Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Lady Jane Grey
 An encounter with a polar bear
 Mystery in a mansion
 Mary Jane describes herself
 A dispatch to fairy-land
 Guarding the treasures; or, The...
 Odd modes of fishing
 Rabbits and bank paper
 A bad beginning, but a good...
 In nature's wonderland; or, adventures...
 Sardines and sardiniers
 The donkey and his company
 Phaeton Rogers
 Consistency - The story of...
 Young March wind
 The magic dance - Recollections...
 The fox and the squirrel
 Stories of art and artists: Second...
 Five fives
 Romance without words (music)
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover


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mods:accessCondition type restrictions on use displayLabel Rights All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
mods:identifier NOTIS ocm0176
OCLC 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
(DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
mods:languageTerm text English
mods:physicalLocation Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in Special Collections, George A. Smathers Libraries
code UF
mods:name personal
mods:namePart Dodge, Mary Mapes
date 1830-1905
mods:roleTerm authority marcrelator Creator
mods:note Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
funding Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
mods:publisher Scribner,
mods:placeTerm New York
mods:dateIssued -c1943.
mods:recordIdentifier source ufdc UF00065513_00098
mods:recordContentSource University of Florida
mods:relatedItem original
mods:extent 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
mods:title St. Nicholas.
mods:detail Enum1
mods:caption Vol. 8
mods:number 8
No. 5
mods:topic Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
Saint Nicholas: Vol. 8, no. 5
Saint Nicholas
mods:typeOfResource text
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METS:structMap STRUCT1 mixed
D1 Front Cover
P1 Page
D30 Matter
D2 3 Frontispiece
P4 Plate
D3 Lady Jane Grey 4 Chapter
P5 337
P6 338
P7 339
D4 An encounter with a polar bear
P9 341
P10 342
P11 343
P12 344
D5 Chickadee 6 Poem
P8 340
D6 Mystery in mansion 7
P13 345
P14 346
P15 347
P16 348
P17 349
P18 350
P19 351
D7 Mary describes herself
P21 353
P22 354
P23 355
P24 356
D8 A dispatch to fairy-land 9
P20 352
D9 Guarding the treasures; or, The Shah's choice 10
P25 357
P26 358
D10 Odd modes fishing 11
P27 359
P28 360
D11 Rabbits and bank paper 12
P29 361
P30 362
P31 363
P32 364
D12 bad beginning, but good ending 13
P33 365
D13 In nature's wonderland; adventures American tropics 14
P34 366
P35 367
P36 368
P37 369
P38 370
P39 371
P40 372
P41 373
D14 Sardines sardiniers 15
P42 374
P43 375
D15 donkey his company 16
P44 376
P45 377
P46 378
D16 Phaeton Rogers 17
P47 379
P48 380
P49 381
P50 382
P51 383
P52 384
P53 385
P54 386
P55 387
D17 Consistency 18
P57 389 (MULTIPLE)
P58 390
P59 391
P60 392
D18 Young March wind 19
P56 388
D19 magic dance 20
P61 393
P62 394
P63 395
P64 396
P65 397
D20 fox squirrel 21
P66 398
D21 Stories art artists: Second 22
P67 399
P68 400
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P75 407
D22 Five fives 23
P76 408
P77 409
D23 Jack-in-the-pulpit 24
P78 410
P79 411
D24 Romance without words (music) 25
P80 412
D25 letter-box 26
P81 413
P82 414
D26 riddle-box 27
P83 415
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D27 28 Back
D28 29
D29 30 Spine
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Saint Nicholas: Vol. 8, no. 5
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00098
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 8, no. 5
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: -c1943.
Subjects / Keywords: Literature for Children
Genre: Children's literature
serial   ( sobekcm )
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
System ID: UF00065513:00098


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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Lady Jane Grey
        Page 337
        Page 338
        Page 339
    An encounter with a polar bear
        Page 341
        Page 342
        Page 343
        Page 344
        Page 340
    Mystery in a mansion
        Page 345
        Page 346
        Page 347
        Page 348
        Page 349
        Page 350
        Page 351
    Mary Jane describes herself
        Page 353
        Page 354
        Page 355
        Page 356
    A dispatch to fairy-land
        Page 352
    Guarding the treasures; or, The Shah's choice
        Page 357
        Page 358
    Odd modes of fishing
        Page 359
        Page 360
    Rabbits and bank paper
        Page 361
        Page 362
        Page 363
        Page 364
    A bad beginning, but a good ending
        Page 365
    In nature's wonderland; or, adventures in the American tropics
        Page 366
        Page 367
        Page 368
        Page 369
        Page 370
        Page 371
        Page 372
        Page 373
    Sardines and sardiniers
        Page 374
        Page 375
    The donkey and his company
        Page 376
        Page 377
        Page 378
    Phaeton Rogers
        Page 379
        Page 380
        Page 381
        Page 382
        Page 383
        Page 384
        Page 385
        Page 386
        Page 387
    Consistency - The story of a peg
        Page 389
        Page 390
        Page 391
        Page 392
    Young March wind
        Page 388
    The magic dance - Recollections of a little prima donna
        Page 393
        Page 394
        Page 395
        Page 396
        Page 397
    The fox and the squirrel
        Page 398
    Stories of art and artists: Second paper
        Page 399
        Page 400
        Page 401
        Page 402
        Page 403
        Page 404
        Page 405
        Page 406
        Page 407
    Five fives
        Page 408
        Page 409
        Page 410
        Page 411
    Romance without words (music)
        Page 412
    The letter-box
        Page 413
        Page 414
    The riddle-box
        Page 415
        Page 416
    Back Matter
        Back Matter
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text






MARCH, 1881.

[Copyright, 1881, by Scribner & Co.]



I HAVE been asked to tell you American children
the story of one of the youngest and most beautiful
of all the notable personages in English history-
a girl who was at once a martyr, or saint, and
a most noble gentlewoman, and who wore for a few
unhappy days, unwillingly, the crown of a queen.
History has to deal with a great many terrible
events, and a great many hateful people, and has
to record bloodshed and misery and crime so often,
that when there comes one lovely and gentle figure
into it, our hearts are all the more touched, and
tears gather in our eyes at the very name which
suggests one chapter pure of all evil. This is the
effect that is produced upon all elder readers by the
name of Lady Jane Grey; and most of you, no
,doubt, have heard of the sweet young English girl
who, without any ambition of her own, was taken
out of her simple country life, and from her books
which she loved, to be put upon a throne she had
only a distant right to; and then she had to die,
not quite eighteen, for a fault not hers.'
There scarcely could be, I think, a more piti-
ful story; and yet it is more than pitiful, for
Lady Jane had the soul of a true princess among
women, and died royally, without a murmur, resist-
ing all temptations to falsehood. Such trials and
troubles do not come our way; indeed, they do not
come in the way of our kings and queens nowa-
days; but that does not make them less interesting
when we meet them in the words of that far-distant
past, which it is so difficult to believe was once
to-day and to-morrow, just as our days are.
Lord Dorset's daughter, Jane Grey, though her
mother was of royal blood, had no more thought of
what was going to happen to her than any of you
boys and girls have of the troubles which you will
VOL. VIII.-22.

meet in your future life. She was born in a high
station, indeed, but not in one that seemed to
expose her to special danger. Not like the king's
daughters, Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth, who both
had a melancholy and agitated youth. But little
Jane Grey's troubles were no more than those
which any little maiden might have. in the humblest
life. Her father and mother were not so kind and
indulgent as most of your fathers and mothers are.
Perhaps they loved her just as much; but they
were hard upon her, and exacted obedience sternly.
Whether she liked it or not, whether she could do
it or not, she was always forced to obey. On the
other hand, there was something to be said for
these severe parents; they had no sons. And this
girl was their eldest child, and, no doubt, they
thought it their duty to harden her, and accustom
her to endure trouble and overcome difficulty, as
one who had royal blood in her veins, and of whom
nobody could be sure what she might be called
upon to do.
I must tell you, however, what was the strange
state of affairs in England at this period, respect-
ing the royal family. Nobody then had begun to
think that a country could do without a king-that
is, nobody in England. You know that we have
never learned that lesson yet, and still want our
Queen as much as we want our fathers and mothers,
which is quite different from the ideas you are
brought up in. And at this particular moment
there was the greatest difficulty in knowing who
was the right heir to the crown. The king then
reigning was a delicate boy, Edward VI., who fell.
into a consumption and died in his seventeenth
year, and his natural successors were his two sis-
ters, both older than himself: Mary, who was the



No. 5.


daughter of Henry VIII. by his first wife, Kathar-
ine of Arragon, and Elizabeth, whose mother was
Anne Boleyn, Henry's second wife. Both these
princesses had been put out of the succession by
act of Parliament, and declared illegitimate, al-
though they were afterward restored, by their
father's will, and a second act of Parliament. After
Mary and Elizabeth, came the children of Henry
VIII.'s sisters-Margaret, who had married the King
of Scotland, and Mary, who, after having been
nominally the wife of the old King of France, had
married Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk.
The elder, of these ladies had one grandchild,
Mary Stuart, afterward so well known as Mary,
Queen of Scots; and the younger, also a daughter,
who was the Marchioness of Dorset, and mother of
Lady Jane Grey. You must try to master this
account, although it is a little complicated. After
poor young King Edward's death, there were only
women who had any right to the throne. First,
Mary; then Elizabeth; then little Mary of Scotland;
then Frances Brandon, Lady Dorset, represented by
her daughter, Jane Grey. Thus, there were two direct
princesses, the sisters, and two farther off, the little
cousins, the child-queen Mary of Scotland, and Lady
Dorset's little daughter, of whom Mary had been
sent to France, and was married to the young King
Francis II. ; and Jane grew up sweetly in her father's
house, like a little English lady, and nothing more.
You must understand, however (but I cannot
go into the whole story), that of these four,
two-the two Marys-represented the Church of
Rome; and two-Elizabeth and Jane-represented
the party of the Reformation. Mary of England and
Mary of Scotland were both brought up Catholics,
and both taught to consider that the restoration of
England to the old church would be the greatest
and noblest work in the world, while young King
Edward and his little cousin, Jane Grey, were fervent
Protestants, thinking nothing in the world so impor-
tant as the diffusion of the Bible, and the deliverance
of England from Rome. Elizabeth was neither a
devout Catholic nor a fervent Protestant. She was
for England and her own right, and considered
anything else secondary to these two things.
I need not tell you about King Edward's reign.
He was said to have been a very wonderful boy,-
so bright, so good, so clever, so wise, that the his-
torians of his own time cannot say enough in his
praise. But these great applause do not always
last, and some people tell you now that Edward
was a little bigot, and if he had lived might have
been as bloody on the Protestant side as his sister
Mary was on the Catholic. Yet, you will easily
understand that a poor boy who died at sixteen,
and who had learned Latin and Greek, French,
Italian, and Spanish, logic and philosophy, besides

the more ornamental acquirement of music; who
" knew all the harbors and ports in his kingdom, as
also in Scotland and France, with the depth of
water and way of coming into them," and who
played on the lute, and kept a journal in Greek
characters, could not have had much time to gov-
ern England. The statesmen who were about him
in the end of his life were, however, very strong
Protestants, and the chief among them, the Duke
of Northumberland, carried matters with so high a
hand in this way, that the idea of the Princess
Mary succeeding was very alarming to him when
the young king grew ill. He was a man of great
ambition, who desired nothing less than the chief
influence in the kingdom, and in order to gain that
high place, he had done many things for which
vengeance was sure to overtake him.
He, therefore, cast his eyes about him to see what
it was best to do. We may believe that, perhaps,
in his heart Northumberland sincerely desired the
safety of the Protestant Church, as well as his own
safety and supremacy, which were, however, so very
much in jeopardy as to make anything else second-
ary. Perhaps, also, it was the fact that his young
son, Guildford Dudley, had fixed his affections
upon Lord Dorset's daughter, which turned his
thoughts that way. At all events, this bold and
desperate man suddenly perceived, or thought he
perceived, a way of raising and advancing himself,
if it could be accomplished,-a way which would,
at the same time, save the nation, secure the prog-
ress of the Reformation, promote religion, and
bring about everything that was good, at the cost
of but one thing that was evil (even good men
have sometimes fallen under such a temptation).
Henry VIII. had named the Greys next after his
own daughters in his will; why should not poor
young, dying Edward, for the good of England and
the Protestant faith, put them first, and thus shut
out Rome and preserve Northumberland? The
dying boy and the innocent girl, and even his own
son-who must rise or fall with his scheme-were
nothing to the Duke in comparison. And thus this
tragedy began.
It has taken me a long time to tell you this,
which I am sure a great many of you already have
read in your histories. While the plot was being
formed, Jane Grey was growing up the sweetest of
Puritan maidens, in all the freshness of English
country life. The word Puritan was not in use so,
early, but in all we hear of her there is a gentle
seriousness which suits the name. Though she had
not any of the passionate force which belonged to
the Tudors, she had their love of letters, and was
as accomplished as her cousin, King Edward. Her
parents were somewhat harsh to her, but her tutor
was kind, and this gave her favorite studies a charm




the more. Roger Ascham, who was a scholar of
the time, and has written an account of this visit
in one of his books, went one day to her father's
house in Leicestershire when all the gay party were
hunting, and the great house empty. But he found
Lady Jane seated in one of those windowed recesses
which distinguish the architecture of the time,
reading that dialogue of Plato which tells about the
wonderful death of the philosopher Socrates. Do
you think some angel had put it into the girl's
young head that by and by she, too, was to die
unjustly, under false accusations, like Socrates?
Mr. Ascham wondered at her sitting there, with
the pale spring sky shining in upon her, and the
distant sounds of the horns and the hounds and
horses' hoofs coming from the great park, where all
the rest were enjoying themselves. I have more
pleasure in my book than they have in their hunt-
ing," she said. It is the only distinct glimpse of
her that we get until she emerges out of this tran-
quillity of her youth into the blaze of light which
surrounds a throne.
King Edward was very ill and suffering when his
young cousin became old enough to marry. Lord
Guildford Dudley was but a few years older than
his bride, and does not appear to have been in-
volved in his father's plot. They married, he as
innocent as she was, so far as appears, and were
very happy; and thus took the first step toward
their death. When the king died, what was the
wonder of Lady Jane to see her father and mother
come with the great Northumberland into the
room where she was sitting with her husband!
They told her that Edward was dead. Poor cousin!
No doubt the happy young creature was filled with
awe as well as grief, to hear that out of all his
grandeur and state, another young creature whom
she knew so well had been taken away. But while
the tears were dropping from her eyes, and her
gentle soul was full of sorrow for Edward, suddenly,
like a thunder peal out of a clear sky, came the
strange intimation that she was to succeed him.
Imagine the consternation, the trouble of the girl,
when her father and mother knelt and offered her
their homage as Queen of England, and her stern
father-in-law, the great statesman who controlled
everything, kissed her trembling hand! She would
not hear of it. She protested, like a generous
creature as she was, that Mary or Elizabeth was
the just heir, and not she. She turned to her
husband, calling upon him to support her. But it
is very few people who have the courage to refuse
a great elevation, scarcely any who will put aside
a crown when it is offered to them. Caesar did it,
you will read, both in history and Shakspeare, but
no one believed that he meant it. And your own
Washington refused what, if not a crown, was at

least the supreme rank; for which you are all proud
of him, and we, too; as you also may be proud of
this English girl, standing far away in old London,
weeping and protesting, amid all the older people,
who were dazzled by the splendid prize that was
offered to her. She was not dazzled; the wrong of
it and the grief of it went to her heart. She turned
to her husband, hoping that he would stand by her.
But he did not; he was dazzled like the rest;
perhaps, loving her as he did, he thought there
was no one else in the world as worthy. But at
least he added his own entreaties to those of the
three others, all persons whom Jane was bound to
obey. What could the girl do among them? She
yielded; her own judgment, her own better instinct,
were sacrificed sadly to their ambition,-her father
and mother, against whom she never had rebelled;
her husband, whom she loved; and his father, whom
all England recognized as the most powerful noble
in the kingdom,-how could Jane, seventeen years
old, stand against them? They took her away to
the Tower, which was then a royal palace as well as
a prison, and proclaimed her queen.
Queen Jane You will not even find her name
in the roll of English monarchs. She was an inno-
cent usurper, an unwilling offender against right
and justice. And this poor, mock reign of hers,
in which she never herself believed, lasted only
nine days. Perhaps if England had known what
Mary Tudor was, the country would not have been
so determined to give her its allegiance; but few
know which is the good and which is the evil till
time has made it clear; and Jane had never a
chance, never a hope. You hear people talk of a
nine days' wonder; but hers was a nine days' reign.
At the end of that time, even Northumberland,
trying to save his head, himself proclaimed Queen
Mary, and the melancholy little farce was over.
When they took the kingdom out of her hands
again, the girl, as you may imagine, was not
sorry. She had nothing to do with their schemes
and conspiracies. She got her breath again when
"the burden of that honor unto which she was
not born" had been taken from her. But they
did not let her go home. They kept her and her
husband in that melancholy Tower of London,
which has held so many prisoners. Most likely
Mary and her advisers would have been glad, if
they had dared, to let the young pair go free.
They were not unkindly treated in the Tower, and
though Northumberland lost his life, Jane's father,
who had been made Duke of Suffolk, was spared.
But when six months had passed, there came
a wild and desperate rising against Mary, which
changed the aspect of affairs. It was put down,
indeed, without much difficulty; but it was thought
necessary to the Queen's safety that her innocent




* i .' ~ -, .





THE sun was just dipping behind the northern
waves, tinging the waters from horizon to shore
with a shimmering brightness. The sky, softly
brilliant, was dotted with clouds of crimson and
gold and purple, fading out to gray and snowy)
white, as they were borne far to the south. Ice-
floes drifted in the distance, seeming like vast
sheets of polished silver. A solitary berg came
floating from the north-east, its topmost crystal
peak glittering and flashing like a huge amethyst,
and shading toward its base to pearly whiteness,
dashed with tongues of flame. High up in air a
wild swan's note sounded loud and shrill, the kitti-
wakes joined in with their mournful Whree-e-ah !
Whree-e-ah as they dipped and plunged in the
bright waves, while innumerable flocks of dovekies
hovered near, giving utterance to their plaintive
Jon and Eirik Hjalmund watched the falling sun,
the glowing berg, and crimson clouds, with all the
admiration of young Icelanders, who are proverbial

for considering their land of glaciers, deeply seamed
lava-beds, geysers, and vapor-spouts, the most beau-
tiful the sun smiles upon; then, as the gorgeous
beauty gradually faded out, they left their perch on
the high fragments of lava overlooking the sea, and
gathering their sheep together, drove them to their
cot or yard.
Making them safe for the night-if so we may
call the short twilight between sun and sun of the
northern midsummer-the boys went to their own
little stone and turf hut which served them for
lodgings, and creeping among bags of eider-down,
fell asleep.
This little islet, to which bonder (farmer) Hjal-
mund boated over his sheep every summer for the
good herbage which grew upon its top, was at the
entrance to the Eyja Fjord, on the northern coast
of Iceland. Its shores were bounded by precipitous
lava-cliffs, making the islet nearly or quite inaccess-
ible, excepting by a steep and rocky path leading
up from a narrow strand on the side next the





main-land. Up this path the boys first climbed with
their pike-staff, then pulled up the sheep after
them. When once on the top, there was no fear
of their straying, and during the short summer, Jon
and Eirik lived on this islet, and guarded the flock
from the attacks of the white-tailed sea-eagles,
whose bold raids among the lambs alarmingly
lessened their number. And, too, if a sheep or
its young, venturing too far over the cliffs, fell
from the rocks into the sea, expert at climbing and
rowing, the lads went immediately to the rescue.
But, to avoid such falls, the sheep were not allowed
to roam about the islet at night.
The byre (farm-house) of the bonder was on the
main-land, and attached to it was a small hill-side
" run," on which he pastured his flock of cows and
some sturdy, rugged little horses. Immediately
adjoining the byre was the tbz, or paddock, about
eight acres in extent, inclosed by a turf wall, from
which the winter forage for the sheep and cows
was cut. The tough little ponies-luckless brutes
-were obliged to shirk for themselves through
that rigorous season, coming home in the spring
almost skeletons, and seeming as if a good strong
gale from the jokul (mountain), getting into their
voluminous, matted manes, and big, woolly tails,
might lift them bodily into the air and spirit them
away. To their voracious appetites, even the refuse
fish-skins and offal thrown from the byre made a
welcome meal.
In addition to whatever hay could be gathered
from the tun, Jon and Eirik gleaned all that could
be spared of the herbage from the islet, and tying
it in bundles with thongs, rowed it across to the
Bonder Hjalmund himself had at this time gone
to bring home his "stock-fish" from the Guld-
bringe Syssel (gold-bringing country) on the west-
ern shores of Iceland, a district where, instead of
the yellow metal which its name would seem to
indicate, the precious golden cod harvest is gathered
in by hundreds of islanders, who come flocking
from far and near for a share in this rich product of
the seas.
This season of cod-fishing begins the first of
February, when the fish come to spawn in the
shoal waters, from which they retreat into the deep
sea by the middle of April.
Thus, in midwinter, when the pale sun scarcely
shows himself above the horizon, and the fierce
storms howl over the dreary waste of rock and
jokul, these hardy fishermen make their way from
the most remote districts of the island-more than
two hundred miles-to the fishing-stations. Here
'they are hired by the proprietors of Dutch or Bel-
gian sloops, or fishing-boats, and in payment for
his services, each receives a share of the fish he

takes, with a daily allowance of "skier" (Iceland
cheese), and also forty pounds of flour thrown in.
They launch to sea at early dawn, and only
return to their damp and comfortless turf huts at
night, after battling with inclement weather and
rough seas for many hours.
Their fish are then split and hung upon lines,
and exposed to the cold winds,-and the warm sun
as the spring advances,-which process of curing
renders them so hard that they are said to keep
good for years. Thus preserved, the cod is called
By the middle of May the season is over, and
nothing remains to be done but the final drying
and hardening of the fish, which, as the inhabitants
of Iceland entertain the greatest confidence in one
another's honesty, is left to the care of the fisher-
men residing at the stations, and the stranger Ice-
landers, one and all, return to their homes.
At the end of June, the little, starved ponies have
recovered somewhat from their emaciation of the
previous winter, and are able to travel. Then,
again, the true fisherman, or the bonder, who
engages in this occupation only during its season,
hastens with his horses to fetch home his "stock-
fish" from the stations, for the consumption of his
family, or else he carries them to the nearest port
to exchange for coffee, sugar, or other luxuries.
Bonder Hjalmund's absence rendered it neces-
sary that Jon and Eirik should care not only for
the islet, but also for the byre at the main-land, dis-
tant about two miles, and every morning they alter-
nately rowed across, to milk the cows and cultivate
the little patch of turnips and parsley in the tin.
Though scarcely four o'clock, the sun had long
since risen over the jokuls to the north-east before
the boys emerged from the hut. The morning was
cool and damp, and fog-banks hung low about the
islet and headland in the Eyja Fjord.
After turning the sheep forth to graze, except-
ing three or four grandmothers of the flock, whose
ragged fleeces betokened overripeness, Jon and
Eirik returned to the hut and ate their breakfast of
cakes and "skier," washed down by a stout draught
of whey; then prepared to strip off the fleecy coats
of the old ewes.
Taking them to a grassy knoll in front of the
hut, the sheep were cast upon their backs by the
combined efforts of the two boys, where they were
held while the seemingly cruel operation of denud-
ing the poor animals was being performed.
And a very primitive process it is; for, instead
of clipping off the woolly covering, the Icelander,
disdaining all improvements, or rather, perhaps,
ignorant of .more modern methods, clutches his
helpless victim, and, in a series of pulls, tears the
woolly coat, piecemeal, from its struggling body.




But it is said to be not necessarily a painful oper-
ation, for at certain periods of the year the young
fleece pushes off the old covering, and eventually
the creature would slough its outer woolly coat, as a
snake or a toad casts its skin, only it would come
off a little at a time.
Indeed, it must be confessed that our own
method of shearing is far from being a humane
one, for the poor sheep frequently is made to bleed
by the sharp shears in the hands of some covetous
owner, who is unwilling that an ounce of wool
should be wasted.
The ewes were at last "picked" and set at
liberty, and the fleeces carefully rolled together and
tied. Then, with the bundles of hay which already
had been cut and dried, together with the wool,
Jon and Eirik proceeded leisurely toward the east
side of the island, where the boat lay on the narrow
As they went across the island, Jon, hay-laden
and completely enveloped, and Eirik hidden under
a mass of dirty-white wool, with nothing visible but
a pair of sheep-skin moccasins, Jon looked rather
like a huge, animated hay-cock crawling off behind
its future devourer.
Hidden beneath their burdens, they were, as
yet, unconscious of the approach of a guest whom
all bonders of northern Iceland dread-the polar
bear, which, floating from Spitzbergen or Jan
Mayen upon berg or floe, makes a terrible on-
slaught upon their flocks and herds before his vora-
cious appetite is sated, or he can be discovered and
As the lads threw off their loads at the crest of
the path leading down to the boat, a deep roar
caused them to turn quickly. Not two furlongs off
from the northern shore of the island, and bearing
down toward it, a small berg, with its hungry occu-
pant, was just emerging from a fog-bank.
For a moment the brothers stood speechless with
terror. Then, "The bjorn [white bear], brother !"
cried Jon, almost breathless. "Fleu Fleu "
(Fly fly!)
The berg drifted on, and it was evident to the
boys, even before they reached the hut, that it
would strand against the islet. They might save
themselves by flitting across to the byre,.but these
flaxen-haired Norse lads had the blood of brave
heroes in their veins, and they prepared to do
battle with the bear, and protect their father's
flock as best they might, for well they knew that
the bjorn would spare neither themselves nor the
helpless sheep.
Hastily collecting stones, turf, and lava shims,
they piled them near the edge of the cliff where, by
its setting in, the berg seemed likely to touch, and
then, getting the pike-staff and scythe (very short-

bladed and not unlike the bush-hook used in
New England), the courageous lads, with their
few and rude weapons, stood waiting to receive the
His acute nostrils already had scented the flock;
so, with muzzle distended and sniffing the air, he
paced impatiently back and forth on the edge of the
berg, and, as if impatient of its slow progress, he
would now and then make feints of taking to the
water and putting off to the islet, anxious to break
his long fast.
The sheep were seemingly aware of coming
danger, and, calling their lambs, hied them all to
the cot, and huddled together in its farthest corner.
The bear had now come within a few yards of
the islet, the long, yellow-white hair of his shaggy
coat undulating in the breeze. His hoarse growl
sounded louder and more savage each moment.
a Busk thyself quickly, brother! Bjorn is upon
us!" shouted Eirik, grasping his scythe, as the
berg ran upon a shelf-like projection and hung
swaying to and fro in the tide.
Fortunately; upon that side of the islet the cliffs
were not only very steep, but were higher by at
least three fathoms than the berg itself, which
sloped sharply away seaward; but, enraged by long-
endured hunger, the bear reared himself upon the
berg and began clambering ponderously up the
jagged rocks.
Jon and Eirik watched his slow progress with
anxious hearts. As the huge creature came within
a yard of the top, they leaped to the brink, and,
tumbling a pile of great stones and turf down upon
his head, followed it by a frantic assault with the
pike-staff and scythe.
Under the suddenness and violence of the stone-
shower the bear slipped back to the berg, and stood
there for a moment, chafing and roaring; then,
more savage than before, he made up the cliff
The bear succeeded in getting one great paw up
over the cliff, and striking its nails deep into the
crevices and turf, clung there tenaciously, with glar-
ing eyes and ears laid close-a pitiless monster,
before which the brave boys for a moment recoiled
in terror. Then, rallying, Jon shouted courage-
ously to Eirik, and they again assailed him, Eirik
engaging the attention of the bear by plunging at
his head, while Jon got a great stone and threw it
down with all his strength directly upon the big,
shaggy paw lying over the edge of the cliff.
With great, gruff howls of pain, bjorn drew it
hastily off, and began backing carefully down the
cliff; but his courage returning as the pain abated,
he once more began to scale the jagged rocks.
"Gae, Eirik! Gae! [Go! go!] Fetch the
hay from the skiff! cried Jon.




Nai, nai [no, no], brother! Gae thyself. I
am the stronger. I will stand in thy shoon here "
And with his blue eyes flashing, and his yellow hair
flying in the breeze, Eirik stood on the cliffs and
hurled great stones and turfs down into the very
face of bjorn, who, though somewhat exhausted,
climbed steadily up, unmindful now of these slight

moment, and then the cruel white face was above
the cliff, and with a quick stroke the pike-staff was
whirled rods away, and the long claws were struck
into Eirik's coarse vadmal trousers.
Oh, speed thee Speed thee, Jon shrieked
Eirik, in great terror, wrenching himself free, as
the sharp nails tore through the stout woolen cloth.


missiles, his teeth showing angrily, and his eyes
fixed grimly on the little Norse boy, who was so
bravely defying his great, fierce strength.
Again a huge paw, bleeding slowly from previous
wounds, was thrust up over the cliff, and again a
series of quick, energetic stabs from Eirik's pike-
staff forced him to let go his hold. But only for a

"Here I am, brother! Hold out! Hold out!"
cried Jon, staggering up under the load of hay-
bundles; and casting them on the ground, he drew
a match from a little leather pouch worn about
his neck, struck it on a lava shim, and applied it to
one of the bundles. In a second it was ablaze, and,
smoking, hissing, and flaming, it was tumbled into




rival, her little cousin, the girl who, blameless as
she was, might be made the occasion of other
risings, should be made an end of, too.
When Roger Ascham saw Lady Jane reading
Plato, it was the Phaedo, as I have told you, the story
of the death of Socrates, which held her fast while
all the household was abroad in the morning sun-
shine. It is a beautiful story. Some of you boys
will know it, and I wish the girls could read it, too.
It tells how the wise old philosopher, guilty of
nothing but of teasing his countrymen in the truth
which they could not understand, and questions
they could not answer, was on false pretenses con-
demned to death as an enemy of the state. Now
it was the young reader's turn to die on the same
ground. And Lady Jane, though she was so inno-
cent, was no doubt an enemy to the state. She
did not complain any more than Socrates did. He
was old and the wisest of men, and she was little
more than a child. But she went out to the scaf-
fold on Tower Hill with as great a courage. She
wept and struggled when they made her a queen;
but neither struggled nor wept when they led her out
to die. The night before, she wrote a letter to her

sister, full of sweet and pious counsels; not a word
in it of complaint; not an allusion to her undeserved
fate. She saw her husband led to his execution,
and waved her hand to him from her window, in
token of their near reunion; then went out with a
noble exultation in his courage and steadfast
patience, and laid her own young head on the
I have not told you half what this young martyr
had to go through. Mary tortured all her latter
days, by sending priests to persuade her to the faith
of Rome. But I think her story, is too pathetic,
too tender and touching, to bring religious contro-
versy into it.
The most prejudiced critic has never tried to
sully this pure and perfect picture. She died for the
faults of others; but she lives forever in the pure light
of innocence and simple heroism. The history of
England, or of the whole world as far as I know,
holds no parallel to this girlish figure, so true in
the sense of justice, so brave to endure, obedient and
humble even against her judgment, and bearing
the penalty of that obedience with a valor so stead-
fast and a submission so sweet.



