that girl to cover the books ? She looked just like the
one to be glad of the work. But I'm always behind time, like the man who
remembered he'd got to go to mill when he'd let the horse out to pasture."
At the old-fashioned farmhouse to which she came, Hetty had scarcely time.
to speak of the librarian's kindness, when her mother called to her:


7, "'


~C~:~S~S~~





HETTY'S RED GOWN.


"Come right here, Hetty! There's something nice to tell you if 'twarn't
for the lack of a gown. You've be'n ast to Susan Lowe's party for a week
from to-day."
Susan Lowe's party! repeated Hetty in wonder.
"I s'pose it's come about through the new minister's boardin' with the
Lowes. He's a lib'ral-minded man; I heard him at the Sunday-school Conven-
tion. They say he's a master hand for bringing' folks together."
"If I only could go !" said Hetty, with a longing desire to attend, for once,
a village girl's party.
"I could make you a white apurn," said Mrs. Prior. Your father's got a


PLEASE SIR, CAN I TAKE OUT SANFORD AND MERTON ? "

fine shirt that's givin' out, and you could have it's well's not. But what to do
for a gown ? "
Hetty put her book on the table. Its fascination had departed.
"If your Aunt Abigail Sage had only sent some things this year," went on
Mrs. Prior. But she's like the laylock bush by the gate, for giving. One
year it will be all a-clusterin' over ith fl.'wers, an' the next not a bunch on it."
0, dear !" sighed Hetty.
"You might try pickin' blackberries," said her mother; "though father





HETTY'S RED GOWN.


says the village folks swarm the pastur' like crows. Come in kerridges,
sometimes."
Hetty cast one look at her book, and then went for her tin pail and little
dipper. She found the rocky pasture had been well gleaned, as her mother had
said. Yet she staid, gathering what few berries she could.
One of the pickers drew near her. Hetty knew the girl very well. It was
Ann Pellet, and Hetty always tried to avoid her. Her family was not looked upon
as very ,respectable. She was dressed in the style of the village girls, although
in a shabby and tawdry way. Hetty particularly noticed a string of green glass
beads she wore on her neck which looked as if it had been seldom washed.
She was dark, like Hetty, but she had a secretive expression, very different from
Hetty's frank innocent one. Hetty had never forgotten the time she left her
pail filled with blackberries beside the stone wall, and came back to find it
empty, and Ann hurrying home.
"Halloo called Ann. "Berries are source, ain't they? Mother 'greed
to let me have all the money I could earn pickin' 'em ; but I guess she's safe
sayin' it."
Hetty's only reply was to look up a moment. She resumed her search for
berries.
"You needn't feel so big," Ann snapped out. "With your long pantalets
and short hair, you're a perfect gawk. The girls all say so."
With this speech she darted away.
Hetty remained in the pasture till after sundown, busy with other than
cheerful thoughts.
"I can't pick enough," she said dejectedly to her mother, as she showed the
meager quart of berries she had gathered.
"It's no matter, for you've got a chance you'd never dream of. Jes' after
you'd gone, Mr. Peters come down- there's the marks of his kerridge wheels
'fore the door- an' he ast if you could be spared couple o' days to cover them
lib'ry books. Said you looked keerful an' tidy."
mother! if I could buy a pretty red gown could have it Li. -'. without
pantalets-I should be so happy. And my hair shingled."
Heavens an' earth !" cried Mrs. Prior; "as if your father'd hear to sech a
thing. 'Bout your hair, I mean. He sets a store on't. He's said time 'n' ag'in
them -hii:gli- heads looked wuss 'n' plucked geese. He mentioned the other
day 'twas 'bout time your hair was let to grow long."
"Mother," exclaimed Hetty excitedly, "I couldn't have it grow long. I
do so want it shingled like the village girls."
"'Bout the gown an' pantalets," Mrs. Prior said reflectively, mebbe 't'd
be a good plan, now you're beginning' to grow up."
Taking a little comfort in this partial concession, Hetty busied herself cover-
ing the library book. She took great care in view of her new duties.






HETTY'S RED GOWN.


