Front Cover
 Sam Clemson, the second
 Songs of spring
 Cecile et Lulu
 Fourth month dunce
 Pattikin's house
 Illuminated texts
 April snow - The fox and the...
 Caspar Deane and the "Cinnamon...
 The stars in April
 Turning into cats
 Something about birds
 Hans Gottenlieb, the fiddler
 "God knows"
 Why Nellie was not popular
 Curious customs of Easter
 His own master
 The lion
 Young contributors' department
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover


St. Nicholas, vol. 4, no. 6
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00046
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas, vol. 4, no. 6
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: -c1943.
Subjects / Keywords: Literature for Children
Genre: Children's literature
serial   ( sobekcm )
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
System ID: UF00065513:00046


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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Sam Clemson, the second
        Page 361
        Page 362
        Page 363
        Page 364
    Songs of spring
        Page 365
        Page 366
        Page 367
        Page 368
    Cecile et Lulu
        Page 369
        Page 370
    Fourth month dunce
        Page 371
        Page 372
    Pattikin's house
        Page 373
        Page 374
        Page 375
        Page 376
        Page 377
        Page 378
    Illuminated texts
        Page 379
        Page 380
    April snow - The fox and the tablet
        Page 381
    Caspar Deane and the "Cinnamon"
        Page 382
        Page 383
        Page 384
    The stars in April
        Page 385
        Page 386
        Page 387
        Page 388
        Page 389
        Page 390
        Page 391
    Turning into cats
        Page 392
        Page 393
    Something about birds
        Page 394
        Page 395
        Page 396
        Page 397
        Page 398
        Page 399
    Hans Gottenlieb, the fiddler
        Page 400
        Page 401
        Page 402
    "God knows"
        Page 403
    Why Nellie was not popular
        Page 404
        Page 405
    Curious customs of Easter
        Page 406
        Page 407
        Page 408
    His own master
        Page 409
        Page 410
        Page 411
        Page 412
        Page 413
        Page 414
        Page 415
    The lion
        Page 416
        Page 417
        Page 418
        Page 419
    Young contributors' department
        Page 420
    The letter-box
        Page 421
        Page 422
    The riddle-box
        Page 423
        Page 424
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text




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(See "Sam Clemson, the Second.")


:..lr_=s __- ~ .-- ~--3 ~ T~ill...... --------~--~

.... --






APRIL, 1877.

[Copyright, 1877, by Scribner & Co.]



SAM CLEMSON was called "The Second" be-
cause he had a cousin, several years older than
himself, who was also Sam Clemson, and there
had to be some way of distinguishing them. Sam-
uel was a family name among the Clemsons, and,
like many other favorite family names, it had cre-
ated a good deal of confusion. These two Sams
lived only a few miles apart, and that made the
matter worse in their case; but the plan adopted
worked very well indeed.
The only peculiarity about our Sam, apart from
his name, was.the fact that he owned a twenty-
dollar horse.
From his earliest boyhood, a horse had been the
dearest wish of Sam's heart,-a horse which should
be all his own. So, when a neighbor offered this
reliable family horse, warranted kind and gentle,
and fearless of locomotives, for the trifling sum of
twenty dollars, Sam never rested until he had
raised the money and purchased the steed.
He had saved fourteen dollars; he sold his gun
(hammer broken) for three dollars and a half; his
sled went for a dollar; a pair of pigeons and an
odd one, for another dollar; and his mother gave
him fifty cents.
When Sam brought his horse home, he was
proud indeed. Not another boy of fourteen in the
neighborhood owned a horse. Even Sam the First
was not so rich.
It was holiday-time, and there was a light car-
riage on the place, which seldom was used, and for
days our young horse-owner did little but drive
about, and take any one riding who cared to go,
and who felt in a leisurely frame of mind. For it
VOL. IV.-24.

must be admitted that Ronald, the new horse, was
not a fast animal. What once he might have
been, I cannot say; but many years had certainly
elapsed since he had done any very rapid trotting.
However, he was a large, stout horse, and he had
an air of having lived well.
Sam had asked some questions about his age,
but his owner had replied:
Now, I don't warrant him to be a young horse.
If you want young horses, I have some that I'11
sell from a hundred and fifty dollars up. But
there's lots of life in that horse yet; and by the
time he's too old to work at all, you'll be ready
for a younger animal, at a higher price."
So Sam said no more on that subject.
After a time, Sam gave up driving out so fre-
quently, though the horse did not seem to object
to jogging along meditatively all day. But, as
Sam was a boy who liked to feel that he was of
use, he insisted on driving over to Rossville, a
little town about two miles away, whenever any-
thing was wanted from the store.
After one or two visits there, he made a dis-
covery, and that was, that a buffalo-robe, which
always hung at the door of a small store at the end
of the.town, was the only thing that old Ronald
was afraid of. He never could pass it without
getting frightened and trying to run away. But
his aged legs and Sam's hard pulling interfered
very much with that performance; and so he had
never done anything more than caper and shy, and
trot off at a fair pace with his head high in the air,
whenever he happened to pass the store.
Sam thought it possible that in his. youth he


No. 6.


might have hunted buffaloes, and been injured by
one; but this was difficult to prove. At all events,
Sam took advantage of this weakness in Ronald,
and as he found that he never became entirely
unmanageable, he always drove past that small
store before he went to the larger establishment in
the center of the town. The post-office was in the
latter store, and there were always people standing
about as Sam came rattling up, holding in his spir-
ited animal with all his might.
"Lively old beast! a man said, one day.
"What did you give for him? "
Sam told him, and the man stepped up and
looked into Ronald's mouth.
"A dollar a year," said he, "or thereabouts."
Sam walked into the store without answering.
He thought some men could say very foolish
Not long after the purchase of the horse, a
younger sister of Sam's mother came to make them
a visit. Aunt Carrie, as Sam and his sister Kitty
called her, was about twenty years old, and a very
sprightly and pleasant young lady.
Sam was glad to see her,-glad because he liked
her, and glad to have some new person to take out
to drive. He soon took her to look at his horse,
but she did not seem anxious to go riding that day,
as Sam suggested. He asked her frequently, dur-
ing the next few days, but she always had some
good-humored reason for staying at home.
But it was not very long before Aunt Carrie
wanted to go and spend a day with the family of
Sam the First; and then our Sam's chance came
in. He promptly offered the services of his horse
and himself; and as there was no very good way
of doing otherwise, they were accepted cheerfully.
They were to start at ten o'clock, but long be-
fore that iour Sam was ready. He took the horse
and carriage around to the front door, and having
carefully tied Ronald, he went into the house to see
if Aunt Carrie was prepared to start.
As he entered the sitting-room, he was aston-
ished to see that young lady, with a feather-duster
in one hand, standing on a stool, and winding the
old family clock, while his little sister Kitty and
the house-dog, Tip, were watching the operation
with a vast deal of interest.
"Why, Aunt Carrie cried Sam, have n't
you begun to get ready yet? And it's no use
winding that old clock,-it don't go."
From the dust in it, I should think it had n't
been wound up since the days of Sam Clemson
Minus Two," said Aunt Carrie.
"Minus two?" exclaimed Sam. "Why, who
was he ? "
"Don't you see," said Aunt Carrie, closing the
clock, and getting down from the stool, "that if

you are Sam the Second, and your cousin is Sam
the First, that the Sams who came before you,
your grandfathers and so forth, must have been
Sams minus something ? I hope the old clock will
go. I set it at ten, because I knew it must be nearly
that time, when I heard you bring the carriage
around. And now I'll be ready in three minutes."
And away she ran.
At about a quarter past ten, Aunt Carrie, whose
three minutes had stretched themselves consider-
ably, made her appearance, and Sam was not slow
in helping her into the carriage.
They did n't exactly dash off, but still you could
easily see that they were moving. Sam did not
ply his whip. He knew that it would be of no
earthly use, and he preferred to have his aunt
Carrie think that he rather liked to go along
gently, so as to enjoy the scenery and the weather.
But he did not intend to jog along in that way all
the time. He had his plans.
There were two roads to his uncle's house. One
was almost direct, and the other went through the
lower part of Rossville. Before they reached this
road, Sam asked his aunt if she would like to go
through the town.
"I 'm not particularly anxious to do so," she
said; but if it 's a better road, I don't object."
Oh, it's a good road," said Sam, and turned
into it without further words.
Of course, Sam wanted to go by the buffalo-
robe. He not only wished his aunt Carrie to see
what a spirit still lived in his old horse, but he
hoped, as his uncle's house was not far from Ross-
ville, that some of the fire and dash might remain
until they reached there; for Sam the First had
never seen Ronald, and it was therefore desirable
that he should make as fine a show as possible.
As he approached the little store, he looked out
for the robe. It was there, but not in its usual
place. Having hung out so long in summer as
well as winter, and being a second-hand robe,
any way, the owner might have thought he could
never sell it if he did not dust it out sometimes. At
any rate, it was hanging on a rope, tied to two
posts near the road-side, and a small boy was bang-
ing it with a stick.
When they drew near, Sam tightened his hold
on the reins, and old Ronald pricked up his ears
and looked for the buffalo-robe.
There it was, close to his head, and shaking and
wriggling dreadfully 1
It had been many years since Ronald had given
such a jump as he gave then It astounded Sam,
and made Aunt Carrie give a little scream. Away
went the horse in a gallop.
"Whoa! Whoa cried Sam, pulling and tug-
ging at the lines; but the animal would not



"whoa." He plunged on, regardless of every-
He's running away !" cried Aunt Carrie, ex-
tending her hands toward the lines. "Let me
help you! "
"No! No!" said Sam, his eyes nearly start-
ing from his head with his exertions. "I can
hold him "
Sam expected Ronald to cool down very soon,
as he had done always before, after a buffalo
scare; but he was mistaken. The horse was ter-
ribly frightened this time, and Sam's desperate
struggles at the lines had no effect whatever.
Aunt Carrie grasped the side of the carriage, as it
rattled and banged along the road. She did not
scream, but she expected every minute to be
thrown out.
Fortunately, the horse kept on the road which
led to Sam's uncle's place, and which branched off
from the main street. Here the way was clear, and
Ronald quickly left the town behind him.
As they reached a little hill, Aunt Carrie saw
some straps flapping in the air, and she exclaimed:
" Something is loose The next minute, a snap
was heard, and just as they were at the top of the
hill, Ronald burst away from the carriage, jerking
the lines from Sam's hands and nearly pulling him
over the dashboard.
Mercy cried Aunt Carrie, grasping Sam by
the coat.
Away went the horse, and slowly the carriage
rolled backward down the hill, making a turn as it
reached the bottom, and backing gently against
the fence at the side of the road.
Aunt Carrie and Sam looked at each other, and
then burst out laughing. Now that the danger
was over, it seemed ridiculous to be sitting there
by the road-side in a carriage without any horse.
Well," said Aunt Carrie, when she had done
laughing, I suppose we. may as well get out."
Yes," said Sam, I suppose so; and out they
Well, Sam," said his aunt, "you'd better go
after your horse. He will soon be tired of running,
and I expect you will find him eating grass by the
side of the road. I see we are near old Mrs.
Campbell's little house. I will walk up that far
with you, and wait there."
'All right," said Sam ; "and when I catch him,
I'll go on to uncle's, and get them to send for you."
So Sam left Aunt Carrie inside Mrs. Campbell's
garden gate, and hurried on. He walked and
walked, but no horse he saw.
At length he reached his uncle's place. The
carriage gate was open. Looking back toward the
barn, he saw Sam the First slowly leading old
Ronald toward the stable door.

Hello !" cried Sam the Second, running to the
His cousin stopped, and looked back. Hello !"
he rejoined. "What's the matter? Is this your
horse ?"
Yes," said Sam; and when he reached the
barn, he sat down on a log in the shade and told
what had happened.
Sam the First, who considered himself quite a
young man, stood gravely listening to the story,
still holding old Ronald, who was puffing and blow-
ing at a great rate.
I had no idea this was your horse," he said.
"He came walking in here as if he was glad to
find a home. But I'll put him up, and then we'll
get out the buggy and go for your aunt Carrie."
As Sam the First bustled about, our poor Sam
sat rather dolefully on the log. Things had cer-
tainly turned out differently from what he had
expected. His cousin pulled the buggy from the
carriage-house, brought out a gray horse from the
stable, and backed him up to the buggy.
Sam," said he, that horse is n't a safe one
for you to own. I heard you had a horse, but I
had no idea it was such a dash-away as this."
Oh he's as quiet as a cow, generally," said
our Sam.
Yes, that may be; but you see he is n't to be
trusted-for a carriage-horse. There's no know-
ing when he'd run away. I tell you what you'd
better do," continued Sam the First, as he hooked
a trace to the whiffle-tree, you'd better sell him
to me. He's a big, strong horse, and would do
very well on a farm. Father's given me that field
by the woods to work for myself, and I'll want a
horse. What'll you take for him?"
I don't know about selling him," said Sam the
Well, you'd better think it over."
While Sam the First was in the house he saw his
mother, and told her all about the mishap. When
he came out, he walked rather slowly, apparently
thinking about something.
Sam," said he, you had better jump in and
go after your aunt."
Our Sam's eyes sparkled. He was another boy
in a minute.
May I ?" he said, with his hand on the side of
the buggy.
"Certainly," said his cousin. You 're a good
driver, with a safe horse like this. When you
come back, I'11 send our man to take your carriage
Sam drove off joyfully, while his cousin, feeling
very tall and manly, shut the stable door.
It don't take much to please a boy," he said to
himself, with a smile.


The gray horse was a good traveler, and Sam
soon drove up to Mrs. Campbell's gate.
On the way back to his uncle's, Sam told Aunt
Carrie all about the buffalo-robe, and his reason for
driving by it.
That was a great risk to run," she said, "just
for the sake of showing off a little. But I guess
you're only a boy, are n't you, Sam ?" and she laid
her hand on his shoulder.
"I suppose so said Sam.
But, Sam," said Aunt Carrie, let me give
you a piece of advice: Never try to make any-
thing-especially anything that is old-exert itself
beyond its strength."
A very pleasant afternoon was spent at the house
of Sam's uncle, and before he came away, our
Sam had sold old Ronald to his cousin for twenty
After an early supper, a four-seated carriage was
brought around, and Sam the First drove Aunt
Carrie and his cousin home, with Ronald's broken
harness stuffed under one of the seats.
They reached the house before dark, and when
the story had been told, and the excitement had
cooled down, Sam the First went home.
After the matter had been talked over a little

longer, Aunt Carrie went into the sitting-room,
where a lamp had just been lighted.
Why, I had no idea it was so late !" she said;
' it's nearly ten o'clock "
At this, everybody exclaimed that it was impos-
sible, and little Kitty declared that it could n't be
ten o'clock because she was not in bed.
Well, you can go in and see for yourselves,"
said Aunt Carrie.
Sam walked into the sitting-room, and soon
walked out again.
"It's the same old ten o'clock that it was this
morning," said he. That old clock has n't gone
an inch."
But something has gone more than an inch,"
said his mother. Just after you left, I heard a
snap and a crash of something falling. I expect the
cord broke and the weight came tumbling down."
I hope I have n't injured the dear old clock,"
said her sister.
Sam the Second arose from his seat and stood in
front of his aunt.
"Aunt Carrie," said he, "let me give you a
piece of advice: Never try to make anything-
especially anything that is old-exert itself beyond
its strength."

11.11 I 'ii,, II






, .-- -. ~~- :-I _- .- -

i l._ *- i' rst poet sing-
- i ame poetry to
-. at all?
-'. i.I questions ever
Ki' -~ 1`,V :-, I- .- r mind? The
l' .-' get them an-
l Ii go out into
.. .r fields on a
Sf?, !., moorning,-
S1 : '.l3ng trees and
\" ti t.1' I.: .. ... ,,nning streams
..l i l. ... ,I ..- birds,- and
S ': r .. ,,.1 listen.
i: il e very likely
1 lit. I .) letry were try-
I.- :' :'i- itself through
you, as you hear it bub-
bling from the bird's throat, and lisped by the
rippling brook.
I think that the birds were the very first poets.
Certainly the sweetest poetry is like their singing,
-free and fresh and natural,-the singer's soul
pouring itself out in delight and rapture that
nothing can repress.
Never does the unanswerable question, What
is poetry ?" seem so foolish as it does in spring,
when the air is laden with it,-when it floats upon
the clouds, sifts through sunbeams and raindrops,
and rises as incense from opening bud and burst-
ing leaf and springing grass, and even from the
brown earth itself.
Poetry? Why, you are living and breathing in
it, and you can no more define it than you can
define your own life. The beautiful smile of Nature
is like the smile of a mother upon her child. How
it gladdens the little one, who would be no wiser
or happier for hearing a definition of its gladness,
if there were one to be given In the presence of
the dear mother Nature we are all little children-
happy in her beauty, and blessed with her blessed-
ness, we know not how or why.
But if we cannot define poetry, we can recognize
it, as we recognize a face or a voice that we love.

Wherever beauty, strength,
or joy is springing to life ,
from sweet and natural ,/
sources, there is poetry. It
may be found elsewhere, '
and there may be poetry
which never gets expressed, .
as gems may lie hidden in
unopened mines; but there S i
is enough of it around us to "*-.
make us every day as glad
as heart could wish. '- ,
And a morning in spring
is like the re-opening of .
Nature's book of pictures
and poems, the more charm-
ing to us because of the
blank white leaves of winter
we have been.turning; left
blank for us to fill up with
the poetry of heart-and-
home life, which is even I '
more beautiful than any
Nature can write upon her ",
tinted pages.
When the winds of March
begin to blow open the leaves '
of this delightful picture-
book, young and old are
newly alive with joy.
Yes, even March-the "
windy, blustering month, '--
that everybody finds fault ,
with-has a poetry of his
own. He is the advance- --.
guard of Spring; his noisy
trumpeters announce her
approach, and his hurrying
tempests sweep the earth clean, to make ready for
the green carpet upon which her beautiful foot-
steps are to fall.
We all have learned to welcome March, in
the old rhyme which must have made itself, since





nobody appears to know just where it came
"March winds and April showers
Bring forth May flowers."

Wordsworth has a little poem about March, of
which some lines run thus:

The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising,-
There are forty feeding like one."

That is March as it is in England, where the
fields are green earlier than is usual with us.
How is it possible that out of the frozen brown
earth even the smallest blossom should rise like a
star, or bring up its little cup of perfume ? How
marvelous that the colorless and shapeless clods
beneath our feet should be transformed into flowers
by the magical touch of spring No tale of en-
chantment was ever half so strange as that which
we read in the unfolding leaves of every returning
There is only one thing more marvelous than
this new creation which we behold around us, and
that is ourselves, who are so made that we can
enter into it and enjoy it all. You, little child,
whoever you are, looking out into the most glorious
landscape, can sing for yourself this song:

Great, wide, beautiful world,
With the wonderful water round you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast,-
World, you are beautifully drest!

The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree;
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.

You friendly Earth, how far do you go,
With the wheat-fields that nod, and the rivers that flow,-
With cities, and gardens, and cliffs, and isles,
And people upon you, for thousands of miles ?

Ah you are so great, and I am so small,
I tremble to think of you, World, at all.
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
A whisper inside me seemed to say:
SYou are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot,-
You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!'"

Very early in spring comes the bluebird, that
Tennyson calls

The sea-blue bird of March,"-

the bluebird, forerunner of the violet, which nestles
in the grass, and, bird-like,

Curves her throat
Just as if she sat and sung; "

and of the azure harebell of summer-time, which
has always a fluttering, winged look, as if it were a
shred of the sky, ready at any moment to take
flight upward.
Oh the birds and flowers are first cousins to
one another The birds are blossoms with wings,
and the blossoms sing with the birds,-only their
music is too fine for mortal ear to catch.
It must be that the flowers are glad to come up
out of their underground cells,

"Where they together,
All the hard weather,
Dead to the world, keep house alone,"

as good George Herbert says, and look into human
faces again.
Another writer puts it in this pretty way:

"In the snowing and the blowing,
In the cruel sleet,
Little flowers begin their growing
Far beneath our feet.
Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,-
'Darlings, are you here?'
Till they answer, We are nearly,
Nearly ready, dear.

"'Where is Winter, with his snowing?
Tell us, Spring,' they say.
Then she answers, 'He is going,
Going on his way.
Poor old Winter does not love you,
But his time is past;
Soon my birds shall sing above you-
Set you free at last.'"

And you remember how

"Daffy-down-dilly had heard underground
The sweet rustling sound
Of the streams, as they burst off their white winter chains,-
bf the whistling spring winds, and the pattering rains;"

and how, knowing that she was wished for, and
waited for, and needed,

"Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold,
Through the brown mold,
Although the March breezes blew keen on her face,-
Although the white snow lay in many a place;"

and the rest of Daffy-down-dilly's wise sayings and
doings, all which are worthy to be heeded.
As one after another of the wild flowers comes
back to greet us, peeping out of the grass or reach-
ing toward us from shrub or spray, we feel as we
do when dear old friends return to us after long
absence. The flowers are our friends truly; for
everything that has life in it is related to us in
some way, and bears some message of love to us
from Him without whom neither flowers nor human
beings would be alive.
All true poets of nature have felt this, and ad-




dress the flowers as if they were companions, neigh-
bors, or teachers.
Scarcely a more beautiful out-of-door poem of
this kind ever has been written than Horace Smith's
" Hymn to the Flowers," from which these verses
are taken:

Your voiceless lips, 0 flowers are living preachers;
Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book,
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers,
From loneliest nook.

"'Neath cloistered boughs each floral bell that swingeth,
And tolls its perfume on the passing air,
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth
A call to prayer."

The songs of spring are none the less enjoyable
for being old,-very old indeed.


In Palestine, thousands of years ago, they wel-
comed her coming just as we do now. A poet-king
of that country wrote, rejoicingly: For lo the
winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers
appear on the earth, the time of the singing of
birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard
in our land."
Perhaps the violet has had more poems written
about her than any flower except the rose. How
can we help saying "her" of this lowly, sweet-
breathed child of the meadow and road-side ?
The air begins to be as sweet as if the breezes of
another world were blown through ours, when the
violets unfold. This, too, was noticed long ago.
Shakspeare speaks of

The sweet south,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odor."

And Christina Rossetti writes to-day:

0 wind, where have you been,
That you blow so sweet?-
Among the violets
Which blossom at your feet.

The honeysuckle waits
For summer and for heat;
But violets in the chilly spring
Make the turf so sweet "

Do you know Willis's "April Violets?" Here
is a part of it. The delicate odor of the flowers
seems to steal up to you as you read:

"I have found violets. April hath come on,
And the cool winds feel softer, and the rain
Falls in the beaded drops of summer-time.
You may hear birds at morning, and at eve
The tame dove lingers till the twilight falls,
Cooing upon the eaves, and drawing in
His beautiful, bright neck; and, from the hills,
A murmur like the hoarseness of the sea,
Tells the release of waters, and the earth
Sends up a pleasant smell, and the dry leaves
Are lifted by the grass; and so I know
That Nature, with her delicate ear, hath heard
The dropping of the velvet foot of Spring.
Take of my violets I found them where
The liquid south stole o'er them, on a bank
That lean'd to running water. There's to me
A daintiness about these early flowers,
That touches me like poetry. They blow
WVith such a simple loveliness among
The common herbs of pasture, and breathe out
Their lives so unobtrusively, like hearts
Whose beatings are too gentle for the world.
I love to go in the capricious days
Of April and hunt violets, when the rain
Is in the blue cups trembling, and they nod
So gracefully to the kisses of the wind."

Children who have long been grown
up used to learn Jane Taylor's

"Down in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew; "

and nearly everybody knows Wordsworth's

Violet, by a mossy stone,
Half hidden from the eye."

Barry Cornwall says this lovely thing about the
"She comes, the first, the fairest thing
That heaven upon the earth doth fling,
Ere winter's star has set;
She dwells behind her leafy screen,
And gives as angels give, unseen,-
The violet."

The New England flowers appear few and far be-
tween at first, as if they dreaded the east winds, for
The spring comes slowly up this way."

Pussy-willows, furry mouse-ear, rock-saxifrage,
hepatica, starry white blood-root, and anemones
peep out one after another, or close together; and


by that time the fields are white as snow with
innocence-bloom, or Houstonia. There are blue
patches of violets on the hill-sides; the gold of the
marsh-marigold lies scattered along the brook-
margins, with the yellow adder-tongue nodding
close by. Jack-in-the-pulpit sits hidden under his
green canopy; the columbines and wild geraniums
flutter their purple and scarlet along the wood-
paths; and, by and by, the wild rose awakens.
But then it is June, and we are talking of spring.


summer, long after most other birds are silent, or
have flown away.
The songsters gather in throngs, with their gay
or tender ballads, each so different from the rest,-
wren, swallow, linnet, thrush, oriole,-and none of
them dearer or merrier than the bobolink, the
Robert Burns among bird-poets, whose warble fol-
lows the track of the plow, and ripples along the
edges of the corn-field.
The song of the bobolink has often inspired


-. :K K. _

!' / "-. -- _-- '.,' P .,

i .
R N-".A UR-E-- "H B O SP 'R""

EC. US S'-''" '.'U .O'R P' R'Y'. ',
.."* .' / i a. '?. "*r.-.- ,', '.

