Front Cover
 Front Matter
 The A. Steeles
 What the birds say
 The lost stopper
 How shocking!
 The mastiff and his master
 Phaeton Rogers
 "The children's artist"
 Pease-porridge cold
 The frog's tea party
 In nature's wonderland; or, Adventures...
 Was kitty cured?
 Strawberries! Ripe strawberrie...
 The month of roses (illustrati...
 The St. Nicholas treasure-box of...
 Saltillo boys
 The giant picture-book
 Kate and Joe
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 8, no. 8. June 1881.
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00102
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 8, no. 8. June 1881.
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Uniform Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 8, no. 8
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: June 1881
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00102
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    The A. Steeles
        Page 577
        Page 578
        Page 579
        Page 580
        Page 581
    What the birds say
        Page 582
    The lost stopper
        Page 582
        Page 583
        Page 584
    How shocking!
        Page 585
    The mastiff and his master
        Page 586
        Page 587
        Page 588
        Page 589
        Page 590
        Page 591
        Page 592
        Page 593
        Page 594
        Page 595
    Phaeton Rogers
        Page 596
        Page 597
        Page 598
        Page 599
        Page 600
        Page 601
        Page 602
        Page 603
        Page 604
        Page 605
        Page 606
    "The children's artist"
        Page 607
    Pease-porridge cold
        Page 608
        Page 609
        Page 610
        Page 611
        Page 612
        Page 613
        Page 614
        Page 615
    The frog's tea party
        Page 616
        Page 617
        Page 618
        Page 619
        Page 620
    In nature's wonderland; or, Adventures in the American tropics
        Page 621
        Page 622
        Page 623
        Page 624
        Page 625
        Page 626
        Page 627
        Page 628
    Was kitty cured?
        Page 629
        Page 630
        Page 631
    Strawberries! Ripe strawberries!
        Page 632
    The month of roses (illustration)
        Page 633
    The St. Nicholas treasure-box of literature
        Page 634
        Page 635
    Saltillo boys
        Page 636
        Page 637
        Page 638
        Page 639
        Page 640
        Page 641
        Page 642
        Page 643
        Page 644
    The giant picture-book
        Page 645
        Page 646
        Page 647
    Kate and Joe
        Page 648
        Page 649
        Page 650
        Page 651
    The letter-box
        Page 652
        Page 653
        Page 654
    The riddle-box
        Page 655
        Page 656
    Back Matter
        Back Matter
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text




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JUNE, 1881.

No. 8.

[Copyright, ig88, by Scribner & Co.]



THE peculiarity of the Steele family lay in the
fact that all their individual names began with the
letter A.
Anthony Steele lived on the hill that stretched
away from Mad River, in a long, bare, lonely lift
of land, that looked, when you were below, as
though it might be the very topmost height in the
universe. His home was a red, roomy farm-house,
and he was the venerable A. Steele, who had stood
face to face with Indians; on the same spot, years
before. Under the hill, near the river, was a story-
and-a-half cottage, white and snug, where Albert
Steele, the miller, lived.
Lastly, there was, close to the river, the brown
grist-mill, with its biggest-in-the-region water-
wheel, to which all the folk came, from far and
from hear, fetching their rye, wheat, corn, oats,
and buckwheat to be ground.
March came, and the mill was full of grain.
The earth began-to stir and move uneasily beneath
her snowy wraps, as though weary of her attire, and
anxious for a change. First, she trimmed her gar-
ments with icicle-fringe. But-that was stiff, and
creaked and rattled to pieces when the wind blew,
and made one feel as though things in general
were about to break up.
Nature has spasms, and one was coming on.
The water-wheel had been out of order, and the
winter had been so cold that very little had been
ground in the mill; but now the wheel was as good
as new, and so much grain was at hand that the
heart of Albert Steele, miller, beat high with hope.
The miller had four children. Andrew Steele
VOL. VIII.-37.