"That's done nice," her mother commended.
If I could just have my hair shingled," sighed poor Hetty.
"What's that 'bout shinglin' hair?" said Mr. Prior, coming in; "'fore I
see one o' my gals sheared that way I'll put her in a 'sylum."
The way he shut the door showed Hetty it would be well not to approach
the subject again. She turned to her book for consolation.
At the close of her work in the library, Hetty brought home a two-dollar
bill. It seemed a large sum in the farmer's family, where little ready money
circulated.
The next morning Hetty went to pick blackberries with her friend, Angie
Holmes. As they rested on a big rock, Hetty told how she had earned the
money for a new red gown, and the good time she expected to have at Susan
Lowe's party. Neither of the girls had noticed that Ann Pellet had slyly drawn
near, until she called out:
You'll make a nice show with that head o' hair! Susan Lowe'll be awful
proud on you 'n' your red gown."
The two girls jumped up and ran away. The disagreeable Ann laughed
maliciously. She knew her words would rankle in Hetty's heart.
In the afternoon Mr. Prior harnessed for a trip to the village. He would
exchange some produce, and Hetty could make the purchase of her new gown.
Mrs. Prior was anxious to accompany her daughter, but her best gown had ceased
to be presentable in the village.
You must be sure and get a good quality of stuff," she urged Hetty, "and
Mr. Lowe must warrant it not to fade. Pick an' choose with care."
Your mother must have a new gown soon. It must come by hook or by
crook," Mr. Prior said, after they drove away.
He was a man of few words. This was, in fact, the only remark he made on
the drive.
It helped to make more distinct a thought that had visited Hetty more than
once. Why should she have a new gown when her mother needed one even
more? Ought she to buy it? Could she be happy with it, even at Susan
Lowe's party ?
She shut her eyes tight, a way she had when any inward struggle was going
on. That her mother had promised to make it as she wished did not seem to
weigh in the balance in her own favor. She had already had a bright thought
of putting her hair into curl papers the night before the party, so that neither
Ann Pellet nor any other girl could laugh at her. Still, this happy settling of
her difficulties could not blind her to her mother's need--her mother who
never seemed to think of herself in her care for others.
They reached the store, and Hetty was yet undecided.
Show my gal some stuff for a gown," said Mr. Prior to the storekeeper;
and then left to attend to his own business.





HETTY'S RED GOWN.


Red all-wool delaine," said Hetty, in a low voice.
Here's a very nice piece you can have for forty cents a yard. I have been
selling it for fifty," said the storekeeper.
It was a beautiful shade, and Hetty's eyes grew bright in admiration. As
she tested its fineness and softness she knew she needed not to repeat her
mother's precautions. She had not supposed her two dollars could buy anything
so lovely. She was about to say, Cut me off five yards of it," when her eyes
fell on a piece of dark-gray cloth close beside her.
What a suitable gown for her mother that would make How well it would
look on her, and how grateful she would be to Hetty! She stammered:
"How much what does that cost a yard ?"
"That gray ? It's a remnant seven and a half yards. I'll sell it for two
dollars. It's a great bargain."
Hetty pushed the red cloth aside; she said, choking back her feelings :
"I'll take the gray.'
"Not the red? That'll make the prettiest gown for you. It's an extra
nice piece."
No, no."
Mr. Lowe, who saw plainly that she wanted the red, was drawing it toward
her, but she turned away from it. So he folded the gray cloth and wrapped it
up, and Hetty waited at the store door, hardly knowing whether to be glad or
sorry for what she had done. Once, thinking of the beauty of the red cloth,
she was almost ready to go in and ask for an exchange ; but love for her mother
triumphed, and she began to find more comfort in the thought of the pleasure
in store for her.
"I've got to go 'round to Pellet's and collect last month's milk bill," said
Mr. Prior, as Hetty placed her bundle on the top of his numerous packages in
the back of the wagon.
They had difficulty in rousing any one in the house, and Mr. Prior was
obliged to get out and go to the barn to learn if any of the men folks were
there.
Ann now appeared, and stood laughing at Hetty from the doorstep.
Hetty was determined not to speak to her, and kept her gaze bent steadily
before her. She expected to hear Ann's cutting gibes, but for once she was
saved them. Ann went around behind the wagon, and Hetty heard her go into
a little shed and shut the door.
Mr. Prior came back to say that no one seemed to be on the place.
"Ann's just gone into the shed," said Hetty.
"What'd she know 'bout the money?" said Mr. Prior crossly; and they
drove away.
When Hetty reached home, and her father brought the purchases into the
house, what was the consternation of both to find the new gown missing.






HETTY'S RED GOWN.


