Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Jack and Jill
 Prairie squirrels
 Saved from Siberia
 A knotty subject
 Daisy's mistake
 A faithful friend
 How to entertain a guest
 Why Patty spoke in church
 Hearing without ears
 The Hylas
 A story to be written
 Mary Elizabeth
 Snow-sports for girls and boys
 The raven uncle
 Editha's burglar
 Master Treborius
 Some wonderful automata
 Seeing is believing
 Out at sea
 The children's tally-ho!
 Among the lakes
 Quite a history
 The city child (music and...
 Illustrated alphabet
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 7, no. 4. February 1880.
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00083
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 7, no. 4. February 1880.
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Uniform Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 7, no. 4
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: February 1880
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00083
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

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
        Page 281
    Jack and Jill
        Page 282
        Page 283
        Page 284
        Page 285
        Page 286
        Page 287
        Page 288
        Page 289
    Prairie squirrels
        Page 290
        Page 291
    Saved from Siberia
        Page 292
        Page 293
        Page 294
        Page 295
        Page 296
        Page 297
        Page 298
    A knotty subject
        Page 300
        Page 301
        Page 302
        Page 303
    Daisy's mistake
        Page 299
    A faithful friend
        Page 304
        Page 305
        Page 306
        Page 307
        Page 308
    How to entertain a guest
        Page 309
        Page 310
        Page 311
    Why Patty spoke in church
        Page 312
    Hearing without ears
        Page 313
        Page 314
    The Hylas
        Page 315
    A story to be written
        Page 316
    Mary Elizabeth
        Page 316
        Page 317
        Page 318
        Page 319
    Snow-sports for girls and boys
        Page 320
        Page 321
    The raven uncle
        Page 322
        Page 323
        Page 324
        Page 325
    Editha's burglar
        Page 326
        Page 327
        Page 328
        Page 329
        Page 330
        Page 331
        Page 332
    Master Treborius
        Page 333
    Some wonderful automata
        Page 333
        Page 334
        Page 335
    Seeing is believing
        Page 336
    Out at sea
        Page 336
        Page 337
        Page 338
    The children's tally-ho!
        Page 339
    Among the lakes
        Page 340
        Page 341
        Page 342
        Page 343
        Page 344
        Page 345
        Page 346
        Page 347
    Quite a history
        Page 348
    The city child (music and words)
        Page 349
    Illustrated alphabet
        Page 350
        Page 351
        Page 352
        Page 353
        Page 354
        Page 355
    The letter-box
        Page 356
        Page 357
        Page 358
    The riddle-box
        Page 359
        Page 360
    Back Matter
        Back Matter
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

lA- --

(See Letter-Box.)

I$ lp5;tr -1

" ' lillr 'r . ,




[Copyright, i88o, by Scribner & Co.]




DAINTY little maiden, whither would you wander?
Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?
"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
"All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones,
Roses and lilies and Canterbury-bells."

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?
"Far and far away," said' the dainty little maiden,
"All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,
Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers."


MINNIE and Winnie
Slept in a shell.
Sleep, little ladies!
And they slept well.

Pink was the shell within,
Silver without;
Sounds of the great sea
Wander'd about.

Sleep, little ladies !
Wake not soon!
Echo on echo
Dies to the moon.

Two bright stars
Peep'd into the shell.
" What are they dreaming of?
Who can tell? "

Started a green linnet
Out of the croft;
Wake, little ladies,
The sun is aloft!

VOL. VII.-20.


No. 4.




THERE were a great many clubs in Harmony
village, but as we intend to interest ourselves with
the affairs of the young folks only, we need not
dwell upon the intellectual amusements of the
elders. In summer, the boys devoted themselves
to base ball, the girls to boating, and all got rosy,
stout and strong, in these healthful exercises. In
winter, the lads had their debating club, the lasses
a dramatic ditto. At the former, astonishing bursts
of oratory were heard; at the latter, everything was
boldly attempted, from Romeo and Juliet to Mother
Goose's immortal melodies. The two clubs fre-
quently met and mingled their attractions in a
really entertaining manner, for the speakers made
good actors, and the young actresses were most
appreciative listeners to the eloquence of each bud-
ding Demosthenes.
Great plans had been afoot for Christmas or
New Year, but when the grand catastrophe put an
end to the career of one of the best spouterss,"
and caused the retirement of the favorite "singing
chambermaid," the affair was postponed till Feb-
ruary, when Washington's birthday was always
celebrated by the patriotic town, where the father
of his country once put on his night-cap, or took off
his boots, as that ubiquitous hero appears to have
done in every part of the United States.
Meantime, the boys were studying Revolution-
ary characters, and the girls rehearsing such
dramatic scenes as they thought most appropriate
and effective for the 22nd. In both of these at-
tempts they were much helped by the sense and
spirit of Ralph Evans, a youth of nineteen, who
was a great favorite with the young folks, not only
because he was a good, industrious fellow, who
supported his old grandmother, but also full of
talent, fun, and ingenuity. It was no wonder every
one who really knew him liked him, for he could
turn his hand to anything, and loved to do it. If
the girls were in despair about a fire-place when
acting "The Cricket on the Hearth," he painted
one, and put a gas-log in it that made the kettle
really boil, to their great delight. If the boys
found the interest of their club Ii I .... Ralph
would convulse them by imitations of the Mem-
ber from Cranberry Center," or fire them with
speeches of famous statesmen. Charity fairs could

not get on without him, and in the store where he
worked he did many an ingenious job, which made
him valued for his mechanical skill, as well as for
his energy and integrity.
Mrs. Minot liked to have him with her sons, be-
cause they also were to paddle their own canoes.
by and by, and she believed that, rich or poor,
boys make better men for learning to use the
talents they possess, not merely as ornaments, but
tools with which to carve their own fortunes;
and the best help toward this end is an example of
faithful work, high aims, and honest living. So,
Ralph came often, and in times of trouble was a
real rainy-day friend. Jack grew very fond of him
during his imprisonment, for the good youth ran
in every evening to get commissions, amuse the
boy with droll accounts of the day's adventures, or
invent lifts, bed-tables, and foot-rests for the im-
patient invalid. Frank found him a sure guide
through the mechanical mysteries which he loved,
and spent many a useful half-hour discussing cylin-
ders, pistons, valves, and balance-wheels. Jill also.
came in for her share of care arid comfort; the
poor little back lay all the easier for the air-cushion
Ralph got her, and the weary headaches found
relief from the spray atomizer, which softly distilled
its scented dew on the hot forehead till she fell
Round the beds of Jack and Jill met and mingled
the school-mates of whom our story treats. Never,
probably, did invalids have gayer times than our
two, after a week of solitary confinement, for school
gossip crept in, games could not be prevented,
and Christmas secrets were concocted in those
rooms till they were regular conspirators' dens,
when they were not little Bedlams.
After the horn and bead labors were over, the
stringing of pop-corn on red, and cranberries on
white, threads came next, and Jack and Jill often
looked like a new kind of spider in the pretty webs
hung about them, till reeled off to bide their time in
the Christmas closet. Paper flowers followed, and
gay garlands and bouquets blossomed, regardless of
the snow and frost without. Then there was a
great scribbling of names, verses, and notes to ac-
company the steadily increasing store of odd parcels.
which were collected at the Minots', for gifts from
every one were to ornament the tree, and contribu-
tions poured in as the day drew near.

* Copyright. All rights reserved.




But the secret which most excited the young
people was the deep mystery of certain proceedings
at the Minot house. No one but Frank, Ralph,
and mamma knew what it was, and the two boys
nearly drove the others distracted by the tanta-
lizing way in which they hinted at joys to come,
talked strangely about birds, went measuring'round
with foot-rules, and shut themselves up in the
Boys' Den, as a certain large room was called.
This seemed to be the center of operations; but,
beyond the fact of the promised tree, no ray of
light was permitted to pass the jealously guarded
doors. Strange men with paste-pots and ladders
went in, furniture was dragged about, and all
sorts of boyish lumber were sent up garret and
down cellar. Mrs. Minot was seen pondering over
heaps of green stuff, hammering was heard, singu-
lar bundles were smuggled upstairs, flowering plants
betrayed their presence by whiffs of fragrance when
the door was opened, and Mrs. Pecq was caught
smiling all by herself in a back bedroom, which
usually was shut up in winter.
"They are going to have a play, after all, and
that green stuff was the curtain," said Molly Loo,
as the girls talked it over one day, when they sat
with their backs turned to one another, putting last
stitches in certain bits of work which had to be con-
cealed from all eyes, though it was found convenient
to ask one another's taste as to the color, materials,
and sizes of these mysterious articles.
I think it is going to be a dance. I heard the
boys doing their steps when I went in last evening
to find out whether Jack liked blue or yellow best,
so I could put the bow on his pen-wiper," declared
Merry, knitting briskly away at the last of the pair
of pretty white bed-socks she was making for Jill
right under her inquisitive little nose.
They would n't have a party of that kind with-
out Jack and me. It is only an extra nice tree,
you see if it is n't," answered Jill from behind the
pillows, which made a temporary screen to hide
the toilet mats she was preparing for all her
Every one of you is wrong, and you 'd better
rest easy, for you wont find out the best part of it,
try as you may." And Mrs. Pecq actually
chuckled as she, too, worked away at some bits of
muslin, with her back turned to the very unsocial-
looking group.
Well, I don't care, we 've got a secret all our
own, and wont ever tell, will we ? cried Jill, fall-
ing back on the Home Missionary Society, though
it was not yet begun.
"Never !" answered the girls, and all took
great comfort in the idea that one mystery would
not be cleared up, even at Christmas.
Jack gave up guessing, in despair, after he had

suggested a new dining-room where he could eat
with the family, a private school in which his les-
sons might go on with a tutor, or a theater for the
production of the farces in which he delighted.
It is going to be used to keep something in
that you are very fond of," said mamma, taking
pity on him at last.
Ducks ? asked Jack, with a half pleased, half
puzzled air, not quite seeing where the water was
to come from.
Frank exploded at the idea, and added to the
mystification by saying:
There will be one little duck and one great
donkey in it."
Then fearing he had told the secret, he ran off,
quacking and braying derisively.
It is to be used for creatures that I, too, am
fond of, and you know neither donkeys nor ducks
are favorites of mine," said mamma, with a demure
expression, as she sat turning over old clothes for
the bundles that always went to poor neighbors,
with a little store of goodies, at this time of the
I know I know It is to be a new ward for
more sick folks, is n't it, now ? cried Jack, with
what he thought a great proof of shrewdness.
"I don't see how I could attend to many more
patients till this one is off my hands," answered
mamma, with a queer smile, adding quickly, as if
she, too, was afraid of letting the cat out of the bag:
" That reminds me of a Christmas I once spent
among the hospitals and poor-houses of a great
city with a good lady who, for thirty years, had
made it her mission to see that these poor little
souls had one merry day. We gave away two
hundred dolls, several great boxes of candy and
toys, besides gay pictures, and new clothes to
orphan children, sick babies, and half-grown inno-
cents. Ah, my boy, that was a day to remember
all my life, to make me doubly grateful for my
blessings, and very glad to serve the helpless and
afflicted, as that dear woman did."
The look and tone with which the last words
were uttered effectually turned Jack's thoughts
from the great secret, and started another small
one, for he fell to planning what he would buy
with his pocket-money to surprise the little Pats
and Biddies who were to have no Christmas tree.

"Is it pleasant?" was the question Jill asked
before she was fairly awake on Christmas morning.
Yes, dear; as bright as heart could wish.
Now eat a bit, and then I '11 make you nice for the
day's pleasure. I only hope it wont be too much




for you," answered Mrs. Pecq. bustling about,
happy, yet anxious, for Jill was to be carried over
to Mrs. Minot's, and it was her first attempt at
going out since the accident.
It seemed as if nine o'clock would never come,
and Jill, with wraps all ready, lay waiting in a fever
of impatience for the doctor's visit, as he wished to
superintend the moving. At last lie came, found
all promising, and having bundled up his small
patient, carried her, with Frank's help, in her
chair-bed to the ox-sled, which was drawn to the
next door, and Miss Jill landed in the Boys' Den
before she had time to get either cold or tired.
Mrs. Minot took her things off with a cordial wel-
come, but Jill never said a word, for, after one ex-
clamation, she lay staring about her, dumb with
surprise and delight at what she saw.
The great room was entirely changed; for now
it looked like a garden, or one of the fairy scenes
children love, where in-doors and out-of-doors are
pleasantly combined. The ceiling was pale blue,
like the sky; the walls were covered with a paper like
a rustic trellis, up which climbed morning glories so
naturally that the many-colored bells seemed danc-
ing in the wind. Birds and butterflies flew among
them, and here and there, through arches in the
trellis, one seemed to look into a sunny summer
world, contrasting curiously with the wintry land-
scape lying beyond the real windows, festooned
with evergreen garlands, and curtained only by
stands of living flowers. A green drugget covered
the floor like grass, rustic chairs from the garden
stood about, and in the middle of the room a hand-
somne hemlock waited for its pretty burden. A
Yule log blazed on the wide hearth, and over the
chimney-piece, framed in holly, shone the words
that set all hearts to dancing, "Merry Christmas !"
Do you like it, dear ? This is our surprise for
you and Jack, and here we mean to have good
times together," said Mrs. Minot, who had stood
quietly enjoying the effect of her work.
Oh, it is so lovely I don't know what to say !"
and Jill put up both arms, as words failed her, and
grateful kisses were all she had to bffer.
Can you suggest anything more to add to the
pleasantness?" asked the gentle lady, holding the
small hands in her own, and feeling well repaid by
the child's delight.
Only Jack," and Jill's laugh was good to hear,
as she glanced up witl merry, yet wistful eyes.
You are right. We '11 have him in it at once,
or he will come hopping on one leg," and away
hurried his mother, laughing, too, for whistles,
shouts, thumps, and violent demonstrations of all
kinds had been heard from the room where Jack
was raging with impatience, while he waited for his
share of the surprise.

Jill could hardly lie still when she heard the roll
of another chair-bed coming down the hall, its
passage enlivened with cries of Starboard! Port!
Easy now Pull away !" from Ralph and Frank,
as they steered the recumbent Columbus on his
first voyage of discovery.
Well, I call that handsome !" was Jack's ex-
clamation, when the full beauty of the scene burst
upon his view. Then he forgot all about it and
gave a whoop of pleasure, for there beside the fire
was an eager face, two hands beckoning, and Jill's
voice crying, joyfully :
I 'm here I 'm here Oh, do come, quick !"
Down the long room rattled the chair, Jack
cheering all the way, and brought up beside the
other one, as the long-parted friends exclaimed,
w ith one accord:
Is n't this jolly "
It certainly did look so, for Ralph and Frank
danced a wild sort of fandango round the tree,
Dr. Whiting stood and laughed, while the two
mothers beamed from the door-way, and the chil-
dren, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry,
compromised the matter by clapping their hands
and shouting, Merry Christmas to everybody "
like a pair of little maniacs.
Then they all sobered down, and the busy ones
went off to the various duties of the day, leaving
the young invalids to repose and enjoy themselves
How nice you look," said Jill, when they had
duly admired the pretty room.
S o do you," -_ 11 -Il returned Jack, as he
surveyed her with unusual interest.
They did look very nice, though happiness was
the principal beautifier. Jill wore a red wrapper,
with the most brilliant of all the necklaces spark-
ling at her throat, over a nicely crimped frill her
mother had made in honor of the day. All the
curly black hair was gathered into a red net, and
a pair of smart little moccasins covered the feet
that had not stepped for many a. weary day. Jack
was not so gay, but had made himself as fine as
circumstances would permit. A gray dressing-
gown, with blue cuffs and collar, was very becom-
ing to the blonde youth; an immaculate shirt,
best studs, sleeve-buttons, blue tie, and handker-
chief wet with scent and sticking out of the breast-
pocket, gave an air of elegance in spite of the
afghan spread over the lower portions of his manly
form. The yellow hair was brushed till it shone,
and being parted in the middle, to hide the black
patch, made two engaging little 'quirls on his fore-
head. The summer tan had faded from his cheeks,
but his eyes were as blue as the wintry sky, and
nearly every white tooth was visible as he smiled
on his partner in misfortune, saying cheerily :




I 'm ever so glad to see you again; guess we
are over the worst of it now, and can have good
times. Wont it be fun to stay here all the while,
and amuse one another? "
"Yes, indeed; but one day is so short It will
be stupider than ever when I go home to-night,"
answered Jill, looking about her with longing
But you are not going home to-night; you

breath away, and before she got it again, in came
Frank and Ralph with two clothes-baskets of treas-
ures to be hung upon the tree. While they wired
on the candles the children asked questions, and
found out all they wanted to know about the new
plans and pleasures.
Who fixed all this ? "
"Mamma thought of it, and Ralph and I did it.
He 's the man for this sort of thing, you know.


are to stay ever so long. Did n't mamma tell
you? "
"No. Oh, how splendid! Am I really? Where
will I sleep ? What will mammy do without me ? "
and Jill almost sat up, she was so delighted with
the new surprise.
That room in there is all fixed for you. I
made Frank tell me so much. Mamma said I
might tell you, but I did n't think she would be
able to hold in if she saw you first. Your mother
is coming, too, and we are all going to have larks
together till we are well."
The splendor of this arrangement took Jill's

He proposed cutting out the arches and sticking on
birds and butterflies just where they looked best.
I put those canaries over there, they looked so well
against the blue," and Frank proudly pointed out
some queer orange-colored fowls, looking as if they
were having fits in the air, but very :i.. I never-
"Your mother said you might call this the Bird-
Room. We caught a scarlet-tanager for you to
begin with, did n't we Jack ? and Ralph threw a
bonbon at Jill, who looked very like a bright little
bird in a warm nest,
Good for you Yes, and we are going to keep




her in this pretty cage till we can both fly off to-
gether. I say, Jill, where shall we be in our classes
when we do get back ? and Jack's merry face fell
at the thought.
At the foot, if we don't study and keep up.
Doctor said I might study sometimes, if I 'd lie still
as long as he thought best, and Molly brought
home my books, and Merry says she will come
in every day and tell me where the lessons are.
I don't mean to fall behind, if my backbone is
cracked," said Jill, with a decided nod that made
several black rings fly out of the net to dance on
her forehead.
"Frank said he'd pull me along in my Latin,
but I 've been lazy and have n't done a thing.
Let's go at it and start fair for New Year," pro-
posed Jack, who did not love study as the bright
girl did, but was ashamed to fall behind her in
"Allright. They've been reviewing, so we can
keep up when they begin, if we work next week
while the rest have a holiday. Oh, dear, I do miss
school dreadfully; and Jill sighed for the old
desk, every blot and notch of which was dear to
There come our things, and pretty nice they
look, too," said Jack; and his mother began to
dress the tree, hanging up the gay horns, the
gilded nuts, red and yellow apples and oranges,
and festooning long strings of pop-corn and scarlet
cranberries from bough to bough, with the glitter-
ing necklaces hung where the light would show
their colors best.
I never saw such a splendid tree before. I 'm
glad we could help, though we were ill. Is it all
done now?" asked Jill, when the last parcel was
tied on and everybody stood back to admire the
pretty sight.
One thing more. Hand me that box, Frank,
and be very careful that you fasten this up firmly,
Ralph," answered Mrs. Minot, as she took from
its wrappings the waxen figure of a little child.
The rosy limbs were very life-like, so was the
smiling face under the locks of shining hair.
Both plump arms were outspread as if to scatter
blessings over all, and downy wings seemed to
flutter from the dimpled shoulders, making an
angel of the baby.
Is it St. Nicholas ?" asked Jill, who had never
seen that famous personage, and knew but little
of Christmas festivities.
It is the Christ-child, whose birthday we are
celebrating. I got the best I could find, for I like
the idea better than old Santa Claus; though we
may have him, too," said mamma, holding the
little image so that both could see it well.
"It looks like a real baby," and Jack touched the

rosy foot with the tip of his finger, as if expecting
a crow from the half-open lips.
It reminds me of the saints in the chapel of
the Sacred Heart in Montreal. One little St. John
looked like this, only he had a lamb instead of
wings," said Jill, stroking the flaxen hair, and wish-
ing she dared ask for it to play with.
He is the children's saint to pray to, love and
imitate, for he never forgot them, but blessed and
healed and taught them all his life. This is only a
poor image of the holiest baby ever born, but I
hope it will keep his memory in your minds all
day, because this is the day for good resolutions,
happy thoughts, and humble prayers, as well as
play and gifts and feasting."
While she spoke, Mrs. Minot, touching the little
figure as tenderly as if it were alive, had tied a
broad white ribbon round it, and handing it to
Ralph, bade him fasten it to the hook above the
tree-top, where it seemed to float as if the downy
wings supported it.
Jack and Jill lay silently watching, with a sweet
sort of soberness in their young faces, and for a
moment the room was very still as all eyes looked
up at the Blessed Child. The sunshine seemed to
grow more golden as it flickered on the little head,
the flames glanced about the glittering tree as if
trying to climb and kiss the baby feet, and, without,
a chime of bells rang sweetly, calling people to
hear again the lovely story of the life begun on
Christmas Day.
Only a minute, but it did them good, and pres-
ently, when the pleasant work was over, and the
workers gone, the boys to church, and mamma to
see about lunch for the invalids, Jack said, gravely,
to Jill:
I think we ought to be extra good, every one
is so kind to us, and we are getting well, and going
to have such capital times. Don't see how we can
do anything else to show we are grateful."
"It is n't easy to be good when one is sick,"
said Jill, thoughtfully. "I fret dreadfully, I get
so tired of being still. I want to scream sometimes,
but I don't, because it would scare mammy, so I
cry. Do you cry, Jack?"
Men never do. I want to tramp round when
things bother me; but I can't, so I kick and say
'Hang it !' and when I get very bad I pitch into
Frank, and he lets me. I tell you, Jill, he 's
a good brother !" and Jack privately resolved
then and there to invite Frank to take it out of
him in any form he pleased as soon as health
would permit.
I rather think we shall grow good in this
pretty place, for I don't see how we can be bad if
we want to, it is all so nice and sort of pious here,"
said Jill, with her eyes on the angel over the tree.




"A fellow can be awfully hungry, I know that.
I did n't half eat breakfast I was in such a hurry to
see you, and know all about the secrets. Frank
kept saying I could n't guess, that you had come,
and I never would be ready, till finally I got mad
and fired an egg at him, and made no end of a
Jack and Jill went off into a gale of laughter at
the idea of dignified Frank dodging the egg that
smashed on the wall, leaving an indelible mark of
Jack's besetting sin, impatience.
Just then Mrs. Minot came in, well pleased to
hear such pleasant sounds, and to see two merry
faces, where usually one listless one met her anxious
The new medicine works well, neighbor," she
said to Mrs. Pecq, who followed with the lunch
Indeed it does, mem. I feel as if I 'd taken a
sup myself, I 'm that easy in my mind."
And she looked so, too, for she seemed to have
left all her cares in the little house when she locked
the door behind her, and now stood smiling with a
clean apron on, so fresh and cheerful, that Jill
hardly knew her own mother.
Things taste better when you have some one
to eat with you," observed Jack, as they devoured
sandwiches, and drank milk out of little mugs with
rosebuds on them.
Don't eat too much, dr you wont be ready for
the next surprise," said his mother, when the
plates were empty and the last drop gone down
throats dry with much chatter.
More surprises Oh, what fun !" cried Jill.
And all the rest of the morning, in the intervals
of talk and play, they tried to guess what it could
At two o'clock they found out, for dinner was
served in the Bird-Room, and the children reveled
in the simple feast prepared for them. The two
mothers kept the little bed-tables well supplied,
and fed their nurslings. like maternal birds, while
Frank presided over the feast with great dignity,
and ate a dinner which would have astonished
mamma, if she had not been too busy to observe
how fast the mince pie vanished.
The girls said Christmas was spoiled because
of us; but I don't think so, and they wont either,
when they see this splendid place and know all
about our nice plans," said Jill, luxuriously eating
the nut-meats Jack picked out for her, as they lay
in Eastern style at the festive board.
I call this broken bones made easy. I never
had a better Christmas. Have a raisin ? Here's
a good fat one." And Jack made a long arm to
Jill's mouth, which began to sing Little Jack
Horner as an appropriate return.

It would have been a lonesome one to all of
us, I 'm thinking, but for your mother, boys. My
duty and hearty thanks to you, mem," put in
grateful Mrs. Pecq, bowing over her coffee-cup as
she had seen ladies bow over their wine-glasses at
dinner parties in old England.
I rise to propose a health, Our Mothers."
And Frank stood up with a goblet of water, for
not even at Christmas time was wine seen on that
Hip, hip, hurra called Jack, baptizing him-
self with a good sprinkle, as he waved his glass
and drank the toast with a look that made his
mother's eyes fill with happy tears.
Jill threw her mother a kiss, feeling very grown
up and elegant to be dining out in such style.
Then they drank every one's health with much
merriment, till Frank declared that Jack would
float off on the deluge of water he splashed about
in his enthusiasm, and mamma proposed a rest
after the merry-making.
Now the best fun is coming, and we have not
long to wait," said the boy, when naps and rides-
about the room had whiled away the brief interval
between dinner and dusk, for the evening enter-
tainment was to be an early one to suit the inva-
lids' bed-time.
"I hope the girls will like their things. I helped
to choose them, and each has a nice present. I
don't know mine, though, and. I 'm in a twitter to
see it," said Jill, as they lay waiting for the fun to
I do; I chose it, so I know you will like one of
them, anyway."
Have I got more than one ? "
I guess you 'll think so when they are handed
down. The bell was going all day yesterday, and
the girls kept bringing in bundles for you, I see
seven now," and Jack rolled his eyes from one mys-
terious parcel to another hanging on the laden
"I know something, too. That square bundle is
what you want ever so much. I told Frank, and he
got it for his present. It is all red and gold out-
side, and every sort of color inside; you '11 hurrah
when you see it. That roundish one is yours too;
I made them," cried Jill, pointing to a flat package
tied to the stem of the tree, and a neat little roll in
which were the blue mittens that she had knit for
I can wait," but the boy's eyes shone with
eagerness, and he could not resist firing two or
three pop-corns at it to see whether it was hard or
That barking dog is for Boo, and the little yel-
low sled, so Molly can drag him to school, he always
tumbles down so when it is slippery," continued




Jill, proud of her superior knowledge, as she
showed a small spotted animal hanging by its tail,
with a red tongue displayed as if about to taste the
sweeties in the horn below.
Don't talk about sleds, for mercy's sake I
never want to see another, and you would n't, either,
if you had to lie with a flat-iron tied to your ankle,
as I do," said Jack, with a kick of the well leg and
an ireful glance at the weight attached to the other
that it might not contract while healing.
Well, I think plasters, and liniment, and rub-
bing, as bad as flat-irons any day. I don't believe
you have ached half so much as I have, though it
sounds worse to break legs than to sprain your
back," protested Jill, eager to prove herself the
greater sufferer, as invalids are apt to be.
I guess you would n't think so if you 'd been
yanked 'round as I was when they set my leg.
Caesar, how it did hurt and Jack squirmed at the
recollection of it.
You did n't faint away as I did, when the doc-
tor was finding out if my vertebrums were hurt, so
now cried Jill, bound to carry her point, though
not at all clear what vertebra- were.
"Pooh! Girls always faint. Men are braver,
and I did n't faint a bit in spite of all that horrid
You howled; Frank told me so. Doctor said
I was a brave girl, so you need n't brag, for you '11
have to go on a crutch for a while. I know that."
"You may have to use two of them for years,
may be. I heard the doctor tell my mother so. I
shall be up and about long before you will. Now
Both children were getting excited, for the vari-
ous pleasures of the day had been rather too much
for them, and there is no knowing but they would
have added the sad surprise of a quarrel to the
pleasant ones of the day, if a cheerful whistle had
not been heard, as Ralph came in to light the
candles and give the last artistic touches to the
Well, young folks, how goes it? Had a merry
time so far?" he asked, as he fixed the steps and
ran up with a lighted match in his hand.
Very nice, thank you," answered a prim little
voice from the dusk below, for only the glow of the
fire filled the room just then.
Jack said nothing, and two red, sulky faces were
hidden in the dark, watching candle after candle
sputter, brighten, and twinkle, till the trembling
shadows began to flit away like imps afraid of the
Now he will see my face, and I know it is
cross," thought Jill, as Ralph went round the last
circle, leaving another line of sparks among the
hemlock boughs.

Jack thought the same, and had just got the
frown smoothed out of his forehead, when Frank
brought a fresh log, and a glorious blaze sprung up,
filling every corner of the room, and dancing over
the figures in the long chairs till they had to
brighten whether they liked it or not. Presently
the bell began to ring and gay voices to sound be-
low; then Jill smiled in spite of herself as Molly
Loo's usual cry of "Oh, dear, where is that child?"
reached her, and Jack could not help keeping time
to the march Ed played, while Frank and Gus mar-
shaled the procession.
"Ready !" cried Mrs. Minot, at last, and up
came the troop of eager lads and lasses, brave in
holiday suits, with faces to match. A unanimous
" 0, o, o burst from twenty tongues, as the full
splendor of the tree, the room, and its inmates,
dawned upon them; for not only did the pretty
Christ-child hover above, but Santa Claus himself
stood below, fur-clad, white-bearded, and powdered
with snow from the dredging-box.
Ralph was a good actor, and, when the first rapt-
ures were over he distributed the presents with
such droll speeches, jokes, and gambols, that the
room rang with merriment, and passers-by paused
to listen, sure that here, at least, Christmas was
merry. It would be impossible to tell about all the
gifts or the joy of the receivers, but every one was
satisfied, and the king and queen of the revels, so
overwhelmed with little'tokens of good-will, that
their beds looked like booths at, a fair. Jack
beamed over the handsome postage-stamp book
which had long been the desire of his heart, and
Jill felt like a millionaire, with a silver fruit-knife, a
pretty work-basket, and, oh !-coals of fire on her
head !-a ring from Jack.
A simple little thing enough, with one tiny tur-
quoise forget-me-not, but something like a dew-
drop fell on it when no one was looking, and she
longed to say, "I 'm sorry I was cross; forgive
me, Jack." But it could not be done then, so she
turned to admire Merry's bed-shoes, the pots of
pansies, hyacinths and geranium which Gus and
his sisters sent for her window garden, Molly's
queer Christmas pie, and the zither Ed promised
to teach her how to play upon.
The tree was soon stripped, and pop-corns
strewed the floor as the children stood about pick-
ing them off the red threads when candy gave out,
with an occasional cranberry by way of relish.
Boo insisted on trying the new sled at once, and
enlivened the trip by the squeaking of the spotted
dog, the toot of a tin trumpet, and shouts of joy at
the splendor of the turn-out.
The girls all put on their necklaces, and danced
about like fine ladies at a ball. The boys fell to
comparing skates, balls, and cuff-buttons on the




spot, while the little ones devoted all their energies
to eating everything eatable they could lay their
hands on.
Games were played till nine o'clock, and then
the party broke up, after they had taken hands
round the tree and sung a song written by one
whom you all know,-so faithfully and beautifully
does she love and labor for children the world

"What shall little children bring
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day ?
What shall little children bring
On Christmas Day in the morning?
This shall little children bring
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
Love and joy to Christ their king,
On Christmas Day in the morning!

What shall little children sing
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?
What shall little children sing
On Christmas Day in the morning?
The grand old carols shall they sing
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
With all their hearts, their offerings bring
On Christmas Day in the morning."