ALL the earth is wrapped in snow,
O'er the hills the cold winds blow,
Through the valley down below
Whirls the blast.
All the mountain brooks are still,
Not a ripple from the hill,
For each tiny, murmuring rill
Is frozen fast.

Come with me
To the tree
Where the apples used to hang!
Follow me
To the tree
Where the birds of summer sang!
There 's a happy fellow there,
For the cold he does not care,
And he always calls to me,
"Chickadee, chickadee !"

He 's a merry little fellow,
Neither red nor blue nor yellow,
For he wears a winter overcoat of gray;
And his cheery little voice
Makes my happy heart rejoice,
While he calls the live-long day-
Calls to me-
Chickadee! "
From the leafless apple-tree,
Chickadee, chickadee!"
Then he hops from bough to twig,
Tapping on each tiny sprig,
Calling happily to me,
He 's a merry little fellow,
Neither red nor blue nor yellow,
He 's the cheery bird of winter,
Chickadee !"




the big bosom of the bear, now well over the edge
of the cliff.
This was too much. His long hair caught the
flames, and they sped over his yellow-white coat
like a flash; and, retreating too hurriedly, the great
brute went tumbling and roaring down the cliff,
bumping and bounding from ledge to ledge, the
burning bundles falling after and upon him.
There was now no berg to intercept his speedy
exit for it had again drifted out to sea, and was

some distance away. It was fortunate, too, for the
bear, as a sudden plunge into the sea fut him out.
Emerging above the waves, he struck out for the
berg, while Jon and Eirik watched his departure
with deeply thankful hearts.
But, wedged into a crevice of the cliff, a long,
sharp claw was left to them, either wrenched from
the brute's paw by his hasty departure, or crushed
off by the big stones hurled upon it-an ugly
souvenir of the siege of bjorn.

(A Story of an S. S.)

BY *



AN honorary member !" repeated Kitty, elated
by the title. But you will have to tell me some-
thing about it all."
"In the first place," said the Chief, "you see,
we have never had girls; we never meant to have;
and if Lord Leicester had not said you would be
here only a little while, I don't know that we should
have agreed. But sometimes we need girls, and
we must have a friend in the camp of the invader."
Meaning our family?" said Kitty.
Yes. And so the Brotherhood has decided to
knight you."
Do you mean, to strike me with a sword, and
say, 'Rise, Sir Knight!' and all that, and do I
have to watch over my arms ?"
"What do you mean?" asked.Don Quixote.
"We strike you with a sword, but I don't know
what you mean by 'watching your arms.' "
"Why, don't you remember," said Kitty, de-
lighted to show her superior knowledge, and to
prove to the Brotherhood how great an advantage
to them it would be to have her as a- member,-
" don't you remember that young knights always
sat up all night and watched their armor, the first
night they had it? I think you ought to do that."
"I think it would be a capital plan," said Rob
Roy, the Highlander, who was an old member,
and in favor of new rules for new comers; "espe-
cially as she is to be only an honorary member."
Is n't that a real member?" asked Kitty. "If
you mean to begin that ceremony with me, I ought
to be a member like the rest of you."

, "Why, don't you see," said the boy with the
skin cap, who was Robinson Crusoe, "that it is a
compliment? Any girl ought to be proud of being
an honorary member."
I 'd like it very much," said Kitty, feeling she
never would like Robinson Crusoe, if all the rest
of you were honorary members, but I don't want
to be anything different."
You wont be," replied the Chief, "except that
you can't vote, and that is of no consequence, for I
don't often allow any of the Brotherhood to vote."
"But I want to vote," said Kitty. "Suppose
you all want to do something, and I don't, why, I
shall have to go along, and I can't even say any-
thing about it."
"Oh, you can say whatever you choose," said
Robinson Crusoe.
I should not go," asserted K1'.
"If the Chief said so, you would," replied Lord
Leicester. "There is n't anything we insist upon
like obedience. That was the trouble with the
prisoner-he did n't obey orders."
"Oh, yes," said Kitty, looking around for him,
and finding him close at her side, wearing a cocked
hat and a pair of epaulets. What did you do with
him ?"
"Pardoned him," said the Chief. But will you
be an honorary member ?"
"I don't know," replied Kitty. "I don't know
what it all means."
"WVe are a Band of Loyal Brothers," answered
the Chief, in a very official mariner, "and we help
the poor, and defend the innocent."
That's nice," said Kitty; "and do you all have
names ?"
"We all have characters," corrected the Chief.




"I am sure I don't know what character I ought
to have," Kitty said.
"You can make up your mind about that after
you are accepted," said the Chief. We had Maid
Marian, and that," pointing to the Indian girl, "is
"She can have my part, if she wants it," said
this personage. "I don't like being a woman."
I don't want it," said Kitty. "I never thought
much of Pocahontas. I don't know who I 'd like
to be. There 's Queen Elizabeth, and Cleopatra;
but I should n't like them. I think I '11 be Sir
Walter Raleigh."
"No, you can't," said Robinson Crusoe; "you 've
got to be a girl."
"Not unless I say so," replied the Chief, "and
I don't see why she would n't make a good Sir
Walter Raleigh. Of course he wore a cloak, and
that would cover her dress, and her hair would do
first-rate if she would unplait it."
"Oh, I am willing to do that!" said Kitty, at
once beginning to act upon the suggestion; and.
then, shaking her hair loose, said, Will that do ? "
The little boy with a cocked hat, who was, she
found, Napoleon Bonaparte, softly touched her
hair, and said, in a whisper:
"It is longer than my sister's, and it is very
Kitty turned to him and smiled. "Perhaps,"
she said, addressing the Chief again, "Cousin
Robert could tell me of a better character."
"You must n't ask him!" exclaimed the Chief.
Oh, I shall have to," replied Kitty. "I have
made up my mind not to do anything while I am
here without his knowledge."
The Brotherhood wore an air of individual and
general consternation.
You must not tell," said the Chief, in a peremp-
tory manner. It would be the meanest thing in
the world!"
"Then I can't belong," said Kitty, getting up.
"Of course I should n't say anything to Sandy or
Fred, but Cousin Robert is different."
"Did n't I say so said Robinson Crusoe, look-
ing ready to hug himself. I told you that girls
would spoil the fun."
"Is it really a secret society?" said Kitty, ad-
dressing the Chief, after giving one withering look
at Robinson Crusoe.
"Of course it is," the Chief answered. "No
one knows of it. Not one of our relatives."
"I don't think that is right," said Kitty. Your
fathers might not come to the meetings, but they
ought to know: I am sure Cousin Robert would
say so."
Now, see here, Miss Kitty Baird," said Lord
Leicester, a little hotly, "it isn't nice in you to

talk in that way. We are not rascals, and our
fathers would n't care anything about knowing."
If I were to belong, I should have to tell Cousin
Robert," stoutly maintained Kitty.
"Then you'd better not belong," replied the
Chief. For it is a rule not to tell any one who is
not a member."
"Perhaps she will tell, anyhow," said Robinson
Crusoe. Girls can't keep secrets. I said from
the first, she ought not to be let in."
The blood rushed to Kitty's face. Now she
knew for certain that she did n't like Robinson
Crusoe, and she was about to make an angry reply,
when the sentry rushed in, hastily shutting the
door, and crying, in a suppressed voice:
"To arms! They come! The Greek! The
In a moment the candles were put out and thrust
into pockets, Rob Roy picked up the sheep-skin;
there was a swift and silent rush up the back stairs,
and the honorary member was left in a darkened
room, with a forgotten muslin-mask at her feet, to
consider the situation.



"SPEAK it out, Kitty," said Sandy, at breakfast
the next morning. "Ever since we came home
yesterday, you have been brimful of something.
Speak it out."
"Nonsense," said Kitty, getting very red for a
moment; "I should like to know what I could
have to tell."
She wants to ask Papa something. Every two
minutes she looks at him as if she were just going
to do it."
You are all crazy," Kitty replied, hastily drink-
ing her cup of milk. "If I want to ask Cousin
Robert anything, I shall do it."
I am not afraid of that," said Sandy. "But I
want to hear it."
I have the greatest mind in the world not to do
something for you," said Kitty. Something that
ought to be done, Sandy Baird."
"Ought I to do it? asked Sandy.
"Is it hard ? "
"No, not very."
Is it pleasant?"
Kitty laughed.
"I am afraid you would n't think it very
pleasant," said she.
"Then you do it. Certainly, you 'd best do it."
You say yes, do you ? asked Kitty.
"With all my heart."




Very well," said Kitty, and she ran out of the
"She has a secret," said Belle. She jumped
about last night as if she were crazy, and said all
sorts of foolish things about my joining some
society which she meant to get up."
Kitty went into the little parlor, took a sheet of
note-paper out of her cousin Robert's portfolio,
and wrote this epistle:

"A hunter searching for game, made a mistake. He shot, not a
cardinal ostritch but a Turkey Roc, the hunter is honest although
he is not a knight and he ought to pay the owner, and I want to know
who is the owner. SIR WALTER -- ."

I don't know how to spell 'Raleigh,' but that
will do," she said to herself. "Now, Sandy will
have to pay for that turkey, or, rather, I shall pay
for him, if I have money enough, and I shall tell
him when we are far away. The next thing is to
send the letter. It sounds like one of AEsop's
She soon had a chance to send it, for she saw
two of the Band of Loyal Brothers walking arm in
arm close to the river, and ran down.
We just wanted you," said Robin Hood.
Here 's a note," said Kitty. I can't wait one
minute. When you have the answer ready, whistle
three times, and put it under the first blackberry
bush over there. Here is a piece of paper, and
here 's a pencil," and off she went back to the
It was not long before she heard the signal, but
when she reached the bush the boys were gone.
The note was there, however, and Kitty sat down
behind a tree while she read it. It ran thus:


-e -^-- S-i --



"I 'd like to know who is a traitor cried Kitty,
jumping up and looking around. If I just had
that Napoleon Bonaparte here,-for I know he
wrote the letter !"
Then she whistled, and the boys at once ap-.
peared from a bush close by.
Here, take your note," said Kitty. "I don't
like such things. If you mean that I am a traitor,
you are very much mistaken, and you don't know
how to spell 'which,' and I am going to tell Cousin
Robert this very day."
Who has told, then?" exclaimed Robin Hood.
"Somebody has; and I believe you are guilty, or
you would n't have run away just now. All the
girls over at Riverbank know it."
"I did n't tell any one!" cried Kitty; "of
course I did n't. I know who did."
Who ?" asked Napoleon Bonaparte.
"Robinson Crusoe," said Kitty, wildly deciding
on the Loyal Brother most objectionable to her.
"No, he did n't," said Napoleon. "He hates
girls, and they are teasing him like everything.
They call him General Washington. You see
they don't fully understand it. But the Chief will
give it to somebody And all the girls over there
call themselves all sorts of names,-Lady this, and
Countess that. I never saw anything so simple!
But I tell you, there is a row about it! If you
should be taken prisoner now, I should be sorry
for you."
"You ought to be ashamed to say such things,"
cried Kitty. "I wish I never, never had gone with
Harry Briscom! I wish I had told Cousin Robert
right away."
"Well, if you did n't do it," said Napoleon
Bonaparte, who evidently did not mean to get
excited on the subject, "you'd better tell the
Chief so. He says the only thing he is sorry for is
that you are. not a member, for he would like to
make an example of you."
"Make an example of me !" exclaimed Kitty.
"Oh, I wish he would! Where is he ? I just want
to' tell him this minute what I think of his charging
me with such a thing!"
"It is fair enough for him to think so," said
Robin Hood. "You know perfectly well you





said you would tell your cousin, and somebody told
those girls."
"But I don't know them," said Kitty.
At this, the two Loyal Brothers looked at each
"That 's so," said Robin Hood.
"Now, look here," said Napoleon Bonaparte.
"You see, we two are friends of yours. If we
had n't been, we should n't have come over to give
you warning, and we should n't have told you about

In a moment or two, the two boys returned,
and Napoleon Bonaparte said:
"Now, see here, we believe you, and we are
going, as knights, to see you set right. Now, you
are sure you did not tell?" he added.
"I did not fell a soul!" said Kitty, solemnly.
"Then some one did," said he, and we shall
find out who it was."
"Oh, I wish you would!" cried Kitty; "and
please do it before we go away. But I must go now,


the turkey one of your boys shot. Now I want to
know, did you tell anybody?"
"Not a soul," said Kitty. "I have not had a
chance to tell Cousin Robert, and I should n't tell
any one else first, but I did want to tell Sandy and
Belle, and, of course, Fred and Donald, and they
would like to join, but I did n't."
Napoleon Bonaparte hardly waited to hear this
through, but beckoned Robin Hood away and they
retired among the bushes to confer, and Kitty, being
at liberty to pay attention to other matters, heard a
shouting and clapping of hands up at the house
that convinced her that Sandy was looking for her.

for Sandy is calling as if he were crazy; and mind,
I don't promise not to tell Cousin Robert, and I
wish you would have a council right away, so that
I might come to it and say I did n't tell."
Oh, you need not come," said Robin Hood,
"for we shall clear you. It is party of our duty,"
speaking very slowly, to aid the poor and defend
the innocent, and you are innocent, you know."
Of course I am," said Kitty; "anybody ought
to know that. But I must go.'.'
She ran but a little way when she had a sudden
thought. She pulled the blue ribbon off her hair,
and, turning, flew back.




Oh, Robin, Robin. Hood !" she cried. Have
you a knife ?"
Robin had one, and Kitty cut the ribbon in half.
If you are to be my knights," she said, "you
ought to wear my colors. All knights wear their
ladies' colors."
And I say," said Robin, we ought to have a
Kitty clasped her hands, and looked at him in
And have horses, and lances, and I should
have my hair all down, and look distressed, and
after the battle was over I should crown you !"
I don't know about the horses," said Robin,
"and may be we 'd better not fight."
"But you would have to," said Kitty. "The
knights who wear colors always do, and you could
choose some of the little fellows to fight with. It
would be easy to beat them. But oh dear, there 's
Sandy calling again !"
"If the boys are half as jolly as she is," said
Robin Hood, "I 'd like to have them all in. Did
you ever hear a girl talk as fast?"
She 's pretty enough," said Napoleon Bona-
parte, but I 'm not sure about girls. You see,
she will tell somebody yet."

"Where on earth have you been?" exclaimed
Sandy. It would have served you just right if
we had gone off without you. They have all gone;
so hurry up. We are going to have a regatta."
"That's lovely!" cried Kitty. "May I row?
But look here, Sandy; you can't have a regatta
with only one boat!"
Of course you can't," said Sandy, scornfully.
"We have two. We are not going to use the
'Jolly Fisherman' at all. Farmer Saunders has
just offered Fred his two little boats. They are
beauties. Just alike. His girls used to row in
them. The 'Helen' and 'Marian.' We have
been to look at them. It was then we thought of
the regatta. Where were you? You might have
gone along."
"Oh, Sandy," said Kitty, "if I could only tell
you! It is perfectly splendid! It is all about
Castles, and Knights, and the Chief, and Tourna-
ments !"
Is it a book? said Sandy.
Mercy, no! said Kitty, walking past Sandy,
who did not seem as much in a hurry as his words
implied, and who, in fact, knowing that Donald
and Fred were baling the boats out, did not feel
anxious to join them too soon. It is better than
any book. Oh, I do wish I could tell you, Sandy.
Now, see here-don't you think you could find
out? "
Of course I could, if you would tell me how."

"I can't do that," said Kitty, much perplexed.
"But could n't you watch, and, if you see anything
surprising, find out?"
"You might as well tell," said Sandy. "You
know I told you that you had a secret. You are
bound to tell, so out with it."
Indeed, I wont tell! cried Kitty. And I
can keep a secret. And I know whose turkey that
"Is that your secret? said Sandy. I knew it
was n't much. Well, you can keep that one. I
don't want to know that."
"Is that about Knights and Castles?" replied
Kitty, laughing. "Oh, you can guess and guess,
but I sha'n't tell you "
I don't want to know, ".replied Sandy, trying to
look very indifferent. "It is n't much-I know
Kitty nodded her head, like one of the Chinese
mandarins wound up by clock-work, and Sandy
would have promptly shaken her, but she eluded
him, and ran away so fleetly that he could not catch
Sandy was not lazy, and was always ready to do
his own share of work, but he was very well pleased
to find that the boats were baled out, and the party
was almost ready to start. Belle was at the house
helping Patty with the luncheon, and Fred, who was
to bring it down, proposed that the others should
take the "Jolly Fisherman," and the "Marian,"
and go up the. creek, where the regatta was to be
held, and he would bring Belle and the luncheon
in the "Helen."
So this was agreed to, and the others left.
When Belle and Fred came down to the river-
bank with their baskets, the boats were out of sight,
and they got into the "Helen and rowed down
the river. They had just turned into the creek and
had gone, perhaps, a quarter of a mile, when a
man sitting on a log near the water's edge called
to them:
Are you looking for your folks ? "
Yes," answered Fred.
"They 've gone up there," the man said, point-
ing inland toward the woods. "They told me to
look out for you."
"In there!" repeated Fred, rowing up closer.
"What in the world did they do that for ? "
"Don't know," said the man. "They told me
to look out for you, and tell you. I 've done it,
and I don't know any more."
Fred stepped ashore, helped Belle, took out the
baskets, tied the boat, and then they walked up the
little path over the fields toward the woods.
"Do you think they have given up the regatta?"
said Belle.
"Dear knows! Fred replied. "They were just




in the humor to change their minds. Hark!
Don't you hear them?" He hallooed, and was
cheerily answered.
In a moment they were in the woods, and saw,
first, a bright bonfire, and, secondly, a group of
boys gathered around it. The boys looked up in
surprise, and Fred and Belle looked back in equal
Have you seen another party Why, Will
Lewis !" exclaimed Fred, as a tall, dark-eyed boy
came forward.
"Is it you, Fred?" said the boy. "I did n't

smiling mischievously. "But I wonder if Mr. Lewis
does not mean that he left birds as his card ? "
It was some of the other boys," said Will,
"and I believe they left some ridiculous message.
It was your other sister I meant."
"You mean," said Belle, quickly, "our cousin,
Kitty Baird. I am Fred's only sister."
Is it your cousin?" said Will. Well, she is
a handful! I suppose she told you all about the
Brotherhood, and all that. Of course, it does n't
make any difference now, as it is all broken up."
Oh, that is Kitty's secret!" cried Belle. Do

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-'~r r .j
*1- ,. *r.-rE-- .-;,;- ~ ~ 0 s.
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know until yesterday that it was your family at
Greystone. I meant to have called on you this
evening, although," and here his cheeks grew
brighter, I suppose you have heard of some of our
calls already ?"
No," said Fred. Have you been there ?"
Did n't your sister tell you?"
Fred looked at Belle. "No, not a word! This
is my sister, and, Belle, you have often heard of
Will Lewis, my school-mate at Bagsby's."
"Often," said Belle, holding out her hand and

tell us! You don't know how provoking she has
been. Of course, we knew she had found out
something the day we left her at home, but she
would never tell what it was. Do tell us! It will
be such fun to pay her back!"
Did she really never tell any one ?" said Will.
" She said she meant to tell her cousin Robert."
That is Papa," said Belle. "She never told us.
Did she, Fred?"
Not a word," said Fred.
"It was n't much," Will said. "We had a