Faster than the flowers, come the birds. As
early as the bluebird, honest Robin Redbreast and
his wife are here, hopping up and down the garden-
walk, turning their heads this way and that, as
they consider their prospects for house-building.
High in the leafless tree-top,-out of a snow-cloud
sometimes,-you hear the song-sparrow's heavenly
carol, so full of hope and gladness The sweetest
and one of the most social of our field-minstrels,
he has a song for all seasons, and everybody who
listens to him is charmed. It is a comfort to know
that he is going to stay with us through mid-

human minstrels to emulation, with its rollicking,
talkative note. Wilson Flagg has some bright,
wide-awake verses about the O'Lincoln Family,"
which take you right into the midst of a meadow-
ful of these saucy little singers. And Bryant's
charming Robert of Lincoln gives you the bird's
manners, travels, and history, to perfection.
Many of you will have a chance to listen to the
"merry note" of the bird itself before reading next
month's continuation of "Songs of Spring." Mean-
time, if you have not the whole of Mr. Bryant's
beautiful poem, you may at least enjoy this extract:



" Merrily swinging on brier and weed,
Near to the nest of his little dame,
Over the mountain-side or mead,
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:
SBob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink !
Snug and safe is that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers,
Chee, chee, chee!'

" Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,
Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest,
Hear him call in his merry note:
SBob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink!
Look, what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee '

" Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,
Passing at home a patient life,
Broods in the grass while her husband sings:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink I
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear
Thieves and robbers while I am here.
Chee, chee, chee!'

" Modest and shy as a nun is she;
One weak chirp is her only note.
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat:
SBob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink!
Never was I afraid of man;
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can!
Chee, chee, chee! '"




QUELLES sont ces dr6les de marques noires,
Cecile, que nous voyons partout sur les murs ?"
Des lettres, Lulu; ne les sais-tu pas ?"
Non, Cecile, personnel ne me les a jamais ap-
prises. "
Helas! que tu as 6t6 n6glig6e, ma pauvre
petite mais quand il faut travailler toute la jour-
nee pour gagner son pain, on ne trouve pas trss-
facilement l'occasion pour enseigner ou pour etu-
dier. Moi-mime j'ai beaucoup oubli6 de ce que
je savais lorsque nous 6tions heureuses. Mais ce
que je me rappelle encore, je te l'enseignerai, petit
a petit, selon que je trouve le temps."
Pourquoi sommes-nous si pauvres, Cecile ?"
"C'est notre malheur, mon enfant: il faut le
souffrir avec patience jusqu'a ce que le ciel nous
envoie de meilleursjours. Seulement, si nous pou-
vions trouver notre once, tous nos malheurs fini-
Pourquoi n'allons-nous pas a sa recherche tout-
de-suite, Cecile ? "
Mon enfant, je 1'ai cherch6 partout jusqu'h ce
que tout mon argent ftt dipense. Mais ne songeons
plus a cela. Tu vas prendre une legon, tu le sais.

Voici une affiche qui nous servira tres-bien de livre
de lecture."
Cette lettre-ci," dit-elle en l'indiquant de son
aiguille h tricoter, s'appelle 'M.' Regarde-la
bien; t'en souviendras-tu ?"
'M,'" rep6ta Lulu, je m'en souviendrai. 'M,'
-je le sais ddji."
Et ainsi C6cile apprit a sa petite sceur les lettres
"Ou'est-ce que veut dire tout cela?" demand
enfin la petite Lulu.
Ces lettres epilent le mot aaison-le vois-tu ?
M-a-i-s-o-n-maison. Mais voila l'heure qui sonne.
Je n'ai plus le temps de t'enseigner. Je dois aller
h l'usine. Voici un petit panier de fruit que j'ai
achet6 pour ton goiter. Partons !"
"Oh, Cecile ne me renferme pas dans cette
piice sombre et 6troite i Je la deteste. Permets-
moi de te suivre, ou bien laisse-moi ici, oit je sens
Pair frais, et oil il y a quelquechose i voir, je t'en
prie !"
Me promets-tu de ne pas quitter ce lieu, pour
t'egarer dans les rues ?"
"J'y resterai jusqu'a ton retour, Cecile."

* This little French story is for the benefit of our young readers who are studying French. All translations received before
April 15 will be credited in the June number.

.- I


"Rappelle-toi, Lulu, que si je te perds, je serai
toute seule au monde."
N'aie pas peur, Cecile, sois sfire j'en prendrai
bien garde."
"Je demand seulement que tu te tiennes ou tu

, ,

peux voir toujours le mot maison. Sois sage, mon
enfant, et n'oublie pas ce que je t'ai enseign--au
revoir !"
Elle embrassa sa petite sceur, les larmes aux
yeux, et s'en alla.
Lulu s'assit bien content, et se mit i examiner
le contenu de son panier; ne songeant pas, heureu-
sement, qu'il avait cofte le diner a sa sceur. Mais
son attention fut bient6t divertie de son occupation
agreable par les diverse choses qui se passaient
dans la rue. Elle les trouvait si nouvelles et si
charmantes !
Enfin Lulu prit son gofter, puis elle relit deux ou
trois fois le mot mason qu'elle venait d'apprendre,
et puis elle commenga a s'ennuyer de lendroit oh
elle 6tait, qui devint maintenant fort tranquille, car
tout le monde avait tourn6 ce meme coin de rue,
qui lui semblait I'entree dans un lieu myst6rieux oh
se trouvaient toutes sortes de jolies choses. Pour

revoir ces merveilles perdues, Lulu court au coin,
d'ou elle regardait le long d'une large rue, border
de magasins magnifiques, et remplie de belles voi-
tures, d'enfants richement habilles, qui s'amusaient
avec jolis jouets de toutes especes, et d'une foule de
ces petits dr6les que nous appelons
Pendant quelques minutes, elle
efit bien soin de ne pas perdre de
vue le mot mason, qu'elle pouvait
toujours entrevoir. Mais elle n'avait
pas encore six ans, et d'ailleurs, elle
6tait bien inexp6riment6e, 6tant r6-
,1' comment venue de la champagne oh
elle fft n6e. C'est pourquoi il n'est
pas tres-surprenant qu'elle oubliAt
,bient6t le mot, et qu'elle ne pen-
.'' sat plus qu'aux objets int6ressants
. qu'elle avait sous les yeux.
yi ''llll Petit a petit, elle se rapprocha de
ces merveilles, qui l'attiraient irre-
sistiblement par leur eclat, jusqu'a
ce qu'elle eft complement tourn6
le coin, et se trouva au milieu de
S son nouveau paradise.
Le temps se passa. De plus en
plus entrain6e par ces charmantes
nouveautes, Lulu tourna beaucoup
de coins, sans se rappeler combien,
lorsque tout -coup l'heure sonna
quand sa sceur avait i'habitude de
revenir chez elle Ainsi 6veillee de
son reve de plaisir, elle comprit
qu'elle 6tait perdue dans la grande
ville sans savoir out diriger ses pas.
Triste et effrayde elle tourna coin
apris coin, traversa rue apris rue, a
chercher le lieu qu'elle avait quitter,
sans savoir comment le reconnaitre si elle rfussit
le retrouver, tant il y en avait qui lui ressem-
blait. Apris beaucoup de detours, elle se souvint
du mot mason qu'elle serait certain de recon-
naitre et qu'elle r6solut a chercher.
Enfin elle le revit sur un mur de 'autre c6t6 de
la rue.
Ma maison s'6cria-t-elle, "je l'ai retrouv6e;
bient8t ma sceur me retrouvera."
Un monsieur qui passait a ce moment, s'arreta
et dit:
"De quelle maison parles-tu, mon enfant? Celle-
ci est a moi."
Je parole du mot maison, que voici sur le
Et peux-tu lire ce mot-lk ?"
Oui, monsieur, ma soeur me l'a appris."
Et comment s'appelle cette bonne sceur ?"




Et ton nom, petite ?"
Je m'appelle Lulu."
Ccile et Lulu rpeta le monsieur; puis il
dit vivement: Comment s'appelle ton phre ?"
"Mon pere n'est plus. II s'appela M. Henri
Jolivet, mais "
Mon enfant," dit le monsieur d'une voix tris-
emuee, tu as vraiment trouve ta maison, car
desormais c'est h toi, comme tout ce que j'ai au
monde. Mon pauvre petit agneau perdue que j'ai
vainement cherchee depuis si longtemps, viens
dans mes bras,"-et ii I'embrassa tendrement.
A ce moment une jeune fille, d'une mine effarde,
tourna le coin d'un pas rapid.
Oh, Lulu !" s'ecria la nouvelle venue d'une voix
impatientee, "comment as-tu pu &tre si mechante ?
VoilA plus d'une heure que je te cherche !"

Mais pourquoi n-'es-tu pas venue ici me cher-
cher tout-de-suite ? "
De quoi parles-tu, Lulu ? Ce n'est pas l'endroit
oh je t'ai laissee."
Mais si, C6cile, ne vois-tu pas le mot maison
que tu m'as enseign6 ? "
Tu te trompes, Lulu, c'est le m6me mot, mais
c'est un autre lieu."
Elle ne se trompe pas," dit le monsieur, c'est
le lieu qu'elle devait trouver. Ne me connais-tu
pas, Cecile ? "
Elle le regard fixement un instant, puis elle
poussa un cri: Mon oncle "
Lulu sait maintenant lire, ecrire et faire beau-
coup d'autre choses; mais elle n'oubliera jamais
la legon que sa smour lui avait donnee et qui avait
un resultat si heureux !


BY H. M. M.

THE curious custom of joking on the first of
April, sending the ignorant or the unwary on fruit-
less errands, for the sake of making them feel fool-
ish and having a laugh at them, prevails very
widely in the world. And whether you call the
victim a Fourth month dunce," an April fool,"
an "April fish" (as in France), or an "April
gowk" (as in Scotland), the object, to deceive him
and laugh at him, is everywhere the same.
The custom has been traced back for ages; all
through Europe, as far back as the records go.
The Feast of Fools is mentioned as celebrated
by the ancient Romans. In Asia the Hindoos
have a festival, ending on the 3 st of March, called
the "Huli festival," in which they play the same
sort of first of April pranks,-translated into Hin-
doo,-laughing at the victim, and making him a
" Huli fool." It goes back even to Persia, where it
is supposed to have a beginning, in very ancient
times, in the celebration of spring, when their New
Year begins.
How it came to be what we everywhere find it,
the wise men cannot agree. The many authorities
are so divided, that I see no way but for us to
accept the custom as we find it, wherever we may
happen to be, and be careful not to abuse it.

Some jokes are peculiar to particular places. In
England, where it is called All Fools' Day, one
favorite joke is to send the greenhorn to a bookseller


to buy the Life and Adventures of Eve's Grand-
mother," or to a cobbler to buy a few cents' worth
of "strap oil,"-strap oil being, in the language
of the shoe-making brotherhood, a personal appli-


cation of the leather. The victim usually gets a
good whipping with a strap.
There was an old superstition in England that
prayers to the Virgin at eight o'clock on All
Fools' Day would be of wonderful efficacy, and
it is seriously mentioned by grave writers of old
In Scotland the first of April fun is called hunt-
ing the gowk," and consists most often of sending
a person to another a long way off, with a note
which says, Hunt the gowk another mile." The
recipient of the note gives him a new missive to
still another, containing the same words; and so
the sport goes on, till the victim remembers the
day of the month, and sits down to rest and think
about it.
In France, where the custom is very ancient, the
jokes are much the same; but the victim is called
an April fish," because he is easily caught. In
one part of France there is a custom of eating a
certain kind of peas which grow there, called pois
chiches. The joke there is to send the peasants to
a certain convent to ask for those peas, telling them
that the fathers are obliged to give some to every
one who comes on that day. The joke is as much

on the monks as on the peasants, for there is often
a perfect rush of applicants all day.
A more disagreeable custom prevails in Lisbon
on the first of April, when the great object is to
pour water on passers-by, or, failing in that, to
throw powder in their faces. If both can be done,
the joker is happy.
I need not tell you the American styles of joking:
nailing a piece of silver to the side-walk; tying a
string to a purse, and jerking it away from greedy
fingers; leaving tempting-looking packages, filled
with sand, on door-steps; frying doughnuts with
an interlining of wool; putting salt in the sugar-
bowl, etc. You know too many already.
But this custom, with others, common in coarser
and rougher times, is fast dying out. Even now it
is left almost entirely to playful children and the
uneducated classes. This sentiment, quoted from
an English almanac of a hundred years ago, will,
I 'm sure, meet the approval of grown-ups" of
the nineteenth century :

But 't is a thing to be disputed,
Which is the greatest fool reputed,
The one that innocently went,
Or he that him designedly sent."





*'. il. i minister's wife was n't well. The
2,I'.! l doctor said she needed rest and a
change. The sea-air would do her
J'. You must go to Boston and visit
P i'atilda," said the minister.
SIf "' Who'd take care of the house ? "
S .ed she.
"I would," said Thirza, boldly. "I
am'most eleven; I can keep house!"
Who 'd take care of us?" asked Pattikin.
"I would," said her father. Mother would
take the baby, of course, and I hope I 'm to be
trusted with the rest."
Who 'd make the bread ? asked Seth.
Now, raised bread was yet one of the mysteries to
Thirza. She could mix up biscuit, and had a gene-
ral idea how a good many other things were done,
but not much experience in doing them. Never-
theless, her ambition was fired at the thought of
being mistress of the house, and she answered, but
not so boldly: "I would; mother could tell me
how. Oh I shall get along first-rate, I know.
I like to keep house."
Her experience in that line was limited to such
half days as her mother had been able to devote to
parish visiting.
So it was decided that the minister's wife should
spend at least four weeks in Boston.
There were endless instructions given to Thirza
-so many, indeed, that when she came to want
them she could remember scarcely one.
How desolate the house seemed, when having
caught the last possible glimpse of the stage, the
minister and his children went in They looked at
the empty "mother's chair,"and then at the empty
cradle, and then, rather wistfully, at one another,
as a homesick feeling began to creep over them.
Then the minister boldly lifted the cradle and set
it in the farthest corner of the room.
It's quite a decent-sized kitchen," said he, in
a cheerful tone, "when the cradle is out of the
way; and Robbie will soon be old enough to do
without it."
The spell thus broken, every one instantly felt
their courage rise and their spirits revive.
"I can get the dinner, father," said Thirza.
"It's only boiled meat and vegetables, and I've

often prepared them for mother. Tilda will help,
and we shall not need anybody else."
"That's my brave little woman!" said her
father; and after a few cheery words to Pattikin
and the boys, he went off to the study, to come out
no more till dinner was on the table.
Thirza remembered, as soon as he was out of
sight, that her mother had said she would better
ask him to get out the meat for her.
Never mind," she said to herself, I guess I
can get it well enough. I wont call him back."
Tilda went down cellar with her to hold the
lamp. By vigorous pulling, Thirza got a piece of
corned beef up from the brine and into her pan.
Then she had to run up and warm her fingers; the
brine was so cold !
She washed the meat in warm water a good
while to get her fingers warm. Looking up at the
clock she saw that it was nearly eleven.
It's time it was in; mother always boils it a
long time, I know," said she, and plumped it into
the pot, which she half filled with cold water.
Now for some pork," said she. "Oh, how I
hate to put my hands into cold brine again I "
But she went down, and took off the lid of the
pork barrel, and lifted out the stone that held the
meat down. After feeling about in the brine for a
while, she got hold of a piece of pork. She could
only get a very little hold, because it was packed
in so tightly, and her fingers would slip off, and the
pork would n't come up.
Oh dear oh dear my fingers are freezing !
What shall I do ? I'l1 take the carving-knife and
pry it up "
She ran up for the carving-knife, and stopped a
little to warm her fingers again. Then she went
back and pried at the pork with the knife.
Crack !" and the minister's folks had for a
carving-knife only a broken blade, and a handle
with a piece about two inches long. Thirza sat
down on the potato bin and cried.
Never mind," said Tilda, who was getting the
potatoes, "I guess carving-knives don't cost very
much. Pa'll get another, I know."
Thirza was pretty sure it would cost much.
But she dried her eyes, and prepared for another
plunge for the pork. She tugged away again with
no better success.
I would n't get any pork to-day," said Tilda.
"Mother does n't, always.'
So Thirza concluded she would n't try any more




to get the pork up, but would get the cabbages and
beets and potatoes on as soon as she could.
When she got upstairs again it was half-past
eleven and the pot was n't boiling.
What's the matter that it does n't boil yet ?"
said she, puckering her forehead into little wrinkles.
I guess the fire 's 'most out," said Tilda.
The fire was not only almost, but altogether, out.
They hurried to rebuild it, and at twelve the pot
began to boil. It stopped, though, when they put
in the vegetables. But it began again soon.
Then Thirza and Tilda set the table.
At half-past twelve their father came out to din-
ner. The table was all ready. The bread was cut,
and the glasses filled with water. The pot was yet
boiling on the stove, with a cheerful bubbling, and
things looked very promising.
Dinner 'most ready ?" asked the minister, rub-
bing his hands together before the fire.
I guess so, father said Thirza, cheerfully.
Then, recollecting her accident, she said, with a
trembling voice, ''I broke the carving-knife, father."
Broke the carving-knife?" said he, looking
concerned. How did you break it ? "
Thirza explained about the pork. Her father
looked at the knife, put the two pieces together,
and then, as they would n't stay so, laid them down
on the sink-board, and, taking a fork, lifted the lid
of the dinner-pot. Just then Seth, Samuel, Simon,
Sandy, and Pattikin came in to dinner.
You did n't call us, Mrs. Housekeeper," said
Seth, so we took the liberty to come. Hope no
offense, mum "
I did n't call you, because dinner was n't ready,"
said Thirza. The potatoes don't seem to be quite
done. How blue you look, Patty Come to the
fire. It's growing colder, is n't it ? "
Guess 't is said Pattikin, warming her fat
fingers. Going to have another winter, I s'pose."
I should think so," said Thirza. It 's the
last of March now."
The minister was trying the potatoes and meat,
with his fork, to see how nearly they were done.
The meat seems very hard; what time did you
put it on, Thirza ? "
It got to boiling about half-past, I believe,"
said Thirza.
Half-past ten ?" said her father.
"No, sir; half-past eleven," said Thirza. She
really thought it was but little later than that, for
she had n't kept watch of the clock.
Her father laughed. I might have known it
would n't get done," said he. The stage went at
a quarter past ten. I know your mother boils the
meat almost all the forenoon."
"What shall we do?" said Thirza, looking in
dismay toward the group of impatient brothers.

Her father opened the cellar door and took down
a great ham that hung in the cellar-way, and began
to cut it with the bread knife, after he had whetted
it a minute or so. At this sight the faces of the
whole family grew brighter.
Thirza tried the potatoes once more. They were
done now, and by the time she had peeled them,
the cabbage was done and the ham was cooked.
The beets seemed as hard as ever, but that was no
matter. They were left to boil with the beef, while
the family sat down to their dinner.
"I hope things wont go so every day," said
Thirza, looking up at the clock, which told a quar-
ter past one.
"I hope so, too," said Seth. "Though all is
well that ends well."



SUPPER went off well enough. There was plenty
of bread, and a gingerbread, baked yesterday.
Breakfast went pretty well, too, only that there
was a little too much soda in the johnny-cake,
which gave it a greenish hue.
There is n't bread enough left for dinner," said
Thirza, after breakfast was over. I guess I 'd
better put some to rising."
It will not get raised to bake for dinner," said
her father. You need n't expect it. You can
make biscuit, can't you ?"
Yes, sir. I '11 bake biscuit for dinner, then.
The bread will get raised for supper, I suppose."
I should think so; though it seems to me your
mother puts it to rise the night before. I 'm not
sure, but I have some such impression."
Sometimes she does, and sometimes she does
n't," said Seth. I know, for I've seen her."
It was a relief that somebody knew, for Thirza
only "believed," and Tilda '"could n't be sure,"
and a great deal depended on the raised bread.
Thirza could n't keep such a family on biscuits.
"You'd better set it going just as soon as pos-
sible, Thirza."
Thirza ran down to the cellar and brought up
the jug in which her mother kept the yeast.
The cork is tied down with a string, and the
knot is a hard one. Wont you untie it, father ? "
The minister gave the jug a shake or two, say-
ing: There seems to be plenty in it. That's a
good thing, for I am afraid we should n't be equal
to making yeast. I wonder why she ties it down
that way ? said he, as he picked at the knot.
He soon found out why. The knot being untied
and the cork loosened a little -
Bang It went clear to the ceiling overhead,




while a stream of yeast followed, flowing over upon
the minister's hands, on the table and on the floor.
Get a pan !-quick !-we 're losing it all! he
exclaimed. A pan being brought, the overflowing
was directed into that and saved.
Well, really your mother is a remarkable
housekeeper That's what I call lively yeast. Do
you know how much to use?"
"Yes, sir; a cupful. Mother told me." And
Thirza proceeded immediately to mix the bread.


cutter. Thirza was very happy about the work,
and sang all the time she was doing it.
When they were in the oven, she began to set
the table, still singing.
Have you looked at your biscuits since you put
them in ?" asked Tilda, presently. The fire is
pretty hot. Perhaps they will burn."
Thirza hurried to the oven. What in the
world ails them ?" said she, with the little fretful
wrinkles puckering her forehead all at once.


I suppose this ought to be tied down again,"
said her father. "But I shall be careful how I
open it next time."
Thirza's bread rose like a puff. In fact, it was
ready for a second mixing just as she began to get
I can't attend to it now, anyway," said she.
" It will have to wait."
Tilda chopped meat and vegetables for a hash,
while Thirza made biscuits. It was fun to mix and
mold and cut them out with the pretty round cake-

Are they burned ?" asked Tilda, looking over
her shoulder into the oven.
No; but they're such nasty, flat, black look-
ing little things They don't rise a bit like
mother's," said Thirza, wrathfully. I put every-
thing in just exactly as she told me "-still survey-
ing the cakes with a frown. "Why don't they
rise ?"
"I'd shut the door and let them be a while
longer. May be they will, by and by," said Tilda,


Thirza shut the door, looking discontented
enough; for she had no hope of the cakes rising
by and by. I don't care if they burn black now,"
she said.
She resumed her work of setting the table, but
not her singing. She had used one of the drinking-
cups to mix soda in. She went to the pantry for
it, as there were not enough without it. There
was a little water in the bottom. She poured it
out. As she did so, some white powder stuck to
the cup.
What's this, I wonder And then it all
came to her in a minute. She had never put the
soda in at all. She leaned her head against the
old wooden pump and cried a little. It was such a
little bit of forgetting that should cause her such
trouble Then she went and looked into the oven
again, but mournfully, hopelessly, as at something
quite spoiled and lost.
Then she thought of the long table full of hungry,
disappointed children. Would there be hash
enough? A mountain weight of care seemed set-
tling down upon her heart. She visited the bread-
box. There was a little old bread and a few bits
of cold johnny-cake. She arranged these on a plate,
and then took out her biscuit, and put them on
a plate. They were as heavy as her poor little
heart, and her poor little heart was like lead in her
bosom. They were sour, too, and had got quite
brown, being left in the oven so long.
"I don't believe they will be very bad," said
Tilda, in a vain attempt to cheer her sister.
"There-the hash is done. I'm going to call
She called him, and then ran out to the barn
where the boys were working, to call them, too.
The minister came out, cheerful and smiling.
He noticed Thirza's downcast face, and naturally
looked at the dinner-table to find out the cause.
"Bad luck with the biscuits, my little maid?
What ails them? They are a leetle poor, I am
afraid, taking up one, and breaking it in halves,
and testing it by taste and smell.
"They are n't fit to eat! I 'm so sorry I for-
got to put in my soda!" said Thirza, crying
Oh, well! never mind If you know what was
the trouble, it is n't half so bad as it might be,
because you will have them all right next time,"
said her father, encouragingly. "Don't cry. We'll
get along with the hash and the cold bread."
There 's all there is said Thirza, disconso-
The boys, having been privately admonished by
Tilda, made no complaint. They were a hungry
little set, and even the leaden cakes went down,
and were converted into good rosy blood and sturdy

sinews, causing never a twinge of dyspepsia. Their
father dined on hash and cold johnny-cake, telling
his most amusing stories all the time to cheer
Thirza, whose heart grew sensibly lighter as the
biscuits disappeared, though she could n't eat
After dinner Seth followed her into the pantry,
and said: Anything will do to eat, Mrs. House-
keeper, if you '11 only keep a jolly face. But look
as doleful as you do to-day, and we shall all be cry-
ing for mother. Can I help you any ?"
Oh, Seth I 'm so tired of being housekeeper !
I never can stand it four weeks I work all the
time, and then I can't make things decent. I wish
I might never have to get another dinner "
Seth put his arms round her and kissed away
the tears, and promised to come up to the house
an hour before dinner to-morrow and help; and
if things did n't turn out well, the responsibility
should be his.

AFTER the boys were gone, the minister came
out into the kitchen. He wore a very droll face,
and went straight to the row of nails behind the
pantry door, where a big linen apron hung, and
tied it round his waist.
Now you '11 see how a minister can cook I 've
finished my sermon, and I am going to help you
this afternoon. If we get our work done in season,
we '11 have a ride before supper. What is there to
do, Mrs. Housekeeper?"
Thirza actually laughed to see her father with a
kitchen apron on, setting about housework.
Come," said he, lay out the work, and then
we'll divide it up, and get it done in no time."
And he looked intent upon business.
Well," said Thirza, in the first place there's
this bread to mold. It ought to have been done
before, but I could n't, because you see it was
dinner-time. I 'm afraid it's sour."
"Well, what else? I want the work all before
my mind, so I can go at it intelligently."
All these dishes to wash. Tilda can do them.
Then there 's that basketful of clothes. Mother
had n't time to iron them, and I meant to have
done it yesterday; but the day slipped away some-
how, and I did n't get it done. And we've nothing
for supper., I suppose mother would make apple
pies, and I would if I knew how; but everything
she told me seems to have gone out of my head."
Oh, I know how to make a pie," said Tilda.
"You just cut up the apples and roll out the crust
and put it in and put sugar on it, and cover it up
with the other crust and bake it. It's just as easy !"