Jack was carried off to bed in such haste that he
had only time to call out, Good-night before
he was rolled away, gaping as he went. Jill soon
found herself tucked up in the great white bed she
was to share with her mother, and lay looking
about the pleasant chamber, while Mrs. Pecq ran
home for a minute to see that all was safe there for
the night.
After the merry din the house seemed very still,
with only a light step now and then, the murmur
of voices not far away, or the jingle of -I 1-,i1... 1 ,
from without, and the little girl rested easily
among the pillows, thinking over the pleasures of
the day, too wide-awake for sleep. There was no
lamp in the chamber, but she could look into the
pretty Bird-Room where the fire-light still shone on
flowery walls, deserted tree, and Christ-child float-
ing above the green. Jill's eyes wandered there
and lingered till they were full of regretful tears,
because the sight of the little -angel recalled the
words spoken when it was hung up, the good
resolution she had taken then, and how soon it
was broken.
I said I could n't be bad in.that lovely place,
and I was a cross, ungrateful girl after all they 've
done tor mammy and me. Poor Jack was hurt
the worst, and he was brave enough, though he
did scream. I wish I could go and tell him so,
and hear him say, 'All right.' Oh, me, I 've
spoiled the day! "
A great sob choked more words, and Jill was

about to have a comfortable cry, when some one
entered the other room, and she saw Frank doing
something with a long cord and a thing that
looked like a tiny drum. Quiet as a bright-eyed
mouse, Jill peeped out wondering what it was, and
suspecting mischief, for the boy was laughing to
himself as he stretched the cord, and now and then
bent over the little object in his hand, touching it
with great care.
May be it 's a torpedo to blow up and scare
me; Jack likes to play tricks. Well, I'll scream
loud when it goes off, so he will be satisfied that
I 'm dreadfully frightened," thought Jill, little
dreaming what the last surprise of the day was
to be.
Presently a voice whispered:
"I say! Are you awake?"
': Yes."
Any one there but you ?"
Catch this, then. Hold it to your ear and see
what you '11 get."
The little drum came flying in, and, catching
it, Jill, with some hesitation, obeyed Frank's order.
Judge of her amazement when she caught in
broken whispers these touching words:
Sorry I was cross. Forgive and forget. Start
fair to-morrow. All right. Jack."


Jill was so delighted with this handsome apol-
ogy, that she could not reply for a moment, then
steadied her voice, and answered back in her
sweetest tone:




I 'm' sorry, too. Never, never, will again. Jill, to lay her cheek upon the hand that wore the
Feel much better now. Good-night, you dear old little ring and fall asleep, saying to herself, with
thing." a farewell glance at the children's saint, dimly
Satisfied with the success of his telephone, Frank seen in the soft gloom, I will not forget. I
twitched back the drum and vanished, leaving will be good "
(To be continuedd)

'';. .. _.1 ,- --.... PR-

Sthe early spring, when
Sthe wild grass is still dry
and brown, and the
S prairie is covered with
the purple frost flowers,
the gophers, or prairie
squirrels, open their
j sleepy eyes, and come
S forth from their dark
S chambers underground
to enjoy the sunshine.
They can be seen in
'. '- '. every direction, frisking
over the ground, or
S' standing erect and mo-
tionless, as if to dis-
cover, with their bright,
,round eyes, whatever
changes have befallen
the world since they
bade it good-night. In
this upright position it is impossible to distinguish
them from so many brown pieces of wood; but the
slightest noise sends them scampering to their bur-
rows, where they disappear with a shrill chirp and
a comical flourish of their feet.
In the West, these little creatures take the place
of the tree squirrel, living on hazel-nuts, roots,
and seeds of prairie plants.
The prettiest and most common of all the prairie
squirrels is the one generally called the striped
gopher, a slender animal, whose fur is beauti-
fully spotted and striped. Much as I admired
this little beauty when I lived in the West, I was
extremely annoyed by his habit of digging holes in
my flower-beds, and uprooting the tender plants,
While I carefully repaired the mischief, he was
industriously at work in another part of the gar-
den; and perching himself near a freshly made
hole, ready to dive in at a moment's notice, he



would look : li _i at me with his saucy brown
eyes. I never would consent to have him shot,
and so he kept me busy through the season. The
gray gopher is larger, and looks too much like a
rat to be pretty. Both of these animals are great
pests to farmers, and, if not closely watched, will
eat all their newly planted corn in a very short
time. In some localities, shooting gophers is as
important a part of a farmer's work as "bugging"
potatoes. As soon as the green shoots of corn
appear, the little ravagers dig them up to eat off
the kernels ; and, unless the watchman, who is sta-
tioned in the corn-field, understands the habits of
these active foes to vegetation, the farmer loses a
deal of corn as well as his temper.
Very different from these is the pocket gopher,
or pouched rat, which is an ugly nocturnal animal,
and seldom seen. His capacious pockets cover
both sides of his head, his great teeth project
beyond the lip, and his fore feet are armed with
long, sharp claws. Like the mole, he digs deep,
and burrows very rapidly, throwing up mounds
of earth with his back and shoulders. Some peo-
ple say that he brings earth out of the burrows in
his pockets, but this is a mistake. These queer
pockets, which are lined with short hair, open only
on the outside, having no connection with the
mouth, and are used to convey food to the 'bur-
rows. The pocket gopher's nest is placed in a
small, round chamber, and warmly lined with
dried grasses, and with fur which the mother pulls
from her body.
From this chamber a great many passages
radiate, and the animal can easily escape in any
direction when alarmed. I have often wished that
I could penetrate to the gopher's winding burrows,
and explore his ingeniously contrived home, which
is a perfect labyrinth. The pocket gopher some-
times kills fruit-trees of many years' growth by
gnawing the roots. This is very trying to gar-



-'*!*' '


deners, for fruit is not easily raised in the
newer portions of the West. I shall not soon for-
get a desperate young friend, who stood motionless
in his garden one whole summer afternoon, with
his gun aimed at a pocket gopher's hole. His pa-
tience was not rewarded, for the little miscreant
had no idea of being shot. The pocket gopher is as
fond of potatoes as an Irishman, and burrows under
the hills, where he can eat them at his leisure.
With the greedy potato-bugs above ground, and
the pouched rat underneath, you can imagine that
the farmer has a hard time raising his potatoes.
I knew some little boys who earned a cent for
every hundred bugs they killed, and they could kill
a great many in a day; but there was no way to
capture the wily enemy at the roots.
A curious animal, with which you may be better
acquainted, is the barking squirrel, a sort of minia-
ture woodchuck. Among the Indians he is known
as the Weftonwislz, while the French Canadians
call him Petit Chien. He is generally called the
prairie dog, though prairie marmot would be a
better name, for he closely resembles his cousins
across the water, the Alpine marmots. A clumsy
little creature, with a peculiar flat head, he does
not look at all like a dog, though his bark is some-
what like that of a very young puppy.
The Indians say, that before the great storms
of autumn the prairie dogs close the mouths of
their burrows with weeds and earth, and that if
they open their doors before the storm is over,
pleasant weather is sure to be at hand.
The little Alpine marmots burrow in the mount-
ain slopes near the region of perpetual snow;
and while they frolic beneath the summer sun, a
sentinel on a neighboring crag gives an alarm at

the approach of danger. The prairie marmots use
the little hillocks near their burrows for watch-
towers; but their great curiosity often brings them
to grief. When they see an intruder, they give a
frightened yelp and leap into their holes; but they
instantly wheel round and peer cautiously out to
see what the danger is. Hunters take advantage
of this inquisitive trait, and try to shoot the little
creatures while they are looking out of their doors.
The flesh of these animals is said to be tender and
juicy; but unless they are instantly killed, they
always contrive to escape into their burrows.
The domestic arrangements of the prairie dogs
have excited much wonder; and when the small
burrowing owl and prairie rattlesnake were first
found in the dog-towns," people said. What a
strange friendship These happy families are more
wonderful than any the museums can exhibit." But
the naturalists looked at the matter in a different
light, and declared that the owl and snake were
unwelcome and uninvited guests, and were glad to
get their board and lodging free. If the prairie
dogs do not enjoy seeing their children swallowed
by the rattlesnakes, they are wise enough to make
a virtue of necessity. It is not so easy to account
for the presence of the owl, as her food seems to
consist entirely of insects. Perhaps she is too lazy
to dig.her own burrow, and prefers to rear her
young owlets in a home already provided.
In England, the Alpine marmots are carried
about in boxes by Savoyard boys, and exhibited for
half-pence. Our Western marmots are also easily
tamed, and I have heard of two who lived in their
master's coat pocket, and loved to nestle in his
breast. These pets were afterward placed in the
_.... .. I Gardens in London.

*~ -^'
":m,. '- ;. .: '* .3f
.; -.flri-C~
'.i~~ .-_ .
I.-.1 o- ,,-- -L .. ,."





I, --

-, ---- ,-




WHEN Harry Holton awoke on a certain bright
February morning, not long ago, he rubbed his
eyes and stared about him for some time before he
could remember where he was, and how he hap-
pened to be there. Then it all came back to him,-
he had arrived the night before in St. Petersburg,
very cold and quite tired out, and had been glad
enough to go to bed in a warm and pleasant room
in the Hotel de l'Europe. Harry and his parents
were traveling in Europe, and only a few days be-
fore, his father had come to their pleasant apart-
ment on the Champs Elysees in Paris, and told
him that he and his mother were going to take him
with them to Russia.
The very next night they drove to the station of
the Northern Railway and took their places in a
funny sleeping-car, as little as possible like the
" Pullman cars, in which Harry had often trav-
eled at home. He slept soundly enough, and only
awoke a little while before they rolled into a great
station at Cologne, and he saw uniforms quite
different from the Paris officials', and heard every
body speaking German instead of French. Here
he had time to make a hearty breakfast, and even

run out into the square and look for a few minutes
at the grand cathedral, before the train started for
At Berlin the party stayed two days, and his
father bought warm fur pelisses, and fur-lined
goloslzes or overshoes, and large thick fur rugs for
all three,-and Harry began to realize that they
were going to a colder country than he had ever
before visited. The train started from Berlin late
in the evening, and the next afternoon they reached
the frontier, where their baggage was subjected to
a rigid examination by some very fierce-looking
uniformed Russian Custom-house officials, to see
if they had anything with them which it was for-
bidden to carry into Russia. Nothing of the kind
was found, and Harry and his parents entered a
Russian railway-carriage, where there was an enor-
mous stove, into which a guard continually piled
wood; and, until they reached St. Petersburg the
next evening, it seemed to them that they saw ab-
solutely nothing but trees and snow, with an occa-
sional station where the passengers ran in and
drank tumblers of hot tea. Harry could see little
of the city as they drove rapidly to the hotel; but





glimpses of the signs, as the light from the street-
lamps shone upon them, greatly puzzled him, for
although the letters looked like Roman letters, they
they did not make any words that he could under-
stand. At the door of the hotel the travelers were
received and shown to their rooms by a tall porter
called Swiss," and Harry at first thought this was
on account of his nationality, but afterward learned
that it was the name applied to all such domestics.
When Harry was fairly awake, the next morning,
he jumped up, thinking how much pleasanter this
was than the old bedroom in Paris, and having
dressed himself he went to the window and looked
out. The windows were double, with a curious little
trough of salt between, and yet a strange chilli-
ness seemed to come through them. Outside was
a wide street, with stores bearing more of those
curious signs. Little sleighs stood in a row at the
side, their drivers in long sheepskin coats, tied with
a girdle around the waist, pacing up and down,
swinging their arms and stamping their feet as they
waited for some one to hire their sleighs.
People walked with rapid steps, holding tightly
around them their pelisses, the collars reaching
above their ears. Snow was deep in the street and
on the roofs, and the sky was unlike any that Harry
had seen before,-clear and intensely cold in ap-
His father had promised him a sleigh-ride that
afternoon, and at about three o'clock the servant
announced that the troika was at the door. The
party went down wrapped in their furs, and found
a large sleigh on low runners, and wide enough for
three people to sit abreast. The driver stood up
in front, and was dressed in a long blue coat lined
with sheepskin, and had a red girdle around his
waist and a rough fur cap on his head. The horses
were the most remarkable part of the equipage.
There were three of them, two jet black and the
other white. One was in the shafts, with a wooden
arch rising above his neck and connecting them ;
the others were attached on each side of him.
Harry and his father and mother were snugly
wrapped in rugs; a net, reaching from the
dasher of the sleigh to the horses' backs, and
intended to keep snow and ice from flying in the
faces of the occupants of the troika, was properly
adjusted; the Swiss" gave some directions to the
driver, and the equipage moved on.
Harry had now an opportunity of watching the
performances of the horses, which had been de-
scribed to him before the start. The horse in the
middle trots steadily on; the left-hand, or near"
horse, called the coquet," ambles with arched
neck and graceful motion; and the right-hand, or
"off" horse, called the "fury," moves with a
prancing step, -1..-. ,-.. his head up with a fierce

air, and apparently chafing and fretting. All three,
as they appear every day in Russia, can be seen
in the picture on the next page.
Turning a sharp corner, the party came into the
Nevsky Prospekt, the Broadway of St. Petersburg,
leading to the river Neva. It presented an ani-
mated sight, being lined with handsome buildings
and filled with people,-ladies and gentlemen on
foot or in sleighs, officers and soldiers, and mzjiks,
or peasants,-all muffled up and avoiding exposure
to the air as much as possible. Sometimes a
sleigh would be seen in which an officer, or noble-
man, had changed places with his driver; who sat
behind, while his master held the reins. Traversing
the length of this street, Harry soon saw the beauti-
ful gilt dome of the great cathedral of St. Isaac, and
then they turned to the right and drove along the
quay by the frozen Neva.
The ice seemed to be as much occupied as the
solid ground; people were trying the speed of their
horses on a track cleared of snow and surrounded
by a crowd; others were gathered about some
Laplanders in a rude encampment, and others
were crossing and recrossing. The troika turned
down by an easy descent, and soon reached the
opposite shore. Before long, they were in the
open country, and a long stretch of level road
appeared; and, ere Harry knew what was coming,
the driver uttered a shrill cry, and, like magic,
the coquett and "fury abandoned their pretty
gaits and joined the middle horse in a gallop.
And what a gallop it was Harry felt his mother
cling instinctively to him, and he saw the snow
and ice strike against the net; indeed, the speed
in that dry, cold air almost took his breath away,
but he was quite sure that he had never enjoyed a
drive so much in his life.
This was repeated more than once, and then
they turned again toward the river Neva, and drove
rapidly along.
Harry had been much interested in the skillful
manner in which their coachman had managed his
horses; and, as his father and mother were occu-
pied with visitors the next morning, he asked them
to let the Swiss" find him the same coachman,
and let him have a drive by himself. His parents
did not object, and the man soon came around with
a small sleigh and a single horse. The Swiss ex-
plained to Harry that he must hold on to the
driver's belt or sash, and showed him how to do
so. Then off they dashed again along the Nevsky
Prospekt and the quays. When they were some
distance from the hotel, Harry was astonished to
hear the driver suddenly say to him in French:
"And the young Monsieur finds the drive
agreeable? "
"Oh, very pleasant," replied Harry, who under-




stood French very well. But I had no idea that
you could speak French."
"Yes," said the driver, I learned it as a child.
You know it is said that our own language is so
difficult, that we find all others easy to acquire. I

to go. And now let me show you how fast my
good horse can go on the ice-covered Neva."
So saying he turned down to the river, and put
the beautiful horse to his full speed along a smooth
path on the ice. Suddenly Harry looked up to

, '--.
.-..' "._ .-*
''V ,'

I '' '* ~ 'A~~'~****

was not always a driver, I should tell you. I have
seen better days."
Just as he addressed Harry, he had turned into a
quiet street, and he was now driving slowly. The
driver continued :
You are an American, are you not? "
Yes," said Harry.
And the Americans are great friends of the
Russians," said the driver. I would like very
much to see your country. In what city do you
live ?"
In New York," said Harry.
Oh, I have heard of New York. Do you have
troikas there-like the one in which you drove
yesterday ? "
"No," replied Harry; "but I should like to
take one there."
But you would want driver and all. The
American coachman would not understand how to
manage the coquett' and the 'fury.' "
Yes, indeed," said Harry, eagerly. I should
want to take you, too."
Very well," said the driver, I would be glad

see a strange and beautiful sight. Rising over the
mist which covered all the body of the massive
building, and left it as it were suspended in mid-
air, was seen again the grand gilt dome of St.
Isaac's. Harry cried out with wonder and pleasure,
and the driver stopped to give him an opportunity
of looking at this curious effect. Just then he
heard his name called, and saw his father coming
out of the cathedral with a tall, portly man, of an
erect and soldierly bearing. He jumped out of the
sleigh and ran to meet them.
General," said his father, "I want to present
my boy Harry to you. Harry, this is General
P--, our consul here."
"Very happy to make your acquaintance, my
good young friend," said the consul, speaking with
a marked foreign accent. "I am glad to see you
enjoy yourself so much in that sleigh. You have
a good horse and a remarkably fine-looking driver.
That turn-out would not be amiss in the Central
Park, Mr. Holton ? "
Or better still, a troika," said Harry, de-
lighted to hear his own idea broached in this way,

-' I '* i '

2,i, ,



-- -rP3~------CIII~;~---~---~


" ,. .F

P ly,, -''
- ,

1"..,, .l,%. _ ,,
*s_.-:- %_._:~~l


"Yes, a troika would do very well," said Mr.
Holton. "What do you say, general? Could
the whole establishment be procured and exported,
-sleigh, horses, driver and all? "
Sleigh and horses, yes; driver, perhaps, if
you could find a steady and sober one,-such an
one, for instance, as Master Harry's driver seems
to be, if I may judge by his looks."
Yes, the idea is worth pursuing," said Mr.
Holton. Now, Harry, you must n't keep your
fine horse standing in the cold. You must finish
your ride and be home before long, for a French
friend of ours has called, and says that he is coming
after dinner to take you to have some grand
coasting on the ice mountain."
Harry, delighted to hear this, ran back to his
sleigh, and was soon driven to the hotel.
After dinner, that evening, his French friend,
Monsieur Delaporte, called for him, and he was
pleased to see, on going to the door, that the same
driver was in the troika.
They got into the sleigh and went spinning
merrily along, and soon reached a spot where they
saw a curious sight. At a distance of some hun-
dreds of yards from each other stood two towers of
wooden frame-work with houses on top. From
each sloped down ways supported on similar frame-
work, and ending in long, level, wooden alleys run-
ning side by side. The alley from each one
extended just past the tower where the other
began. There were flights of steps leading up
through each tower to the house on top. Sled
after sled was seen starting from a level platform in
front of each house, and running with lightning
speed down the incline and along the level to the
foot of the other tower. There a servant, standing
ready, would take the light sled and carry it up the
steps, followed by the party who had come down
on it, and who, when they had reached the house,
and stopped a moment to warm themselves, would
start down again in the opposite direction.
See the ice mountains, and sport made easy,"
said M. Delaporte. Hasten, Monsieur Harry, for
we go to essay this novel amusement."
Harry and his friend jumped out of the troika,
and they quickly ascended the steps.. Passing
through the warm room at the top, they came
out on a platform, sloping down from which was
the track for the sleds. It was about three feet
wide, and had sides eight or ten inches in height,
making it impossible for the sleds to run off. Over
all, bottom and sides, was a thick coating of ice as
smooth as glass. Harry's eyes sparkled as he saw
this. Like every strong, healthy American boy,
he loved coasting with all his heart, and had he
lived a hundred or more years ago, he would have
taken a foremost place in that youthful delegation,

now famous in the history of our country, who so
boldly and successfully appealed to the British
General Gage to prevent his red-coats from inter-
fering with their enjoyment of this sport on Boston
Common. Harry had had many fine opportunities
of indulging his taste in coasting, but here was
something to put all previous experience in the
shade. Deep, well-packed snow he knew to be
good; but any one could see with half an eye that
this splendid ice was far better.
Down the tracks, one after another, went the
sleds and their jolly passengers, and Harry could
hardly wait for his turn. It soon came, and M.
Delaporte sat down on the sled, his feet in front,
and told Harry to kneel behind him, and clasp him
tightly by the neck or shoulders. Then with a
push they were off. Harry caught his breath at
first, so tremendous did' the speed seem to him.
They were at the foot of the incline, as it seemed,
in a second, and shot along the level, only slacking
speed as they came to the tower opposite the one
from which they had started. Here stood a servant
ready to take the sled, and carry it up for a fresh
start, and then they had the excitement and pleas-
ure all over again.
After several repetitions of this experience, M.
Delaporte left Harry to warm himself in the house
on the tower, which they had just ascended, and
near which stood their troika. He, himself, went
out to get some friends to join them, and said that
he would soon come back. Harry was left in the
room with the man who had carried up his sled,
and who now stood quite near him. To his great
surprise, no sooner had the door closed on the
French gentleman, than he heard the man ask:
Will you permit me, young sir, to speak a
few words to you? You must not be surprised at
my addressing you in English,-I have been often
in England."
Certainly," said Harry, not knowing what the
man could possibly want to say to him.
I speak to you, because I am sure you have a
kind heart,.and we can trust you. You conversed
to-day with the driver of your troika. He was most
anxious to say more to you to-night, but he could
not speak before the French gentleman, and then,
too, he had a little fear about speaking at all; but
he told me of his anxiety, and I am not afraid to
trust you."
He drew nearer and spoke in a lower tone.
I must be brief, for we may be interrupted.
Your driver is a Russian nobleman. He was sus-
pected most wrongly, and on the accusation of
some bad men, who sought to ruin him, of being a
Nihilist and a conspirator against the government.
He would have been arrested and sent to Siberia
but for a fortunate chance. A mujik, or peasant,




from one of his estates, who had just come to St.
Petersburg with the intention of finding employ-
ment as a tovika driver, was of about the same size
and general appearance as the Count.
He would do anything for his
lan,.il.., i. ... _-. ." r .,: 1 pi


?? .., ,

-i' ";' ', -

i.S d

for him, and when he told me about you, and your
plan for taking a troika and coachman to New
York, I said to myself, 'That is providential.' I
told him that I would talk to you, as I could do
so without attracting attention-- but mon-
i, : i perhaps again ready to descend
the mountain," he said, lead-
ing the way toward the door.
,i..Lb.: Harry saw that the rea-
.i son for his abrupt change
' --- of the conversation was the
-". 1 appearance of a police offi-
i I cer, who had entered the
.;. "You will soon return
S' from the other side of the
i- ce mountain," whispered


i I


, -I2


the at-
tendant to
Harry as he
ipt his sled in po-
:ii.:.nr. "and then I can
!nI.- more to you,
ii-. l-Ir I... .i.:-man will not be
II' hi


"same height and general appearance, a clever ser-
vant and a hair-dresser from one of the theaters
soon made the latter look like him. The mnjik
returned quietly to the country, and the Count
remained here, where his identity has never been
suspected. Of course he cannot remain in this
position, as he may at any time be discovered and
sent to Siberia. If he could reach America he
could stay there safely and quietly until, after a suf-
ficient time, his friends could clear him from an
unfounded accusation. He is one of the best of
men, brave, warm-hearted and charitable, and
there are many who love him, I among them. I
have racked my brain for some scheme of escape

1. -:- t,,,. i r the Coot of the steps
,- H I .:. I'. :lhi, .- .... about ten m in-
SIu..- I',l:. 5i ... Ih.! , ,. ,!!I I '. ': 1!'. I low voice :
I I-,.. -i-.1.'-:' to the Count, and we believe
that you can and will help him. Will you not? "
Indeed, I will," said Harry, warmly.
Thank you, I was sure of it," said the Russian.
"You must speak to no one excepting your father,
and there need be no further communication be-
tween us, or between you and the Count. Only
say that you want to engage a driver and he will
accept. Then your father will have the engage-
ment signed before a notary and get a passport for
his new driver, and all should go well. Here
comes your friend, the French gentleman."
"Come on, my boy," said M. Delaporte, "we
have time for but one more slide, and we will take
it in a novel way."
So saying, he put a large rug in the proper posi-
tion, and he, Harry, and two gentlemen who had



c `j

,' bl


joined them, seated themselves on it and slid
rapidly down, laughing and cheering as they went.
Then they took their seats in the troika, and were
driven away.
Harry could hardly sleep that night, so full was
his mind of what he had heard, and of the plan for
assisting in the escape of his friend. In the morn-
ing he scarcely could wait for his father to finish his
breakfast before he told him the whole story. Mr.
Holton was greatly interested, and to Harry's de-
light entered at once into the plan. He sat some
time thinking about it, and then asked Harry to
tell the "Swiss" to order the troika. As they
drove in the direction which he indicated, and
through some comparatively unfrequented streets,
Mr. Holton said quietly to the driver, speaking in
"I suppose that I could buy a troika and har-
ness like this for a fair price ? "
Yes, sir, certainly," was the reply.
But I should want a driver. Would you go to
France and America with me? "
Yes, sir; I should like to go to America."

That evening, at dinner, Harry's father said to
"Everything is in train, my boy, but we had
better not say much about it. I am going to start
for Paris the day after to-inorrow, at noon. I think
that we shall, in point of fact, be content with an
American sleigh in the Central Park; but the
General is going to forward a troika and harness
to Paris after our departure, while the driver is to
go with us. I suppose," he added, with a quiet
twinkle in his eye, that some Russian nobleman,
whom we may meet in France, may spare enough
income from his estates to take it off our hands,
if we should conclude not to carry it home with
us. But here is our driver."
Before Harry retired that night, he had the
pleasure of hearing that everything was settled,
and that permission to leave Russia (which is as
necessary as permission to enter it) had been duly
received from the police. The document provided
for the passing of the frontier by Mr. and Mrs.
Holton and son, citizens of the United States, and
Sergius Ivanovitch, their Russian coachman.


- .. "I -I

-i -:.





"Very well," said Mr. Holton; "come up to When the day came for the departure of the
my rooms in the hotel this evening, and perhaps party, Harry felt terribly uneasy, and the hours
we can come to some arrangement. Now drive seemed to creep along. He fancied that every one
me to the United States Consulate." must suspect there was something wrong, or else
VOL. VII.-21.

___EFrr~C__U__~__LL_____LL~I~-Yl~s~~IP I.__~UI_



::----~`: ~Ji


some mystery about that fine tall coachman, who
was occupying himself with the luggage. But
eleven o'clock and quarter past eleven came with
no disturbance or trouble, and they took a carriage
and drove to the station. Harry's heart was in his
mouth when he saw a police sergeant standing
near the train, and he only breathed more freely
when they rolled out of the station. Then came
the same old prospect of woods and snow,-more
woods and more snow,-the same stations with the
sam;ovar or great tea-urn, the same hot stove in the
1-i I carriage, and the same guard crowding
wood into it.
Harry still felt very uneasy, especially as they
approached the frontier, and he almost held his
breath when the uniformed officials came to inspect
the passports and compare the people with their
Everything seemed all right, and in a very short
time they were past the frontier, on German soil,
and felt secure. Through Germany and all the
way to Paris, Sergius remained a coachman ; but,
as the train rolled into the railway station, he said,
with a quiet smile, to Mr. Holton:
"After an interview with some friends, and
with a barber, a tailor, and others, the man you
have saved will make his appearance at your hotel
to introduce himself, to apologize for the disappear-
ance of your coachman, and to thank you and this
noble boy from his heart" (and his voice shook a
little) for what you have done for him."
Harry was sitting with his father and mother at
breakfast in the hotel at about noon on the second
day, when the waiter brought in a card, on which
Mr. Holton read the name,


and, waiting for them, in their drawing-room, they
found a tall, fine-looking gentleman, as utterly
unlike their late coachman as it was possible to


conceive. In his hand, he held a beautiful bou-
quet, which he presented with grave politeness tc
Mrs. Holton. Then, evidently with heartfelt emo-
tion, he told them that his gratitude to them was
something which he should never be able to ex-
press. He spoke eloquently and at some length,
while Harry sat looking at him, and wondering if
it could possibly be the man who had driven him
across the frozen Neva. The Count made but a
short visit, telling his friends that by the next day
he would better realize the change in his condition,
and be better company for them. As he parted
with Harry at the door, he put three parcels in his
hands, and was off before he could inquire what
they were. On opening them, Harry found three
jeweler's cases, with cards attached, with the names
of his mother, his father, and himself written
thereon in a quaint but plain hand. For his
mother there was a beautiful bracelet, for his father
an antique seal ring, and for himself a beautiful
little watch, with a picture of a troika engraved on
the case.
The Count Ivanofsky lives in St. Petersburg
again. The Czar learned the truth about his case,
and sent for him to come back. He is very fond
of meeting Americans, and especially American
boys; and, if any of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS
ever go there, and can ascertain where he lives, I
am sure he will be glad to see them, and give them
a far better idea than I can of the wonderful sights
of that great, cold, northern city.
Harry Holton corresponds with him; and one
day, not long ago, when I was lunching with his
father, he wanted me to try some curious black-
looking preparation, which he was eating with his
bread, and called caviare, a well-known Russian
dainty. I asked him if he really liked it, and he
replied, with a half-smile on his lips:
I cannot say that I have quite learned to relish
it as they do in St. Petersburg, but I feel bound
to eat it, for it was sent to me by a gentleman
whom we saved from Siberia."


->------2-- .,.-, -.-f! "- - '-r:. ;- ".' "4

^""!ri' ~ ~ '^^ -':
- ,/. :',^- .;.''' .'"r--- ,.in --

.- --






IF Alexander the Great had been a sailor, in- it is fastened becomes the standing part," while
stead of a soldier, he would have quietly untied the rest is the "end part," or "running part."
that Gordian knot, and the world would never Wherever the term bightt" is used, it means the
have heard about it. Cutting it with his sword, same as loop. In the illustrations, the knots are
like an angry boy, made the act famous. Alex- generally represented before they are tightened, so
ander was, however, by no means the first to lose that their formation can be more clearly shown.

I I / I, A


A 6
.... B


his temper over a knot, though he is, perhaps, the
first of whom history makes special mention. It
is safe to say that the Garden of Eden saw the first
knots tied and untied, and the process is bound to
go on to the very end of time.
The art of making knots is of immense impor-
tance on shipboard. Every day the safety of life
and property depends upon the security with which
they are tied. On shore these knots may be of
less general-consequence, but a knot that will hold
is certainly far better anywhere than one that will
slip, and occasions often arise when an expert knot-
maker is an exceedingly useful person. So,
boys, find a piece of heavy twine or small
rope like an ordinary clothes-line, and learn a
few of the regular knots, bends, and hitches.
A knot," as a sailor understands the term,
is more permanent than a "hitch," and a
"bend" is a sort of half-way name, which
may be either one or the other. A good
knot, when once tightened, never slips, but
at the same time it does not "jam" so that
it cannot be readily untied. A "hitch" is
made and cast off more quickly and easily
than a knot, and is not usually trusted for
permanent duty. For convenience of de-
scription, in many of the following exam-

This is generally made with two ends of a
line (or the ends of two lines, as the case may
be) around some object, as a spar, or a furled
sail. Let A and B (Fig. I) represent the
two ends. Pass one over and then under the
other, as in the lower part of Fig. I. This
makes a simple "overhand knot." Repeat it
with the ends as indicated by the dotted lines,
haul taut, and you have the square or reef
knot complete, as shown in the upper part of
the diagram. Notice that the loop made by
B passes over both parts of A, and that made
by A passes under both parts of B. If either
of the loops divides the parts passing through it,
you have made what sailors call a granny," which
will slip. Ends of different-sized lines cannot be
tied securely together by this knot.