' ~ :-":.

~~~-~ ~c.
.. .-.


society, and Harry Briscom brought her to the
meeting that day. It was n't much."
"You have n't seen our family to-day? asked
Fred. "A man down by the creek told us they
had come up here, but as we intended to have a
regatta, I don't know what they meant."
"It was a mistake," said a rosy-cheeked little
fellow who had joined them. I guess the man
meant Captain Kidd and Robin Hood. You know,
we left word for them."
The tall boy colored furiously. Why do you
call them by such ridiculous names?" he said.
"Don't you know that 's all done with?"
S"It must have been a mistake," said Fred,
kindly; "and we ought to have followed the
boats. We 'd better go, Belle-they must be
waiting for us."
"Are you going to have a regatta? You said

so," asserted the little fellow. "I wish we could
have one. Would n't you let us join yours, if the
Chief would consent ?"
"Who is the Chief?" asked Fred.
"There he is," answered the boy, pointing to
Will, "and I am Napoleon Bonaparte. I s'pose
I can tell now, as it is all broken up. Kitty was
going to be Sir Walter, and have her hair down.
Robin Hood and I told her about the turkey."
Having imparted all this information in a breath,
Napoleon paused.
I am sure your society must have had lots of
fun in it," said Belle, laughing. "I wish you
would have it again and let us be members. But,
oh, sha'n't I tease Kitty !"
"We can't have it again," said the Chief.
"But if you would consent, we should like to see
your regatta."

(To be continued.)







I AM going to write my autobiography.
An autobiography is a story that the heroine
writes herself. From those I have read, I should
say that the heroines of autobiographies are even
superior to other heroines. This is my autobi-
ography. I 've written two before, and I dare say
you have read them. One I called "Kitty's
Mother," and the other was about "Tildy Joy,"
who kept the school at Tuckertown (and me); but
I hope you have n't read them, for I have not done
myself justice in either. It did n't sound near so
nice as I expected, so I am just going to write
another, and describe myself as a Sunday-school
scholar; and you will see that I am a girl of some
character, after all.
Folks say that Dot is the beauty of our family.
To be sure, Lucy is her twin, and looks like her,
but the scarlet fever, and the measles, and the
mumps, and the whooping-cough have stolen her
red cheeks, and left her as thin as a wafer. Any-
how, she has the best disposition of any of us, and
I suppose that counts for something. As for Baby,
he has the worst disposition, and the strongest
lungs, and is the greatest nuisance every way. "But
Mary Jane," my mother says, "is the smartest
child I ever had."
I am Mary Jane.
Perhaps you think it is vain of me to tell this at
all. But I am writing my autobiography, and must
tell the truth, or it wont be authentic. My father
says: "If it is not authentic, a work of this sort has
little value." So, you see, I 'm obliged to say that I
am smart.
As I must be authentic, I shall begin by saying
that, although I am so smart, I am not at all hand-
some. When they had the tableaux at our church,
they never asked me to be in them, though Dot
was stuck up in 'most every one. The idea of go-
ing to a show and having to look at Dot, whom I
see every blessed day at home for nothing! Besides,
when we have our pictures taken in a group, they
always turn me sort of side-face. I s'pose they
don't think I can see through that. Well, "beauty
is only skin-deep," as Mamie Whyte said in her
composition; so I don't care.
At our Sunday-school, there were to be two prizes
given at the end of the year. The first prize was
to be a Bible, and the second a prayer-book; and
the two scholars who should learn the greatest
number of verses in the Bible would get them. I
VOL. VIII.-23.

never thought of such a thing as getting a prize.
I had a Bible and a prayer-book, and I did n't want
another, anyhow. Ours was the most stylish class
in school. We were the most stylish girls and had
the most stylish teacher. We had the minister's
daughter for our teacher. Well, she said one day:
It's too bad that none of you girls will try for
the prize. I really should like to have one of you
get it."
Milly Briggs said that some one in the minister's
daughter's class ought to get it, but none of us
wanted to try. There was Mabel Pratt, but she
was going to New York for a visit, so she would n't
have time; and Jenny Gurney was so slow to learn,
and Mamie Whyte and I did n't want the trouble.
Miss Parks had about the meanest class in the
Sunday-school. All the poorest and dowdiest girls
were in it; and Miss Parks herself wore a water-
proof, and was so queer-looking. Jo Holland was
in it, for one; and I always hated her. No, I
don't hate her, of course, for that would be wicked.
I inean I hate the evil that's in her, and that's a
great deal.
One day, coming out of school, Jo whispered to
me: "How many verses have you learned ?"
Not more than twenty," said I.
Pooh !" said Julia Brown, one of Miss Parks's
girls; "no one in that class will ever get it."
"I do believe," declared Mamie Whyte to me,
"that Jo Holland thinks she is going to get the
"Well, she just sha'n't, then," said I. "I can
learn as many verses as she can, if I have a mind
to; and I declare I will, just to spite her."
I made up my mind not to let Jo know that I
was trying for the prize, thinking she would learn
more verses for fear of being beaten; and then,
too, it would be such fun to surprise her at the very
last moment. I did n't even tell them at home,
for fear they would let out the secret. I selected
all the short verses, and left out the big ones be-
tween; and that next Sunday, when Miss Newell,
our teacher, asked me how many verses I had
learned, I said, "Fifty."
"Dear me! I can't hear you say so many to-
,day," said she, looking pleased.
Well, I did n't have time to say more than five
or six, but she gave me credit for fifty, and so, with
my other twenty, I had seventy in all.
It was nearly Christmas time, and I was so busy




getting my presents ready, that I did not have
much time to study.
For Mother, I was making a lovely pin-cushion.
I began it for Aunt
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it to her, and she said it was lovely, and thanked
me for it; but that was before I dropped it in
the coal-hod, and I did n't believe she would
want it after that. With Mother it 's different,
because she says she values anything her children
have taken pains to make for her.
I meant to get something real handsome for
Father, but I had only fifty cents to buy it with.
Dot and I used to go shopping every day after
school, and that was fun. We always went into
the handsomest stores. I went into an elegant one
once, and I told Dot that I knew we .could find

something to suit us; but everything was so dear.
The shop-keeper, although he looked like Deacon
Tucker down in Tuckertown, was very polite, and
we looked and looked and looked; by and by I
:*-..rAd-i b,- I. ,-C!;i r iltl- :r md for cigars, and I
fr.:.. .,al i ld 1ik.- a. It did n't look very
.'- .:i .: r.:. ii i i, t leman said itwas five

iD.ir .,-I ,l.l i .ii u .1.1 postal card if he had
I- r!nr i-.:..!.: i.i :iIl.:l- in his store for fifty
.:.ri. .~lAnl. i.-, .:i -i h.-me. Onthewaywe
[,i I h- !ir:, ,:. ,ti f,.r !:" :led limes, and treated
all the girls, so I
r could n't give Fa-
ther any present,
after all.
I was going to
make Dot's doll a
dress. Mothersaid
that she would cut
it out and I could
make it. After a
while, I told her
that I would rather
she should make
it, and let me cut
it out; but it was
already cut out
by that time, and
i.- ll-i i i -ri't -. 'ir :- it for m e, too.
V, h-. : ii ... .i '- r present, I was tired of
S... n_. i:i fi l.:h t1 ,u rd.: : d that I should give
LLu ii. i. :l l t 1- u 1 l1 two buds on it, andI
ic.:..: Lt w1, wa. t il .! iur er, and give it to-her

Ithe next, frty; thfif i

Well, by and by, Jo Holland found out how
many verses I had learned, and gave up trying for
the first prize, and bent all her energies on the
second prize. I was real mad with whoever told.
I went right to. Mamie Whyte and told her, and
said: "Now, you must get that second prize."
I can't; it's so late now," replied she.
But I told her how easy it was, if she only
picked out the short verses, and so many that Miss
Newell could n't hear them.
Mamie did n't like Jo any better than I.
"I will try," said she; but it's lucky we are
not in Miss Parks's class."





"Why ?" I asked.
"Oh, 'cause she makes 'em recite every single
verse. I know, 'cause I used to be in it. You
could n't have beaten Jo Holland if you had been
in her class, could you, Mary Jane ? "
Sometimes Mamie Whyte can say as disagree-
able things as anybody I know; but I never take
any notice of her mean speeches, and that's the
way we get on.
At last, Christmas came.
I did n't like my presents very well. One was a
book-a history. I have n't read it yet. Mother
gave me a new dress; but I should have had to
have it any way, and I don't like clothes for
presents. The worst was a horrid work-basket,
with lots of needles and thread in it. Aunt Jane
sent me that, and I was real glad I had n't given
her anything. She said in her letter that perhaps
I should like to sew better if I- had. a nice little
work-basket of my own. I wanted a locket.
Dot and Lucy had lovely things; but Mother
says I am getting too old for toys. In the toe of
my stocking I found a five-dollar gold piece; but
I was n't allowed to spend it, so I did n't care for
it. I consoled myself by thinking what fun it
would be to see Jo Holland's rage when Mamie
and I got the prizes.
We were going to have our festival in the
church, right after the evening service, and, of

. .'I. ,
. :*; ',


course, all the people would be there. Each class,
had a motto and an emblem. Our motto was
" By their fruits ye shall know them," and the

emblem was lovely-a silver salver, with a stick
all wound around with ribbons standing in the
center of it, and heaped around with oranges. It
was the most beautiful thing! The motto for
Miss Parks's class was "No cross, no crovn," and
the emblem was n't half so pretty as ours-nothing
but an old evergreen cross.
The church was as full as it could be. Mother
could n't come, for she had to stay at home with
Lucy, who had been more delicate than ever since
she had had the scarlet fever. But all the other
mothers were there, and lots of people besides.
When each class was mentioned, the scholars in it
all stood up, and the one that held the emblem
carried it to the altar. The minister held it up so
that the people could see it, and explained the
motto; and then it was taken back again. Mabel
Pratt carried our emblem. I suppose she was
chosen because she has blonde hair and wears such
handsome clothes; but she is a clumsy thing, and
tipped it up so that some of the oranges rolled out
on the floor, just opposite Miss Parks's class, too.
After all the emblems had been carried up, the
prizes were given out.
"The first prize," said Mr. Newell (that 's our
minister), "is awarded to Miss Mary Jane Hunt,
who has learned thirteen hundred and fifty-two
verses in the Bible during the past year."
At the words "thirteen hundred and fifty-two
verses," everybody turned and looked at me; and,
as I stood up, a chorus of O-o-o-o-oh's" went
'way around the church. I should have liked to
stand there all day, but Miss Newell pulled me
After I had received my prize and taken my seat,
the second one was given to Miss Mamie Whyte,
for nine hundred and thirty verses. Everybody
stared again, and the "Oh's" went around; but
not near so many as for mine. I tried to look at
Jo, but she was sitting in front of us, and I
could n't get a glimpse of her face. I think it was
real hard to miss seeing her, after I had worked so.
Well, after Mamie came back from getting her
prize, I supposed it was all over, but what was my
surprise when Mr. Newell popped up again to say
that they had originally intended giving but two
prizes, but a third was now to be awarded, as a
mark of approbation, "to Miss Josephine Holland,
who had learned five verses regularly every week,
without a single exception, during the entire year."
And up pranced Jo, as proud as a peacock !
Just then, Mamie grabbed my arm and whis-
pered that somebody said that we were all to be
called up to repeat our verses.
Mercy How frightened I was My heart came
right up into my mouth. It did! And my knees
shook so that I could n't have walked up to that

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altar again, to save my life. Of course, it would
frighten anybody to have to recite thirteen hundred
and fifty-two verses before a whole church full of
people; but it turned out to be only a silly joke of
Mamie's, by which she meant to scare me.

in my mouth, and I just hated to think of it.
Every now and then, my father would say that he
was going to hear me repeat those verses; and,
whenever he looked at me, I thought my time had
come. Everybody that I saw had something to


After the congregation had been dismissed, I saw
the third prize; and what do you think it was ? A
real lovely locket!
Any way, I heard lots of people say that it was a
queer prize to give at a Sunday-school, and I 'm
sure I should n't want to wear jewelry for having
learned verses in the Bible. Beside, Mother said
that if I would break myself of my habit of pro-
crastinating, she would give me a locket; so it
came out right, after all.
It came out right, but, in spite of the glory of
getting the prize, somehow it had left a bad taste

say about the festival, and how smart I had been;
and the children called me "Miss Thirteen-hun-
But, whenever the subject was mentioned at
home, Mother looked at me in-well, such a sus-
picious sort of way, that I wished a hundred times
it had never come into my head to try for that prize
at all. I gave my Bible to Dot.
On the fly-leaf was written, Miss Mary Jane
Hunt, from her affectionate pastor. Sunday-school
festival," and the date; and Dot has written under-
neath: She gave it to me."






CONNECT me with Fairy-land please, pretty Vine,
With the Fairy Queen's palace of pearl,
And ask if her Highness will hear through your line
A discouraged and sad little girl.
O Queen, I 'm so grieved 'cause my dolly wont play,
And so tired of pretending it all!
I must walk for her, talk for her, be her all day,
While she sits still and stares at the wall.

Her house is so pretty, with six little rooms,
And it has truly windows and doors,
And stairs to go up, and nice carpets, and
For I do the sweeping, of course.

There 's a tea-set, and furniture fit for a
And a trunk full of dresses besides;
/ And a dear little carriage as ever was seen,
I And I am her horse when she rides.

But never a smile nor a thank have I had,
Nor a nod of her hard, shiny head;
And is it a wonder I 'm weary and sad?
For I can't love a dolly so dead.
I thought I would ask you if, in your
bright train,
You had n't one fairy to spare,
A naughty one, even,-I should n't
b complain,
But would love it with tenderest care-
Or a'poor little one who had lost its
bright wings,-
I should cherish it not a bit less,-
And, besides, they 'd get crushed with
the sofas and things,
And be so inconvenient to dress.
O Queen of the Fairies, so happy
I '11 be
If you '11 only just send one to
I '11 be back again soon after
S dinner to see
If you 've left one here
/ -/. -- for me. Good-bye!







THE Grand Vizier was dying; and, as he had
been such a faithful servant, the Shah promised
that his last request, whatever it might be, should
be granted.
Let it be given me to know, 0 Commander of
Slaves and Ruler of Thrones," said the dying man,
"that one of my sons shall guard the treasures
of the empire. Faithfully have I studied the
interests of my country, never lettihg personal feel-
ing prevail over judgment. -Let me feel that my
name shall descend in the position thou intrustest
to one of my sons."
"It shall be as thou desirest, Rejerah, the
Adviser," replied the potentate. "We will try thy
sons; to the best fitted shall be given charge over
our treasures. Justice shall be done thy memory !"
Loud were the lamentations of the nation, and
great was the distress of the old Vizier's family,
when at last he died. But the people soon became
reconciled to the new Vizier; while the three sons
of Rejerah were soon looking forward to the chance
of "Holder of the Golden Key," as the title went.
And shortly the eldest, Ramedab, known through-
out Persia as the Ready-Handed," was called to
the palace.
He prostrated himself to the ground when
brought before the Shah, who thus addressed him:
"This charge is given thee, Ramedab, son of
Rejerah, in honor of thy father, a servant of serv-
ants-wise for his commander, discreet for him-
self, and wily toward his enemies. In token of our
appreciation of these traits, we now lend thee, for
a time, the Golden Key to the treasures. Remem-
ber, they are Persia's. It is a great commission,-
thy duty is to guard them. Let not bribery, per-
sonal feeling, nor love of renown cause thee to for-
get thy charge. May the spirit of thy father be
with thee, to lead thee to act as becomes his son."
Ramedab was then conducted to a large stone
building used as a treasury by the Shah; here the
gold and jewels of the kingdom were kept. It was
guarded day and night by trusted sentinels, whose
head officer ranked among the nobles of the land.
The great house was rather isolated, on the top
of a hill, but the guardian was given a silver
whistle, which he blew if he saw danger; but was
forbidden to use unless in extremity, when a band of
soldiers, with shields and spears, would come at once
to his relief. The Ready-Handed entered upon
his watch in high spirits; of course his sovereign
would decide on him: he was the strongest,

bravest, and oldest of his name. He would soon
be among the grandees of Persia. He was too
good a soldier to sleep on his post, so one o'clock
found him awake and alert. A noise, a step,-his
hand was on his javelin.
"Peace be with thee, and reward!" exclaimed
a voice out of the darkness, and the son of the Shah,
Hafiz, appeared before the astonished sentinel.
"Often have I seen thee in games of skill and
strength, Ramedab," he continued, seeing the
Ready-Handed was too surprised to speak. "But
little did I think such honor was in store for thee.
Changes are sudden and great."
"Why seekest thou me, 'most noble of the
nobles'?" inquired the soldier.
My father is stricken with illness."
"What, the Shah?"
"Even so. He may cease to live at any-moment.
What then will become of thy promised honors ?"
Here a pause ensued, as if Hafiz wished to let
his words produce an effect.
Better look forward and plant thy foot on the
next step, Ramedab. The ready are the lucky.
A chance is now thine. I am in debt, as, perhaps,
thou hast heard. Let me but obtain some gold,
and thy future greatness is secured."
"Betray my trust?" demanded the other.
"I ask thee not to betray. Drop the key, go
to the end of the walk: I will only secure a bag
of gold, which will never be missed; or if it should
be, who will know it disappeared during thy watch?
Does not thy brother succeed thee here to-morrow?
It would be easy for me to promote thee by degrees,
and this I swear: Thou shall be made Grand Vizier
when I succeed my father. Thy father would re-
joice if, instead of Holder of the Key, thou shouldst
rank as himself-second only to the Shah."
My father shouted the young man.
"Enough! My father would curse me for bar-
tering my honor. A thousand times NO! Let
the Commander of Slaves live or die, I betray not
my trust."
In vain the heir to the throne of Persia tried to
recall the hesitating mood of a few minutes before:
the name of his father had brought Ramedab to
himself. The tempter left, and Ramedab passed the
rest of the night in quiet. Contrary to his expecta-
tion, he received orders from the monarch to resume
his watch the following night, which set in clear
and serene; the heavens were illumined with
myriads of stars, which shone down brightly on


Ramedab, who saw ere long a warrior approach,
bearing a shield that gleamed in the starlight.
Could it be Hafiz, come to fight for the treasures?
A well-known voice-for what is so soon recognized
as an enemy?-called out:
"Ah Ramedab, I have come to seek thee. Thou
thoughtest to escape me; but I have followed to
fight thee here."
"Escape thee!" answered the indignant one.
"When was the Ready-Handed ever known to
avoid a fray? Thou little knowest to whom thou
speakest, Mufta, the Brag. It shall never be told
that Ramedab denied his spear to any man. But
swear, that if I fall, thou wilt not touch the treas-
ures, but blow on the whistle, 'and then flee."
"What care I for the treasures? It is thou I seek,
destroyer of my fame! The jewels are safe from
me. Should the Ready-Handed fail, the guard
shall be called. Thou hast now no further excuse.
Come on; I defy thee !"
They were well matched. Mufta called himself
"the Invincible." Ramedab had disputed his title,
which caused the enmity between them. Our hero
fought bravely, but whether less skillful than his
adversary, or pricked by conscience for allowing
himself to be drawn into the fray, he lost the com-
bat, and was left bleeding on the ground. Mufta
blew the whistle, then departed. The Shah and
an attendant appeared.
"It is a plot, then," Ramedab thought, as he
beheld no less personages than his sovereign and
the Vizier. But immediately all was a blank-he
became unconscious.
Let him be cared for and healed, if possible; it
is a bad thrust. He could withstand bribery, but
not a personal slight, for the sake of his trust. See
that his brother.be brought to me to-morrow."
So saying, the Commander of Slaves and Ruler
of Thrones retired to the palace.
Amulfeda, while preparing to obey this sum-
mons, thoughtfully remarked to Freraddin, the
youngest: "It is likely that Ramedab is accepted,
as he is a noted soldier; but should his impetuosity
displease the Shah, I shall, of course, be next choice,
for my father's gracious manner has descended
upon me. Thou hast his discretion, but it is all
thou hast. Such a puny, slight person as thou art
would ill become an exalted position. Besides, I
love my country. Though not the warrior Rame-
dab, I hope to do some great work, to be celebrated
through the length and breadth of the land."
The Shah repeated in the same words the
charge he had given to the Ready-Handed, the key
was presented, and the second son found himself
by midnight alone under the stars. Hafiz found
Amulfeda deaf to all appeals. Mufta also appeared;
but Amulfeda replied to his taunts: "I care not

who calls me coward, so I hold the privilege of
guarding the treasures."
He had passed two nights without wavering in
his trust. On the third came the Grand Vizier.
"Knowest thou, Amulfeda," said he, "that thou
hast been played a trick? The Shah hath given
thee empty coffers. Thinkest thou he would trust
an untried boy with the jewels of Persia, or that
he would bestow upon a beardless youth the office
of the Golden Key ? "
How darest thou malign the Ruler of Thrones,
who was never known to break his word ? "
Sayest thou so? I could tell thee otherwise;
but, with all thy devotion to him, thou fearest to
draw thy saber in his defense, though I do say the
Shah hath no intention of keeping his word."
"Draw and defend thyself for thy lie! I trust
implicitly in the monarch of Persia." So saying,
Amulfeda drew his weapon and prepared to attack
the Vizier. After a short conflict, the Vizier made
himself master of the key,-which Amulfeda had
dropped in the struggle,-and withdrew.
On the following morning, Freraddin was in-
formed he'was to take his turn. "Why should I
mount guard when the Shah has ere this decided
on one of my brothers?" thought he. "I only
plod along, doing what lies before me. But did not
my dying father say, 'Do what comes to hand; do
it well; let nothing take thy thoughts from it, and
success will follow'? I trust it may prove true."
The Shah looked surprised when Freraddin
prostrated himself before him.
"Thy brothers have inherited the most of thy
father, we perceive. What has been left for thee ?"
His discretion and power of endurance, 0O
Ruler of Thrones "
It may be so. The most useful blade owns not:
the finest scabbard.- Receive this key! I say to,
thee, as to thy brothers: Let not love of gold, of
self, nor of others, cause thee to forget thy duty."
Freraddin was in turn subjected to the tempta-
tions his brothers had undergone, only added was.
the promise from the Shah's favorite daughter,.
"that if he would let her enter to obtain her amulet,.
which was kept among the royal jewels, she would
use her influence for his promotion, and, in time,
persuade her father to agree to their marriage; for
the amulet was especially precious to her, and she:
desired to wear it at the evening feast."
But Freraddin refused; her entreaties were hard
to withstand, yet the memory of his father's words.
decided him, and the princess departed in tears.
Next morning, the three brothers were brought
before the throne-Ramedab on a litter, Amulfeda
with bandaged arm, and Freraddin holding the key.
"It is known to all," began the Shah, "the
promise given to your father, and how it has been


kept. Each was tried. I commanded you not to
let anything come between you and your duty. I
showed not the treasures, for belief in them was
part of your faith in me. You all refused the
worldly bribes offered." Here Ramedab changed
color. It is needless to say," continued the Shah,
"that the trials were permitted by me. I allowed
Hafiz, who needed money, to endeavor to influence
you. I did not make Mufta Ramedab's enemy,
but agreed to his challenging him while on guard.
The Grand Vizier requested the opportunity to
test your zeal: should the family of Rejerah fail, his
nephew might win. For I could not do Persia the
injustice to bestow the Golden Key on one untried

by temptations. Ramedab, this was not the time for
thee to think of thine own name; but as thou hast
proved thyself brave, though a faulty sentinel, thou
shalt receive a place in the cohorts of Persia.
Amulfeda, thinkest thou not we had plenty to
defend our name? That was not thy mission; let
not visions of greatness make thee forget life's
duties. Thou shalt be among the chroniclers of
Persia. But thou, Freraddin, whom neither gold,
nor taunts, nor woman's tears could move from the
task appointed, thou keepest the key, for thou
alone of the three hast learned self-control."
Loud praises greeted these words. And Frerad-
din always enjoyed the confidence of his monarch.



"JUGGING for cats" is a most peculiar
and original manner of fishing, common
among the colored people of the Southern
States. It combines exercise, excitement,
and fun, in a much greater degree than the
usual method of angling with the rod and
The tackle necessary in this sport is very
simple: it consists of five or six empty jugs
tightly corked with corn-cobs, and a stout
line five feet in length, with a sinker and
large hook at the end. One of these lines
dangles from the handle of each jug. Baits
of many kinds are used, but a bit of cheese,
tied in a piece of mosquito-netting to prevent
its washing away, appears to be considered
the most tempting morsel.
When all the hooks are baited, and the
fisherman has inspected his lines and found
everything ready, he puts the jugs into a boat
and rows out upon the river, dropping the
earthenware floats about ten feet apart in a
line across the middle of the stream.
The jugs will, of course, be carried down
with the current, and will have to be fol-
lowed and watched. When one of them be-
gins to behave in a strange manner, turning
upside down, bobbing about, darting up
stream and down, the fisherman knows that
a large fish is hooked, and an exciting chase
ensues. It sometimes requires hard rowing
to catch the jug, for often when the fisherman
feels sure of his prize and stretches forth his
hand to grasp the runaway, it darts off anew,
frequently disappearing from view beneath --



the water, and coming to the surface again yards
and yards away from where it had left the disap-
pointed sportsman.
One would think that the pursuit of just one
jug, which a fish is piloting around, might prove
exciting enough. But imagine the sport of seeing
four or five of them start off on their antics at about
the same moment. It is at such a time that the
skill of the fisherman is tested, for a novice, in his
hurry, is apt to lose his head, thereby losing his
fish also. Instead of hauling in his line carefully
and steadily, he generally pulls it up in such a
hasty manner that the fish is able, by a vigorous
flop, to tear itself away from the hook. To be a
successful "jugger," one must be as careful and
deliberate in taking out his fish as though he had

similar to jugging, is by means of a jumping-jack,
or small, jointed man, whose limbs are moved by
jerking a string attached to them. This little
figure is fastened to a stick, which is secured in an
upright position on a float, made of a piece of
board. Through a hole in the float is passed the
string attached to the figure, and tied securely to
this are the hook and line. After the hook is
baited, the float is placed on the surface of the water,
and the little man, standing upright, is left to wait
in patience.
Presently a fish, attracted by the bait, comes
nearer the surface, seizes the hook quickly, and
darts downward, pulling the string, and making
the little figure throw up its arms and legs, as
though dancing for joy at having performed its task


only that one jug to attend to, no matter how many
others may be claiming his attention by their frantic
signals. The illustration shows a jug turned
bottom upward, the line having just been pulled
by a fish taking a nibble at the bait, without having
quite made up its mind to swallow it.
Another method of catching fish, in principle

11. The capering of Jack is the signal to his master
fish has been caught, and is struggling to free itself
he hook. This manner of fishing is necessarily con-
to quiet bodies of water, such as small lakes or
Sfor in rough water poor little Jack would be upset.
; pleasures of fishing are naturally and almost inva-
connected in our minds with warm weather, par-
rly with the first coming of summer, the bright
ess of bursting bud and new-opening wild blossom,
vith those later days in the autumn over which the
ler King sheds his brightest glories. But in our
irn and easterly States, when old Winter has spread
antle of frost and snow over the face of Nature,
and hermetically sealed all the lakes and ponds
under covers of ice, as an agreeable addition to
the fun of skating, hardy, red-cheeked boys cut
round holes in the thick ice, and through them
rig their lines for pickerel-fishing. A very simple
but ingenious contrivance enables a single fisherman
to attend to quite a number of lines, if the holes be
made within sight from one another, the fish itself




giving the signal for the particular line that requires
The construction of this automatic fishing-tackle
is so simple that the accompanying illustration
shows how it is arranged. At the end of a light

ii.-- -

T.A a I--['
S--- --- ..-- -

er-r :__--; .. .. _: -y -- - .- -- _
in --. i ---, -I_ .
Ti l .' -2 .-_ - ._ - -

_. -- _.i _t ;i '. . -- h ] i :.
S I 't : -I,[ : '- -4 _

aC r. l -, u ir i. i: i i- i--

tI ic. l t i '-i i-r- m -i - .i 0 .. -
Cr .,:d : -~.( l z-,l :,1. -l1: t T t-- -- Ll--- --

and hi:. i ii.i.: id'. Thr i i.
b l,:t Ml a It--- ir:i Al I.,
ered through the hole. The tackle is

then in readiness for the capture of a pickerel.
When the fish is hooked, his struggles keep the
flag flying. The illustration shows a fish in the act
of biting, and also a boy just about to pull up a
line from a hole where the signal is waving.

V *

ii~ t -z


I -_1 ___.




MOLLIE FRENCH walked slowly into her father's
library from the post-office one afternoon, with a
puzzled face. She handed him some letters and
then stood still, studying a big envelope, on which
the card of a wholesale leather warehouse was
printed, up in the left-hand corner, and across which
her own name was strung in the most business-like
writing ever seen,-not Mollie, but Miss Mary
"This is the funniest thing yet for a holiday
present!" she exclaimed. "Whom can it be from,
Papa ?"
Perhaps if you should open it, you would find
Mollie hastened to do so, as though she had

never thought of that experiment, and found a big
sheet with niore printing about leather at the top,
and read:
"BOSTON, June i, 1860.
MY DEAR NIECE: Remembering that this is your birthday, and
remembering also your fondness for pets, I inclose my check for
$So, begging you to provide yourself with a rabbit-house, and a
family of rabbits to live in it.
Hoping that your birthdays may be many, and as sweet and
sunny as they ought to be for a young lady born in the month of
roses, I remain your affectionate uncle, WM. HARBURY.
P. S.-If this am't is not suffic't, draw on me at sight through
the Farmers' National Bank for $xo more.-Yours, W. H."

"Well, that's very nice of Uncle William, I 'm
sure, and I 'd like to thank him ever so much; but
I-I guess he forgot to put the money in And




what does he mean by that postscript? What are
you laughing at, Papa?"
"Ha, ha, ha! Did n't I hear a girl saying, a
day or two ago, that she would like to be a 'busi-
ness woman,' and 'deal in railway stocks,' like her
"Very likely; you hear lots of things, Papa,"
said Mollie, very demurely; then added, with more
energy: "And I should, too. It must be grand !"
But it requires much training if you are to suc-
ceed, and here 's a good beginning. I suspect
your uncle had an object in writing in so commer-
cial a manner. What is that folded paper in your
"This? Oh, I forgot to look at it. I suppose
it 's the 'check' he speaks of, whatever that is."
Read it to me," said her father.
It was a slip of stiff paper, about eight inches
long by two inches wide. It was partly printed in
ornamental type, and partly written where spaces
had been left blank for the words. What Mollie
read was this:

| o.oo.




Boston, June I, 186o.


Pay to the order of.. ....Mary French.........

...... ... Ten ..........................Dollars

No. 712. WM. HARBURY.

"But I can't go to Boston to get the money from
that bank!" cried Mollie, when she had finished
"No," said her father. "But perhaps you
might find somebody who would be willing to give
you the money here, and so save you the trouble."
"'Fraid nobody 'd bother to save me trouble! "
sighed Mollie, with an attempt to be melancholy
that brought out a laugh.
"But it might be for somebody's interest to do
so. Supposing you-were going to Boston to pur-
chase a lot of goods, would n't you rather have
your money already there safely, than to run the
risk of losing it by carrying it around with you all
the time? Now, if a person gives you ten dollars
for that check, it 's just the same as though he him-
self had placed ten dollars in the bank in Boston,
and he runs no risk of losing it."
"What if he should lose this ?"
"That might cause some inconvenience; but
they would give him another check, called a dupli-

cate,' and the money would lie safe in the vaults of
the bank all the while. Do you know any one who
is going to Boston to-day? "
"No, sir, and I don't want to wait a long time
until I find somebody."
"If I should tell you, there is a gentleman in
the village here who makes a business of giving
money for such slips of 'commercial paper,' whom
should you guess him to be? "
"Mr. Forbes, the banker, I suppose."
"Right. Now, I am busy and can't talk any
more; but, if you wish, you may go down to the
bank now, and ask Mr. Forbes if he will cash that