But the crust-how do you make the crust? "
said the minister.
With lard and flour and water-or milk, I for-
get which," said Tilda.
"Any soda?" asked Thirza. Tilda didn't know.
We will try, anyway. We are not going four

we will all go for a grand drive while the pies
are cooling."
The bread ought to have been good, after such a
vigorous molding as it got at the minister's hands.
And when it was in the pans, it did rise in a won-
derfully short space of time. Tilda washed dishes

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weeks without an apple pie!" said her father.
"If we fail the first time, we'll try again, and
keep trying till we get it right. I'll mold the
bread and make the pies. You, Thirza, shall do
the ironing, and Tilda can wash the dishes. Then
VOL. IV.-25.

with marvelous zeal and rapidity, and Thirza so far
forgot her troubles that she hummed a little over
her ironing-board. It was such an inspiration to
have father working with them.
As for the pies, the minister shortened and sweet-


ened and spiced as if he had always been used to it.
He made crust enough for five or six, so he had to
send for more apples; but Tilda brought them
from the cellar, and pared and sliced, and at last
they were all in the oven.
It was encouraging to see four great loaves of
new bread arrayed on the pantry shelves, and the
pies beside them. The little girls went off to ride
with light hearts.
They came home in fine spirits, but the minister
noticed Thirza's flushed face and slow movements.
"We ought to divide up the work," said he;
"I see that the girls have too much on their hands.
How many things are there, Thirza, that have to-
be done every day ?"
Oh, no end said Thirza, laughing. I
could n't begin to tell them. A great many of them
are such little things, and only take a few minutes."
"And yet, altogether, they keep you at work
about all day, don't they ? Tell all you can think
of, large or small."
Thirza began, and the minister took his note-
book from his pocket and wrote them down. There
was quite a long list.
"Then I know there are other things that are
always needing to be done once or twice a week,
but which don't come regularly every day," said he;
"let us have a list of these also."
Thirza began again, and again quite a long list
was the result.
Now, we each can take upon ourselves a part of
these duties, and not be heavily burdened either.
In the first place, let every one make his own bed,
and take care of his room. It is very easy work,
and it will not hurt a boy to know how to do such
work properly. I think I can make mine up so
handsomely as to be a pattern for you. At any
rate, I 'll try, and if Seth can put me to shame, the
girls may cheer him roundly."
Then I will take it upon myself," he resumed,
after a moment's consultation of his note-book, to
see that the lamps are filled and kept in order.
Seth may cut the meat, and bring up the vege-
tables for dinner, every morning, before he goes out
to his work. Samuel may sweep down the chamber
stairs, and the front entry, and steps. Simon may
see that both pails are filled with water, and the
wood-box with wood."
Why, I always do that! said Simon.
"I thought you forgot it, sometimes," said
Thirza, mildly; and I forget to tell you, so I
have to run for wood pretty often, some days."
If I forget again I '11 eat raw potatoes for my
dinner," said Simon, resolutely. But give me
some other work, too."

I will give you nothing else for every-day," said
his father, "but twice a week, say Tuesday and
Friday evenings, you may bring up a pan of apples,
and pare them for me to make pies next day.
You and Sandy have to churn twice a week already,
so I think that will be your share of the work."
And I'll help cut the apples," said Sandy.
Father, we can't trust him !" said Thirza. He
never thinks to wash his hands, and -- "
Sandy had a quick temper, and he flared up at
You better not say much about that, Miss Taze,
when you forgot to put something or other in the
biscuits, and made 'em real bad and sour, your-
"Hush, Sandy For shame Thirza didn't
say that to provoke you, but because it was a
solemn and awful fact," said Seth, and necessary
to be taken into consideration."
Sandy showed signs of another outbreak at this,
but his father interposed.
"There, Sandy! that will do. I will tell you
what your work shall be. You can grind the
coffee for Thirza every morning, and Saturdays
you may sweep out the shed-room. That will be
your share."
And now mine said Pattikin.
"I will teach you to set the table-for me, if you
will be in the house at the right time," said Thirza.
"I truly will said Pattikin.
"And you know the dusting is always your work,
only you are 'most always out-doors when it ought
to be done," continued Thirza.
"I'm truly going' to stay in my house all the
morning for future to come said Pattikin. "You
need n't laugh, 'cause I '11 do it, see if I don't."
It's quite time Pattikin was making herself
useful! said the minister. She 's been a play-
thing a good while. So if the chairs are found
covered with dust at dinner-time, nobody shall be
blamed but Patty. Nobody must do it for her,
or remind her. And she may learn to set the table,
too. Mother will be pleased when she comes to see
that her little gypsy girl has turned into a neat little
housemaid. We all will begin our new tasks to-
morrow, and Saturday we must write to mother,
and tell her how we are getting along."
I'm sure Tilda and I will not have hard work
to do what is left; you have taken so much off
our hands," said Thirza, gratefully.
I guess it was my bed-time 'bout 'leven hours
ago," said Pattikin, gaping; on which hint she was
bundled off to bed with small ceremony. And it
was not long before the rest followed, for they kept
early hours in Pattikin's house.

(To be continued.)




THERE are two ways in which texts can be illu-
minated. You can buy a square or oblong of per-
forated paper at a fancy-shop, with the text outlined
upon it in pale gray, and, with floss and split zephyr
worsteds, you can work the letters, shade them, and
produce very pretty effects. Or you can take a bit
of Bristol board, measure and sketch your own let-
ters, and make them of any beautiful colors you
like with a camel's hair brush and water-paints.
Some people practice still a third method with oil-
paints and a wooden panel; but this is more diffi-
cult, and so few of you boys and girls who read ST.
NICHOLAS have oil-paints, or know how to use
them, that it is not worth our while to speak further
on this method. Neither is it worth while to say
much about the first way, for however pretty the
perforated embroidery may look when it is done,
and however neat the stitches may be, it can never
have the freedom or value of a text done in the
second way; nor can the doing of it ever give the
same pleasure. Still, since some of you may like
to try it, I will add that all the rules for grouping
and distributing the colors, according to their sym-
bolic meanings, apply to the embroidered as well
as to the painted illuminations, and it will be quite
safe to follow them in laying out your work.

The paints absolutely necessary for illuminating
purposes are four in number: Black, white, ver-
milion, and cobalt, or ultramarine blue. Most
paint-boxes contain these four; but for any of you
who do not happen to have a paint-box, I would
recommend buying what are called the "half-
moist colors, which are the pleasantest and easiest
to use. Buy half a cake of each of those mentioned,
and, besides, lemon yellow, carmine, gamboge,
Prussian blue, and burnt-umber. If you want to
make your list very complete, you may add sepia,
sap-green, rose-madder, cadmium, neutral tint, and
violet carmine; but these are luxuries, not neces-
saries, and you can do very well without them.
Gold and silver paints are, however, indispensable.
The best are those which come in tiny shells or

saucers; but these are also the most costly. A
good substitute is the preparation known as Bes-
semer's Gold." It is a fine dry powder, sold in
small bottles, with larger bottles of a liquid which
dissolves it, the price of the two bottles being
seventy-five cents. They last a long time, and are
much cheaper than the little shells, which cost
twenty cents apiece, and barely hold gold enough
for a single capital letter.
The Bristol board should be thick and smooth.
A pale tint of gray or cream is better in most cases
than white. Two brushes are needed, a large and
a small, besides a third brush kept exclusively for
the gold paint. For other implements, you will want
only a lead pencil and ruler; but, above all, you
want that care and patience so indispensable for
producing anything really fine, delicate, or worth
having. There is no royal road to anything, re-
member. All our little successes must be earned
step by step, slowly and faithfully, with nothing
shirked, nothing hurried, and we must be willing
to give the time which is needed to make each step
perfect in its way before we pass on to another.
After the materials, the next thing to be consid-
ered is the design. Pretty patterns for letters can
be picked up almost anywhere-from signs, news-
paper headings, book-covers, or the ornamental
work in churches. A little practice will make it
easy to vary and combine them. There is a "Book
of Alphabets also, published by Mr. Prang of Bos-
ton, which it would not be a bad idea for boys and
girls who live near each other to club for and buy.
Its price is two dollars and a half; it contains an
alphabet of capitals in color, and of small letters in
a dozen different styles, ancient and modern, and is
a great help to young beginners.
The first step after trimming the Bristol board to
its proper size, is to measure the spaces and draw
parallel lines, between which the letters can be
sketched in with lead pencil. Make the pencil lines
very light, that they may not show through the
color. Next, paint in all the small letters, being
careful to keep the edges neat and distinct, to dot
the i, and to add the commas and period. A mixt-





ure of white with the other paints makes it much
easier to put them in smoothly. This mixture is
known to artists as "body color." After the small
letters are finished and shaded, paint the capitals in
the same way; and, last of all, add the gold and
the ornamental touches, the flowers, vines, ara-
besques, and little hints of contrast, which add so
much to the richness of the effect. I cannot tell
you what colors to use, or what designs, for these
depend on your own taste and fancy, and every
worker must make them out for himself. But if
you begin with simple things,-with a single line,
for instance,-a line which says something brave or
sweet, or comforting (the Bible is full of such lines),
painting it in plain gray letters, shaded on one
edge with black, and one vivid capital in scarlet,
or blue and gold, you will have done a valuable
and delightful thing; and gbing on little by little,
your powers will increase, till by and by you pro-
duce work which is beautiful for its own sake as
well as for that of the thought which it enshrines.
I will add a list of rules for the choice and
placing of the colors. Every color has a meaning;
did you know that? and there are certain words
which must always be painted in certain colors, and
no other.
Rule z. Capitals and initials should always be of
a different color, or ornamented differently, from
other letters of the text.
Rule 2. Letters belonging to words which do
not begin with a capital must all be of one color.
Rule 3. It is not necessary that all the letters
should be shaded, but the shaded letters in the
same sentence should be shaded on the same side.
Black or dark brown shading makes a red letter
appear more brilliant. If one letter in a sentence
is lightened with gold or bright color, the other
letters must be lightened to correspond.
Rule 4. Never paint an unimportant word in a
striking color.
Rule 5. Sacred names, such as Christ, God, Lord,
Savior, Creator, should always be painted in red,
black and gold. The letters I. H. S. should also
be in red, black and gold, and all personal pro-
nouns referring to Deity, such as Him, His, Thy,
Thine, must be in the same colors, which are called
Rule 6. Do not use these colors combined except
in words denoting the Deity, or pronouns referring

to Him. Ever since the first gospel was illuminated
this rule has been observed, red being used to sig-
nify love, and sometimes also creative power; gold,
to signify glory; and black, awe or majesty. If
you notice, you will find these colors constantly
used in the decoration of churches.
Rule 7. It is not desirable to use gold and silver
in the same word. Never put a blue letter next to
a purple or green one. Gold harmonizes with all
Various nations hold traditions about the mean-
ings of colors. Even our North American Indians
have ideas upon this subject, and, strangely enough,
these traditions agree in the main all the world over.
These are some of them:
Red is the color of life and happiness. It is
from this idea that the expression "Red-Letter
Days" comes.
Blue is the color of heaven, and should be used
for words which denote heavenly things, such as
piety, truth, constancy, divine contemplation.
Yellow or gold means not only glory, but faith,
goodness, marriage.
Green symbolizes spring, youth, mirth, hope in
immortality; also victory, as in the palm and laurel,
which are emblems of a conqueror.
Violet means suffering.
Gray, the color of ashes, means humility, mourn-
ing, and penitence.
Purple was the color of pomp and royal state.
Kings and emperors allowed this color to be used
in churches, otherwise it would have been sacred to
imperial use. In former days, princes, even in
their cradles, wore this color, hence the phrase
"Born in the purple."
White denotes innocence, light, faith, joy, relig-
ious purity. Sometimes silver is employed in place
of white.
Black typifies night, darkness, death, sin, mourn-
ing, and negation. It is proper to use black in such
words as no, never, not, nevermore.
You understand that I do not prescribe these
colors to be used always exactly after these rules;
but it is well to know the rules, and, as they may
be helpful to some of you, I give them. The best
rule is taste, and that is a thing that grows by using.
So don't be discouraged, any of you, if you chance
not to succeed the first time, but remember Robert
Bruce and the spider, and Try, try again."






" WHAT do you say to the snow to-day?"
"Oh, the robins and roses are coming.
For South-wind and Sun will find the old way;
And the brown bees soon be humming.

" You 've had your revel-you 've had your day !
Oh, snow, it is time for leaving !
For never 'round paths of warm, sweet May
Should the winter's ghost be grieving!"

" What do you say to the snow to-day?"
Oh, the red in the maples is glowing,
If still in the heart of old woods you delay
The pale anemone's blowing.

" You 've held your revel-you 've had your day,
To the tune of the North-winds' humming;
But there never was June yet that lost her way,
And the robins and roses are coming! "



A TABLET, from Boston, with wise thoughts of the thoughts I bear, than all your experience and
Mr. Emerson engraved upon its hard substance, cunning added together."
while lying by the road-side, saw a fox passing by. That may be very true," replied the fox, "but

Ho you poor creature !" cried the tablet, recollect, if you please, that my wisdom is original,
filled with an exalted opinion of its own wisdom, and my own, while yours are the thoughts and
"men call you wise and cunning, do they? Be- ideas of another, and only impressed upon you by
hold me I have more wisdom in one sentence of vast labor at that."

^ -W 0 -a




>' ASPAR DEANE lived in California,
2 upon the border of the Sierra
Nevada Mountains. He had
been brought up in this wild
region, for his father, when a
young man, had been one of
the miners who drifted from the
old "States" when gold was first
discovered in California, in the
year 1849. Mr. Deane had tried
mining in every shape, and had
at last satisfied himself that it did not pay very well
after all, and that steady labor at fair wages was the
best method for getting rich. He was a man who
made up his mind slowly, but when he had de-
cided, did not easily change. He worked for two
years in a quartz-crushing mill, running the station-
ary engine by which the machinery was moved.
He saved money and soon had a thousand dollars
in the bank at Marysville. One day he detected a
leak in the battery through which the gold passes
after being separated from the quartz. It was a
very small leak, perhaps a quantity of dust" equal
in size to a bean might have passed out each day
since the leak started. He went to the superintend-
ent of the mine, and told him what he had seen.
"Nonsense, Mr. Deane," he said, "how much
gold do you think could be lost through a leak of
that size ?"
"Will you give me permission to wash out for
my own benefit the clay under the battery? Mr.
Deane asked.
Of course; but you will only waste your time."
Mr. Deane said nothing more; but when his six
hours of duty were over, and another engineer and
fireman came to relieve him at the engine, he bor-
rowed a wheelbarrow, and took four or five heavy
loads of sand and clay from beneath the battery.
He scraped this dirt up clean, for he knew that gold
was heavy and would work through any soil except
hard pan. The men looked on and laughed as
they saw him at the work, but were not so scornful
when he had washed fourteen hundred dollars
in gold-dust from the heap of earth taken out.
With this money and that which he had in the
bank, he purchased and stocked a ranch-as a farm
is called on the Pacific coast-of about two hun-
dred acres, in the bottom lands above the Yuba
River. He had been a farmer in New York State,
and knew the best land to choose for stock-raising.
He wanted grass, water and shade, and a better

plot than he had selected could not have been found
in that region. Then he found a wife, which was
easily done, for a certain pretty girl in Marysville
had promised to wait for him until he was ready to
establish a home. When his house was built he went
to Marysville, and was married; and the two took
their horses and rode away, under the beautiful
Californian sky, to their home in the shadow of the
snowy mountains. Starting at the right time, Mr.
Deane grew rich, and at last became one of the
most extensive stock ranchers in that part of the
State. He had added to his farm year by year until
he had nearly fifteen hundred acres of the best land.
He raised cattle and horses for the San Francisco
aid Sacramento markets; and every year great
droves from his corrals went down to Marysville, and
thence down the Yuba to the sea.
He had two children-the older a boy called
Caspar, who was a sort of prince upon his father's
land. In stock ranches a great many hands are
employed, mostly Mexicans and native Californians.
Some of these attend to the cattle, but the Cali-
fornians in general prefer to work among the horses.
Caspar grew up among these rude men, seeing
only the miners who made his father's house-a
stopping-place at times; and it is a wonder that he
turned out so fine a boy as he became. But he had a
good mother, and a father who knew when and how
to stop him in any wrong act. He did not allow
his vaqueros and stockmen to use profane language
before the boy, and they knew that their time on
" Deane's Ranch was short if they disobeyed him.
Mr. Deane, for the present, attended personally to
Caspar's schooling, for he himself had had a good
common-sense education. Maggie, his little daugh-
ter, the delight of Caspar's heart, was a sweet little
thing, twelve years old when Caspar was fifteen-
the date at which Caspar met with the adventure
about to be related.
In the foot-hills, a few miles back from his father's
ranch, was an elevated table-land, which was the
favorite hunting-ground of the people of that
vicinity. Living, as he did, upon the border of
civilization, Caspar had early learned the use of a
gun, and at fifteen years of age few could beat him
at a quick shot. One morning in the wet season,
Mr. Deane, having business across the foot-hills,
invited Caspar to go with him, and, as Maggie
pleaded hard, she was allowed to go too.
The vaquero, Jos6, quickly brought their horses.
Caspar was at home in the saddle, and even Maggie



was a good rider, for at that time every one on a
ranch in California early learned to ride. Mr.
Deane rode a large gray "American" horse, as
Californians term an animal brought from the
East; Caspar, a light-colored mustang, which he
had named Fleetfoot,-a fiery animal, but one
which Caspar knew how to manage; while Maggie
had a beautiful white pony which had been trained
especially for her use.
They cantered away past the stock corrals and
sheep runs, stockmen's huts and the cabins of
squatters, Caspar riding at the right hand of his
father and Maggie at the left. They passed the
mill where Mr. Deane had made his lucky strike,
and Caspar looked seriously at the sand and clay,
wondering whether he could do as well as his father
had done if he chose to try. A solemn-faced China-
man, with a big umbrella-hat and a long pig-tail,
was washing clothes by the side of the road, and
looked up with a sickly grin.
How are you, John ?" asked Caspar, who knew
the man.
Ah said the Chinaman, "I well good all
'ee time; how you?"
"I 'm first-rate, John," replied Caspar; "I'm
going through the foot-hills with father, and if I
get more game than I want, you shall have some.
How will you like that?"
Welly good," said John, with the same mean-
ingless smile. "You no got gun; how can shoot
when no have gun ?"
"My gun is down to Ranger's," Caspar ex-
plained; I'm going to get it as I go down."
Ranger kept a store a short distance below the
mill, and Caspar rode up to the door and shouted
to a boy inside, who quickly brought out a hand-
some rifle, with bullet-pouch and powder-flask.
It takes you a great while to get ready, Caspar,"
said Mr. Deane. "What do you mean to do with
your rifle ? "
"I '11 tell you, father. You are going across
the table-land, and Job Fisher tells me that it is
just running over with game now. I want you to
leave me there and take Maggie with you wherever
you are going, and I'll have a load of hares and
grouse before you get back."
That is the reason you brought the gun, is it ? "
asked Mr. Deane, smiling. Suppose I should
refuse to let you stop there alone ? "
Then," said Caspar, looking blank for a mo-
ment, "I suppose I would give it up and go with
Mr. Deane did n't know that he had any objec-
tions to his son's having a hunt, only adding: You
must promise to be careful."
I '11 be very careful, father."
They were now riding through the passes of the

foot-hills, as the elevations of land always seen at
the bases of mountain chains are named. Up they
went through range after range, each somewhat
higher and steeper than the one before, until they
came out upon a scene so beautiful that Maggie
clapped her hands with delighted surprise.
It was a vast table-land, fringed with sage-bushes
and aromatic shrubs; but the center, as far as the
eye could see, was a mass of flowers of every shape
and hue. The air was heavy with the mingled
perfumes of the blossoms which a month hence,
when the sun had scorched them, would lie with-
ered and brown upon the ground.
"I'm going to picket Fleetfoot here, father,"
Caspar remarked, and then skirt the sage-brush.
Then, you understand, everything will run into the
center and I can get a good shot."
I shall be gone about two hours; don't forget
yourself, and go too far."
So saying, Mr. Deane rode away with Maggie,
leaving Caspar to his own devices.
Fastening one end of his rawhide lariat firmly to
the pommel of the saddle, he drove the iron pin
attached to the other end deep into the sod, where
the grass was rich. Then he slung his game-bag
over his back, took his rifle and ammunition, and
started on a tramp.
For nearly an hour the boy started some sort of
game at short distances, and his game-bag was
soon full to overflowing. Not caring to make use-
less slaughter, he sat down to rest upon a mossy
knoll, and was wondering when his father would
come back, when a peculiar shadow fell upon the
grass beside him-a shadow which caused him a
thrill of horror, for it outlined the figure of a
gigantic bear.
He looked about and could see nothing. The
bear must be behind him, and he slipped silently
down the knoll on which he sat. There was a
shuffling sound in the grass, the shadow moved
away, and when he ventured to look up, a large
cinnamon bear was trotting slowly across the plain,
a hundred feet away. Luckily, the animal had not
seen him, and if Caspar could have let him alone
there would have been no trouble. But Caspar
was proud of his shooting, and made up his mind
that he could easily kill the brute, and show the
skin as a trophy. He knew the cinnamon bear was a
variety of the dreaded grizzly, and that to conquer
one in open fight would be no small honor. Sighting
across the knoll, he took steady aim and fired.
The bear turned a sort of somersault and fell, and
Caspar leaped to his feet with a shout of triumph;
but, to his horror, the bear also rose, slowly, and,
with a wicked look in the small, twinkling eyes,
came after him in that shuffling, deceitful, loping
gait which diminishes distance so rapidly and yet


seems so slow a pace. Caspar knew his danger,
and if he ever ran in his life he ran then.
One thing he thought he had learned to perfec-
tion, and had practiced in leisure hours,-to load a
rifle while running. He tried to do it now, but
seeing that he lost ground fearfully, gave it up, and
bringing his rifle to a trail dashed on at his best
speed. He was a noble runner, and for a little time
actually seemed to gain upon the bear; but his
breath was beginning to come in quick gasps, while
the bear could keep up that long, rolling gait for

to his side. A moment after, Caspar was in the
saddle, and the bear, seeming to realize that the
horse could outrun him, paused with an angry growl.
Now then, old fellow! cried Caspar; I '11
pay you Just wait until I load "
He swiftly rammed down a charge, and put on a
cap, while the bear stood waving his head from side
to side. The rifle was loaded, and throwing his
bridle across his arm, Caspar took steady aim and
fired. Crack!
The cinnamon rose upon his hind paws, struck


hours. He began to wish that he had let the
creature alone, but the wish was too late. At this
moment, when he had almost lost hope, he heard
a distant neigh. It was Fleetfoot, anxious for his
return. The sound gave him new courage, and
raising his fingers to his mouth, he uttered the
sharp whistle with which he had been wont to call
his horse. But he did not slacken his speed,-nay,
he even increased it, dashing forward, with wild
eyes, heaving chest and beating heart, repeating
his whistle as he ran. Still the bear gained, when
the rush of hoofs was heard, and Fleetfoot, trailing
the lariat, which he had dragged from the ground
at his master's call, dashed through the sage-brush

wildly, at the air, and fell with a crash. Caspar
loaded again, rode very near the prostrate beast, and
gave him another shot from the saddle. But the
huge body lay motionless. Then he knew that he
was surely dead, and uttered a shout of triumph
which made the foot-hills ring again, and with his
arms about the neck of his beloved Fleetfoot, he
thanked him for the life which he hid saved.
When, an hour later, Mr. Deane came back, he
found his son calmly seated upon the body of his
giant game, as coolly as if shooting cinnamon bears
were an every-day event. But I am afraid Caspar
bragged a little that evening among the workmen
at the mill and the stockmen in the ranch.




IN the northern heavens we now see the Little
Bear passing above the horizontal position which,
last month, he had not quite reached. The Great
Bear is now overhead, but inverted. The triplets
of stars ip, y, 1 and 6, t, ic represent his paws, and I
fear there is nothing better for his head than the
small group v, 0, and 23. The dreary constellation
Lynx occupies the position shown. It was not one
of the ancient constellations, but was invented by
Hevelius, just as Cameleopardalis, the Giraffe, was
invented, to fill up a waste place in the star-charts.
King Cepheus is now immediately below the pole,
but in a very unkingly attitude. The stars 7 and ic
represent his feet, flourishing wildly upward; C, E,
and 6, as I mentioned last month, represent his
head; and t marks the place of his left hand, in
which he bears a regal scepter. Admiral Smyth,
in whose "Bedford Cycle" there is much curious
information about the constellations, gives the fol-
lowing doggrel account of the true position of
Cepheus, according to Aratus.and Ptolemy:

Near to his wife and daughter see,
Aloft where Cepheus shines,
That wife, the Little Bear, and Swan,
With Draco, bound his lines;
Beneath the pole-star twelve degrees
Two stars your eye will meet,-
Gamma, the nomad shepherd's gem,
And Kappa mark his feet.
Alphirk (0), the Hindu's Kalpeny,
Points out the monarch's waist;
While Alderamin (a), beaming bright,
Is on the shoulder placed;
And where, o'er regions rich and vast,
The Milky Way is led,
Three stars, of magnitude the fourth,
Adorn the A-thiop's head."