Make fast one end of your line. Take a turn or
gooseneckk," C, in standing part, and hold this
in position with your left hand while you pass the
end-part, B, up through C, behind and around A,
and finally down through C. Then haul taut.
This is not precisely the way in which a sailor does







ples, the line is supposed to have one end made it, but is simplest to describe. If you would tie
fast to some fixed object. Take hold of it, and the knot in true nautical style, lay the end part
the part between your hand and the point where across the standing part, and with a turn of the left




wrist place the gooseneck, C, over it. Finish as
A Bowline upon a Bight (Fig. 3) is made with a
doubled line. Let A and A' represent the doubled
standing part and B the bight of the doubled line
(in this case the end-part). Make a bight, C, as



in simple bowline, and pass B up through it (see
dotted lines, Fig. 3). So far, the knot is practically
the same; but now B must be pulled through C,
and spread open sufficiently to bend it downward
and over the larger bights, C and D, and then up
again until it surrounds the doubled standing-part,
A A'. Pull it downward until it binds A A' tightly
and the knot is complete. A safe way of lower-


ing a person from a window in case of fire would
be to shorten one of the bights at D, let the person
sit in the longer bight, and put the shorter one
behind the back and under the arms. The bow-
line in its different forms is perhaps the most useful
of knots, being perfectly secure and very easily
tied. Two simple bowlines, made through one
another, bend lines together with absolute security,
and this cannot always be done with a single knot
where the lines are of different sizes.

This is the most trustworthy single knot for

fastening two ends together. Make a bight B (Fig.
4), in one line. Pass the end of the other from
behind through it and once around both parts A A'
of the bight. Then down under its own part as at
C, and haul taut, taking care not to let the turn
taken around A A' slip down over B. A single
turn around A A' makes a Becket hitch; a
double turn makes a Double hitch. Either is

(FIG. 5.)
Half hitches are made with a line around
its own standing part. In Fig. 5, C C' are
half hitches. Pass the end part B around
standing part A, then between its own part E
and the spar. The same motions will make
half hitch marked C', and so you may keep
on indefinitely if you wish. Two half hitches
are also known as a Clove hitch." The
Rolling hitch shown in Fig. 5 is made by first
taking two round turns, D D, about a spar. Half
hitches are extremely useful in an infinite variety
of ways, one of which is in making a "Sheep
shank" (Fig. 6). But you must first learn to lay a
half hitch over .. Ii,;,.. as for instance a stick,
without taking the end through. Look at Fig. 6
and you will see that C and E are nothing more
than half hitches over D and F. Experiment on
the end of a stick and you will soon find that,
by making a small bight or gooseneck, as in
the bowline knot, you can lay it over, forming
a half hitch, or as many half hitches as you
like around the stick. Now suppose you wish
to shorten a rope which is made fast at each
end-a swing, for instance-without climbing
up to undo it. There will be two standing
parts, A A'. First double the line on itself as
at B, holding the parts together with the left
hand. Secondly, make a gooseneck, C, and
lay it over D, as above directed, making a half
hitch around the two parts D. Thirdly, make
a similar gooseneck, E, and lay it in like
manner over F. Pull tight in the direction
of A and A' and you will find that your rope is
securely shortened.

Form a bight by placing the running part (B)
across and under the standing part (A). Put this
over a hook (as the hook of a tackle-block) from
below so that the inside of the bight rests against
the back of the hook, and the parts cross in the
bend of the hook, the standing part being on top.
A rope fastened to the handle of a bucket by means
of this hitch is readily attached and detached
to and from the hook of a tackle-block.







A CAT'S PAW. (FIG. 8.) The timber-hitch is used in hauling spars or tim-
This is used wherever a Blackwall would be ber, and is handy for any similar purpose.
used. Take the lines with both hands a short dis-

D. I. In order to fasten off the end of a rope,
and prevent its untwisting, many plans have
--. .- been resorted to. The most simple, and at the
-,. '- same time the most effectual, is called a Sin-
] 'gle Wall-Knot, Fig. ii. The three strands
are numbered I, 2, 3. Take No. I, and make
K [ half loop A. Take No. 2, and pass through.
tq r- '%l -- under A, retaining the shape somewhat as
illustrated by B ; then take No. 3, and pass
A B over No. I at D, under at E, around and up
through B. When the ends are pulled tight
FIG. 8. CAT'S PAW FIG. 9. and cut off evenly, or served (wound, that is)
tance apart. Let the ends A and B, and the bight, with fine thread or twine, it makes a very neat
hang downward loosely, the hands being at C finish.
and D. Turn the bights C and D round and The Infallible Loop (Fig. 12) is a thoroughly
round twice, either outward or inward. The motion trustworthy one, and well adapted for the use of
will twist A and B around the two parts of
the bight E, as shown in the cut, leaving the
fingers holding the two small bights C and D. A
Slip these over the hook, and you have a .. -
" Cat's paw." Either A or B, or both of ii .
them together, will bear a strain when hauled

Figure 9 shows how a weight, or any num-
ber of weights, or sinkers, may be fastened to
a line. The cut hardly calls for explanation.
A very little ingenuity will show how this
hitch is made without putting the end of the
line through the bight.

Pass the running part (B) under the timber.
Carry it up to and around standing part (A), and




then pass it twice or more around itself as at C, D,
etc. When the standing part is tightened, the line
binds around the timber, so that it will not slip.



I ,


archers. The cut sufficiently illustrates the man-
ner of making it. When the overhand knot at A
is tightened, the end-knot, B, cannot slip through,
and so a secure loop is formed for the "nock of
the bow.
(FIGS. 13 AND 14.)
We may as well conclude this knotty essay with
a more difficult performance than any thus far
attempted, to wit, "The True Lovers' Knot."
Two cuts are necessary for the explanation of this.
First, tie two loose overhand knots, as at A A' in
Fig. 13. Then pass the bight B between the two
parts of the line near A', and the bight B' between
the two parts near A. Pull them through care-
fully, and the knot will assume the shape shown
in Fig. 14. This knot can be evenly tied only by
taking pains to adjust the bights so, that they will
be of equal size. It has no general use, but is



10o.1j JIN GLE. 303

bight, so that four men can take hold at once.
The shot is placed in the central space, C.
When finished for permanent use, the parts
at A A A A are served with yarn so that
.- the space C will keep its proper size. The
8 A C A i, knot is used in hot countries to sling water-
S A jars, or "n monkeys," as they are called, so
A that they will swing and keep the water
Only a few of the knots known to sailors
have been described, but we hope the se-
lection has been judicious, and will save
IGS. 13 AND 14. TRUE LOVERS' KNOT. many of our readers from needless trouble
employed in the navy to carry heavy shot, the when they attempt to tie knots that are expected
loose ends being spliced together, forming a fourth to do their duty.

AROUND and around a dusty little room,
Went a very little maiden with a very big broom.
And she said: Oh, I could make it so tidy and so trig,
Were I a little bigger and my broom not quite so big "





.-- '_.* -.

''. ,-,- ^' '''\

" TO-MORROW I 'm going to Sunday-school,"
She said, with a skip and prance,
" Now wait a moment, baby dear,
Till I show you how I '11 dance."

With pretty joy on her sober face,
And her dainty skirt outspread,
Our dimpled Daisy began to show
The measure she meant to tread.

"Ho, baby !" she cried, with courtesying dips,
I '11 go this way, and this,-
I '11 be a good girl at the Sunday-school,
And never a step I '11 miss."

Of the dancing-school and its fine delights
She had learned from playmates gay,
What wonder that now, while her parents planned,
Her little head went astray !

The happy Sunday had come and gone
When Daisy, now wiser grown,
Was asked how she danced at Sunday-school,
And whether she danced alone.

" 0' course not," answered the little maid,-
Course children never do.
Do you fink I would dance at Sunday-school?
I 'm really ashamed of you "







ii; ,;

/ -
~.I '"




OUR house on the Highlands stands in the midst
of a group of cedars, on a little plateau between
the hills, about one hundred feet above the water.
Here, during the summer months, the children of
two or three families assemble for their annual hol-
iday longshoree, the party numbering sometimes
nearly a dozen boys and girls. Bathing, boating,
fishing, rambling over the hills, picnicking on the
shore, or resting on the grass under the trees, and
watching the white clouds sail across the blue
sky, the young folk enjoy life, and breathe in new
vigor to carry them through the next school term.
The autumn, too, is a delightful season on the
Highlands; and the first frosts often find some of
the company still lingering in the shanty," as
our dear old cabin is familiarly called.
Late in September, of the year 1867, there arose

a great storm, which is still spoken of longshoree
as the September gale." There happened to be
quite a gathering in the old house at the time, and
the children were intensely interested in watching
the progress of the storm, especially after the rain
abated, so that we could see out over the water.
We found there was a vessel stranded on the West
Bank, immediately in front of our house, about
five miles off shore. We afterward learned that
she was an Italian barque, loaded with oranges
and oil. With the glass we could see her quite
plainly, see the waves breaking clear over her, see
the men in her rigging, see them making signals
for help, and see, too, their hopeless efforts to lash
spars together for a raft to float ashore on. It was
impossible to render them any aid. Nothing ever
put together by human hands could live an instant



-- -- --

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cs~ ;"

h~S~i~~T~~ _

~~i7r_ ~

. ; -'

P '' i :
;- .., .:,,. fT




in the awful tumult of water that raged around the
doomed barque. She was beaten to pieces in a
few hours, and before evening the last spar sank
beneath the waves.
Next morning the shore was strewn for miles
and miles with boxes of oranges, and long, slender
puncheons of olive oil, but no sign of the hapless
crew of the vessel was ever seen again. We all
went down to the shore, and set to work saving the
cargo, piling up the boxes of fruit, and rolling the
oil casks above high-water mark. While at work,
we noticed a very curious illustration of the effect
of oil upon the waters." Many of the puncheons
were broken and leaking. Wherever the oil had
escaped in this way, and spread out on the sur-
face of the bay, there the waves were stilled, and
in the midst of the tumultuous seas a smooth, calm
field appeared, sometimes covering the space of
perhaps two acres.
In one of these glassy, calm streaks a mass of
broken spars and wrecked stuff came floating
toward shore, and we all watched it eagerly for a
fresh lot of oranges, in whole boxes. Jennie
Warren, who had the spy-glass, presently ex-
claimed :
There is something alive there I can see it
crawling about; it looks like a cat."
We followed the raft, drifting along up shore
nearly half a mile before it came within reach,
and then Jennie's brother dashed into the water
and rescued the little creature, that was in instant
danger of being crushed by the broken timbers.
It proved to be a tiny black puppy, very pretty,
and evidently only a few weeks old. He was
almost exhausted, but the girls adopted him at
once, took him up to the house, warmed and dried
him, and gave him a breakfast of fresh milk.
After a long nap by the kitchen stove, he came
out as good as new. As Jennie was the first to
see him, she was appointed to give him a name.
After consultation with the girls, it was decided to
call him Italia, because he came from Italy; but
we others made fun of that as altogether too high-
flown and sentimental. Finally, we all agreed on
Jetsam as a good name; Jetsam, according to
longshoree dictionaries, meaning anything saved
from a wreck, and Jet being appropriate on ac-
count of his color.
Jet lived with us on the Highlands nearly eight
years, growing up to be a very large and very
powerful dog. He was built on the race-horse
model, of rather slender and elegant proportions,
but he was not at all a delicate animal, having
prodigious strength and unfailing endurance. We
never knew what his breed was, but he had some
Newfoundland and some Spaniel marks, with
other peculiarities differing from either. He had

a very fine head, an intelligent face, and really
beautiful eyes; a long, sweeping tail, a shining,
silky coat, a white cross on his breast, and white
tips to his toes. He was fully palmiped, or web-
footed, and about as much at home in the water as
on land. His disposition was affectionate and kind,
except that he was suspicious of strangers, until
they were endorsed by some one known to him.
He was very fond of the children, and enjoyed
being with them. He would stand almost any
amount of teasing, especially from the little ones,
and never was known to show the least sign of
temper with them. He had a just idea, however,
of what is due to a good dog, and when occasion
required, he knew how to assert his rights and to
compel respect.
We had a bright little fellow with us who, although
not in the least vicious, yet had a boy's propensity
to destroy and to injure and to inflict pain. Mas-
ter Willie loved Jet dearly, and yet he would per-
sist in torturing the patient dog outrageously,
r~0i .; hard blows, punching with sharp sticks,
and pulling hair cruelly. One summer's afternoon
Jet was lying on the front piazza, taking a nap, and
Willie came out and assaulted him with a new
carriage whip, which had.been left in the hall.
Jet knew the child ought not to have the whip, so
he went and called the nurse's attention, as he
often did when the children were getting into mis-
chief or danger. But the girl did not give heed, as
she should have done, and Willie kept on follow-
ing Jet from place to place, plying the lash vigor-
ously. Finding he was left to deal with the case
himself, Jet quietly laid the young one on the
floor, carefully took a good grip in the gathers of
his little frock, lifted him clear, and gave him a
hearty, sound shaking. Then he took up the
whip, trotted off to the barn with it, came back,
stretched himself out in the shade, and finished
his nap. The young gentleman did not interfere
with him again, and ever afterward treated him
with great consideration.
Nothing delighted the dog more than to go into
the water with the young folk, and to see the bath-
ing-suits brought out always put him in the highest
spirits. The children called him the boss of the
bathing-ground," and so he was, as he made all
hands do just as he pleased. He would take them
in and bring them out again, as he thought fit, and
there was no use in resisting him, as he could master
half-a-dozen at once, in the water. No one could
go beyond certain bounds, either, under .,.i,
of being brought back with more haste than cere-
mony. But, within the proper limits,' he never
tired of helping the bathers to have a good time,
frolicking with them, carrying them on his back,
towing them through the water, letting them dive



off his shoulders, playing leap-frog, and making
sport in a hundred ways of his own.
Going sailing or rowing were also favorite pas-
times with Jet, and he was a capital companion in
the boats. He could neither hand nor reef, but he
learned to steer, after a fashion, and would hold a
boat on her course as steady as an old pilot.
Somebody had to shift the helm for him, of course,
if that was to be done, but he liked to sit up on the
stern-sheets, with the tiller between his paws, flat-
tering himself that he was the skipper and we
others were the crew. His favorite boat was the
surf-skiff, a crescent-shaped little craft, built of
rived cedar, about an eighth of an inch thick. She
was light as a feather, had a bearing of about a
hand's breadth on the water, and was as skittish as
a young colt. Any one unaccustomed to her tricks
and manners, would get thrown out quicker than a
flash, no birch canoe being half so cranky. Jet
got twitched overboard many a time before he
learned the hang of the skiff, but finally he suc-
ceeded in taking her bearings, and then he would
ride in her through the heaviest surf we ever vent-
ured to encounter. We kept her tied to a stake
about a hundred yards off shore, and he would
swim out, scramble in over the bow and ride there
by the hour, like a baby in a cradle.
On going down to the shore one day, after dinner,
we found the skiff was gone, and, after a time, we
noticed that Jet was missing, too. We could find
nothing of either the boat or the dog, and greatly
feared that both had been stolen by some of the
marauders that range longshoree in the summer.
But, toward evening, what was our surprise to dis-
cover Jet coming in sight around Stony Point,
about a mile down shore, with the surf-skiff.in tow.
He had the painter in his teeth, and, h -i .- i. ...
half-wading, he worked along very well, except
that the light little cockle-shell would drift on to
the stones in spite of him, and then he would have
some trouble to get her afloat again. We found a
pair of brogans and an old coat on the locker, and
so we concluded that some vagabond had stolen
the skiff, and Jet had followed him, and watched
until he found a chance to steal her back again.
The tramp nuisance, in course of time, gave us
a deal of trouble, and we learned to keep every-
thing carefully locked up, all our boating and fish-
ing appointments being safely stowed in the boat-
house. Our last duty at night, on leaving the
shore, was always to put .i, I.;,, away, fasten
all tight, and put a padlock on the door. The
boat-house was down at the foot of the bank, out
of sight and sound from the house, and, unless
made secure, could have been stripped in the night
without our getting a hint of it. One Saturday
night, Jet was on the shore with us until after dark,

and we supposed he came up with us; but when
the girls called him to supper, he was not to be
found. We looked all about for him, and in the
evening some of us went part way down the bank
and whistled for him, but we saw nothing of him.
Next morning he was still absent. It being Sun-
day, we did not search for him very actively, and no
one went to the shore. Monday morning came,
and still he had not returned. We began to feel
anxious about him, and before breakfast the boys
ran down to the shore, where we concluded he had
lastbeen seen. On reaching the boat-house, there
they found him, lying in front of the door. As
they ran toward him, he sprang up, picked up the
padlock in his teeth, and brought it to them. We
had neglected to lock the door, and finding no one
came back to attend to that duty, the faithful dog
had kept guard over the boat-house from Saturday
evening until Monday morning. He probably had
not stirred from his post, keeping a wakeful watch
for two nights and a day, without drop or sup the
Jet became famous as a watch-dog throughout
the neighborhood, and kept our place free from
unwelcome visitors as long as he lived. He was
shot at several times, and was twice quite seriously
hurt; but with the tender care he received, he
came out as sound and handsome as ever. Several
times, too, he was stolen, and though more than
once kept away over a week, yet he always found
his way home again, worn out and distressed, per-
haps, but doubly welcome after his captivity and
escape. The most remarkable instance of his
homing instinct was on one occasion when we con-
cluded he must have been taken away on some
vessel, coming in near our place for water. He
had been gone all the week, and we were greatly
in fear we should never see him again. On Satur-
day afternoon we had been out to a ledge of rocks,
a mile off shore, in the sail-boat, after weakfish and
lobsters, and, as we made sail and turned for home,
one of the boys on the forward locker sang out:
" There is ....n. 11,i,. adrift over toward Sandy
Hook. Let 's run out and see what it is !"
The elders of the party did not want to go so far
straight away from home for such a trifle, but the
sharp-eyed youngsters brought the glass to bear on
the drifting object, and declared they believed it
was something moving. So we put the helm down
and steered for the speck on the water, which only
the brightest eyes on board could make out. We
ran on and on, a long stretch, before we could dis-
tinguish what the object was, and then the boy
with the glass suddenly exclaimed : I do believe
it is our Jet "
And so, indeed, it was! As we ran past him
and came up in the wind, to pick him up, the dear



old fellow recognized us, and followed the boat, as
she turned, with as grateful eyes as ever were seen
in the world. When we dragged him aboard, he

sank into th. I. -
tom of the I.....t
utterly exha, ...I.-
Although al.....i
amphibious, I. i ..
swimming s. I .. i. II i,
was thorou l.l. i. .
ged. H e co'i.1 .1 .
head when h .. ..
we had to ca, ,,,, I i.... I,.
bank on a seine-bairow. It
was many a long day before Jet recovered from
that soaking, and he was not at all free about
going into the water again all summer. Where
he had been, how he got there, and how he
came to be swimming toward home, in the middle
ofRaritan Bay, of course we never knew. The chil-
dren adopted the theory that he had been taken to
New York, had found a chance to jump overboard
there, and had been paddling toward home when
we found him. As the distance is nearly twenty
miles, this theory hardly seems credible, but the

fact remains, that the dog must have been in the
water a very long time, trying to return home.
This summer we shall find no Jet at the High-

Sla ud, and IteL place will
hardly seem the same
without him. Last sea-
son there came a dear
little baby, of the third
Hno WE GOT JET. generation, to the old
cabin, and Jet took the infant under his especial
care from the first. He would watch while it
slept, with untiring patience, jog the cradle if it
stirred, and call the nurse if it cried or needed at-
tention. Nothing pleased him more than to be
left alone with the little one, and, in the course of



-- ~-.



the summer, his faithful care was rewarded by
responsive affection. The baby learned to love
him, and would crow and coo to him every morn-
ing with unmistakable delight. To lie on a
blanket, under a tree, or on the piazza, and bury her
chubby fists in his silky coat, to clamber over his
shoulders, to lead him along by the ear while
riding in her little carriage, to tyrannize over him
in a hundred pretty ways,-these were the daily
occupations of which she never tired. She learned
to stand on her feet and to take her first steps by
clinging to his neck, and his name was the first
word she ever spoke. It seemed as though he
could hear her piping voice as if by magic. If he
was on the place at all, whether within hearing or
not, she had only to call "Det, Det!" and pres-
ently he would come bounding in.
One evening, late in August, we were all as-
sembled, as usual after supper, on the piazza and
the lawn in front of the house, enjoying the long
twilight. The servants were down-stairs, getting
their supper, and Jet was left alone with the baby
in the sitting-room, which opens on to the piazza
by long windows. Baby had gone to sleep in the
dark, and Jet was lying beside her cradle. It was
a very calm night; there was not a breath stirring,
but the fresh salt" of the sea was in the air, and
the heat of the day was done. The young folk
were singing softly together some gentle refrain,
when a terrible shriek broke upon us, and the
nurse-girl rushed out through the hall, her cloth-
ing in a blaze, and the flame streaming above her
head. To roll her on the grass and smother the
blaze with our coats was the work of an instant.

Then arose another cry, never to be forgotten by
those who heard it: the agonized prayer and
lament of a mother for her child. The sitting-
room was full of fire. The girl had brought up a
lighted lamp, after supper, and dropped it on the
floor as she entered the room. The cradle was
in the corner of the room farthest from the door.
Mr. Warren dashed in at the window, and made one
leap to the cradle. He found Jet crouched upon
it, covering the baby with his body.
How they got out we could not comprehend.
It was all over in the twinkling of an eye, and Mr.
Warren and the dog were lying on the grass
beside the mother, who was almost fainting, with
the baby safe and sound in her lap. The little
thing was nearly suffocated, but recovered after a
few minutes in the open air, and took no harm
from the fire.
The sitting-room was burned out, but we suc-
ceeded in stopping the flames there and saving the
house. Mr. Warren's face and hands were badly
burned, and the nurse-girl seriously, but not dan-
gerously, injured. Jet was severely scorched, but
after caring for him as best we could that night,
we thought he would come round again in a few
days. Next morning, however, he was missing,
and even to baby's call, Det, Det! he made no
answer. After a long search we found him under
the piazza, stone dead.
Jet is buried on the hill-side, where the arbutus
blooms early in the spring. We have placed a
water-worn bowlder from the shore over his grave,
and on the stone are carved, in deep letters, only
the words, "A Faithful Friend."





-- T. NICHOLAS had some-
S thing to say, not very
Long ago, to those
I who wished to be
agreeable guests. It
seems hardly fair
That these should
have all the advice,
since there are some
Sy people whom you
enjoy receiving in
S your own house who
i do not know : -
how to manage mat
ters when they have
0 company at their own
)I homes.
i,. Now we will have
a little talk on the
tion ofentertainment,
and willspeak ofthose
frequent occasions when, as Dr. Holmes says,
The visitor becomes the visited."

There are some people who seem to consider that
the obligation is all over when the guest has ar-
rived, but, in reality, it has just begun. You are
responsible in some degree for the happiness of
your visitors from the time they enter your house
until they leave it.
Young girls who have no household cares
should feel this obligation especially, but some who
do feel it do not know how to make their visitors
happy and at ease, and so are uncomfortable all
the time they stay, and because they feel that they
do not succeed, become discouraged, and at last
stop trying. Indeed, there is nothing more dis-
couraging than to feel that you ought to do a thing,
and not know exactly how or where to begin; but
a few words of help, carefully remembered, may
give one a wonderful start in the right direction,
so here they are, for those of you who are looking
forward to receiving visits from your young friends,
with a sort of dread, lest they may not have what
they call "a good time."
It is not in the finest houses, or in the gayest
places, that guests always enjoy themselves the most.
You must have something better than elegant
rooms, or all the sights and sounds of a big city, to
make your home attractive and pleasant. It is a

very low grade of hospitality which trusts in good
dinners and fine houses alone. It must be a more
subtle charm than either of these which will make
your house a home to your friends.
All who have ever made visits themselves know
this to be true. A cordial welcome, a readiness to
oblige, a kind thoughtfulness of the pleasure of
others instead of your own, are three golden rules
for a hostess to remember.
Let us look at some of the smaller details.
In the first place, have the guest's room in readi-
ness beforehand, so as not to be constantly supply-
ing deficiencies after she comes. Put a few inter-
esting books on the table, and writing materials,
if it be only a common pencil, pen and ink-bottle,
with a few sheets of paper.
Try and make the room show your guest that
she was expected, and that her coming was looked
forward to with pleasure.
A few flowers on the bureau, an easy-chair by
the pleasantest window,-these are some of the lit-
tle touches which make the pleasantest room seem
If your visitors are strangers, or unaccustomed to
traveling, try to meet them at the station, or to
send some one for them. The sight of a familiar
face among the crowd takes away that first home-
sick feeling which comes to young people as, tired
and travel-worn, they step from the boat or cars
into the sights and sounds of a strange place.
When your friend is once established in the guest-
chamber, remember that it becomes her castle,
and is as much her own as if she was at home; so
do not be running inand out too familiarly without
an invitation. Let her feel that when you go there
the order of things is reversed, and that then you
are the guest and she is the hostess.
Let the pleasures which you choose for her en-
tertainment be of a kind which you are sure she
will enjoy. It is no kindness to insist on taking a
nervous, timid girl on a fast drive, or out rowing if
she is afraid of the water, under the impression
that visitors must be taken somewhere, when all
the time she is wishing she was on solid ground.
Do not invite people unaccustomed to walking to
go on long tramps in the woods, and imagine that
because it is easy and pleasant for you it must be
so for them, nor take those who are longing for
music to see pictures instead, while you are boring
the picture-lovers, who may care ....,.. for
music, with concerts. A little ingenuity and ob-






servation will give you enough knowledge of your
friend's real taste to prevent you from making these
mistakes; and, indeed, there will be little danger
of your doing this, if you keep in mind that the
kindest thing you can do is to let guests enjoy
themselves in their own way, instead of insisting
that they shall enjoy themselves in yours. If they
are fond of books, let them read in peace. I once
heard a lady, who thinks herself hospitable, say to
a young friend who was looking over a book which
lay on the table, If you want to read that book,
I will lend it to you to take home, but while you
are here I want you to visit with me."
Let your friends alone, now and then, and do not
make them feel that you are constantly watching
over them. Some people, in trying to be polite,
keep their guests in continual unrest. The mo-
ment one is comfortably seated, they insist that
she shall get up and take a chair which they con-
sider more easy. If she sits in the center of the
room, they are sure she cannot see, and if she hap-
pens to be by a window, they are afraid the light
will hurt her eyes.
There is no place where this is more uncomfort-
able than at the table. An entire visit is some-
times spoiled for a sensitive guest by having her
friends say, from a mistaken kindness, I am sorry
you do not like what we have. Cannot we get
you something that you will like better ?" or,
" How does it happen that you have no appetite ? "
in this way calling the attention of the whole family
to her, and making her feel that they consider her
difficult to please. You can get something differ-
ent for her the next time, if you choose, but do
not let her feel that you are too carefully watching
her plate.
Do not make visitors feel obliged to account to
you for all their comings and goings, or tire them
by constant and obvious efforts to entertain them.
Unless they are very stupid people, they will pre-
fer to entertain themselves for a part of the time,
even although you make them feel that your time
is at their disposal whenever they want it. I heard
two friends talking not long ago of a place where
they were both in the habit of visiting.
How pleasant it is at Mrs. Chauncey's," said
one. If you want her to go anywhere with you,
she always makes you feel that it is just the place
where she wishes to go herself."
Yes," replied the other, she never makes a
fuss over you, but acts as if you did not cause an
extra step to be taken, so that you don't worry all
the time for fear you are making trouble; and if
you want her advice about anything you are doing,
she is always ready to stop her own work and show
you just what you want to know, and makes you
feel as if she was doing it for her own pleasure

instead of yours,-so much nicer than the way
some people have of acting as though you were a
constant interruption."
If any excursion is planned, and for any reason
you find that your friend will be really happier to
stay at home, do not insist upon her going, or
allow the party to be broken up on her account.
If she would really enjoy more to have you go
without her, do not insist upon remaining with
her. A friend of mine suffered much by being
obliged to go on a steamboat excursion with a
cinder in her eye, because she found that her
friends would not do as she wished, and leave her
quietly at home, and so, finding that the pleasure
of a whole party would be broken up, she endured
the pain of going with them, when she might
have passed the afternoon in comparative comfort
at home.
In the same way, some people will insist upon
going about on business with a guest, who would
much prefer to go alone.
In regard to conversation, remember sweet
George Herbert's rule:

"Entice all neatly to what they know best,
For so thou dost thyself and him a pleasure."

Talk of the people and things which are most
likely to interest those whom you wish to please.
You would think it very rude to speaking a language
which your visitors did not understand, and it is
about the same thing to talk of matters in which
they have no interest and which they know nothing
about. Every family has its sayings and jokes,
which sound very funny to them, but unless they
are explained, they mean nothing to a stranger.
Do not a'sk many questions about your guests'
personal affairs, since you are taking them at a great
disadvantage when they are in your own house,
as they will not like to refuse to answer. Be care-
ful not to be too ready with advice about a visitor's
dress. If she asks you what is most suitable to
wear on any occasion, tell her frankly; but above all
things do not say or do anything which shall indi-
cate that you do think her clothes are not as pretty
and fashionable as they ought to be. Sometimes a
remark, made with the kindest intentions, will hurt
a sensitive girl's feelings. Those of you who have
read The Diary of Mrs. Kitty Trevellyan," will
remember how the little, country cousin felt when
she saw Evelyn smile at the dresses which had
been made with so much care. I once heard a lady
speaking of her _;,ii.....1. when she made her first
visit away from the farm where she had always lived.
She said, as she looked back upon it, she always
wondered at the kindness of the friends who re-
ceived her cordially, and took her about with them




cheerfully, when her dress was such as to make her
laugh heartily at the mere recollection of it.
Before your guest comes, tell your young friends
of her expected visit, and ask them to come and
see her, and if you invite company to meet her, do
it as soon as convenient after she comes, that she
may not feel that she is among strangers during
the most of her visit. Western people coming East
often think they do not receive a very cordial re-
ception, because they meet so few people. A lady
remarked to me quite recently, that she did not
know whether the friends she had been visiting
were ashamed of her appearance, or of the ap-
pearance of their own neighbors. She concluded
it must have been one or the other, as no pains had
been taken to have them meet each other.
Do not ask visitors what you shall do to entertain
them. That is your business, and you should not be
so indolent as to shift it from your own shoulders
to theirs. There may be many things which they
would enjoy that they will hardly venture to sug-
gest. Try and have a pleasant plan for every day.
It will require thought and care on your part, but
it is worth while. I do not mean that you must be
constantly taking them to some great entertain-
ment. This is only possible to a few of you. In
the most quiet country village some little visit or
excursion may be easily found, if it is nothing more
than a game of croquet with some pleasant girls,
or an interesting story read aloud. Do not make
the mistake of thinking that because things are old
and dull to you, they are so to every one else. To
the city girl, who goes weary and worn-out from
the dust and heat of brick walls and pavements,
the pleasant stroll in the woods, which is too fam-
iliar to please you, may be a fresh delight. So to
the one who has passed all her life among green
fields, the sights and sounds of a city may be a
great pleasure, even though it may not seem possi-
ble to those who are tired of them.
It is surprising how many things there are to
see, in any locality, if one will only take the trouble
to find them; and the hope of making a visit

pleasant to a friend is a good incentive to help one
in the search.
If you cannot give your young visitor any elab-
orate and expensive pleasures, do not be discour-
aged. The sight of a brilliant sunset from some
neighboring hill; a walk down Broadway; the in-
side of a great factory where the throbbing looms
are full of interest to stranger eyes;-if you have
no more wonderful sights than these to show, these'
are enough.
Who does the best his circumstance allows,
Does well, acts nobly. Angels can no more."