check for you. Good-bye."
* Mollie would have liked to have her way pointed
out a little more explicitly, and she hesitated a
moment, but her father did not look up again, and
so she started down the street.
The little Canonset Bank of the village was on
the most public street, and Mollie passed it once
or twice before she finally mustered up courage
enough to go in. There was a long desk or counter
in the room, and the top of it was protected every-
where by a handsome wire-fence, excepting a little
space like a window, above which hung the sign,
" Cashier," in gilt letters. Behind the fence were
some clerks, writing in immense account-books,
piles of packages of bank-bills, and gleaming trays
of gold and silver coins.
"Is Mr. Forbes in?" Mollie asked of a tall,
kindly gentleman at the little window.
"No, he is out of town to-day. Can I do any-
thing for you? "
"Well," Mollie ventured to say, rather timidly,
"I wanted to ask him if he would give me the
money for this," and she held out her check.
The gentleman glanced at it and then turned it
"Are you Mary French?" he asked, a trifle
sternly, the girl thought.
"Yes, sir."
"But we don't know you. You must get some-
body to identify you. Do you know any one
here ?"
"Why, of course; I know 'most everybody."
"Well," said he, and handed back the check,
"we can't pay it until we know that you are the
Mary French whose name is written there."
At first, Mollie was a little angry. It was the
first time that anybody had doubted that she
was herself.
"I just think he knows me himself,' and only
wants to plague me."
Perhaps he did, but he did not show it. Just
then she saw the superintendent of her Sunday-
school, and ran across the street, with an exclama-
tion that stopped and astonished him.




"Oh, Mr. Thomas, you know I'm Mary French,
don't you?"
"Know that-what? Why, of course."
"Well, wont you please go with me to that
horrid bank, and tell them so ? I want to get some
money with a check."
Certainly I will. But, Mollie, if you want to
talk like a business man about this, you must say,
'I want to cash a check.'"
"Thank you," Mollie answered, rather meekly.
"Mr. Cashier," said Mr. Thomas, "this is my
friend, Miss Mary French. You will find her a very
pleasant person to do business with. Good-morning."
Then Mollie handed in her check again, sure
she was all right now; but the cashier glanced at
the back of it, and then returned it to her, saying
quietly: Indorse it, please."
"What do you mean?" asked Mollie, a little
scared at this new complication.
Write your full name across the back of it.
Unless you do that, we could n't get the money from
the bank in Boston where Mr. Harbury has de-
posited it. By writing your name, you at once show
that we have paid you the yoney, and that you
have transferred to this bank the right to collect
the same amount from the fund Mr. Harbury has
placed in Boston."
"But you have n't given me the money yet,"
objected Mollie.
"No," said the cashier, smiling, "and you
must n't give me the indorsed check until I do.
Here it is. Would you like five dollars or so in
small change ?"
"If you please," said Mollie, as she wrote her
name at a little desk near by, carefully blotting the
ink, and passing the paper across the counter.
Then she picked up her precious crisp bills and
shining silver, and had started almost to run out
of the door, when the cashier again stopped her.
"It is always best to count your money before
leaving. There might be some mistake."
Mollie counted, and it did not come out right!
She tried it again, with no better success.
"I think, sir," she said then, "there are only
nine dollars and ninety-eight cents here, when I
thought I should get ten dollars."
"Yes, but I had to stamp the check. The stamp
is required by the government as a tax, and costs
two cents. See?"
I am afraid his customer did not "see" at all, but
she thought she would rather lose two cents, if it
were not all right, than show any further ignorance
of banking customs, and so she tripped homeward.
Her father's first question was whether she had
got her money or not.
I cashed the check, if that is what you mean,"
Mollie replied, with dignity.

"Oh-ah-yes-I beg your pardon-that is;
what I intended to say. Now, tell me all your
She began, and they had a good laugh over
them. When she told about the stamp, Papa
looked grave.
I think Uncle William did that for a purpose,.
too. He would tell you, as I do, that when you
grow up and send away checks of your own, you
should stamp them. It is a petty fraud to let
your creditor pay the two cents that it is your
duty to provide for. Now, about the rabbit-house ?"
They put their heads together, but before full
decision was reached, Mr. French was called away.
When leaving, he remarked:
"If I were you, Mollie, I should write Uncle
William as short and business-like but pleasant a.
letter in acknowledgment as he sent to you. Tell
him," and Mr. French used a lot of phrases that.
Mollie strove to remember, with this result:

CANONSET, June 2, i86o.
MY DEAR UNCLE: It is with pleasure I acknowledge the receipt
this morning of your letter of yesterday, inclosing check on the-
Farmers' Bank of Boston for $10. Please accept my thanks for-
remembering not only that it was my birthday, but that I love pets.
In case the expenses you propose should exceed $10, I shall gladly
avail myself of your further generosity, and make the sight-draft you.
suggest. Believe me, your affectionate niece, MARY FRENCH."

Whew! whistled Uncle Billy, in his counting--
room in Pearl street the next day. "I rather guess.
I wont try to puzzle that girl any more with business
forms. Could n't have written a better letter my-
self. I must have her as a partner! "
The rabbit-houses were at once begun, but.
before they were finished, about a week after this,
Mr. French and his daughter were again together
in the library. She had explained to him that her-
ten dollars would be all gone before her pets were
housed, or, rather, before she could buy any rabbits.
at all, for the house was to be got ready first.
Consequently, she would have to call for the .other-
ten dollars, and she wanted to know what a draft:
was, and how to do it. This was not so easily
learned by herself as the management of the check.
had been, and so he very willingly told. her all-
about the matter at first.
"A check," he said, "is simply an order from
a person who has deposited money with a banker-
to pay out that money, or a part of it, to a partic-
ular person. A draft is a different thing, for that
is a demand from one person upon another person-
sometimes, but not always, from one bank to,
another-to pay a certain amount of money at a
certain time. The person who writes and signs the
draft is called the 'maker,' and the person to
whom he addresses the draft is the 'payer.' Now
take a pen and I will dictate the proper form, since;




I happen to have none of the printed blanks which
are generally used for this purpose."
In a few moments she had done, and read:
CANONSET, June o1, i86o.
" $10.00.
"At sight, pay to the order of the Farmers' National Bank, Ten
Dollars, value received, and charge the same to account of
"To WILLIAM HARBURY, Boston, Mass."

"Very well," said Mr. French. "Now, if you
send that to the bank in Boston which the draft
names, they will get the money at once, and return
it to you,'if your uncle cares to pay it. Or per-
haps our village bank might 'discount' it, as they
say; that is, buy it from you. for a little less than
the face "
"What 's that?" asked Mollie.
"The 'face,' or 'face value,' is the sum the
draft calls for,--in this case, ten dollars. But you
do not need to pay for this accommodation; so
simply send it to the Boston bank, inclosed with a
little note to the cashier, asking him to be kind
enough to collect it, and remit you the amount."
Mollie did so, and in a couple of days got an
answer in a big engraved envelope, containing a
brief letter that she could hardly read for the
flourishes, and inclosing her own draft.
"What 's the matter now, Papa?" she cried, in
.dismay. My draft has come back."
"Is it protested?" asked Mr. French, making
his face very long, but not quite hiding a twinkle
of fun in his eyes. "If that's the case, Uncle
William has changed his mind about your rabbits,
and wont give the money. Moreover, you will have

to pay the banker two dollars or so for 'protest
fees,' and other trouble. What does your letter
say? Perhaps that will explain matters."
Oh, it says something about 'New York funds,'
and an 'accommodation' to me, and so on. I can't
make the horrid writing out."
"Well, look again at your draft. What's that
written across the face of it in red ink ?"
"It looks like Accepted.' "
"That 's the word. You are all right. The
bank sent the draft by a messenger to Uncle
William's office, to see if it was proper for them to
pay it to you out of his money in their hands.
When he wrote 'Accepted' and his name across
the face, that gave his consent. A draft is of no
more worth than a dunning letter, until it has been
accepted or honored, as it is sometimes called.
Now, what is that I see on the back of the
paper? "
"Why," answered Mollie, reading slowly, "it
says, 'Payable at the First National Bank of New
York, Marcus Miserly, Cashier.'"
Ah, that 's all right again. Take that down to
our bank, indorse it, as you would a check, and
Mr. Forbes will pay you the money, charging you
nothing, as he would if it were a draft upon Wor-
cester or Portland, or some city where he had only
a little business; but drafts on New York are as
good as gold, and cost nothing for collection."
"Well, I never!" said Mollie, filled with sur-
prise at all these intricacies of business. However,
she not only got her rabbits, but, a few years later,
when her father died, she took up the reins of his
business, and brought it to the end she desired.









MARCH came in like a lion,
'" With a terrible growl and a roar,
SAnd the naked trees trembled and
*'. .*And the sea-waves fled fast to the shore;
And old Winter came back for a mo-
To start the north wind on a blow;
., I And the breath of the lion froze white-
"* h iS I ,, on the air,
'-"' ~1 .- And his mane was all covered with

''' Weeks passed, and the snow-flakes had-
JAn melted,
"4 "i And the wind grown too weary to shout,
But March was still grumbling, when
lo a wee flow'r
From a tiny green mantle peeped out.
:' Oh, what is the use?" said she, gently,
Of being so dreadfully cross?
I have three little sisters so frightened at you
They are hiding away in the moss.

And the buds of the trees are still lingering
In the boughs, for they fear to burst forth,
And only two birds, of the host that went- South
Last autumn, have dared to come North.
Do smile once or twice ere you leave us,
And the hearts of the timid ones cheer,
For believe me, dear March, it is better
by far
To be thought of with love than with

As she paused, March was shaking with
"Why, you elf-bloom, you pale little
Where got you the courage a lecture
to give
To the rollicking son of the Spring?
But you 're right, pretty one, and to
show you
There are other months worse than I
Here 's a smile of the very best sun-,
shine, my dear,"
And he turned and went out like a





"There is a land where Summer never dies,
A land forever green, neathh cloudless skies,
A Paradise of birds and butterflies."

THE longest mountain-range on earth is the
.chain of the Cordilleras, or Andes, as they are
.called in South America, which stretches all the
way from Cape Horn to Alaska-for the Rocky
Mountains of the United States are only a continu-
.ation of the sierras of western Mexico. Three
days after our departure .from the hacienda, we
crossed the main chain of this mountain-range, near
.a point the Mexicans call the "Wild Rose Pass," a
defile where the head-waters of the Rio Verde have
washed out a deep gap. It was in the month of
December; the flowers of the wild rose-bushes were
:faded, and all around us rose tower-like masses of
rock and ice, the glaciers of the central sierra.
The roads were extremely rough, but Daddy Simon
would never let us camp in the evening till we had
made at least twenty-five miles.
It 's only a short time to Christmas," said he,
and I want you to pass the holidays in a more
pleasant country than this."
We saw what he meant when we reached the
*eastern slope, on the morning of the fifth day. The
precipices of the sierra descended in a series ,of
sunny terraces, where the rocks were covered with
ivy instead of snow, and the valleys below were
clothed with endless woods, stretching away in the
distance like an ocean of blue-green waves.
That's the Valley of Tabasco," said our guide;
"and near the little lake, at the end of that wooded
ridge down there, is the farm of Colonel Garcia,
the gentleman we met in Benyamo last week. We
must keep our word and get there before Christ-
mas eve."
We camped that evening in a cedar grove that
:supplied us with fuel, for the night was still too
cold to sleep without a fire; but the next morning
we got back to the tropical virgin-woods, where the
shrubs swarmed with beetles and butterflies, and
the paroquets screamed in the tree-tops. We found
.some wild pine-apples, and toward noon we passed
an Indian garden, full of ripe bananas, oranges,
and a plum-like fruit they call chirimoyas, and finer
grapes than we see in our best northern vineyards
in summer-time.

In the hills of southern Mexico there are herds of
half-wild cows, and some of them are quite wild;
that is, they take to the upper sierra, and flee like
deer at the sight of a human being. But in
winter-time, when the hill-tops are covered with
snow, hunger often drives them back to the foot-
hills, and the herders then get a chance to recapt-
ure them. They can be known by their savage
appearance, and, as they are never stabled nor
cleaned, their hide is generally full of burs. On
the brink of a little mountain-creek, where we
watered our mule, one of these wild cows passed us
in headlong flight, and soon after a boy on a black
colt came down the road at a tearing gallop. The
colt was neither saddled nor bridled, but the boy
clung to him like a monkey, and yelled so inces-
.santly that he frightened the cow almost out of its
wits. When the wild chase approached a fenced
pasture the cow turned off to the left, but the boy
made his horse leap the fence, knocking down a
couple of rails, and then galloped away on the level
lawn, while the cow had to break through the
brushwood. A minute after, an old man came
running up from the lower end of the pasture,
swinging his hat and shouting at the top of his
voice; but he was too late; the boy had leaped the
fence a second time and disappeared in a thicket of
The man then replaced the rails, and could not
help smiling when he saw us, though he had looked
rather angry at first.
"That's Don Garcia's steward," whispered the
guide. He knows me; I 'm going to ask him if
the colonel is at home."
"How are you, senior?" he hailed the man.
"How are all the folk at the rancho ? "
The man clambered over the fence and shook
hands with our guide.
"The colonel told me you were coming," said
he. He will be very glad to see you. He 's out
hunting in the sierra, but he will be back before
night. We are going to have a great festival in the
village to-morrow."
"Was that the colonel's son ?" I asked-" that
boy on the black colt, I mean."
"That boy? That 's Little Mischief," said the
Little what? "
Little Mischief," repeated the steward. "He





has no other name. The colonel is a Cuban
refugee, you know, and this boy followed him over
to Mexico. His father was a horse-breaker in the
Spanish army, and I think that 's the reason he
wants to be on horseback all the time. Our colonel
likes him on account of his funniness; but I wish
he would buy him a pony of his own, so he wont
ride our colts to death. We call him Dannito
[Little Damage], because he is so full of mischief
and monkey-tricks."
The colonel's farm was situated at the lower end
of the Indian village of Palo Pinto, and his house
was the only decent building in the place; but the
surroundings were beautiful; high blue mountains all
about, the hill-sides covered with chestnut-groves,
and down in the valley a lake with fine pasture-
grounds. On one of these pastures the people of
the village were mowing the grass for a race-course;
they were going to have a foot-race and all kinds
of games the next day, for Christmas is a great
festival in Mexico, and the merriest holiday in all
their year.
Just before sunset, the colonel came riding slowly
up the road-his horse was so overloaded with game
and fish. He had six wild turkeys, an antelope,
and a big string of salmon-trout, and right
behind his saddle a bundle of something I mistook
for a pile of squirrels or rabbits. But when he
halted at the garden-gate, the bundle jumped
down and proved to be our co*w-hunter, Little Mis-
chief, who had been curled up behind the saddle-
croup like a cat.
I told you I would overtake that cow," he called
out when he saw the steward. I headed her off
twice, but it's all of no use; we shall have to lariat
her. There 's something about catching cows
in my father's book-what did you do with it?"
"I believe it's on my mantel-shelf," said the
steward. "Never mind, now; I will-- but the
boy was already gone.
The steward's house was at the other end of the
garden; but while we were shaking hands with the
colonel, Little Mischief came running back with a
tattered memorandum-book.
"Here it is!" he shouted. "You must read me
that piece now, and get me a good lariat. I know
where that cow went to. I wish they would settle
that match on horseback," he burst out when he
saw the mowers. I would show them what a race
is i Hold on! There's a piece of rawhide rope
behind the manger; that will do for a lariat," cried
he, and ran away in the direction of the stalls.
How old is that little fellow?" I asked.
"He 's not quite eight years," said the colonel.
"But he makes more fuss than all the young
Indians in this village. If he keeps on that way,
we '11 have to call him Big Mischief before long."

We staid at the ranc/o the next morning, on
account of Christmas, and because Black Betsy
needed a day's rest; but the Mexicans keep their
church-festivals in a peculiar way of their own, and
we never saw a noisier holiday. They had kettle-
drum processions, music and round-dances, arrow-
shooting and whirl-swings, and a game for children,
called "box-luck." A box with a round hole
in the top was placed on the green, and every one
who wanted to try his luck had first to put some-
thing into the box,-a pine-apple, a banana, a piece
of cake, or a handful of nuts,-and finally the box-
keeper put a dozen of oranges in, one of them marked
with a star. The youngsters were then blindfolded,
and one by one had to stick their fists through the
hole and make a' quick grab; he who grabbed the
marked orange won the whole lot. The races came
off in the afternoon; first a foot-race for men, and
then a wrestle-run for boys, or a rough-and-tumble
race, as we should call it. The runners started off
pair-wise, and tried to stop or trip each other, and
if one got a little start, the other was almost sure to
overtake him and pull him back before he got too
far away. They had some first-rate runners in Palo
Pinto, but the race was finally won by a boy from
the neighboring village of Carmen, who had a trick
of making two or three standing-jumps in quick
succession. He pulled and rolled around in the
usual way, till they were about twenty yards from
the goal, when he suddenly broke away with .one
of his flying jumps, and, before his adversary could
grab him, a second, third, and fourth leap landed
him safe beyond the goal.
Three English miles from Palo Pinto there was
a large estancia or stock-farm, and in the evening
two herders drove up, with a car full of meat, as
a Christmas present for the villagers. Came
rosario / Came rosario [rosary-meat] they cried,
and flung out their presents left and right. Their
rosaries were pieces of dried beef, about as large as
a man's hand, strung together in a wreath, like the
little bologna-sausages in our butcher-shops. The
colonel's house was the last one in the village, and
when they passed the garden-gate they had just three
rosaries left, and flung them over the fence, while
they wished us a merry Christmas.
"Here 's a present for the pretty lady!" they
shouted. "And here 's one for your prettiest girl,
and one for your prettiest cat. Now, pitch in, but
don't scratch each other," they called out when
they drove away.
The colonel's girls ran out laughing, and chased
each other all over the garden, each one claiming
the prize of beauty, till they got tired and agreed
to divide it.
But, here, what shall we do with this string?"
asked the colonel. "We have n't a cat!"




"Give it to Robby," cried the girls; "he never
had a Christmas present yet."
The colonel whistled through his fingers, and
before long a big vulture, a sort of turkey-buzzard,
flew up from a chestnut-tree in the garden and
alighted on the gravel-plot before our feet. He
snatched the meat and tried to take wing, but the
bundle was too heavy,, and he had to drop it.
Coming down again, he seized the rosary by
the string and dragged it slowly toward the next
tree, but he had not pulled it very far when a big

the same the third and fourth time, till one-third
of the meat had been eaten by the pig. But by
making the string shorter, he also made it lighter,
and now Robby's chance had come. The next
time they took hold, he seized the string a little
nearer the middle, and the moment the hog got
his piece off, 'Robby spread his wings, and, with
three vigorous flops, raised himself bout thirty feet,
and flew away with the string of meat dangling
from between his claws.
The pig was still chewing the last piece, but

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pig trotted around the corner and grabbed the
rosary by the other end.
"Oh! look at that greedy thing! Drive him
away, somebody! cried the girls..
"No, no-leave them alone," said the colonel;
'"let us see how they will settle their dispute."
The pig hauled one way and the vulture the
other, till the rosary broke, and instead of pulling
a wreath, they now had to tug at either end of a
long string. But that gave the hog an unfair
advantage, for while Robby could do nothing but
pull, Piggy soon chewed a piece off, swallowed it,
and grabbed the next chunk. They pulled again,
and again the string gave way on the pig's side;

when he got it down he looked up, and a more
astonished hog was never seen in America. Where
was the vulture and what had become of the rosary?
He looked left and right and all around with an
expression of indescribable bewilderment, and then
suddenly rushed down the road and around the
corner. It seemed to strike him that there was no
time to lose, if the vulture had run off in that
The villagers had all left to carry their rosaries
home, but before sunset they returned with drums
and cow-horns, and the merriment now became so
obstreperous that we prepared to eat our supper
in a little chestnut-grove at the upper end of the




lake. The colonel's children had made that place
their favorite play-ground, and while our boys were
climbing the trees to catch the humming-bird
moths that buzzed around the chestnut-flowers, the
girls amused themselves with a pole-swing, big
enough to seat two or three at once.
The people at the rancho had no menagerie
animals for sale, but one of the villagers told us
about a Mexican bird-fancier in the Sierra Honda,
about ten English miles from Palo Pinto, where we
could buy tame monkeys and parrots of all kinds.
The next morning we saddled our mule at sunrise,
and started right after breakfast, with the villager for
a guide and Little Mischief for an outrider. He was
going to protect us against the sierra bears, said the
little monkey, and to catch all the wild cows that
might cross his path. The groom had read him that
piece in his father's book, and provided him with two
stout lariats, so he was now prepared to deal with the
wildest cow in the country, he assured us. Our
road led along a. well-wooded mountain-side, and
when the sun began to dry the dew on the shrubs,
the air fairly swarmed with winged insects. Glitter-
ing dragon-flies shot to and fro, large black wasps
buzzed around the trees; and among the butterflies
that hovered about the way-side flowers, we saw
some specimens that set Tommy almost wild with
excitement. He caught some large black ones with
white and yellow dots, and a little moth-like sphinx,
as red as fire, and one splendid purple swallow-tail,
with a sheen like sky-blue satin. He had to climb
a tree to catch that beauty, and when he came
down again, an old man hobbled across the road
and examined his butterfly-net.
When I lived in Medellion I used to catch those
things myself, and sell them in Vera Cruz; but I
never saw a contrivance like that in my life.
Why, that 's wonderful handy "
How did you manage to catch them?" asked
I used to take them with my hat," said the old
man; "and sometimes I trapped them."
Trapped them? How? "
"There is a thorny tree growing in this country,"
said he,-" a sort of buckthorn, with strong-smell-
ing white flowers. They don't smell very nice, but
butterflies seem to like them so much that they
almost fly into your hands if you carry a bunch of
that stuff. But this net beats all that! Don't you
people come from across the sea?"
"Yes, from Europe," said Tommy.
How wonderfully clever they must be in that
country! Just let me look at that net once more.
Why, I never saw the like in my life !'
The butterfly-catcher was made of a common
wire hoop, with a bag-net of white gauze, similar to
the material used for mosquito-bars-a stuff that
VOL. VIII.-24.

can be bought at a New York dry-goods store for
ten cents a yard.
Is n't that marvelous cried the old Mexican.
"Threads as fine as gossamer, and as evenly
worked as cells in a honey-comb. It seems almost
impossible for a natural human being to do it.
Excuse me, gentlemen-can you tell me who made
this ?"
"It was made by an old lady," said Menito.
"She 's the only one in the world that can do it."
"I thought so. Is n't she kind of red-eyed?"
"Yes, a little," said Menito. "That sort of
work will spoil one's eyesight."
Pshaw! That's only a pretext of hers cried
the old man. You ought to catch her at once. I
felt sure there was witchcraft about it. That ex-
plains it, of course. I knew there was something
supernatural about it," he muttered to himself when
he hobbled away; "it would take a fellow about
twenty years to make a thing like that."
Little Mischief, during this talk, had ranged
the pastures along the hill-side in search of cows;
but when we continued our road, he came down
a mountain-valley at full gallop, and drew rein when
he caught sight of us.
"What sort of country is this, anyhow! he
exclaimed. I saw a crocodile on that mountain-
meadow back there; and when I tried to catch it,
it went up a tree like a shot."
Up a tree !" we all cried. "That's not
possible. You must be mistaken "
"Not a bit. It's only a little way up the past-
ure. Come along; I will show it to you."
He took us to a tall mimosa-tree on the hill-side,
and pointed to the upper branches.
"Yes, there it is," said he. "Do you see it
now? "
"Why, that's an iguana!" laughed Tommy.
" It 's all right, though. Let 's catch her, all the
The thing in the tree-top looked like a young
alligator, or a very large lizard, with a whip-like
tail, about three or four feet long. It had long
claws like a parrot, and clutched the branches with
all its might when we tried to shake it down; but
when Menito began to pelt it with pebbles, it leaped
from bough to bough, and finally jumped off and
scampered away across the pasture, with Rough in
full pursuit. He overtook it before he reached the
next tree, and chased it into a bush, where Tommy
caught it with our squirrel-net. In catching it he
broke off a piece of its long tail, but it was other-
wise uninjured, and a very pretty-looking moss-
green creature, so we put it in one of the wire
On the ridge of the mountain-range we stopped
at the edge of a steep cliff, and when we looked




about for a place to sit down and rest awhile, a
thing like a black fox jumped up among the rocks,
and clambered up a big fir-tree as nimbly as a cat.
"Hello! That's a cedar-squirrel," said the guide,
-" the biggest I have seen for a good while. There

into a trap; she could not possibly retreat without
running right into Menito's clutches, nor jump off
without falling into an abyss about six hundred feet
straight down. But, instead of growing uneasy, she
trimmed her fur with great complacency till Men-

* i ,


she goes! Will one of you gentlemen lend me
your gun for a minute ? "
No; but hold on! cried Tommy. Itwould
be a pity. I wonder if we could not catch her
"I will do it for fifty cents," said Menito. "She
can't get away from that tree."
The fir-tree stood close to the brink of a preci-
pice, and was almost bare, with the exception of a
few brushy twigs among the top branches.
"Do you think you could get up there?" I
"Of course he can," said Little Mischief. "I
will do it myself for fifty cents, if he wont."
"Why, you have as much sense as a human
being; but you are too late, Master Slyboots," said
Menito, and began to ascend the tree.
The squirrel clambered up higher and higher
when she saw him come, and we thought she would
go up to the very top. But when she got about
half-way up, she jumped on to a stout side-branch
that overhung the precipice, ran out to the farthest
end, and then faced boldly about, as if she defied
anybody to follow her to that stronghold.
"Look out what you are doing!" I sang out,
when I saw that Menito was going to climb the
same branch.
It 's all right, sir," he called down. "I have
her just where I want her."
It looked really as if the squirrel had blundered

ito approached within about five feet, when she
gathered herself up and jumped down without the
least hesitation. With a very long-handled net we
might have caught her as she came through the
air; but, as it was, she fell into the abyss, and with
every second her paws and tail spread out farther,
till she looked as broad as a big bat, and, running
to the edge of the cliff, we saw her alight on a rock
at the foot of the precipice, and scamper away as if
nothing had happened.
Well, I declare, if she did n't land-on her hind
legs," said Tommy. "I should'neverhave believed
that if I had not seen it with my own eyes!"
It is practice,-that 's all," observed Daddy
Simon. "She has tried that before; there 's
nothing wonderful about it."
Oh, senior, will you do me a favor?" asked
Little Mischief.
"Why, certainly, my boy; what is it?"
Well, then, please make that big Indian jump
down," said he, "and let us see if he will land on
his hind legs, too."
"Hello! where did you leave your squirrel?"
asked Tommy, when our bold climber came down
"I don't care," said Menito,-"the climb was
worth fifty cents. I have seen something else:
there 's a nest with young harpy-eagles in the
cliffs down there; we can reach them quite easily.
Come this way-you can see the nest from here."



- L'.;


"Harpy-eagles?" I asked. "Are you sure?
That looks more like a pile of crows'-nests."
"No, he 's right!" cried Tommy. "Look at
that big bird there,-look out! "
A large eagle shot up from the cliffs, rose high
in the air, and then swooped down and cir-
cled over our heads with fierce screams.
Before we recovered from. our surprise he
rose up again, as if he wanted to survey
us once more before venturing the attack;
but when he came down again we had got
our guns ready, two. shots went off together,
and the eagle tumbled down and flapped
among the rocks. When Rough made
a dash at him he struggled to his feet,
but toppled over again, flapped his wings -'ri
in a sort of convulsion, and then lay still,
-dead, as we thought.
Drive that dog away," I called out.
" I want to stuff that bird, and send it
to Vera Cruz." ,
Menito ran down, and reached the
place just in time, for the dog had
already begun to tear the eagle. Turn-
ing around to look at the nest, I noticed
Dannito's mare grazing alone at the
brink of the precipice.
"Why, where 's Little Mischief?" I ,
"Here he comes," said the guide.
"He has been down and taken the "
young eagles."
"Yes, two of them," said Dannito,
clambering up through the steep rocks,
"nearly full grown. Dpn't you think
they are worth fifty cents ?"
"Yes, about a dollar," said I; "but
you must give half of it to the other
boy for seeing the nest first. Come up
here, Menito, and bring the eagle along."
Menito grabbed the eagle by the neck,
but had hardly raised it from the ground
when the bird revived, struggled to its ::.:t
and, before any of us could come to the res..:.
it opened its wings and made a flapping -l-'.
at Menito's head. The poor fellow had r..r .: :i
a stick to defend himself, but used his palm.: I.- !h.,t
as a shield, and retreated step for step, wi. !-,, r
bird suddenly flew up and pounced upo. !im!.
with a swoop that would have knocked hi: o .:1.: r,
if he had not thrown himself on his knee. In
clutching at the boy's face, the eagle struck its
claws through the palmetto hat; but seeing us
come, it rose high up in the air, and flew away,
with the hat still sticking to its claws. But it
did not fly very far; its wounds began to tell,
and, after flapping heavily along the cliffs, it

alighted on a rock about a hundred yards farther
down, and, lifting its right foot close to its face,
gravely examined it, looking at the hat from the
corner of its eyes, as if it could not make out what
the strange appendage could be. I was going to

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a I. : t .- -
but, before I could cock
my gun, Little Mischief threw a stone at it, and
the bird fluttered down to the next lower ledge and
hopped behind a cliff, where we lost sight of it.
The precipice at that point was as steep as a wall,
and we had to give up our eagle for lost.
Menito is out of luck to-day," said Tommy.


"Yes," laughed Menito, "that fellow had to
rob me when he saw he could not fight me-the
coward !"
"No, it's foolishness more than cowardice,"
observed old Daddy. "'I don't think the foolish
bird could tell a palmetto from a common straw
Our road now turned into a mountain-valley,
where fine meadows alternated with live-oak groves,
and we were riding slowly along, when Little Mis-
ch ief lur. :.1 ...! .,n.. I...... .1 .. -,
o p e n I l,. r .., r. i .. I.-i-l. l.. . .

knew .. .... I.1
later. r.l h,. 1 -.11'i

threv I ..... It ..
and g il. i..-.l
towail .I .-
hill r ,



break-neck speed. The cow grazed in peace till he
was almost upon her, when she suddenly heard his
whoops, and, not having seen us yet, came rushing
down the hill-side toward our valley, with Dannito
close at her heels. He was really a splendid rider,
and knew something about handling a lariat, too,
for at the second throw he got the noose over the
cow's horns, and, wheeling his horse suddenly out-
ward, tried to draw the rope tight. But here his

strength failed him: the cow made a spring forward,
and not only tore the lariat from his hands, but
would have jerked him out of his saddle if he had
not clutched the mare's neck in the nick of time.
He recovered his seat, and, urging his horse with
slaps and shouts, uncoiled the second lariat. By
this time, however, the cow had found out what
sort of a manikin she had to deal with.
So, after a mo- / ment's hesitation,
she wheel-


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m: I.-1 ,1 the

i -,..i. . rl, Iary
i( .. ii H ing
.h ... -,n :,.: I, i -- 1,1:e a

tL, . ,,- I _, I ",I.r lise,

neck, dropped his switch, lariat, and all, and