The story of Cepheus and his wife Cassiopeia,
their daughter Andromeda, and Perseus, the gal-
lant knight who rescued her from the sea monster
(Cetus), does not belong to astronomy. But if it
did, I should not venture to tell it here; for has it
not been told already in Kingsley's charming poem
"Andromeda ?" How Perseus found means to gor-
gonize the sea monster with a petrifying stare is
even more charmingly told in the "Tanglewood
Tales by your own prose-poet, Hawthorne.
Cassiopeia is following Cepheus, a little to the
left, or west, of the north. You can always find
Cassiopeia by noticing that it is almost exactly
opposite the Dipper, regarding the pole as a center.
Thus 6 of the Great Bear, and a of Cassiopeia,
are at the two ends, and the pole at the middle of

a mighty arc on the heavens. Cassiopeia passes
under the pole star in the same undignified posi-
tion as her husband's. For you are not to suppose,
as many (I find) do, that e, 6, and 7 form the back
of Cassiopeia's chair, 7 and i the seat thereof, and
Sand P the ends of the chair's legs. These last are
at e and ii, while (and 4 mark the place of the top
rail. Still, in its present position, the group forms
a very fair picture of a rocking-chair, 6, a, 03, and 4
forming the rockers. Next month I shall speak
more particularly about this constellation.
The portion of the Milky Way now under the
pole is very irregular. In the constellation Cygnus
you will see a great opening in the Milky Way.
This opening is sometimes called the Northern
Coalsack, though it is not nearly as black as the
opening in the Southern Milky Way near the
Cross, which is the real Coalsack.
The region in which the northern coalsack lies
is shown in the map of the northern sky. But a
special map is added on page 388, for another pur-
pose. Since first this paper was written a new star
has appeared in the constellation Cygnus (the Swan).
On the evening of Nov. 24th, Professor Schmidt,
director of the Athens Observatory, noticed a star
of the third, magnitude at the place shown by the
skeleton star in the special map. Not only was no
star of that brightness there before, or any star visible
to the naked eye, but it was found when catalogues
and charts came to be examined, that no star had
ever been noted there, even in lists meant to include
all stars down to the tenth magnitude. For in-
stance, Argelander has made such a list, and charts
from it, showing no less than 324,000 stars,-that
is, a hundred times as many as we can see on the
darkest and clearest night; yet his list showed no
star where the new one had appeared. Astrono-
mers do not, however, suppose the new star is really
new, except in the sense of being seen for the first
time. They know that when last a new star ap-
peared in this way it was found to be one of Argel-
ander's army of 324,000 stars, and watching that
star (which had appeared in the constellation of
the Northern Crown in May, 1866), they found
that though it faded gradually out of sight to ordin-
ary vision, the telescope could still follow it, until it
had sunk to the tenth magnitude, at which degree
of luster it remained and still remains. No doubt
if we had had full lists of all stars down to the fif-
teenth, or perhaps the twentieth, magnitude, we
should have found that the new star in Cygnus




was simply an old faint star which had brightened sun's outer atmosphere, as seen during times of
up suddenly, and remained for a time as one among total eclipse. All these vapors surround our sun;
the stars adorning our skies. and it is very probable that if anything caused our
Examined with an instrument called the spectro- sun to blaze out with greatly increased light and
scope the new star gave a very strange account of heat, folks living on a world circling round some
itself. It was found to be emitting the same sort other sun would find the same peculiarities-in our

of light as other stars; but, besides that light, it sun's light as we have found in the light of the new
emitted such light as comes from intensely heated star in the Swan. What caused that star to blaze
vapors. Among the vapors in that star thus (for out in that strange way, we do not know. We
the time) intensely hot, were hydrogen, the vapors should like to know, because we might then deter-
of the metals sodium and magnesium, and a vapor mine whether the cause which had so disturbed
known to be present in enormous quantities in our that sun might not be one from which our own sun



may one day suffer. Whatever the cause was, its several hundred times its usual heat, it is certain
effects did not last very long. In a week the new that every creature on the earth would be destroyed,
star had sunk to the fifth magnitude, in another and when the sun returned to its usual luster it
week to the sixth, in yet another to the seventh, would shine on a system of worlds on which not a
since which time (December 15th) it has very slowly single living creature was left.
diminished, and is still (January 5th) above the In the southern sky, we find the great Sea-ser-

eighth magnitude. But although the unusual light
and heat of that remote sun faded thus quickly
away, yet if inhabited worlds circled around that
sun, the cooling of their sun must have come far
too late to save those creatures' lives. If our sun
were to shine even but for twenty-four hours with

pent, Hydra, occupying the leading position. This
is the longest, and nearly the largest, of all the con-
stellations. It began to show itself in our southern
region last month, and you will not quite see the end
of it for three months yet to come; so that it shows
itself in no less than five of our southern maps.


This is another constellation which has changed in
position owing to the mighty reeling motion of our
earth. When the constellation was first formed,

the Sea-serpent extended along the equator; and I
think originally represented the great serpent which
was supposed to gird round the ocean. I have
sometimes thought that when this constellation was
framed (and Cetus, too), there may still have re-
mained some few of those long-necked, paddling
sea-monsters whose skeletons are found from time
to time in various parts of the earth. You know
that Mr. Gosse, in a sketch called the "Great
Unknown," maintains that there are still
a few of these monsters left, who, being
seen from time to time with their long
necks reared above the sea, have been
regarded as sea-serpents. But though
this may be unlikely or impossible, as
Professor Owen seems to think, one may
well believe that such monsters were
either known or remembered, three or
four thousand years ago.
The bright star Cor Hydrar (or the
Serpent's Heart) is also called Alphard
(or the Solitary One). The head of the
Sea-serpent is marked by the stars 4, e,
and 5, which may be remembered con-
veniently, though absurdly, by the aid
to the memory which I mentioned in
the case of Cepheus's head last month.
The constellation Crater, or the Cup,
is a very neat one, and really like a
rather damaged claret-cup. It is now
tilted on one side, but formerly came
to the south upright, as a well-filled cup
should be. It has been regarded as the
original goblet out of which Noah first
took his wine, though since put to this higher use.
The ruling ecliptic constellation this month is
the Lion. You will know it at once by the mag-

nificent sickle, formed of the stars a (Regulus or
Cor Leonis, the Lion's Heart), 7r, ,, c, and k.
This group is sometimes conveniently called the
Sickle in Leo. It is an interesting region of
the sky for many reasons, but especially for
this, that the wonderful shower of falling
stars known as the November meteors, radi-
ates always from this part of the heavens.
The constellation of the Lion has been greatly
reduced from its former noble dimensions.
The figure shows how it is now presented in
our charts; but if you look at the heavens,
you will see nothing in the least degree re-
sembling a lion. Still, if you allow your
survey to range over a much larger space,
you will see a very fine lion, his head lying
on Cancer, his mane reaching to Leo Minor,
his fore-paws on the Sea-serpent's head, his
hinder paws on the two bright stars, shown
in the figure (behind his hind-paws), which
really belong to the Virgin, and his tail well repre-
sented by the constellation Coma Berenices, or
Queen Berenice's Hair (shown in the figure, but not
in the southern map). That this was formerly the
real extent of the constellation, is shown by the fact
that the star-cluster forming the knot of Coma
Berenices is still called by Arabians the Lion's Tail;
and there are vague traditions showing that Leo
formerly extended to the constellation Gemini.

The Lesser Lion is one of Hevelius's absurd
constellations. It occupies a space between the
Great Bear and the Lion, which might have been




divided quite readily between these two constella- a space not unlike a sextant there are none but
tions. Sextans is another idle addition to the con- very small stars.
stellation figures. It is so called, apparently, not Antlia, short for Antlia Pneumatica, the Air-
because there are any stars, even small ones, pump, occupies another desert region. It was in-
forming a shape like a sextant, but because over vented by Lacaille.



IN one of my walks, the other day, I saw two
boys of my acquaintance, whom I shall call Orson
and Robin, playing a game of barn-ball. I sup-
pose every country boy knows what that is. The
ball is thrown against the unclapboarded side of a
barn, or any other suitable building, and as it re-
bounds, the thrower, who stands behind the knocker,
tries to catch him out." Of course, there must
be no windows to knock the ball through, or, the
first you know, there will be a pane to pay for,
and, quite likely, somebody very cross about it.
A nice little game it is for two; and as I used to
be fond of it when I was a boy, and am something
of a boy still, I stopped to watch my young friends
Orson and Robin.
They played very well, and I sympathized so
much with their enjoyment, that I was myself a
little disappointed, when Orson's aunt appeared
with a letter which she said must go to the post-
office at once, and asked Orson to carry it.
Now, Orson was her favorite nephew, and I have
no doubt she had given him the very ball and bat
he was playing with at the moment. She is always
making him presents or doing him favors. So,
hard as it was for him to leave his sport, I expected
to see him, nevertheless, run with the letter, to
please one who was constantly doing things to
please him. On the contrary, however, he grum-
bled out, Can't go now,-I 've got Rob here to
play with me," and continued pitching the ball.
It is very important the letter sb ald go to-
night," pleaded the aunt. Come, Orson, dear;
then you can play when you come back."
"I don't want to I can't And bounce
went the ball again, tossed against the old barn.
Oh yes, go said Robin. I 'll go with
But Orson still refused, while the aunt turned
back sadly toward the house.
I'll go alone, then," cried Robin. Mrs.
Woodman I'll take the letter And he ran
after her to get it.

Oh, come, now You '11 spoil all the fun "
growled Orson, who was so angry that he would
not go with Robin, but stayed about the barn and
sulked,-flinging the ball occasionally, and trying
to knock it himself,-until his companion re-
I was walking by again when Robin came back;
and I think that if my readers could see what I
then saw in the faces of those two boys, it would
be a great deal better than anything I can write.
I thought of it a few days later, when I received
the editor's kind invitation to talk to the boys
of ST. NICHOLAS; and I wished that I could paint
for them that picture instead:
Orson, sullen, gloomy, selfish, unhappy;
Robin, bright, cheerful, radiant with satisfaction
and good-will,-until he came within the shadow
of Orson's discontent.
As I cannot paint this contrast, I may as well
make it a text for my Talk." The world is full
of Orsons, boys and men; there is, moreover, an
Orson and a Robin in almost every one,-a spirit
of selfishness and a spirit of good-will; and I am
going to ask each of my young readers to look for
these two fellows in himself,-to get rid of the bad
company of the one, and to cultivate the society of
the other.
There are many subjects which I should like to
talk with the boys about; but it seems to me they
may be nearly all summed up in that one golden
word-Good-will. Robin has this beautiful gift,
and it makes him helpful and happy. Orson lacks
it; and the opposite quality not only renders him
miserable, when things do not go to suit him, but
gives him the dreadful power of making others
uncomfortable. The good spirit will make a
brave, generous, upright, manly man of Robin;
the bad spirit-if it be not cast out-will make a
selfish, unaccommodating, hard, ill-natured man
of Orson. Need I ask you, my dear boy, which
you would rather be ?
I have called the good spirit a gift: are those,

_ _.


then, to blame who have it not ? But I have also
said-or meant to say-that every one has it in a
greater or less degree, and that all can cultivate it.
Easy enough it seems for Robin to give up for the
moment his own pleasures, and hasten to do a
good action; his joy is in it, and he knows that his
sports are all the sweeter when, after it, he comes
back to them. It is not so easy for Orson, because
he thinks too much about himself, in the first
place; partly, also, because he is not wise, and
does not know the satisfaction there is in generous
conduct. Ah! if I could only show him his own
portrait, and convince him that even he has a
Robin side, which he can show to the world when
he will, and make sunshine with it for himself as
well as for others !
I suppose you all, my boys, are looking for
some sort of success in life; it is right that you
should; but what are your notions of success ? To
get rich as soon as possible, without regard to the
means by which your wealth is acquired? There
is no true success in that: when you have gained
millions, you may yet be poorer than when you
had nothing; and it is that same reckless ambi-
tion which has brought many a bright and capable
boy like you, not to great estate at last, but to mis-
erable failure and disgrace,-not to a palace, but
to a prison. Wealth, rightly got and rightly used,
rational enjoyment, power, fame,-these are all
worthy objects of ambition, but they are not the
highest objects, and you may acquire them all
without achieving true success. But if, whatever
you seek, you put good-will into all your actions,
you are sure of the best success at last; for what-
ever else you gain or miss, you are building up a
noble and beautiful character, which is not only
the best of possessions in this world, but also is
about all you can expect to take with you into
the next.
I say, good-will in all your actions. You are
not simply to be kind and helpful to others; but,
whatever you do, give honest, earnest purpose to
it. Thomas is put by his parents to learn a busi-
ness. But Thomas does not like to apply himself
very closely.
"And what's the use ?" he says. "I 'm not
paid much, and I 'm not going to work much. I '11
get along just as easy as I can, and have as good
times as I can."
So he shirks his tasks; and instead of thinking
about his employer's interests, or his own self-
improvement, gives his mind to trifles,-often to
evil things, which in their ruinous effects upon
his life are not trifles. As soon as he is free from
his daily duties, he is off with his companions
having what they call a good time; his heart
is with them even while his hands are employed

in the shop or store. He does nothing thor-
oughly well,-not at all for want of talent, but
solely for lack of good-will. He is not preparing
himself to be one of those efficient clerks or work-
men who are always in demand, and who receive
the highest wages. There is a very different class
of people, who are the pest of every community,
workmen who do not know their trade, men
of business ignorant of the first principles of busi-
ness. They can never be relied upon to do well
any job they undertake. They are always making
blunders which other people have to suffer for, and
which react upon themselves. They are always
getting out of employment, and failing in business.
To make up for what they lack in knowledge and
thoroughness, they often resort to trick and fraud,
and become not merely contemptible, but crim-
inal. Thomas is preparing himself to be one of
this class. You cannot, my dear boy, expect to
raise a good crop from evil seed.
By Thomas's side works another boy, whom we
will call James. A lad of only ordinary capacity,
very likely. If Thomas and all the other boys
did their best, there would be but small chance for
James ever to become eminent. But he has some-
thing better than talent; he brings good-will to his
work. Whatever he learns, he learns so well that
it becomes a part of himself. His employers find
that they can depend upon him. Customers soon
learn to like and trust him. By diligence, self-
culture, good habits, cheerful and kindly conduct,
he is laying the foundation of a generous manhood,
and of genuine success.
In short, my dear boy, by slighting your tasks,
you hurt yourself more than you wrong your em-
ployer. By honest service, you benefit yourself
more than you help him. If you were aiming at
mere worldly advancement only, I should still say
that good-will was the very best investment you
could make in any business. By cheating a cus-
tomer, you gain only a temporary and unreal ad-
vantage. By serving him with right good-will,-
doing by him as you would be done by,-you not
only secure his confidence, but also his good-will
in return. But this is a sordid consideration com-
pared with the inward satisfaction, the glow and
expansion of soul which attend a good action, done
for itself alone.
Fifty years ago, a young man opened a small
dry-goods store in New York. He had been a
school-master, but having loaned his money to a
friend, in order to start him in business, he was
obliged, by his friend's illness, to assume the busi-
ness himself. On the morning of the opening, he
heard his clerk tell a woman that the colors in a
piece of calico he was selling would not wash out.
He reproved him for the falsehood on the spot.




You know they are not fast colors. Then why
do you say they are ? "
I thought I was here to sell goods," was the
clerk's poor excuse.
So you are," said the employer. But you
are to sell goods for just what they are, not for
what they are not. Don't misrepresent anything,
though you never make a sale. Treat every cus-
tomer just as you would wish to be treated your-
self. Ask a fair price for everything, and do not
deceive anybody. I believe that is a true princi-
ple of business, and I am going to carry it out."
"It is a fine theory," replied the clerk; "but
it can't be carried out in any line of business.
If you are going to try it, I may as well look for
another place, for you wont last long."
The employer did try it, however; and when he
died a short time ago, he left one of the three
largest fortunes in America. His name was A. T.
Stewart. What became of the clerk I do not know.
Now, I do not mean to hold up Mr. Stewart
as an example to be followed by the boys I am
talking to. But he is a striking illustration of the
fact that deception in trade is not necessary to suc-
cess. He believed, on the contrary, that in the
long run it could only lead to failure. Here is a
golden saying from the lips of a man who in fifty
years amassed more than fifty millions of dollars :
If such a man, with such wealth, should go still
farther, and make good-will to his fellow-men the
leading motive of his life, what a power he might
become, and what a halo of glory would crown his
name !
Ah, my boys, what a world it would be, if this
spirit prevailed in it,-if on every side we met
those ready to help and cheer, instead of being
compelled always to be on our guard against self-
ishness and fraud Now, every one can do his
share toward making his own little world such a
world. I have known a single brave, manly, gen-
erous boy to influence a whole school, so that it
became noted for its good manners and good mor-
als. I have also seen a vicious boy taint a whole
community of boys with his bad habits, and set
them to robbing orchards and birds'-nests, tortur-
ing younger children and dumb animals, using
bad language and tobacco, and doing a hundred
other things which they foolishly mistake for fun.
Good-will should begin at home. How quickly

you can tell what sort of spirit reigns among the
boys or in the families you visit In some houses
there is constant warfare; at any time of day, you
hear loud voices and angry disputes.
You snatched my apple and eat it up i "
Touch that trap ag'in, Tom Orcutt, and I'll
give ye something' ye can't buy to the 'pothe-
cary's "
Ma sha' n't Sam stop pullin' my hair ? He's
pulled out six great handfuls already "
He lies I ha' n't touched his hair "
Who 's been stealin' my but'nuts ? "
Pete shot my arrow into the well,-and now
sha' n't he make me another? "
Then go into a house where you find peace in-
stead of war, innocent and happy sports instead
of rude, practical jokes,-and, oh, what a dif-
ference !
You may always tell a boy's disposition by no-
ticing his treatment of his sisters. A mean and
cruel boy delights in tyrannizing over smaller chil-
dren: but in the presence of stronger boys, he can
be civil, and even cringing. A cowardly fellow
like that is pretty sure to exercise his ill-nature
upon the girls at home.
Now, I know that many of the boys I am talking
to have far more good-will than they ever show.
Their disagreeable ways are -the result of long
habit and want of thought. The spoiled child is
pretty sure to form such ways. He is accustomed
to think only of himself, and to have others think
chiefly of him. That is the trouble, I suspect,
with Orson. Will he, when he reads this, resolve
to break up the old, bad habit, and cultivate the
better spirit that is in him ?
By good-will I do not mean simply good-nature.
Good-nature may sit still and grin. But good-
will is active, earnest, cheering, helpful.
Ah, my boys, I have told you many stories,-
and I have no doubt some of you wish I had made
this a story instead of a talk. But the real mo-
tive of all my stories-the lesson I have always
wished to teach in them, but which I am afraid
some of you have overlooked-has been this which
I am trying to impress upon you now. If I were
to write as many more, the hidden moral lurking
in every one of them would be the same. Or if I
were now to take leave of you forever, and sum up
all I have to say to you in one last word of love
and counsel, that one word should be-GOOD-




ONCE there was a law that, on a certain day,
when the meeting-house bell rang for noon, every-
body should turn into a cat.
Some people don't believe this is
true; but you ask the children and
the barn-swallows !
Well, and so you may be sure it
was great fun to sit up on the big
granite-rock on the side of Deer
Hill and see
kl-.( : ..irn, just
i,.-.. bhey were
S, ,-I whatever
S ere do-
S.. ,. ..t that very

f 1
i "

) .i


The minister's son had come into the study,
with his hat in his hand, and said:
Shall Cornelius and I, sir, take our scythes, sir,
and go out and mow a little while, sir? "
And then Mr. Fadyon's fool caught hold of the
Mr. Fadyon's fool knew some things as well as
anybody; and he knew how to ring the bell ex-
actly when the sun-dial and the noon-mark and his
grandmother's eight-day clock said it was noon.
So "ding, dong!" went the bell, and-it was
only a Maltese kitten that had hold of the rope !
Just at that hour, Aunt Patty was out in her gar-
den hoeing weeds, with an old hat of Uncle Rod-
ney's tied on her head; and she began to turn, first
her nose and then her chin. They were very long
and sharp when she was Aunt Patty, and they

grew short and snubby, and whiskers began to
start, and her ears pricked up as though she heard
something, and then, quicker than you could say
"scat!" she was a spotted cat chasing Deacon
Davis's hens, that were trying to sneak through
the garden fence with the old rooster's spurs on.
After scaring them half out of their feathers, she
kept on through Mrs. Deacon Davis's cat-hole,
and up in the back chamber, where she prowled
about and sniffed in all the dark corners and be-
hind the old tea-chests and barrels.
When she was Aunt Patty she always had mis-
trusted whether or no Mrs. Deacon Davis had n't
some cobwebs and poke-holes out of sight, for all
that she kept everything looking neat as wax on
the outside.
And then the minister's son jumped with one
spring on the minister's shoulder, and began to
bite the minister's hair and claw off his glasses,
for he liked rough ways and mischief as well as
any boy, only he had to be proper because he was
the minister's son.
The minister looked around solemn and digni-
nified, a good deal astonished; and then his glasses
grew rounder and rounder, and his arms grew

v -
0.: -
7.' '. ." -

,r *

i6 .. ,,.:.

slenderer and slenderer; and then he seemed to
wink all over; and then there was a great black
cat, with a white spot on his throat and a white




I '


face and four white feet, sitting in the study-
chair, snapping at the flies, with one paw on a vol-
ume of Jonathan Edwards' sermons.

S t-

k. -

{ ^'T~~--- **1 '-r.-" ''-:-*, l ,,


It was a great change for the minister. But
as for Mrs. Deacon Davis, she did n't seem to
need to alter hardly a bit. Her eyes were the
mildest skim-milk before, much more faded than
an old cat's eyes; and her hair was pale buff and
sort of furry. And she had a way of rubbing her-
self against the side of her chair as she talked along
in a kind of purr-purring tone. She stopped work
for the first time in her life, though, and taking her
yellow paws out of the wash-tub, went to chasing
But as soon as ten clocks anywhere in town
struck one at the same second, all the cats turned
back to people again; and you ought to have seen
how surprised they were to catch themselves doing
such odd things.
Aunt Patty was rummaging through the minis-
ter's wife's bureau-drawer among her best clothes;
and, bad as that looked in a cat, it looked a
thousand times worse in Aunt Patty, with Uncle
VOL. IV.-26.


Rodney's hat still on her head and a hoe under
her arm.
Mrs. Deacon Davis was curled up asleep in the
rocking-chair, and she rubbed her eyes and put
her hands in the wash-tub again, and did n't know
anything had happened. She would n't believe it
now if you should tell her. Only, when her clock
struck one (it was always a little slow), she felt
grieved to see a few cat's hairs on her chair-cushion,
and to find she had lost so much good time right
out of the heart of the day. But then," she
thought, my nap has rested me up completely,
and with such poor health as I enjoy, I do suppose
I needed it. And, all is, I must work the smarter
to make up."
The minister looked most astonished to find him-
self playing with a large brown, limp rat. "It
is very extraordinary Most remarkable said
he. Gloriana he continued, turning to the
black serving-maid, who was swinging herself
down from the cherry-tree, where, a moment be-
fore, she had been a black kitten, chasing a squir-
rel. Gloriana! you may take this dead animal
and bury the creature in the garden. It will act as
a fertilizer."
And then he began to walk up and down the


"I .STI'


t .- -



footpath, from the door to the gate, with his hands
behind him, and to think over the heads of his next
On the whole, it was funnier when the cats


became people than when the people became cats;
they were so surprised and shocked to find where
they were and what they were doing.
Now, you just think, some night as you are
dropping off to sleep, how the folks you know,

one after another, would look turning to cats, and
what they would fall to doing.
And the next thing, if you don't believe my story
ever happened, you will be believing some story
not a bit more true.



THIS morning, the 9th of March, as I was ar-
ranging the papers upon my table, my attention
was caught by the notes of the -first bluebird of the
season. You all know what a welcome sound this
.-r. -. .