Do not think it necessary to insist upon riding
with your friends, if there is not room enough for
you without .:. -I..,o the others. I knew a lady
who turned to her sister, who was visiting her,
when but one seat in the carriage was left, and
said: "Shall you stay at home, or I?" The guest
replied that she was willing to give up, if neces-
sary; whereupon the hostess handed her the baby
and drove off, although she knew that her sister
had particular reasons for wishing to go with the
rest. This is almost too bad to tell of, even though
it is true; but it exactly illustrates how selfishness
in trifles may grow upon one unconsciously, until
it becomes a controlling power. This fault has
been rightly called the tap-root of all other sins,"
and is the greatest difficulty we have to overcome
in acquiring habits of uniform courtesy and con-
sideration for others.
Do not urge your guests to extend their visits,
after they have clearly explained to you that the
time has come for them to go, and that it is incon-
venient for them to stay longer. Let the subject
drop, merely letting them know that you are sorry
to part with them. Do not convey the impression
that you think you can judge better than they can
of their own affairs, by constantly teasing them to
stay, and saying that you are sure they could do so
if they pleased;
For still we hold old Homer's rule the best,
Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest."







IF the minister had asked any other question, it
never would have happened.
If it had been on any other day than that one
particular day, it never would have happened.
If any other boy in the whole wide universe ex-
cepting Robby had been with Patty, it never
would have happened.
Above all, if it had been two strangers standing
before the altar instead of Sister Susie and Willy
Norris, it never could have happened.


But it did happen, and that is all I know
about it.
If any one here present," said the minister,
looking kindly upon the sweet bride with the
brave young man beside her, and then glancing
calmly over the little churchful of wedding-guests,
"knows of any reason why this man and this
woman should not be joined together in the holy
bonds of matrimony, let him speak now, or- "
"What 's all that?" whispered Robby, in great




scorn, to Patty. I guess he does n't know.
There aint any bounds of materony about it."
That was enough. Robby was her oracle. Up
jumped Patty, anxious to set things right, and
determined that the wedding should go on, now
that Sister Susie had on her white dress and
orange-flowers and everything.
I do! she called out in a sweet, resolute voice,




I HOPE, dear children, that you will read all the
first part of this short article, even if it does seem
like a lesson, because then you will understand the
wonderful machinery of your ears, and enjoy all
the more the strange account which follows.
There is no such thing as sound outside of the
ear. That which we call sound is carried in a
series of waves to the ear, inside of which is a
wonderful mechanism, which makes us hear. On
the next page is a plan of your ear, to show you
how sound works. The outside ear is A, from
which the pipe B leads inward. The outside is
like a speaking-trumpet, or the open part of wind
instruments, and gathers in the sound-waves, turn-
ing them into the pipe B. This pipe is little more
than an inch long, and is stopped by a skin, C,
tightly drawn across it, like the skin of a drum.
Behind this skin is the drum D, which is filled with
.air, without which the outer air would press pain-
fully on the drum. This little drum is closed by
another skin, G. Beyond this is a third chamber
of the ear, H-, which has in it curious little canals
and a winding passage like a snail shell. In this
chamber, which is filled with a watery fluid, floats
the hearing nerve, called the acoustic nerve. It is
made up of a little bundle of fine cords, which are
gathered into one nerve, I, which leads into the
brain, and then your brain tells you what you hear.
When the waves of sound are collected by the
outer ear, they pass through B and strike upon C,
the skin of the drum, D, much as a drum-stick strikes
on a drum. The tight little skin vibrates with the
same motion as that of the sound-waves. This is
carried through the little drum to the bundle of
nerves, which sends information to the brain.
And now we come to the strange account. Aunt
Fanny was invited, with some very excellent and
humane people, to witness the wonderful scene of
VOL. VII.-22.

a number of deaf persons from the Deaf and Dumb
Institute, who were made to hear through their
teet/! They all had been deaf,-some from birth
and some from infancy. There were four pretty,
pleasant-looking girls, and six or eight bright
boys. One of the boys had lost both arms, but
the poor fellow had been taught the sign-language
by his loving, patient teacher, and could show that
he understood it by waving and lifting his poor
stumps of arms.
As soon as we all were seated, a fine-looking
gentleman got up and said:
I have been deaf for twenty years. I have
tried all manner of speaking-trumpets, which did
me very little good, and I had made up my mind
that, for the rest of my life, I must never hear my
children's voices, never listen to the sound of sweet
music, but just lead a sad, silent life. One day, I
was t lii-; to a friend with my watch in my hand,
and carelessly placed it against my teeth. To my
astonishment, I plainly heard the ticking of the
watch, though it was utterly silent when placed at
my ear. I began to make experiments. I held a
piece of bent metal to my teeth. I tried a tuning-
fork. I remembered that Beethoven, the great
composer, who became very deaf, held a metallic
rod between his teeth, the other end resting on the
sounding-board of his piano, and by this means he
was able to hear the perfect music which his brain
had produced. I tested various ways of hearing
through the teeth, and now, after many trials, I
have perfected this," and he held up what looked
exactly like a fan. This," he continued, "is the
audiphone. It is made of flexible, polished, car-
bonized rubber. Fine silk cords, attached to the
upper edge, bend it over, and are fastened by a
wedge in the handle. The tension is adjusted to
suit the sound, as an opera-glass is adjusted to suit


and holding up a warning finger. I do. Please
wait, sir There aint any materony about it at
all. They came on purpose to be married !"
O' course they did muttered Robby.
Everybody stared at Patty. It was a dreadful
moment, but the wedding went on, all the same.
And Patty and Robby were the very first to kiss
the bride.


distance. The top edge of the fan rests upon the
upper teeth, and the sound-waves strike its surface;
the vibrations are conveyed by the teeth and the

C C(3 5
T, i~

bones of the face
to the acoustic
nerve communi,
eating with the

A It was almost im-
'-< possible to believe,
_E but the gentleman
called up one of
the deaf mutes,
DIAGRA O THE INNER EAR. and, standing just
in front of him, gave a tremendous shout, which
made us all fairly bounce on our chairs, but the
boy did not start, or move so much as an eye-
lash, which showed very plainly that he had
heard nothing. Then Mr. Rhodes, for this is
the name of the inventor of the audiphone, ar-
ranged the tension, and placed one in the boy's
hand, adjusting it to his teeth in this way. A., B,
C," said Mr. Rhodes, in an ordinary tone. At the
sound, the boy started, his face flushed, and he
raised his hand with a quick surprised motion. He
heard for the first time in his life! He did not
know what the sounds meant, because to a deaf
person English speech might as well be Greek:-
a deaf person's mind is a perfect blank as to the
meanings of sound, though he
may be able to talk fast enough
on his fingers. Then Mr.
Rhodes went behind the boy
and said: A, B, C," a little
louder, and his teacher made
the signs of the letters, at the
same time,-the' boy gave a
skip of delight, making the let-
ters also. Wonder of wonders!
he heard, and knew the sound
of three letters !
Then a lady played on the
piano, and the boy heard mu- AUDIPHONE.
sic for the first time His hand FRONT VIEW.

moved up and down with a rhythmic motion, as if
keeping time to pleasant sounds, for it was only
that as yet to him,-he did not know it was called
Then another boy was called, and the same ex-
periments were tried, the first boy looking eagerly
on, and talking as fast as his fingers would go, to
the rest of the class. The second boy said in the
sign language, that he could hear "very loud
sounds." Mr. Rhodes shouted at him enough to
nearly crack his skull, but he showed no sign of
hearing, so his very loud" must have been like
a broadside of cannons.

But with the audiphone to his teeth, he heard
everything. All the boys were tried in turn, with
nearly the same success, even to the poor fellow
without arms. The audiphone was held tb his
teeth, and such a flood of happiness came over his
face, and poured out of his eyes, that my own eyes
were blinded with tears. The rich tones of a par-
lor organ, which a gentleman present played upon,
seemed almost to translate him from earth to
heaven. It was not music to him; it was a sweet
melodious sound, the revelation
of a sense which gave him a
new and intense happiness.
And now one of the girls, a
pale, pretty little thing, was
called to the table. The audi-
phone was placed to her teeth,
and Mr. Rhodes made a sound.
I hope you understand, that it
was of no use for him to ask a
question, because a deaf person
has to begin like a baby to
understand the meaning of AUDIPIIONE READY
sound; the deaf must be edu- FOR USE.
cated as to what an articulate sound is to tell them.
It would be with them exactly like teaching a baby
to talk.
When the girl heard the sound, what a study
her face became! Waves of rosy color passed
over her cheeks, her eyes were uplifted, her hand
was raised, the forefinger pointing to heaven.
She was asked in sign language to try to make an
audible sound herself. Her face changed, her
throat swelled with a great effort, and presently
there issued from her mouth a dismal and pro-
longed groan. But she heard her-
self, and she continued the doleful
sound, in her joy in her newly
discovered sense, until the audi- I-
phone was taken away. She was
not aware how unpleasant the
sound was to others,-she was so
absorbed in the great wonder of
hearing herself.
All the girls were experimented
upon,-first with the human voice, Q
then with music, and all heard.
How they watched each other! '
How their fingers talked back and
forth How eagerly they pointed
to ears and lips, nodding and
smiling at each other, rejoicing in 1ETHOD OF USING
this new-found happiness THE AUDIPHONE.
But now, Mr. Rhodes brought out a number of
flat boxes, each holding an audiphone. He took
them out, and gave one to each of the deaf mutes.
Then a lady present sang an echo song, very



sweetly, with the accompaniment of the piano.
What a sight it was,-as with audiphones at their
teeth, the class listened to this mysterious sweet-
ness, these harmonious sounds! The pale, young
girl stood motionless, rapt, absorbed, with parted
lips, and wide, uplifted eyes. A flood of light
flowed over her face; her capacity to understand
what such sound meant, seemed greater than
that of the others; one almost would have thought
that she was having a glimpse of heaven. As
the sweet voice of the singer rose higher, higher,
the young girl's hand and arm were raised
to the utmost, the forefinger pointing upward;
but with the soft echo of the song, the hand
floated down with a gentle wavering motion, and
moved softly to and fro, in perfect accord with the
time. As the swelling tones were raised again, up
went her hand, but her eyes never changed their
uplifted, almost spiritual look, and her breath
came quick and trembling. Oh, can any one
measure the happiness that filled that child's soul,
and so transformed that small, pale face ? That
view of the first ineffable joy of hearing is some-
thing never to be forgotten The other children

were affected in different ways,-some waved their
hands, some looked eagerly delighted; the maimed
boy's eyes grew big and black, and a broad smile
opened his mouth, as if he were laughing, but
he made no audible sound.
After the song, Mr. Rhodes requested the com-
pany to sing Nearer, my God, to Thee." We
rose from our chairs, and the beautiful hymn was
sung, with the full accompaniment of the organ.
I cannot describe the delight of the deaf girls and
boys, as the sweet, solemn strains struck upon the
precious audiphones held close to their teeth.
They waved their hands to and fro, their faces
glowing; the young girl, as before, looking up-
ward, raising her arm with pointing finger at the
high notes, and lowering it gently at the low tones.
Big tears stood in the eyes of many of the singers,
and I for one shall never forget the scene.
Mr. Rhodes has sent an audiphone, as a gift, to
the Princess of Wales, who is very deaf. These
fans can be decorated and painted so as to be very
beautiful, and a lady using one would never be
supposed to be deaf, if she playfully placed her fan
against her teeth when she was conversing.



IN the crimson sunsets of the spring,
Children, have you heard the hylas pipe,
Ere with robin's note the meadows ring,
Ere the silver willow buds are ripe ?

Long before the swallow dares appear,
When the April weather frees the brooks,
Sweet and high a liquid note you hear,
Sounding clear at eve from wooded nooks.

'T is the hylas. What are hylas, pray?"
Do you ask me, little children sweet?
They are tree-toads, brown and green and gray,
Small and slender, dusky, light and fleet.

All the winter long they hide and sleep
In the dark earth's bosom, safe and fast;
When the sunshine finds them, up they leap,
Glad to feel that spring is come at last.

Glad and grateful, up the trees they climb,
Pour their cheerful music on the air,
Crying, "Here 's an end of snow and rime!
Beauty is beginning everywhere!"

Listen, children, for so sweet a cry,
Listen till you hear the hylas sing,
Ere the first star glitters in the sky,
In the crimson sunsets of the spring.






THIS picture would be still more interesting if we knew just what was the matter. Though the
illustration is ready, the story is still to be told. Who will tell it? The best story received before
March ist shall be printed within the picture in the Young Contributors' Department. It must be
neatly written on only one side of the paper, with the writer's name, age, and address, placed at the
top of the first sheet; and the length must not exceed four hundred words. Now, boys and girls,
let us hear from you !

(Her True Tempferance Story.)


MARY ELIZABETH was a little girl with a long
name. She was poor, she was sick, she was
ragged, she was dirty, she was cold, she was
hungry, she was frightened. She had no home,
she had no mother, she had no father, she had no
sister, she had no grandmother, and no kitten.
She had no supper, she had had no dinner, she
had had no breakfast. She had no shoes, she had
no hood, she had no mittens, she had no flannels.
She had no place to go to, and nobody to care
whether she went or not. In fact, Mary Elizabeth

had not much of anything but a short pink carico
dress, a little red cotton-and-wool shawl, and her
long name. Besides this, she had a pair of old
rubbers, too large for her. They flopped on the
pavement as she walked.
She was walking up Washington street in Bos-
ton. It was late in the afternoon of a bitter Janu-
ary day. Already the lamp-lighters were coming
with their long poles, and gas-lights began to
flash upon the grayness-neither day nor night-
through which the child watched the people mov-


;-------------~ ~





THIS picture would be still more interesting if we knew just what was the matter. Though the
illustration is ready, the story is still to be told. Who will tell it? The best story received before
March ist shall be printed within the picture in the Young Contributors' Department. It must be
neatly written on only one side of the paper, with the writer's name, age, and address, placed at the
top of the first sheet; and the length must not exceed four hundred words. Now, boys and girls,
let us hear from you !

(Her True Tempferance Story.)


MARY ELIZABETH was a little girl with a long
name. She was poor, she was sick, she was
ragged, she was dirty, she was cold, she was
hungry, she was frightened. She had no home,
she had no mother, she had no father, she had no
sister, she had no grandmother, and no kitten.
She had no supper, she had had no dinner, she
had had no breakfast. She had no shoes, she had
no hood, she had no mittens, she had no flannels.
She had no place to go to, and nobody to care
whether she went or not. In fact, Mary Elizabeth

had not much of anything but a short pink carico
dress, a little red cotton-and-wool shawl, and her
long name. Besides this, she had a pair of old
rubbers, too large for her. They flopped on the
pavement as she walked.
She was walking up Washington street in Bos-
ton. It was late in the afternoon of a bitter Janu-
ary day. Already the lamp-lighters were coming
with their long poles, and gas-lights began to
flash upon the grayness-neither day nor night-
through which the child watched the people mov-


;-------------~ ~


ing dimly, with a wonder in her heart. This won-
der was as confused as the half-light in which the
crowd hurried by.
God made so many people," thought Mary
Elizabeth, he must have made so many sup-
pers. Seems as if there 'd ought to been one for
one extra little girl."
But she thought this in a gentle way; very
gently for a girl who had no shoes, no flannels, no
hood, no home, no mother, no dinner, no bed, no
supper. She was a very gentle little girl. All
girls who had n't anything were not like Mary
Elizabeth. She roomed with a girl out toward
Charlestown who was different. That girl's name
was Jo. They slept in a box that an Irish woman
let them have in an old shed. The shed was too
cold for her cow, and she could n't use it; so she
told Jo and Mary Elizabeth that they might have it
as well as not. Mary Elizabeth thought her very
kind. There was this difference between Jo and
Mary Elizabeth: when Jo was hungry, she stole;
when Mary Elizabeth was hungry, she begged.
On the night of which I speak, she begged hard.
It is very wrong to beg, we all know. It is wrong
to give to beggars, we all know, too; we have been
told so a great many times. Still, if I had been as
hungry as Mary Elizabeth, I presume I should have
begged, too. Whether I should have given her
anything if I had been on Washington street that
January night, how can I tell ?
At any rate, nobody did. Some told her to go
to the Orphans' Home. Some said: "Ask the
police." Some people shook their heads, and
more people did nothing at all. One lady told her
to go to the St. Priscilla and Aquila Society, and
Mary Elizabeth said: "Thank you, ma'am,"
politely. She had never heard of Aquila and
Priscilla. She thought they must be policemen.
Another lady bade her go to an Office and be Regis-
tered, and Mary Elizabeth said: "lMa'anz ? "
So now she was shuffling up Washington street,
-I might say flopping up Washington street-in
the old rubbers, and the pink dress and red shawl,
not knowing exactly what to do next; peeping into
people's faces, timidly looking away from them;
hesitating; heart-sick;-for a very little girl can be
very heart-sick-colder, she thought, every minute,
and hungrier each hour than shewas the hour before.
Poor Mary Elizabeth!
Poor Mary Elizabeth left Washington street at
last, where everybody had homes and suppers
without one extra one to spare for a little girl, and
turned into a short, bright, showy street, where
stood a great hotel. Everybody in Boston knows,
and a great many people out of Boston know, that
hotel; in fact, they know it so well that I will not
mention the name of it, because it was against the

rules of the house for beggars to be admitted, and
perhaps the proprietor would not like it if I told
how this one especial little beggar got into his
well-conducted house. Indeed, precisely how she
got in nobody knows. Whether the door-keeper
was away, or busy, or sick, or careless, or whether
the head-waiter at the dining-room door was so tall
that he could n't see so short a beggar, or whether
the clerk at the desk was so noisy that he could n't
see so still a beggar, or however it was, Mary
Elizabeth did get in,-by the door-keeper, past the
head-waiter, under the shadow of the clerk.-over
the smooth, slippery marble floor. The child crept
on. She came to the office door, and stood still.
She looked around her with wide eyes. She had
never seen a place like that. Lights flashed over
it, many and bright. Gentlemen sat in it smoking
and reading. They were all warm. Not one of
them looked as if he had had no dinner, and no
breakfast, and no supper.
How many extra suppers," thought the little
girl, "it must ha' taken to feed 'em all." She
pronounced it extry." How many extry sup-
pers I guess may be there 'll be one for me in
There was a little noise, a very little one, strange
to the warm, bright, well-ordered room. It was
not the rattling of the Boston Advertiser," or the
"Transcript," or the "Post"; it was not the
slight rap-rapping of a cigar stump, as the ashes
fell from some one's white hands; nobody coughed,
and nobody swore. It was a different sound. It
was the sound of an old rubber, much too large,
flopping on the marble floor. Several gentlemen
glanced at their own well-shod and well-brushed
feet, then up and around the room.
Mary Elizabeth stood in the middle of it, in her
pink calico dress and red-plaid shawl. The shawl
was tied over her head, and about her neck with
a ragged tippet. She looked very funny and
round behind, like the wooden women in the
Noah's Ark. Her bare feet showed in the old
rubbers. She began to shuffle about the room,
holding out one purple little hand.
One or two of the gentlemen laughed ; some
frowned; more did nothing at all; most did not
notice, or did not seem to notice, the child. One
said :
"What 's the matter, here?"
Mary Elizabeth flopped on. She went from one
to another, less timidly ; a kind of desperation
had taken possession of her. The odors from the
dining-room came in, of strong, hot coffee, and
strange, roast meats. Mary Elizabeth thought of
Jo. It seemed to her she was so hungry, that if
she could not get a supper, she should jump up
and run, and rush about, and snatch something,




and steal, like Jo. She held out her hand, but
only said:
I 'm hungry "
A gentleman called her. He was the gentleman
who had asked, "What's the matter, here?"
He called her in behind his New York Times,"
which was big enough to hide three of Mary Eliza-
beth, and when he saw that nobody was looking,
he gave her a five-cent piece, in a hurry, as if he
had done a sin, and quickly said:
There, there, child go, now, go "
Then he began to read the Times" quite
hard and fast, and to look severe, as one does who
never gives anything to beggars, as a matter of
But nobody else gave anything to Mary Eliza-
beth. She shuffled from one to another, hope-
lessly. Every gentleman shook his head. One
called for a waiter to put her out. This frightened
her, and she stood still.
Over by a window, in a lonely corner of the great
room, a young man was sitting, apart from the
others. Mary Elizabeth had seen that young man
when she first came in, but he had not seen her-
He had not seen anything nor anybody. He sat
with his elbows on the table, and his face buried in
his arms. He was a well-dressed young man, with
brown, curling hair. Mary Elizabeth wondered
why he looked so miserable, and why he sat alone.
She thought, perhaps, if he were n't so happy as
the other gentlemen, he would be more sorry for
cold and hungry girls. She hesitated, then flopped
along, and directly up to him.
One or two gentlemen laid down their papers,
and watched this; they smiled and nodded at each
other. The child did not see them, to wonder
why. She went up, and put her hand upon the
young man's arm.
He started. The brown, curly head lifted itself
from the shelter of his arms; a young face looked
sharply at the beggar-girl,-a beautiful young face
it might have been. It was haggard now, and
dreadful to look at,-bloated, and badly marked
with the unmistakable marks of a wicked week's
debauch. He roughly said:
What do you want? "
I 'm hungry," said Mary Elizabeth.
I can't help that. Go away."
I have n't had anything to eat for a whole day
-a whole day / repeated the child.
Her lip quivered. But she spoke distinctly.
Her voice sounded through the room. One gen-
tleman after another had laid down his paper or
his pipe. Several were watching this little scene.
Go away !" repeated the young man, irritably.
"Don't bother me. I have n't had anything to
eat for three days "

His face went down into his arms again. Mary
Elizabeth stood staring at the brown, curling hair.
She stood perfectly still for some moments. She
evidently was greatly puzzled. She walked away
a little distance, then stopped, and thought it
And now, paper after paper, and pipe after cigar
went down. Every gentleman in the room began
to look on. The young man, with the beautiful
brown curls, and dissipated, disgraced, and hidden
face, was not stiller than the rest. The little figure
in the pink calico, and the red shawl, and big rub-
bers stood for a moment silent among them all.
The waiter came to take her out, but the gentle-
men motioned him away.
Mary Elizabeth turned her five-cent piece over
and over slowly in her purple hand. Her hand
shook. The tears came. The smell of the dinner
from the dining-room grew savory and strong.
The child put the piece of money to her lips as
if she could have eaten it, then turned, and, with-
out further hesitation, went back. She touched
the young man-on the bright curls, this time-
with her trembling little hand.
The room was so still now, that what she said
rang out to the corridor, where the waiters stood,
with the clerk behind looking over the desk to see.
I'm sorry you are so hungry. If you have n't
had anything for three days, you must be hungrier
than me. I've got five cents. A gentleman gave
it to me. I wish you would take it. I 've only
gone one day. You can get some supper with it,
and-maybe-I-can get some, somewhere! I
wish you 'd please to take it "
Mary Elizabeth stood quite still, holding out her
five-cent piece. She did not understand the sound
and the stir that went all over the bright room.
She did not see that some of the gentlemen
coughed and wiped their spectacles. She did not
know why the brown curls before her came up
with such a start, nor why the young man's wasted
face flushed red and hot with noble shame.
She did not in the least understand why he flung
the five-cent piece upon the table, and snatching
her in his arms held her fast, and hid his face on
her plaid shawl and sobbed. Nor did she know
what could be the reason that nobody seemed
amused to see this gentleman cry; but that the
gentleman who had given her the money came up,
and some more came up, and they gathered round,
and she in the midst of them, and they all spoke
kindly, and the young man with the bad face that
might have been so beautiful, stood up, still cling-
ing to her, and said aloud:
She 's shamed me before you all, and she 's
shamed me to myself! I '11 learn a lesson from
this beggar, so help me God !"




So then, he took the child upon his knee, and
the gentlemen came up to listen, and the young
man asked her what was her name.
Mary Elizabeth, sir."
Names used to mean things-in the Bible-
when I was as little as you. I read the Bible then.
Does Mary Elizabeth mean Angel of Rebuke ?"
Sir? "
Where do you live, Mary Elizabeth ? "
Nowhere, sir."
Where do you sleep ?"
In Mrs. O'Flynn's shed, sir. It 's too cold for
the cows. She 's so kind, she lets us stay."
Whom do you stay with?"
"Nobody, only Jo."
Is Jo your brother ?"
No, sir. Jo is a girl. I have n't got only Jo."
What does Jo do for a living ?"
She-gets it, sir."
And what do you do ?"
"I beg. It's better than to-get it, sir, I
Where 's your mother? "
"What did she die of?"
Drink, sir," said Mary Elizabeth, in her dis-
tinct and gentle tone.
Ah,-well. And your father?"
He is dead. He died in prison."
What sent him to prison? "
Drink, sir."
"I had a brother once," continued Mary Eliza-
beth, who grew quite eloquent with so large an
audience, but he died, too."
"What did he die of?"
Drink, sir," said the child, cheerfully. "I do
want my supper," she added, after a pause, speak-
ing in a whisper, as if to Jo or to herself, "and Jo
'11 be wondering for me."
"Wait, then," said the young man; "I 'II see
if Can't beg enough to get you your supper."
I tkioght there must be an extry one among so
many folks!" cried Mary Elizabeth; for now,
she thought, she should get back her five cents.
Sure enough ; the young man put the five cents
into his hat, to begin with. Then he took out his
purse, and put in something that made less noise
than the five-cent piece, and something more, and
more, and more. Then he passed around the
great room, walking still unsteadily, and the gen-
tleman who gave the five cents and all the gentle-
men put something into the young man's hat.
So when he came back to the table, he emptied

the hat and counted the money, and truly, it was
forty dollars.
"Forty dollars "
Mary Elizabeth looked frightened. She did not
"It 's yours," said the young man. "Now,
come to supper. But see! this gentleman who
gave you the five-cent piece shall take care of the
money for you. You can trust him. He 's got a
wife, too. But we '11 come to supper, now."
"Yes, yes," said the gentleman, coming up.
She knows all about every orphan in this city, I
believe. She 'll know what ought to be done with
you. She '11 take care of you."
But Jo will wonder," said Mary Elizabeth,
1. "I can't leave Jo. And I must go back
and thank Mrs. O'Flynn for the shed."
Oh, yes, yes; we 'II fix all that," said the gen-
tleman, and Jo, too. A little girl with forty
dollars need n't sleep in a cow-shed. But don't
you want your supper ?"
"Why, yes," said Mary Elizabeth; I do."
So the young man took her by the hand, and
the gentleman whose wife knew all about what to
do with orphans took her by the other hand, and
one or two more gentlemen followed, and they all
went out into the dining-room, and put Mary
Elizabeth in a chair at a marble table, and asked
her what she wanted for her supper.
Mary Elizabeth said that a little dry toast and a
cup of milk would do nicely. So all the gentle-
men laughed. And she wondered why.
And the young man with the brown curls
laughed, too, and began to look quite happy. But
he ordered chicken, and cranberry sauce, and
mashed potatoes, and celery, and rolls, and butter,
and tomatoes, and an ice cream, and a cup of tea,
and nuts, and raisins, and cake, and custard, and
apples, and grapes, and Mary Elizabeth sat in her
pink dress and red shawl, and ate the whole; and
why it did n't kill her nobody knows; but it
did n't.
The young man with the face that might have
been beautiful,-that might yet be, one would
have thought, who had seen him then,-stood
watching the little girl.
She 's preached me a better sermon," he said,
below his breath; better than all the ministers
I ever heard in all the churches. May God bless
her I wish there were a thousand like her in
this selfish world "
And when I heard about it, I wished so, too.
And this is the end of Mary Elizabeth's true
Temperance Story.

X880. J



SNOW battles are all very fine for hearty boys,
but there are girls who would like to have some fun
with the beautiful white snow, and there are boys
who do not care for the rough-and-tumble work of
taking or defending a snow fort. So some directions
are here given for building a snow-house, in which

the surfaces tolerably even, and then the whole
shaved down with a spade, outside and inside.
The roof is made of boards or planks covered
with snow. A barrel, placed in a hole in the
roof, and then surrounded by packed snow and
properly shaped, will make a very good chimney.


the young builders can make themselves very com-
fortable, and for making some statuary with which
it will be pleasant to ornament the grounds about
the building. The pictures of the house show so
well how it is constructed, and how it looks when
it is done, that very little explanation is necessary.


A pane of glass can be set in the square hole made
for a window; a heavy piece of carpet can be hung
from the ceiling over the doorway, so as to act as
a curtain-or, if the young work-people choose to
take trouble enough, they can put up a frame-work
inside of the door-way and hang a wooden door to

4. u


The walls are made of large snow-balls, properly it. Then with an old stove, or even a fire-place
placed, with snow packed between them to make made in the wall under the chimney, a house may





__~F____~ _~_____I_ --Y-~CP--T~_~_~-CL--~~

1- -9 -p ------~L -~ ~-- ~~----~-~B~


be had which will be quite snug and comfortable,
until it begins to melt.
The statuary may be of various kinds. It is very

i ^ --. -, '

|-s-------- ----L-.-------------.. -.--~----------P---------- -----------
seldom that pigs are sculptured in marble, or cast
in bronze, and it would be well to make some of
snow, so as to have statues not likely to be found
elsewhere. An oblong mass of snow forms the
body; the legs, nose and ears are made of sticks
surrounded by snow, and a bit of rope nicely curled
will make a very good tail. The various parts can
be shaped and carved according to the skill of the
young artist. A number of pigs, of different sizes,
will give a lively and social air to the yard of a
A statue of a Frenchman in an ulster is also

*the arms are made of smaller balls, stuck on two
sticks which are inserted in the body at proper
angles. When the whole figure has been "blocked
out," as the artists say, it must be carved, with
broad wooden knives, or shingles, into the proper
shape, as shown in Figure 4. The mustache
should be made on a slight stick, which may be


fastened to the face by pegs, and then covered
with snow.
Arctic owls, which are very large and white, can
also be made of snow, in the manner shown in the
picture below. These figures can be placed on
snow pedestals, if they are small, but if they are
monster owls, like those in the illustration, it would

---! ----- .~--- -"- : .

''.,. --2_--::-,-a---.-': --- _-_.~:

. -.- 0 .. --5 :'
_- ._ -i =-._.



rather uncommon, and is not hard to make.' The be better to have them stand upon the ground. In
foundation of the body, head and legs, consists of either position, if they are fashioned properly, they
several large snow-balls, as seen in Figure 3, and will look very wise and respectable.

--7-jr -_--

- -- -- -- -- --- -




. _. ...-.

--- = ,2.

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-._. "L_



(Translated from the German of Victor Bliittgen.)