seemed very glad when the cow finally turned
and resumed her original course.
"Hallo, where 's your lariat?" laughed the
guide, when the would-be cow-catcher rejoined us,
rather crest-fallen.
Why, it's all the cow's fault," said Little Mis-
chief. She took an unfair advantage: it 's quite
against the rules for a cow to chase a hunter.
There 's not a word about that in my father's
Here 's one of your lariats, Baby," said Daddy
Simon; the cow dropped it near the creek, down
there. You ought to have tied it to your saddle-




knob, and then she could not have jerked it out
of your hands. You would make a fine vaquero!"
"Why, I never thought of that," said Little
Mischief. Give it here-you are just right there,"
and before we knew what he would be about, he
had snatched the rope and tied it to his pommel.
"I shall have her sure, this time," he shouted, and
galloped away like the wind.
The bird-fancier's house was full of parrots and
four-legged pets, but most of them of a kind that
could be got very cheap in any Mexican sea-port
town, so we contented ourselves with buying three
pretty young capuchin monkeys, and a purple
macaw that could talk like a Spanish barber. The
fowler had a trained falcon that would catch rab-
bits and wild ducks, but he asked a very high price
for it.
"He has a tame wolf down in the garden,"
whispered Tonmmy. "'Please ask him how he wants
to sell it."
I have two of them," said the fowler, "and I
wont charge you anything for the little one, if it 's
of any use to you. But my wife wont like to part
with the big one: he is our churn wolf."
Your what ?"
"He 's churning our butter," said the Mexican.
"Step this way, please; you can see him at work
right now."
In the shade of the porch stood a large butter-
vat, with a churn-wheel that could be turned by
stepping upon the spokes, and a big black wolf was
performing that operation with an energy that made
him puff and grunt, though that might be on ac-
count of his liberal diet, for he was as sleek as a
pig. His companion was hardly half-grown, and
looked very much like a Scotch shepherd-dog, when
he rubbed his head against his master's knee.
We were all seated at supper, upon the lexado,
-a sort of balcony or platform on the roof of the
cottage,-when Little Mischief trotted through the
gate and altered his mare to the next tree.
"This jade of mine is n't worth a bundle of
corn-straw," said he, when he met the guide in the
court-yard. ." She ran away like a rabbit, at sight
of the cow. I '11 just saddle the black colt to-
morrow; I can make him go wherever I want to."
Soon after, we heard him rush upstairs. Get
your guns-quick! quick !" he shouted, when he
burst through the balcony door. Down in the
garden there 's a big, fat wolf trying to get into the
house. He has his feet upon the staircase, but it
turns and turns and turns."
The fowler's daughters burst out laughing.
"What's the matter with you?" asked the boy.
"That's no staircase, you big baby," laughed
Menito; "it's a-a trap for catching wolves. They
try to get up, and it turns and turns till they are

tired to death, and you can catch them with your
"Do tell!" cried the big baby. "Too bad!
That spoils all our fun."
"How's that? "
"Why," said Little Mischief, "I thought he
would come upstairs and eat some of these girls."
When we left the next morning, we tied the
young wolf to a halter strap, and he soon followed
us like a dog. The young monkeys we put in the
same cage with Master Bobtail, and when they saw
him they hugged him at once with the liveliest
demonstrations of joy and confidence; but the little
rogue pushed them away, and clambered, grinning,
into the top of the cage. They seemed to have
mistaken him for a parent or some responsible
relative, for, when he shook them off, they fairly
screamed with indignation, and then retreated into
the farthest corner, pouting as if they were the
worst-used babies in Mexico.
"How do they catch those little things ?" asked
"By trapping the old ones," said the guide.
" That's the only way. They can climb almost as
soon as they are born; but if you catch an old she-
monkey with very young kittens, the young ones
will cling to your arms or legs if you carry their
mother away."
"And how does he catch all those parrots?
Hunts up the nests, I suppose?"
"Yes, and in different other ways," said the
guide. Most bird-fanciers have a decoy-bird or a
"A snake ? You don't mean that they train a
snake to charm birds I asked.
"No, no," laughed the guide. "The birds come
of their own accord if they see a decoy, and you
can take them with a net, or with bird-lime. My
brother used to be a fowler, and once told me a
trade-secret, but he is dead now, so I might as well
tell you. You see, the matter is this: birds know
that owls and snakes are their enemies, and if they
see them exposed in day-time, they gather around
from curiosity, and perhaps in hopes.to be revenged
upon them. So all you have to do is to put a tame
snake in a wire cage, or hang her up in a bush
where the birds can see her, and it would n't be
long before they would flock to the spot. If crows
and blackbirds flutter around a snake, people are
apt to think that they must be bewitched, or
' charmed,' as they call it; but the truth is that the
snake is often more in danger than the birds, and
would like to charm them away, if she could."
When we returned to Palo Pinto, the colonel
urged us to stay for another day or two, but our
time was so limited that we had to decline his offer.
While we took leave of the kind people, Little





Mischief ran into the house, but just when we were
going to start, he bounced out again, and cried:
Oh, don't go away Don't leave us, please."
"It can't be helped," said Menito. "Why, you
are a good-natured little fellow, after all! "
"Yes, my good boy, I wish we could take you
along," said Tommy; "but never mind-perhaps
we may come back some of these days."

Oh, I don't want you to come back," said the
good boy, "but you might as well stay till two
"What for, Dannito? What do you want us
to do?"
"I want you to wait till noon, anyhow," said
Little Mischief. Cook says if you all go away
there wont be any pudding for dinner !"

(To be continued.)



I OFTEN sit on the veranda of my pleasant tropi-
cal house, which overlooks the sea at Key West,
watching the fishermen come down on the beach,
and throw in their nets to catch the sardines that
abound all along these shores. The water is very
clear, and the little fish can be distinctly seen as
they glide above the shining sand.
The nets are of circular form, made of fine cord,
and have oblong leaden weights along the outer
edge, like a string of heavy beads. The fishermen
here are chiefly Spaniards, and seem to understand
the art of throwing the net. They slip off their
shoes and stockings, roll up their trousers just as
far as they can, then, gathering the net firmly in
one hand, they place the cord between their teeth,
and walk out slowly into the water. When they
see a favorable opportunity, with a very peculiar
and graceful swing they cast the net into the water
with a splash, and quickly draw it in crowded with
small, quivering, silvery creatures, which are care-
fully picked out from among the entangling twine,
and thrown into a basket to gasp their little lives
away. The net is now ready for another toss.
Often a boy is sent out with an oar, to make a
splashing in the water and to startle the fish, so
that in attempting to swim away they may be the
more easily entangled.
Sometimes I go down on the beach to watch the
operations, and the men point at their gleaming
treasures with great delight, exclaiming: "Sardina!
Sardina! "
They often go out some distance in boats, when
the water is still, and usually they are very suc-
cessful in securing large hauls.
The sardines caught around Key West are very
small and delicate, but around Sand Key and many
others of the Florida keys they are of large size and
very fine flavor. They do not pack the sardines in

oil here, but fry them just as soon as possible after
taking them from the water, which makes them
very delicious eating.
Becoming intimately acquainted with these pretty
denizens of our own waters, I felt a natural desire
to inquire, generally, into sardines, since they have
become, nowadays, so common an article of food
in all parts of the world.
Sardines occur in great abundance in the waters
of the Mediterranean Sea, and around the shores
of Sardinia, whence they derive their name. When
the warm weather comes on, they leave these
pleasant waters, and are found in immense num-
bers along the coast of Brittany, between Brest and
Belle Isle, where very extensive sardine-fisheries
are carried on.
When the sea is calm and the day fair, often a
thousand small fishing-boats start forth together,
so that the bay is covered far and wide with them.
Frequently, bad weather drives the fish into the
bay, and the boats then do not have to go out a
great distance. They are caught by the gills in
nets, which are made of fine cord, in small meshes,
and which are floated by having many pieces of
cork attached to the upper edge. After the fisher-
men get out to where the water is deep, they lower
their sails and mast, and cast overboard their nets,
while the boat is worked along gently by two
large oars,.keeping her head to the wind. They
then begin to throw out bait, usually the hardened
roe of some fish, to attract the sardines, which
approach the net in .shoals and linger about, it.
Once in a while one of the fishermen in the bdat
will throw a heavy stone into the midst of a shoal,
frightening them so that, as they attempt to dart
away, they immediately become entangled in the
meshes of the net, and die almost as soon as they
touch it. When the corks disappear beneath the




water, it shows that the nets are full, whereupon
they are dragged into the boat, and their contents
are emptied into the hold of the vessel, while
another net is thrown in. The holds of these boats
often contain forty or fifty thousand sardines, since
a single haul of the net will sometimes yield from
fifteen to twenty thousand, although more often
not more than four or five thousand. I
The sardine is a very delicate fish, and, to be
eaten fresh, must be cooked as soon as it is taken
out of the water. It cannot be kept for that pur-
pose, therefore, but there are merchants and specu-
lators in this business as in all others, and the
fishermen can hardly touch the shore before the
dealers are on hand to purchase, often buying up
the entire cargo. The sardines are then immedi-
ately taken from the holds of the vessels and
counted, then placed in a strong iron basket and
dipped in the salt water until the fish are thor-
oughly cleaned. They are next removed to a large
establishment called a "friture," where women
and girls are principally employed to do the work,
under the name of "sardinieres." These sardin-
idres have various officers, the most important of
all-being the "commise," who superintends the
work, sees that everybody is busy, and keeps ac-
count of what is done, but is not required to touch
the fish herself.
The sardines, washed and counted, having been
given into the hands of the sardinidres, one set of
these people first removes the head and the entrails.
The fish then are passed on to others, who put them
carefully in salt, and allow them to remain there a
short time. Next, they are taken from the salt and
placed on gridirons, which are arranged on shelves
exposed to the air, where they undergo a drying
process. When they are considered sufficiently
dried, each gridiron-full is taken from the shelf and

plunged into boiling oil. The best Italian olive-oil
must be used, and the fishes are allowed to remain
in it about five minutes, after which they are given
a chance to cool. It only remains now to arrange
them in the tin boxes ready to hold them, fill the
boxes with oil, and solder on the air-tight covers.
Thus inclosed, sardines will keep in a perfect state
for many years. The women then polish the
boxes, which then are all labeled with brass tickets,
and are ready to be sent all over the world. The
smallest boxes hold about twenty sardines, and the
largest ones about a hundred. Sometimes, when
the boxes are first soldered up, they are plunged in
boiling water, since the fish are thought to keep
longer by this process, but it is thought that this
treatment takes something away from the savory
flavor so highly esteemed
The manufacture of the oblong, square-cornered
tin boxes for sardines is quite a business by itself.
They are all made in the "friture," where the fish
are prepared for the market. Workers in tin are
engaged by the year, and it is stated that from
ten to fifteen millions of these boxes of different
sizes are made in France every twelve months.
Thus we have watched the "life and progress"
of the sardine in its pleasant home beneath the blue
sea wave; in its entanglement in the net of the
fisherman; in its unpleasant quarters in the hold
of the vessel; next counted and washed, beheaded
and cleaned, salted, dried, and dipped in boiling oil;
then packed away carefully one by one in neat
boxes; and by and by we shall see them upon our
luncheon-tables, requiring a regular sardine-knife
to open the firmly soldered lid of the box before we
can help ourselves to his silvery little form, without
a sigh of regret that, for our sakes, he was snatched
from the sunny waters of the Mediterranean, or his
summer home on the bold shores of Brittany.




C. M ..." '-
-ah ^ ^ pdr-^

-B ..C.S gT ., ,r^ Z,^ '

-Su .^^jvrR


A DONKEY, going to Bremen, once,
O'ertook, upon his way,
A friendly little yellow Dog,
Who barked him a Good-day "

' Good-day !" replied the Donkey, then,
Good friend, where are you bound?"
" To Bremen," barked the little Dog,
To see my friend, the Hound."

So, on they journeyed, side by side,
Or loitered by the way,
Until they met a Pussy Cat,
Who mewed .a sweet Good-day !"

" Good-day, Dame Puss," they both replied;
Pray, where may you be bound ?"
" To Bremen," mewed the little Cat,
"To sing and look around."

.~ -. .

.. ... . = ,7-2'

*r'. -

Thereat, they begged her company
To cheer the lonesome way;
And, soon, all met Sir Chanticleer,
Who crowed a shrill Good-day !"

" Good-day good-day the three replied;
Pray where, Sir, are you bound ?"
" To Bremen," crowed the little Cock,
"To see some fishes drowned!

" I '11 gladly bear you company;
For, though I 've not much goods,
I 've heard a band of robbers live
Somewhere within these woods !"

They closer drew together, then,
And all began to hark,
But nothing heard; till, presently,
The night fell, still and dark!

Then, what to do they did not know,.
So dim the wood had grown;
Till, all at once, a space ahead,
A glimmering light outshone !


'V-- Cb.-


- ,'" ,"," ', b---
6 ' -

-~,'~--~-~4;'~-~'~-- --- -
~~ ---L'~ -~--~---=5~=-~-~;:




Reported, too, a table, spread
And garnished with a feast!
And, sitting there, around their wine,
Full forty thieves, at least!

Then quickly hunger tempted them
To plot to get within;
And so they planned to scare the thieves
By an unearthly din!

The Donkey brayed! the Dog did bark!
The Kitty cried and mewed!
Sir Chanticleer crowed loud and long,
As there they peeped and stood;

--_ ',{ ^- -I -&-

___ C'^ '.^ - ^ '^L"'tr

So, one and all fresh counsel took,
And went, at once, to see
What, shining through the gloom and dusk,
That brilliant beam might be !

They found a house, all hushed and dark,
Save for one window high,
Whence strayed the beam of golden light
That they were guided by!

The Donkey, as the tallest, tried
To stand and peep within;
But nay The window proved too high,
And great was his chagrin!

Then, mounting on the Donkey's back,
The Dog essayed to see!
But still the window was too high,
And quite dismayed was he !

The Pussy Cat next volunteered
Upon the Dog to stand !
Yet, even she, upon his back,
The distance had not spanned!

Sir Chanticleer then, flapped his wings
And lit on Pussy's head !
And, standing thus, he saw within
"The Robber-band!" he said.




" ,",' -L
" '7, ' I



Oh, what alarm the thieves were in !
They scattered to a man,
As soon as, at a signal given,
The concert first began !
They hither ran, they thither ran,
As never men before!
Whilst Donkey and his company
Walked in and shut the door!

And so they feasted well and slept
Until the following day;
When, being all thereby refreshed,
'They went upon their way.
To Bremen, strolling slowly on,
At last the travelers came;
And there, by giving concerts, all
Attained to lasting fame!

__ -ii





_ - i -

..... .. -.... .. .' .-. k






NED and I pushed on the project for a printing-
-office with great energy. We made the acquaint-
ance of a man named Alvord, who kept a job-office,
-where they never seemed to be in a hurry, as they
always were in the newspaper offices,-and was
never unwilling to answer questions or sell us old
type. It was great fun to explore the mysteries of
his establishment. I think he liked boys as much
as Jack-in-the-Box did, and I 'm sure it was a
pleasure to us, in laying out Ned's capital, to pay
so much of it to so pleasant a man.
But energy without skill is like zeal without
knowledge; in fact, it is about the same thing, and
we could n't really make much progress till Phaeton
should take hold; and he would have nothing to
do with it till he had finished his apparatus for "a
horizontal balloon-ascension," which he was at
work upon every minute that he could spare from
sleep and meals.
With the help of the carriage-maker and the
blacksmith, and Ned's capital-which he drew upon
much more freely than had been bargained for-he
constructed a low, broad, skeleton-like carriage, the
body of which was hung below the axles of the
wheels, instead of above them, and almost touched
the ground. This was to prevent it from tipping
over easily. The front axle turned on a swivel, and
was controlled with two stout handles, by means of
which the carriage could be steered. On the front
of the box were three iron hooks. At the back
there was a single hook. The wheels were pretty
large, but the whole was made as light as possible.
When it was finished, Phaeton brought it home
and put it away carefully in the wood-shed.
"I am afraid," said he, "that somebody will
steal this car, or come in and damage it, unless we
put a lock on this wood-shed door."
"Who would want to steal it, or damage it?"
said Ned.
"The Dublin boys," said Phaeton, half under
his breath: "Two of them were seen prowling
around here the other day."
One section of the town, which was divided from
ours by the deep gorge of the river, was popularly
known as Dublin, and the boys who lived there,
though probably very much like other boys, were
always considered by us as our natural enemies-

plotters against the peace of boy society, capable of
the most treacherous designs and the darkest deeds
ever perpetrated in the juvenile world. Every
piece of mischief not obviously to be accounted for
in any other way, was laid to the Dublin boys as a
matter of course.
But we have n't a padlock," said Ned, "ex-
cept that old brass one, and the key of that is lost,
and we could n't turn it when we had it."
I suppose we shall have to buy a new one,"
said Phaeton.
All right-buy one," said Ned.
I have n't any money," said Phaeton.
"Nor I," said Ned,-" spent the last cent for
a beautiful little font of Tuscan type; weighed just
five pounds, fifteen cents a pound-nothing the
matter with it, only the Es are gone."
"The Es are gone?" said Phaeton. "Do you
mean to say you have been buying a font of type
with no Es in it?"
"Yes; why? What's the harm in that?" said
Ned. You don't expect everything to be perfect
when you buy things second-hand."
"Of course not," said Phaeton; "but what can
you do without Es? If the Qs or the Xs were gone,
it would n't so much matter; but there 's hardly a
word that has n't at least one E in it. Just count
the Es on a page of any book. And you 've been
fooling away your money on a font of type with no
Es Mr. Alvord ought to be ashamed of himself
to cheat a boy like that."
You need n't be scolding me for fooling away
the money," said Ned. What have you been
doing, I should like to know? Fooling away the
money on that old torrid-zontal balloon thing,
which will probably make a shipwreck of you the
first time you try it. And, besides, I did n't buy
the type of Mr. Alvord."
"Where did you get them?"
Bought them of a boy that I met on the stairs
when I was coming down from Alvord's."
Who was he?"
I don't know. He lives on one of those cross-
streets down by the aqueduct. I went to his house with
him to get the type. He said he used to have a little
office, but his father would n't let him keep it any
more, justbecause his baby sister ate some of the ink."
It 's too bad," said Phaeton; "what do you
suppose could have become of the Es? "
"I don't know," said Ned, a little morosely.
"unless the baby sister ate them, too."

* Copyright, 1880, by Rossiter Johnson. All rights reserved.




"But," said Phaeton, suddenly, "how are we
going to get a lock for this door ? "
"I don't see that we can get one at all," said
I suggested that the door of the wood-shed
might be nailed up, to keep out the Dublin boys,
till we had a chance to get a padlock.
That 's a first-rate idea," said Phaeton, and he
at once brought out the hammer and nail-box, and
began to nail up the door. It was a heavy, paneled
door, which had evidently come from some old
mansion that was torn down.
It 's as well to make it strong while we 're
about it," said he; "for if those fellows should
come, they 'd pry it open if they could," and he
put in a few more nails.
Father showed me how to drive nails so as to
make them hold," said I. Let me show you; "
and taking the hammer from his hand, I drove
eight or ten more nails into the door, driving
them in pairs, each pair slanting in opposite di-
That 's a thing worth knowing," said Ned.
" Let me practice on it a little."
He took the hammer, and drove one or two pairs
in the manner I had shown him, and was so pleased
with his success, that he kept on till he had used
up all the nails in the box.
No Dublin boy is going to get that car this
night," said he, as he gave a final blow to the last
No," said Fay; I think it 's pretty safe."
As it began to rain, I was obliged to hurry home.
That night, as I afterward learned, there was sor-
row in the breast of the youngest member of the
Rogers family. Little May Rogers, who never
went to sleep without her favorite cat, Jemima,
curled up on the foot of her little bed, could n't go
to sleep because Jemima was nowhere to be found
in the house, and had not come when every outside
door in turn was opened, and she was called from
the vasty darkness. Even when Mrs. Rogers stood
in the kitchen door and rasped the carving-knife
on the steel, Jemima failed to come bounding in.
That was considered decisive as to her fate. The
cat would be sure to come at that sound, if she
were able to come at all.
But a much more serious commotion shook the
family next morning. When Mr. Rogers went
down to his breakfast, it was not ready; in fact,
the kitchen fire was not made.
How is this, Biddy ?" said he to the cook.
Sure, I could n't help it, sir; I could get no
"Why so, Biddy?"
Because, sir, the wood-shed door's bewitched.
I could n't get it open. And everything outside is

soakin' wet wid the rain, and so of course I
could n't kindle the fire."
Mr. Rogers walked out to the wood-shed door,
and attempted to open it with an impatient and
vigorous jerk, but the handle came off in his hand.
Then he tried to get hold of it by the edge, but
there was n't a crack where he could insert his
fingers. Then he took hold of it at the bottom,
where there was considerable space, but it would
not budge a hair. He was getting a little excited,
for he had an engagement to leave town by the
early train. He went into the house for some sort
of tool, and brought out the poker. Cutting a little
hole with his pocket-knife at the edge of the door,
he inserted the poker, and pried; but the poker
bent double, and the door did not stir. Then he
went in again, and brought out the stove-wrench.
Cutting the hole a little larger, he pried at the door
with the wrench; but the wrench was of cast-iron,
and snapped in two. "Biddy," said he, "I see a
light at Robbins's,"-it was very early in the morn-
ing,-" go over and borrow an ax."
Biddy soon returned with an ax, and Mr.
Rogers tried to pry the door open with that, but
only succeeded in breaking splinters from the edge.
Biddy," said he, bring a light, and let 's see
what ails it."
Biddy brought out a candle, but trembled so at
the idea of letting out the witches, that she dropped
it at Mr. Rogers's feet, and it struck on its lighted
end and went out. Biddy made rapid apologies,
and ran in for another candle. But Mr. Rogers
would wait no longer. He raised the ax in fury,
and began to slaughter the door, like a medieval
soldier before the gate of a besieged castle.
Slice after slice was torn off and flew inward,
striking the opposite side of the shed; but the door
as a whole would not fall. When a considerable
hole had been made, a frightened cat, its eyes
gleaming wildly, and its tail as large as a feather-
duster, leaped out from the inner darkness, passing
over Mr. Rogers's head, and knocking his hat off.
It landed somewhere in the yard, and immediately
made for the woods. Biddy, who arrived on the
ground with the second candle just in time to wit-
ness this performance, dropped the light again, and
fled screaming into the house.
This aroused two neighbors, who threw up their
windows, thrust their heads out, and, hearing the
powerful blows of the ax, thought a maniac was
abroad, and hallooed for the police.
The watchman on that beat, ever on the alert,
waited only eight or nine minutes, till he could
call four others to his aid, when all five of them
started for the scene of the trouble. Separating
after they had entered Mr. Rogers's gate, they
made a little circuit 'i.f..u,. the yard, and




cautiously approached him, two on each side, and
one behind. As the one behind laid his hand on
his shoulder, Mr. Rogers dropped the ax, whirled
around, and "hauled off," as the boys say, but
caught the gleam of the silver star on the police-
man's breast, and lowered his fist.
What do you want? said he.
"If it 's you, we don't want anything," said the
policeman, who, of course, knew Mr. Rogers very
well. "But we thought we wanted a crazy man."

with many nails, still clung tightly to the jambs, all
the central portion having been cut away in ragged
This door has been nailed up with a great
many nails," said he.
I can't imagine who would do that," said Mr.
Rogers; this is n't the first day of April."
Neither could the policemen. In fact, I have
observed that policemen have very little imagina-
tion. In this instance, five of them, all imagining


"Then you might as well take me," said Mr.
Rogers, "for I am pretty nearly crazy. The mis-
chief has got into this door, so .that it could n't be
opened, and the cook had no kindlings and I
no breakfast; and I shall lose the early train, and
if I don't reach Albany to-day, I can't tell how
many dollars it will cost me, but a good many."
Mr. Rogers drew out his handkerchief, and
wiped the perspiration from his brow.
One of the policemen produced a bull's-eye lan-
tern, and examined the ruined door, passing it up
and down the edge, where the outer frame, studded

at once, could not imagine who nailed up that door.
The nearest they could come to it was, that it was
probably done with a heavy, blunt instrument, in
the hands of some person or persons unknown.
When, later in'the day, we boys stood contem-
plating what Ned called "the shipwreck of the
door,"-older people than he call all sorts of wrecks
shipwrecks,--he remarked that he did n't know what
his father would say, if he should find out who did it.
Mr. Rogers had taken the next train for Albany.
"He will find out," said Phaeton; "for I shall
tell him as soon as he gets home."




The day that his father returned, Phaeton told,
at the tea-table, the whole story of how the door
was bewitched. A week had then passed, and-
such are the soothing influences of time-Mr.
Rogers laughed heartily at the whole affair, and at
his own excitement most of all.
"I had no idea," said Ned, solemnly, "that so
much trouble could be caused by a few nails."
His mother thought "few" was good.
The next day I heard little May Rogers telling
another child about it. This was her story:
You see, brother Fay and brother Neddie, they
drived a nail in the wood-shed door; and.Biddy,
she lended Mr. Robbins's ax; and then Papa, he
got besited; and so we have n't any wood-shed door
any more."

Meanwhile, the preparations for the horizontal
balloon-ascension had gone on. But, as Ned had
remarked, nothing could be done without capital,
and he was obliged to make another business call
upon his Aunt Mercy.
"What 's new down at your house ?" said she.
Nothing particular," said Ned.
"I hear that that idiotic brother of yours has
been cutting up a pretty caper," said Aunt Mercy,
after a pause.
What was it? said Ned.
Why, don't you know ?"
I don't know what you have been told, and I
can't think of anything very bad that Fay has
Gracious me said Aunt Mercy, looking up
surprised. "Don't you call it bad to go around
slyly in the night and nail up every door and
window in the house ? "
"Yes, that would be pretty bad, Aunty. But
Fay has n't done so."
You admit that it was bad, then ? "
Why, certainly,-but it is n't true. Only one
door was nailed up-the wood-shed door."
I do believe you 're standing up for him. But
I tell you, a boy that would nail up one door would
nail up a hundred."
"He might if he had nails enough," said Ned,
in a low voice.
"That's just it," said Aunt Mercy. "That
fellow would nail up just as many doors as he could
get nails for. I 've no doubt it was only the givin'
out of the nails that prevented him from going
through every house in the neighborhood. Mark
my words, he '11 come to some bad end. Don't you
have anything to do with him, Edmund Burton."
Ned said he thought it would be rather hard not
to have anything to do with his own brother.
"Yes, I suppose so," said Aunt Mercy. "But
do the best you can."

"Yes, Aunty, I '11 do my best."
"Now tell me," said she, "about your muddle.
Have you made a muddle yet ?"
I thought Ned might have answered conscien-
tiously that he had made a muddle. But he
"No, Aunty, we've put that off for a while.
We think it will be best to do some other things
"What are the other things? "
"One of them is a printing-office. We think of
setting up a little printing-office to print little books
and papers and cards and things, if we can get
together enough money for it. It takes rather
more capital than we have at present."
I suppose Aunt Mercy thought I was the other
one besides himself included in Ned's "we."
"I should have supposed," said she, "that it
was best to finish one muddle before going into
another. But you know best, Edmund Burton. I
have great confidence in your judgment." And
she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes,
and seemed to be dreaming for some minutes. I
doubt if she more than half knew which Edmund
Burton she was talking to-the one who had long
since gone down beneath the waters of a distant sea,
or the young scapegrace who, without intending to
represent anything falsely, had got so much money
from her on false representations.
I don't know how it is, "said he to me one day.
"I never intend to cheat Aunt Mercy; and yet,
whenever I go to see her, things seem to fix them-
selves somehow so that she misunderstands. I
guess it 's her imagination."
How much money do you need for your new
muddle?" said she, when she came out of her
"Jack-in-the-Box says he thinks twenty-five or
thirty dollars would fit up a good one," said Ned.
"Who is Jack-in-the-Box?"
"A gentleman connected with the railroad."
Queer name for a railroad director," said Aunt
Mercy. "But I suppose you 've blundered on it.
French, very likely. Might be Jacquin Thibaux.
(I studied French two terms at Madam Farron's.)
Some of those old Huguenot names have got into
strange shapes. But it does n't matter. I dare
say Monsieur Thibaux is right about it. I have n't
any money with me to-night, but I '11 send it over
to you to-morrow. Don't let that ignorant brother
of yours meddle with your printing-office; he '11
misspell every word, and disgrace the family."
"I 'll try to keep him straight," said Ned.
"Good-night, Aunty." -
Good-night, Edmund Burton, my dear boy."

"I thought part of this capital," said I to Ned,




as we walked away, "was for the horizontal bal-
loon. "
"So it is," said he; "but I could n't explain
that to Aunt Mercy, because Fay has never ex-
plained it to me. I have no idea how he 's going
to make that thing go."
When Phaeton was furnished with a little more
money, we soon saw how the thing was to go.
He built three enormous kites, six feet high. They
were not bow-kites-the traditional kite always
represented in pictures, but seldom used in our
country. They were the far more powerful six-
cornered kite, familiar to the boys of the Middle
States. He certainly built them with great skill,
and Ned and I had the pleasure of helping him-
if holding the paste-cup and hunting for material to
make the tails was helping.
As each was finished, Phaeton carefully stood it
up in the wood-shed to dry, where there was no
more danger of Dublin boys; for Mr. Rogers had
sent a carpenter to put on a new door and furnish
it with a lock. Nevertheless, Phaeton took the first
kite to his room for the night, and put it against
the wall behind the bed. But Ned, who tossed a
great deal, managed to kick a hole through it in
his sleep. After that, they were left in the wood-
shed over night, where a similar misfortune befell
the second. Biddy, breaking kindlings in an
unscientific way with the hatchet, sent a piece
of wood flying through the kite, tearing a large
hole on what a sailor would call the starboard
When Phaeton complained of her carelessness,
she seemed to think she had improved the kite,
saying: "The two kites were not comrades before
-they are now."
When an enterprising boy attempts to carry out
some little project of his own, it is astonishing to
see how even the best-natured household will seem
to conspire against him. If he happens to leave a
few of his things on the dining-room floor, they are
carelessly stepped upon by his own mother, or
swept out-of-doors by an ignorant servant. I have
seen a boy trying to make a galvanic battery, and
his sister looking on and fervently hoping it would
fail, so that she could have the glass cups to put
into her play-house.
However, Phaeton had about as little of this sort
of thing to endure as any boy ever had. When
the kites were finished and dry, and the holes
patched up, and the tails hung, Phaeton said he
was ready to harness up his team as soon as the
wind was right.
"Which way do you want it?" said I.
It must be a steady breeze, straight down the
turnpike," said he.
One reason why Phaeton chose this road was,

that here he would encounter no telegraph wires.
At the railway crossing, two men, riding on loads
of hay, had come in contact with the wires and
been seriously hurt. Another repetition of the
accident might have been prevented by raising
the wires on higher poles, but the company
had chosen rather to run them down the pole
on one side, under the street, and up the next.
"But I don't see how these kites are going to
work," said Ned, "if you fly them side by side, and
hitch the strings to those three hooks."
"Why not?"
Because they '11 interfere with one another, and
get all tangled up."
"You might think so," said Phaeton, "if you
had n't made a study of kite-flying, as I have. If