"How could it 'a' rolled off them bags 'n' things ?" said Mr. Prior. "I see
you put it on 'em safe."
Hetty thought of Ann, but it was impossible to believe she would commit so
bold a theft. She could not bring herself to suggest it to her parents.
They inspected the packages again, and Mr. Prior went back over the road
for some distance to look for the lost article.
Hetty had no heart to tell her mother of the different purchase she had
made. Mrs. Prior had seemed on the point of speaking of some agreeable
matter, but withheld it to condole with Hetty.
Wal, I do declare !" exclaimed Mr. Prior, at sight of the tears on Hetty's
cheeks an unusual thing, for she had much self-control -" if the child ain't
a-takin' on bad. S'pose I don't realize how much her mind was sot on that
gown.
"Come, git into the wagon," he added, "an' I'll drive ye back to town 'n'
git your hair shingled. It's the next best thing, I s'pose."
"Yes, she shall, mother," he said, with a laugh
at the woman's exclamation of "I never!" If it
g takes my last cent, she shall, an' if she comes out with
her head looking' like the field after I've fired it over
in the spring."
> Hetty needed no second bidding, but came out
drying her tears and smiling.
"We'll keep an eye for the bundle," said her
father; but Hetty felt certain that it would not be
found.
"She don't look so bad now, does she, mother ? observed
Mr. Prior when they had returned, and Hetty took off her
sunbonnet.
She looks reel pretty," replied her mother, in
admiration.
When Hetty saw herself in the glass she was almost con-
soled for the loss of her gown. No one could think her old-
fashioned and singular now; she looked quite as well as the
village girls.
"LAND 0' GOSHEN, HETTY! Two or three times Hetty set out to tell her mother
about the gray gown she had purchased instead of the red
one, but she had an ashamed feeling that her mother would think her tears
were partly on account of the sacrifice. She noticed Mrs. Prior hastily putting
away a box that looked suspiciously like one of Aunt Abigail Sage's gifts.
When Hetty came down the next morning her mother said:
"I sot up late last night cutting you out a white apurn, an' there's a blue
ribbon to tie it with behind. I can make a fair-lookin' gown for you out o' the






HETTY'S RED GOWN.


back breadths o' my summer gingham, if you think you'll be willing' to wear it
to the party, Hetty? "
But the girl's lips quivered.
Just then Mr. Prior opened the door.
"Land o' Goshen, Hetty! ef I hain't found your store bundle right on the
front step this morning Must 'a' ben setting' there all night from the dew on it.
Who in the 'varsal world fetched it back, I wonder ?"
Mrs. Prior hastened to open it. Why whatever's this ? "
"I thought you needed it most, mother."
Hetty abruptly left the room.
"If that ain't jes' like the child! Good as gold, she is. Now, father, you
harness up quick's a flash, an' take it back an' tell Mr. Lowe to exchange it for
the pruttiest red one in the store."
Here Hetty, having overheard, called in muffled tones:
Please, mother don't, father I ain't crying for the red one."
"You be still, Hetty. You go right along, father. Hain't your Aunt
Abigail Sage sent me an almost bran'-new black gown, which I couldn't a-bear
to speak on't to you, thinking' your red one lost ? Hurry up, father !"
Hetty came from her hiding-place, smiling through her tears.
"I'll jes' make that gown up less 'n no time," said Mrs. Prior, as she hustled
about to procure her patterns.
But who do you s'pose fetched it back ? "
That question was never answered; and it always remained a surmise that
Ann Pellet took it for Hetty's red gown, and returned it when she found it only
a plain gray one for the mother.
"Wal, if she'did take it, your thoughtfulness for me saved you your gown,
Hetty," said Mrs. Prior, when at last her daughter confided the secret to her;
" but I guess I wouldn't think on her that way 'thout more proof."
Mrs. Prior was as good as her word in making the gown. It received its
last stitch in ample time for the party. It was tried on and pronounced "jes' as
nice a fit as a dressmaker's."
Them styles are improving after all," observed Mrs. Prior, as Hetty, all
smiling and happy, was about to. start for Susan Lowe's. An' who ever would
believe she'd look so well in shingled hair an' without pantalets ? Now yoli
be careful, child, an' spread your handkerchief in your lap when they pass
round the cake. Mis' Lowe's cake is awful rich, an' you might spot your new
gown. I know, 'cause I tasted some at the Sunday-school Convention."
Abby M. Gannett.






BUILDING ON THE IRUUIS.


I ,


*! ::T ## -1
.- i
'^-d i~


BUILDING ON THE RUINS.


1 % 00, li










FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.
(Second Paper.)

AT THE NEW WORLD'S PORTAL.