I i.-'-., .. i,


IN a mighty mountain reigned a dwarf king who
was very desirous of getting married. He had his
barber come and cut off his long beard, so that he
would look younger and handsomer. He put on
his best doublet, embroidered with gold and silver,
and dotted with precious stones, donned his bat-
skin cap, and told his stable-master to saddle a
mouse for him. Then he called his Prime Minis-
ter, and charged him with the government, en-
joining it upon him to be very careful to collect
all the taxes; after which he mounted, raised his
cap in token of good-bye, gave his charger the
spur, and .i11i.....' off in search of a bride.
He traveled through the underground passages
of his kingdom, and, whenever he came to a place
where dwarfs lived, he stopped ; but he could find
no maiden to suit him. One had a faulty nose;
another's mouth was not right; a third had eyes
that were too pale; the fourth was too timid;

the fifth was too fat; the sixth was ill-tempered;
the seventh chattered like a magpie; the eighth
would n't talk at all; and so he found in each
one some defect.
At last, somewhat discouraged by his failure, he
rode into the valley; it was night, and the moon
shone. As he drew nigh to a meadow, he saw a
little, dwarf maiden dancing in the moonlight, while
two old crickets sat near, and made music. She
danced beautifully, right and left; her white dress
glimmered, and her long hair floated on the breeze.
As he softly dismounted, and crept near, he saw
that she was the most beautiful maiden he had
ever laid eyes on. Then was his heart glad,
and he stepped up to her. But hardly had she
seen him, when she cried out, and immediately a
raven flew down from the top of an old fir-tree.
The maiden seated herself on the raven's back,
and he bore her through the air far away behind




some tall black pine-trees, till she was no longer
to be seen.
"Ah, for mercy's sake, who was that?" asked
the king, addressing himself to the crickets.
"We know not," said they. "She always comes
in the moonshine and dances, and we make music
for her, because she is as dainty as an elf child."
Thereupon, the crickets hopped away.
The next night, the dwarf king rode again to the
meadow, and waited for the maiden; but she did
not come. Only the raven sat again on the fir-
tree, and when he saw the king he cried, Caw !"
and flew away.
After his majesty had waited in vain a couple of
nights, he fell sick for grief. He lay all the time
in bed, drank little, ate hardly -i.,' h ... gave no
attention to the affairs of his kingdom, and allowed
no one but his old chamberlain to come into his
presence. Through him, the Prime Minister
learned that the king was continually speaking in
his sleep of a dwarf maiden; but they did not
know which one he meant, and so they could not
help him. Consequently, the whole land was in
great anxiety, and the dwarf ladies began to sew
on mourning handkerchiefs and black dresses.
Stop," said the Prime Minister one day, to his
..*.i ..,.. ; "I know where we are likely to get
help; we must ask the tree-toad."
The tree-toad was court-prophet, and sat in a
jar of water on a ladder.
We want advice from the Oracle in behalf of
-our king," said the Prime Minister.
Immediately," answered the tree-toad; and,
going up to the top of his ladder, he stared awhile
into vacancy, and then prophesied thus:

"The one who sings the best,
The one who springs the best,
The one the stork would wedded see,
She the young king's bride shall be."

Look you," said the minister, that is it; for
if we find her, the king will get well again, but,
.should he die, there would be no bride."
The dwarf maiden, who was the cause of the
king's sickness, lived with her uncle, whom she
,called "raven uncle"; for he had tamed the raven
which had carried her away from the king. He
also owned a cave, which one could not reach ex-
cept by flying, because it was very high up on a
slippery steep rock, on which grew neither bush
nor flower.
The maiden sat there one day, and looked over
the fir-trees down on the meadow, where she did
not dare to dance any more. All at once, she saw
the dwarf king's herald come riding along. He
blew his trumpet, and cried with a clear voice:

SThe one that sings the best,
The one that springs the best,
The one the stork would wedded see,
She the young king's bride shall be."

Then he continued:
The day after to-morrow, when the moon
shines, the first trial will be made here in the
meadow." After which he blew his trumpet and
rode away.
"I am going to be the king's bride," said the
dwarf maiden; it is so lonesome up here, and
one can't even dance any more."
She went to her uncle, who was pounding ore
in the cave, and said to him:
Raven uncle, you must manage so that I shall
be the king's bride."
What do you mean? That you can become
the sharer of the king's throne ?"
That I know nothing about, and do not need
to know," replied the maiden.
S'The one that sings the best,
The one that springs the best,
The one the stork would wedded see,
She the young king's bride shall be '
"I just heard the herald say that, as I sat by the
door, and the day after to-morrow the first trial is
to take place in the meadow "
Well," said the raven uncle, it is honorable
to be a king's bride, and you will be well provided
for; we will see what we can do."
The next day, he got a basket, took his seat on
the raven's back, and rode down among the nut-
trees; and when he had filled the basket full of
nuts, he came back, poured them out, then went
out for more, and kept adding to the pile till it
filled the room. The next day, he went out and
scattered the nuts along all the roads that led to
the meadow.
And so, when the dwarf maidens came along on
their way to the meadow to sing, they said: "It
has rained nuts And they ate as many of them
as they could, till each one's voice was as rough
and coarse as a donkey's.
Then the singing commenced, while the king's
music-master, who was to decide in the contest,
stood near. The branches of the trees and bushes
all around were full of little creatures-critics in
music-who had come to listen : for instance, the
crickets, the mosquitoes, the bumble-bees, the
finches, and many other birds. Only the nightin-
gale did not come; for she guessed how it would
turn out, and said:
There will be nothing but screeching."
Then the first lady began to sing; but her voice
sounded like the creaking of rusty door-hinges.
Gracious exclaimed a mosquito, laughing.
" Who ever heard singing like that ? "




Then the second lady began to sing; but her
voice reminded one of the trial crow of a young
Some wadding cried a finch, raising a claw,
and holding it to her ear. "Some wadding It
pierces my nerves."
And so it went on ; and when the last one was
ready to sing, of all the assembled insects and
birds there remained only an old beetle who could
stand it, for he was deaf as a post. But the music-
master was the worst off, since he must now an-
nounce which had sung the best, and he could
only exclaim:
"They have all sung abominably, and I fear we
must have another trial."
Just then, the raven flew down from behind the
fir-trees, and on his back sat the little dwarf
maiden. Dismounting, she said:
I want to sing, too."
And she sang as sweetly as a blackbird twitters;
so that the music-master smacked his lips with
Wonderful said he. "She is the true one,
and I must find out who she is."
He asked her what her name was, and she
replied :
Raven uncle's little maid
From the high rock's cavern-shade."

This he wrote down, and the little lady courtesied
before the others, seated herself on the raven, and
was borne away.
The next night the second trial was to take
place, when it was to be decided who could spring
the best.
"Raven uncle," asked the maiden, "how shall
I manage to spring better than the others ?"
You must lift your feet higher," said he.
But he spent the whole day in boiling tar; and
in the evening he put it in a tub, and rode out
with it. There was a narrow wooden bridge which
led across the ditch surrounding the meadow; this
bridge he covered with tar; and as the moon
rose over the mountain, there came one dwarf
maiden after another and crossed the bridge, step-
ping on the tar, and clogging the soles of their
shoes with it.
They sprang and sprang ; and there were spec-
tators present at this show also; the frogs, the
leaping beetles, and such other insect folk as find
pleasure in springing. The king's dancing-master
had a yard-stick in his hand, and carefully meas-
ured the height to which each one sprang.
It is frightful said he. How unlucky that
the tar lay in the way It will not pay to make
notes of the performance, for they hardly get loose
from the ground."
Goodness, what fun said the leaping beetle,

and turned somersets for laughing. They hop
like young robins that have fallen out of the nest."
Our dwarf maiden found it very easy to spring;
for the raven again carried her to the meadow, so
that she did not have to step on the tar. Of course,
she sprang highest, and when the dancing-master
asked her name, she said again:
Raven uncle's little maid
From the high rock's cavern-shade."

Then she made the most beautiful bow, and
seating herself on the raven, disappeared.
"Raven uncle," asked she, the next day, which
one would the stork prefer to marry to the king ?"
For the stork was the dwarf's minister, and his
nest was near the cave on an old fir-tree.
That, I do not know," was the answer.
Under the fir-tree came stealthily one maiden
after another, and asked:
Stork, whom would you prefer to marry to the
The one," said he, that brings my children
the best food."
And now the inquisitive maidens knew just as
much as before ; for they could not learn anything
from the young storks, as these could not talk yet.
But our dwarf maiden had heard the stork's
reply, and she told her uncle of it.
Thereupon, the uncle took a pail and rode down
to the meadow; and when he came back he had
frogs, snails, earth-worms, and tadpoles. Then,
waiting till the old stork had flown away from the
nest, he carried over what he had collected.
Good day, children," he said to the young
storks. Here is something delicious for you."
He held out a snail, but they did not move;
then a frog, and the first one opened his bill; then
an earth-worm, and two snapped at it; but when
he brought out a tadpole, they all snapped at it as
quickly as they could.
At that, he rode away, emptied the pail, and
caught as many tadpoles as he could find.
In the evening, all the dwarf maidens assembled
under the stork's nest, and the Prime Minister
was their leader. Only two or three had brought
any food for the young storks, and this consisted
entirely of tasteless worms, or frogs.
Stork," asked the minister, whom would you
prefer to marry to the king? "
And the stork replied:
The one that brings me tadpoles."
Then the maidens were all in confusion, for no
one knew what tadpoles were.
Thereupon, there was a rustling in the air, and'
the maiden, on the raven's back, came down with
a pail full of tadpoles, and said :
Here they are, and I am the king's bride."




"Blow your trumpets!" cried the Minister;
"the queen is found, and I am her first subject."
Then he knelt, and kissed her hand; and imme-
diately a messenger was ordered off to tell the king
of the good news. No sooner had the latter heard
of the maiden's riding on the raven, than he sprang
up, hastened to the meadow, and kissed the dwarf
maiden as his bride.
Eight days afterward, their wedding was cele-
brated in grand style at the meadow.

The dwarfs had brought costly presents of jew-
elry, and the king's own cook, who had baked the
most delicious wedding-cake that ever was tasted,
was permitted to have it borne inr state behind the
king and queen in the procession.
But over and behind the newly married pair
came raven uncle on his raven. He officiated as
bride's godfather. And thus they went by torch-
light back to the castle, where they all lived
happily until they died.

I '4

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Nlpx 6ja EM sair~ gaR



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~LI)L _




,'-, ',, WILL begin by saying that
SI Editha was always rather a
'l"i-" queer.little girl, and not much
like other children. She was
^r not a strong, healthy little
girl, and had never been able
to run about and play; and,
as she had no sisters or
brothers, or companions of
her own size, she was rather
old-fashioned, as her aunts
e used to call it. She had al-
ways been very fond of books,
and had learned to read when
she was such a tiny child, that
I should almost be afraid to
say how tiny she was when she
read her first volume through.
Her papa wrote books him-
self, and was also the editor of
a newspaper; and, as he had
large library, Editha perhaps
read more than was quite.good
for her. She lived in London; and, as her mamma
was very young and pretty, and went out a great
deal, and her papa was so busy, and her governess
only came in the morning, she was left to herself
a good many hours in the day, and when she was
left to herself, she spent the greater part of her
time in the library reading her papa's big books,
and even his newspapers.
She was very fond of the newspapers, because
she found so many curious things in them,-stories,
for instance, of strange events which happened
every day in the great city of London, and yet
never seemed to happen anywhere near where she
lived. Through the newspapers, she found that
there were actually men who lived by breaking
into people's houses and stealing all the nice things
they could carry away, and she read that such men
were called burglars. When she first began to
read about burglars, she was very much troubled.
In the first place, she felt rather timid about going
to bed at night, and, in the second place, she felt
rather sorry for the burglars.
"I suppose no one ever taught them any
better," she thought.
In fact, she thought so much about the matter,
that she could not help asking her papa some ques-
tions one morning when he was at breakfast. He

was reading his paper and eating his chops both
at once when she spoke to him.
"Papa," she said, in a solemn little voice, and
looking at him in a very solemn manner, papa
dear, what do you think of burglars-as a class ? "
(She said "as a class," because she had heard
one of her papa's friends say it, and as he was a
gentleman she admired very much, she liked to
talk as he did.) Her papa gave a little jump in
his chair, as if she had startled him, and then he
pushed his hair off his forehead and stared at her.
"Burglars t As a class he said, and then
he stared at her a minute again in rather a puzzled
way. "Bless my soul he said. As a class,
Nixie !" (that was his queer pet name for her.)
" Nixie, where is your mother ? "
She is in bed, papa dear, and we must n't
disturb her," said Editha. "The party last night
tired her out. I peeped into her room softly as I
came down. She looks so pretty when she is
asleep. What do you think of burglars, papa?"
I think they 're a bad lot, Nixie," said her pa-
pa, a bad lot."
Are there no good burglars, papa ? "
Well, Nixie," answered papa, I should say
not. As a rule you know,-" and here he began
to smile, as people often smiled at Editha when she
asked questions.-"As a rule, burglars are not
distinguished for moral perspicuity and blameless
But Editha did not understand what moral per-
spicuity meant, and besides she was thinking again.
"Miss Lane was talking to me the other day,
about some poor children who had never been
taught anything; they had never had any French
or music lessons, and scarcely knew how to read,
and she said they had never had any advantages.
Perhaps that is the way with the burglars, papa,-
perhaps they have never had any advantages,-
perhaps if they had had advantages they might n't
have been burglars."
Lessons in French and music are very elevating
to the mind, my dear Nixie," papa began in his
laughing way, which was always a trial to Editha,

but suddenly he stopped, and looked at her rather
How old are you, Nixie?" he asked.
I am seven," answered Editha, "seven years,
going on eight."
Papa sighed.




Come here, little one," he said, holding out
his strong white hand to her.
She left her chair and went to him, and he put
his arms around her, and kissed her, and stroked
her long brown hair.
"Don't puzzle your little brain too much," he
said, never mind about the burglars, Nixie."
"Well," said Editha, "I can't help thinking
about them a little, and it seems to me that there
must be, perhaps, one good burglar among all
the bad ones, and I can't help being rather sorry,
even for the bad ones. You see, they must have
to be up all night, and out in the rain sometimes,
and they can't help not having had advantages."
It was strange that the first thing she heard,
when she went up to her mamma's room, was
something about burglars.
She was very very fond of her mamma, and very
proud of her. She even tried to take care of her
in her small way; she never disturbed her when she
was asleep, and she always helped her to dress,
bringing her things to her, buttoning her little
shoes and gloves, putting the perfume on her
handkerchiefs, and holding her wraps until she
wanted them.
This morning, when she went into the dressing-
room, she found the chamber-maid there before
her, and her dear little mamma looking very pale.
Ah, mem if you please, mem i the chamber-
maid was saying, what a blessing it was they
did n't come here !"
Who, Janet?" Editha asked.
The burglars, Miss, that broke into Number
Eighteen last night, and carried off all the silver,
and the missus's jewelry."
If burglars ever do break in here," said mam-
ma, I hope none of us will hear them, though it
would almost break my heart to have my things
taken. If I should waken in the night, and find a
burglar in my room, I think it would kill me, and
I know I should scream, and then there is no know-
ing what they might do. If ever you think there
is a burglar in the house, Nixie, whatever you do,
don't scream or make any noise. It would be bet-
ter to have one's things stolen, than to be killed by
burglars for screaming."
She was not a very wise little mamma, and often
said rather thoughtless things; but she was very
gentle and loving, and Editha was so fond of her
that she put her arms round her waist and said to
her :
Mamma, dearest, I will never let any burglars
hurt you or frighten you if I can help it. I do
believe I could persuade them not to. I should
think even a burglar would listen to reason."
That made her mamma laugh, so that she forgot
all about the burglars and began to get her color

again, and it was not long before she was quite
gay, and was singing a song she had heard at the
opera, while Editha was helping her to dress.
But that very night Editha met a burglar.
Just before dinner, her papa came up from the
city in a great hurry. He dashed up to the front
door in a cab, and, jumping out, ran upstairs to
mamma, who was sitting in the drawing-room,
while Editha read aloud to her.
"Kitty, my dear," he said, I am obliged to
go to Glasgow by the 'five' train. I must throw a
few things into a portmanteau and go at once."
Oh, Francis said mamma. And just after
that burglary at the Norris's I don't like to be
left alone."
The servants are here," said papa, and Nixie
will take care of you; wont you, Nixie ? Nixie
is interested in burglars."
I am sure Nixie could do more than the serv-
ants," said mamma. "All three of them sleep in
one room at the top of the house when you are
away, and even if they awakened they would only
Nixie would n't scream," said papa, laughing;
"Nixie would do something heroic. I will leave
you in her hands."
He was only joking, but Editha did not think of
what he said as a joke; she felt that her mamma
was really left in her care, and that it was a very
serious matter.
She thought about it so seriously that she hardly
talked at all at dinner, and was so quiet afterward
that her mamma said, "Dear me, Nixie, what
are you thinking of? You look as solemn as a
little owl."
"1 am thinking of you, mamma," the child
And then her mamma laughed and kissed her,
and said: Well, I must say I don't see why you
should look so grave about me. I did n't think I
was such a solemn subject."
At last bed-time came, and the little girl went to
her mother's room, because she was to sleep there.
"I am glad I have you with me, Nixie," said
mamma, with a rather nervous little laugh. "I am
sure I should n't like to sleep in this big room
But, after she was in bed, she soon fell asleep,
and lay looking so happy and sweet and comfort-
able that Editha thought it was lovely to see her.
Editha did not go to sleep for a long time. She
thought of her papa trying to sleep on the train,
rushing through the dark night on its way to
Scotland ; she thought of a new book she had just
begun to read; she thought of a child she had
once heard singing in the street; and when her
eyes closed at length, her mind had just gone back




to the burglars at Number Eighteen. She slept
until midnight, and then something wakened her.
At first she did not know what it was, but in a few
minutes she found that it was a queer little sound
coming from down-stairs,--a sound like a stealthy
filing of iron.
She understood in a moment then, because she
had heard the chamber-maid say that the burglars
broke into Number Eighteen by filing through the
bars of the shutters.
"It is a burglar," she thought, "and he will
awaken mamma."
If she had been older, and had known more of
the habits of burglars, she might have been more
frightened than she was. She did not think of
herself at all, however, but of her mother.
She began to reason the matter over as quickly
as possible, and she made up her mind that the
burglar must not be allowed to make a noise.
".I '11 go down and ask him to please be as quiet
as he can," she said to herself, and I '11 tell him
Certainly, this was a queer thing to think of
doing, but I told you when I began my story that
she was a queer little girl.
She slipped out of bed so quietly that she scarcely
stirred the clothes, and then slipped just as quietly
out of the room and down the stairs.
The filing had ceased, but she heard a sound of
stealthy feet in the kitchen; and, though it must
be confessed her heart beat rather faster than
usual, she made her way to the kitchen and opened
the door.
Imagine the astonishment of that burglar when,
on hearing the door open, he turned round and
found himself looking at a slender little girl, in
a white frilled night-gown, and with bare feet,-a
little girl whose large brown eyes rested on him in
a by no means unfriendly way.
I 'll be polite to him," Editha had said, as she
was coming down-stairs. I am sure he '11 be
more obliging if I am very polite. Miss Lane says
politeness always wins its way."
So the first words she spoke were as polite as she
could make them.
"Don't be frightened," she said, in a soft voice.
" I don't want to hurt you; I came to ask a favor
of you."
The burglar was so amazed that he actually for-
got he was a burglar, and staggered back against
the wall. I think he thought at first that Editha
was a little ghost. You see I could n't hurt you
if I wanted to," she went on, wishing to encourage
him. "I 'm too little. I 'm only seven,-and a
little over,-and I 'm not going to scream, because
that would waken mamma, and that 's just what I
don't want to do."

That did encourage the burglar, but still he was
so astonished that he did not know what to do.
Well, I 'm blowed," he said in a whisper, if
this aint a rummy go! which was extremely
vulgar language ; but, unfortunately, he was one
of those burglars who, as Miss Lane said, had
not had any advantages," which is indeed the case
with the majority of the burglars of my acquaint-
Then he began to laugh,-in a whisper also, if
one can be said to laugh in a whisper. He put his
hand over his mouth, and made no noise, but he
laughed so hard that he doubled up and rocked
himself to and fro.
The rummiest go he said, in his uneducated
way. An' she haint agoin' to 'urt me. Oh, my
heye !"
He was evidently very badly educated, indeed,
for he not only used singular words, but sounded
his h's all in the wrong places. Editha noticed
this, even in the midst of her surprise at his laugh-
ter. She could not understand what he was laugh-
ing at. Then it occurred to her that she might
have made a mistake.
If you please," she said, with great delicacy,
" are you really a burglar? "
He stopped laughing just long enough to answer
"Lor' no, miss," he said, "by no manner o'
means. I 'm a dear friend o' yer Par's, come to
make a evening' call, an' not a within' to trouble
the servants, I stepped in through the winder."
Ah !" said Editha, looking very gravely at
him; "I see you are joking with me, as papa
does sometimes. But what I wanted to say to you
was this: Papa has gone to Scotland, and all our
servants are women, and mamma would be so
frightened if you were to waken her, that I am
sure it would make her ill. And if you are going
to burgle, would you please burgle as quietly as
you can, so that you wont disturb her ? "
The burglar stopped laughing, and, staring at
her, once more uttered his vulgar exclamation :
Well, I '11 be blowed "
Why don't you say, I '11 be blown?'" asked
Editha. I 'm sure it is n't correct to say you 'll
be blowed."
She thought he was going off into one of his
unaccountable fits of laughter again, but he did
not; he seemed to check himself with an effort.
There haint no time to waste," she heard him
"No, I suppose there is n't," she answered.
" Mamma might wake and miss me. What are
you going to burgle first ? "
You 'd better go upstairs to yer mar," he said,
rather sulkily.




Editha thought deeply for a few seconds.
You ought n't to burgle anything," she said.
" Of course you know that, but if you have really
made up your mind to do it, I would like to show
you the things you 'd better take."
"What, fer instance?" said the burglar, with
You must n't take any of mamma's things,"
said Editha, "because they are all in her room,
and you would waken her, and besides, she said it
would break her heart; and don't take any of the
things papa is fond of. I 'll tell you what," turn-
ing rather pale, "you can take my things."

'-y :..- ... '.-" ..

!' i ; '. ,

.'I I ,- '-

' i" ''


tIfe*li M

i' "+
:,5ls ~ "

staring hard at her brightening face, I never see
no sich a start afore."
"Shall I go upstairs and get the other things ?"
said Editha.
No," he said. You stay where you are-or
stay, come along o' me inter the pantry, an' sit
down while I 'm occupied."
He led the way into the pantry, and pushed
her down on a step, and then began to open thd
drawers where the silver was kept.
It's curious that you should know just where
to look for things, and that your key should fit,
is n't it?" said Editha.
.... .... ... .... - -. _

`"-' .'I--'






i4 .. .
d e eI,.. ,e- .. -", *-

SI. -; -* t. 4
I- a ',, |.... N. .. ... . ... ...*.. .

deed. There 's a good deal in hein' eddicated."

What kind o' things ? asked the burglar.
My locket, and the little watch papa gave me,
and the necklace and bracelets my grandmamma
left me,-they are worth a great deal of money,
and they are very pretty, and I was to wear them
when I grew to be a young lady, but-but you can
take them. And-then- very slowly, and with
a deep sigh, "there are-my books. I 'm very
fond of them, but-- "
I don't want no books," said the burglar.
Don't you ? exclaimed she. "Ah, thank you."
"'Well," said the burglar, as if to himself, and
VOL. VII.-23.

"Are you educated ? asked Editha, with a
look of surprise.
Did yer think I was n't ? said the burglar.
Well," said Editha, not wishing to offend him,
"'you see, you pronounce your words so very
It 's all a matter o' taste," interrupted the
burglar. Oxford an' Cambridge 'as different
"Did you go to Oxford?" asked Editha, po-
No," said he," nor yet to Cambridge."




Then he laughed again, and seemed to be quite
enjoying himself as he made some forks and
spoons up into a bundle. I 'ope there haint no
plated stuff 'ere," he said. Plate 's wulgar, an'
I 'ope yer parents haint wulgar, cos that 'd be
setting' yer a werry bad example an' sp'ilin' yer
I am sure papa and mamma are not vulgar,"
said Editha.
The burglar opened another drawer, and chuck-
led again, and this suggested to Editha's mind
another question.
Is your business a good one ?" she suddenly
inquired of him.
"'T aint as good as it ought to be, by no man-
ner o' means," said the burglar. Every one
haint as hobligin' as you, my little dear."
Oh said Editha. You know you obliged
me by not making a noise."
Well," said the burglar, "as a rule, we don't
make a practice o' making' no more noise than we
can help. It haint considered healthyy in the per-
Would you mind leaving us a few forks and
spoons to eat with, if you please ? I beg pardon
for interrupting you, but I 'm afraid we shall not
have any to use at breakfast."
Haint yer got no steel uns?" inquired the
Mamma would n't like to use steel ones, I 'in
sure," Editha answered. I '11 tell you what you
can do: please leave out enough for mamma,
and I can use steel. I don't care about myself,
The man seemed to think a moment, and then
he was really so accommodating as to do as she
asked, and even went to the length of leaving out
her own little fork and knife and spoon.
Oh! you are very kind," said Editha, when
she saw him do this.
"That 's a reward o' merit, cos yer did n't
squeal," said the burglar.
He was so busy for the next few minutes that
he did not speak, though now and then he broke
into a low laugh, as if he was thinking of some-
thing very funny, indeed. During the silence,
Editha sat holding her little feet in her night-gown,
and watching him very curiously. A great many
new thoughts came into her active brain, and at
last she could not help asking some more ques-
Would you really rather be a burglar than
anything else ? she inquired, respectfully.
Well," said the man, p'r'aps I 'd prefer to
be Lord Mayor, or a member o' the 'Ouse o'
Lords, or even the Prince o' Wales, only for
there bein' obstacles in the way of it."

Oh! said Editha; you could n't be the
Prince of Wales, you know. I meant would n't
you rather be in some other profession ? My papa
is an editor," she added. "How would you like
to be an editor?"
"Well," said the burglar, "hif yer par ud
change with me, or hif he chanced to know hany
editor with a roarin' trade as ud be so hobligin'
as to 'and it hover, hit 's wot I 've allers 'ad a
leanin' to."
I am sure papa would not like to be a burglar,"
said Editha, thoughtfully ; "but perhaps he might
speak to his friends about you, if you would give
me your name and address, and if I were to tell
him how obliging you were, and if I told him
you really did n't like being a burglar."
The burglar put his hand to his pocket and gave.
a start of great surprise.
To think o' me a forgetting' my card-case," he
said, an' a leaving' it on the planner when I come
hout. I 'm sich a bloomin' forgetful cove. I might
hey knowed I 'd hev wanted it."
It is a pity," said Editha; "but if you told me
your name and your number, I think I could re-
member it."
I 'm afeared yer could n't," said the burglar,
regretfully, "but I'll try yer. Lord Halgernon
Hedward Halbertde Pentonwille, Yde Park. Can
you think o' that?"
Are you a lord? exclaimed Editha. Dear
me, how strange! "
It is sing'lar," said the burglar, shaking his
head. I 've often thought so myself. But not
wishin' to detain a lady no longer than can be
helped s'pose we take a turn in the lib'ery among
yer respected par's things."
Don't make a noise," said Editha, as she led
the way.
But when they reached the library her loving
little heart failed her. All the things her father
valued most were there, and le would be sure to,
be so sorry if one thing was missing when he re-
turned. She stood on the threshold a moment and.
looked about her.
Oh," she whispered, "please do me another
favor,/wont you? Please let me slip quietly upstairs
and bring down my own things instead. They will
be so easy to carry away, and they are very valu-
able, and-and I will make you a present of them if
you will not touch anything that belongs to papa.
He is so fond of his things and, besides that, he is.
so good."
The burglar gave a rather strange and disturbed
look at her.
Go an' get yer gimcracks," he said in a some-
what grumbling voice.
Her treasures were in her own room, and her




bare feet made no sound as she crept slowly up
the staircase and then down again. But when she
handed the little box to the burglar her eyes were
"Papa gave me the watch, and mamma gave
me the locket," she whispered, tremulously; "and
the pearls were grandmamma's, and grandmamma
is in heaven."
It would not be easy to know what the burglar
thought; he looked queerer than ever. Perhaps
he was not quite so bad as some burglars, and felt
rather ashamed of taking her treasures from a little
girl who loved other people so much better than
she loved herself. But he did not touch any of
papa's belongings, and, indeed, did not remain
much longer. He grumbled a little when he
looked into the drawing-room, saying something to
himself about "folks never 'avin' no consideration
for a cove, an' leaving' nothing' portable 'andy, a
expecting' of him to carry off seventy-five pound
bronze clocks an' marble stattoos;" but though
Editha was sorry to see that he appeared annoyed,
she did not understand him.
After that, he returned to the pantry and helped
himself to some cold game pie, and seemed to
enjoy it, and then poured out a tumbler of wine,
which Editha thought a great deal to drink at
Yer 'e'lth, my dear," he said, "an' happyy
returns, an' many on 'em. May yer grow up a
hornyment to yer sect, an' a comfort to yer re-
spected mar an' par."
And he threw his head very far back, and drank
the very last drop in the glass, which was vulgar,
to say the least of it.
Then he took up his bundles of silver and the
other articles he had appropriated, and seeing that
he was going away, Editha rose from the pantry
Are you going out through the window ? she
Yes, my dear," he answered, with a chuckle,
it 's a little 'abit I 've got into. I prefers 'em
to doors."
Well, good-bye," she said, holding out her
hand politely. "And thank you, my lord."
She felt it only respectful to say that, even if
he had fallen into bad habits and become a
He shook hands with her in quite a friendly
manner, and even made a bow.
"Yer welcome, my dear," he said. "An' I
must hadd that if I ever see a queerer or better
behaved little kid, may I be blowed-or, as yer
told me it would be more correcter to say, I '11 be
Editha did not know he was joking; she

thought he was improving, and that if he had
had advantages he might have been a very nice'
It was astonishing how neatly he slipped through
the window; he was gone in a second, and Editha
found herself standing alone in the dark, as he had
taken his lantern with him.
She groped her way out and up the stairs, and
then, for the first time, she began to feel cold and
rather weak and strange; it was more like being
frightened than any feeling she had had while the
burglar was in the house.
Perhaps, if he had been a very bad burglar,
he might have killed me," she said to herself,
trembling a little. "I am very glad he did not
kill me, for-for it would have hurt mamma so,
and papa too, when he came back, and they told

Her mamma wakened in the morning with a
bright smile.
"Nobody hurt us, Nixie," she said. "We are
all right, are n't we ?
"Yes, mamma dear," said Editha.
She did not want to startle her just then, so she
said nothing more, and she even said nothing all
through the excitement that followed the discovery
of the robbery, and indeed, said nothing until her
papa came home, and then he wondered so at her
pale face, and petted her so tenderly, and thought
it so strange that nothing but her treasures had
been taken from upstairs, that she could keep her
secret no longer.
Papa," she cried out all at once in a trembling
voice, I gave them to him myself."
"You, Nixie! You!" exclaimed her papa,
looking alarmed. Kitty, the fright has made the
poor little thing ill."
No, papa," said Editha, her hands shaking, and
the tears rushing into her eyes, she did not know
why. "I heard him, and-I knew mamma would
be so frightened,-and it came into my mind to ask
hinm-not to waken her,-and I crept down-stairs-
and asked him;-and he was not at all unkind
though he laughed. And I stayed with him, and-
and told him *I would give him all my things if he
would not touch yours nor mamma's. He-he
was n't such a bad burglar, papa,-and he told
me he would rather be something more respect-
And she hid her face on her papa's shoulder.
Kitty papa cried out. Oh, Kitty !"
Then her mamma flew to her and knelt down by
her, kissing her, and crying aloud:
Oh, Nixie if he had hurt you,-if he had hurt
He knew I was not going to scream, mamma,"




said Editha. "And he knew I was too little to
hurt him. I told him so."
She scarcely understood why mamma cried so
much more at this, and why even papa's eyes were
wet as he held her close up to his breast.
It is my fault, Francis," wept the poor little
mamma. "I have left her too much to herself,
and I have not been a wise mother. Oh, to think
of her risking her dear little life just to save me
from being frightened, and to think of her giving
up the things she loves for our sakes. I will be a
better mother to her, after this, and take care of
her more."
But I am happy to say that the watch and locket
and pearls were not altogether lost, and came back
to their gentle little owner in time. About six
months after, the burglar was caught, as burglars
are apt to be, and, after being tried and sentenced
to transportation to the penal settlements (which
means that he was to be sent away to be a prisoner
in a far country), a police officer came one day to
see Editha's papa, and he actually came from that
burglar, who was in jail and wanted to see Editha
for a special reason. Editha's papa took her to see
him, and the moment she entered his cell she knew
"How do you do, my lord?" she said, in a
gentle tone.
Not as lively as common, miss," he answered,
" in consekence o' the confinement not bein' good
fer my 'e'lth."
None of your chaff," said the police officer.
" Say what you have to say."
And then, strange to say, the burglar brought
forth from under his mattress a box, which he
handed to the little girl.
One o' my visitors brought 'em in to me this

z% -=

morning, he said. "I thought yer might as well
hev 'em. I kep' 'em partly 'cos it was more conven-
ienter, an' partly 'cos I took a fancy to yer. I 've
seed a many curl's things, sir," he said to Editha's
papa, "but never nothing' as bloomin' queer as
that little kid a-comin' in an' tellin' me she wont
'urt me, nor yet wont scream, and please wont I
burgle quietly so as to not disturb her mar. It
brought my 'art in my mouth when first I see her,
an' then, lor', how I larft. I almost made up my
mind to give her things back to her afore I left,
but I did n't quite do that-it was agin human
But they were in the box now, and Editha was
so glad to see them that she could scarcely speak
for a few seconds. Then she thanked the burglar
"I am much obliged to you," she said, "and
I 'm really very sorry you are to be sent so far
away. 1 am sure papa would have tried to help
you if he could, though he says he is afraid you
would not do for an editor."
The burglar closed one eye and made a very
singular grimace at the police officer, who turned
away suddenly and did not look round until Editha
had bidden her acquaintance good-bye.
And even this was not quite all. A few weeks
later, a box was left for Editha by, a very shabby
queer-looking man, who quickly disappeared as
soon as he had given it to the servant at the door;
and in this box was a very large old-fashioned
silver watch, almost as big as a turnip, and inside
the lid were scratched these words:

To the little Kid,
From 'er friend and wel wisher,
Lord halgernon hedward halbert
de pentonwill, ide park.