you look at a dozen boys flying their kites at once
on the common, you will see that, no matter how
near together two or three boys stand, their kites
will not go in exactly the same direction. Either
the strings will slant away from each other a little,.
or else they will cross."
How do you account for that? said Ned.
I suppose it 's because you never can make two
kites exactly alike; or, if they are exactly alike,.
they are not hung precisely the same; and so the
wind bears a little more on the left side of one, and.
a little more on the right side of the other."
"I guess that's so," said Ned. "And yet it.
seems to me it would be better to fly them
How would you get them up ? said I.
"First get up one," said Ned. "And when it
was well up, fasten the end of the string to the back
of the next kite, and let that up, and do the same
with the third. Then you 'd have a straight pull.
by the whole team in line."
"And the pull of all three kites would come
on the last string, and break it," said Phaeton.
"I did n't think of that," said Ned. "I see
your way is the best, after all. But hurry up
and have it over with, for we want you to help
with the printing-office; we can't get along with-
out you."
"It never will be 'over with,'" said Phaeton.
"I shall ride out every fine day, when the wind is.
in the right direction."
"Why, is that all it's for," said Ned,-" merely
your own amusement?"
"Not at all," said Phaeton. "It is a great
invention, to be introduced all over the country.
Better than a locomotive, because it will run on a
common road. Better than horses, because it.
does n't eat anything. But then, I'm going to enjoy
it myself as much as I can. However, we '11 find
time for the printing."




PHAETON had to wait three days for a fair wind,
:and in that time the secret-for we had tried to
keep it quiet-leaked out among the boys.
It was Saturday, and everything seemed favor-
able. As Ned and I wanted to go up-town in the
forenoon, and Phaeton could not start the thing
alone, he appointed two o'clock in the afternoon as
the hour for the experiment.
On our way up-town we met Isaac Holman.
I 'm going down to see your brother's new fly-
:ing machine, or whatever it is," said he.
It wont start till two o'clock," said Ned.
"Totus dexter!-all right! I'll be around at
that hour," said Holman.
Phaeton gave his apparatus a final inspection,
newly greased the wheels, tested every string about
the kites, and made sure that all was in perfect order.
Exactly, at two o'clock, he took a strong stake
.and a heavy mallet, walked out into the street, and,
amid a babel of questions from about twenty boys,
who had gradually gathered there, drove the stake
exactly in the middle of the road, leaving it a foot
.and a half out of ground. He answered none of
the questions, and, in fact, did not open his lips,
excepting to return the greeting of Holman, who sat
on the bowlder by the horse-gate, and was the only
one that asked nothing.
I saw Monkey Roe hanging on the outskirts of
the crowd. His name was James Montalembert
Roe; but he was never called anything but
Monkey Roe, and he seemed to like it just as well.
The moment I saw him, I began to fear mischief.
He was a thoroughly good-natured fellow, but was
always plotting some new sort of fun, and was as
full of invention, though in a very different way, as
Phaeton himself.
When Phaeton had returned and put away his
mallet, we all took hold of the car and ran it out
to the street, where Phaeton fastened a short rope
to the hook at the back, and tied the other end
firmly to the stake.
Then I stood by the car, as a sort of guard,
while he and Ned brought out the kites, one at a
time, and got them up. When each had risen to the
full height of the string, which was pretty long,-
and they were the best-behaved kites I ever saw,-
Phaeton tied the string to one of the hooks on the
front of the car. When all three were harnessed up,
they lifted the fore-wheels from the ground.
This work used up considerable time, and while
it was going on, the crowd about us was increasing
by the addition of Dublin boys, who kept coming,
singly or in twos and threes, and were distinguish-
.able by the fact that they were all barefooted, without

jackets, and had their trousers supported by one
suspender buckled around the waist like a belt.
It seemed evident that somebody had told them
about the horizontal balloon-ascension, for they did
not come as if by accident, but as if by appoint-
ment, and made straight for the car, which they
inspected with a great deal of curiosity.
Phaeton brought out four shot-bags filled with
sand, and placed them in the front of the car.
Then he brought out a rope five or six yards
long, with a small balloon-anchor fastened to it. A
balloon-anchor is made of three iron hooks placed
back to back, so that 'the points project in three
different directions, and the three backs or shanks
are welded together into one stem, which ends in
a ring, through which the rope is tied.
Phaeton tied the end of the anchor-rope to the
hook on the back end of his car, coiled it up in one
corner of the box, and laid the anchor on the coil.
His calculation was, that when he threw it out on
the road it would catch a little here and there in
the ground, as the hooks dragged over the surface,
making the car go more slowly, till after a while it
would take a firm hold of something and bring him
to a full stop.
Phaeton also brought out a small American flag,
on a light staff, and stuck it up in a place made for
it, on one of the back corners of the car.
The kites were now tugging away at the car, with
a steady and strong pull. The arrangement was,
that when Phaeton was seated (on a light board
laid across the top of the car) with the steering
handles in his grasp, and all was ready, he would
give the word, and I was to draw a sharp knife
across the rope that held the car to the stake.
All now was ready. Ned, who had gone down
the road a short distance, to see if any teams were
coming, signaled that the coast was clear, and
Phaeton stepped into the car.
"I say," said one of the Dublin boys; "why
don't you put up the stake before we start ?"
"The stake is all right," said Phaeton, just
glancing over his shoulder at it.
"Who's holding it?" said the Dublin boy.
Don't you see, the ground is holding it ?" said
Phaeton, arranging the sand-bags.
Oh, don't try to get out of it in that way," said
the Dublin boy.
"I don't understand you," said Phaeton. "What
do you mean?"
"Did n't you say," said the Dublin boy, "that
you'd give a dollar to any boy that could beat your
machine in a mile run?"
"No," said Phaeton. "I have never said anything
of the sort-nor thought of it. Who told you so "
Lukey Finnerty."
"And who told Lukey Finnerty?"




"Berny Rourke."
And who told Berny Rourke ?"
"Teddy Dwyer."
And who told Teddy Dwyer ?"
Owney Geoghegan" (pronounced Gewgan).
"And who told Owney Geoghegan?"
Patsy Rafferty."
"And who told Patsy Rafferty?"
"Oh, never mind who told me," broke in
another Dublin boy, who, it seems, was Patsy Raf-

Phaeton somewhat reluctantly said he would,-
"although," he added, in an under-tone, "if you
can beat it, I don't see why you should want to ride
in it."
Casting one more glance about, to see that all
was ready, Phaeton told me to cut the rope and let
him start. Partly because he spoke in a low tone,
wishing to make as little excitement as possible,
and partly because I was watching what I con-
sidered certain suspicious movements on the part

' .. .* *:. .' -, ... -"^ T ":' -.;f r_-

3 ^ .....r ,k.-- .- ---
I -

"., ~-,: ._ .
_. _

--- -- H ~ --- ~ I j*__ ~: = I= i'


ferty. The question is, are you going to put up
the money ?"
"I never offered to put up any," said Phaeton.
"And I have n't any with me, just now, to put up."
"Then somebody has played us a trick," said
"I 'm sorry for that," said Phaeton.
"Ah, well, we don't mind-we 'll run all the
.same," said Patsy.
But I don't care to have you run," said Phaeton.
" In fact, I 'd rather you would n't."
"Well, we 're all ready for it," said Patsy, giving
his trousers a hitch, and tightening the suspender
a little by giving another twist to the nail that
fastened it in lieu of a buckle. "And I .suppose
the road 's as free to us as 't is to you ?"
"Oh, certainly! said Phaeton.
"If you have n't any money," spoke up another
Dublin boy, you might say you '11 give a ride in
your car to the fellow that beats it-just to lend a
little interest to the race, you know."
VOL. VIII.-25.

of Monkey Roe, I did not hear nor heed what
Phaeton said. There was a pause.
"Littera lapsa !-let her slide!" roared out
Holman, who saw that I had not understood.
With a quick, nervous stroke, I drew the knife
across the rope.
The machine started-at first with a little jerk,
then with a slow, rolling motion, gradually increas-
ing in speed, until at the end of six or eight rods it
was under rapid headway.
The Dublin boys at first stood still, looking on in
gaping admiration at the wonder, till they suddenly
remembered that they were there to race it, when
they started off after it.
Our boys naturally followed them, as, of course,
we could n't see any more of the fun unless we
should keep up with it.
It was a pretty even race, and all was going on
smoothly, when down the first cross-street came a
crowd of women, apparently very much excited,
many of them with sticks in their hands. The
sight of our moving crowd seemed to frenzy them,



- I ,fi:?;


and they increased their speed, but only arrived at.
the corner in time to fall in behind us.
At the same time, down the cross-road from the
other direction came a drove of cattle, pelted,
pounded, and hooted at by two men and three
boys; and close behind them was Dan Rice's
Circus, which had been exhibiting for two days on
the Falls Field, and was now hurrying on to the
next town. Whether it was because of the red skirts
worn by many of the women in front of them, or
the rumbling of the circus so close behind them, I
did not know, but those cattle did behave in the
most frantic manner.
And so the whole caravan went roaring down the
turnpike-Phaeton in his flying car at the head,
then the Dublin boys, then our boys, then the
mothers of the Dublin boys, then the drove of
cattle, and then the circus, with all its wagons and
paraphernalia,-the striped zebra bringing up the
It soon became evident that the mothers of the
Dublin boys were proceeding on erroneous infor-
mation-however they got it-and supposed that
the contest between us and their sons was not a
friendly one. For, whenever one of our boys
lagged behind in the race, and came within reach
of their sticks, he was pretty sure to get a sounding
whack across the shoulders. I dare say the Dublin
boys would have received the same treatment if
they had not been ahead of us in the race, which
they always were, either because they were better
runners, or better prepared.
Foremost of all was Patsy Rafferty, who, by do-
ing his prettiest, had closed up the distance that
had been between himself and the car at the start,
and was now abreast of it.
Phaeton became excited, and, determined not to
be beaten, lightened his car by hurriedly throwing
out one of the bags of sand. Unfortunately, it
struck the ground right in front of Patsy, and the
next instant he stubbed his toes on it and went
sprawling into the gutter.
When the Dublin women saw this, they probably
took it as full confirmation of the evil designs which
somebody had told them we had on their sons, and
some of our boys immediately paid the penalty by
receiving a few extra whacks.
As for Patsy, he soon picked himself up and re-
newed the race, all the more determined to win it
because he thought Phaeton had tripped him
purposely-which I am happy to say was not true.
As we neared the railway crossing, Jack-in-the-
Box was half-way up the signal-pole. Hearing the
outcry, he looked down upon us, took in the situa-
tion at a glance, then descended the pole two steps
at a time, seized his red flag, and ran up the track
at lightning speed. He had calculated that the

Pacific Express would arrive at the crossing just in
time to dash through some part of our procession,
and as he saw it would be useless to try to stop us,
with everything crowding on behind us, he went to
flag the train and stop that. This he just suc-
ceeded in doing, and when my section of the pro-
cession passed that given point,-you know it is
the inveterate habit of processions to pass given
points,-there stood the great locomotive stock still
by Jack's box, with its train behind it, and seemed
to look down upon us like an astonished and inter-
ested spectator.
We swept on across the track, and as there was
a straight, smooth piece of road before us, all went
well till we neared the canal. There a stupid fel-
low, as we afterward learned, leading home a cow
he had just bought, had tied her to the corner-post
of the bridge by which the turnpike crossed the
canal, and gone into a neighboring grocery. The
cow had placed herself directly across the narrow
road-way of the bridge, and there she stood- con-
tentedly chewing her cud, entirely ignorant of the
fact that an important race was in progress, and
that she was obstructing the track.
Phaeton saw her with horror; for if he kept on,
the car would run into her-the foot-path over the
bridge was too narrow for it. He threw out his
anchor, which ricochetted, as an artillerist would
say. That is, it would catch the ground for an
instant,. and then fly into the air, descend in a
curve, catch once more, and fly up again. At last
it caught on a horse-block, stuck fast, and brought
the car to a stop.
But before Phaeton could climb out, Patsy Raf-
ferty had come up, and, whipping out his jack-
knife, cut the anchor-rope in two. In an instant
the machine was off again.
Phaeton's situation was desperate. There stood
the stupid cow like an animated toll-gate closing
the bridge, and he rushing on to destruction at the
rate of a good many'miles an hour, with no way to
stop the machine, and a certainty of broken bones.
if he should jump out.
In his agony, he half rose in the car and gave a
terrific yell. The cow started, saw him, and then
clumsily but quickly swung herself around against
the truss of the bridge that divided the carriage-
way from the foot-path. But the carriage-way had
been newly planked, and the planks were not yet
nailed down. As the cow stepped on the ends,
four or five of these planks were instantly tilted
up like a trap-door, while the cow sank down till
she was wedged between the truss and the first
sleeper, or lengthwise beam (the space not being
quite large enough to let her drop through); the
planks of course being held in an almost perpen-
dicular position between her body and the sleeper.




"Into the abyss that thus suddenly yawned before
him, Phaeton and his chariot plunged.
After him went Patsy Rafferty, who, on seeing
the danger, had laid hold of the car and tried to
stop it, but failed. Whether he jumped through,
or let himself down more cautiously by hanging
from the floor of the bridge and dropping, I did
not see; but at all events, when the rest of us
reached the tow-path by running down the em-
bankment, the waters had closed over both boys
and the car.
At this moment another accident complicated the

jerked the horses over the parapet into the water,
where they floundered within a yard of the wrecked
The Dublin women gathered on the tow-path,
and immediately set up an unearthly wail, such as
I have never heard before nor since. I think some
of them must have "cried the keen," as it is called
in Ireland.
Patsy soon emerged from beneath the wreck,
hauling Phaeton out by the hair, and as half a
dozen of the boys, from both parties, were now in
the water, they had plenty of help. The bow-hand


trouble and increased the excitement. This was
a tow-path bridge-one which the boat-horses
have to pass over, because at that point the tow-
path changes from one side of the canal to the
other. The "Red Bird" packet horses, coming
up at a round trot, when they reached the crown
of the bridge and saw the rushing, roaring caravan
coming at them, and heard Phaeton's yell, stopped,
and stood shivering with fear. But the packet was
all the while going ahead by its own momentum,
and when it had gone the length of the tow-line, it

of the "Red Bird" cut the tow-line with a hatchet,
-if he had been attending to his business, he
would have done it soon enough to prevent the
accident,-and the horses then swam ashore.
Meantime, the circus had stopped, and many of
the men came to the scene of the disaster, while
most of the packet passengers stepped ashore and
also joined the crowd.
The steersman brought a pike-pole, with which
they fished out Phaeton's car.
Every one of the kite-strings was broken, and




IN a small town, not far from the river Rhine,
there was a large dam, built, in great part, of
heavy timbers, which shut in the waters of a stream
that ran into the river a few miles below. Quite a
large body of water was thus held back by the dam,
while below it the stream was narrow and shallow.
In the dam was a sluice-gate, which could be raised
by a lever, and by which the water could be let off,
whenever it was necessary. It was not a very tight
gate, and a good deal of water ran through its
cracks; but that did not matter, for there was
plenty of water left for the uses of the towns-people.
On the top of this dam, which was wide enough
to serve as a bridge, four children were amusing
themselves, one summer day. Oscar, the largest
boy, had put on abathing-dress, which was nothing
more than a pair of short trousers, and had climbed
down to the stream, to see if he could take a swim.
But he had found that the swimming did not
amount to much, for there was only one place-a
moderately deep pool just under the sluice-gate-

where he could have any chance of striking out with
his arms and legs. So he soon climbed up again
to the top of the dam. He would have been glad
to bathe in the great pond above the dam, but that
was not allowed.
Little Lotta, the only girl in the party, had been
watching Oscar, and had lost her cap, which had
tumbled off into some bushes below, at the side of
the stream. She had called to Oscar to get it for
her, but he was already half-way up the face of the
dam, and he did not want to go back. He was not
related to Lotta, and she had two brothers there.
If she wanted her cap, one of them could go down
and get it. He did not consider that it was not a
pleasant thing for a boy, with his ordinary clothes
on, to scramble down the wet face of the dam.
Lotta began to cry, and her younger brother,
Peter, said he would roll up his trousers and go
down for her cap. This, however, made Carl, her
other brother, laugh. He said he would try to get
the cap with a stick, and if he could not reach it,




THERE once was a stately Giraffe,
*" Whose motto was "Nothing by half!"
His old friend, the Tapir,
SSaid, "Cut me a caper,-
It's a year since I 've had a good laugh !"

So, to please him, the gracious Giraffe
Jumped over a cow and her calf;
But when the old Tapir
/ l Told folks of this caper,
They said: That 's just some of your chaff.

He 's a dignified chap, that Giraffe,
And we know he does nothing by half;
We can understand how
_-'-- He might jump o'er a cow,
But he 'd never jump over a calf!"




he would go down himself. He was nearly as big
as Oscar, and could climb just as well.
So he got a long stick, and taking this in one
hand, he got over the edge of the dam, holding
with his other hand to a peg which was driven into
a beam that ran along the top. Then he braced
his feet against the dam, and grasping the peg
very tightly, he reached down toward the cap with
his stick. It was a white muslin cap, and hung
lightly on the edge of the bush. If he could but
hook his stick into any part of it, it would be easy
to bring it up.
He had just worked his stick under the front of
it, when crack! went the peg, and down went
Oscar, just before this, had reached the top of
the dam, and had run into the house near by to
dress. Little Lotta and Peter were so astounded
when they saw Carl go down, and heard the great
splash beneath, that they just stood, for a moment,
with their mouths open. Then they began to cry,
and ran off to find somebody to help.
Oscar soon came running out of the house, and
some men, who happened to be working near by,
were attracted by the children's cries, and went
to them.
When they heard the story, they all hurried to
the dam and looked over, but there was nothing to
be seen of Carl. Then the men, with Oscar, ran
to the end of the dam and hurried down to the
edge of the stream. One of them waded in, and
felt, with his bare feet, all over the bottom of the
pool. He thought Carl might have been stunned
by the fall, and was lying there. But he did not
find him. Perhaps he had been carried down the
stream, one of them suggested; but this was not
likely, as the water was so shallow below the pool.
Still, the men, with Oscar and the two children,
went down the stream for some distance, examin-
ing it closely. But there was no sign of Carl.
Then the men came to the conclusion that the
boy had not fallen off the dam at all, or else that
he had jumped out of the water, and gone home in
a hurry. He certainly was not drowned, for, if
that had been the case, they could have found him.
So they grumbled a little, and went back to their
work, while Lotta and Peter ran home to see if
their brother was there.
When the peg broke, Carl instinctively gave a
great push with his feet, and this caused him to
turn completely over, so that he went into the pool
feet foremost.
The distance which he fell was not great, and
the water broke his fall; but it was a very much
astonished and startled boy who, for a moment,
floundered and splashed in that pool. When he
could really see where he was, he half-swam, half-

waded to the shore, and ran up the bank as fast as
he could go.
As soon as he had recovered a little from the
confusion into which this sudden accident had
thrown his mind, he began to wonder if his body
was all right. So he kicked out his legs, and he
threw out his arms, and soon found that nothing
was the matter with any part of him. But he
noticed that he held in his hand the peg to
which he had clung when he was reaching for his
sister's cap. It seemed strange that he should still
tightly grasp this little stick; but people often do
such things when excited.
Carl looked at the peg with a good deal of
It 's an inch and a half thick he exclaimed,
"and made of hard wood. It ought not to have
broken so easily. Oho, I see! Here is a knot,
right where it broke, and there must have been an
old crack there, for only half of the break looks
At this discovery, Carl grew very angry.
"A pretty man," he cried, "to put in such a
peg, for people to hold to I am going to speak
to him about it this minute. It was Franz Holman
who built the dam, and, of course, he put the peg
in. I might have killed myself, and I shall just
tell him what I think about it."
So, without considering his wet clothes, nor his
little sister and brother, whom he had so suddenly
left on the bridge, he ran off to the shop of Franz
Holman, on the outskirts of the town.
He found the carpenter outside of his shop, hew-
ing some logs.
"Hello!" cried Carl, running up. "Did n't
you build the dam, down yonder?"
The man stopped his work, and looked with
amazement at this earnest and flushed young fellow,
without a hat, and with the water still dripping
from his hair and his clothes.
Yes," he said. I built it-the timber part, I
mean. What is the matter with it? You don't
mean to say that it has broken?"
"No, it has n't," replied Carl. "But this peg
has broken, and it came near killing me. If you
built the dam, of course you put the peg in, and I
think it 's a shame to use pegs with knots and
cracks in them, for people to hold on to."
"People need n't hold on to them, if they don't
want to," replied the carpenter. "Let me see
that peg."
"You can look at it in my hands," said Carl.
"I don't intend to give it to you. Look at that old
crack under the knot! And people do have to
hold on to it, or else tie something to it. What
else was it put there for ?"
Pshaw said Franz. "You are making a





great bother about a little thing. Any peg might
break with a great, heavy boy, like you, hanging
to it."
Not if it was as thick as this and had no knots
in it," said Carl, walking away, quite as angry as
he came, for he saw that the carpenter cared noth-

to see what was the matter, and these all followed
the poor mother; so that when they reached the
bank of the pool, there was quite a little crowd col-
lected. A new search was immediately begun, but
it was soon very evident that Carl was not in the
stream. There was a great deal of confusion, and

!o- - N "I

,4, .."


ing at all for his mishap, nor for his own reputation
in the matter of pegs.
When Lotta and Peter reached home they found
no Carl, and when they told their mother what had
happened, she was greatly frightened. Without
waiting to put anything on her head, and followed
by several neighbors who had been attracted by
her cries, she ran to the dam. On the way, quite a
number of people ran out of their houses and shops

advice, of every imaginable kind, was given by the
by-standers to the men who were making the
search. Some even thought that the pond, above
the dam, ought to be dragged, as if the boy could
possibly have been in that.
While all this was going on, and Lotta and Peter
were crying, and some of the older men and women
were trying to comfort the poor, distressed mother,
who was certain that she had lost her boy, Carl



. .. -
7-__: _, , ;
J, ' ,i -


came walking down among them, with the broken
peg still in his hand. He had been home, and find-
ing no one there, had come to look for the family,
supposing that Peter and Lotta, at least, might be
playing by the dam. When he saw the crowd, he
was almost as much astonished as the crowd was to
see him. He was still hatless, and wore his wet
clothes, although the air and the sun had dried
them a good deal.
The moment his mother saw him, she rushed to
him and caught him in her arms, while little Lotta
and Peter clung to his legs. The" people gathered
around him and, as soon as he could get a chance
to speak, they eagerly asked him where he had
been, and how everything had happened. Carl
told them about the broken peg, and how it had
had a knot in it, and how he had been up to see
Franz Holman about it, who did n't care a snap of
his finger whether people tumbled off dams and
broke their necks or not. Then he passed around
the peg, so that everybody could see that he was
right in what he said about it, and that it was not
his own fault that he fell from the top of the dam.
Some of the good people laughed as they looked
at the peg, while others said that Franz Holman
ought to know better than to use a piece of wood
like that for such a purpose; but the most of them
seemed to think the broken peg was a matter of
very little consequence. They were glad the boy
was safe, and there was an end of the matter.
, But it happened that two or three of the prin-
cipal men of the town had been attracted to the
stream by the crowd, and an idea struck the mind
of one of these.
If Franz Holman was so careless as to use wood
like this, in a peg which should have been a very
strong one, he may have been equally careless in
building the dam itself. And, now that I come
to look, it seems to me that the water is running
through a great many cracks and crevices."
Several persons now examined the face of 'the
dam, and they thought that it did, indeed, look very
leaky. It was not strange that this had not been
noticed before, for it was very seldom that any one,
excepting boys, came down to the bed of the stream,
under the dam. After a little consultation among
the older townsmen, it was thought that the dam
might be weak, and that it ought to be carefully
examined. Accordingly, the very next day, several
carpenters-and Franz Holman was not among
them-were set to work to make a careful exam-
ination of the condition of the timbers, and they
soon found that many of them were very rotten,
and that Holman, in trying to make as much profit
as he. could out of his work, had put in timbers
which had been taken from an old bridge that had

been torn down, and which were, probably, unfit for
use when they were put into the wood-work of the
dam. Now, they were certainly unfit to stand the
strain put upon them by the great body of water in
the dam.
This discovery excited a great deal of indigna-
tion against Holman, for if the dam had given way,
the whole .body of water in the pond instantly would
have poured down into the valley of the stream,
where, a short distance below, there were a number
of small cottages, inhabited by poor families. Had
the accident occurred in the night, these houses
might have been swept away, with all their occu-
The sluice-gate was opened and the water allowed
to flow gradually out of the pond. When the
water was low enough, the old dam was to be taken
down and a new and strong one built. Some of
the officials of the town went to see Franz Holman,
to call him to an account for his dishonest workman-
ship, but they did not see him. He did not want
to talk to any one about the dam, and had gone
away in the night, taking all his tools with him in
his wagon, and leaving, unfinished, the work on
which he was engaged.
As they walked home from their unsuccessful
visit, the good townsmen began to talk of young
Carl, whose strange accident had probably pre-
vented a sad disaster to the town. One of them
proposed making him a present, and when it was
objected that the boy ought not to be rewarded
simply for getting a tumble from the top of a dam,
this man asserted that if it had not been for Carl's
sturdy earnestness in charging Holman with his
bad work, and in afterward bringing the attention
of the towns-people to it, no one would have
thought of examining the dam.
This view of the case. was thought a fair one, and
when the matter had been considered for a day or
two, it was determined that the town should send
Carl to school. He was known to be a good, smart
boy, but his mother, who had lost her husband,
could not afford to give her eldest son the education
he ought to have.
When Carl was told that he was to have a new
suit of clothes, and was to be sent to school to
Baroles,--a town about five miles away, from which
he could walk home on Sundays and holidays,-he
was delighted. To go to school to Baroles was a
thing he had longed for, during more than a year.
And his mother was just as glad as he was, and
very proud of him besides.
"What I want," said Oscar,-the big boy who
had been on the dam with Carl and the others,-
"is to find a rotten peg."
But he never found one.




the kites had gone down the sky, with that wob-
bling motion peculiar to what the boys call a "kite-
broke-away," to find lodgment in some distant
forest or meadow.
Great was the wonderment expressed, and many
were the questions asked, as the packet passengers
and the circus people crowded around the ruined
car and the dripping boys. Two of the Dublin
women were wringing out Phaeton's jacket, and
talking rather fast with the other mothers.
A benevolent-looking old gentleman, who wore a
white vest and a large fob-chain, said, "Something
ought to be done for that boy,"-pointing to Patsy.
The Clown of the circus said Certainly !" and
taking off his hat, passed it first to the benevolent-
looking old gentleman, who seemed a little sur-
prised, but soon recovered, and hastily dropped in
ten cents.
Then the Clown passed it all around, and nearly
everybody, excepting the boys, of course, put in a
little something. The Patagonian Woman of the
circus, who had very red cheeks and very round
eyes, and wore a large diamond ring on nearly
every finger, gave the most of anybody,-half a dol-
lar,-which she borrowed of the Strong Man, who
used to lift the big iron balls on the back of his
The Clown counted the money, and said there
were three dollars and eighty-four cents, and a
crossed shilling, and a bogus quarter, and two
brass buttons, and a pewter temperance medal.
"Well," said he, in a solemn tone, looking down
at the collection, and then around at the people,
I should say this crowd was about an average
specimen of humanity."
I did n't see the Clown himself put in anything
at all.
"Here, sonny," said he to Patsy, "we '11 tie it
up in your handkerchief for you."

Patsy said he had n't any handkerchief with him,
just then; whereupon the Patagonian Woman gave
him hers-excellent people, those Patagonians!-
and the Clown tied it up with two hard knots, and
Patsy tucked it into his trousers-pocket, which it
caused to bulge out as if he had just passed through
'Squire Higgins's orchard.
The boss of the circus offered to give Patsy a
place, and take him right along, at fifteen dollars a
month and his board. Patsy was crazy to go; but
his mother said she could n't spare him.
Some of the circus men got a pole and tackle
from one of their wagons, and lifted the cow out of
her uncomfortable position, after which they re-
placed the planks.
-" All aboard shouted the captain of the Red
Bird," for the tow-line had been mended and the
horses rubbed down, and all the passengers started
on a run fpr the boat, excepting the benevolent-
looking old gentleman, who walked very leisurely,
seeming to know it would wait for him.
"All aboard !" shouted the boss of the circus,
and his people climbed upon the wagons, whipped
up the horses, and rumbled over the bridge at a
rapid gait.
The Dublin women each laid hold of one or
more of their boys, and marched them home;
Lukey Finnerty's mother arguing, as they went
along, that her boy had done as much as Patsy
Rafferty, and got as wet, and therefore ought to
have a share of the money.
Oh, there's no doubt," said Mrs. Rafferty, in a
gently sarcastic tone, but your boy has taken in a
great deal of cold water. He shall have the tem-
perance medal."
The other women promptly took up the question,
some on Mrs. Finnerty's side and some on Mrs.
Rafferty's, and so, all talking at once, they passed
out of sight.

(To be continued.)



A JOLLY fellow is young March Wind,
With all his bluster and noise;
Though he has no thought for the old and poor,
He 's a thorough friend of the boys.
He joins their play with right good will-
Aha, do you see him go,
With a hi, hi, hi! far up in the sky,
While the boys stand tugging below?

Oh, a noisy fellow is young March Wind,
And almost any day
You may see him up in the highest trees,
Blowing his trumpet for play.
Oho! oho! now high, now low,
He blows with all his might:
Oh, dear Mr. Wind, would you be so kind
As to go to sleep at night?






IT is probable, dear
readers of ST. NICHOLAS,
that some of you have
had an opportunity of
seeing experiments in
what is known as friction-
al electricity, performed
by means of costly appa-
ratus and powerful bat-
teries. But by observing
the following directions,
you can now enjoy a sim-
ilar exhibition, produced
in a very few minutes by
the simplest materials.
We shall require two
bound volumes of ST.
NICHOLAS, or any other
books of similar bulk, so
placed as to support a
pane of glass, say twelve
by ten inches in size, held
between their pages, as
shown in this picture-
the glass being about
one inch and one-quarter

'' -
''^ ^>


from the top of the table or %. l.: ii- e p'er,,ii;n.r
is to be tried. This done, you may exercise your
skill with a pair of scissors, and cut out of tissue
paper the figures that are to dance. They must
not exceed one inch and one-eighth in length, and
they may represent absurd little ladies and gentle-
men, or any animal you happen to think of.