(sixteen) looked at the length of wrist and arm be-
low his coat-sleeve, and hoped that now a longer
sleeve in a new coat would soon cover up his year's
growth. Ann Steele, pretty as the May-flower,
made the spinning-wheel fly, and had visions of a
white dress for the next Fourth of July. Augustus
Steele just hoped that now father would feel rich
enough to let him have on his sled the iron run-
ners that he had been waiting for pretty much ever
since he could remember. Abby Steele, in the
cradle, wanted her dinner, and cried for it, which
cry drew Ann from her vision and the wheel, to lift
up her motherless little sister; for there was no
Mrs. Albert Steele to hope or wish for anything
from the old mill on Mad River.
Nature's spasm was very near now. Sun, clouds,
rain caused it.
It'll be the biggest freshet that ever was," said
the sage of the red house, when the rain began.
S"I don't feel quite easy about the mill," said the
owner of it, when ten hours' rain had fallen. The
snow could accommodate ten hours' rain very well,
in its many-crystalled chambers on a thousand hill-
sides, and it did hold it without moving.
The next morning, everybody thereabout thought
of bridges and of wash-outs-although there was
not, at that time, a railroad within ninety miles
of Mad River-and of taxes; for taxes began when
the "Mayflower" paid wharfage to the Indians
at Plymouth Rock, and have gone steadily on,
beginning without ending, from that day to this.
Below the mill, a few hundred feet, there was a
foot-bridge, the delight of boys and of daring girls,



but the terror of persons with nerves, whether
young or old. It was like the half of an immense
barrel-hoop, rising over the river, with its ends
set into the banks. The rise and the round of
this bridge were such that cleats were nailed up
and down its sides, and a very shaky hand-rail had
been provided to climb by. These cleats were
constantly getting loose, helped oftentimes by
small lads.
And to think that on this rainy March morning,
of all mornings in that year, Albert Steele should
be taken down with rheumatism !-the effect of his
efforts of yesterday in getting home the sheep from
across the river, in case of a freshet, which now
seemed inevitable. He had driven them through
the snow-water, and around by the wagon-bridge,
above the fall a half-mile, and had been out
until after the night came, making things snug at
the mill, and so, as has been written, he was on
this morning helpless. Before any one was up in
the house, there came a thundering knock at the
side-door, and a voice sang out:
"Ho miller !-Ho "
"Ho yourself! Who 's there?" responded
Andrew spoke from the little four-paned window,
just beneath the point where the roofs joined.
"Call your father, quick! I want to get corn
ground in a hurry, before the river breaks up.
Must be done!" answered a breezy voice.
But, as we know, Mr. Albert Steele could grind
no corn that day; he had been suffering terribly
all night from the pain of his rheumatism, and
Andrew so told the man.
Come along yourself, then, and I '11 help you,
for my critters '11 starve to death, unless, indeed, I
should give 'em whole corn," said the young man.
Andrew had never run the mill in his life, but
he had helped often enough to know what should
be done. The upper gate and the lower gate were
raised, and the big wheel felt the stir of the water
in its every bucket. In tumbled the corn from
bag after bag into the hopper, and the upper mill-
stone ground on the nether millstone, and the
yellow corn became yellow meal, and was poured
into the bags, and away went their owner, happy
over his success. When -he was gone, Andrew
ate breakfast, and down came the water faster and
in greater volume every instant; and the old mill
thundered at every swift revolution of the great
wheel, that actually groaned on its axis, as the
water plunged and splashed, filling the wheel-race
with foam.
Meanwhile, honey and buckwheat cakes kept
Andrew busy at the table, until Augustus, who
had breakfasted while his brother played miller,
opened a door and called out:

Father wants to know if Mr. Cook helped you
shut the gates."
Oh my! whispered Andrew. "Don't tell
Father, but the gates are both wide open. Come
on, Gus, and we '11 get 'em down."
Away went the boys. They darted under the
door-way and ran through the mill to the race and
the upper gate. The current was very strong;
the race itself could not hold all the water that
came to it. The force of it resisted the lads' united
strength, for the water was full now of slush.
Ann stood in the door-way, baby Abby in her
arms, and watched the boys at work.
There 's something wrong at the mill, Father,"'
she said. "I'm going to run down and see, if
you '11 hold Abby."
The poor miller sat there, helpless, and groan-
ing away his troubles to the baby, while Ann
appeared at the race, sledge-hammer in hand.
"You must stop it at once," she cried, "or the.
wheel will break, and then what would become
of us ? "
With mighty blows from as many .hands as
could lay hold on the hammer, the gate went
slowly down as far as it could be driven, and, by
the time the lower gate was reached, it was easy
to close that, but still the water came from some-
where. The old mill fairly shook amid the creak-
ing cries of its straining wheels and timbers.
The river is breaking up The ice is coming
over the fall! The water is up to the mill-floor "
cry one and another in horror.
"Out, out with the meal! Let us save all we
can," shouts Andrew. "I can manage one bag,
and you two can carry another. Take these
One, two, ten, twenty, forty bags of corn and
rye the young Steeles saved before the water drove
them out of the mill. And the wheel worked faster
than ever all the time, and the air was full of the
rush and the roar of Mad River at its breaking up.
Meanwhile, the miller himself set the baby a-cry-
ing out of pure sympathy with her papa's lamenta-
tions (but children did not say "papa" in those
days), for he verily believed that he should be
compelled to sit there until the flood came and
carried him away-so long were the children gone,
and so alarmed was he at the thundering noises.
He was about to do something desperate with
Abby, when the arbutus face-a little poppy-like
now, it must be owned-appeared in the door-way
with :
Oh, Father I 'm afraid the mill will go down,
but we 've saved every bit of John. Lathrop's rye,
and Mr. Holmes's wheat. We thought we'd get
theirs, 'cause they 'd need it most, and the river is
rising so fast that you can see it come up, and-




and-but here comes Grandfather! He 's man-
aged to come down the hill this morning."
Where's your father? Where 's your father?
Where 's your father?" resounded through the
kitchen before Ann had time to get into that room
and to reply.
"Dreadful times, Ann, my dear," he said, "but
I think there is n't much danger of the house's
going, though there is an awful power of snow up
the valley, to get away somehow. Don't be fright-
ened, child," he added, as the warm color paled in
the girl's face. I 've seen many a freshet in my
time, and paid taxes for more new bridges than-I
declare, Albert, you down again with the rheuma-
tism! Too bad! Too bad We'd better manage
to get you up the hill afore night," he ran on.
" Meanwhile, I'll see to things at the mill. Don't
you worry now, my boy. Your old father is worth
something yet," and away went the good old
man, peering here and looking there, to see to this
and that, and feeling very glad that all the sheep
and the cows were on the hill side of the river. It
would be so easy to escape up the long lift of land.
Anthony Steele had built his house up there with
due regard to possible times like the present one.
Nowhere could he find Andrew and Augustus.
They had disappeared from sight.
"Where are the boys, Ann ?" called their father.
"Why don't the boys come and see me? I want
to speak to them."
Ann heard, but something made her hesitate.
"Ann, call the boys!" came, at last, in a tone
that she felt, and that made her paler than she had
been before.
"Father!" she said, "they wont hear me.
They 've gone !"
Gone where ?" he thundered. "Where could
the rascals go to, when we are all on the verge of
destruction ?"
They went over the foot-bridge, Father, and I
thought it would go while they were on it, it shook
so; and they were hardly off it before one end gave
way, and it snapped in two in the middle, and
now it hangs by the other end."
What on earth are they gone for?" questioned
Mr. Steele.
"Why, Father, can't you guess? It's Hester
and her mother that they thought of. You know,
somebody must save them."
"Oh, this rheumatism, this rheumatism! Ann
Steele, do as your father tells you, and never marry
a man whose father or mother, or uncle or aunt,
ever had the rheumatism. Get out my crutches!
Be quick about it, and get my great-coat. My
boys! My boys!" he groaned. "Father," he
added, as the good white head appeared at the
door, "the boys have gone to try and save Hester