.. .. ...= -_--- __5.- -- =

is, and how anxiously we look forward, as spring
draws nearer, to the time when our song-birds shall
return from their long winter journey to the south.
The migrations of birds, their departure in the fall
to a milder region, and their return in spring as
soon as the weather has grown warm enough to
make our northern latitudes suitable, are some of
the most wonderful facts in their history, and I hope
that a few words upon this subject will form an in-
teresting introduction to what I have to say about
Those of us who spend our winters in the city
are apt to think that all our wild birds desert us
during the cold weather, for the only birds which
are found in our parks and gardens at this time are
the domesticated pigeons and sparrows. In the
country, however, many birds are to be met with
during the whole winter, and some of them, such
as the hawks, seem to be more abundant at this
time than at any other; but this, probably, is owing
to the fact that the bare branches do not hide them

as does the foliage in summer. Another reason
why they are more often seen in winter is, that at
this time their hunger drives them to hunt for food
in open fields, and sometimes even in barn-yards.
Besides the hawks, owls are found at all seasons;
and the familiar "caw" of the crow is often heard
in the dead of winter. Quails and partridges are
also abundaht at this time, and as they can be
followed by their footprints upon the snow, they
are readily taken for market. Although most of
our smaller birds migrate in the fall, a few do not.
The blue-jay, after his winter stores of nuts and
acorns are exhausted, is often glad to make a meal
upon the few frozen apples which still cling to some
of the topmost branches of the trees, and occa-
sionally a large band of noisy jays gathers in the
orchard for this purpose. In the woods the little
nut-hatch is found, even in the coldest weather,


-. 1,r_-

--- .

tapping the trees with his bill, and examining every
crevice in the bark for hidden insects. This little
bird does not seem to suffer from the cold of our




most severe winter days; but when in warmer
weather icy rain and sleet cover the branches and
trunks of the trees with a thick varnish of ice, he
is no longer able to obtain his food in the woods,
and is sometimes driven by hunger to the farmer's
barn-yard to pick up a little of the food which is
thrown to the poultry. Sometimes in the dead of
winter we find a stray robin, or bluebird, or black-


_. _- --- --=:= = -- _
\ P~



thologist, tells of two which alighted upon the court-
house in Cincinnati; and I once obtained the dead
body of one which had entered the town of Geneva,
N. Y., flying about the streets as quietly as a dove,
and finally attacking some meat hanging in front
of a butcher's shop, where it was killed. These
which I have mentioned are by no means all our
winter birds, but they are enough to show that we


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bird, looking very forlorn, but still able to endure
the cold and to pick up a scanty living. These are
supposed to be stragglers, prevented by some acci-
dent from accompanying their companions in their
flight southward.
There are a few winter birds which are not found
S here at any other season, but spend the rest of the
year much farther north. The large snowy owl is
a native of those Arctic regions where the ground
is covered with ice and snow all the year; and ex-
plorers meet it far beyond the Arctic circle. Occa-
sionally in winter it wanders down into the United
States, and as there are no towns or villages in
the frozen deserts among which it lives, it has
never learned to shun them, but often flies into
cities without understanding its danger, until it
falls a victim to its ignorance. Wilson, the orni-,

are not entirely deserted by birds at this season,
although it is true that by far the larger number of
them do migrate to a warmer climate.

Inability to stand the cold of our winters is gen-
erally supposed to be the reason of this migration,
and in many cases this is true. A humming-bird
or a summer yellow-bird would die very soon if
it should be exposed to a winter storm; but we
often have very cold and stormy weather after our
earlier spring birds have returned, yet they live
through it without appearing to suffer very greatly.
Birds are very well protected from the cold by their
feathers and their warm blood, and the stray robins
and blackbirds which occasionally winter with us
do not have any difficulty in withstanding the cold.


Hence we must look for some other reason for
their migration. Most of our migratory land-birds
feed upon insects, worms, and small fruits and seeds,
and as these cannot be obtained in the winter, the
birds must either move southward when the home
supply begins to fail, or starve. Lack of food, not
the cold, is the reason of their migration. Water-
birds seem to be able to endure any amount of cold ;
a duck will swim contentedly for hours, entirely sur-
rounded by ice, and not seem to mind the cold at all.
Many of our common water-birds are met with in
summer far beyond the Arctic circle, so that inability
to stand the climate cannot be the reason why they
leave us in the fall for the south. Marsh-birds, like
the snipe, the coot, and the plover, and many of our
water-birds, such as the wood-duck, feed upon the
small animals and plants which they find in shallow
water, or in the mud; but as soon as the frost
comes, all the shallow water is changed to ice, so
that this supply of food is cut off, and the birds
must go to a warmer country.
We can see, then, that birds migrate from lack
of food, and not on account of the cold weather,
for those water-birds which, like the gull, are able
to catch fish in deep water, stay with us through
the whole winter. The lower great lakes, Erie and
Ontario, are so wide and deep that they usually
freeze only around the shores, and the gulls have
plenty of open water on which they can fish. Some-
times, however, the winters are so very cold that
these lakes are covered with ice as far as the eye
can reach, and the gulls then gather in great num-
bers upon the open water of Niagara River, below
the falls, and live upon the fish which they find
Every one has heard of the ice-bridge which is
formed upon this part of Niagara River during very

cold winters. For a mile below the falls the river
is wide and deep, and although there is an exceed-
ingly rapid current at the bottom, the water at the
top has very little forward motion, part of it actually

moving up toward the falls. You will easily under-
stand how this comes about if you watch the water
driven down from a faucet into a tub. You" can
see from the air-bubbles that the falling stream
does not stop when it reaches the surface of the
water in the tub, but goes down to the bottom.
Now, if you throw a little coarse sand or shot into
the water, it will be driven away from the point
where the stream is : ,i-i, _, and toward the sides of
the tub; but if you put a few chips or straws upon
the surface of the water, they will be drawn toward.
the falling stream. This shows that there is a cur-
rent away from the fall at the bottom of the tub,
and another, toward the fall, on the surface. So at
Niagara there is a strong current down the river at
the bottom, and another flowing toward the falls on
top. About a mile below the falls, near the point
where the railroad suspension bridge is placed, the
river suddenly grows very narrow; and from this
point down to the mouth there is a rapid downward
current on the surface as well as below. The ice
which is carried over the falls plunges down with
the falling water to the bottom of the river, and
then starts down the stream with the lower current;
but as ice is lighter than water, it soon comes to
the top again, and drifts slowly back toward the
falls, like the straws on the water in the tub. As
more ice is constantly being carried down by the
water, this portion of the river soon becomes pretty
well covered with large blocks, which at length
become wedged together, and frozen so that they
form what is called a bridge, reaching from shore
to shore. This bridge continues to grow during
the cold weather, and at last forms a solid sheet of
ice, nearly a mile long, and thirty or forty feet
Of course this stops all fishing upon this part of


the river, and as not all the gulls which have gath-
ered here are able to obtain sufficient food upon the
open part of the river below the bridge, many are
compelled to join the crows in searching the fields





and woods for stray squirrels or birds; and a large
mixed flock of black crows and white gulls hunting
in company, apparently on the most friendly terms,
is not an uncommon sight at this time.


clamor is the only sign we have that they are
passing. At night, or in foggy weather, they fly
much nearer the earth, and when the air is very
foggy they often become lost, and settle to wait for


Besides the gulls, many other water-birds gather
upon the open part of Niagara River in the very
cold weather; but they are all fish-catching birds,
such as the loon and sheldrake. None of our
shallow-water or marsh birds are found there, for
all these have migrated to the south, very clearly
because of a lack of food.

So much about the reason why birds migrate.
Now a few words as to the way in which the migra-
tion is performed.
Some birds fly only in the day-time; others,
such as the fly-catchers, king-fishers, whip-poor-
wills, and night-hawks, do their traveling at night.
Many journey alone or in pairs, although most
unite into flocks and travel in company. The
migrations of the wild goose are especially interest-
ing. When the time for migration has come, the
wild geese assemble, and spend some time in a
loud and animated discussion of the journey. Then
they all rise into the air, and arrange themselves
in two long lines, meeting like the sides of the
letter V. The leader takes up his position at the
point where the lines meet, and the birds begin
their flight, the point of the V going first, so that
the leader is in advance of all the rest of the flock.
He is always an old gander; only as this position is
very fatiguing, one leader does not occupy it very
long, but, as soon as he becomes tired, falls back
to the rear, and allows another to take his place.
Geese, while upon their migrations, fly very rapidly
-according to some estimates, at the rate of one
hundred and twenty miles an hour, or two miles a
minute. They generally rest by some pond or
river a part of the night, but sometimes they fly all
night as well as all day. In the day-time, when the
weather is clear, they fly at a great height, often so
far up that they are invisible to us, and their loud

the mists to clear away. At such times they some-
times guide themselves by following the courses of
rivers; and occasionally a flock, going south along
the Niagara River on a dark, foggy night, flies
directly into the falls, mistaking for a cloud the mist
which rises in front of them. Of course they are
instantly killed, and their dead bodies are some-
times found thrown on the rocks at the sides of
the river. They often become bewildered by the
bright light from a blast-furnace, and fly round and
round it till daylight, calling to each other all the
time, and keeping up such a constant and loud
noise that they can be heard a mile or more
away. Many of them become suffocated by the
gases from the furnace, and fall to the ground so
dizzy and helpless that they may be caught without
difficulty. Young ones caught in this way, or in
any other way which does not injure them, are
easily tamed, and soon associate with the ordinary
tame geese on the most friendly terms, appearing
to entirely forget their wild life. But when the
wild geese begin to fly north again in the spring,
these partially tamed ones hear their calls, and all
their wild instincts awaken. They become very
uneasy and restless, and, unless their wings are
clipped, soon bid farewell to their tame companions,
fly up into the air, and join some passing flock.
Nuttall gives the following story, which could hardly
be believed if something similar to it were not nar-
rated by others: A Mr. Platt, of Long Island,
having wounded a female wild goose, succeeded in
taming it, and left it at large with his other com-
mon geese. Its wound healed, and it soon became
familiar and reconciled to its domestic condition;
but in the following spring it joined a party of
Canada geese, and disappeared until autumn, when
at length, out of a passing flock, Mr. Platt observed
three geese to detach themselves from their com-
panions, and, after wheeling round several times,


alight in the barn-yard, when, to his astonishment,
he recognized in one of the three his long-lost fugi- jo
tive, who had now returned, accompanied by her foi
offspring, to share the hospitality of her former its
acquaintance." re
The distances traveled by different birds vary A;
very much. The robin, red-winged blackbird, and M
the like, go only far enough to find warmth and op
food, and one or two warm days in early spring .of
are enough to call them back, after which they sh
often go south again. The red-winged blackbird su
is found during the whole winter as far north as N
Virginia, particularly near the sea-coast and in the m
vicinity of large rice and corn fields. le
Wilson gives the following account of the abun- jc
dance of these beautiful birds in Virginia during m

... _. ---: -_.~--- -.-
-- --


-, _


January and February: "Sometimes they appeared le
driving about like an enormous black cloud carried ti
before the wind, varying in shape every moment.
Sometimes suddenly rising from the fields around jo
me with a noise like thunder, while the glittering of
of innumerable wings of the brightest vermilion, bi
amid the black cloud they formed, produced on te
these occasions a very striking and splendid effect. di
Then descending like a torrent, and covering the or
branches of some detached grove or clump of trees, pl
the whole congregated multitude commenced one A
general concert or chorus that I have plainly dis- al
tinguished at the distance of more than two miles; n(
and when listened to at the intermediate space of in
about a quarter of a mile, with a slight breeze of al
wind to swell and soften the flow of its cadences, ca
it was to me grand and even sublime." tr

Other birds travel much farther in their annual
urneys. In the summer the humming-bird is
und as far north as Hudson's Bay, but it spends
winters in those tropical, or almost tropical,
gions, where the flowers bloom the year through.
s spring advances, this bird travels northward from
exico by short journeys, keeping pace with the
ening flowers, which afford it an unfailing supply
honey and insect food. The distance from the
ores of Hudson's Bay to the regions of perpetual
mmer is nearly as great as that which separates
ew York from San Francisco, and what can be
ore wonderful than that a delicate bird, weighing
ss than an ounce, should be able to make such a
urney twice a year; and not simply be able to
ake the journey, but to do it at the proper time,
leaving the north before the cold
weather has set in, and returning
Only after the summer is enough ad-
vanced to supply all its wants?
Many other birds also make their
journey in short flights. This is the
case with the robin and the blue-
bird, although each is able to fly a
great distance without rest, for they
are said to visit Bermuda, about
S three hundred miles from the near-
est land.
Most birds make their migrations
by flight, but a few do not; our coots
and rails perform at least part of
the journey on foot. The penguin
is a water-bird, with short wings,
which are almost bare of feathers
and are useless for flight, although
they serve as excellent fins for swim-
ming. In order that the feet may
be more useful in swimming, the
legs are placed so far back upon
the body that the bird is almost help-
ss upon land, and therefore makes its migra-
ons by swimming.
All the birds so far spoken of undertake their
urney at certain definite seasons, and their line
march is north and south; but there are some
rds which make migrations of a different charac-
r. Wild pigeons, for instance, move in whatever
reaction they are likely to find food, as often east
west as north or south, and these journeys take
ace at any time when there is a scarcity of food.
bout fourteen years ago wild pigeons were very
)undant over the Western States, and as it did
ot take them a great while to eat up all the food
any district, they were migrating in large flocks
most continually. No one who has not seen them
in form any conception of the numbers which
avel together. The approach of a flock is like




the coming of a thunder-cloud; the sky is clouded
by them so that it suddenly grows dark, and the
noise of their wings is like that of an approaching
tornado. At the time I have spoken of, I think it
was in 1864, they were so abundant in northern
Ohio that millions of them were forced to cross
Lake Erie to Canada every day for food, and to
return at night to roost. The lake opposite Cleve-
land, where I saw them, is about seventy-five miles
wide, and their roosting-place was about twenty-
five miles from the shore of the lake, so that they
must have flown at least two hundred miles each
day. The lake shore, at Cleveland, rises abruptly
from the water's edge to a height of nearly eighty
feet, and on their return in the evening, the birds
flew very close to the surface of the water until
they reached the shore, when they rose just far
enough to clear the top of the bluff, which was
lined with men armed with guns, clubs, nets, stones
and fish-poles, standing ready to attack them. The
flocks were so dense and the birds flew so near the
ground that many were killed with long poles; and
although thousands were slaughtered every day
this did not make any visible diminution of their
numbers. So many birds were killed and wounded
at this time, that no one tried to collect those
which he himself had killed, but each one gathered
all that he could find. Some did not even load
their guns, but only fired off caps, thus saving
their ammunition, and claiming their share of the
birds. In the corn and wheat fields in the vicinity
of Cleveland, pigeons were so abundant that two
men and a dog could kill enough in a few hours to
load a-wagon; and I have seen a man without a
gun, but with a retriever dog, gather all the birds
he could carry, simply by collecting those which
others had wounded and allowed to escape and
hide themselves. The destruction of crops which
such an abundance of pigeons gives rise to is
nearly as great as that caused by the grasshoppers,
and it is very fortunate that these immense flocks
do not return to the same region year after year.

We have now seen the reason why birds migrate,
and the manner in which the journey is made.
Now, the question will be asked, "How are the
birds guided upon their journey?" It is hard to
answer. Naturalists know something about it, but
very little indeed.
We know that many birds, the geese for instance,
put themselves under the direction of a leader,
and we know that this leader is an old bird which
has made the journey often before. Many birds
are hatched so late in the season that they are too
young and feeble to make the journey at the time
their friends start for the south. Therefore, they

are left behind, and although they soon grow up
and become strong enough to migrate, they do not
know the way, and as there is no old bird to show
them the path, they are compelled to stay through

--. .

-- ., -

'V -
J. 'Ai




the winter, and live upon such food as they are able
to find. We see from this that the journey is not
directed merely by instinct, but that some experi-
ence is also necessary, for if it were not, young birds
could find their way as well as old ones. Then,
we cannot understand how it is that geese become
confused and lost in stormy weather, unless we
believe that they find their way by memory of the
landmarks. No one who watches a troop of swal-
lows, when they are preparing to leave us in the
fall, can doubt that the knowledge of the older
birds is very important. As the time for migration
draws near, these birds gather in large flocks, and
spend several days in preparing for the journey.
They keep up an incessant twittering, and often
start off for a short flight in order to try their
ings ; when at last they have learned the sur-
rounding country so well that they will have no
difficulty in recognizing it when they return, they
mount into the air together, at a signal from a
leader, and begin their long voyage to the south.
These noisy consultations and preliminary flights
would not be necessary if the migration were en-
tirely due to instinct; and those who have examined
the subject the most carefully, conclude that both
instinct and experience have part in it.

Birds are not the only animals which migrate.
The journeys of the salmon are as regular and re-
markable as those of birds. The salmon lays its
eggs in small, shallow streams of fresh water, often
a thousand miles or more from the ocean. These



eggs are left to hatch by themselves; yet when the
little fish reach the proper age, they abandon the
small streams where they were born, and begin
their long trips to the ocean. When they reach
salt water they find abundance of food, and grow
very rapidly. They remain in the ocean until the
time comes for them to lay their eggs. Then, in
some wonderful way, they find the mouth of the
river by which they reached the ocean, and travel
up it, through lakes and over rapids, falls and
mill-dams, sometimes leaping over obstructions
which are more than ten feet high. Having
reached the shallow streams where they were born,
they lay their eggs, and then return to the sea,
but so thin and haggard that the fishermen at the
mouths of the salmon rivers call them by a differ-
ent name, and it is hard to believe that they are of
the same species with those which are caught while
ascending the rivers. Once in the ocean again,
they quickly recover their lost strength.
The great migrations of insects are so well known

that I need say very little about them. You all
remember the army of locusts told about in the
Bible. Within a few years we have learned that
our country is not free from dangers of the same
kind, for in the Western States swarms of grass-
hoppers may come up before the wind, and sweep
over the country, changing verdant fields into a
brown desert, and leaving no green thing behind
them. These insect migrations, like those of the
wild pigeon, do not occur at any particular season,
and are caused by lack of food.
It is not generally known that our gray squirrels
sometimes assemble in great troops and migrate
to a better country. This does not occur very
often; but occasionally, when the squirrels are very
abundant in a region where food is scarce, they
band together and move straight forward, through
forests and fields, until they find a place where
food is abundant. These, and the journeys of
many other animals, show that the tendency to
migrate is not confined to birds.



A LONG time ago, in the good old days, when
the world was fresher than it is now, when fairies
were abundant, and when, were one bold enough
to climb the breezy hill-tops, one might see scores
of little red-capped dwarfs and mannikins dancing
in the magic circle of the moonlight,-a "Nix,"
a mysterious water-spirit, had his home in a pond
adjoining an old, ruined mill near Westerhausen.
When spring came, and the yellow-stockinged
storks laid dead sticks crosswise on the high roofs
of Westerhausen houses, and so built their nests,
-when the frogs at night piped in the lowland
marshes, and lambs capered in the moonlight on
the misty hill-tops,-the Nickleman of Wester-
hausen would rise to the surface of the water, and
beguile the sleepy echoes of the old mill to strange
responses by the magic music of his violin. It was
a music that no man with safety to himself might
hear,--so piercingly sweet, yet so wild withal, that
to listen to it was to be possessed by a strange
madness; and the unfortunate being so bewitched
would haunt the mill-pond night after night until
his bbdy wasted away and he died. This is what
some of the good folks said; others affirmed that
the music was so gay and rollicking, and yet so

enchanting, that when one heard it, one was com-
pelled, by an uncontrollable desire, to dance; and
instances were even known where men had died
from the effects of such uncanny waltzing.
Now, there was a certain fiddler in Westerhausen,
Hans Gottenlieb by name, that used to play the
violin at all the fairs and weddings.
Although Hans was an excellent performer, he
was never contented with his own music; but,
when the young men would crowd around and
thank him for his fiddling, he would say, sadly:
"Ah, yes! it's all very well, this playing waltzes,
but if I could only fiddle one-quarter as well as the
Nix of Westerhausen, now that would be some-
thing like "
At length, Hans's continued complaints were
overheard by a swineherd, who was a wise man,
and saw strange sights, and knew curious things
that no other man knew.
So you would like to fiddle a-quarter as well
as the Nix, would you ?" said he.
Yes, Hans would.
"Very well! On the next St. John's Eve, at
midnight, carry a jet black cock to the mill-pond,
and, standing with your back to the water, throw



it in. Then repeat these words: 'Nix Nix! black tented now that the Nix himself had taught him ;
cock in water. I on land, thou in water. Come, and he was contented-for a space. But one might
teach me to play one-quarter as well as thou.' as well expect to see a sieve filled with water as an
After this, take your violin and play upon it, and unwise man satisfied with what he possesses, no
you shall see what will happen." matter to what extent his wants may be relieved.
Hans was delighted. He could hardly curb his So it was with Hans ; in two months' time he had
impatience until St. John's Eve should arrive. As begun to grumble as loudly as ever.
soon as the old church bell in the ivy-covered belfry The wise swineherd having assisted him once,

I' ,



tolled the hour of midnight, he sallied forth, with
the black cock in a sack, and did as the cunning
swineherd had directed. No sooner had he com-
menced to play upon his violin than he heard a
splash in the water, and the next minute a cold,
clammy hand was laid upon his own.
From that time, Hans Gottenlieb could play
better than any man in the region.
Every one said that Hans surely would be con-

Hans hoped that he could, and expected that he
would, help him again. Accordingly, he applied
to him once more.
If I could only play one-half as well as the
Nix," said he, I feel sure I should be satisfied."
I doubt that very much," said the swineherd;
" you had better hold what you have, without
grasping for more. Still, if you will have it, catch
a black cat and do as I told you before."


Hans was overjoyed. The next St. John's Eve,
having caught the cat, he did as the swineherd had
before directed him. This time the Nix griped
him by the wrist until it was black and blue.
From that moment Hans could play as no man
in the world was able to. Every one listened in
astonishment, and even the young men and girls
forgot to dance, and stood still in an ecstasy while

same time, the music changed to a strain so wild,
so piercing, that Hans himself gasped for breath,
and commenced to caper and dance furiously.
The twigs and branches of the swamp willows
tossed and swayed; the stones rolled hither and
thither, and a great oak that stood near at hand
heaved and snapped to its very heart.
Hans became terrified at these appearances, and


he played,-and music must be magical indeed
that could have that effect upon dancing youths
and maidens.
Surely," said every one, now Hans Gotten-
lieb is satisfied."
But no Three months had scarcely passed by,
when Hans began to grumble more than before.
Why did I not ask to play as well as he him-
self? said he. Fool, that I was While I was
about it, I might as well have completed my re-
quest, and satisfied myself altogether."
At length, he concluded to ask the advice of the
swineherd once more.
You fool said the swineherd, when Hans pre-
sented his request. Do you know what you ask ? "
Yes," said Hans; I want to play as well as
the Nickleman."
He then so begged and besought the swineherd,
that the other at length yielded.
Take," said the swineherd, impatiently, a
black calf, and do as you did before; and may
your folly alight on your own head "
The next St. John's Eve, Hans took the calf
and proceeded to the mill-pond as before. When
he approached, the water boiled and bubbled, lash-
ing the sedge and rushes as though in a rage.
Hans was somewhat daunted by this appearance,
but at length, gathering together the remnants of
his courage, he hurled the poor calf into the
troubled waters.
He took out his violin and commenced to play
with a trembling hand, and scarcely had the first
note been evoked from the instrument, when a
loud splash in the water was instantly followed by
such a blow upon his elbow that Hans thought for
the moment that his arm was broken. At the

would have stopped, but he now found, to his
horror, that he could not. In vain he strove to
hold his arm; his elbow jerked and twitched in
spite of himself, and the music continued. With
a wild cry, poor Hans leaped over the rugged ledge
that bordered the pond, and ran home as fast as
his legs could carry him. Through the moonlight
he flew, the music streaming after him like the tail
of a meteor. As he scampered 11i...-i.n the yard,
the old sow and the two little pigs caught the sound
of the music, and, starting up on their hind-legs,
they danced after him with shrill squeals.
Hans burst into the house, carrying the music
and pigs along with him. Frau Gottenlieb was
asleep, looking as sweet as a cherub ; but no sooner
did her sleeping senses catch the cadence of the
music, than, starting up and only half awake, she
joined in the dance with Hans, the sow, and the
two little pigs.
Stop cried she, dancing and capering, while
her night-cap and starched frills bobbed and shook.
But Hans could n't. Then she commenced scold-
ing him at the top of her voice; but, though her
scolding would have stopped almost anything that
possessed the power of locomotion, it had no effect
upon the poor bewitched fiddler.
At length, daylight broke, and the neighbors,
hearing Frau Gottenlieb's screams, the squealing
of the pigs, and the shuffle and tread of dancing
feet, came to see what all the ado was about. But
they, too, were soon drawn into the vortex of the
dance, until, at length, the whole village was waltz-
ing, capering, and screaming at the poor fiddler,
who, half distracted, and wholly terrified, fiddled
as though for dear life.
One old woman, however, who was so deaf that

1877.) GOD I

she could not hear even a word of scandal, was the
only one who did not join in the unwilling revel;
and, although she wept bitter tears at having mis-
laid her ear-trumpet, it was lucky for her as well as
the rest of the good folks, as after-events proved,
that she was deaf to the .!II I,!.- cadence; other-
wise there might have been a number of dancing
skeletons waltzing in Westerhausen to this day.
The dancing community finally made the old
woman understand that they desired her to consult
the wise swineherd in regard to their case, for since
he had been indirectly the cause of all the hubbub,
he was, in all likelihood, the only one that could
know the proper remedy.
The swineherd, who had shown his wisdom by
keeping away from the bewitched music, made the
old woman understand that he did know the proper
remedy, but that he would not apply it until the
town council had guaranteed to pay him the sum
of two thousand guilders.
The members of the town council, who at that
time were dancing with the others, freely consented
to pay the required sum. They complied the more



i" Perhaps your young readers will be interested in this incident connected with the wrecking of the emigrant ship 'Northdleet.'
The baby's grave is in the church-yard of Lydd, near Dungeness, England."-Exract fr-om At itor's rnote.]