You will find admirable little figures of children
in Miss Greenaway's charming book, Under the
Window,"-if you are so fortunate as to possess it.
These can be traced on the tissue paper, and
colored if desired, or you can cut small figures

. I..; ,-- .

...it :,.f th0 1`-1..... -- --_ --__ _
pictures in
illustrated newspapers, the more comical the better.
Now place the dancers upon the table underneath
the glass (see illustration), and with a silk, cotton, or
linen handkerchief, apply friction to the top of the
pane, by rubbing briskly in a circular manner; the
figures soon will start into activity, execute jigs
between table and glass, join hands, stand on their
heads,-in short, it would be difficult to describe
all their antics. Touch the glass with your finger,
and they will fall, as if dead, upon the table.



A NUMBER of years ago, certain placards and
programmes, posted and distributed upon the walls
and streets of a small Southern city, heralded the
coming of a wonderful entertainment.
Among the artists announced upon the glaring

red, yellow, and blue bills there were two old and
renowned names-Ole Bull, the celebrated violinist,
and Maurice Strakosch, the brilliant pianist; but
the largest and leading letters spelled out the name
of the youngest and tiniest member of the concert





- ---- --=--


Tickets for the grand concert sold very rapidly,
and there was every promise that a crowded house

sister-in-law, whom he had left already fretting
and petulant.
He consequently at once made gentle advances
toward acquaintanceship, by telling the two maid-
ens about the lonely little girl over at the hotel,

* .


would welcome to the town the young singer and
her veteran companions.
The day was dreary and dismal; a sullen spring
rain set in during the morning, and gave evidences
of lasting many hours.
Upon the arrival of the troupe at the hotel,
the business manager, together with Mr. Strakosch,
came over to the music-store in the place to see
about the sale of seats and tickets, and, while
there, the pleasant musician discovered, playing
behind the counter with their dollies, two little
blonde-haired lassies.
He felt at once that here would he find a relief
from the dreariness of a whole day in-doors, for his

who was counting rain-drops on the window-panes,
and begging them to come and see the "Little
Adelina." The children's interest was at once
awakened. They obtained permission from their
parents to visit the little singer, put on clean aprons,
and soon, with their dollies in their arms, they
skipped along in the rain beside "the greatest
living pianist" of that day.
When they reached the hotel and the room
where the strange little girl was to be presented, a
curious tableau met the eyes of the lassies, and the
first sound which they recollect ever hearing from
that voice which has since sung "pearls and dia-
monds," was a merry, tinkling, mocking laugh.



I' I


The room was a great, dull, dark place, scantily
furnished, and bare of comfort; in the middle of
the floor there stood a tall gentleman with long,
thick, gray hair, his eyes tightly bandaged, his
arms outstretched in vain endeavors to catch the
tantalizing sprite whose mocking voice had, for
several minutes, led him an illusive dance all about
the room.
There was a sudden pause as the door opened;
the gentleman pushed up his bandage, and the
little girl opened very wide a pair of brilliant dark
eyes. Mr. Strakosch came quickly forward, lead-
ing the now timid little strangers, and said kindly
to the famous little singer:
"I have brought you a couple of playmates,
Adelina; you will release Ole Bull, now, from his
chase of you, and after you have entertained the
little girls, you are to go home with them to dine,
and play until tea-time."
The little girl came toward the shrinking lassies,
smiled in their faces brightly, and then kissed each
on both cheeks, in a funny foreign manner.
By this time, too, the tall old gentleman had
untied his bandage,
and 1... bi U a ir,

down tir.:nr tri: itrl.
strar ".r- .'i.'i ,i r.
tle, lnr..1v, -,,
kissi. tl-.-ni as,
well, Ain *.3, 1.%,.-
in a u-.. i. 1, I....
voice -" i r : .: [

leave you now to make friends and play together."
And he at once walked to the door.
But her imperial highness was not of the same
mind. On the contrary, she insisted stoutly that
the "more made the merrier," and again the mild
blue eyes of the Norwegian were blinded, and
down upon his knees knelt the famous artist, to
"pick up pins and needles."
At the first symptoms of weariness on the part
of the children, however, the kind old gentleman
quickly went his way, and the little girls, left
alone now, looked gravely at one another, from
top to toe, with the curious, animal-like gaze with
which newly acquainted children regard each other.
Then the lassies offered the new friend their
dollies, which had lain upon the table during the
game; but such playthings were not in her line.
She looked scornfully upon their waxen loveli-
ness, and snubbed the idea of "making believe
"No," she cried, tossing back her long, blue-
black braids. "No, I am going to take your
pictures. Come, sit down and allow me to arrange
you properly."
P.... .:,;1.1 Th,: hI-,d hr,:r.:r been posed and
tik.-,, -, :,.:,, i'lr JIh. p.erfectlv familiar

-* i I11 ..i...le performance.
Si-i.l uH -,.our chins. Ah,
,r l' : .. .'/ Now, if you
pi.,--. !. ,..k d'is way,-a trifle
r.. thi 1.il.. -. ; that is charm-
.ag, my dears!
Now !-a bright,
pleasant expres-
:ion, please!" So


for the little Adelina to have some little ones with she went on, as she arranged to her satisfaction her
whom to play-she tires quickly of us older chil- wonder-eyed and very willing little companions.






little shiny black head, looked at the children pepper in it-Papa would be terribly angry," she
through the bars of its low back, and then for the said, when helped at table, and then she told
space of a few seconds was invisible. Presently she how beautifully they cooked macaroni at home,
re-appeared, looking very grave and mysterious, and wished ever so devoutly that she could have
turned her back, and then, with an imaginary some that
negative in her 1.rri: I-, ,.,r,, r,... i ,.I h r art:-_ ..r rr !,_ur. '
asking their opir,,.n ,..i rhl. i..'.r .:' d,: i '
again was this pi .ri,,,.:.., r,- iri r .'. : .. -, .


:: r;z
r-.~-- c-- -- - ....-r
-ic -;
i "

- ;.- : :
"- ~-:.z

~2 I
I r~i~ 1r
-- 4
~~_~;-7-x '


-. -31

delighted audience of two, though the actors were
sometimes reversed, and the strange little girl her-
self assumed the part of sitter, and threw into
convulsions of laughter her amused little pho-
tographers, by her sudden changes of face and
At noon, Ole Bull and "Maurice," as the little
Adelina familiarly called Mr. Strakosch, returned
to the room, and with them came a dark-browed,
foreign-speaking gentleman, of whom the child
appeared to stand in awe, calling him "Papa," with
a more respectful tone than that in which she ad-
dressed the other two gentlemen. This dark gentle-
man assisted her in putting on the little hat and sack
in which she was to cross the street and accompany
her visitors home to dine, tying a handkerchief
around her throat, and, in a sharp, severe tone, giv-
ing her a command which the lassies supposed
meant that she must "be a good girl."
They afterward discovered that his words were
really a strict injunction as to what she was not to
eat at the strange table.
"No, thanks; I dare not taste it if there is any

badly indeed because a large dish of her favorite
food could not be procured at once for their charm-
ing little guest.
After dinner, a few delightful hours were passed
in'the play-room; and such plays were surely never
enacted before nor since. Dishes and dolls were
swept aside with scarcely a look; but spying a little
tin sword and belt in one corner of the room,. the
little "born actress" exclaimed:
Come, we will play opera. I will be Lucia,
you shall be Edgardo. See, with this sword and
belt you will look like a man; and you must love
me passionately and be killed; and I shall go mad
and rave over your dead body."
Then the two curious little lassies were instructed
in the art of killing and dying, with stage direc-
tions for entrees and exits, while the little Adelina
unbound the glossy, long braids of her blue-black
hair, and went "mad and raved" over her lover
with the tin sword and belt, who lay dying before
Many years'after, when the famous young prima
donna, then but a mere girl, made her dibut at the


.. ..


Philadelphia Academy of Music, the opera was
" Lucia de Lammermoor," but the Edgardo of the
play-room sat among the audience,-not in a tin
sword and belt,-and wondered if there came a
recollection to the diva of her childhood's perform-
ance in the old play-room.
But to go back to'my story. That afternoon was
all too short, notwithstanding a full repertoire of
operas was gone through, with brilliant effect, and
when the summons came for the little Adelina to
return to the hotel to prepare for the concert,
she was unwilling to obey, protesting forcibly in
her pretty, half-broken English, and emphasizing
her dislike with shrugs and stamps, and naughty-
sounding French and Italian words, which made
the lassies open their blue eyes, quite shocked at
their diva's temper. "Maurice," who was very
good-natured, listened laughingly to the tirade, and
then compromised by allowing his mistress to take
back with her to the hotel her beloved little friends,
to see her dressed for the concert.
Oh, the wonder of it! To see the little pink silk
robe, with its graduated bands of black velvet and
lace, spread out upon the bed, not by a mother's
careful touch, but by a father's hand; the tiny boots
laced up neatly, and the tumbled locks braided,
looped around the little ears, adorned with velvet
rosettes, and diamonds hung therein; then a pair
of kid gloves coaxed on the dark, lithe hands, and
by degrees, before their eyes, the lassies beheld
their little, frowzy, careless romp of the play-room
transformed into a wonderful young lady in silk
and jewels-a prima donna.
"Now, be sure to sit in, the very frontest seats,
so I can see you the whole time, and wait for me
after the concert is over, so I can kiss you good-
night; wont you?" she coaxed, as the lassies were
hurried away to be dressed for the evening.
Was it Addie," they wondered, when there was
handed out upon the stage, to a round of rapturous
applause, a little, self-possessed, low-courtesying
damsel, who scanned the house with indolent,
haughty eyes, until they fell upon the "frontest"
seats, and then-ought it to be told of her ?-actually
winked her recognition, as the bright eyes dis-
covered her playmates of the day, looking up in
adoration at the marvelous creature before them.
Then, a pause, a prelude, and-was it a lark.
or a nightingale? "0 Luce de Quest Anima,"
" Carnival de Venice," "Casta Diva," gushed out of
the little brown throat, and the house rocked with
merited applause. It was exquisite, wonderful-
that voice-as all the world knows now.
The concert over, a low, sweeping bow, a bright
smile, and a quick little nod toward the front row
of seats, and presently a whirl of rose-colored silk

came rushing down the aisle, and half of the crowd,
remaining behind, beheld a pathetic little tableau.
"We are going away to-night, now, and I never
knew it!". cried the child, throwing her arms
around her two little friends. And Maurice says

.r 2 -n ,
,Mi" 1


I must say good-bye, and I shall never see you
again. Promise me you will never forget me and
with a passion of embraces and tears, she repeated
over and over: "Promise me you will never, never
forget me "
"Never.! Never!" came back the sobbing
replies. Then a long clinging of dark arms to two
white little necks, a hurried snatching away of the
tear-stained, tragic little creature, and the carriage
whirled away-far away upon the "flood of years"
-the much-beloved and never-forgotten little child
prima donna.






. k '"\ -
._. ,. ...-. ,,: ;


t^ ^-^ .*


, '- '' '. [, ^ ''

." i.. .



TWO squirrels on an oak-tree sat,
Engaging in a social chat,
When one,-the younger of the twain,-
Of his accomplishments quite vain,
Began to boast of what he 'd done,
How all his mates he could outrun;
And, if but half he said was true,
He could outjump a kangaroo.

Now, as it chanced, the jagged rocks
Beneath the tree concealed a fox,
Who, overhearing what was said
Among the oak-leaves overhead,
Bethought him of a sly design,
Whereby he might on squirrel dine;
So up he sat and clapped his paws,
Loud shouting, with a mock applause:

" Bravo Bravo my agile friend;
Your wondrous skill I must commend.
But, really, I should like to see
You jump from out this tall oak-tree
To yonder ash, ten feet away."
('T was twenty, I am bound to say.)
" The feat will please my children well,
When I their bed-time story tell."

" Nay," said the elder to young Frisky,
" Don't undertake a jump so risky."
To which the younger one replied,
Puffed up with flattery and pride:
" Though you may lack ability
I '11 show you my agility."
Then wildly leaped with aim so blind
That-Mr. Fox on squirrel dined.

And when the stars winked overhead
That children should be put to bed,
Old Reynard to his young ones said:
These precepts I would have you heed:
Let others praise your own good deed;
Let not the flatterer mislead;
Despise not what your elders say;
Nor let blind pride your judgment sway."






THERE are many of the ancient artists of whom
very little is known, but that little is so interesting
that it is well worth the telling. Such a one is
Callimachus, who is said to have invented the
Corinthian capital, which is so beautiful in archi-
S tecture. The time when Callimachus lived cannot
be given more nearly than by saying that it must
have been between 550 and 396 B. c. The story
runs that a young girl died at Corinth, and her
nurse, following the usual custom, placed on her
grave a basket which contained the food that the
girl had liked best. It happened that the basket
was placed upon an acanthus, and the leaves of the
plant grew up around the basket, and were so grace-
ful, thus holding it in their midst, that Callimachus,
who saw it, used it as a design for the capitals of
pillars, and the name of Corinthian was given to it.
It is also said, by some ancient writers, that
Callimachus invented a lamp which would burn a
year without going out, and that such a one, made
of gold by him, was used in the temple of Minerva
at Athens.


THIS favorite pupil of the great Phidias has been
mentioned already in the account of that master.
The most celebrated work by Alcamenes was a
statue of Venus. Most of his figures represented
the gods, among them being one of Hephaestus or
Vulcan, in which the lameness of that god was
managed so skillfully that no deformity appeared.
Concerning the "Venus Aphrodite," as the
famous statue is called, it is related that Ago-
racritus, also a pupil of Phidias, and a celebrated
artist, contended with Alcamenes in making a
figure of that goddess, and when the Athenians
gave the preference to that of Alcamenes, Ago-
racritus, through indignation and disappointment,
changed his figure, which represented the goddess
of Love, into a Nemesis, or the goddess who sent
suffering to those that were blessed with too many
gifts. He then sold the statue to the people
of Rhamnus, who had a temple dedicated to
Nemesis, and made a condition that it never should
be set up in Athens.
There is a difference of opinion as to the merits
of Alcamenes and of Agoracritus; some writers

say, Phidias so loved the last that he even put the
name of Agoracritus upon some of his own works;
but the ancient writers generally consider Alca-
menes as second only to Phidias, and the most
famous of all that master's pupils.


THIS sculptor stood at the head of a school of
Grecian art, which differed from that of Phidias by
representing youth and beauty, and more generally
pleasing subjects, while the older artists represented
grandeur and solemn dignity. Praxiteles was born
at Athens about 392 B. C. He is supposed to be
the son of Cephisdotus, who is also thought to be
the son of Alcamenes-thus making Praxiteles the
grandson of the latter. He chose for his subjects
the soft and delicate forms of Venus, Cupid, the
young Bacchus, youthful satyrs, and so on. His
most famous work was the "Cnidian Venus."
The story is that Praxiteles made two statues of the
beautiful goddess, one being nude and the other
draped; the people of Cos chose the latter, and the
Cnidians bought the nude figure. They erected
for it an open temple, so that the goddess could be
seen from all sides. Many people went to Cnidos
for the sole purpose of seeing this statue, and felt
that they were repaid for their trouble; -while the
Cnidians themselves so valued it that, when their
oppressor, King Nicomedus of Bithynia, offered to
release them from a debt of one hundred talents
(about $1oo,ooo), if they would give the Venus to
him, they refused, and declared that it was the
chief glory of their state."
It is also related that Praxiteles had promised to
give his friend Phryne whatever statue she should
choose from his work-shop. She wished to select
the one which the artist himself considered the best,
and in order to ascertain which was his favorite,
she sent a servant to tell him that his work-shop
was on fire. He exclaimed, "All is lost if my
Satyr and Cupid are not saved!" Then Phryne
told him of her deceit, and chose the Cupid as her
There is a Cupid in the Vatican Museum at
Rome which is said to be a copy of that chosen by
Phryne, but no one knows exactly whether this is
true or not; it is, however, very graceful and beau-
tiful, and the face has a sweet, dreamy expression.





THERE are many works of art of so much impor-
tance that, although little is known of them, yet
all the world is interested to see them, and to know
all that it is possible to learn about them. The
Venus dei Medici is one of these, and I place it
here immediately after the account of Praxiteles
because many art critics believe that it is a copy
of the famous Cnidian Venus. The statue was
made by Cleomenes, who lived, as nearly as can be
told, between 363 and 146 B. c. He was an
Athenian. There have been many copies of this
statue found in different places, which proves that
it was held in great esteem in ancient times. The
one by Cleomenes is now the glory of the tribune
of the Uffizi Gallery at Florence; it was dug up in
the seventeenth century at Rome. There is a
question as to the exact spot where it was found,
but the Portico of Octavia is generally believed to
have been the place; Cosmo III. removed it to
Florence in 1680, and it is called the Venus dei
Medici on account of its having rested in the Medici
Palace, at Rome, from the time when it was found
until it was taken to Florence.
As Venus was the goddess of Love and of Beauty,
it was natural that many sculptors should make
representations of her, and there are several very
famous ones still existing in different museums.
One in the gallery of the Louvre is called the
"Venus of Milo," or Melos, from the place where
it was found. It is very beautiful, and many people
prefer it before all others, and some critics believe
it to be a copy of a work by Alcamenes. You
will see a picture of it on page 402. Another
Venus, in the Capitoline Museum at Rome, is called
the "Venus of the Capitol," and is much praised.
It was found among some ruins on the Quirinal
Hill. The "Venus Callipiga," which was found in
the "golden house of Nero," and is now in the
museum at Naples, is the last one I shall name,
although there are others worthy of admiration.


THIS is the grandest and largest group of Greek
statuary of which we have any knowledge or pos-
sess any copy. We do not know by whom it was
made, but its fame rests between Praxiteles and
Scopas: no one can decide between these two
sculptors. Scopas was born on the island of
Paros, which was under the rule of Athens, about
420 B. C. He was a very great artist, and many
accounts of his works have come down to us, but
of the Niobe group, we know nothing positively
until the time of Sosius, who was appointed gov-

ernor of Syria and Cilicia, by Mark Antony, in the
year 38 B. C. This Sosius built a temple in his
own honor at Rome, and called it the temple of
Apollo Sosianus; he brought many beautiful works
of art from the East to adorn this temple, and

among them the Niobe group. It remained in its
place at Rome about a century, and what became
of it is unknown. In the year A. D. 1583, there
was found, near the church of St. John Lateran, in
Rome, a copy.of this group; it was purchased by
the Grand Duke of Tuscany and placed in the Villa
Medici; in 1775 it was taken to Florence and
placed in the Uffizi, in an apartment prepared
especially for it; all the figures were restored, and
each one was set up on a separate pedestal; this
work was not completed until 1794.
SThere are but thirteen figures. Some must be
missing, as sixteen are required to illustrate its sad
story, which is as follows: Niobe was the daughter
of Tantalus, and was born on Mount Sipylos. As
a child, Niobe was a playmate of the great goddess
Leto, or Latona, and later she married Amphion,
while Leto was the wife of the great god Jupiter.





Niobe had a very happy
life, and was the mother of
seven sons and seven daugh-
ters. This prosperity made
her forget that she was only
a mortal, and she became
proud and insolent, even to
the gods themselves.
Leto had but two children
-Apollo, the god of the silver
bow, and Artemis, or Diana,
who was the archer-queen of
Heaven. Amphion was the
king and Niobe the queen of
Thebes; so when the worship
of Leto was established in
that city, Niobe, who remem-
bered the goddess as her play-
mate, was very angry that
such honor should be paid
her, and she drove to the
temple in her chariot and
commanded the Theban wo-
men to refuse this worship.
She also held herself up be-
fore them as superior to Leto,
and said that the goddess had
only two children, while she,
their queen, had fourteen
lovely sons and daughters,
any one of whom was worthy
of honor. The goddess Leto
was so enraged by this, that
she begged of Apollo and
Artemis to take revenge on
Niobe. Then they descend-
ed, and in one day all the
children of Niobe were slain,
-the sons by Apollo and the
daughters by Artemis.
Niobe, thus left alone, could
only weep, until at last Jupi-
ter took pity on her, and
turned her into stone, and
whirled her away from Thebes
to Mt. Sipylos, the scene of
her childhood. This myth
seems meant to show that
pride and insolence will meet
with punishment. The pict-
ure on page 400, drawn spe-
cially for you by the ST.
NICHOLAS artist, shows Ni-
obe still defiant, .1i1.... :i her
sons are lying slain about
her feet. The statue copied
on this page represents the
VOL. VIII.-26.

. .-. 9 BE

., C-.--L-ER ---
R ALL E y P.

R1E':T :T



dreadful moment when Niobe sees the last of her
children falling around her, and is trying to pro-
tect her youngest from the arrows of the sure-
aiming gods.
Several different statues which exist in other
cities and galleries have been thought to be the
figures missing from the group in Florence; how-
ever, nothing has been fixed upon concerning them,
and there is enough there to make it the most im-
portant group of ancient statues now remaining.


THE ancient historians tell us of the Seven
Wonders of the World," and name them as the
Pyramids of Egypt, the Hanging-Gardens of Semir-
amis at Babylon, the Temple of Diana at Ephesus,
the Statue of Jupiter by Phidias, the Tomb of
Mausolus at Halicarnassus, the Colossus at Rhodes,
and the Pharos, or Light-house of Alexandria. Of
these seven wonders of ancient times, one, the
statue of Jupiter, was the product of sculpture alone,
while all the others were the result of a combina-
tion of architecture as a fine art, and architecture
as a useful art, with the arts of ornament, and what
may be termed scientific art; thus they all come
within the scope of stories of art and artists. The
works of Phidias have already been spoken of; we
will now speak of the tomb of Mausolus. He was
the King of Caria, of which country Halicarnassus
was the chief city, and the place where the tomb
was built. He died about 353 B. c., and his wife,
Artemisia, who had no children, was overcome with
grief at his death. The body was burned, accord-
ing to custom. Artemisia gradually faded away
from the effects of her sorrow; and she lived only
two years longer than Mausolus.
Meantime, she had commenced the erection of
the Mausoleum, and although she died before its
completion, the artists continued faithfully to ex-
ecute her commands, and to vie with each other in
the excellence of their work, for the sake of their
own fame.
There were five artists engaged in the ornamen-
tation of the Mausoleum. Bryaxis, who executed
the reliefs upon the north face; Timotheus those
of the south; Leochares the west, and Scopas the
east, while Pythis was allotted the quadriga, or
four-horse chariot, which crowned the whole.
The tomb was erected upon a spot that rose
above the city, and overlooked the entrance to the
harbor. Writers of the twelfth century praised its
beauty, but in A. D. 1402, when the Knights of St.
John took possession of the place, the monument
no longer remained, and a castle was built upon its
site. The tomb had been buried, probably by an

earthquake. The name of Budrum was then given
to the place. In A. D. 1522, some pieces of sculpture
were found there, but it was not until much later
that Mr. Newton, an Englishman, discovered to
what great monument these remains had belonged.
A large collection of statues, reliefs, parts of ani-
mals, and other objects was brought to London and


placed in the British Museum, and called the Hali-
carnassus sculptures.
The whole height of the Mausoleum was one
hundred and forty feet,-the north and south sides
were sixty-three feet long, and the others a little
less,-the burial vault was at the base, and the
whole structure was a mass of magnificent design



and execution. It is said that the figure of Mau-
solus was in the quadriga, above all, and so placed
that it could be seen from a great distance by land
or sea. It was a work worthy to be called a won-
der in its day, and from it we still take our word
"mausoleum," which we apply to all burial-places
worthy of so distinguished a name.


THE art of the island of Rhodes-was second only
to that of Athens. This island is but forty-five
miles long and twenty miles wide at its broadest
part, and yet its works of art were so numerous as
to make their number seem like a fable. At the
city of Rhodes alone there were three thousand
statues, and many paintings and other beautiful
things. It was here that Chares, of Lindos, another
city of the island, erected his famous Colossus, or
statue of the sun. One hundred statues of the
sun ornamented the city of Rhodes, and Pliny says
that any one of them was beautiful enough to have
been famous; but this one by Chares was so
remarkable as to eclipse all the others.
It occupied twelve years, from 292 to 280 B. C.,
to erect it, and it cost three hundred talents, or
about $300,000 of our money. It stood quite near
the entrance to the harbor of the city, but we have
no reason to believe the oft-repeated story that it
was placed with its legs extended over the mouth
of the port, so that ships sailed between them. Yet
its magnitude is almost beyond imagining, for a
man of ordinary size could not reach around one
of its thumbs with his arms, and its fingers were
larger than most statues, while its whole height
was one hundred and five feet.
The men of Rhodes obtained the money for the
Colossus by selling the engines of war which had
been abandoned to them by Demetrius Poliorcetes,
when he laid siege to their city, in vain, in 303 B. c.
In the year 224 B. C., fifty-six years after its
completion, an earthquake overthrew the Colossus,
and the Rhodians were forbidden, by an oracle,
to restore it. Its fragments remained scattered
upon the ground 923 years, until A. D. 672, when
they were sold to a Jew of Emesa, by the command
of the caliph, Othman IV. It is said that 900
camels were required to carry them off, and they
were estimated to weigh 700,000 pounds.
There are coins of Rhodes bearing a face which
is supposed with good reason to be that of this
When we consider what carefulness was neces-
sary to' cast this enormous figure in bronze,-in
separate pieces,-to adjust them to each other,
and in any sense satisfy the standard of art that

existed in Rhodes when it was made, we are quite
ready to allow that Chares of Lindos was a worthy
pupil of his great master, Lysippus, and that his
Colossus merited a place among the seven wonders.
There were colossal statues in Egypt, the remains
of which may still be seen, which were much older
than the Colossus of Rhodes, and more remark-
able, on account of their having been made of
single stones and moved from the places where
they were quarried to those upon which they were
The largest one is that near the Memnonium, at
Western Thebes. It was sixty feet high, twenty-
two feet across the shoulders, and one toe is three
feet long. This statue is estimated to have weighed
887 tons, and was moved 138 miles.
The two famous colossi-of which one was called
"The Singing Memnon," and was believed to hail
the rising sun with musical sounds-are on the
plain of Quorneh. These were each made from
one block, and were forty-seven feet high, each foot
being ten and two'-thirds feet long. They are in a
sitting posture. These last statues were erected
about 1330 B. C., and the one at Western Thebes
about 270 years earlier.


WITH a short account of this wonderful temple I
shall leave the Seven Wonders "; for the Great
Pyramid, the gardens of Semiramis, and the
Pharos of Alexandria do not come so strictly within
our subject as do those of which we have spoken.
A temple existed at Ephesus before the building of
that which we describe. It had also been dedi-
cated to Diana or Artemis, who was the same god-
dess who had aided her brother to slay the children
of Niobe. The first temple was burned, and some
writers say that the fire occurred on the night in
which Alexander the Great was born, which was in
the autumn of the year 356 B. c.
The second temple was 425 feet long by 220 feet.
wide, and was ornamented with 127 columns, each
of which was the gift of a king, according to the
account of Pliny. These columns were very large,
and made of beautiful marbles, jasper, and other
fine stones. Some of them were carved in elegant
designs, one being the work of Scopas, who is
believed to have made the Niobe group. It re-
quired 220 years to complete this temple, and the
necessary money was so difficult for the people to
obtain, that even the ornaments of the women
were given to be melted down in order to add to
the fund; and yet, when Alexander offered to pay
for the temple if his name should be inscribed
upon it, they refused his aid.
When it was completed, many works by the best




artists were placed therein. The Ephesian artists
were proud to do all they could for its adornment,
without other reward than the honor of seeing their
works in so grand and sacred a place, while the
works of other artists were bought in great numbers.
The great altar was filled with the sculptures of
Praxiteles; a painting by Apelles, called the "Alex-
ander Ceraunophorus," was there, and was a
celebrated picture; and it is probable that many
other artists of whom we have heard were em-
ployed in its decoration.
This great temple was plundered by the Emperor
Nero; the Goths carried the work of its destruction
still farther in 260 A. D.; and, finally, under the
Emperor Theodosius, A. D. 381, when all pagan

dest place, and has the least to repay one who goes
there, of all the ruined cities which I have seen.


THIS famous piece of statuary, now in the Vati-
can Museum, at Rome, is not very old in compari-
son with many of the works we have described, its
probable date being the time of the Emperor Titus,
who lived from A. D. 40 to 81. He was a liberal
patron of art, and it is believed that Agesander, Poly-
dorus, and Athenodorus, sculptors of Rhodes, ex-
ecuted this work at the command of Titus, in whose
palace it was placed.
In 1506 it was found in the excavation of the

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II 'llll l , 1 1 i ,' II I I11 1 1 i i


worship was suppressed, this temple was destroyed,
and now almost nothing remains at Ephesus to
remind one of its past grandeur. It is probable
that the materials which composed the temple, and
other noble buildings there, have been carried to
Constantinople and other cities, and much may
still be hidden beneath the soil; but it is the sad-

baths of Titus, and was placed in the Vatican by
Pope Julius II. An arm, which was wanting, was
restored by an Italian sculptor named Baccio
Bandinelli. Napoleon Bonaparte carried it to
Paris, but in 1815 the group was returned t6 Rome,
together with other art treasures which he had
borne away.





This work illustrates the story of Laoco6n, who
was a priest of Troy. When the Greeks left the
wooden horse outside that city, and pretended to
sail away, Laocoon warned the Trojans of the dan-

ger of drawing it within the walls, and as he spoke
he thrust a lance into the side of the horse. But
Sinon, who had been left behind by the Greeks,
contrived to persuade the Trojans that the horse
would be a blessing to them, and it was drawn into
the city, and feasts and sacrifices were ordered to
do honor to the occasion. Laoco6n was preparing
a sacrifice to .Neptune, when two huge serpents
were seen coming from Tenedos. All the people
fled; only the priest and his two sons remained by
the altar, and to them the fearful creatures went,
and soon killed all, three by their horrible entwin-
ings. When Laoco6n and his sons were really
dead, the serpents went to the Acropolis and dis-
appeared behind the shield of Tritonis. This story
has been told by several poets, and in Virgil's
-Eneid is read by many boys and girls.
The famous group of the Vatican shows the
moment when the serpents are entwined about all
three figures, and represents the most intense
suffering of mind and body.

THIS is another celebrated group, believed to
belong to the first century of our era. It was the

work of two brothers, Apollonius and Tauriscus of
Rhodes, and was carried from Rhodes to Rome by
Asinius Pollio, and placed in the baths of Caracalla.
After being covered up in the ruins of these baths

for many years, it was found in the sixteenth
century, and is now in the Museum of Naples.
This group tells a part of the story of Dirce, who
had incurred the displeasure of Antiope, the mother
of Amphion, the king of Thebes and the husband
of Niobe.
. Then Amphion and his twin brother, Zethus, in
order to satisfy the wrath of their mother, bound
Dirce to the horns of a wild bull, who dragged her
to death. It is said that Dionysos changed her
body into a well on Mt. Cithaeron. A small river
near Thebes was also called by her name.
The moment represented in the sculpture is that
when Dirce is ;I i.., to free herself from Am-
phion and Zethus, who are fastening the cords to
the horns of the savage animal.

HIGH up above the central portal of the cathedral
of St. Mark, in Venice, there are two bronze horses
at each side of the arch. They are large, and
weigh 1932 pounds each. It is wonderful to think
of how they have been carried over the world, now
raised to great heights, and again lowered and car-
ried great distances. When we consider the diffi-





culties of thus moving them by land and sea, we
understand how valuable they must have been
considered. The positive truth concerning their