THERE was a school-master, Treborius,
Who followed a principle glorious.
He made it a rule
When entering his school
To his urchins to bow;-
And well he knew how.
"For there may be some great men before us,"
Said respectful old Master Treborius,
Who followed a principle glorious.



THE first automaton I shall describe is a huge
carbuncle, in form and appearance, just like an
ordinary date such as any one would handle and
attempt to eat without suspecting deception. It
was owned and exhibited by a Hindoo ventrilo-
quist, who was also a juggler; and he called his
carbuncle "The Speaking Date." Whenever he
spoke to it, the answer came promptly, and appro-
priately, as it seemed, from the very heart of the
date, which lay on a table, several feet from the

for sometimes, when the master gave an order, the
date argued the point, making objections, offering
excuses, and finally yielding, as it were, under
It would complain that it was sleepy," or
" tired of doing the same thing over and over," or
" the people were not paying attention." But all
this only enhanced the interest of the occasion;
and when, at last, the rebellious little thing con-
cluded to do as it was bidden, the audience was in

It was not always, however, an obedient servant, A tree was made to grow, in our presence, as if






THERE was a school-master, Treborius,
Who followed a principle glorious.
He made it a rule
When entering his school
To his urchins to bow;-
And well he knew how.
"For there may be some great men before us,"
Said respectful old Master Treborius,
Who followed a principle glorious.



THE first automaton I shall describe is a huge
carbuncle, in form and appearance, just like an
ordinary date such as any one would handle and
attempt to eat without suspecting deception. It
was owned and exhibited by a Hindoo ventrilo-
quist, who was also a juggler; and he called his
carbuncle "The Speaking Date." Whenever he
spoke to it, the answer came promptly, and appro-
priately, as it seemed, from the very heart of the
date, which lay on a table, several feet from the

for sometimes, when the master gave an order, the
date argued the point, making objections, offering
excuses, and finally yielding, as it were, under
It would complain that it was sleepy," or
" tired of doing the same thing over and over," or
" the people were not paying attention." But all
this only enhanced the interest of the occasion;
and when, at last, the rebellious little thing con-
cluded to do as it was bidden, the audience was in

It was not always, however, an obedient servant, A tree was made to grow, in our presence, as if




from the very heart of the date, putting forth its
long, pointed leaves, then the dainty blooms, and
finally a clump of the luscious fruit. But of this
we were not invited to eat, for it disappeared sud-
denly, and only the single little golden-brown date
we had seen at the first, remained. This was, of
course, only a specimen of the sleight-of-hand
" tricks" that Hindoo jugglers know so well how
to perform, while the apparent speaking of the
date was the result of ventriloquism,-the juggler
being able to make his voice sound as if it came
from where the date lay, and so induce the audi-
ence to think that the voice came out of the fruit-
like carbuncle itself.
But after this, the stone jumped, walked, ran,
and finally, with head and wings suddenly at-
tached, flew across the stage, and alighted between
the conjurer's joined hands. This was all accom-
plished by means of machinery adroitly hidden
between the carbuncle and the golden tripod upon
which it lay. Curious and startling as were the
movements, they were wonders of mechanism,
and of course had nothing to do with supernat-
ural powers, such as the ventriloquist pretended to
At the first Paris Exposition there was exhibited
a huge toy that was worked by concealed machin-
ery; and of the thousands who daily witnessed its
amusing performances, not one, that I have heard
of, was ever able to find out the secret of its
wonderful motions.
At first, one saw only a rock, almost covered
with ferns, lichens, and mosses, growing in a wild
tangle of rustic beauty, and a tiny spring, that
came trickling out of the side of the rock, to feed
a miniature lake, in which sported scores of gold
and silver fish. Then, with a bark and a bound
that seemed like a courteous welcome, a huge
Newfoundland dog sprang into view, from a cavern
at the bottom of the rock, at the same moment
that a little hare, seated on a bowlder, high above
the people's heads, began beating on a tiny drum,
a strange, wild tattoo. The dog shook his shaggy
hair, rolled his eyes, and displayed a set of teeth
more to be feared than admired, while he looked
menacingly toward the little drummer perched
above. The hare gave no sign, except that the
tiny paws flew faster, until the music ceased sud-
denly with a shriek, as a huge, ugly baboon made
his appearance on one side, at the very moment
that a young shepherd entered on the other.
Angry glances were exchanged between the new-
comers, and the little hare, seeming to think him-
self the object of their common spite, looked from
the ugly baboon to the trim little shepherd, as if
he did not know which was the more dangerous
enemy, and thereupon made good his escape by

bolting into the tangle of evergreens on the sum-
mit of the rock,
Meanwhile, neither of the supposed foes noticed
the disappearance of the hare, but each had his
gaze fixed on a pretty little maiden sitting de-
murely in a tiny grotto, and so nearly hidden by
the tall ferns, as to be noticed only when sought
for. But both the shepherd and the baboon
seemed to know just where to look for the little
flower-crowned nymph, whom each saluted with a
song, after his own fashion. The shepherd played
softly on his flute a charming little air, and then
sang a love-song addressed to the maiden; while
the baboon struck fiercely a drum, grinning and
gibbering, and casting looks of defiance at his
rival. But the stony-hearted maiden gave no sign,
looking as listless as though she had heard not a
word, and would n't have cared a fig if she had.
Suddenly, the music ceased, the strange panto-
mime ended, and the wondering crowd, or those of
them who had not seen the exhibition before,
learned that they had been watching only a set of
automata or figures moved by machinery, wound
up like a clock, to run for a certain time, and then
stop, as a watch does, when "run down."
The rock was manufactured for the purpose,
and so it effectually hid the source of the water;
even the ferns and grasses were artificial; and the
only real things were the water and the fish. But
that must have been wonderful inventive genius
which contrived this complicated machinery, con-
ti-.ll._- so many figures, and producing such a
variety of sounds and motions.
At the Crystal Palace in London, not long ago,
the automaton chess-player was again brought
into notice. It was invented in Austria, by a Hun-
garian gentleman, in the year 1769. So you see it
is more than a century old, but it is just as inter-
esting to us as though our grandfathers had never
looked on and admired and wondered at its curious
performances. The chess-player is a Turk of life
size, and wears a long black beard, with the turban
and loose robes made in Turkish fashion. He sits
just behind a round box, about two feet broad, and
two and a half feet high; and this box is attached
to the seat the figure occupies. Castors are placed
beneath, so that the seat, figure, and box can be
moved together from place to place, in the room,
at the convenience of the operator. In a game,
the automaton always has the first move, and
always selects the white pieces. He plays with his
left hand, which is said to be the result of a slight
oversight on the part of the inventor, who did not
detect his mistake until the work was too far ad-
vanced to be altered. But the figure moves his
pieces easily and quickly, and all his motions are
both graceful and seemingly intelligent.




Of course there must be some one who controls
the movements of the automaton; for he plays
with different people, sometimes winning and
sometimes losing; but in what manner he is thus
controlled is the wonderful part of it. The box
behind which the figure sits contains a quantity of
wire springs, but there is no apparent connection
with machinery elsewhere; and the space seems
too small to admit even a very little human being.
Before beginning a game, the operator always
opens several small doors in the box before the
figure, and two also in the lower part of the body,
besides raising the Turkish robe that covers the
automaton, even inserting a lighted candle, so that
the whole interior of the figure is plainly visible.
In this state, any person in the audience has the
privilege of making such examination as he desires;
but beyond springs, wheels, barrels, and tubes,
nearly filling the cavity, nothing is found.
After all are satisfied that there is no living being
concealed in the machinery, as far as their eyes
can tell them, the doors are again closed, the
figure is adjusted, and the "works" are wound up
by a key inserted in a small hole in the side of the
box. Then a cushion is placed under the left arm
of the Turk, while the right arm and hand are
extended on the box, and the game begins, some
one in the audience volunteering as an opponent.
One of the most curious clocks ever made was
completed not many years ago by Karl Ketler, a
German miner of Pennsylvania. It so nearly re-
sembles the famous Strasburg clock as to seem
almost an imitation; but Ketler declares that he
has never seen the great clock of Strasburg, and
that he never even heard of it until his own work
was nearly completed. At any rate, some account
of Ketler's clock will be of interest to American
boys and girls, as the first piece of mechanism of
this sort our own continent has produced.
Ketler was occupied three whole years in the
construction of his wonderful time-piece, during
the last of the three working at it day and night,
and often so absorbed in his undertaking as to
forget both food and sleep. He was a man of very
limited education, without any of the advantages
of travel or wide observation, and the whole work
of this curious clock was performed with no other
tools than two common jack-knives.
The clock is eight feet high and four broad, has
sixteen sides, and is surmounted by a globe, over
which is a cross. There are four dial-plates, all
carved in curious, emblematic figures of most
unique design. One of the dials shows the day
of the month; another, the day of the week; a

third, the minutes and seconds; and the fourth,
the hour of 'the day. Above the dial-plates, a
_ 11, .. extends about half way around the clock,
and in the center of this .I,., is a carved
wooden figure of the Savior, while at each end is
a small door opening into the body of the clock.
Over the right door is an eagle, and over the left a
rooster. Twice a day,-that is, at noon and mid-
night,-there is a sweet chiming of bells, during
which the small door at the right opens, twelve
wooden figures, personating the twelve apostles,
march in procession, with St. Peter at their head,
all along the gallery. Each in turn, as he passes
the Lord, bows with face toward him, and then,
resuming his former position, walks slowly forward
till he reaches the door at the left, which they all
enter. When Peter salutes the Lord, the cock
crows; and when Judas, who is in the rear, with
one hand shielding his face and the other grasping
a bag, reaches the cock, it crows, twice. At the
extreme corners of the clock, placed on pedestals,
are beautifully carved statues of Moses and Elias,
and in the rear are two obelisks of the Egyptian
style, inscribed in hieroglyphics, and designed to
symbolize the ancient period of history. The clock
will run thirty-two hours, and, by a special attach-
ment, the procession of the apostles may be re-
peated whenever desired.
But the most astonishing thing I ever heard of in
the way of a time-piece is a clock described by a
Hindoo rajah, as belonging to a native prince of
Upper India, and jealously guarded as the rarest
treasure of his luxurious palace.
In front of the clock's, disk was a gong, swung
upon poles, and near it was a pile of artificial
human limbs. The pile was made up of the full
number of parts for twelve perfect bodies, but all
lay heaped together in seeming confusion.
Whenever the hands of the clock indicated the
hour of one, out from the pile crawled just the
number of parts needed to form the frame of one
man, part joining itself to part with quick, metal-
lic click; and, when completed, the figure sprang
up, seized a mallet, and II:,', up to the gong,
struck one blow that sent the sound pealing through
every room and corridor of that stately castle.
This done, he returned to the pile and fell to pieces
again. When two o'clock came, two men arose
and did likewise; and so through all the hours of
the day, the number of figures being the same as
the number of the hour, till at noon and midnight,
the entire heap sprang up, and marching to the
gong, struck, one after another, each his blow,
making twelve in all; and then fell to pieces.





7-: BY J. S.
/ 1LLING Kitty McHost was deaf as a post,
And Wellington Stowe could n't speak;
S- So, you see, 't were as well," said Miss Kitty McHost,
For a man to come courting' in Greek t
If it 's me you are after, dear Wellington Stowe,
Just bring in a bit of a trumpet and blow."
\.. So he blew and he blew, his dear lady to win;
''' i'l. But she cried in despair: "Will he never begin?"
SAnd then in the trumpet he silently sighed,
Whilst fondly and sweetly his lady he eyed;-
" Would you deafen a body! she cried, Mr. Stowe;
If you blow loud as that, all the neighbors will know!"
And so it was settled. And long may they thrive,-
The quietest, happiest couple alive!

(A Fable.)


THERE was once a pigeon who thought she
would like to go to sea. It was so beautiful out
there, over the blue waters, and she was really
getting tired of living always on the land, with
men, women, and children continually about her.
There were no birds, except chickens and canaries,
who were so constantly surrounded by human
beings as pigeons. To be sure, the human beings
were very kind and attentive, building houses for
them and throwing grain out for them, just as
they did for their chickens, but then there was
something humiliating in the fact of always stay-
ing about houses and barns, and having children
come out and coax you to eat out of their hands.
There was nothing really disagreeable in that,
for they always brought nice bread-crumbs, but,
after all, it was n't the proper thing for a free
bird with strong wings. There was something
better in the world. She would go to sea. And
away she went.
There was also a hawk who thought he would
go to sea. He had been in the habit of catching
fish in the rivers and bays, near the forest where
he lived, but he thought that there must be a

much better chance to fish out in the wide ocean,
where there were so many fish that some of them
would be obliged, very often, to come up near the
surface of the water, where he could pounce down
upon them. True enough, it would be hard work
to carry the fish he caught from such a distance to
his home, especially if they happened to -be big
ones,-which he hoped they would be,-but then
he knew that it was foolish to expect to have every-
thing easy in this world, and so away he went to
The pigeon thought it was splendid. She was
miles and miles from land. The sun shone, the
water sparkled, the wind blew fresh and free, and
she flew along as strong and vigorously as if she
had been a sea-gull or a Mother Carey's chicken.
How foolish," she said to herself, that I
never thought of this before I might have made
fifty excursions to this lovely charming sea."
The hawk did not think the sea was so very fine.
The waves rolled and tumbled about in such a
way that he could not see the fish very well, and
he felt a little afraid that if he were to make a
swoop, a wave might dash over him, and he would





7-: BY J. S.
/ 1LLING Kitty McHost was deaf as a post,
And Wellington Stowe could n't speak;
S- So, you see, 't were as well," said Miss Kitty McHost,
For a man to come courting' in Greek t
If it 's me you are after, dear Wellington Stowe,
Just bring in a bit of a trumpet and blow."
\.. So he blew and he blew, his dear lady to win;
''' i'l. But she cried in despair: "Will he never begin?"
SAnd then in the trumpet he silently sighed,
Whilst fondly and sweetly his lady he eyed;-
" Would you deafen a body! she cried, Mr. Stowe;
If you blow loud as that, all the neighbors will know!"
And so it was settled. And long may they thrive,-
The quietest, happiest couple alive!

(A Fable.)


THERE was once a pigeon who thought she
would like to go to sea. It was so beautiful out
there, over the blue waters, and she was really
getting tired of living always on the land, with
men, women, and children continually about her.
There were no birds, except chickens and canaries,
who were so constantly surrounded by human
beings as pigeons. To be sure, the human beings
were very kind and attentive, building houses for
them and throwing grain out for them, just as
they did for their chickens, but then there was
something humiliating in the fact of always stay-
ing about houses and barns, and having children
come out and coax you to eat out of their hands.
There was nothing really disagreeable in that,
for they always brought nice bread-crumbs, but,
after all, it was n't the proper thing for a free
bird with strong wings. There was something
better in the world. She would go to sea. And
away she went.
There was also a hawk who thought he would
go to sea. He had been in the habit of catching
fish in the rivers and bays, near the forest where
he lived, but he thought that there must be a

much better chance to fish out in the wide ocean,
where there were so many fish that some of them
would be obliged, very often, to come up near the
surface of the water, where he could pounce down
upon them. True enough, it would be hard work
to carry the fish he caught from such a distance to
his home, especially if they happened to -be big
ones,-which he hoped they would be,-but then
he knew that it was foolish to expect to have every-
thing easy in this world, and so away he went to
The pigeon thought it was splendid. She was
miles and miles from land. The sun shone, the
water sparkled, the wind blew fresh and free, and
she flew along as strong and vigorously as if she
had been a sea-gull or a Mother Carey's chicken.
How foolish," she said to herself, that I
never thought of this before I might have made
fifty excursions to this lovely charming sea."
The hawk did not think the sea was so very fine.
The waves rolled and tumbled about in such a
way that he could not see the fish very well, and
he felt a little afraid that if he were to make a
swoop, a wave might dash over him, and he would





not like that. He knew that birds did fish in the But he saw no fishing-bird, and no fishes came
sea, but he did not understand just how they did near the top of the water,-at least, none that he
it. He would like to see some bird fishing. He could see. To be sure, there were some porpoises


' : ''
--= :Cl;

--.- A. i
'';i,, .jj
. g .-L -,.,

. .:-.- ,+ .
., ,. V

.. -

~~ I~

then could learn how it was done, and if it was not rolling about, but what could a hawk do with a
a very large bird, he could take his fish from him. porpoise ? While he was thus beginning to feel a

l88o. ]



little discouraged, he saw a small bird flying about,
as if it were simply enjoying itself, without having
any particular object in view. It certainly was not
What else could bring a bird out here ?" said
the hawk to himself. It surely can't expect to
find insects or seeds, out on the ocean. It must
be a foolish sort of a bird. Upon my word, I
believe it 's a pigeon It is a pigeon, strayed, per-
haps, from some ship, for no pigeon would be
foolish enough to fly out here when it might be
safe on shore. It's good luck for me, for I 'd rather
have a fat bird than a fish. So here goes."
And he flew after the pigeon as fast as his wings
would carry him.
Our poor pigeon saw the hawk just in time.
She had been chased by hawks before, but never
by such a large and fierce-looking creature as this.
But she knew there was only one chance of safety
for her-she must keep above the hawk. If she
allowed him to rise above her, he would swoop
down upon her in an instant. For a hawk drops
upon his prey like a falling cannon-ball.
So up she went into the air as fast as she could
flap her wings. The hawk followed, but he could
not fly straight upward as easily as he could go in
other directions. Still he kept pretty close to his
intended prey.
Oh dear said the pigeon. Must I go up,
and up, and up, for ever? Must I go into the blue
sky before I can get away from him? How he
does fly I could always escape from hawks before,
but this one is such a terrible fellow. He '11 never
get tired."
It seemed very much as if this were really the
case, for the hawk steadily followed her, as she
went higher and higher, and he showed no symp-
toms of changing his mind. Onward and upward
they both went together. There were other birds
flying in long lines through the air. Perhaps he
would go after some of them? But no; he never
even looked at them.
But at last the pigeon saw something which gave
her a little hope, and she needed some encourage-
ment, for her wings were beginning to feel rather
tired, and the blue sky seemed as far away as ever.
She saw, not very far off, a ship. There were
other ships, which could be seen in the distance,
but this one was near enough for her sharp eyes to
perceive the people on board.

There are men and women," she said, "and
even children. If I could only get among them I
should be safe. But I am afraid to fly down. He
would have me before I could get half way
But something must be done; she must reach
that ship or be caught by the hawk. An idea
entered her head. She flew upward so rapidly
that she increased the distance between herself and
the hawk, and then she suddenly changed her
course and dashed downward, in a slanting direc-
tion, toward the ship. The hawk instantly followed
her, but she flew so rapidly, going forward as well
as downward, that he found it difficult to get above
her so as to make a swoop. They were rapidly
approaching the ship, and although the hawk did
not like the neighborhood of human beings he
would not give up that pigeon. He was bound to
catch her before she reached the ship. So he
made a great effort and reached a point almost
directly above her, and then down he came. But
the pigeon made a little swoop toward the ship,
and then down she came, too, as if she had been
shot. The hawk just missed her. If she had not
made her little swoop he would have had her. As
it was, he nearly struck against one of the spars of
the ship, while, almost exhausted, she fell through
the rigging to the deck.
In a moment, a little girl had picked her up, and
was stroking and comforting her in her lap. The
people on the ship had been watching that'strange
chase through the air, and right glad they were
when they saw the pigeon safe among them. The
poor bird nestled down in the little girl's lap and
cooed and panted. The hawk flew slowly away.
He did not try to fish any more. He could do
better in fresh water. Even birds got away from
him here. He would not go to sea any more.
The pigeon also thought that she would not go
to sea any more. She had not been in danger of
the great waves, nor had she been overtaken by
a storm. The same kind of accident happened
which might be expected to happen on land,-
only worse. And here she was among men,
women and children, again, safe and well cared
for; and how glad to be there !
Who would have supposed," she thought to
herself, that it all would turn out in this way?
But I never did know, at the beginning, how a
thing was going to end."




WITHOUT were the wind and the whirling snow,
Within were the lovelight and fireside glow,
And a realm of fancy far, far away
From the storm and the cold of that bleak win-
ter day.

For the land was green and the skies were fair
Where the children rode in the old arm-chair;
Jasper for driver, and Bessie and Kate,
And Arthur, for footman, behind in state.

Away they went with their airy steed,
Through summer sunshine; o'er flowery mead,

No road nor highway before them lay;
Through a world of their own they rode that day.

Ah, nie! who can tell, in the years to be
What journeys over the land or sea,
With pride or profit or joy replete,
May await the tread of those childish feet?

But whithersoever their wanderings lead,
No deeper contentment or zest can exceed
That which filled their young hearts, as they gal-
loped away,
In grandfather's chair on that bleak winter day !




"; {


~- I
PJ; :;i




* 4~-.

- S;

.- .----



(A Farm-house Story.)


:\ i
EVERYBODY at the farm-
.. house felt pretty tired that
night. Even the boys and
Girls were quite willing to go
to bed early. The next day
would be Sunday, with time
S to rest and get over the ex-
', citement they had been under,
S -1m h"but they all did as much sound
I I sleeping as they knew how.
0I In fact, when Bi Hunter and
his sister and their older rela-
tives awoke, that Sunday morn-
ing, Aunt Keziah's household,
all except Piney's mother, had
been up and dressed for a
good while.
"I wonder if the city folks
will sleep all day?" said Aunt
SiI Keziah. "Ann, ring the bell
to wake 'em."
I '1 ring it," said Roxy.
"Ring away, then. I ex-
pect it '11 have to be rung more 'n once, if they 're
to be got up in time. City folks don't know what
early rising is."
Is n't it morning in the city?" asked Roxy.

Of course it is, but then most of the people
don't know it. There, now, get your bell and
That was one thing Roxy loved to do, and there
was not a particle of doubt that she would make it
heard by everybody upstairs. She even went to
the very door of her Aunt Sarah's room and rang
till Uncle Liph called to ask her if she were ring-
ing for church time.
No," said Roxy, "it 's only getting up time."
Is breakfast ready ?"
"No, sir; but we 've begun to cook the fish.
Aunt Keziah says if it 's cooked to death it '11 be
all your fault. She can't help it."
Then Roxy wondered why her Uncle laughed
so, but she gave another good ring, and hurried
down for a look at the pickerel while he was
, Aunt Keziah did not allow it to be cooked to
death," however, and Grandfather Hunter and
Uncle Liph declared that they had not enjoyed a
breakfast so much for a long time.
It 's late for us," said Aunt Keziah, but I
s'pose it's early for you. I reckon we'll all have just
about time to dress for meeting. How many of
you are going ? "
Grandfather wanted to go, but said he felt too
tired and lame, and Piney's mother felt like keep-
ing him company at home. Chub was too young




to go, but all the rest were ready or, at least, they
meant to be.
"Then, Mary," said Aunt Sarah, "you, and
Bayard, and Richard can go on foot. Your father
and I, and Aunt Keziah and Roxy and Susie will
fill the carryall."
"I should say you would," remarked Piney's
mother. It's a beautiful walk, Mary. I used to
prefer it to .ii I-_."
Mary was fond of walking, she said, and went a
much greater distance than that, in the city, almost
every day.
Why, you can't do any shopping at all," she
said, "without i!:., several miles."
"Country walking will tire you," said Aunt
Keziah, "but it '11 be good for you."
Mary had rarely seen such rows of elms, and
maples, and horse-chestnuts as lined that road.
The road itself was dusty enough, but there was
no wind of any consequence and not a great many
carriages to stir it up. Now and then a great,
farmer's wagon came trolling slowly along, with a
family of good people in it, on their way to meeting,
and Mary said she had never before seen so many
queer sun-bonnets and parasols.
Bonnets ? said Piney. Now, you wait till
we 'ye a chance to rummage our garret. I '11 show
you what sort of things people used to wear."
The garret? said Mary. I 'd like that im-
mensely. You must not forget to show it to me."
There goes the second bell," said Piney to Bi,
at that moment, and in a minute more an open
carriage rolled by and they heard Roxy c IIi .. :
"Piney, the bell 's tolling. You '11 be late."
The carryall had been driven very slowly indeed,
as was proper on Sunday, but had nevertheless
arrived a few minutes earlier than the party on foot.
There was a wide platform at the top of the flight
of steps leading into the meeting-house, and a good
many people were lingering there before they went
in. All of them knew Aunt Keziah, and Susie and
Roxy were surprised to see how many-especially
of the older people-seemed to be acquainted with
Uncle Liph and Aunt Sarah. They all seemed
glad to see them, too, and there was a great deal
of shaking hands, and saying How d' ye do,"
and asking about others who were not there.
Roxy, too, knew everybody and felt that she had
a duty to do.
"Mrs. Simmons," she said to a good old lady,
who was leaning on her husband's arm, waiting a
chance to speak to Roxy's relatives, this little
girl is my Cousin Susie."
"Is she, my dear? I knew her mother when
she was very young, but not so young as Susie is.
Will you kiss me, dear? "
"Yes, Susie, kiss her," said Roxy. It 's Mrs.

Simmons, and that 's Deacon Simmons. Some-
times she kisses me. It wont hurt you a bit."
No, it wont," said the old lady, as Susie lifted
her fresh and pleasant little face. I was a little
girl once. But that was long ago."
"Ever so long ago," added Roxy. "And
Cousin Mary and Bi are coming along with Piney.
There was n't room for 'em in the carriage and so
they had to walk. I rode."
Deacon Simmons and his wife knew Roxy very
well, and they might have said more to her and
Susie if Aunt Keziah had not just then spoken to
them. And then Roxy, a moment or so later,
tugged at the old lady's gown to tell her Piney and
the rest were coming. And then the sweet-toned
old bell, up there ever so high in the steeple,
ceased tolling, and it was time for all to go in.
Aunt Keziah led the way to a seat in the middle
aisle, but after Uncle Liph and Aunt Sarah and
Bayard and Mary and Susie had walked into it, she
seemed to think that was enough, and took Roxy
with her into the next pew behind.
Roxy heard her whisper to Aunt Sarah:
It 's just as well she and Susie should n't sit
After the sermon, and while people were getting
into their wagons and carriages, there was a great
deal more hand-shaking to be done, and the min-
ister himself shook hands with Roxy and Susie.
He said to Roxy :
"I suppose you can't stay to Sunday-school
to-day ? "
"No, sir," said Roxy. There 's company at
our house. There they are. We brought 'em all
to church except grandpa. He 'd have come, but
he says he 's rheumatis'd one of his fore feet, and
he can't come."
That 's a good reason," said the minister, with
a narrow escape from laughing. Your grand-
father is a pretty old man, now. Older than I am
by several years."
Yes, sir, he 's dreadful old. But then he
never boasts of it."
I suppose you mean he never complains of it.
Well, that 's right. I wont, either. You 've two
nice little nieces here, Miss Merrill."
Yes," remarked Aunt Keziah, and you 've
already met the others. I 'm rich in nephews and
"And we 've got eight cows," began Roxy, but
just at that moment Uncle Liph took hold of her
hand to lead her to the carriage, and Aunt Keziah
was left to tell the minister as much more or as
little as she might think fit.
The walk homewas a pretty warm one for Piney
and his cousins, and the carryall was far ahead,
for it had started at the same time, and people




always drive home from church faster than they
drive in going. But they arrived in good time for
dinner, and very hungry.