S...S we have seen, Columbus, crowned with success,
:_ .'departed for Palos, invested with all the rights
and privileges he had been for years so anxious to
obtain.
But two months after the surrender of Boabdil to
Ferdinand and Isabella, the same hands that had received
the emblems of their triumph over the Moors, affixed the
TIHE MOORISH ARCH, PALOS.
royal sign-manual to a paper confirming Columbus in his
title to a yet undiscovered country beyond the unknown sea. A commemorative
chapel on the bank of the Xenil marks the spot made famous by the surrender
of the Moor; in the royal chapel attached to the cathedral of Granada the
alabaster tombs of the king and queen are sacred shrines, to which pilgrims by
thousands annually wend their way; but no monument rises above the spot
where the great navigator engaged to barter a world for prospective emolument
and titular honors.
We know with what tenacity he clung to the scheme he had formulated for
the enrichment and ennobling of himself and his family, preferring to abandon
the country rather than to
abateone iota of his project. -"
And it was with doubtful
pace that he followed the
messenger from Isabella, who '
had overtaken him at the 1IN
Bridge of Pines, with the -...
promise of her consent. -
But at last he was on his. -
way back to Palos, trium-
phant at every point. And, -
while he is pursuing his ---
way toward the coast, let us -;-,--"'.' '-
briefly review his history
Sr h h THE CHURCH OF ST. GEORGE, PALOS.
hitherto.
He was born in Genoa, the historians tell us, in the year 1446. This may
not be the exact date, and respecting his youth and early manhood there is the






FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.

same obscurity; but about the year 1470, we find him residing in Portugal, the
birthplace of his wife, and.somewhat later engaged in correspondence with
Toscanelli. According to his son's statement, in 1477 he navigated one hun-
dred leagues beyond Thule;" but in 1482 he is in the south of Spain, having
vainly endeavored to enlist the king of Portugal in his plans, and is sent to Isa-


-.;4 .



-%.r N* *2-r

L ~.J............


THE MIRADOR OF LA IABIDA.
(Looking out upon the stream down which Columbus sailed from Palos to the sea.)

bella by the Duke of Medina Celi, at the court in Cordova. He follows the
court to Salamanca in 1486, and there has audience with the queen. In 1487
he is before the Council in the Dominican Convent, returns to Cordova the same
year in the train of Isabella, whence he is summoned to the military camp at
Malaga. The year 1489 finds him before the walls of Baza, where he witnessed
the surrender of the Moors under Boabdil the Elder, and doubtless conversed
with the two monks who came there to the queen from Jerusalem. 1490 sees
him in Seville and Cordova, whence he finally departs in disgust for the port
of Huelva, stopping on his way at the Convent of La Rabida, where he attracts
the attention of the prior, and subsequently has the famous conference with the
friar, the village doctor of Palos, and Martin Alonso Pinzon of Moguer. This





FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


conference in the convent took place in the latter part of the year 1491 ; as the
result a messenger was dispatched to Isabella, then. in camp at Santa Fe, who
returned after fourteen days with royal orders for the prior to come to Granada;
he departs in haste, and eventually returns with the queen's command for
Columbus to appear before the court, and with the necessary money for the
trip. Columbus arrives at Santa Fe the first week in January, 1492, in good
time (as we have seen) to witness the surrender of Granada; he has audience
,with his sovereigns, cannot agree upon terms, prepares to depart from Spain, is
overtaken by the queen's courier at Puente de Pinos, returns, and is finally
made happy with the royal consent.
The capitulation for conquest and exploration is signed April 17, 1492,
and May 12 he sets out for Palos. Ten days later, the twenty-third, the royal
command for the people of Palos to furnish men for the voyage is read in the
church of St. George, and the Pinzon family come to his assistance. Prepara-
tions are hurried forward, and by the first of August the vessels drop down the
Rio Tinto to the Domingo Rubio, where the final departure is taken at the Con-
vent of La Rabida. This much for a chronological statement of events.
We will now retrace our.steps and visit in person the scenes of the great
discoverer's weary wanderings and his final gladsome trip through Andalusia.
Memorials of Columbus are scattered throughout Spain to-day: in M.n.lii the
royal armory contains his armor, the naval museum one of his charts; at Valla-
dolid, in 1506, he died, and the house is still pointed out in which he drew
his last breath; the convent, also, in which his remains were first interred.
But, though we may trace the wanderings of our hero over a great portion
of Spain, it is in the South that the most interesting event occurred. Vastly
rich is Seville, the queen city of the Guadalquivir, in Columbian memories; for
here we find that valuable library, the Colombina, bequeathed the city by his
son, Fernando, containing twenty thousand volumes, among them some that
once pertained to the great man himself; one with marginal notes by his own
hand, and one of his charts. Those very islands of the Bahamas, which I myself
have seen, dim and shadowy, and shining in the sun, are here outlined by the
great discoverer himself, upon paper discolored and stained by sea-salt, as
though it had accompanied him on all his voyages.
That, however, which oftenest drew me and longest held me was the marble
slab in the pavement of the great cathedral, that formerly covered the remains
of Columbus, and now marks the resting-place of his son Fernando, with its
world-famous inscription: A Castilla y a Leon Mundo Nuevo dio Colon; To
Castile and to Leon a New World gave Columbus." Thus, although the
remains of Columbus himself are now in the New World, many glorious memo-
rials of him are to be seen in Spain, and mainly in Seville.
At Seville, I dwelt in the house of a cleric, and my friend gave me a letter
of introduction to the Oura of Moguer, the town nearest to Palos. It was on






FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


a bright morning in April that I left the city for a trip to Palos, and the valley
of the Guadalquivir was bright in greenest fields of grain and of olive orchards.
Seville is in truth of queenly aspect, sitting in the midst of the fertile plain, her
towering Giralda rising far above the outline of distant hills. For two thirds
the distance the railroad runs through a fertile and highly-cultivated plain, but
the rest was mainly barren, though covered with sheets and beds of purple
flowers in beautiful bloom.
We passed the ruins of a Roman fortification of times most ancient, and
then crossed a river flowing over iron-colored rocks, curiously worn. The
character of the soil was shown in its color, which was yellow and deep red;
and when I
noted this I
inferred, an d
,j.) rightly, that we

the historic
.Rio Tinto, that
Wine-colored
,.. .w-- River, from
Bpri o h- as m -ant iounthn I eptri-v-g t-- s C- m which Colun-
bus sailed four
r ...tdy-ing tolu s, .. eu se -_igel -- ---- hun dred years
... ago.
Just sixty
SEVILLE, QUEEN CITY OF THE GUADALQUIVIR. years before
(The Giralda, or tower of gold,," in tie foreground.) m e, in the
spring of 1-, a man more famous than I traversed this same route, and with
the same intent- gentle and genial Washington Irving. But there was no
railroad in those days, and he was obliged to make the journey on horseback,
taking as many days, perhaps, as I did hours, but enjoying it, every mile.
Leaving the railway at the station of San Juan del Puerto, I took the diligen-
cia, an old carriage, for the town of Moguer, a league distant on a hill, where I
found, contrary to my expectations, good accommodations: afonda, or house of
entertainment, with clean beds and an excellent table. I was soon served with
a good breakfast, and mine host" took quite a fancy to me, insisting on
taking me to the places of interest, and telling me all the local news.
But he was lamentably ignorant respecting things Columbian, though intel-
ligent and inquisitive. When I inquired about the scenes of interest to one
studying Columbus, he excused himself, saying he was from another province,
and not posted regarding the affairs of Palos. But this man Columbus, when did
he sail, Seiior ? And are you sure he sailed from Palos ? No ship of any size has
left.there this many a year; the village, even, is half a mile from the river.





FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


Come now, abandon this search for a dead man's relics and go with me out
to my vineyard, the like of which is not elsewhere in Spain."
I thanked my friend, but assured him that Columbus had the prior claim, and
that I must go on to Palos.
"Very well, amigo, but you may regret it; Colon must be a dry subject.
My wife will find you a boy as guide ; I've no patience with you."
The boy she secured must have been the surliest specimen in Spain; but the
poor little fellow had lost an arm, early in life, and I suppose that must have
soured him; at any rate, he probably had a hard time of it in his struggle for
bread.
He led up a donkey, hooked my valise on his arm-stump, seized the rope
attached to the donkey's nose, and then strode ahead, without a glance at me.
Don Pedro sent an emphatic Spanish word flying after him that halted him
instanter, at least long enough to allow me to scramble upon the burro's back,
then he marched on again, pursued by the maledictions of my friend.
What a beast of a boy, to be sure; and to think that I, Pedro Val Verde,
a respected householder of Moguer, should have been the means of putting a
distinguished American traveler in his charge one who has come all the way
from America,
S.I too, just to see
our little port
.. of Palos. Bien,
V aya con Dios,
Seior (God
be with thee).
"You have a
Stick, let the
burro feel the
Force of your
arm."
Palos and
Moguer are at
least three
THE CONVENT OF LA IABIDA.
(Where Columbus and his son asked for supper.) miles apar
the road be-
tween them is broad and smooth, but traversed by carts only in the vintage
season, when the wines are carried to the port of Palos. There was no saddle
on the beast I rode, and I sat astride an enormous pack of old bags, using my
cudgel as a balancing-pole, but frequently obliged to bring it down upon the
donkey's resounding sides, at which, much pleased apparently, he would wag his
ears and amble gently onward.
The boy was abstracted, and the donkey absorbed in meditation, so I gained






FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


little from their companionship; but after an hour I sighted the hamlet. Palos,
the ancient port whence Columbus sailed on his first voyage to America, to-day
consists of a few mean houses scattered along a hillside, and one long straggling
street. It is nearly half a mile from the river now, but it was a port in the time


OUTSIDE THE CONVENT.
(" Figs and oranges had possessed themselves of space for luxuriant growth.")


of Columbus, and is called so now. There may be some eight hundred inhab-
itants, all told, and not one of them, that I could find, was aware that the ham-
let had a history known to the world beyond its limits. Some of them had
heard of Columbus, some remembered that it was said he had sailed hence, once
upon a time, to a country called America; but no one could tell me anything,
and I must see the cura the parish priest to know more.
After an hour of waiting I found that he knew no more than the others, but
the sacristan of the church, fortunately, was also the schoolmaster, and took an
interest in my mission. He took me to the church of St. George, the veritable
one in which Columbus read the royal commands to the terrified sailors of
Palos, and I found it as it doubtless stood then: a simple church of stone,
guarding the entrance of the town. I photographed its eastern front and also
its rear, where there is a Moorish doorway draped in vines.





FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


The interior of the church is very plain, the chief ornament being an enor-
mous wooden image of St. George, the patron saint of the church, slaying a
terrible dragon. As St. George stood in a corner so dark that I could not
obtain a photograph of his cheerful countenance, the sacristan and his boy
obligingly trundled him out into the sunlight where he was visible.
It was with great reluctance that I left the church and turned my face again
toward Moguer; but the day was nearly ended, there was no accommodation of
any sort for a traveler at Palos, and the boy and the burro were anxious to be
away. Don Pedro of the inn received me cordially, spreading a table with fruit
of his garden and wine of his vineyard, and afterward invited me to come forth
and view the town. He first conducted me to the church, and then to the
house of the Pinzon family, still in possession of a descendant of the great Pin-
zon who sailed with Columbus. Over the doorway is their coat-of-arms. I was
delighted to learn that the present representative of the family is prosperous,
and holds the position of admiral in the Spanish navy.
It was not my good fortune to be entertained, as Irving was, by a descend-
ant of the great Pinzon, though I should have valued that attention more highly
than any other in Spain; for it was to the two brothers Pinzon that Columbus
was indebted for success. When he came here, penniless and without authority,
they were prosperous citizens, men of influence over their neighbors, and we all
know the part they took in that first voyage, furnishing money, men and ves-
sels. Even the royal proclamation read in the church of St. George, was of no
less avail than their brave example. Badly treated as they were by Columbus
and by Ferdinand, yet posterity will not refuse them their meed of honor. In
truth, the deeds of the Genoese pale somewhat before their steady glow of sturdy
independence. The needy adventurer whom they befriended, and who treated
them so basely, has left no direct descendants, but the sturdy Pinzon stock still
flourishes in the birthplace of its progenitors.
Our next visit was to the convent-church of -Santa-Clara, where Columbus
and his sailors fulfilled their vows after their return from the first voyage. You
will recall, perhaps, that they promised that, if they were saved from a dreadful
storm that threatened to destroy them, they would spend their first night ashore
in prayer. And it was in this very church that they performed their vows,
Columbus kneeling here all night on its cold marbles, and before the altar.
The day followiir. returning to Palos, a sturdy donkey boy attended me-
and we made the distance merrily, halting at the town only for a lunch. As the
place came into view, I drew up my donkey on the brow of the hill and looked
long at the white-walled Palos, so silent before me, so lifeless, so sad. I need
not tell the thoughts that possessed me, nor the pictures that rose before my
mental vision, for I am an American, and have a share in that common heritage
left us by Columbus.
.Four hundred years only have passed since the great Genoese came, to





FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


this very port of Palos, and sailed away with its sailor-citizens to the discovery
of a continent; and though since then the cynosure of all eyes, little Palos has
slumbered on unmindful of its fame. One by one its prosperous men were gath-
ered out of sight; one by one its houses sank to ruins; one by one its fleets were
depleted of its vessels, until naught remains save the memory of its greatness.
About three miles beyond Palos, passing through scenery unattractive and
sad, you sight some clumps of trees. Then a hill rises against the sky.
Slowly climbing, you bring the roofs and cupolas of a lone white building into
view; they are found to pertain to a convent structure of the olden style. It is
a rambling building but compactly inclosed within a high wall, and is extremely
picturesque. I was very fortunate, later on, in securing a fine photograph of it,
as clouds lay massed beyond and a flock of sheep slowly grazed before it.
And it was thus I found it, this Convent of La Rabida, at the gate of which
Columbus halted to request refreshment for his son. How he came to such a
secluded place as La Rabida, no one has explained; but he probably made for
the coast of Spain, thinking perhaps to obtain a vessel at Huelva, then, as now,
a shipping port to foreign parts. Indeed, this very spot is the Tarshish of the
Bible, and the Phoenicians came here more than two thousand years ago; those
men of Tyre, who discovered a passage between the Pillars of Hercules.
But Columbus came here, halted at the gate (the arched entrance at the
right), and the prior of the convent chanced to see him and to enter into con-
versation with him. Struck by his dignified appearance, and also by his evident
learning, the prior invited him to tarry a while, and soon he had his visitor's
story: it was a tale of long-deferred plans, of wearisome waiting and of crushing
defeat. That very night the prior caused his mule to be saddled and started for
Granada, pursuing the same weary road through Palos and Moguer that I have
traversed (only he was not favored by steam or stage) to the camp, perhaps two
hundred miles away.
The convent to-day is in excellent preservation, having been carefully re-
stored and placed in the care of a faithful old soldier. I found the family in
possession so simple and so kindly disposed, that I craved permission to pass the
day and night there, which they readily granted. So, paying my donkey boy
double wages, and sending him back to Mogeur with a kind message for the
friendly landlord, I was soon placed in control of the convent, isolate from all
the world. Not Fray Perez could have possessed it more completely. I wan-
dered at will through its corridors, its cloisters and vacant refectory; I rambled
over the hills back and beyond the convent- hills covered with artemisia and
stunted pines and indulged in solitary reverie to my heart's content.
Climbing the winding stairway to the mirador, I had before me through the
arched openings, broad vistas of the river and the sea. Directly beneath, the
hill sloped rapidly to the half-submerged lands of the river and sound. Half-
way down its slope was a date-palm, said to have been there in the time of Colum-





FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


bus; perhaps equally old are a gnarled and twisted fig-tree and two gray-green
olives that keep it company. Extending southward, even to the mouth of the
Guadalquivir, are the Arenas Gordas, or the great sands that make this coast a
solitary waste. Truly, it is a lonesome spot, this upon which the building is
perched, and the soul of Columbus must have been aweary as he drew near the
convent portal. The Domingo Rubio, a sluggish stream tributary to the Tinto,
separates from Rabida a sandy island, where there is an ancient watch-tower
and a camp of carbineers on the watch for contrabandistas. A little to the west
the Domingo Rubio meets with, and is lost in, the Rio Tinto, and the two join
with the Odiel and flow tranquilly on to the ocean, where the foaming breakers


k-.., ,, ', '.. ... .'-."- -. --- .-- .. .. .' ;*


THIE COLUMBUS ROnM AT LA RABIDA.
(Ifere the Admiral, the Prior and the Doctor held the conversation that led to the monk's intercession with Iqabtulla.)

roar with a sound that reaches even to La Rabida. Beyond their united waters
again is another sandy island and another distant watch-tower, till the low coast
fades away in the distance. Down this channel sailed, or floated, Columbus,
bringing his boats from Palos, on his way to the sea.
The landscape is flat, with distant woods, and, farther off, a hint of purple
hills. Opposite, across the bay, lies Huelva, like a snowdrift white upon a
tongue of land between copper-colored hills and the sea. A dreary landscape,
yet a bright sun in its setting might make it transiently glorious.






FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


The old soldier in charge of the convent, Don Cristobal Garcia, the (,,.i ,y',.
was evidently straitened in circumstances, yet he was cheerful, and his hospi-
tality shone forth resplendently. He laughingly informed me that he rejoiced
in the same name as Columbus, Cristobal; but, he added, he had never done
anything to make it illustrious. He and his family lived in a primitive and even
pitiful state at meal times gathering around a common platter; but my own
meals they served me on snowy linen at a table apart. There were six of them:
the old man, his wife, a little girl named Isabel, some twelve years old, and
three boys. Isabel, poor child, pattered about the stone pavement with bare feet;
but they were pretty feet, and her little
brown ankles were neatly turned. There -
was another member of the family, evi- -
dently an intruder, a little chap clad solely
in a short shirt,. who had squint eyes and I
a great shock of bristly black hair. Don fi"
Cristobal told me that he was a descendant ;' r'
of one of the Indians brought to Spain
from America on the first voyage; and as
the child's face was certainly that of an -.-i '
Indian, I was more than half inclined to '
believe the story. The little people were THE COURTYART OR LA RAIDA.
delighted with the peeps I gave them
through my camera, and capered about with delight at the sight of the court
and its flowers spread out before them in miniature, and nearly jumped out of
their jackets at the image of the grave old concerge standing on his head.
Mira! Mira !" they exclaimed, and gazed at me with awe and wonder.
Don Cristobal gave me a bed in one of the cloister-cells the very one, he
assured me, that Columbus occupied. I slept well through the night. It
was a disappointment to me that I did not dream and receive a visitation from
some steel-clad hidalgo, or from a girdled monk or two. At six in the morning
I was awakened by the good.concerge, who inquired if Don Federico would not
like a little refreshment. Don Federico would; and well he did, for it was three
or four hours before he received a hint of breakfast. The eldest boy had gone
to Palos for twenty cents' worth of meat and two e-._. making apparent the
poverty of my host. He did not return until ten, and then we had breakfast;
and there were the two *-:--.--. which the mistress could not have regarded more
proudly had they been golden, for they were very scarce at that time in Palos,
and it was waiting on a hen's pleasure that caused the boy's delay. He had been
told to bring back two er-i_-, and if two hens had not happened along quite
opportunely, I might have been waiting that boy's return to this day.
The rain had fallen all the forenoon and had made the convent cold and
cheerless, so a fire was built in the fireplace of the ancient monks, and as it


- L _~ __





FROM CORDOVA TO CATHAY.


crackled and leaped in the huge chimney throat, we were warmed to our very
hearts. After the rain had ceased, and while the sun was stru-iilll- fiercely
with the clouds, we ate our dinner in the corridor, which ran around a court or
patio open to the sky. This court was filled with flowers; vines crept up the
pillars; figs and oranges had possessed themselves of space enough for luxuriant
growth. From it many cloisters opened out, but there was one, still farther in,
where the chamber-cells of the monks were very numerous. Off at one side is
the chapel where it is said Columbus knelt in prayer, and on the opposite side
a passage leads to the refectory, where the stone benches on which the good
monks sat are empty and chill.
Climbing a narrow stairway, you come to a corner room overlooking the
Rio Tinto a large square room, with floor of earthen tiles and ceiling of cedar,
with dark beams overhead. This is the Columbus Room," where the great
Admiral, the Prior and the learned Doctor held the famous consultation which
resulted in the monk's intercession with Isabella. Many a painting has repre-
sented this historic scene, perhaps none more faithfully than the one hung in
the room itself. An immense table old, but sturdy still, and around which the
great men are said to have gathered occupies the center of the room, and on it
is the tintero, or inkstand, said to have been used by them. Around the wall
are hung several excellent pictures: one representing the discovery of land, one
showing Columbus at the convent gate, another the consultation, the embark-
ation at Palos, the publication of the king's commands, and the final departure.
I wonder if the old monks of the days gone by enjoyed, as I did, the seclusion
of the place and the sunset view from the mirador ? In pleasant weather, when
the hot sun shines, it must be supremely attractive to one sitting in the shade
and looking forth upon the sea. Drowsy insects hum outside, the half-sup-
pressed noises of maritime life float in on the breeze, and lively swallows fly in
and out, twittering to one another as they seek their nests. Ah! pleasant
mirador, overlooking the historic Rio Tinto and the sea. The view afforded
here comprises the scenes attendant upon the momentous departure. Right
before us, on the Domingo Rubio, it was, that Columbus careened his vessels
and took aboard his stores, just before setting sail; somewhere near the mole
he took his final farewell of the good prior, the last, best friend he had in
Spain; and beyond the sand-spits glimmer the breakers on the Bar of Saltes.
Down the stream, beyond the Tinto, glide lateen-sails toward the bar the
sailors crossed in 1492. Don Cristobal went down to engage passage for me in
a mystick, or little sloop, that was lading with ballast at the river bank, and
soon I followed him to the mole, where a carabinero rowed me across the inlet.
It was on, or near, this very spot that Columbus cleared for his voyage; and
what thoughts filled my mind as I tarried here! But not a thought had the
men for aught save their sand, which they would take to Huelva and sell for
ballast. If I would wait I was welcome to a passage; but they thought that by




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