origin is not known. Some critics believe them to
be of the Greek school of Lysippus; but the gen-
eral belief is that the Emperor Augustus carried


them from Alexandria to Rome after his victory
over Mark Antony, about 30 B. C.
Augustus placed them on a triumphal arch, and
the emperors Nero, Domitian, Trajan, and Con-
stantine, each in turn, removed them to arches of
their own. At length, Constantine carried them to
Constantinople, his new capital, and placed them
in the Hippodrome; from there they were brought
to Venice by the Crusaders in 1205. In 1797
Napoleon Bonaparte carried them to Paris, and in
1815 they were returned to Venice, where they now
"Their gilded collars glittering in the sun."

The picture on this page is reprinted from ST.
NICHOLAS for December, 1877, in which number a
fuller account of these famous horses may be found.


THESE two figures on horses are believed to repre-
sent the twin brothers, Castor and Pollux, and are

said to be the united work of the two great sculp-
tors, Phidias and Praxiteles. They are colossal in
size and spirited in execution. The Monte Cavallo
is so named on account of these statues, which were
excavated in the baths of Constantine. It is a por-
tion of the Quirinal Hill, and is beside the Quirinal

King of Italy.'

love, and their legend relates that, as a reward for
their affection, Jupiter placed them together among

Gemini, the Twins. They were worshiped in

Kinthem, of opposite the temple of Vesta, in the Forum,aly

Castor and Pollux werthe 5th of July the famoequites (or their brothldierlys on
horses) went their legend relates that, as a reward for
their riaffection, Jupitehonor of thplaed them together amongDioscuri.

Cthe stars, after their death, AeAlcamenes; in thare calleBritish
Gemini, the Twins. They were worshiped in

Greece a at Rome there Praxitel s a t e e d
thVenus, oppoas seen on the Cnidiane of Vesta, in the Forum,
and on the 15th of July the equiles (or soldiers on
horses) went there in solemn procession to perform
theirnus; the finest opynor in marblthe is in the lyptothek, Munich.

Cupidy of the head of Ascepius a after Acaees i the British
Copies after those of Praxiteles.
Venus; the finest copy in marble is in the Glyptothek, Munich.

Satyr, Capitol, Rome.
Apollo with the Lizard, Louvre, Paris.
The Dioscuri on Monte Cavallo, Rome, said to be the joint work
of Phidias and Praxiteles.
The Niobe Group, Ufizzi, Florence; copy after Scopas.
Th iosulo ot aalRme adt eejitwr
of hiia ad Paxtecs
Th Niobe Group, Ufi lrne;cp fe cps




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RiI, i",:

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HERE is a little story which is told on this page in two languages,-in pictorial language on the fans,
and in Anglo-Chinese on the tablet. Our young friends who can decipher bad penmanship may read it
in English by holding the page in a certain way before a looking-glass,





I ,,I i110, r,, -.... .',,,



,, ',, v -

FIVE little pussy-cats, sitting in a row;
Blue ribbon round each neck, fastened in a bow.
"Hey, kittens! ho, kittens! are your faces clean?
Don't you know you 're sitting here, so as to be seen ?"

Flitting round so joyfully in the pleasant weather.
Little birds, little birds, why not fret and cry ?
"Oh, because we 're good and glad: that 's the reason why."


FIVE little boys with pipes. What are they doing here ?
Smoking? Not a bit of it! What a strange idea!
Pray, put on your spectacles, then you wont see double;
Every boy is blowing out a famous big soap-bubble.

FIVE rosy little girls with dollies sweet and small.
Oh! don't you think the little girls are prettiest of all?
Little loving, laughing things! Just take another look,
Then smile, and kiss your hand at them, before you close the book.


FIVE little fluffy dogs, standing on their toes;
Each with a sugar-plum balanced on his nose.
Five eager listening doggies, still as any mice.
"Pop!" you cry; and all the candy 's vanished in a trice.






"11; 1 ,-. '
4--- 7 ,


No, no my youngsters; don't go away I 'm
giving an idea, not an order.
And yet, why should you stand still? Nothing
young does or can do that, in the stirring month at
Besides, there is no harm in giving an order that
is sure to be obeyed; so
Attention, company!
Forward !-March!!

KEEP a bright lookout just now for the purple
finch, my gentle bird-lovers. That shy but merry
fellow generally shows-in our north-eastern States
-toward the beginning of March. His royally
hearty spirit is regally clad, too, as all must say
who see him flaunt his rich coat-which is more
crimson than purple, by the way-and hear him
carol gayly on the wing.
You may see him, in company with his humble
mate, looking for a home-place in some tall tree.
And when the eggs are lying in the nest, I know
that you will be most likely to find the faithful
fellow watching over his little wife as she cuddles
down cozily over them, while he sings to her a
sweet and cheering song,-like the loyal friend
and tender helpmate that he is.

SOMEBODY signing himself or herself Member
'of the Agassiz Association, ST. NICHOLAS branch,"
sends you this scrap about the wonderful sensitive-
ness of the tips of those little roots which first strike
out from buried seeds. It is in a new book just
out," says this person; so some of you may have
come across the paragraph already. But, after
reading it now, my tender-hearts, you will come

nearer to knowing some of an ordinary Jack-in-the
Pulpit's feelings, and at all events you will think
more highly of that humble life which is forever
moving, feeling, growing in the ground.
If the tip of a seedling's root be lightly pressed or burnt or cut,
it transmits an influence to the part next above, causing it to bend
away from the affected side; and, what is still more surprising, the
tip can tell the difference between a slightly harder and a softer ob-
ject by which it may be pressed at the same time on opposite sides.
If, however, the tip is pressed by a similar object a little above its
point, the pressed part does not transmit any influence to the more
distant parts, but it bends itself at once toward the object. If the tip
perceives the air to be moister on one side than on the other, it then
also transmits an influence to the part next above, which bends
toward the source of moisture. When the tip is excited by light
* * the adjoining part bends away from the light; but, when
excited by gravitation, the same part bends toward the center of the
OF course you all know, my dears, what a useful
invention is the mariner's compass, by which ships
can be steered on a certain course, even in the
darkest night, and through the thickest fog. It is
a very simple-looking affair, I understand,-a brass
box, a needle pivoted on its center, and rubbed
with a loadstone or natural magnet, and a card
marked with the directions in which the wind blows.
Before this invention the only safe way in which
shipmen could navigate their vessels was by keep-
ing within sight of land, or by watching the stars.
So, on very dark nights, they were obliged to make
guesses-too often fatal ones-as to their where-
abouts. A captain might think that he had plenty
of sea-room, when, in a few minutes, his poor ship
might be wrecked upon some rocky coast.
The compass, with needle pointing northward,
was invented by an Italian about six hundred years
ago," say some of the books. But I am told the
people of China insist that they invented and used
a compass there three thousand years ago. This
Chinese compass was in the form of a man, with one
movable, magnetic arm, made to point southward,
no matter to what quarter the face might be turned.
By its aid, the caravans or traveling bands of traders
and pilgrims, with their loaded camels, their horses,
and their guards or fighting-men, were enabled to
journey across the vast, trackless, grassy plains of
Tartary, without losing their way; and, with the
help of the same trusty, little one-armed pilot,
sailors could find a sure course over the wide waters
of the Indian Ocean.

PERHAPS he meant only to borrow them for a
time, and so to punish Mother Brownie for being
"off duty." But 'this is what a little girl, named
Lizzie, tells me in her letter:
"Poor worried Brownie had gone off to look for one little 'peeper'
that she missed, when up marched Sir Rooster, and led the other
chicks away. He very soon found his hands full, so to speak, and
learned that it was not easy to manage eleven small children, all cry-
ing at once; for their timid little hearts were throbbing fearfully at
his fierce looks. He strutted and crowed and scratched, and told the
children pompously to do as he was doing, But the poor little things
only became more frightened, and at last they scattered wildly over the
railroad tracks, just as a train was coming. At that moment, up
scuttled Mother Brownie from around the corner of the long shed,
every feather standing anxiously on end. And oh, but did n'tshe scold
Sir Rooster, and give him a piece of her mind! (It seemed to me
that she said he was a 'meddlesome old stupid.') Thia done, she




gave three comfortable clucks, and the whole trembling brood ran
headlong under her wings, while my lord Rooster stalked away, try-
ing to look as if it were far beneath his dignity to be concerned about
a parcel of harum-scarum chicks. LIZZIE H."
Now, those of you who know the Multiplication
Table, and Fractions, and such matters, just step
to the front. Can you think a hundred? Can you
imagine a thousand? Can you conceive how
many a million baked potatoes would be ?
Then listen to what a wise man says abo'.ir
you: "The surface of your bodies, as se.-,
through the microscope, is covered with lit, l.
scales. A single grain of sand would co .:,
one hundred and fifty of these scales; and y .
every scale covers five hundred pores, or ti.,,
holes, through which the moisture of the be. I
forces its way."
Now, multiply 500 by 150 and you h .:
75,000, the number of pores in every space ..
your skin as large as a grain of sand. Look r
your plump fists and think of these facts, In'.
dears But, listen further yet!
Another learned man tells of an insect wh:. 1I
is so small that it would take twenty-seven m ll-
ions like it to make a speck as large as a mit.: '
And each leaf, that you see swinging in th.:
breeze, has whole colonies of insects grazi,- _
upon it, like cows on a meadow. And eve,
drop of stagnant water contains myriads .:,I
beings, floating in it with as much liberty '
whales enjoy in the ocean. The single drop .-I
water is a vast sea to them.
DEACON GREEN, with all his lively ways. i
packed so full of facts that, I notice, he alw;,.
has to hand out two or three to make room I;:
any new one the dear Little Schoolma'am rr.. .
give him. Here, for instance, are a few that h.:
lately let fall near my pulpit:
A rifle-ball, shot into the water at right angel: .
will bounce up and become as flat as a wafei
A bullet may be shot through a pane ..I
glass, from close to it, without breaking or e r. ri
shaking the glass; but there will be a clean rot I1.1
hole made by the bullet in -passing through.
Cork sunk two hundred feet in the sea i I!1
not rise, for the water above it will keep it dov ,.
And, if ever any of you should feel wear',
of listening to a weak-voiced speaker in a stuL 1f
hall, just reflect that, in the Arctic regions, .:.nr
a very cold day, every word of a speech can be
heard at the safe distance of two miles.

THIS month's picture, my dears, shows you a
jelly man-of-war." It is the Portuguese man-of-
war, a creature often seen floating near the southern
shores of the United States. Its upper part is a trans-
parent bluish bubble, and when the wind catches its
delicate pink crest, the dainty boat glides smoothly
along, rocking and swaying on the gently heaving
sea. So, you see, its outward appearance is lovely
and peaceful; but, under the water, it is at war.

Dangling from the bubble's lower surface are
many blue feelers, or tentacles; some of these are
short and thick, but the others-with which the
creature wriggles itself along-are of great length,
and twist and twirl about rapidly and gracefully,
bearing myriads of very fine hairs that prick like
those of the nettle. Perhaps a hungry or careless
little sardine, seeing the squirming blue things,

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grabs one of them, hoping for a'pleasant meal;
but the tempting, worm-like feelers wind their
folds around him, and he dies, poor fellow,-
but he dies at once.
While he is being lifted toward the short thick
arms, five or six very small blue fish dart out from
among them, and presently join in the feast. These
seem to belong to the man-of-war,-as the small
boats belong to some huge fighting-ship,-and
they flit about unharmed, and quite at home
among the deadly tentacles.









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THE Little Schoolma'am says, so many stories about the "Kitten "
pictures, on page 251 of our January number, have been sent in,
that the committee has been unable to finish the report in time for
this number. In order that full justice maybe done to all the contri-
butions, in selecting the best one for publication, the report is with-
held until next month.

THOSE of our young readers who are interested in The Recollec-
tions of a Little Prima Donna," on page 393 of the present number,
will be glad to read this note from the author:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: "The Recollections of a Little Prima
Donna," which I send to you, are strictly true. The town men-
tioned is Wilmington, Delaware; the year is x854; and the little
blonde-haired lassies were my sister and myself.

IN answer to our request in the January Letter-Box concerning
"The Land of Nod," many welcome letters have come to us, telling
of the successful performance of the little operetta. The following
letter in regard to it will, we think, interest our young readers :

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been informed by a friend that, in
the January number of ST. NICHOLAS, the question was asked by
some one if any person had ever tried the little operetta entitled
"The Land of Nod," given in your Christmas number. I am proud
and happy to inform you that I went successfully through it on
Christmas-eve, having drilled some thirty-two little performers,
between the ages of seven and fifteen, for the occasion.
The operetta was given before a crowded house (for this little town
great turn-out)-I should judge six hundred. But everything went
off splendidly, and it was pronounced a grand thing, and a perfect
success. I did everything myself-the arrangement of stage, cos-
tumes, etc., etc.-a good deal of hard work, I found, for one person;
but as everything went off so well, I felt paid for my hard work.
Should any one wish for help or information on this subject, I
should gladly and willingly try to aid them.
Any one wishing information, please address
Bernardston, Franklin Co., Mass.

"Two SISTERS."-In the back volumes of ST. NICHOLAS you will
find pretty and simple songs which Two Little Sisters can sing.
Also songs and simple piano-forte music are to be given in future

volumes of ST. NICHOLAS. A remarkably good collection of just
such music as you ask for is "A Book of Rhymes and Tunes,"
recently published by Ditson & Co., of Boston. The compilers
(Mrs. Osgood and Mrs. Louisa T. Cragin) have spent years in the
preparation of this delightful treasury of home-songs, and the result
is admirable.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am so tired of seeing Xerxes always
mentioned when a name beginning with X is wanted that I should
like to remind the people of this century of several other fellows
whose names begin or began with X. These are Xenophon, Xavier,
Xenocrates, Xantippus, Xantippe (but she was a lady), Xenophanes,
Ximenes. They can be read about in any biographical dictionary.
Z, too, is supposed to be a very rare beginning for famous names; but
while we are reading up the Xs, we can also turn to the end of the
same biographical dictionary, and learn of Zamacois,-Zeno (two of
this name), Zeuxis, Ziem, Zinzendorf, Ziska, Zolius, Zoroaster, and
Zwingli, who winds up the list with a snap.-Yours very respect-
fully, GEORGE C. D.

TRAILING ARBUTUS.-By reference to the story, "Fine or Super-
fine," Trailing Arbutus will see it is not claimed that Clara "got"
the baby-carriage through her bracelet, but that the "pushing"
was done through the bracelet. She probably held the bracelet with
the left hand close to the end of the carriage's handle; then passed
some fingers of the right hand through the bracelet and pushed the
carriage along.

Boys and girls in this country have read of the great clock in
Strasburg Cathedral, and many have even seen it in the dim corner
of that old building The priest or sexton in the church draws a big
curtain aside, and shows a large upright clock. At noon, small
figures appear in the upper part of the clock, and, representing the
twelve Apostles, pass in procession from one side to the other, and
then disappear. For a long time, the Strasburg clock has been
famous as the most wonderful piece of machinery for showing the
time of the day, hour, month, and year; but now, it seems, there is in
this country a still more wonderful clock, that marks the seconds and
minutes, quarter-hours, hours, and days of the month and year.
It resembles one of the old-fashioned wooden clocks once common
in New England, excepting that it is very much larger than any




hall clock you ever saw, being eighteen feet high. It is eight feet
wide, and as handsomely carved and polished as a grand piano.
There are thirteen dials to show the time of day in thirteen different
cities in the world, the largest dial showing, for instance, New York
time, and the other dials representing the time of day at San Francisco,
or Paris, or St. Petersburg, or other places. And the curious part of
it is that these clocks all move exactly together, and are not thirteen
separate clocks, but one clock showing thirteen different times at once.
So when we call at noon to see the clock, we can tell what time in the
evening it is in London, and what time in the morning it is in San Fran-
cisco. In the center, between the dials, is a larger dial, with one hand
pointing to the days of the month, while above are two dials giving
the month and the day of the week. In the center is a golden ball
representing the sun, and around it are the planets, the earth and the
moon each turning around the sun, and in its own path and time; for
instance, Mercury moves around the sun every eighty-eight days,
Venus in two hundred and twenty-four days, the Earth in a year, and
Uranus in thirty thousand six hundred and eighty-eight days. These
all move at the same time and with the clocks, and show at any
moment just how the planets stand in the heavens. There are four
figures in little niches around the clock,-a boy, a young man, a man
of middle age, and an old man,-and at the end of each quarter-hour
they in turn strike on little bells, and at the end of the hour old
Father Time strikes the hour on a larger bell. The most wonderful
performance comes now. At the top of the clock sits Washington
in a chair, and at each side is a servant standing at a door. As
Father Time's bell strikes, a music-box begins to play, and the
door at the right opens, and out walk all the Presidents in pro-
cession; they turn and bow to Washington, who rises, and then
they pass on, and the servant closes the door behind them. Wash-
ington then quietly sits down, and remains sitting in dignified silence
till his visitors again appear at the end of the hour, when he again
rises to receive them. Wonderful as the Strasburg clock may be, the
American clock does many more things, and is far more curious, and
much more interesting, as a piece of complicated time-keeping
machinery. In the "Letter-Box" for February and April, 188o,
are accounts of two other curious clocks.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAs: As I 1 .-1 :. r my spelling-book, I
saw at the top of a column "v .* i't r.. to Land," and down
the column I saw the word "Llanos." What does "Llanos"
mean ? J. M. HATCHER.
The Llanos are vast plains in South America, between the Carib-
bean Sea and the plains of the Amazon; they have no trees, and
are not tilled, but grasses and bushes grow in some parts.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Tell the boys they can make paper barom-
eters, by dipping sheets of clean white paper into a solution of cobalt.
The color will change just a little while before the weather changes.
The French barometer-flowers are made on this principle.-Truly
yours, B. G. M.

HERE, now, is an agreeable idea, from M. V. W., and perhaps
some of the girls would like to work it out.
Take some black or brown broadcloth, double it, and cut out two
pieces in the shape of a palette. The greatest length should not
exceed four inches, and the greatest width should not be more than
three inches. Button-hole stitch them around the edge with embroid-
ery silk of the same color as the broadcloth, but not too closely, lest the
cloth become stretched at the edge, and so spoil the shape of the
palette. To make a very nice one, trace a faint outline of the palette
on the cloth with a colored pencil, and button-hole stitch it very
closely before cutting out. Having finished the edges of the two
palettes, get some coarse embroidery silk of various colors. A piece
three inches long should be untwisted until it looks like a small ball
of fluffy ravelings. Make six or seven bunches of this kind in dif-
ferent colors, in the selection of which there is a good chance to study
harmonious combinations. Sew them to that part of the palette
where the colors are usually placed by artists.
Nothing is better to wipe a pen on than kid. Cut from the palms
of some old kid gloves several pieces shaped like the broadcloth
palettes, but a trifle smaller. Place these kid palettes in the middle
of the plain broadcloth'one, lay the ornamented one on top, and baste
all together. Next cut the hole which, in a painter's palette, is in-
tended for the thumb. Button-hole stitch it closely with embroidery
silk of the color of the broadcloth, taking the stitches through all the
pieces of broadcloth and kid. Remove the basting and pass a piece
of narrow ribbon through the hole, tying it around the narrowest
part of the palette and making a neat bow on the upper side.
"To make one of these pen-wipers look more like a real palette, go

to a store where artists'materials are sold and buy two delicate brushes
with slender wooden (not quill) handles, and cut these to the length
of the pen-wiper. Stitch these on under the bow, and you have a
pen-wiper which cannot fail to brighten any writing-table; and per-
haps you will think as I do that the more you love the person to
whom the pen-wiper is to be given, the more neatly and tastefully it
should be made."

"COME, boys," says Marm Dinah, "I can't hab you here,
You're too peart and too noisy by half,.
Now, hurry up, quick, don' be lazy no more,
But clar out de snow from de paf.
My washing 's 'most done, and how do you s'pose
I can wade fru dat snow to hang out de clo's ?"

"Oh, Mammy, I can't; I aint well," cries Bob Lee,-
I 've the dreffulest pain in my bones,"
While Tom doubles up with a stitch in his side,
And the kitchen resounds with their groans.
"Stop dat nonsense 1" says Dinah, "hush up, I say l
You no account chillun grow worse ebbry day."

Uncle Caesar looks down at the cunning young scamps;
He chuckles and laughs at the sport.
"No need o' hard work, honies-jes' go an' play;
Now, s'posin' you build up a fort."
With a shout and a bound the boys rush around,
As they roll up the balls on the snow-covered ground.

They pile up the blocks and they lay them in place;
White and square soon the snow-fort is seen.
Says Dinah to Cmsar, "That trick works fus' rate;
Now dem pafs is jus' lubly an' clean."
Says Cmsar to Dinah, "Ob course, chile, ob course,
For pussuasion is often much better dan force." A. G.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I hope you will introduce a brave little dog
to the "Letter Box" circle, For want of knowing his real name, I
call him "Shush Biezzeh" (little bear), a common Indian name for
a dog. This little fellow saved the lives of a detachment of United
States soldiers.
Several years ago, when the large and powerful Indian tribe of
Navajoes were at war with our government, a military post was
established at Fort Defiance, Arizona Territory. One day a detach-
ment was sent out scouting, and when only a few miles from the post,
was suddenly hemmed in by Indians. The soldiers fought all day
long, but when night came the situation was critical. The men were
exhausted, and it was almost certain death for any one to try to
reach Fort Defiance. "Shush Biezzeh" had followed his master,
one of the soldiers, with whom he was a great pet. He suggested
a happy thought. A note was written to the officer in command at
Fort Defiance, and placed in a canteen, which was tied around the
dog's neck. In the darkness he started off for the post unper-
ceived by the enemy, He reached his destination safely, delivered
the message, and re-enforcements brought the reply.
History is silent as to whether or not he received a medal, but he is
still remembered in the vicinity of Fort Defiance.-Yours truly,

THE following verses were written by a lady eighty-three years
When I was a youngster, and Christmas had come,
And I for the holidays staying at home,
Of skating and sliding I then had my fill,
But most splendid of all was "riding downhill."
Three boards and two runners were all I desired,
An old rope to haul it aside if required,
Then off like an arrow! a shout and a yell,
Th-e nc.a-t i.i height of my glory to tell.
I J...:..l I .. ...- I think it so still,
There's nothing so splendid as "riding downhill."
But now my gay cutter comes 'round to the door,
And I hand in my wife and one or two more;
They all look so happy, and prattle and smile,
My labors and cares are all banished a while.
S 'Tis easy to see in each dear little face
The wondrous excitement the sleigh-bells can place.
So, merrily jingling, we dash on our way;
Our horse shakes his head as if glad of the day.
We all are as joyous and blithe as can be,
And yet there seems something a-wanting to me
I said it at first, and I half think it still,-
There 's nothing so splendid as r-iding downhill.






- .', "
I:' -'q ..- ,- tr 7 W

-L. .. --

DESCRIBE the first picture of the accompanying illustration in three words, and with all the letters of these spell one word, meaning
moderate. With the letters in the second picture, make an old-fashioned word, meaning a heavy load. Describe the third picture in three
words, and with all the letters of these spell one word, meaning freed from complications. AUNT SUE.


READING ACROSS: I. Recalled. 2. Stricken out. 3. An ill-tem-
pered woman. 4, Short poems. 5. To know. 6. A boy's nickname.
7. A Roman numeral. G. F.

THIS differs from the ordinary cross-word enigma, by requiring two
answers instead of one. The first letter of each answer is "in Paris,
notin Rome," the second "in tavern, not in home," and so on, till the
two words, of twelve letters each, have been spelled.
In Paris, not in Rome;
In tavern, not in home;
In heated, not in cold;
In saucy, not in bold;
In frighten, not in scare;
In ruddy, not in fair;
In lumber, not in block;
In fasten, not in lock;
In titter, not in sneer;
In ibis, not in deer;
In aloe, not in birch;
In looking, not in search.
1. Relating to the President;
2. An installation here is meant:
Connected, a looked-for event. P. 5i, 1.

,I AM composed of twenty letters, and am a quotatioll from Shakes-
peare's play of "Julius Cmsar."
My 13-20-9-11 is a shelter. My 5-17-18-x2 is scarce. My I-6-4-
16 is to shine. My 3-10-7-8 is a preposition. My 15-14-2 is an
enemy. My 19 is one hundred. ANDREW.


1 2 3
I2 3 4 5
I. I. IN March. 2. A covered carriage, 3, A pioBar'S dtvell'
ing. 4. A large wooden box. 5. In cachinnation.
II In March. 2. What Marcus Brutus was. 3. Land belong.
in to a nobleman. 4. A negative connective. 5. In March.
II In March. 2. A vehicle. 3. A measure of weight. 4,
A rodent. 5. In frost. D. w.
PRIMALS, a famous battle which took place 490 B. c. Finals, a
famous battle which occurred 1815 A. D.
Cross-words: I. The destination ofan army, whose march is chroni-
cled in verse by the poet Shelley. 2. A famouskingof the Huns, who
laid waste the Roman Empire about 434 A. D. 3. A dashing cavalry

general on the side of Charles I. in the Parliamentary war. 4 The
name of a favorite pupil of Plato's, who was also the tutor of Alexander
the Great. 5. The cape near which Nelson won his last and great-
est naval victory. 6. The name of a great Carthaginian general. 7.
The name of a Roman Emperor who died by his own hand after
reigning three months. 8. The name of a Roman Emperor who
died by his own hand after reigning fourteen years. H. G.

My first I see before me now,
My second, too, is here;
Yet search i.. earth and sea, my whole
Nowhere .., It find, I fear. w_


2 7 5 9 4

MY 1-6-5-8-3 are used in music, commerce, and society. My
2-7-5-9-4 is a slender twig. My x-2-3-4 is on all maps. My 1-4-
2-3 is in the daily papers. My 1-4-3-5 is what a little boy likes to
find. My 1-4-5-3 are used by fishermen. My 1-4-2-5 is a small
lizard. My 2-4-3-5 is usually represented by its first letter. My
2-4-5-3 is what the rain does. My 2-4-1-5 is a word meaning
"has gone." My 3-5-4-2 is what a cook may do, but not be in.
My 3-4--5is dispatched. My 3-4-5 is to fix firmly. My 3-4-2 is
to join with stitches. My 5-4-1-3 are numbers. E. H. R.

EACH of the following stanzas is to be completed by adding, at the
end of the fourth line, the name of the bird described in the preceding
three lines. The stars show the number of letters in the name, which
must rhyme with the second line.
I. What bird is fabled to bring pleasant weather,
And every sailor-boy is his well-wisher?
His coat is gay with 1 ... -. 1..1 1. 1 .- .. feather.
This bird is called
2. What bird is ever prophesying rain,
Though often his prognostics seem to fail?
More wet!" he cries; "More wet, more wet!" again.
Do you not know the *****?
3. What bird is he whose humming charms the ear,
And yet whose voice perhaps is seldom heard?
His plumage gleams like gems with brilliance clear.
This is the *******-****

4. What bird so tame about our door-yards hopping,
Builds nests in boxes, trees, or grass and yarrow?
In city squares beguiles the ladies shopping?
Sure, this must be the ******%
5. In Noah's day this bird was very tame:
And it is one that all the children love,
Its gentle innocence bespeaks its name.
You surely know the ****. LILIAN PAYSON.




PREFIX to the name of each of
thirteen objects in the accompany-
ing picture a word also represented
by an object, and thus form thir-
teen words, which may be de-
scribed as follows: c. A list. 2.
A feathered creature. 3. A ques-
tioner. 4. A dismal place. 5.
The condition of a young student
of doctrine. 6. A wild quadru-
ped. 7. Kine. 8. It pricks. 9.
A dweller in water. xo. A Roman
traitor. 11. An ailment. 12. A
wail. 13. A crawling creature.
H. H. B.
i. Ornamentalentrance-ways. 2.
What lye is made with. 3. A
stick. 4. A consonant. 5. Part
of a horse's harness. 6. The
frame-work of the higher order of
animals. 7. Unruly members.

MY whole is composed of nine
letters, and is a name connected
with the early history of the
United States.
My x--9-3 is a girl's name.
My 4-8-7 is not many.
My 5-6-7 is not high.


INCOMPLETE RHOMBOID. Reading across: i. Feel. 2. Meed.
3. Leek. 4. Teem. 5. Deer. 6. Leer. 7. Reef. 8. Deem. 9.
Keep, o1. Deep. Is. Teek. 12. Reem. 13. Peek. Reading
Downward: i. F. 2. Em. 3. Eel. 4. Leet. 5. Deed. 6. Keel.
7. Meer. 8. Reed. 9. Reek. o. Feed. ii. Meet. 2. Peer. 13.
Peep. 14 Kee. 15. Me. i6. K.
KEg. 4. L. 5. GIg. 6. MaSks. 7. MusKets.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year.
-THO ISON'S Winter. First line.
TRANSPOSITIONS. I. I. Marble. 2. Ambler. 3. Blamer. 4.
Ramble.. II. x. Hatred. 2. Dearth. 3. Thread. III. Verse.
2. Sever. 3. Serve. 4. Veers. IV .Stale. 2. Slate.. Steal.
4. Tales. 5. Teals. 6. Least.

Two WORD-SQUARES. I. i. Elbow. 2. Larch. 3. Brace. 4.
Occur. 5. Where. II. i. Aspen. 2. Slave. 3. Panes. 4. Event.
5. Nests.
CHARADE. Jack Frost.
ZIG-ZAGS. Reading across: x. Void. 2. PAid. 3. ToLd. 4.
TalE. s. ZoNe. 6. STop. 7. Ibex. 8. ANon. 9. ShEm. o0.
DaiS. Zig-zags: Valentines.
EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA. Cleopatra's Needle.
DIAMOND IN A HALF-SQUARE. Half-square. I. Castles. 2.
Avowed. 3. Solid. 4. Twit. 5. Led. 6. Ed. 7. S. Included
Diamond. i. S. 2. Vow. 3. Solid. 4. Wit. 5. D.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Initials, Abraham. Finals, Lincoln. Cross-
words: i. AzraeL. 2. Bellini. 3. RaisiN. 4. AsiatiC. 5. Hoang-
HO. 6. AnnuaL. 7, MammoN.

THE names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear.
SOLUTIONS TO DECEMBER PUZZLES were received too late for acknowledgment in the February number, from "A Hive of Bees,"
Wimbledon, England, 9-Beatrice C. B. and Danford N. B. Sturgis, 9.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JANUARY NUMBER were received, before January 20, from George A. Ballantine, --Mila, Daisy, and
Stine, 5-Dycie Warden, 7-John M. Taylor, 2-Wilbur Lamphier, 5- "Yer," etc., 7-A. E. W., all-Pun and her sister, 9-Loring B.
Frankel, x-Henry and Charles, 9- Kitty C. Atwater, 9- Florence E. Pratt, 9--Walter K. Smith, --E. F. G., and F. G. B., 9- Lizzie
H. D. St. Vrain, 9-Effie K. Talboys, x-Darragh de Lancey, I- "The Puzzlers," 4- Virginie Callnaye, 7-Josie B. Lee, I- Ella M.
Faulkner, 5-Edith T. Stickney, 3- Fred Meisel, 2-Oscar Townsend, Jr., i-Alice D., 2-Geo. H. Brown, i-Constance G., 2-Mary
K. Jones, 7-M. F.J., 7-Frank R. Heath, all--Bessie Taylor, 3-Annie T. Reese, 2--"Clove Pink and Violet," x-"The Blanke
Family," 9-Elisha Cook, 2-George Oulton, Jr., 2-The Dawley Boys, 7-Nellie C. Graham, 4-Jessie M. Bugbee, 5-Willie Bond, i
- Robert B. Salter, Jr., 8-" Top-boots," 9-Mors O. Slocum, 7- Charlie and Josie Treat, 9-Harry and W. Whitman, 5-Daisy, I-
Allie, Clem, Florence, and John, 3-R. T. Losee, 8-Belle and Bertie Baldwin, 5-Richard 0. Chester, 5-" Massa C. S.," 3-Ruthie
W. Hobson, 3-Grace M. Fisher 4-Annie and Maria McIlvaine, 7-Charlotte Mcllvaine, 6-Luzia Hitz, x-Elsie Hitz, 3-Harriet
Langdon Pruyn, 3-" Clove Pink" and "L. E. Phant," 3-Tillie Baile, 4--Georgia Jones, r- Bryant Willard, 7--Powell Evans, a-
Anna C. Parsons, x-Willie F. Woolard, 4-"Queen Bess," 9-May Beadle, S-John S. Hunt, 8-Unsigned, from Philadelphia, a-
F. K. F., 2-Teryon and Caroline Weitling, 5-George and Frank, 9-B. S. Hosmer, 5-Lulu G. Crabbe, 6-"Bluebell," 2-
"Georgia and Lee," 7-"Willie and Ned,"5-James Shriver, 5-Willie S. Conant, 9-Mary G. Packer 4-Sarah L. Payson, 7-E. E.
P. and Evans Preston, 6-Mary R. Keys, 4- Effie E. Hadwen, x-" The Miller of Dee," 9-Susy Gof, 7-" Eyebright and Bessie," 7
-Fitz-Hugh Bums, 2-Clarence H. Young, 5-A. P. Redington, i-John McK. Burs, i-Katie T. Carrigan, I-P. S. Clarkson, 7
-Pansy and Myrtle, 4-W. G. and L. W. McKinney, 6-"Dolly," 8-W. C. McLeod, 5-Lizzie C. Fowler, 6- Louie B. and Bessie
L. Barnes, 8-Charlie W. Power, 7-" P. and I.," 8-Robert A. Gally, 7- Florence Leslie Kyte, 8-Alice Maud Kyte, 5-"Solomon"
and "Nancy," 8-Bessie Comstock, 2-Charlotte Gilpin, i-Florence Pauline Jones, x-Lecie Riggs, 4-"Pansy," 7-Nettie, Lizzie,
and Elsie, 4- Russell Rodgers, 2- A Subscriber for Several Children, 2- May Flower, 2- Henry F. Archer, 4- Maggie Kelsay, 2.
The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.