THAT was a pleasant Sunday afternoon and
evening at the farm-house. Uncle Liph said he
felt as if he were doing a whole month's resting.
There was plenty of music. Cousin Mary was
already well aware that her Aunt Elizabeth, Piney's
mother, had been a good musician in her younger
days, but neither she nor Aunt Sarah knew how
much of power she had preserved, in spite of ill-
health and widowhood. As for Piney, nothing
would make him touch the piano till his mother
said she was tired. Even then he only played a
few simple accompaniments, which he did very
well, and insisted upon Mary, and afterward Bay-
ard, taking his place.
Roxy sang in every hymn they tried, or, at least,
she did the best she could to sing, and her little
voice was quite a sweet one.
After supper, Grandpa Hunter took Roxy on
his knee, and told her some wonderful stories that
she never had heard before. Susie came, too, and
pulled up a chair beside them, and even Piney
seemed to be listening now and then, until Aunt
Keziah said:
There, father, she wont sleep a wink to-night,
with all those things in her head, and it 's past her
bed-time now."
Don't you think you 'll sleep, Roxy asked
grandpa, as he put his wrinkled hand on her dark
Her head, as she sat in his lap, had been leaning
on his shoulder, and his last story had been a long
She '11 sleep, I guess," said Piney, when Roxy
made no answer; "but you 'll have to wake her
up now before you put her to bed."
"I should say so !" exclaimed Aunt Keziah.
The poor little thing has entertained her com-
pany till she 's tired out."
Roxy Roxy said her grandfather. "Wake
up; it 's bed-time. The chickens are all on the
Roxy's eyes were opening, and she heard about
the chickens.
No," she said; the little chickens creep under
the old hen, and the big chickens roost on the
sleigh in the barn."
-There was plainly little to be feared for her from
Grandpa Hunter's stories, and Susie was used to
them. As for Chub, he had been in his crib for
some time.
Bi," said Piney, let 's go to bed early. One

of the hands '11 take care of the cows in the morn-
ing. You and I can have a good fish and a swim
before breakfast."
That 'll suit me," said Bi. Seems as if I
was never so sleepy in ,ii ".. life."
The older folks said the same, and, before long,
the whole farm-house was as quiet as one of Uncle
Liph's stuffed birds.
That is a time of the year, however, when the
sunlight stays in the world as late as it can every
evening, and comes back as early as possible in the
morning. It was just as if the sun could not bear
to be away from so beautiful a thing as the earth is
in June.
It was a good night to -sleep in, not too warm,
with all the windows open to the fresh breeze from
the hills, and even Roxy awoke bright and early
the next morning.
Oh, the eggs she exclaimed, as she sprang
out of bed. We must get some for Uncle Liph's
Susie was fast asleep yet, but Roxy leaned across
the bed and shook her.
Wake up, Susie Wake up !"
"I 'm awake. Is it morning? That is, I 'm
almost pretty near awake," yawned Susie, as she
opened her blue eyes.
Morning ? Why, if you listen with both your
ears, you can hear the hens cackle. That 's at the
"I hear them. What do they do it for?"
So we shan't forget about the eggs. Some-
times we might, if the hens did n't cackle."
Don't they ever forget ? "
I guess not; I never heard them forget. Hurry,
now, and we '11 get ever so many."
Susie was-hurrying, for she liked the idea of
hunting for eggs. In a few minutes more the girls
were in the kitchen, asking Ann for the egg-basket.
It was quite a pretty one, made of willow, with
a cover that was tied on by a red ribbon.
The two children had talked their way to the
barn-yard gate. There were two gates,-abig one
and a little one.
The big gate 's for wagons," said Roxy. I
could never open that; but there 's nothing but a
latch on this one. Oh, dear me "
What 's the matter, Roxy ? "
Why, Susie, there's Piney's bad sheep. They've
left him in the barn-yard."
Is that a bad sheep ? I thought all the sheep
were real good. Does he bite ? "
He is n't a bit good. He does n't bite, but he
bunts. Don't you see ? He's got horns. Don't
say a word to him."
But, Roxy, wont he run after us?"
I guess not. But you must n't point your




finger at him. We '1l run right across to the barn,
before he thinks about us."
For all Susie could see, the old ram looked
peaceable enough, as he nibbled at a bunch of hay
off there on the other side of the barn-yard, and
she hurried along at Roxy's side, with one hand on
the handle of the basket and a sharp lookout on
the "bad sheep." Roxy further explained:
"He 's one of Piney's pets. Piney feeds him
and makes him do all sorts of things; but I don't
like him a bit. He bunts dreadfully."
They entered the barn through a small door that
led into the stable. All the horses and cows were
gone to pasture or to work, but both the stable and
the rest of the barn had a neat and tidy look.
Aunt Keziah could not bear to have any part of
her place out of order.
Where are the hens? asked Susie.
"Why, they 're everywhere. I know where to
find. some of the nests, and we can hunt for some
more. There is n't much hay here now, but there
will be pretty soon."
Where do they get it ?"
Out in the hayfield. We '11 go and see them
make hay. May be they 'll ride us on a hay-wagon.
That's fun. Did you ever have a hay ride?"
"No," said Susie; but I saw a picture of one
A picture of a hay ride ?-with a big load of
hay and some girls like you and me ?"
And some big girls and boys."
"Wish I had one. Oh, Susie, here 's a nest,.
and there 's two eggs in it! "
"Two? Why, there 's three."
No, there is n't. These two are eggs, and
that 's a nest-egg. We just leave that in the nest."
How do you know it 's a nest-egg ? "
"Why," said Roxy, in some surprise, "it is n't
an egg Don't you see, it's made of white glass?"
So it is And there 's something printed on
"Piney put that on. He says they are fraud
eggs. They fool the hens."
"How?" said Susie. "The hens can't read.
This one says, 'I 'm a fraud.' "
"Oh, the hens think it 's one of their own
eggs. They don't know any better."
The stupid things "
Roxy had already put those two real eggs into
her basket, and in another minute she had shown
Susie a second nest. This time there were three
besides the nest-egg, and Susie examined that with
great care.
It says, I 'm lonely.' "
That 's Piney's fun. He cut a verse of poetry
from a newspaper, once, and pasted it on a nest-

Did it do any good ?"
Good? Not a bit. He said all the hens kept
away from that nest, and he had to wash the
poetry off."
It was capital fun, and they found nest after
nest in queer, out-of-the-way corners. In one
place there was a great yellow hen on the nest.
Don't disturb her," said Roxy.
She 's one of Piney's heathens, and she 's sit-
ting on ever so many eggs."
A heathen ? exclaimed Susie.
He says so. She's a Chinee. She 's real tall.
He calls her a shang-high."
"I 've heard of them," said Susie. "And so
that 's a shang-high. I never saw one before."
"Why, Roxy, the basket's almost full," said
Susie. We don't want any more, do we? "
Guess we could n't find any more. But is n't
it fun ? "
Splendid Oh, Roxy, will that bad sheep be
out there ?"
Yes, but we need n't say anything to him.
He '1 be good."

WHEN Piney and Bi got into the boat, that
morning, the sun was hardly half an hour high.
Bi thought he had never seen anything more beau-
tiful than the lake, and the woods and fields
around it.
It 's better than being in the city," he ex-
claimed, as Piney took up the oars and pulled rap-
idly away from the landing. But which shall we
do first,-fish or swim ? "
Swim, of course," said Piney. The water
is n't a bit too cold. Then we can fish till break-
fast time. I never stay in long. Not long enough
to get tired."
Where do you go to go in swimming?"
Over there by the bushes. Nobody can see
you from the road or the house, and the water 's
deep, and there is n't a bit of eel grass on the
What would that do ?"
Might tangle your feet. Water lily stems
might tangle you, too. I don't like anything to
touch me in the water."
Did you ever touch a fish ? "
"No, indeed. They get out of the way, fast
enough. You put on more clothes than I did.
Why don't you begin to undress ? "
I brought my bathing suit."
SBathing suit ? Oh, yes, I 've heard of those
things. I 'd like to see one. That 's it, is it?"
I had it, last year, down by the sea-shore.
It 's as good as new."
Bi had unrolled his bathing suit and spread it




out across his knees. It was a very good one, and
Bi was half inclined to be proud of it till Piney re-
marked :
Well, you wear that, if you want to. I 'd
rather have mine."
Yours ? I did n't see you bring any."
"Oh, yes, it's on now. Under all my other
clothes. It wont come off till I 'm skinned."
There was evidently a spice of fun in Piney
Hunter, and by the time he had rowed the boat to
the bathing place, Bi had decided not to wear his
very nobby bathing suit.
It was a retired and sheltered sort of a cove,
with high, shelving, .-. .-1I banks, and a clean
bottom under the clear, bright water.
Bi was a little slow in making his preparations,
but it seemed hardly a minute from the time the
boat struck the bank before Piney stepped to the
outer end of it, threw his heels into the air with a
great spring, and went down head first through
the splashing surface.
"What ..1... that was exclaimed Bi. But
why does n't he come up ? Ah, there he is."
There he was, five or six rods away, for Piney
was a little proud of his skill, and could "show
off," now and then.
Can you swim under water?" asked Bi, as
Piney came ii,. -.. back.
Of course, but I have to get a good deep dive
first. Come on in."
I 'm a coming," said Bi, but he did not try a
spring from the boat. He waded in from the
shore, and was half uncomfortable to find how
quickly the water deepened almost to his shoul-
Is it very deep ?" he asked.
Splendid. No danger of touching bottom,
anywhere. Guess it 's twenty or thirty feet out
here. See me tread water."
How do you do that?"
"Just the same as if you were walking upstairs
in a hurry. Why don't you strike out ?"
They say fresh water's harder to swim in than
Salt water must be easy, then. I would n't
care to have any thing easier than this."
There was no help for it. Bi thought of the
Chevalier Bayard, the knight "without fear and
without reproach," and he threw himself boldly
Don't strike so fast," shouted Piney. You '11
tire yourself out. Take it easy."
And, so saying, he threw himself on his back,
and darted away in a manner that made his cousin
open his eyes.
Now, however, that Bi was actually started, and
found that he could swim in fresh water so much

more easily than he had expected, he really began
to enjoy it. Not that he ventured very far from
shore or from the boat, but he was fast gaining
confidence in himself, when Piney, who had been

showing him "how to float," rolled over and struck
out for land.
"Are you tired?" asked Bi.
No, and I don't mean to be. That 's all the
swimming I want, before breakfast. Let 's put on
our clothes and go for some fish."
Bi was willing, and they had brought plenty of




tackle and bait. Neither of them was at all
wearied by the morning bath, and dressing did
not take them long, after a minute or so of work
with a crash towel.
"You 'll soon learn," said Piney. "You must
go in every morning."
"Wont that be too much? "
It would if you stayed in long. If you know
enough to come out in time, it wont hurt you, and
you '11 learn ten times as much as you would if you
only went in now and then and tired yourself half
to death."
Is that the way you learned? "
That's all the training I ever had. Don't you
think it 's enough ? "
Bi thought it was, and the warm sunshine that
was now pouring upon him felt wonderfully nice.
The fish bit pretty well, as they are apt to do so
early in the morning in a lake like that, and the
boys had quite a string of perch and "pumpkin-
seeds" by the time Piney said they must start for
the house.
"We '11 have 'em for breakfast, if we get in in
time to get them cleaned. They 're nicest when
they 're just out of the water."
So father says," said Bi. He 's very fond of
them. "
Glad of it. There 'll be fresh eggs, too, right
from the nests."
Piney was more positive than he would have
been, about that, if he had known what was going
on in the barn-yard. He and Bi reached the land-
ing and hurried to the house with their fish.
"They 're very nice," remarked Aunt Keziah;
"but I wish you 'd go and call Roxy. She and
Susie went to the barn for eggs ever so long ago."
Piney started at once, and Bi followed him, for
want of something better to do.
They reached the gate just a little after the chil-
dren came out of the barn. Susie's first thought
had been as to the whereabouts of the "bad
There he is !" she exclaimed to Roxy. Right
in our way." And as she said it' she pointed
straight at him with her little forefinger.
Now, Piney's pet ram had been taught to con-
sider a point" as a sort of a challenge, and his
woolly head was lowered in an instant.
O, Susie !" screamed Roxy. "What have
you done? He 's going to bunt!"
Susie screamed and sprang away toward the
gate, letting go of the handle of the basket. Roxy
looked around for a morhent in great uncertainty,
but there was an old wagon-box lying near, bottom
up, and she set the basket down on the corner of
that before she followed Susie. The ram had stood
still, shaking his head for a moment, and the two
VOL. VII.-24.

girls were out of his reach by the time he got
through what Roxy called "making motions."
When he looked up, all he saw to strike at was the
basket of eggs on the corner of the wagon-box. It
was not pointing at him, to be sure, but it was
there, and when Pineylooked over the gate he was
charging for it, full tilt.
If the old ram had been one of the knights Bi
was fond of reading about, he could not have made
a fairer hit at that basket. Of course the box
stopped him, but it was very bad for the eggs.
The cover flew off from the basket as it went over,
and the eggs went every which way." Perhaps
the bad sheep might have followed them, but
Piney darted in and caught him by the horns,
scolding him as sharply as he could between his
loud peals of laughter.
."Bi," he said, "come in and save the eggs.
Only about half of'em are broken."
Bi was laughing, too, but he picked up the eggs
as fast as he could, saying:
"Well, about half of 'em are. Their shells
were n't made for it."
It 's good fun, though. I wish the rest could
have seen it. You old, horny-headed rascal, I '11
have to tie you up."
Susie pointed at him," said Roxy. She for-
He remembered, then. You get back through
the gate, Bi. If he once gets going there 's no
stopping him. He'll butt at everything he sees, all
He 's the worst sheep I ever saw," remarked
"But he '11 do just what Piney says," said Roxy.


THERE was a good deal of fun made, at the
breakfast table, by Uncle Liph and Grandfather
Hunter, over the conduct of the bad sheep and
the sad fate of the eggs, and Bi told his father what
a splendid swim he had had.
"Keep it up, Bayard," said his father. "You
have made a good beginning."
But, Piney," said his mother, "what will your
cousin find to do to amuse himself while you are at
0. there '11 be a game of base-ball on the
green. I 'l1 show him where. He can come to
the village with me."
"And he can take a letter to the post-office for
me," added Mary.
I hope there will be letters for the rest of us,
too," said Grandfather. "I want to hear from
your grandmother."
"I left her safe in Boston," said Uncle Liph;




"but it 's time I heard from Mr. Sadler about
"He 's your junior partner now, is he not?"
asked Piney's mother.
Yes, and he has more of the management in
his hands than I have. I trust him entirely. A
very excellent young man."
Young men nowadays aint what they used to
be," remarked Aunt Keziah; but even Grandfather
Hunter and Aunt Mary had a good word to say in
Mr. Sadler's behalf, and Piney made up his mind
that his uncle's junior partner must be something
quite remarkable.
After breakfast, he and Bi started at once for
the village.
This is Monday," he said, as they walked
along, and I would n't give much for all the boys
'11 learn to-day and to-morrow and next day."
Why not?" asked Bi.
O, these last days of the term don't count for
anything. We 're a little afraid of Examination.
I am, I know. But then it 's too late to do much
on our reviews, and we 're thinking of the Exhibi-
tion and vacation and all sorts of things."
What 's the Exhibition to be ?"
"0 we always have one. Dialogues and speak-
ing pieces, and singing and music, and visitors and
all that sort of thing. Sometimes I think it 's fun
and sometimes it is n't."
You 've to speak a piece ? "
Of course. I always do. I 've got a short
one. Shorter than Roxy's."
Is she to speak ?"
She would n't miss it for anything. Can you
play base-ball ? "
0, yes; I belong to a club."
And Bi was more than a little proud to speak of
somethingin the way of out-of-door sports in which
he could claim to be expert.
Now, do you know, I 'm glad of that. I wish
you 'd take a little of the nonsense out of Kyle
Wilbur and the rest. They '11 be sure to think you
can't play worth a cent."
I '11 try and show 'em," said Bi, with a deter-
mined look on his face. I don't care where they
put me. In our club we change places all over the
So do we, but it 's all irregular. We just play
as it happens."
Are you a good player?"
How do I know? I never saw anybody play
but our boys ?"
That was dodging the question, for Piney was
by all odds the best boy in the academy, of his
age, at either bat or ball. He was in somewhat
of a hurry, that morning, however, and did not
seem inclined to talk much.

There is the post-office," he said, as they were
entering the village. "Over there by the tavern.
The southern stage '11 be in with the mail in an
hour or so. It 'll take 'em another hour to dis-
tribute it. If I were you I 'd wait for that."
I will. Letters that left the city on Saturday
will come by that."
Yes. I say, Bi, look at the boys on the green.
I wonder how many of them '11 cut their lessons
this morning? I wont."
He never did, in fact, and his rosy face was
one of the things sure to be seen in his class
every time. Kyle Wilbur, however, and Bill
Young, and some others, not to speak of the village
boys who were not attending the Academy just
then, were more in a mood
for ball than for study that
Piney introduced his cous-
in, and the rest were quite
polite, in their way, about
asking him to take a hand
in their game. Kyle Wil-
bur said to Bill Young:
Of course he can't play,
but he's a stranger and he 's
Piney's cousin. He wont
be much in the way."
"Yes; but the other side
S. '11 beat us all hollow. He 's.
Sa city dandy and he '1 be
S. getting us put out all the
F- while."
S P l "Can't help it," said Kyle.
i1,'. "I wont go back on Piney
SHunter, game or no game.
/ \ I '11 risk it."
!. ; Bi did not hear that, but
he took off his coat and vest,
S-displaying to the criticism of
I/I' the village boys a remarka-
j bly showy pair of suspend-
-- ers." Then his collar and
neck-tie and cuffs were each
carefully taken off and stuffed
into his coat pockets, and he rolled up his trowsers
a little.
What a dandy he is !" exclaimed Bill Young.
" I say, Mister What's-your-name, you 'd better
put all that riggin' away somewhere."
Hang it on a tree," said Kyle. Nobody '11
touch it. No thieves around here. Bill, they 've
won the toss. We 're out to begin on."
Well, I s'pose Frank Jones '11 catch for our
side. But who '11 pitch? Pity Piney is n't here
to pitch for us."
Piney already had started across the green toward




the Academy, a square, white building with a
chunky-looking bell-tower on top.
"You can't pitch worth a cent," said Kyle. "I
say, mister, did n't I hear Piney call you Bi?"
Should n't wonder if you did."
Can you pitch?"
I '11 try it on. If I can't, you 'II know it before
a great while."
I guess so. Hullo, Frank, Piney's cousin '11
Bi felt a kind of tingle in his fingers as he picked
up that ball and took his place. If there was one
thing he thought he could beat all Parable Center
on, it was in pitching a base-ball, and he was not
very far wrong.
So, at least, Frank Jones thought when he made
his first catch. The ball came like a young cannon-
shot, and his fingers were lucky in being pretty
tough ones. They were tough, however, and
Frank shouted, .: ..i;. i1 :
"All right, boys. I guess the dandy knows how
to pitch."
"The dandy," muttered Bi. "Wait till I get
hold of that bat, and if I don't show 'em Why,
they 're out and out slouches."
Not quite as bad as that, but not one of the
country boys had ever seen a professional nine "
play, or had been taught, as Bi had, by a trained
instructor. Such a thing as "schooling" in ball
play never had entered their heads.
Not a great while after that, as Piney Hunter
passed by one of the academy windows, after some
work on the blackboard, he heard a great cheer
from the boys on the green, and looked out to see
what the matter was.
Bi 's got the bat," he exclaimed. See him
A run it was, but the cheer was for the way he
had batted that ball.
Hurrah for the dandy! shouted Frank Jones,
but Bill Young grumbled:
" Oh, it 's nothing but a sort of a trick. Those
city fellows have lots of tricks. He can't do it
But he did, every time his turn came to him,
and instead of losing the game for his side, they
were quite ready, at the end of it, to elect him cap-
tain of their nine.
Bi's blood was up, too, and he began to cap-
tain" in a way the village boys were :.,, :. accus-
tomed to. They would not have stood it for a
moment if he had not shown himself so good a
player, and if he had not been a stranger. Even
Piney Hunter would hardly have been obeyed as
Bi was.
Bill Young rebelled a little, but Kyle Wilbur
put him down with :

"Now, Bill, your yaller dog can beat you
pitching. His mouth's always open, too, jest like
yours. Mister, if you 'I1 let him wear those gal-
luses o' yours, he '11 be quiet."
"My what ? Oh, you mean my suspenders.
Can't take 'em off just now. We must whitewash
that crowd, this time. Come on, boys."
He 's played ball before," said Frank Jones.
SHe knows what he 's about. Guess it 's all a
humbug about his being a city fellow."
Piney was proud enough, when he came out at
noon recess, to hear Kyle Wilbur's account of the
way in which Bi had distinguished himself.
I '11 tell Aunt Keziah and the rest, when we
get home. I 've got to stay for the afternoon ses-
sion, but we can go to the post-office before I eat
my lunch."
A queer sort of a place was the village post-
office. At least, so it seemed to Bi. Nothing but
one corner of a grocery store fenced off from the
rest and fitted up with lI;,, i.. ..;T .; drawers and
That 's our box," said Piney, when they got
there. The one marked A."
But, as soon as they entered, the postmaster
stuck his head around the corner of the partition,
and exclaimed:
I say, Piney, your box is cram, jam full, and
here 's a lot of things that would n't go in. Got
some visitors, haint ye ?"
Yes," said Piney. "What a stack of papers
and things, Bi Do you always get as many as
No, sir," said Bi, as he began to glance over
the pile of envelopes and little bundles. A good
many of 'em are for father and mother and grand-
father. Some of'em are for me."
But what a lot of'em are for Mary. She can't
read so much as that, every day."
There was a queer look on Bi's face, but he said
nothing, and it somehow occurred to Pincy to
notice that, while there was not one single letter
for Mary, she seemed to have a good deal more
than her share of the papers and magazines, and
that all of them were addressed to her in the same
"Now, Bi," he said, I '11 go back and eat my
lunch, and you 'd better go home to dinner. Why
can't you go out in the boat alone and have a good
time, fishing? I do that, every chance I can get.
It 's more fun than you 'd think it would be,-
especially if the fish are sociable."
Guess I can take care of myself for this
afternoon," said Bi. But of course I shall be
glad when your vacation comes."
The lli,.- boys tried to get Bi to stay for
another game of ball, but he had had quite enough




for one day. When he reached the farm-house
nearly the whole family were on the front piazza,
waiting for the mail.
Plenty for everybody except Mary," remarked
Bi, as he came up the steps.
Nothing for me?" said Mary, in a tone that
sounded like disappointment.
Not a letter," said Bi. Only a lot of news-
papers and such things."

"0, then there is something. Let me have
them, Bi."
And, while all the rest began to tear open their
envelopes then and there, Mary Hunter, with a
face that was half as red as Piney's own, carried all
her morning's mail" up to her room before she
opened so much as a single newspaper. Evidently,
she expected something very private and confiden-
tial, which she did not wish the others to discover.

(To be continued.)

(After tIe German.)


"WHERE have you been, Lysander Pratt?"
" In Greedy Land, Philander Sprat."
" What did you there to grow so fat?"

" I built myself a little house
In which I lived snug as a mouse."

"Well, very, very good was that !"
" Not wholly good, Philander Sprat."
" Now wherefore not, Lysander Pratt?"

" A bear came raging from the wood,
And tumbled down my cottage good."

" Alas! how very bad was that "
" Not wholly bad, Philander Sprat."
"Not bad? Why not, Lysander Pratt?"

" I killed the bear, and of his skin
I made a coat to wrap me in."

" Well done Now surely good was that."
" Yet not so good, Philander Sprat."
"Now why not good, Lysander Pratt?''

" A wicked hound tore up my coat
Until it was not worth a groat."

" Ah, what an evil thing was that!"
" Not wholly bad, Philander Sprat."
" What good was there, Lysander Pratt?"

" He caught for me a great wild boar,
That made me sausages good store."

"What luck! How very good was that!"
" Good? Not all good, Philander Sprat."
"Why not all good, Lysander Pratt?"

" A cat stole in on velvet paw,
And ate them all with greedy maw."

"Now surely wholly bad was that!"
" Not wholly bad, Philander Sprat."
" Then tell me why, Lysander Pratt."

" Of pussy's fur with silken hair,
I made of gloves a noble pair."

" Trust you No wonder you are fat!
You found your good account in that
As in all else, Lysander Pratt."

" Yes, in the closet hang they now.
Yet they are full of holes, I vow,

"Gnawed by some thievish long-tailed rat.
And so, you see, Philander Sprat,
Not wholly good was even that!"





words by ALFRED TENNYSON. Music and Words written for ST. NICHOLAS.

Dain ty lit lte maid en, whith-er would you wander, Whith-er from this pret- ty home, the
Dain -ty lit tie maid en, whith-er would you wander, Whith-er from this pret- ty house, this

--i-----i----..l-- --I-- --,!^-- --- ,-------^jj--J

--tp -- -= -- -d S- i j' U--

home where moth-er dwells? "Far and far a-way," said the dain ty lit tle maid en;
cit y house of ours?

_____-- -- -

--b Tr4


^_ -H

___ Tr-t---

Far and far a- way," said the dain-ty lit tie maid en. "All a-mong the gar- dens, au-
"All a-mong the mea-dows, the

"" "i--4 4FE0"" "
S- n- -4 -9 -+

~- --
__ __ ---
6~--- j-------a



U i-

ric u las, an em -o nes, Ros-es and lil- ies, and Can- ter-bur y bells."
clo-ver and the clem-a-tis,* Daisies and king-cups, and honey-suck -le flowers."

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

(hT...---- -0--- ------,-

* Clm-a-tis, often but wrongly pronounced clem-a-tis "-A. TENNYSON.








A WAS an art-ful old Ape
Who tied up his hat with a crape,
And pre-tend-ed he cried
'Cause his mas-ter had died,-
That art-ful, de-ceit-ful old.Ape.

B Was a big, old, black Bear
Who seized a young child by the hair,
And ran to his den,
And was not seen a-gain,-
The cru-el old scamp of a Bear.

Was a craft-y old Crow
SWho watched for the farm-ers to sow,
And stole all the corn
In the bright, ear-ly morn,-
_'. _"_ That craft-y old thief of a Crow.

SWas a dar-ing young Duck
L' Who felt him-self burst-ing with pluck;
Into dan-ger he'd go,
Till a shot laid him low,-
The dar-ing, and dash-ing young Duck.

Was an ea-ger young Eel
SWho was slip-per-y al-ways to feel;
Al-though caught with a line,
He could walk off quite fine,-
The ea-ger and slip-per-y young Eel.

F D Was a fun-ny fat Frog
F Who croaked all day long on a log,
STill a fly came a-long;
Then he stopped his fine song
And nabbed it,-that fun-ny fat Frog.


K Was a kind lit-tle Kit-ten
Who rav-eled out grand-moth-er's mit-ten,
And seiz-ing the yarn
Bore it off to the barn,-
The play-ful and kind lit-tle Kit-ten.


Is a light-wing-ed Lark
Who sings as she flies. Let us hark
She's a-wake with the dawn,
Ere the dew-drops have gone,-
The beau-ti-ful light-wing-ed Lark.

M Was a mu-sic-al Mouse
Who wan-dered at eve through the house,
And lis-tened quite still
While we played with great skill,-
That won-der-ful mu-sic-al Mouse.






Was a gray-beard old Goat
Who tossed up a grim-y old coat,.
But the boy was not in it,
And so for a min-ute
It fooled the gray-beard-ed old Goat.
Was a hap-py old Hare
Who could not be caught in a snare;
In the brush he 'd stick fast
While the hunt-ers rode past,-
That hid-den and hap-py old Hare.

Was an I-bex so rare,
Who lived in the pure mount-ain air.
He 's an ea-si-er climb-er
Than I am a rhym-er,-
This fleet-foot-ed I-bex so rare.
Was a jol-ly blue Jay
Who fright-ened the deer all away,
And mad-dened the rang-er
By scream-ing the dan-ger,-
The jol-ly pro-vok-ing blue Jay.



N Is the Nau-ti-lus snail
Who spreads out his foot for a sail,
And glides on be-fore'
With his lit-tle thin oar,-
The beau-ti-ful Nau-ti-lus snail.

O Was an o-di-ous old Owl
Who ut-tered a very loud howl
When perched on the corn
In the gray of the dawn,-
That awk-ward, and o-di-ous old Owl.

P Was a pret-ty, plump Pig
Who al-ways in dirt loved to dig;
But his mas-ter one day
Washed the dirt all a-way,
And he died-did that pret-ty, plump

Q Was a queer lit-tle Quail
Who stuck his head un-der a rail,
And thought him-self hid,
And from dan-ger well rid,
Till a shot hit the queer lit-tle Quail.

R Was a romp-ing young Rat
That a lit-tle girl caught with her hat,
But she soon let him go,
For he bit off the bow,-.
That rav-ing and romp-ing young Rat.

S Was a sly lit-tle Spi-der
Who spun him-self right down be-side her,
And caught Mrs. Fly
Who was shut-ting her eye,-
That sau-cy and sly lit-tle Spi-der.

Was a trick-y young Trout
Who tum-bled and wrig-gled a-bout.
He would not be taught,
So he found him-self caught,-
That tum-bling and trick-y young Trout.






i ,-=
-- -~ ii
---- I-


U Was the Un-i-corn fa-bled
Who never was cur-ried nor sta-bled;
Not once was he found
Where 't was said he'd a-bound,-
That bo-gus old Un-i-corn fa-bled.

SWas a vil-lain-ous Vult-ure
V Who seized a young lamb of fine cult-ure;
He a-rose to the skies,
In spite of its cries,-
'- J The vil-lain-ous, vag-a-bond Vult-ure.

SWas the wi-ly old Whale
SThat could not be found in the pail;
When Si-mon went fish-ing
And could not help wish-ing
He'd hook up that won-der-ful Whale.

I Who carried his sword at com-mand.
When he laid the boat low
-- He was killed by the blow,-
The ex-alt-ed old Xiph-i-as grand.

S Is a charm-ing young Yak
SWho wears a fine coat on his back.
S It is not what he knows,
But his pret-ty, fine clothes
That make him a charm-ing young Yak.

Is a zeal-ous young Zib-et
Who rich-ly de-serves the old gib-bet;
For kill-ing and steal-ing,
And great lack of feel-ing-
That zeal-ous and naugh-ty young Zib-et.



\ I ,
'v '-';^

,j -, i;;' ,-. ,
'I -

,, '

At least, so the almanacs have it; though I have
heard that some ancient Roman king or other
once actually made it come at the very end of the
Well, the almanacs, or the Roman kings, or
whoever arranges the months, may put February
wherever they have a mind to, as long as they let
alone the season andcthe weather, so that my boys
and girls can have plenty of snow for coasting, and
merry snow-ball battles.
Why, it warms your Jack's heart, this nipping
weather, to hear the shouts and laughter from the
Red School-house youngsters, especially when the
dear Little Schoolma'am's voice rings out above
them, as it does sometimes. And the other day I
actually saw quiet Deacon Green come full tilt
down the white meadow, his umbrella open and
held behind, and half a dozen tiny young rogues
pelting him with snow-balls just as hard as they
could The good Deacon was laughing so, that
he could n't have run at all if he had n't been
going down hill.
But now for my budget

SOME mid-day recess soon, my boys, let a few
of you skip over to Mount Stamford, in the Sierra
Nevada range, and you will see, on a high peak,
acres and acres of snow, piled up in vast drifts that
have a pink tinge to the depth of three or four
Each of you bring home a hatful of this red
snow, and let me know, if you can, what makes
the pretty color.
I have heard that very little bits of animals, seen
only with the aid of a microscope, come down
with the falling snow and make it rosy; but then,
I 've heard, also, that it is animals even smaller

than these which make the blue of the sky; and-
well, the fact is, I 'm not at all certain yet what to
believe concerning these things.

WHILE we are talking about snow, let me tell
you of a snow-fall that was a snow-fall. Your Jack
has word about it through "J. A.," who says:
" From October, 1877, to May, 1878, the snow fell
in Cashmere, Northern India, with scarcely a stop,
until it covered the ground to a depth of thirty to
forty feet, crushing houses and even whole villages
under its weight."
That was a Cashmere wrap with a vengeance !
Snow is good and beautiful and so forth; and it
makes a clean, warm bed-quilt for some parts
of the earth in winter; but there can be too much
of a good thing, for all that.