OH I wild and dark was the winter night,
When the emigrant ship went down,
But just outside of the harbor bar,
In the sight of the startled town !
The winds howled, and the sea roared,
And never a soul could sleep,
Save the little ones on their mothers' breasts,
Too young to watch and weep.

No boat could live in the angry surf,
No rope could reach the land;
There were bold, brave hearts upon the shore,
There was many a ready hand:
Women who prayed, and men who strove
When prayers and work were vain,-
For the sun rose over the awful void
And the silence of the main t

All day the watchers paced the sands-
All day they scanned the deep;
All night the booming minute-guns
Echoed from steep to steep.

' Give up thy dead, 0 cruel sea !
They cried athwart the space;
But only a baby's fragile form
Escaped from its stern embrace !

Only one little child of all
Who with the ship went down,
That night, when the happy babies slept
So warm in the sheltered town!
Wrapped in the glow of the morning light,
It lay on the shifting sand,
As fair as a sculptor's marble dream,
With a shell in its dimpled hand.

There were none to tell of its race or kin,
God knoweth," the Pastor said,
When the sobbing children crowded to ask
The name of the baby dead.
And so when they laid it away at last
In the church-yard's hushed repose,
They raised a stone at the baby's head
With the carven words,--"God knows!"


:NOWS. 403

readily with the swineherd's demand when the),
considered that the money was to be paid from the
city treasury, and not from their own pockets.
The wise man then stopped his ears with wool,
so closely that he could not hear a sound. He
then made his way to where lord and lady, burgher
and beggar, priest and people, pigs and all,-the
great butcher beside the little tailor, every now
and then treading on his toes,-were dancing and
The swineherd drew his terrible, flashing war-
knife, and, walking up to the now more than ever
terrified Hans, he cut-the strings of the fiddle
across. The music instantly ceased, and every one
stopped dancing.
They immediately paid the swineherd his two
thousand guilders from the city treasury, and from
that time he was a rich man.
Poor Hans could never play upon the violin
afterward. He died a poor man, while, if he had
been contented with his natural talent for music,
he never would have been at a loss for notes to
his last day.




WELL, Nellie, what is the matter ? asked Miss
Percy, as she seated herself in a straw rocker on the
piazza, where Nellie sat, chin in hand, pouting over
a portfolio of prints that lay outspread before her.
I 'm mad I" was the reply.
Mad That is distressing. I hope you don't
Oh, of course I don't mean that!" said Nellie,
turning away from the pictures with an injured air.
"I am vexed "
Then why did you say mad? "
Oh, you are too particular, Aunt Alice What
do you think Kate Sibley has done ? "
I cannot imagine."
Her mother gave her leave to invite three of
the girls to go with her to the picnic in Cedar
Creek, and she asked the Morrisons, and Minnie
DuBose, and left me out, though I have worked
every one of her examples ever since we have been
in Denominate Numbers. It is just the way with
them all. I do everything they ask me to do, and
they all hate me. I'll be even with them, though,
-I '1 hate them, too."
And the future misanthrope began to sniffle and
use her pocket-handkerchief.
Don't you think it would be a wiser plan to
make them love you? asked Miss Percy, gravely.
I can't do it," replied a chokey voice from
behind the handkerchief.
I have tried, but I ca-an't. They all like Rosa
Guignard, who never does anything for anybody,
but-but "
As Nellie did not seem able to finish what she
wished to say, Miss Percy came to her relief by
observing, quietly:
The girls all like Rosa on account of a very
rare gift which she possesses."
Rose Guignard gifted !" exclaimed Nellie,
surprised into forgetfulness of her wrongs. Why,
Aunt Alice, she is 'way down in all her classes,
and you know she is n't pretty,-that is, until you
get used to her."
But it is a much rarer gift than either intellect
or beauty, that which Rosa possesses," returned
Miss Percy.
Nellie's red-rimmed eyes asked a question to
which Miss Percy replied with brevity, Tact."
Tact ? What is that ?" asked Nellie.
I don't know any better definition of the word
than one a great novelist has given: Tact is
knowing what not to say.' "

Don't I know what not to say, Aunt Alice ? "
asked Nellie, after a short silence.
"No, my dear; I don't think you do. You will
take offense, probably, if I give you a few examples
as proofs of this; but as I am in your mother's
place this summer, I shall take the liberty of speak-
ing plainly. Do you remember who' were in the
company yesterday when you coolly asserted that
'the Roman Catholic religion was nothing but
mummery,' and went on to observe that, for your
part, you looked upon a Romanist as no better than
a Mohammedan, or a Jew ?"
There were so many-such a roomful-that
I cannot-- Oh, Aunt Alice I do remember
now Mademoiselle Durand was here, and she is
a Romanist. I am so sorry !"
And Miss Lyons was here also, and she is a
devout Jewess. Did you notice that she kissed
Kate Sibley when she went away, and did not kiss
you? "
"Yes; and I wondered what was the matter.
But mademoiselle kissed me."
Yes, mademoiselle kissed you, although the
flush had not died out of her cheeks which your
thoughtless words had called up; and thereby
showed herself to be, what Miss Lyons is not, a fol-
lower of Him who, when He was reviled, reviled
not again."
Well, Aunt Alice, I did n't mean any harm;
and you know everybody makes mistakes once in a
But you make mistakes a great deal oftener
than other people do. Shall I give some other
instances of your not setting a watch on your lips ?"
If you like."
Don't be sulky about it. I am cruel only to
be kind.' When we were told the other evening
that Miss Collins had small-pox, you immediately
declared that if you were in her place you would
rather die at once than get well and be a fright
all the rest of your life. It was too dark on the
porch to see the expression on Miss Adger's deeply
scarred face, but I remember that lady's next re-
mark was, I can't endure pert children.' "
You can't expect me to see in the dark," mut-
tered Nellie.
No; but you ought to have remembered Miss
Adger's presence. And you have not darkness for
an excuse for what you said yesterday before Miss
Pratt-that you believed all red-haired persons had
bad tempers."



Of course I meant present company excepted."
It would have been better not to mention red
hair at all in Miss Pratt's presence, as her hair,
though beautiful, is decidedly of a reddish tint.
You made another blunder yesterday, and I think
if old Dr. Manning had had Elisha's power, you
would have stood in considerable danger of being
torn to pieces by the bears after your facetious re-
marks on the subject of bald heads."
Oh, I never thought about his being bald "

and get Minnie DuBose to play that, as Nellie says
she does play it beautifully.' "
Resentful creature Well, at any rate, I have
never said anything against Kate's looks."
No; on the contrary, I once heard you remark
in the presence of a dozen of her schoolmates that
she was by far the prettiest girl in Mr. Radford's
school; but then you went on to qualify your praise
by coolly observing, However, I don't think that
is saying muck for her.' You showed more temer-


.\'j'' r~r ,

-..ig?~ i

~** I-~*1


But, my dear child, these are matters that
ought to be thought about. Let me give you one
plain, simple rule, Nellie : Never remind any one
of his or her personal defects."
I '1 try to remember that."
There is another thing you would do well to
remember-that comparisons are odious. When
Kate Sibley played the 'Beautiful Blue Danube
Waltzes' for me the other evening, it was scarcely
polite in you to exclaim as soon as she had fin-
ished, Oh, Aunt Alice, you ought to hear Minnie
DuBose play that She does play it beautifully /'
Later in the evening, when I asked Kate for the
'Itude Mazurka,' she replied, Oh, you must wait

ity than I imagined even you were possessed of in
giving so many young girls to understand that you
did not consider them at all pretty."
Well, I don't think them pretty."
Nor interesting either. At least so I judged
the other night when, as they were going away,
you observed, yawningly, Only ten o'clock.' I
thought it was a great deal later than that.' You
are an unselfish child, Nellie, and always ready to
give up your own pleasure to oblige your friends;
but you will never be popular until you learn to
bear this in mind, that although it is always wrong
to tell falsehoods, it does not follow that it is always
right to tell uncalled-for truths."






DOUBTLESS all you young folks know why Easter
is kept with rejoicings all over the Christian world.
I am not going to tell you why, but how ; for
though all Christian nations celebrate it, each has
its own peculiar customs for the occasion.
I suppose your idea of Easter celebration is to
decorate the church with flowers, have extra-fine
music on Sunday, and on Monday have colored
eggs-you hardly know why. But .if you were a
little fur-clad Russian, you would look forward to
Easter-time as you here do to Christmas. You
would expect to have, on Palm Sunday, presents
of flowers and fruit, birds and angels, all made of
wax, and tied with ribbon to a palm-branch (or a
stick representing one). And not only these, but
books and playthings, and whatever nice gifts Santa


..-, ,

- .:- '- ,


^ *V-



Claus brings to you here in America. The play-
things you would use at once, and the palm, or rod,
you would keep carefully till the next morning,
when it would be your duty, or at least your privi-
lege, to go about the house and whip all the lie-a-
beds, who were too sleepy, or too lazy, to go to
early church. And when Easter arrived, you would
have more eggs than you ever saw. Not only old
Biddy's snowy-shelled baby-houses, but wonderful
and beautiful things that grew in the glass-house or
the porcelain-works. These would be of different
sizes, ornamented with gold or colored flowers, and
stuffed with candies and other nice things; or eggs
made of gilt and silver paper, holding raisins and
sweetmeats,-things to be hung up with ribbons,
and kept with your treasures.
And funny sights you would see in St. Peters-
burg, though they would n't look funny to you,
seeing through Russian eyes. You would see the
whole city burst out into kisses Every one kissing
all his friends, at home or abroad, in the house or
in the street, wherever he chanced to meet them;
every general in the army kissing his officers; every
captain his men. Every merchant saluting his
clerks; every man his household. Even the Em-
peror kissing, not only his private family and his
noblemen, but the generals of his army and a few
private soldiers, enough to imply that he kisses the
whole army. This would be a curious sight to
American eyes, would it not?
But if, instead of Russia, your home were in the
Emerald Isle (as poets have called Ireland), you
would be careful to get up early on Easter morn-
ing, to see the sun dance when rising! You can
do it in America just as well, by the way, and see
it just as well, too. You need only a great deal of
faith, and a small spring or bit of clear water to
look into. Try it, and see.
Very different would be your Easter if your
mother wore a mantilla over her head, and your
father was a dark-haired Spaniard, and lived in
Seville. You'd be a Roman Catholic, of course,
and you would go with mamma to the grand Cathe-
dral to see the paschal candle-a monster of the
candle family, nine yards high, made of wax, and
standing on a marble pedestal, and lighted by
brand-new fire, struck from a flint by a priest.
Then you would hear high mass, beginning
behind a great veil or curtain, and at a certain
point in the ceremony, you would see the curtain
snatched off, and fire-works burst out of the upper


gallery, and all the twenty-four bells of the tower
would ring out together in a lively peal, and all
the bells of the city would join in. Then you
would go into the streets, and see people shooting
at stuffed figures of Judas Iscariot, hanging from
ropes stretched across the street. And if you were
near the ocean, and could see the ships, you would
see the effigy of this same Judas hung to the ship's
yard-arm, dipped in the water, and beaten over
the head and shoulders when it came up.
A stranger festival you would see at this time if
you were so unhappy as to belong to the Turks.
At break of day, the Pacha goes to an open
place, away from the city, where he thrusts a
sharp knife into the throat of a ram, laid on an
altar. Instantly a Jew snatches up the victim,
throws it over his shoulders, and runs for a mosque.
If the poor animal is alive when he reaches the
sacred building, the omen is good, and every de-
vout Turk believes that the year will be a fortunate
one; but if the ram is dead, groans and laments
arise-the year will be bad. That matter settled,
begins a strange celebration, which I feel sure must
be a painful sight to many. Every man sacrifices
one or more sheep, as he is able, in the open street;
the blood of the victims streams down the street,
and the people dance and sing, shout, and dis-
charge guns. This lasts for eight days.
Vastly different would be your customs if your
name were Victor or Marie, and your home Paris.
On Good Friday you would go with the grown-ups
(if you were big enough) to the fine churches in
the city, every one of which you would find deco-
rated with flowers and other ornaments, and bril-
liantly lighted with hundreds of wax candles.
There you would meet all your friends, also on a
tour of sight-seeing. And on Easter-day you would
see-mamma come out in a new bonnet!
Something not very unlike this you can see in
our own fashionable churches, where it has been
introduced among other French fashions, I suspect.
Another French custom, originated by so great
a man as Charlemagne, was that of allowing every
Christian to give an Easter-box (on the ear) to
every Jew he met, as a mark of contempt. The
world has nearly outgrown this barbarism, but
relics still are seen in Paris, where Jews are often
chased through the streets with stones, and their
windows broken, on Easter-day.
Much more agreeable would be Easter among
the Alps, where the joyful day is announced by
beautiful hymns, accompanied by guitars, and sung
by bands of musicians adorned with flowers. On
hearing the music at the door, every family comes
out and joins in the chorus, all rejoicing together
in the happy day; then the wandering singers go
on to the next house.

But in Rome you would see the most imposing
Easters. Hundreds of strangers go to that city
every year, to see the grand procession,-the Pope
carried through the streets on the shoulders of
men, sitting in his crimson chair of state, dressed
in gorgeous robes, with silken canopy over his
head, and preceded by two men bearing immense
white fans of ostrich plumes. After celebrating
high mass in St. Peter's, the Pope comes out on a
balcony, and blesses the people; and in the even-
ing, the grand dome, and all parts of the grandest
church in the world, are brilliantly illuminated.
But as you are neither Spaniard nor Turk,
French nor Italian, but American, you will like
to know some of the queer things done about
Easter-time, by our cousins over the water. In
London, public festivals are nearly as rare as in
our sober American towns; but in the country
some of the old customs still linger.
Ceremonies begin with Palm Sunday (the last
Sunday before Easter), when many Londoners
"go a-palming." That is, into the country for
branches of willow (since they have no palms).
They come home with the soft yellow sprigs in
their hats and button-holes, and bits held in their
mouths. What becomes of the willow, after it has
done duty as palm branches, history does not tell;
but I do not suppose it is hung over the door to
keep away evil, as it was of old in England, nor
nailed to a balcony to preserve the house from
lightning, as in Spain.
The next celebration is on Good Friday, when
nearly all England' is waked by the cry of "Hot
cross buns "
"One a penny buns,
Two a penny buns,
One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns!"

In the old times, every family would send out
and buy some of the hot, spicy cakes with a cross
stamped on the face, for the breakfast-table. This,
like other old customs, is fast dying out, and buns
are neither so plenty nor so nice as they used to be.
This usage has been traced by some to the pagan
custom of worshiping the Queen of Heaven with
cakes, which still prevails in China, Mexico, and
other countries. In past days, in England, bread
was baked on Good Friday to keep through the
year, in the belief that a little of it in water would
cure any disease. This may be the origin of the
buns, which some ignorant people nowadays keep
hung up in their cottages.
Easter is the great festival, and what relics of
old-fashioned observances still remain, are different
in different parts of the kingdom.
Long ago, tansy cakes and tansy puddings were
eaten at Easter, in memory of the bitter herbs at
the paschal feast. In the same days the clergy


and people played ball and danced in the churches.
The highest dignitaries of the church-even the
archbishop-joined in this ceremony. A dean, or
other official, would begin it by starting a chant,
and gravely dancing around to the tune, tossing
the ball to others of the clergy who were dancing
also. When this ceremony was over, the perform-
ers retired for refreshment, of which bacon-to
.show contempt of Jews-was a standard dish.

Another custom in Durham, is for men to go
about the streets and take off a shoe from every
woman they meet, unless she will pay a small fee
to prevent it. The next day, as is-but fair, the
women retort by doing the same to men.
In some parts a still more ridiculous custom is
found, called "heaving" or "lifting." On Easter
Monday the men "lift" women, and on Tuesday
the women are the lifters. It is done thus: two


Of Easter Monday rites various curious relics
still linger. One, called clipping the church,"
is performed by children of the charity schools,
amid crowds of people and shouts of joy. They
place their backs against the outside of the church,
and join hands till the circle is complete and the
building surrounded, when the ceremony is over,
and they go to another church.

strong men cross hands in the way we used to call
" making a chair," in my school-days, or they carry
a chair lined with white, and decorated with flowers
and ribbons. On meeting a woman in the street,
they invite her to take a seat, and, in fact, insist
upon it. They then lift her into the air three
times, when she must kiss each of her lifters, and
give them money besides. In the time of Edward I.



this custom was so general that even the king was
In Kent, the young people on Easter Monday
"go a pudding-pieing." That is, go to public-
houses to eat pudding-pie, a dish about the size
of a saucer, with raised paste rim, and custard
And everywhere, and all the time, are eggs,
eggs, eggs; boiled and colored; striped and mot-
tled, and gilded; ornamented with names, or mot-
toes, or pictures. Common ones are variously
adorned with designs drawn with a bit of tallow,
which keeps the dye from taking on those parts.
A better kind of decoration is to scratch the design
with a sharp knife on an egg after it is dyed;
landscapes, mottoes, etc., can be made very neatly.
A common game-which, perhaps, you know-

is played with Easter eggs. The owner of a hard-
boiled Easter egg challenges any one he meets to
strike eggs with him. If his egg breaks the other,
it is called the cock of one," and its owner has the
broken one as a trophy. When it has broken two,
it is cock of two," and so on. If an egg which is
cock of one or more is broken, the conqueror adds
the number of trophies won by the victim to his
own score.
The custom of making presents of eggs is said to
be Persian, and to bear allusion to the "mundane
egg," from which the world was fabled by certain
nations to have been derived. It is a custom among
Jews, Egyptians, and Hindoos, and was adopted
by Christians to symbolize the Resurrection.
This feast of eggs, therefore, very properly oc-
curs at Easter.



THE peddling philosopher ate his supper by
greedy snatches, while he listened to the boy's
broken narrative.
At the close, he appeared chiefly struck by the
fact that the drowned person had money in his
"That makes it worth your while to look for
him. Otherwise, and aside from that," he said,
stirring a fresh cup of coffee, I don't see that it
matters much. I take a philosophical view of it.
We're made up of natural elements.. We use
'em for a while, then they return to nature. Just
how they return, after we get through with 'em,
don't make a particle of difference to the parties
most interested. I mean me and you, after we've
shoveled off this mortal coil."
Jacob confessed that he was unable to take quite
so philosophical a view of the subject.
"For my part," he said, "I should n't like to
see anything that ever belonged to my friend, and
seemed a part of him,-not even his clothes,-
thrown away, and treated without respect."
That 's a natural prejudice," said the proprietor
of the Ark. Not many persons have got above
it. But science shows us what we've come from
VOL. IV.-27.

and what becomes of us, and cures prejudice. Do
you see that ? holding up the skeleton of a fish.
Jacob saw it.
"Every creature' that's got a backbone is a
vertebrate animal. Man has a backbone; so has
a fish. Man is the highest of the vertebrates; the
fish is the lowest. In nature, the lowest forms came
first, and the higher were developed out of 'em.
Next to fishes come reptiles, then warm-blooded
creature's, up to monkeys; then comes men. Your
great-great-'way-back-great-grandfather was a
fish. Before the fish there were lower and lower
forms, 'way down to the first little simple speck of a
living thing that we 've all come from. That's the
doctrine of Evolution. Darwin didn't invent it any
more than I did. But he demonstrated it. I can't
demonstrate it so well as he does, for I have n't the
book-knowledge. He makes a good deal out of
natural selection, and what he calls survival of the
fittest. Forms of creature's all tend to vary, and
conditions are always changing; and when there
comes a variation that 's best adapted to a new
condition, that is preserved, while those that aint
adapted die off; at the same time the strongest kill
off the weakest; and in this way Nature has built
on and built up till she's got to man. Whether
she'll have time to go any further, and make

something as much ahead of man as man is ahead




of a monkey, before the planetary system cools off,
is a question I have n't made up my mind about.
The earth has cooled off already, so that she is
supported by the heat of the sun; and the sun
can't keep on throwing off heat into the universe
many million-million years longer without losing so
much that we shall finally all freeze up here on this
little planet; just as the moon froze up long ago,
when the earth cooled down. Now, I've told you
what we've come from," Sam Longshore added;
"would you like to know where we go to ?"
"I should like to know where I am to go to-
night," replied Jacob, less interested in the remote
past or the far future, than in the immediate ques-
tion of bed and shelter.
The philosopher came back to practical matters.
He regretted that he could not accommodate his
visitor on board the Ark.
"I've only just a bunk for myself to tumble
into. But you 'll find farm-houses a little ways up
the crick. There 's a village further on, which I 'm
going to run up to in the morning. If you hurry,
you'll find some house where the folks aint yet
abed. If you propose to look for the belt of money,
may be I'll see you in the morning."
Jacob waited only for a few simple directions as
to the course he was to take, and started. The
peddler called him back.
"There's so many tramps and impostors travel-
ing through the country, telling big stories to ex-
cite sympathy, that may be you wont .find anybody
to believe you. I believe you, because I 've got
the science of human nature. I'll lend you a
little money; Here's half a dollar,-that ought
to pay your .lodgings somewhere and breakfast
into the bargain. If you find the belt you may
pay me back. I suppose you'll offer a reward for
it, wont ye ?"
"I'd ;iii.,* give all the money I have in it to
have him found," said Jacob.
"That's too much," replied the peddler. "Say
twenty-five dollars-that's a handsome offer. Well,
good-night you'd better hurry."
Keeping on up the creek, by a rough sort of
wagon-road, Jacob passed a stump-lot, some cleared
fields, a house or two in which all was dark, and at
last came to one in which there was a light.
Before he had time to knock at the door, it was
opened, and a woman with a pale and rather large
face looked out at him with a start of surprise.
She was evidently expecting some one else, when
she saw this boy.
Can I stop here overnight ? said Jacob.
"I do not know," she answered, regarding him
intently, but not unkindly. Where does thee
come from ?"
Notwithstanding his unfavorable opinion of friend

David, the boy felt a thrill of hope at the sound of
the gentle voice and the Quaker form of speech.
He set out to tell his story; but before he had
got half through she made him come in, and took
his hat from his hand, and brought him to the
kitchen fire, where she made him sit down and pull
off his shoes, and warm his feet and dry his clothes.
She did not betray either much astonishment or
much sympathy; but her voice kept the calm and
even tone of a person accustomed to constant self-
control, Her words were kind, however, and her
acts were still more kind.
She offered to set out a supper for him, but he
assured her that he was not hungry.
Thee must not avoid telling the exact truth
for fear of giving me trouble," she said, with a
simple, earnest smile. "We have had many per-
sons in distress in this house before, and it is our
duty to do for such."
Jacob replied that he had supped with the river
"I think I know the man," said she. "A rather
vain person in his talk; one who has drunk a little
of the new wine of knowledge, and it has gone
into his head. But he deals in excellent fabrics,
and we sometimes trade with him."
She saw how haggard Jacob looked, and added:
Since thee will not have food, thee shall have a
bed, for thee is very weary; and the sooner thy wet
clothing is put off, the better."
Oh, I am almost dry now; walking has warmed
me," Jacob replied. He was glad to accept her
offer, nevertheless.
With a heart warmed and grateful, he followed
her to an upper room, where there was a comfort-
able bed; also a little stand, on which she placed a
candle and left him. He quickly undressed and
got into bed; then she came and took his damp
clothes, to hang them by the fire, and carried away
the candle, bidding him a pleasant good-night.
He could not remember that any woman had
ever been so much like a mother to him. Such
kindness was a balm to his heart, after his intense
sufferings; and,. soothed and comforted, he fell
into a troubled sleep.

HE was living over in frightful dreams the events
of the evening, when there came again a sound of
footsteps to the house.
The woman, who was still waiting and listening
below, once more hastened to open the door.
Again she was disappointed. A second stranger
stood before her.
Is there a hotel near here ? he inquired.




1877.1 HIS OWN MASTER. 41I

"There is none nearer than the village," she
replied,-" about two miles up the creek."
As he hesitated before speaking again, she ob-
served him closely. He wore his coat buttoned
tightly across his chest; he had a youthful face,
and his manners were pleasing.
I find myself in an awkward situation," he said
at length, turning frankly toward her. I have
been out in the storm, and walked I don't know
how many miles, having lost my way. Would it
be possible to get somebody, at this time of night,
to carry me to the village ?"
Nay, I fear that will be difficult," the woman

"I got something at a log cabin," he said,-"all
I need to-night. I am so tired, I think I will, if
you please, accept the bed you kindly offer me."
"Then come with me." Taking the lamp, she
showed the way to the chamber. I think he is
asleep," she said in a whisper, and it would be a
pity to waken him. I have put his clothing by the
fire; if thee will place thy garments on a chair
outside the door, I will take them too."
Moving silently, she set the lamp on the stand,
and withdrew.
The stranger, left alone, glanced curiously about
the room, and at his bedfellow buried to the eye-

Is '~ ~~r- ---TI S ~
ii' -. 3



replied. But we can give thee shelter, and at
least part of a bed, if thee will accept so much.
We have already one stranger guest, a lad, who
came but half an hour ago; and he has our only
spare room. But thee can share it with him."
This is unexpected kindness exclaimed the
young man, gratefully. I ought not to trouble
you." And yet he could not resist her urgent re-
quest that he would walk in.
I am expecting Matthew, my husband, to come
home soon," she said. If thee will not take the
bed, then thee can sit by the fire and dry thy gar-
ments till he comes. Thee has had no supper?"

brows under the coverlet; then he began to un-
For some reason his eyes kept glancing at the
bed, as if, being a fastidious gentleman, he felt
some misgivings about sleeping with a stranger.
At length, having got off his outer garments and
his wet boots, he took up the lamp, and stepped
cautiously to the bedside.
To protect himself from a mosquito or two which
he heard buzzing about the chamber, Jacob had
covered his head, leaving only a breathing-place
under the folds of the sheet. Just the tip of a
nose was left visible, with a few locks of light hair.