DEAR JACK: I want to tell you what they say about us Ameri-
cans here in France.
The other day, Madame Claire and I were talking about a little
girl who is cross-eyed.
Oh, yes," said Madame Claire," she has the real American eye !"
Now, what do you think of that ? I did n't think it was very po-
lite, and I said: Why, Madame Claire, it is not all Americans who
look crookedly, like that."
Then Madame Claire laughed. "Of course not," she said; "I
did n't mean that, at all; but you Americans are just like this poor
little girl, for when you come into a roc... -. ; .. t store, or when
you are walking along the street, you 1 I i and see every-
thing when we don't know it. And that's why we say that cross-
eyed people have the real American eye. And it is quite a
compliment, I assure you."
Well, perhaps it is; but I think it must be a real French compli-
ment.-Truly yours, A. C. D.
YOUR Jack can't say he sets much store by rats
himself, and he does n't know of any one else who
feels very affectionate toward them, though, no
doubt, they are splendid fellows as far as they go,-
"the farther the better," the timid Little School-
ma'am says So, it 's a real comfort to hear that
in Japan at least they are well thought of and
properly cared for. At any rate, it seems they are;
for I 'm told that the builders of houses in that
country always make plenty of neat square holes
in the walls of the rooms, for the convenience of the
pampered creatures, and to save their teeth.

DEAR MR. JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Did you know that there are
mules that coast? Well, there are, in Ecuador, South America; but
they do not coast on snow, only on slippery hill-sides made ready
for the purpose. The mules are trained to slide down-hill, and the
better they can slide the more valuable they become for traveling
Si -mule reaches a good sliding-place, he puts his front feet in
a slanting position, and his hind feet close together, the legs bent as
if he meant to lie down. Then, off he slides, swaying his body to
suit the curves in the road, and keeping his balance just right,-if
only the rider does not check him But if the rider should try to
guide or interfere with his mule, there would most likely be a turn-
over, with more bruises than fun.- -Your friend, w.

HERE is a true elephant story for you from an
American missionary, who once lived among the
Dutch Boers of Natal, for seven years. He saw
the ivory, and believes the story:
One afternoon, about four o'clock, three Dutch-
men were out hunting, and came upon a large herd




of elephants. They fired at the leader, and in-
stantly the entire herd fled. The leader rushed on
and on, thinking he was on the right track to escape;
but the elephants were in a valley and only ran
round and round it, in a circle perhaps three hun-
dred yards in diameter, and were shot down from
four o'clock in the afternoon until eight in the
evening, when darkness prevented the Dutchmen
from taking aim any longer. But the three men
rose at break of day, and found the poor elephants
still going round and round. It was several hours
before a new leader, breaking out of the beaten
track, led off the remainder of the herd in safety.
The Dutchmen, whose names were Botha, and

/ ..
-, -

I asked in the house, they said that no one there had been near the
lace or seen anybody else near it!
This was puzzling, as well as disagreeable; and so I went to
look again.
Another piece vanished!
Then I put a chair near the porch, and sat and sewed, watching
the lace carefully. But once I bent my eyes to my work for about
half a minute, and, when I looked up again,-
Still another treasure was gone !
This time, I knew that no one but myself could have been near
the lace. How then could it have disappeared? I put away my
sewing, and for five minutes steadily gazed at the pieces left.
Somebody in the house called out. and I glanced around. As I
turned my eyes forward again, what should I see sailing away in the
air, a few yards from me, but a piece of the precious lace, trailing
from the beak of a robin !
I soon found that it was the same saucy fellow who had taken all
the pieces, and that he had tried to make his little home beautiful
with them.
Thie lace was spoiled when we found it, for Robin had torn it

I- -


Potgeiter, two being brothers, counted the slain.
Ninety elephants lay dead in the valley; and as
their valuable tusks of ivory were divided equally
among the three Dutchmen, you can believe that
each man's share was considerable.

EVERYBODY has heard about the rage for mak-
ing houses beautiful, but who would have thought
it had gone so far as the following bit of true
news would seem to show ?-
DEAR JACK: One day, not long ago, I washed a number of
pieces of very fine lace, and left them spread out on the lawn. Pres-
ently, 1 went to look at them, so as to be sure they were all right, for
-they were valuable.
One, two, three pieces were gone !
Yet there were no fresh tracks on the lawn and paths, and, when

when weaving it in with twigs; but the nest looked so pretty that I
let my ruined treasures stay.-Yours truly, MARGARET H.
The picture shows just how Robin's nest looked.
You see, my dears, Margaret could not blame
the bird, for, of course, he thought the lovely lace
had been spread out so as to be handy for him.

DEAR JACK: Some years ago, I read that the prairie dogis the
only animal known which does not drink water.
Yesterday, I saw in Cumming's "South African Life," that the
gemsbok or oryx never by any chance tastes water; and this morn-
ing, I find, in the same work, that the eland, too, and the druiker
can do without this fluid.
All these species of antelope thrive and come to high condition in
barren regions,-the parched karroos and arid desert,-v.here the
climate is' ....... -. 1 the distances between water ing-places are very
great; but .. i somebody tell us for sure whether or not these
animals really do without any water at all? S. w. K.




OUR FRONTISPIECE.--Very few boys and girls either in England or
America need to be told even the title of the superb frontispiece given
this month, for the sad story of the Princes in the Tower is one of
the most familiar in English history. In fact, writers and artists of
other nations have made it their theme, and children in many parts
of the world have shaken their heads sorrowfully over the fate of
these two English boys. Delaroche, a Frenchman, painted a very
fine picture, an engraving of which, from our first volume, is
here reprinted, so that you may compare it with the picture by the
English painter, Millais, which opens this present number of ST.
Delaroche evidently had the sad story in his heart. He may or may
.not have loved England; but he certainly loved these two English

cavalcade, and thought it a fine thing to be a prince. Their mother
called the boys Edward and Richard; but Edward being the elder,
-though only thirteen years of age,-was His Royal -Highness the
Prince of Wales, rightful heir to the English throne; and Richard,
his brother, a boy of eleven, was known as the Duke of York.
Yes, many a boy and girl looked almost with envy that day upon
the two royal children, and wondered how it felt to be the son of a
king and lord of a nation.
"But the men and women who looked on thought of something
very different. They shook their heads and whispered their misgiv-
ings to one another.
It was dreadful, they said; such brave, beautiful, noble lads, too;
and their father hardly cold in his grave-poor, dear things! Now


lads, else how could he have so painted them, that stout men feel the princes would be in the power of their uncle Richard, Duke of
like sobbing when they look at thewonderful picture? It hangs to-day Gloucester, the wickedest, cruelest and most powerful nobleman in
in the gallery ot the Louxembourg, in Paris; and every day groups of all England. But for these boys, in all their pride of youth, his grace
pitying children stand before it, feeling not at all as the children did of Gloucester might be king himself!
who saw the princes ride by in state, nearly four hundred years ago. "Ah, who could say what might happen !
Four hundred years ago! We already have told the story briefly "English history tells us what happened: how the wicked Duke of
in these pages-how the two noble boys traveled with royal pomp Gloucester pretended at first to be all loyalty and kindness; how he
from Ludlow Castle to London. "An escort of two thousand horse- wrote a letter of condolence to the queen mother, and set off from
men rode with them; and although the boys, having just lost their Scotland, where he was commanding an army, to be present, he said,
father, King Edward IV., were dressed in sober black, hundreds of at his dear nephew's coronation; and how, with fair words and
happy children who saw them pass looked with delight at the grand treachery, he placed the Prince in the Tower of London, where




'he would be safer than anywhere else, until the grand ceremony
should take place;' how he afterward took the little Duke of York
from his sobbing mother and put him, too, in the dreary Tower; and
But you see them inDelaroche's picture. They are together; that
is some comfort. Their chamber is grandly furnished, but it is in a
prison. Not the Prince of Wales, nor the Duke of York, now, but
two heart-sick, terrified boys, who every moment dread-they hardly
know what. If they only could feel their mother's arm around them
once again They have prayed and prayed, and they have cried
until they can cry no more, and, with breaking hearts, they have
straightened themselves proudly with the thought that they are the
sons of a king, when suddenly they hear a footstep outside- "
It seems to us that Mr. Millais has painted them as they stood at
this moment,-erect, heroic, but with suspense and terror in their
beautiful faces. It is dreadful to look at them, dreadful to think of
what is so soon to happen-.
To-day, visitors at the Tower of London halt on the gloomy stone
stair-way, and look at each other with a shudder, for at the foot of the
stair-way the murdered Princes were buried.
It is not only to the painters Delaroche and Millais that we are in-
debted for the present pictures. The art of engraving was needed to
transfer the spirit of their work to these pages. And wonderfully have
the engravers done their part.
Our frontispiece, the Princes in the Tower, was engraved on wood
by Mr. Kruell after a very fine mezzotint print copied from Mr. Mil-
lais' original painting; so, you see, two kinds of engraving have been
called into service. The large print has a history in itself which is
worth telling, not only in justice to the London Fine Art Society,
who kindly have allowed us to copy it for your pleasure, but because
to hear it will give you an idea of the importance and mercantile value
of a good engraving.
In the first place, the picture itself was painted by Mr. Millais
especially for the society, for 43,000 or $r5,ooo; then, at Mr. Mil-
lais' request, Mr. Samuel Cousins of London undertook to engrave it

Our boys undoubtedly will take an interest in the following ex-
tracts which we have been allowed to make from a private letter.
There are a few allusions in it which may puzzle our young readers;
but it at least will give them some idea of the recent and future work
of the famous explorer and of his present whereabouts.

Banana Point, Congo River, S. W. Coast of Africa, Sept. 15, 1879.
My DEAR . : I write another letter to you,-one of fare-
well before -..,..... .: fUrce for the interior of the Dark Continent
once again. i i I i:-. I wrote and informed you that I
was bound to Zanzibar. A few days after, I was en-route in the
character-unofficially-of what you :I :11 an ambassador. I
was charged with an Autograph letter, I f of the King of the
Belgians in diamonds, and a mitrailleuse with its equipment, to
deliver them to Barghash, Prince of Zanzibar, Pemba, and the East-
ern Main, as gifts from King Leopold. A steamer was chartered to
take me. I had a good deal of other work to do, -to initiate some Bel-
gian officers in the art of Exploration, who were about setting out
to explore some new fields personally, and to examine sev-
eral ports on the Eastern Coast. I was received everywhere with
much kindness.
When these various matters had b-..... i. :-. ... T I
my steamer and came round by the I i- ....... .
by the West Coast of Africa, to this Africa, to begin a special mission
of great importance here. i... -. ,,...:. "Albion," having attended
me eight months, is now being discharged, and I take this opportunity
of sending my letter to you, just to satisfy you that I still think of
my friends.
My Expedition is encamped some ninety miles up the river on the
south side, and consists of fifteer. r... ,.. and some two hundred
natives. We are not up to our ..0 -. ....I. yet, but I hope before
long I shall have a couple of hundred more. I shall be
absent from civilization probably three years, if not more.-I remain,
most faithfully yours, HENaR M. STANLEY.

J. S. I., and Others.-Letters from our young correspondents, on
strictly personal subjects, cannot be answered in the "Letter-Box."
The matter in this department is intended to be interesting to our
readers in general.

THE author of the dog story in the present number writes about it
as follows:
The sketch entitled A Faithful Friend" is a genuine though in-
adequate tribute of sincere affection and gratitude to the memory of

in pure mezzotint (any of the unabridged dictionaries will tell you
what miezzotiih engraving is), and for doing so the Society paid him
1i,627, or $8,135,-more than half the cost of the original painting,
you see. But the painter evidently did not consider the amount too
great, for he wrote to the Society:

I am charmed with Mr. Cousins' engraving of the 'Princes in
the Tower.' I don't see .. L.... 1 .rter. It is a most
brilliant and telling plate. II .. I...... ,.1 the plate is quite
worn out,-so I predict. i .. ... I i -. favored
me in selecting such a distinguished interpreter I ;..

But the engraver was destined to receive what by an English sub-
ject might be considered a still greater compliment. Soon came a
letter to the Society from Marlborough House, the residence of the
Prince of Wales, telling how much His Royal Highness liked the
engraving. To the present Prince of Wales, this beautiful engraving
showing the Prince of Wales of those troubled times must have a
peculiar interest, apart from its merits as a work of art, when he
recalls his own happy childhood in the noble English home which
has so endeared Queen Victoria to her people.
Of course, the first and finest impressions, known as Artist's
Proofs," were all bought up almost before the engraving was pub-
lished, and then came sales so large that they surprised even the
Society that had been willing to pay more than $8,000 for the en-
graving alone. The people have been all the more anxious to buy
these engravings from the fact that Mr. Cousins, who is now in his
eightieth year, has refused to engrave the companion-picture of "The
Princess Elizabeth" writing the account of her last interview with
her father Charles I. (which has just been completed for the Society
by Mr. Millais) at any price, as he is rapidly losing his eyesight.
It is very bad news that so fine an engraver as Mr. Cousins is in
danger of blindness; but, on the other hand, it is a happy thing that
a man seventy-nine years of age should have powers so keen and a
hand so steady as to be able to do a piece of work like the "Princes
in the Tower."

the best dog I ever knew or heard of, who lived, died, and lies buried
at our place on the Highlands of the Navesink. I have not done
justice to I.. ii.. courage and devotion, especially as shown
at the tim. ii, i" : in trying to tame down the narrative, I 've
made it weak, when it should be strong, intense and dramatic. The
story is true, and ten times more. J. V. SEARS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been puzzling for .1 ..: .I
the pronunciation of Sol. Evfi;ne ir 's, name. On. i1
"Eyc-tinge," and the othet i We have no doubt that
they both a 1 :'. ;.-. thecasual mention of his name we should
like to be : I you will please be so kind as to answer
through the "Letter-Box" and give us the correct pronunciation,
we shall be very much obliged.--Your constant readers,
The surname of the artist, Sol. Eytinge, jr, is pronounced as if
spelled Et-ting.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I send you a story which I lately told to
my three little ones. They often ask for it, and seem to like it so
much that I 1. -.. l. ... i -. .... .I. ...I ... .1 l to read
it. 7T .hildi .. "11,, : '. .-. a'
i. ... I was twelve years of age, my parents lived on large farm
in Ohio, near Cleveland, and in the winter my father used to haul a
load of hay or wood i[" 1. ;I.to the city nearly every day, when
the weather was fine. i.'.. i he started long after the usual time,
and told me that, as he could not return until a late hour at night, I
must do all the chores, and be 'very particular to feed and count the
sheep in the south brush-lot.'
"During the day, a heavy snow-storm set in, and it began to grow
dark soon after I got home from school. While I was doing the
chores, the driving storm and i.... darkness tempted me to
think it would n't matter much i I.. I ..-. went without their sup-
per for once, and that father would never know I had n't counted
them. Well, just as I was starting to go to the house, my father
,i. r... 1 ri. ~eat barn, and at once asked me, 'Did
- ,, ,i. n i' :1, i"' ., ?
"It was no time to fal I e south brush-
lot,--which was nearly i -. i .1 r...1 i I ...1 on three sides
by a dense forest, whic- ,. I....r I...1 with bears as
large as elephants,-I i ii ; i .
At this point, I see knowing locl:- --h-n-- imnn- my children.
"' Where did you find them'? ..- ..... ... I felt I had
done wrong in telling this story, but thought it would not do to back
out then, so I answered, 'In the little grove, just beyond the hollow.'



"' Did you count them'? he asked, after a pause.
"' Yes, sir, there were thirty-six. I counted them over three or four
times, and I 'm sure they 're all right,' said I.
"As my father said no more for a few moments, I felt sure that my
r .;.i1, .. ... zers had convinced him.
.1, 'Edward, go and open the cow-shed door and
then come and tell me what you see there.' I did as he said, and-
what do you think I saw ?
My father had forgotten to turn the sheep out in the morning, and
they had been in that cow-shed all day "
"Oh oh oh cry the three little ones, perched on my knee.
'Come here to me,' said my father; 'and I will teach you to be
more truthful in future.' I went to him, and he taught me.
"Now, children, do you really think that Papa deserved to be
Triumphal chorus from all three, "Yes! yes yes! "
Yours truly, E. A. P.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have read about the colony of musk rats,
and how fierce they are. Last summer, when I was on the sea-shore,
I saw one chase a young man along a wooden pier --t-'lTn. r-~
feet out into the water, and only the width of a single I. i .1
pretty difficult for the young man to run over this narrow pier. At
the end of the pier the young man jumped into a boat, which was
there, ,.. I ,. .. in the mast, and the rat tried to spring upon
him; ... i.. I. ,I off with his feet, and, ..'.. 1 got his
father's shot-gun and shot it. EDDIE '.- ... i. ,ears).

THIS little verse comes from an eight-year old:
F. t.
-- .

M. H.'s question in the August "Letter-Box" is answered by
several young correspondents to the effect that, as there were fewer
people in ancient times, they could be distinguished well enough by
one name apiece; but, in the course of time, when there got to be
many persons bearing the same name, their neighbors distinguished
them by adding to their original names some words telling of the
place they came from, their father, their color, or personal appearance,
their occupation, and so on; as. John of York, which soon was short-
ened to John York; Robert Richard's Son, contracted to Robert
Richardson; and so, too, we have William Little, Benjamin Long,
John Brown, Alfred Carpenter, James Baker. This process, and the
changes that happened to the names in passing from mouth to mouth
for generations, account for the origin of most of our surnames.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Here are two drawings of a puzzle. You
have to try to draw a figure like the first picture, without once taking
I11 F r -.-....-. .-,.... 1. you can
S I .....- ., r.. .. ... ,, ,, firsttw o


of its lines; the rest follow easily, when you look at the picture, but
my little sister tried a ... while and had a deal of fun before she
found out the way. 1. ask your other readers to try it on their
little brothers and sisters.--Yours truly, R. H. W.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We tried Fiddie B. P.1 1 .' .. r .
caramels in the March number for 1877, and it I
did n't put in so much butter. We are two little girls, and we are big
for our ages. We lived at Lake Mahopac for the summer. It is a
pretty place. Our house was near the water.
When we went there, two little wrens tried to build their nest in
one of the awnings. But, every time the awning was put down, the

nest was spoiled; so we put a box in one corner of the piazza, and,
as soon as it was put up, they went in. Soon the little ones were
hatched, and we could hear them call for food when their sMlamma
went away. The Papa was very tame, and sat on the hanging

,:. J I. .11.I Shep and Flora, who pick blackberries
;,'i .5 I: ,-. .. .r I....... ?-From your loving readers, .
P. S.-Our dogs eat caramels, too.

IN the present number (pages 320 and 321) is an article on some
"Snow-Sports which quiet girls and boys may find more to their taste
than boisterous "Snow-ball Warfare," as described and illustrated in
the January number by Mr. Daniel C. Beard. He originated also
the methods of building the snow-hut and forming the statues de-
scribed this month, besides making the pictures of them.

Richmond, Mass.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I must tell you about our Mary; she is the
youngest of four, and very small. When your magazine comes,
Grandma gives it to her; she very seriously receives it, marches into
the parlor, closes the door, looks over all the pictures,-she cannot
read one word,-and, when she has finished, walks into the nursery,
saying: "Now, children, you can take the book; I 've done with
One day, a relative asked her: May, do I look like Grandma, or
like Auntie? She inspected the lady very gravely, and then said:
"Why, 'oo look like 'ooself."-Cordially your friend,

J. C. AsMBosE sends us the following copy of a boy's garden
account. It is very frank, and the boy must have been honest,
although his success was not great.

Spade, hoe and rake (paid by Pa)................ .......$2.oo
Repairs after that bonfire (paid by Pa) ...................... 7.00
Loss to other Pas .................. ................ 3.50
Spading (about 2 days of Pa's time) ......................... o.50
Cost of seeds (paid by Pa) ................... ............ 50
Time spent in planting (that's me, 5 days, after school hours). 2.50
Time spent looking after garden (that's me, too,) 5 minutes
every day for 4 months at 5 cts. a time ................... 6.oo
Fun missed by garden work (that's me) ..................... 5.oo
W ear and tear or .-.:.. :.. 1 .. .......d such ....... 0.05
H oeing (soil so ... ....1 .. ..I .I .. ord)......... o.o
Father's time pumping and carrying water in dry weather (good
exercise for him). .................................... 0.00
Big sister's time picking lettuce and shooing off neighbors'
chickens (a full estimate for girls' time) .................. o.oo

Grand total of costs, only ................ .. ..... $28.05
(It would he more if I put a full estimate on my own time.)

Cr.-Credit for crops.
Radishes and lettuce (being half scratched up and the rest not
coming to much, and mother being real good, I threw them
in for love) .............................. ......... ..... o.oo
Peasin the pod (waited, of course, :ii. a, carried Ma
in a basketful, expecting about .d they were
good for nobody but pigs; so I shelled them, took them to
school in my pockets, and had heaps of fun popping them
into boys' ears) .................................. .... .. o.oo
Melons (counted big on them, and when they got ripe, asked
the boys in to take a look at them. They came and looked,
but said they could n't give a i. ..'. :.. just by walk-
ing round a melon-patch. S I ..... i ... and found it
good. Then George said, it did n't look well for four to be
eating out of one dish. So we took one apiece and voted
them all boss melons. Never knew who did eat the rest) ... o.oo
2 doz. beets at r2% c ..................................... 0.25
i qt. beans ............................................... o.0o
4 doz. corn (awful small) at c .............. .. ............. 24
Tomatoes (turned out my best hold, but had n't time to pick
them, so lumped them off to Ma, a big bargain for her)..... .0oo

Total garden cash ................................ ..... .59
[That is less than I hoped for. But Pa says every good
business man ought to balance his books at the end of the year.
So I put down one more item.]
By experience to balance ................................. 26.46

Grand total of credits............. ........ ........... .28.05
That makes the account look pretty well,-receipts just equal to
expenses. J. L. B.





WHAT country, on what continent, is namable with three e's?

My first gives expression to wonder,
My next, in some cases, am I;
My third gives permission and hinders:
My whole is an excellent fry. w. M.



.What is the difference between these two boys

What is the difference between these two boys ?

"HERE," said the captain, "we caught a I, 2, 3, a native of the
island, who assured us we should 4, 8, 6 some of the 5, 7, 9 for which
we had come, if we would but dig at the foot of a tall, spreading i,
2, 3, 4, 5-6, 7, 8, 9. But while yet we were a-digging, the crafty
i, 2, 3 escaped, and we moreover found not any 5, 7, 9." I.

I AM found on ladies' garments, and on some plants, and my
name has six letters. My 6, 5, 4, 3 is not so much, and my 2, i is
near by or close to. H. H. D.

i. GRAIN. 2. One of the commonwealths of America, in which
much of the grain is grown. 3. A disturbance caused by crowds of
persons, some of them perhaps inflamed by one of the products of
the grain. 4. A memorandum. BEECHNUT.

I AM composed of three letter I Cf.. verb; my second is
an oval; my third is a vowel. v. i ,... i J. H. T.

WHAT is the difference between one yard and two yards ?

FROM each of the following proverbs, in the present order, take
one word. The eleven words thus chosen form another proverb,
seldom heard, but full of wisdom.
I. Better is the last smile than the first laughter. 2. Extravagance
will eat one out of house and home. 3. The head .. 1 no
brains yet. 4. Half a loaf is better than no bread. i. .. the
wine is in, the wit is out. 6. Your trumpeter is dead, so you sound
yourself 7. Wine and youth are fire upon fire. 8. Years know
more than books. 9. All is soon ready in an orderly house, o1. Your

looking-glass will tell you what none of your friends will. i. The
present age is always to blame. F. S. P.

AcRoss: i. A negative. 2. The name ofr i. ..r Israel. 3. To
help. 4. A poet, and yet but three-fourths f .
Initials: The tongue or pole of a cart. Centrals: A medley.
Finals: A strong stream or current. Initials and Finals connected:
A low tide. Y. E.
x. A juicy vegetable, related to the tobacco
plant. a. A person of persuasive speech. 3.
2 b' A bird of swift and graceful flight. 4. A king
of the Huns. 5. The process of dressing. 6.
-^- D Decorated. M. s- N.


I 2 3 4 5
I--- 3 4 5

I. In accuse. 2. The young of a wild
animal. 3. An ancient measure of length.
4. A small piece. 5. In active. c. D.

SLoOK at this verse, and con it well,
Over and over its letters tell,
Very plainly you here will see
SEarth's dearest gift to you and me.

*- IN each of the following examples, take
one whole word from another whole word,
Sand the remainder, as it stands, will form a
S third whole word:
I. Remove to employ from a cabinet of
curiosities, and leave a hint to be silent. 2.
Take a toy from discontinued, and leave
hastened. 3. Take a skein of thread from
returned thanks, and leave to spread new-mown grass for drying.
4. Take a famiiliar term for mother from a wanderer, and leave to
shake the head. 5. Take an insect egg from one who warns, and
leave a waste upland. 6. Take a metal cup from a jeweled collar,
and leave a mark in punctuation. CYRILI I)EANE.

THE same eleven letters, forming a name much heard in February,
are omitted from each stanza.

This morn, I heard a cheery **
Trilling a merry, merry ***;
His song had many a love-note in it,
That added sweetness to it gave.

Where he had trained his tuneful **** *
Indeed I cannot well di***"
But all the songs of beaux or gallants,
The tiny warbler did outshine.

This puzzles me and sorely ****;a*;,
For though I sing my sweetest stain,
When on the bough this songster settles,
My serenades are all in -'*

Why sings the rogue in wintry weather,
When leafless every tree and vine?
He woos his mate in the green heather;
His secret's with 0* 5'* *0* i

THE initials name an important city of America; the finals name
the state in which the city is situated.
Cross words: I. A great city of China. 2. A vast lake. 3. A
town of Poland. 4. A river of Pennsylvania. 5. A river of the
United States. 6. A city of New York. 7. A city of Iowa. c.







THE proverb indicated by the accompanying pict- metal I in the numbering beneath the pictures.
ure has six words. Eachl numeral beneath the There will thus be in one group all the letters
pictures stands for a letter in that word of the that go to form the first word of the answer,
answer whose place in numerical order is and these letters, when set in the right
indicated by that particular nunmeral order. will spell the first word of the
... I '..: .. ....,. Repeat this process in
S. J i I I. Iig the ... ,
tl i ,, :- ,I rl.:n all th ... I,.r .: .
5, '- L ...1. I ,.. order, will be the answer.
w I ],... .. .. .. i'
al ...... .; .. IN these squares, the diag-
4, i : I.
t II I ,. i

F... .l r l l. -
t .. .. .... A _

I I ... I.

i 1/ /,

I l~l .1 'IIII

35 6 2115 5 S


3- 4 (

. 3"4 6 L


parisons: i. i1i alligator. 2. Hutch, hoar, host. 3. Wood,
wetter, west. i- .I, hearse, hurst. Declensions: I. Buy,
bine or by, be; bee, bower or bowers, bus. 2. Yew, ewer,
ewe. 3. Lea, Liz, limb; lay, lair, Lem. Principal Parts;: Lo I
.lent, lawn. a. Dough, dent, dawn. 3. Quay, caw, keen. 4. Lee,
law, lean. 5. Dee, daw, dean. 6. Mi, maw, mien. 7. High, hue,
hone. 8. Lye, loo, lone. 9. My, mew, moan.
FRAME PUZZLE.-Left slope, Extatic. Right slope, Citadel. Left
upright, Trillion. Right upright, Dominion. Bottom, Criticise.
EASY PROVERB REBUS.-Straws show which way the wind blows.
BIRD PUzzLE.-Goosander. Goos(e g)ander.
SQUARE WORD.--. Caul. 2. Ante. 3. Utes. 4. Less.
DOUBLE ACROSTIc.-Cinnamon, Allspice. i. CanadA. 2. Im-
periaL. 3. NeutraL. 4. NautiluS. 5. AsleeP. 6. Magi. 7. Ox-
aliC. 8. NinE.- EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMrA.-Paraphernalia.

WORD-MAKING.-i. Roiling + A = Original. 2 Lyre + B=
Beryl. 3. Laud + C= Ducal. 4. Field + D = Fiddle. 5. Grade
+ E= Agreed. 6. Leader + F = Federal. 7. Large + G = Gargle.
8. Dray + H = Hydra. 9. Horse I = Hosier. o1. Stole + J =
Jostle. i. Fair + K = Fakir. 12. Theme+ L =Helmet. 13.
Their + M = Hermit. 14. Oars + N = Arson. 15. Preachers + 0
=Reproaches. 16. Roan+ P=Apron. r7, Suit + Q= Quits.
18. Iota+ R= Ratio. 19. Stone + S=Onsets. 20. Loan + T=
Talon. 21. Ogre + U = Rogue. 22. Truce+ V = Curvet. 23.
Haste + W = Swathe. 24. Malice + X = Exclaim. 25. Want + Y
Tawny. 26. Bears + Z = Zebras.
HIDDEN WORD-SQUARE.-I. Ella. 2. Leap. 3. Lade. 4. Apex.
DOUBLE DIAMOND.-I. P. 2. Hob. 3. Harry. 4. Cartoon. 5.
Heron. 6. Mam. 7. Y.-- RIDDLE.-Red pepper.
RIDDLE.-Upas.-- C U -.-1 I
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.-To err is human, to forgive divine.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December 2a, from Frederick Chase, 4--Bessie Taylor, 5-
Charlotte B. Zerega, 2-Robert B. Salter, 7-H. T. Benedict, i--Bella Wehl, i-George S. Warner, i-" Tod," i-Willie F. P., i-
MaryWeidman, i -E. S. S., 2-Juliette, and Cornelia Golay, i -Virginia Callmeyer, 2-Carroll L. Maxcy, 9 -" Lolla," 4-Gertrude H.,
a-Gertrude Whitman, 4 -R. Le Roy, 5-John W. Kirby, 2-George MacMurphy, --Bertie Hall, 8-Carrie A. McCormick, 6-Dora
A. Gottheil, 5-Claire H. 1-;.... 8-Lester D. Mapes, 3-"Dandelion" and "Clover," 2-Daisy B. Hodgsdon, i-S. M., 3-Alice
Maud Kyte, 3-H. W. I .1 --Lizzie H. D. St. Vrain, 5-Einnim Namlips, i-Annie Reynes, 5-E. L. H., 4 -Bessie and her
Cousin, 12 -Alice Hawke, I--Carrie Adler, 2 -Lulu Pearce, 5 -" Diamond and Pearl," 3-A. H. Woolley, 5 -Alexander H. Laidlaw, 9 -
Hattie and Clara, 6-Fannie M. Miner, 2-C. A. Christian, 3-Ida Cohn, 7- Bessie C. Barney, 4 -Lizzie and De Witt, 9-James B.
Longacre, 3-Philip S. Carlton, i3-Robert S. Swords, i-Ernest B. Cooper, io-Robert A. Gaily, 8-Nellie DeGraff, 8-0. C. Turner,
x4-Florence Wilcox, 8-Hattie and Saddle, 2-" Riddlers," '-" Baby mine," T --Algie A. Hayden, x-Percy A. Rivins, r -Agher-
stone Sparks, I-G. and C. Woodruff, 5-Lol and Ella, 4-" Pansy," 4-K. C. Atwater, 8. The numerals denote the number of solutions.

_= 1 I.

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