The stranger lowered the lamp, and gazed for
some seconds with curiously excited interest. Then
he cautiously laid hold of the sheet about the head,
and drew it down until an ear was exposed to view.
It was the ear that had the scar upon it. His
countenance lighted up with a strange smile.
Then, having gazed a moment longer, he softly
laid back the sheet, and stepped stealthily away.
Having quickly put on his garments again, he
took the lamp in one hand and his boots in the
other, and went down-stairs. He found the woman
in the kitchen; and as she looked up at him with
a mild questioning gaze, he said:
I should like to place my boots near your fire;
but my clothes will be dry by morning if I leave
them in the room. I forgot to tell you that I shall
have to take a pretty early start. I will pay for my
lodging to-night, so that I can get off in the morn-
ing without disturbing you."
He was opening his pocket-book as he spoke.
Nay, thee is welcome to thy entertainment,
such as it is," she answered. "We never take
money of wayfarers. I am sorry that thee must go
so early; but if thee cannot await breakfast, I will
leave something on the board for thee."
Do you often entertain strangers in this way?"
he asked, with a smile.
Not of late years," she said. But there was
once a time when many a poor wayfarer found
refuge in this house."
He glanced at Jacob's clothes and little black
bag by the fire, and remarked:
"My bedfellow was out in the storm too, I
take it."
Nay, worse than that; he was in the river."
"Ah How happened that ?"
The Cincinnati boat got aground above the
bend, and some of the passengers had been ashore,
when, as they were returning to the steamer, their
skiff was overset by the raising of the cable, and
one of their number was drowned. It.was a dear
friend of this boy's, and he left the steamboat-
which went on its course-to search for him."
Was the drowned person recovered ? "
Nay; there was a tug-boat employed to search
for him, but with no success. It leaves the lad in
a deplorable situation. The drowned man was his
only friend in the world, he says."
How distressing said the sympathizing
To make the matter worse," she continued,
" all the boy's money was in a belt which his friend
wore about his body."
And that is lost too !"
I fear so. He will get help in the morning,
and make further search. But, to do the lad
justice, it does not seem to be the loss of the

money that troubles him, but the loss of his friend.
I never saw any person more devoted to another.
He can scarcely speak of him without tears."
The stranger seemed a good deal affected by
this account of his bedfellow.
I regret that I have business engagements
which will take me away so early," he said. I
would stay if I could, and join him in the melan-
choly task of seeking for his friend. If I don't see
him before I start, tell him, if you please, how
much I sympathize with him in his misfortune."
Just then he who had been so long expected
came to the door. The wife started to meet her
husband. The stranger did not wait to make his
acquaintance; but, having gracefully uttered the
sentiment which did so much credit to his heart,
he returned to the chamber.
There, having put out the light, he undressed
noiselessly in the dark, and got into bed, taking
care not to disturb his weary bedfellow.

THANKS to youth and health, and fatigue of
body and mind, Jacob slept well, in spite of bad
dreams. They waked him once or twice in the
middle of the night; then when he opened his
eyes again it was day.
A flood of anxious and painful thoughts rushed
upon him, and he started up. It was a moment
before he could make out just where he was. Then
he remembered everything, and had also a strong
impression that when he woke at midnight he had
felt somebody in bed with him.
He found his clothes dry and hanging on a chair
just inside the door; his shoes and bag beside
them. The sight of them brought back upon his
heart all the good woman's kindness to him, and
made him catch his breath and wink hard as he
thought, Oh, if I had had such a mother "
He hurried down-stairs to meet her, and met
instead a gravely smiling girl,-a sweet young
Quakeress of fourteen. She was placing dishes on
the table, when she turned and greeted him with
demure composure.
My mother bade me tell thee that breakfast
will soon be ready," she said, in accents which gave
a peculiar charm to the Quaker form of speech.
For a moment Jacob forgot his impatience to be
back by the river-side, searching for his friend.
He never in his life had heard so sweet a voice, or
seen a face and form of such simple grace. She
made him think of Florie, not because the two
were alike, but because they were so different.
The little Quakeress was a gracious lily; Florie, a
red rose. with all a rose's thorns.





Jacob was trying to frame a reply to her, when
the mother entered the room.
"I know thee will be in a hurry, and I have
hastened thy breakfast," she said, after a motherly
You are too good to me was all Jacob could
say, and that in a broken voice.
"We used often to get earlier breakfasts than
this for our guests," she replied. But until last
night it is some time since strangers have tarried
with us. I see that thy bedfellow is gone."
Then I had a bedfellow ?" said Jacob. "I was
wondering whether I dreamed it."
Yea, a wayfarer like thee; a civil-spoken young

i II i i
i I '


I _. f.

,1 gi ,

-- ,, ---i-

man, who seemed touched when I told him thy
story. He bade me say to thee how gladly he
would have tarried to aid thee in the search for thy
dear friend, but that important affairs prevented.
I left food on the board for him; he must have
taken it, and gone when it was hardly day."
I wish I could have seen him and had his help!"
said Jacob. Whom can I get to help me?"
Matthew, my husband, will find some person
to go with him in a boat. But he came home late
and weary last night, and he will not be so soon
ready as thee. So if thee likes thee can take thy
meal and go on down to the shore, and he will find
thee there. Be seated; Ruth will help thee."

So Jacob sat at breakfast, waited upon by the
sweet young Quakeress. It seemed to the home-
less, friendless lad as if he were being entertained
by angels; and he felt, as he took leave of them
and started for the shore, that, though he should
never see them again, he must always be a better
boy, and a better man, for having known them.
He looked for the peddler on his way, and, not
seeing him, concluded that he had gone up the
creek. But, keeping the bank of the river, he
soon spied the little Ark moving away under full
steam, about half a mile farther on. At that dis-
tance it looked like a large tub, with a smoke-pipe.
The morning was beautiful after the rain. The
trees shook their sunlit tops in the fresh breeze,
the shore-grass waved, the river glanced and glit-
tered in the early light. Jacob felt his heart leap
with the gladness of youth. Then he thought of
his friend, and wondered how he could be happy
even for a moment.
The tub was turning and zigzagging along near
the shore, and by running on the bank he soon
came abreast of it. Sam Longshore, with his dog
beside him, was on the bow, holding with one
hand the tiller-wheel, which was behind him, and
looking over intently at the water. Evidently his
philosophical mind was for the time interested in
Mr. Pinkey's money-belt.
Hearing a shout from the shore, and seeing
Jacob, he headed the Ark to the sloping edge of
the bank, and called to him to come aboard.
Jacob stepped upon the bow as it struck.
The peddler had changed his position, and was
now standing in a little pit-like place under a pro-
jection of the cabin roof. One hand was on the
tiller-wheel before him, while the other reached
back to a lever of his little engine in the hold.
Ripper, the dog, watched and growled; but Jacob
was not afraid of him now.
As soon as he was aboard, the bit of a steamer
backed water, fell off into the slow, smooth current,
then breasted it again, puffing and panting at an
amusing rate, up the river.
You see, I had a sort of kind of hankering for
that belt of money," said the peddler, maneuvering
his tub. I've been up once to the tow-head and
the trees you told about. Now I 'm just scooting
round a little at random. It's a poor show. I
calc'late it's got lodged on the bottom somewhere;
if the water was clear there'd be some chance of
finding it. Did ye spend the half-dollar I lent ye
last night ? "
I have n't paid it away yet," replied Jacob.
" I stopped with some people who were so good to
me that I was ashamed to offer 'em pay. But I
left my bag with them, and when I go back for it,
I mean to make them take the money if they will."



What sort of folks ? Ye did n't stumble on to
Quaker Matthew's house, did ye ?" said the ped-
dler. "Well, I want to know! If you'd been
black, I should have sent you there. Being as
you 're merely white, I never thought on 't."
Jacob looked puzzled.
Don't ye understand ? Matthew Lane," said
the peddler, with a dry pucker meant for- a smile,
"used to be station-master on the underground
What's that ? said Jacob.
"You an Ohio boy, and don't know what the
underground railroad is ?-or rather used to be, for
it's gone up since the war."
I guess the tracks were never laid in the part
where I lived."
Mebby not. But there was a pretty extensive
branch down here. Some say Quaker Matthew
brought his family on from Pennsylvany expressly
to take charge on't. So ye don't know what the
underground railroad was Well, I'11 tell ye."
Jacob expected to hear one of those curious
scientific explanations in which the peddling phi-
losopher delighted. But he was mistaken.
In the first place, there wa' n't no railroad
about it. It was just a private arrangement for
running off fugitive slaves. They used to escape
across the river from Virginny and Kentucky; a
good many got captured and carried back, but
some that fell into the right hands got off to
Canady. Quaker Matthew and his wife had the
name of helping a good many. They did n't seem
to be fanatical on the subject, and it was never
proved that they induced slaves to run away from
their masters. But if one came to their house they
would harbor him, and Matthew would help him
on his way to some other station-master of the
underground railroad, as it was called, who would
take him in his team and give him another lift.
It was against the law of the land; and when
Matthew was hauled up for it, he simply said he
was obeying a higher law, and doing as he'd be
done by. He was sent to jail, and fined for differ-
ent offenses about two thousand dollars. That's
what makes him a poor man to-day. They wont
take any money of ye, so I guess you may as well
hand me back that half-dollar."
Jacob produced it promptly.
On the hull, though," said the proprietor of
the Ark, after stooping down and throwing a small
scoopful of coal into the little furnace of his engine,
and taking time to reconsider the subject, you '11
want it some time, and you may as well keep it.
Though it's like looking for a needle in a hay-
mow, to try to find that belt. This river is always
riled,-digging out its channel and carrying away
the earth. It has cut through strata of rocks

and beds of coal and iron ore, as you can see in
some places. You think the country is high along
the shores, don't ye ? "
It looks so," said Jacob, absently, fingering
the half-dollar.
But when you get up there, you see that the
country aint high at all. It's the bed of the river
that's low. Go back a piece, and you find a
higher country beyond, which used to be the shore,
ages ago. Since then the river has cut this big ditch
for itself, sixty. or seventy feet deep, and in some
places halfa mile wide. It's flowing now just along
the bottom of the channel; but high-water fills it
clean up. When you go to Cincinnati, you '11 see
on the river-front of the city a long row of im-
mense posts, fifty feet above the present level of
the river. You '11 wonder what they're for. I '11
tell ye beforehand. When the river is high, it
comes right up to the street, and these posts are to
tie up the steamboats to."
The peddler seated himself on the side of the
bow-deck, with one hand on the wheel and his legs
hanging in the hold, and continued:
You must know, a pretty considerable volume
of water flows through such a channel, time of
freshets. The river rises and falls a monstrous
sight quicker, late years, than it used to. Do you
know the reason ? "
Jacob did not, nor did he care much for it then.
He stood holding on to. the projection of the deck,
looking with sadly wistful eyes over into the water,
while the philosopher at the wheel explained.

You see, the country was once all forests on
both sides. Then, when there came heavy rains
or great thaws, the water run off slower, and it
kept running longer. Now, a big part of the for-
ests has been cut away, and the land sheds water
like a duck's back. The river is up brim-full, then
down again in a few days. I can't make headway
against a very strong current. Curious," added
the philosopher, how the force of the stream
and the force that works a steamboat up against
it, both come from the same source. Did ye ever
think of that ? "
Jacob never had.
Of course not. Only a few men of science
have. Up to the village, a little above where you
stayed last night," the philosophical peddler went
on, they've got some mills. They've dammed
the crick, shet back the water, and got what they
call a power. Now, not one person in ten thou-
sand knows the origin of that power. Tell 'em it's
the heat of the sun, and they 'll laugh at you. But



that's just what it is. It's the heat of the sun that
makes evaporation. A vapor goes up from seas
and wet places, and makes clouds. Clouds make
rain. Rain fills the streams, and the streams turn
the mills. To put it differently,-the sun lifts the
water, and the water falling again, turns your ma-
Jacob saw the force of the argument, and smiled
with surprise. Though not a great philosopher,
like Sam Longshore, he was, like all intelligent
boys, interested in tracing the reason of things.
In a good many parts of the country," said the
peddler, they 're going back to the old fashion
of using wind-mills. On the prairies of Indiany
and Illinois, particularly, they're sticking up the
new patent wind-mills that tend themselves, and
pump water for locomotives at railroad stations,
and do a hundred other things. Well, ask any
man you see what the power is that does the work,
and he 'll say, 'You fool, you don't you see it's
the wind?' A man said that to me once. Says
I, 'It's you that's the fool, and I can prove it.'
And prove it I did, to his satisfaction,--or rather
dissatisfaction, for it made him as mad as a hop-
per, if anybody knows how mad that is. 'The
sun,' says I, 'warms the atmosphere, more in some
places than others.' He admitted that. 'Heated
air,' says I, 'tends to rise.' He owned up again.
'If air rises,' says I, 'more air must rush in to
fill its place.' He couldn't deny that, either.
'So,' says I, 'it's the sun that makes the cur-
rent of air,-what you call wind,-and turns the
wind-mill. Now, who's the fool?' Oh, I tell ye,
I've done a pile of thinking in my day "
And the peddler smoked and shook his head in
pleased astonishment at his own vast and profound
understanding of things.
If I should tell you of a man who heated his
shop by water-power, you'd smile, perhaps."
I think I should," said Jacob.
Well, he did, and he did n't. He did-in this
way. The water turned his machinery, and he
made his machinery turn a great iron plate which
rested on another iron plate; the friction heated
the plates, and they warmed his shop like a stove.
But was it water-power? Strictly speaking, no.
But the heat of the sun that raised the vapor that
made the water that turned the wheels was changed
again into heat by the friction. Queer, aint it ? "
Jacob thought it was.
Now, coming back to what I said of the steam-
boat working up against the stream. You call it
steam-power. I call it sun-power again. For what
makes steam? Water heated. What heats the

water? Burning a little wood or coal. Now, coal
is a vegetable product, like wood. It's the sun-
light that makes vegetables grow. And it's the
heat of the sun stored up ages ago in this little
shovelful of carbon,"-he brought up a specimen
from his coal-bin,-" that will make steam for me,
and propel my boat for the next half-hour. Aint it
curious ? "
So saying, he chucked the coal under the little
engine-boiler, slammed the furnace-door, seated
himself on the top of the bow-deck, and laid hold
of the wheel again.
Now you see how the same power that lifts
vapor and makes rivers, makes vapor again and
drives the steamboat up-stream. I tell you,
there's only one great source of power for us,-
and that, after all, aint heat."
The peddler smiled quaintly on Jacob.
"What do you suppose it is ? "
Jacob was puzzled to decide.
It's gravitation, probably. Every particle of
matter attracts every other particle. Hold up a
piece of steel, let go of it, and it falls. The piece
of steel and the earth rush together. The steel
falls down to meet the earth, and the earth falls
up-just a little ways-to meet the steel. When
they come together, they make heat. If the steel
hits stone, it strikes fire. So we see gravitation
makes motion; motion checked makes friction;
friction produces heat,-which is only another kind
of motion. All the heat in the sun and planets
has been produced by the rushing together of the
particles of matter of which they are composed.
So you see there is only one kind of force,
whether you see it in the wind, or in water, or in
steam, or in this hand which I lift,-for I get my
strength from the same source; I eat the animal,
that eats the plant, that grows by the light and
heat of the sun, that's produced by gravitation."
But what is gravitation ? said Jacob.
The peddler smiled his wisest and quaintest
smile as he made answer:
"Young man, you beat me there! Some things
neither I, nor you, nor no other man don't know."
With which sentence, strong as negatives could
make it, he headed his craft toward the shore.
Now, yender are the trees, I take it, alongsidee
of which your boat was upset. I propose to land,
take an observation, and see what we can see."
This proposal suited Jacob better than philoso-
phy just then; and taking the end of a line which
the peddler passed to him, he stepped ashore with
it as the Ark grounded, and made it fast to the
root of one of the fallen trees.

(To be continued.)





IF any of you ever saw a lion, I am quite sure that he was in a cage.
Now a lion in a cage is a noble-looking beast, but he never seems so
grand and king-like-you know some people call the lion the King of
Beasts-as he does when he is free. Of course, almost any living creature
will look happier and better when it is free than when it is shut up; but
there is another reason why the lions we see in cages do not seem so
grand as those which are free.
We almost always go to see wild animals in the day-time, and animals
of the cat-kind, of which the lion is one, like to take the day for their
sleeping time.- So, when we see them, they are drowsy and lazy, and
would much rather take a good nap than be bothered with visitors. If we
could go and look at them at night, it is likely we should find them much
more lively.
Lions are natives of Africa and Asia, and there they roam around at
night and are not afraid of any living creature. They sometimes stand
and roar as if they wished all other animals to know that a lion was about,
and that they would do well to behave themselves.
When -a lion is hungry, he kills a deer or an antelope, or some such
animal, and eats it. But sometimes he comes near to men's houses and
fields, and kills an ox or a cow, and carries it away. A lion must be
very strong if he can even drag away a great ox.
The male lion is much handsomer and finer looking than the female,
or lioness. He has a large head, with a great mane of hair hanging down
all around his head and over his shoulders. This gives him a very noble
look. The lioness has no mane at all.
Baby lions are: funny fellows. They look something like clumsy dogs,
and are quite playful. But long before they are full-grown they begin to
look grave and sober, as if they knew that it was a very grand thing to
be a lion.
Two half-grown lions that I saw not long ago, looked just as quiet and
sedate as their old father, who was in the next cage. But perhaps they
had their play and fun at night, when there was nobody there to see.
Some lions are quite easily tamed, and often learn to like their keepers.
I suppose you have seen performing lions in cages. The keeper goes into
the cage and makes the lions, and sometimes leopards and other animals,
jump about and do just as he tells them.



As the lion seems to have a better disposition than most other savage
beasts, he sometimes becomes so tame that his keepers do not appear to
be at all afraid of him.
But he is really a wild beast, at heart, and it would never do to let the
very tamest lion think that he could go where he pleased, and choose his


dinner for himself. It would not be long before he would be seen springing
upon a cow or a horse-if he did not fancy some little boy or girl.
So, after all, there are animals which have much nobler dispositions than
the lion, and among these are elephants and dogs-who not only are often
trusted servants of man, but also seem to have some reasoning powers, and
are known to do actions that are really good and kind.



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WHENEVER I hear country folk rejoicing that
the days soon will be getting longer, and laying
half of their short-comings to poor Winter because
its days were so short, I wink slyly at the birds,
and set them tittering. Bless your heart these
cute little creatures never trouble themselves about
the. approach of short days. Why ? Simply be-
cause most of them make it a rule to go where the
days are longer. Birds have the same intense
desire for sunshine that flowers have. Like flow-
ers, they turn their backs to the dark and their
faces to the light. When the days shorten in the
north, the birds go south. There are other rea-
sons for their going, but this surely is one.
Runeberg, the Swedish poet, during a long ill-
ness, occupied himself by observing the habits of
birds; and at the end he declared that, like good
men and women, birds always are seeking the
light. (I get all this partly from the birds and
partly from a newspaper scrap that flew about me
one day until I caught it for the children.) "When
days shorten,"he writes, "the birds go to southern
climes, where the nights recede. But as soon as
the long northern days set in with their luminous
long-drawn hours, the wanderers return to their
old haunts. It is generally supposed that they
move southward to get more abundant food; but
why do they leave the rich southern feeding-grounds
to return northward? Simply because one thing
is richer there; and that is, light. The bird of pas-
sage is of noble origin; he bears a motto, and his
motto is, Lux mea dux."
As neither the Deacon nor the dear Little School-
ma'am happens to be around, Jack prefers not to
translate the Latin-if it is Latin. May be it's
only bad spelling, and really means "luck's mere
ducks." But there is n't much sense in that.
Some of you little chaps who send translations of
the Latin stories in ST. NICHOLAS may be able to

make something out of this motto of the birds. In
my opinion, however, the birds around here don't
take the trouble to lay out rules for themselves in
the dead languages.

SPIDERS have been noted so long as spinners
of the finest of silk, that it strikes one a little oddly
to think of one as a paper-maker. But hear this
true story that has just been told to me.
In the heart of the African Continent, where no
other paper is manufactured, the spider paper-
maker does her quiet work. Back and forth, over
a flat surface about an inch and a half square,
on the inside wall of a hut, the spider slowly
moves in many lines until the square is covered
with a pure white paper. Under this she places
from forty to fifty eggs; and then, to fasten the
square of paper more securely to the wall, she
makes a strip of paper about a quarter of an inch
broad, and with this glues the square carefully
around the edges.
When all is done, the spider-which is quite a
large one-places herself on the center of the out-
side of the little flat bag so carefully made, and
begins a watch, which is to last for three weeks
without intermission. Apparently the young spi-
ders would have many dangers to fear, did not their
anxious mamma wage a fierce war upon the cock-
roaches and other insects that come near. After
three weeks of unremitting watchfulness, the
mother-spider leaves her nest in the day-times
to hunt food, but she always returns at night, until
her young are strong enough to take care of them-
DEAR JACK: We are so used to looking upon monkeys and apes
as frisky, playful creatures, with no thought beyond their mischiev-
ous pranks, that we forget how, in some circumstances, they show
real distress, and even a pathetic sorrow that is almost human.
Lately, at the Zoological Gardens at Dresden, a fine ape named
"Mafuka," from being full of life and playfulness, suddenly began to
droop. It was evident that some mortal ailment had seized her, and
that she dimly realized the hopelessness of her condition. She
would fully respond to any kind office in a way that seemed to say
plainly: "You are kind, but you cannot help me." This state of
things," says the London "Echo," "lasted until within a few hours
of her death. Then, as Herr Schopf (the director of the gardens)
leaned over his favorite, the ape drew him toward her, placed her
arm around the neck of her friend, and looked at him for some time
with clear and tranquil eyes; she then pressed her cheek against
him, motioned to be laid upon her couch, gave her hand to Schopf,-
as though bidding farewell to a companion of many happy years,
-and slept never to wake again."
Thinking that some of my ST. NICHOLAS cousins, dear Jack,
might be interested in poor Mafuka, I have written you this brief
letter.-Your sincere friend, ROBBY D-

I'VE heard country folk speak of "blowing up"
their children in the hope of curing them of
laziness and other bad qualities, but never until
lately have I heard of blowing up lazy grape-
vines by way of improvement. Yet, a new con-
tributor to ST. NICHOLAS says that the thing is
done, and a very sensible plan it seems to be. Yes.
Some enterprising grape-growers in Austria have
lately used dynamite, a very explosive material, in
cultivating their vines. In order to loosen the soil





and let in air and moisture to the roots, holes are
made in the ground near the vines, and in them
small quantities of this substance are exploded,
loosening the earth to the depth of about eight
feet. How much better than any spading and
digging, and how much more easily and quickly
done! I cannot conceive of anything more likely
to give grape-vines a good start.

Saratoga Springs, January 29.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: I send you an original recipe for
butter. When I was in the country, I saw them making butter, and
thought that as I had a dolly's churn, I would like to make some

too. I succeeded, and so I wrote down the recipe. I send you a
picture of my churn, full size.-Yours truly,
First, you must be sure that the top of your churn will come off;
then get some sour cream and fill the churn about half full, and
churn till the butter comes. Take it out and put it on a saucer;
get a tea-spoon and some water, and put the water with the butter,
and press and work it well; put on fresh water several times to get
all the buttermilk out; then put a little salt in the butter. Scald the
churn before putting it away.
Note.-A chun three inches high will give a thimbleful and a
half of butter. It takes about an hour to churn it. R. H. W.


A SCHOOL-GIRL sends your Jack a nice letter,
in which she tells of a man whose life was almost
made of thrones, and who yet never sat upon a
throne himself." It was Philip the Handsome, of
Burgundy,. she says, who died just 371 years ago.
He was the son of Maximilian I. of Germany, the
father of Charles V. and Ferdinand I. (successively
Emperors of Germany), and of Eleanor, dowager
Queen of Francis I. of France, and Mary dowager
Queen of Hungary. Husband of Joan, afterward
Queen of Castile; son-in-law of a king and queen
(Ferdinand and Isabella), he was never a sovereign
in his own right.

THERE 'S nothing like a comforting word when
we are in trouble, and the least thing one can do
when one has a necessary hurt to inflict, is to
thrust in a bit of consolation at the same time.
Jack heard, the other day, of a bright little four-
year-old girl in Ontario who has discovered this
principle for herself, and who carries it out in a
most original manner. A nice long letter, telling
of her odd ways, says:
"Mamie-that's her name-was death on the
potato-bugs last summer. She would stamp on
one, and, with a pitying shake of the head, say,
soothingly: 'Poor sing Mamie '11 never hurt oo
any more !' Then straightway she would look for
others, treating them one by one in the same way,
and each time with the same assurance: 'Mamie '11
never hurt oo any more !' Very consoling to the
striped victims, was n't it ?"

DEAR! Dear! What curious things people do
find out! Now, what do you say to your pet
game of Jack-stones being a very ancient Greek
game? Yes; pictures have been found in Pom-
peii of children playing it. They did n't call
them "Jacks,"-no, indeed !-they had a dignified
name,-Astragaloi. And the pieces were not
glass, like the young Roman's, nor stones, nor
cast-iron, like yours,-but the small-joint bones
of sheep. They used five of them, though,-just
as you do. In England, this game is called
" dibbs; and in Scotland, "chucks."
Now, Jack does n't know, but being a Yankee,
he has a right to guess,"-and he guesses that
your name of Jacks comes from that same word
" chucks." Chuck-stones" easily might have
been corrupted to "Jack-stones." What do you
think about it ?
There's a statue in Berlin, I 'm told, of a young
girl playing "Astragaloi."

TRAVELERS tell a great many strange stories. I
heard one telling, not long ago, of a fire in Persia
that had been kept steadily burning by the Fire-
worshipers for over three thousand years, without
being allowed to go out during all that time.



HOW TO MAKE A BIRD-HOUSE. which you have fastened already along the slopes of the front and
rear. If these fail, a wide, thick shingle, or a piece of thin board,
A BIRD-HOUSE like the one shown in the picture can be made easily sawn to the proper size, will do for each side of the roof, and the
and quickly. The materials for its construction can be collected, if two easily can be made water-proof where they join. Indeed, as
need be, from the mere scraps of boards and slats usually to be found good a bird-house as that shown in the picture can be constructed
in any work-shop, and the only tools needed are hatchet, nails, and with less labor, by using a single thin board for each slope instead of
saw. the slats. In that case, however, the boards for the front and back
First, take the widest board you can find, of not more than an inch should be thicker than those for the sides (or the reverse) in order
in thickness, and saw off a piece some two inches wider and longer that it may be nailed together the more easily and securely. Only
than you desire your house to be. This is for the bottom or floor of seven pieces are needed for a house of this kind, and after these have
your house. Then take the slats and saw off a
number of pieces, making their length equal to
the height you have chosen for the sides of your
house. Place as many of these edge to edge as,
when closely joined, will make up the length of
the house from front to rear, and nail a wider _
strip of wood across the top, on the outside.- ~.
Repeat this process with exactly the same meas-
urements, and the two sides of your house are
Now for the front and back, which will require --' --
more care, as you have here, in each case, to form -
a gable. As easy a way as any, perhaps, is this: 2-
After placing edge to edge as many of the slats i I l 'i
as are necessary to make up the width of your I, IL,
house from side to side, nail them to a cross- '
piece, placed on the inside a little below the. -
middle. Now take one of the two sides which .I -
you have already finished, place it edge to edge '
with the new layer of slats, their bottoms on an -
exact level, and mark the spot on the edge of the
new layer where the topmost point of the com-
pleted layer touches it. This, you see, is an end
of the gable where one of the eaves will be, and of
course, must be of exactly the same height as the .-
sides of the house; therefore, the above way of
measuring is safest, unless you are an expert
with the rule.
You have now one of the starting-points for "''-, .
your gable. The one on the other side of the 'fs
house will be on an exact horizontal with it, or
can be obtained by the same measurement which
was employed to find the first From these two -
points you can mark the top lines of the gable to -
their point of meeting, using any slant you choose,- -
but remembering that the top of the gable should- -
be in a direct line above the center of its base. -
Saw out your gable along the slant lines which
you have drawn, and, along the edge of each on
the outside, nail a-piece of molding. The way
in which these pieces will have to be joined at :
the top, is shown in the picture more readily than
described. This done, all the process must be -- -
repeated, as with the sides, to form the other sur- .
face, though with this advantage, that you can, if -_ -
you are very careful, take the completed end as -
your guide and thus save trouble and delay in -
Having made the four sides of the house, select -
the one for the front and nail a slat across the -
bottom of it on the outside. A little above this, .
make a round or square hole foran entrance, add-
ing, if you choose, a small porch over it as shown >
in the picture.
The four sides are now ready to be joined to-
gether, and the joining is an easy task. If your
slats are thick enough, and you are skillful with the
hammer, you can simply nail the side of the cor-
ner slat of one surface to the edge of that of the
other; or, you can place a piece of molding (as .
long as the side is high), in each corner and nail
the coner-slats to its sides. Then set this hollow,
box-like house in correct position upon your hot-
tom-board (which, you will remember, is so large -
that there will be a margin of two inches on every THE BIRD-HOUSE.
side), and mark on the bottom-board the dimen-
sions of the inside of the house. Along the inside of each of the been joined together, pretty pieces of hbark and lichens can be tacked
four lines thus made, nail a piece of molding firmly to the bottom- to the outside of the house so as to cover it completely.
board; then set your box over these again (if you have done this part The best and fittest support for the house is a small, stout limb of a
well, the four sides will fit closely over the molding), and nail the tree, with projecting branches; and, probably, one of the proper size
sides of your house to these pieces of molding inside it. Then your can be obtained in any woods. Saw off the main trunk at a point a
house is ready for the roof. little above the crotch, and the branches at a somewhat greater dis-
If you can join them closely enough, this may be formed of slats, tance: place your house upon the end of the trunk, and by bending
screwed to, and projecting slightly beyond, the pieces of molding the branches notice what point of each branch touches the margin of



the bottom-board, when the house is on a level. Saw off each branch going a hole, inserting the support, and then filling up and packing
at that point. Then place the house in position for the last time and with earth until it stands straight and firm.
fasten the margin of the bottom-board to the projecting branches with It only remains to plant vines and flowers around the support, and,
screws. in time, you will have the gratification of beholding a real and sub-
Set the support firmly in the ground, as you would a post, by dig- stantial castle in the air. c. G. L.


Providence, R. I., January 13, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I heard the other day, from a lady who is
staying with us, a story, which may interest some of your readers.
When a little girl, this lady had a myrtle-tree, of which she was
very fond. One day, a clothes-pole fell upon one of the branches
and split it clear to the trunk, and the trunk itself nearly to the
roots, completely separating it into two parts, though it did not
break it off. The plant was, one which she valued very much, and
being very unwilling to let it die, she hit upon.this way of healing it:
Fitting the two halves carefully t. ..-. .-. 1-. ....1 ,'rag round
and round the split part, plastered 0i... ah ..... I ; .1 water, and
outside this bound another rag. Every-one said that the plant
must die, and that neither her method nor any other could save it.
But it never even withered, and before long healed completely, and
grew as before.-Your constant reader,

Penn Yan, Jan. i, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to tell about some puddings;
they will not rival Mother Mitchel's tart, but they were pretty large.
In New England, before the Revolution, the farmers used to make
enormous corn-puddings. It took about:ten bushels of corn to make
them, and once, one of them fell over and knocked down two men,
so a law was made, that none containing over'four bushels of corn
should be made. It is impossible to say how I like ST. NICHOLAS.-
Yours respectfully, X.

Dyersburg, February 1, '77.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a new contributor, twelve years old,
and I thought I could write something that would please the young
folks. I will tell that little girl who spoke of the giant and giantess,
Captain Bates and his wife, that I have seen them thrice at fairs here
in Dyersburg. They were very pleasant people, indeed. I talked
with them frequently. Mrs. Bates showed me a most beautiful set
of diamonds that the Queen of England gave her. It was so massive
that even a giantess could not wear them but a few hours at a time.
We had a gentleman boarding with us who had to stoop when coming
through the door. We children thought he must be a giant;.but
when Captain Bates came, our tall man could walk under his arm
easily. I was ten years old at the time, and was, thought large for
my age; still I only came to Mrs. Bates's knees.-I am yours truly,

.Washington, Indiana.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy nine years old. I like
the ST. NICHOLAS,-oh, so much! I wait as patiently as I can for
it to come. When I get it, mamma, and auntie, and I scrabble to
see which will read it'first. Finally, whoever gets hold of it has to
read aloud to keep peace. I want to tell the girls and boys in the
ST. NICHOLAS about a splendid old dog I had, that died last summer,
from old age. H e was seventeen y .. ..1 1 ...1 .;.i.. .. *.... i.:.i
and forty pounds. You ought to ....-, ... *'* -
little fellow, he took care of me. When I went out to play or walk,
if another dog would come toward me, he would stick up his ears
and growl, as much as to say, "Don't you come near my boy; and
he was so large and fierce, they generally took the hint, and let me
alone. He never hurt me. I used to ride on him, and sit on his
side and play by the hour; but no one else could do it. He was such
a good dog to watch the house! No stranger could come in unless
we spoke to him first. He was so kind to all his friends! When
any of us went away on a visit, when we came home he would be so
glad, he would run and jump,-show in so many ways that he
loved us! Before he died, he lost his hearing and eyesight. Poor
fellow! just before he died, he wandered off into another part of
town, and we had to bring him home. Every one in town knew
"Towser." We miss him very much; and I wish all the bird-
defenders would be dog-defenders too. Please put my name down
as a bird-defender.
Now, Mr. Editor, will you please publish my obituary notice?

because I am sure Towser has gone to dog-heaven, and I want
every one to know he was good enough to go there; and I want the
children and you to know that we boys in Indiana read the ST.
NICHOLAS, and love it so much !-Yours truly,

New York.
DEAR JACK: In again looking over the ST. NICHOLAS for Decem-
ber, we found a description of the Moravian Christmas Putz. Now,
I merely wish to tell you that it is not necessary to go to Bethlehem,
Pa., to see such a Putz, as there is one, and a very handsome one,
too, in this city at the present time. My brother made such a minia-
ture landscape, and if you or the dear little School-ma'am would like
to take a look at it, we would be only too glad to show it to you. I
doubt if Mamie H. has seen a prettier one than ours, and only wish
that she could see it. I cannot describe it to you, asit would take too
much time: I will only say that it covers a space of io ft. by 6 ft.,
and the larger part of our back-parlor, and contains everything to
make a perfect landscape. Yours truly,


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: With your permission, I would like to give
the little folks a few items about the National Library, or Library of
Congress, which has grown to be a wonderfully big collection of
books. It is now the largest in the country, containing more than
283,000 volumes, besides from fifty to seventy-five thousand pam-
phlets. Within the short space of five years, it has added one hun-
dred thousand volumes;, so that now the alcoves are all full and over-
flowing-crowding every available place, comer, perch, and table.
One sees, upon entering the central library, long tables at which are
seated, in the hottest summer days, numerous students, and literary
and eager people, searching books of reference, consulting authorities,
examining volumes of fine arts, or reading lighter literature. There
are two wings, each as large as the central library, and containing
more books, as they have four galleries each, and that has but three.
The first floor of this middle room-extending the whole length of one
side-is devoted to poetry. Another side of another gallery is filled
with scientific works, another with histories, another with works on
philosophy, and so on. Ascending the steep iron stair-ways to the
third and fourth galleries, there are books to the right and books
to the left of you; books before you, and books behind you, which-
ever way you look. Here are eight hundred Bibles, in eighty different
languages. One quaint, curious Chinese Bible is almost without
weight, and wrapped around in silky blue covers, fastened with little
wooden pegs slipped through loops at top and bottom. Then there
are Bibles too big to be handled-ponderous, illustrated, illuminated
books; one of these was printed by hand.
The library does not contain a copy of every book published in
the country, as many suppose, but of every book that is copyrighted.
Sometimes a book is not copyrighted till it has been published four
or five years.
The National Library was first called The Library of the United
States, and was founded in oo18, with the purchase of $i,ooo of
books, which was increased by the valuable library of ex-President
Jefferson, who in his old age, becoming involved in debt, sold his
6,700 volumes to Congress.
Two fires have occurred in its history; the first in I814, when the
British burned our national capital; and the second resulting from
some defective flue, when the collection had reached fifty-five thou-
sand volumes; of these, only twenty thousand were saved. Con-


gress then appropriated $75,000 for books, and $92,500 for rebuild-
ing the library in solid iron, adding the two wings, also of fire-proof
material. The new building was quickly filled, as the Smithsonian
Library, rich in scientific works, and the historical library of Peter
Force, were added then to the remnant of the national collection.
The general appearance of the library is very attractive and taste-
ful; there is perhaps an excess of gilt ornamentation; the prevailing
tints are soft-wood browns, which combine with the lighting up of
the gilt, and the wrought-iron work, to make a very agreeable effect.
An independent building is greatly needed for the accommodation
of this vast collection' in all its different departments; and although
the public is freely admitted to the privilege of consulting books here
during the ordinary business hours, there is much dissatisfaction
because Congress does not make it available for the large number of
persons who can only go there at night, or outside of business hours.
Only senators and representatives in Congress, with their families,
are permitted to take out books.-Yours truly, C. N. F.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like to read your stories very much
indeed. Papa bought me a baby-doll last Saturday, and it is real
cunning. I went out Saturday and took my baby for a walk; and it
was slippery, and I fell down in the mud and got my baby's shawl
very dirty; and I got my new red stockings a little dirty too. I
thought people tied strings around their fingers to make them remem-
ber things. When I tied a string around my finger, I could not
remember my geography lesson a bit better. Do you know the rea-
son why? I got mamma to write this for me, because I can only
frint. That's all. MABEL FARR.

& Z4 ^ft\ < '-- .

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A LITTLE GIRL sends us this comical drawing, made by herself, as
a portrait of the "Parrot-Professor" of Mr. Boyesen's story "Mabel
and I," published in our January number.

OUR boys, especially, will be glad to know that Colonel Higginson
is issuing his Young Folks' Book of Explorers in America, contain-
ing narratives of discovery and adventure told in the precise words
of the heroes themselves. What with its traditions of Norsemen and
strange voyagers, its accounts of military exploits, and its stories of
peaceful attempts at civilization more adventurous, perhaps, than
even war itself, this will be a book well worth reading.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I send you a puzzle which is every word
my own composition. It is hard work to make them, but 1 would
rather do it than be a girl and have to wash dishes. Mother does not
make me do any the day I make puzzles.
I am in my tenth year. I do not have a school to go to both
winter and summer, as some boys do. But our district has voted
bonds, and we will have a nice new school-house this winter. I will
be glad when school begins, for then I will not have the dishes to
wash. It is the worst job I have to do.
I have a little brother Joel. One day he said: Ma, do you know
when our chickens grow up they will be turkey gobblers? Uncle
John has some, and of course they were chickens when they were

little." They had set a hen on turkey eggs, and he did not under-
stand it. We had a big laugh, and he does n't like to hear turkey
gobbler mentioned.
My first is in road, but not in lane;
My second is in suffer, but not in pain;
My third is in trumpet, but not in horn;
My fourth is in night, but not in morn;
My fifth is in read, and also in spell;
My sixth is in spring, but not in well;
My seventh is in fail, but not in succeed;
My eighth is in blood, but not in bleed;
My ninth is in rat, but not in mouse;
My tenth is in dwelling, but not in house;
My eleventh is in bay, but not in sea;
My twelfth is in piano, but not in key;
My thirteenth is in round, and also in square;
My fourteenth is in cage, but not in lair;
My fifteenth is in home, but not in abroad;
My sixteenth is in cheating, and also in fraud;
My seventeenth is in bridle, and also in rein;
My eighteenth is in window, but not in pane;
My nineteenth is in hill, but not in mound;
My twentieth is in land, but not in ground;
My twenty-first is in my, and also in your;
My twenty-second is in upper, and also in lower;
My twenty-third is in skillet, but not in pan;
My whole is the name of a popular man.
So, boys and girls, please guess if you can.
P. S.-Here is the answer: Rutherford Birchard Hayes.

Ishpening, Mich., Jan. 22, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am going to subscribe for ST. NICHOLAS.
I will send you the money with this letter; here it is. I fixed my
cart to-day. I am trying to learn Sheridan's Ride." I have a dog
named U-Know. Every time he hears the least noise, he will bark
and growl, night and day. Now I will tell you something about the
country. It is fine weather; the sun is shining brightly. This city
was once a swamp, surrounded by hills. There are three lakes to be
seen by standing on a hill. Mine and ma's plants are very pretty;
the ivy covers the window. I have a brother, Ben Hill; but he is
not the U. S. Senator from Georgia. Will you please send me the
January ST. NICHOLAS right away, as I want to read "His Own
Master." I was nine years old the last of December.-Your friend,
P. S.-I forgot to tell you something. I had a mug for my birth-
day, with buds on each side. F. D. H.

North Woodstock, Maine, Feb. 3, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: To you first, and then to my dear uncle,
who lives in New York, do I send my thanks for the delightful ST.
NICHOLAS. It is one of my greatest pleasures, for I live among the
mountains, and do not have many playmates. My father is a doctor;
he was sick, and came up here to stay a year or two, hoping to get
well. He is better, but he has found a gold and silver mine, and I
don't know how long I shall have to live here. They hope to start the
mill next summer, and mother says I may send you a piece of the
silver as soon as they work some out. Father says it is a true fissure
vein, and will surely be rich. On one side of the vein it is polished
smooth as glass. Mother says when we get rich, I may send many
little girls ST. NICHOLAS; and then I hope I can live in the village
again. Mother says this is a beautiful place to live in, and girls and
boys brought up here can make noble men and women; but it is
rather lonesome for me sometimes, as I have no sister. Father has
been telling me about geology; he says all the matter of which the
earth consists was once held suspended in vapor. If you are will-
ing, I would like to tell the Young Contributors something about
this wonderful study. I will close by saying, Long live ST. NICH-
OLAS and its dear editress ABBIE L. BRADBURY.

Louisville, Ky.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I was looking over some old numbers
of ST. NICHOLAS last night, I happened to see a letter from a little
girl, in which she sent you a double pansy, and I thought I would
tell you about a double flower in our garden. It was a double
rose; I mean, two perfectly formed roses growing from the same
calyx (I believe that is the right name; I mean the little cup from
which the flower grows). The rose was a deep crimson velvet one; I
don't know any other name for it. The flower, or flowers, were not
quite as large as the others (the single ones, I mean), but appeared
as perfectly formed as any.
Give my love to Jack-in-the-Pulpit, and tell him I think a great
deal of him, and have got much valuable information from him by
following up the hints he gives sometimes.-Your affectionate friend
and constant reader, KITTIE B. WHIPPLE.




A New Puzzle.
Transpose the letters of the two words expressing the number and name of the objects in each group into a single word which will answer
to the definition given below the picture. Thus: No. I represents seven dice, which can be transposed into evidences (or roofss.

I. Proofs.

3. Lives at the same time with another.

5. Feasts.

COMPOSED of twenty-six letters. The I, 22, 13, II, 15 is a shrub
common in Great Britain. The 3, i6, 9, 13, 23 was a female deity,
fabled to preside over rivers and springs. The 8, 4, 9, 14, x is a
woman's name, signifying happiness. The io, 12, 24, 2, 74 is a
young domestic animal. The 14, 6, 2, 19, 01 is an article of food.
The 18, 9, 2, 17, 13 was the goddess of hunting. The 2r, 6, 20, 5,
25 is an animal of the deer kind. The 26, 1, 8, 6, 7 is a motive
power. The whole is a proverb. ISOLA.

I. DECEITFUL. 2. Fragrance. 3. A French coin. 4. An expres-
sion of pleasure. 5. A painter's implement. JACKIE D. w.

I. A GIRL stole. 2. To mice in a pan. 3. I can get pride. 4. Bind
sin asleep. 5. Mere prison coat. 6. Sid is fast in a cot. j.

I.-DIAGONAL from left to right: A girl's name, and also the sur-
name of an American general. Words across: Each a girl's name.
II.-Diagonal'from left to right: Aboy's name, and also the given
name of an American general. Words across: Each a boy's name.
THE initials and finals are the names of two cities of Italy.
I. A toy. 2. One of the muses. 3. A color. 4. What merchants
dislike to write. 5. A girl's name. B. P.

i. A CONSONANT. 2. A garden vegetable. 3. A river in the
United States. 4. A part of the body. 5. A consonant. ISOLA.

2. Increases.

4. Trifling.

6. Delicious fruits.

CENTRALS, read downward, name the inflection of verbs.
I. Surmises. 2. Compounded. 3. A kingdom or state. 4. An
army officer. 5. An engraved block. 6. A consonant. 7. A heathen
deity. 8. A kind of cement. 9. A sick person. no. Captives. ix.
Durably. x + v.
TAKE one word from out another, and leave a complete word.
i. Take a staff from a burlesque, and leave to reward. 2. Take to
free from a scepter, and leave a covering. 3. Take to fasten from a
sick person, and leave to gasp. 4. Take to fit from a ship of war,
and leave fortune. CYRIL DEANE,

My first contains corn,
Or draws yon and me;
You may call it a coin,
Or fowl of the sea.
My last may be coarse,
Or fine as a hair;
A membrane it is,
Or cloth that you wear.

My whole is a snare,-
Little insect, beware!

L. W. H.

FILL the blanks in their order with, first, diagonal from left to right,
then diagonal from right to left; then each word across, in its order
from the top downward.
One rough day in or- said to her brother If
I am not as rich as a I will yet give a to every beggar,
and the of my door shall not be fastened against the needy."




-. -ry..- .fl;'--. -


FIND a French proverb, asserting the peculiarities of different
countries, in the following sentence:
Such aqueducts pay; satisfying all, and proving a safe and undis-
guised blessing. B.


WHOLE, I mean to discourse upon; behead and transpose, and I
am a degree of value; transpose again, and I am a weed; transpose
again, and I am to rend; lastly, behead, and I am a part of the
head. L.

Ii -


I. BEHEAD and curtail a comedy, and leave part of a circle. 2.
Behead and curtail a precious jewel, and leave a part of the body.
3. Behead and curtail a part of the body, and leave another part of
the body. 4. Behead and curtail a part of the body, and leave an
instrument for fastening clothes, etc. 5. Behead and curtail a light
liquid food, and leave a medicinal plant. 6. Behead and curtail an
article of food, and leave a number. 7. Behead and curtail another
article of food, and leave a measure of length. 8. Behead and curtail
an article of clothing, and leave a vehicle. 9. Behead and curtail a
lazy animal, and leave a portion of land. zo. Behead and curtail a
dried fruit, and leave a small stream of water. ISOLA.


BEHEADED ENIGMAS.-I. Chart, hart. 2. March, arch. 3. Rash,
ash. 4. Smart, mart, art. 5. Sit, it. 6. Trim, rim. 7. Charm, harm.
HIDDEN LATIN PROVERB.-"Patientia vinces."
PICTORIAL LIBRARY PUZZLE.-Spenser, Pindar, Longfellow, Low-
ell, Harte, Caesar, Bums, Tennyson, Kane, Paley, Bentley, Bunyan,
Lockhart, Lamb, Hood, Grimm.
INCOMPLETE SENTENCES.--. Main, mane. 2. Seen, scene. 3.
Sees, seize, seas. 4. Sent, cent, scent. 5. Gate, gait. 6. Meets,
metes, meats. 7. Knights, nights. 8. Been, bin. 9. Lynx, links.
ao. Pear, pare, pair.
I. Pi-P-es Pies
2. St-A-ir Stir
3. Vi-T-al Vial
4. Co-R-- al Coal
5. Sl O op Slop
6. Ti- L es Ties
METAGRAM.-Severn, sever, verse, ever, veer, eve.
MELANGE.-I. Skate, Keats, steak, stake. a. Skate, Kate. 3.
Skate, sate. 4. Steak, teak. 5. Stake, take. 6. Sate, seat. 7. Teak,
tea. 8. Seat, eat.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.-William, Herbert.
W -rat- H
I -odin- E
L -ate- R
L -am- B
I -nan- E
A -muse- R
M -omen- T

HIDDEN FRENCH PROVERB.-" Honi soit qui mal y pense."
TRIPLE ACROSTIC.-Walrus, Badger, Rabbit.
W- e -B- e -R
A ustr -A- lasi -A
L ow -D- ra -B
R- ed -G- ru -B
S- ca -R- le -T

III. Tear, tare, rate
IV. Par-rap, trap-part, pat-
tap, rat-tar
V. Art, apt, rapt., Pre, at.
REBUS.-" There's many a slip twixtt the cup and the lip."

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, previous to February i8th, from A. R., "Moon Face," Emma
Elliott, Daisy Hobbs, "Elizabeth Eliza Peterkin," Minerva and Pluto," Robert Smith, Alice Bartow-Moore, Florence Wilcox, Constance
Grand Pierre, Maude L. Edgecomb, AlfredA. Mitchell, Carrie B. Mitchell, Howard S. Rodgers, Louisa L. Richards, Bessie Taylor, V. D.V,
Hallie Mygatt, Lora N., James B. Hamilton, Fannie M. Griswold, Lester Mapes, Frieda E. Lippert, Kittie H. Chapman, Arthur D. Smith,
M. 0. and R. J. P., Edith Lowry, Brainerd P. Emery, Fred Wolcott, "Beth," Nessie E. Stevens, Ella G. Condie, LucyV. McRill, "Toddle
and Budge," Tom Landon, Alice Ostrom, C. A. Walker, Jr., S. N. Knapp, Harriet Etting, John Pyne, Gennie Allis," Nellie M. Sherwin,
Ida A. Carson. Edith Wilkinson, "Capt. Nemo," Madeleie D. W. Smith, Mark W. Morton, Mrs. L. Annie Wickes, A. Hughes Lamson,
M. W. Collett, Willie Dibblee, "Alex," Nellie Emerson, Kittle L. Roe, Mercmy," J. G., "Oliver Twist," George Herbert White, Mari-
gold," Carroll S. Maxey, A. G. Cameron, "A. B. C.," J. Couch Flanders, Harry Nathan, Jennie Platt, Lottie Westland, Pauline Schloss,
Arthur C. Smith, C. F. Cook, Eddie Vultee.



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