Pratt and her crazy mother. I am afraid we shall
never see them again."
Why, I never thought of the Pratts. They are
right in the heart of the flood! Their house must
have been surrounded early this morning. May
the Lord forgive me for thinking only of my own,
and so little of His other children "
Meanwhile, no remonstrance kept Albert Steele
from donning his great-coat and hobbling about on
his crutches, in the vain effort to see down the
stream to the mite of a house on the river-bank
where sweet Hester Pratt spent her young life in
caring for her insane mother, who was too weak
and too helpless to harm a living soul.
When the boys started, they seized, instinctively,
a coil of rope from the mill. As they crossed the
bridge, they made the two ends fast, and clung
each to the other, or rather clung to the rope, one
end of which Augustus carried, while Andrew held
the other.
On the farther side of the bridge they plunged
into the river's overflow, and were again and again
nearly forced to go down with the current.
"Hold on, Gus! Hold on, laddy! Remember
everybody, and the baby," shouted Andrew (the
baby was Augustus's pet), as the younger boy
gasped. Andy, I c-a-n-t get o-n-I 'm go-ing
d-own!" he shrieked. He lost his footing and
went under, carried down by the current, but still
clinging fast to the rope.
In that moment, Andrew Steele became a dozen
boys in one. He fought with ice-cakes, and water,
and.current; fought for the little figure that was
bobbing up and down. So near, and yet so far!
But he felt the strain on the rope, and it gave him
There was no human eye to witness the strife, as
he got to his brother and struggled with him to
the firm land, on which the boys sank for a
That was a pretty bad time, was n't it, Bub ?"
said Augustus, as soon as his eyes and ears were
clear of water. I don't want any more of that."
"Oh, we pulled out first-rate, and now we must
hurry, or there wont be a stone left in poor Hester's
chimney, for I don't see how the house is going to
stand up before this flood. May be it is gone now."
But the house with the stone chimney was not
gone, and presently, it came into view.
Good gracious cried Andrew, as he took in
the sight. The cottage looked lower and smaller
than ever. It was standing, window-deep, in a sea
of snow-water, with ice-cakes thumping at the door
every moment.
Oh, they are out. Somebody must have thought
of'em. I know somebody must," argued Augustus,
as they tramped through the water-soaked snow.




"Anyhow, we '11 make sure of it. We are the
nearest to 'em, and if we did n't think, who would?
I declare, Gus, do see how the river rises! It's
mad enough now, goodness knows, and I do believe
the covered bridge will boom down and take the
mill with it." They struggled on.
See see the water is running in at the win-
dows this minute. Run, Gus, run, or we can't get
near the house."
They lost no time, poor wet lads, in getting to
the highway and to the verge of the running water
that came up to the road. The little house lay
below the road, between it and the river, but well
above the touch of an ordinary freshet.
Let us call out," said Andrew.
"Hester! Hester they screamed.
All was silent within.
"Nobody there," thought Gus.
"But, suppose they are drowned in there. I 'm
going in," announced Andrew.
"Oh! Andy, Andy, don't. I can't spare you.
Wait till somebody comes along."
"No time to wait. I must find out," urged
Even as he spoke, he ran to the stoutest tree by
the road-side and swung a rope-end about it, made
it fast, and said to Gus:
"You stand by, whatever happens, and you pull
with a will when I give the signal."
"Good-bye, Andy," whimpered Gus, shaking in
his wet clothes, as his brother with the rope stepped
into the cold flood.
At that moment a sash was raised in an upper
window, and a pale, agonized face glanced up the
river, and from that to the clouds.
Gus saw that it was Hester, and that she was
praying, although no word escaped her lips.
She did not see the small figure standing by the
great tulip-tree across the road, but suddenly Gus
called out:
"Open the door for Andy! Andy is at the
door. Let him in, quick "
The sash was left up; the face disappeared.
Never did feet descend steps with more willing
speed to admit succor. As soon as Hester could
get away the packing at the sill, the door was
opened, Andy climbed in, and the door closed.
The water went in with him. -
"Hester! where's your mother?" was the first
"In bed; and oh, Andy! I 've had such hard
work to keep her from knowing. She thinks we've
moved down by the sea, and she likes the waves so
much. Oh, Andy, you must n't stay. You must
go right now, or you '11 go down too. Go Go !"
she begged.
I am going, and you, too."

"I'11 never leave my mother-never, Andy
"Of course not. Do as I tell you. Get a lot
of dry blankets-all you can carry-bundle 'em
up, quick." The blankets were tumbled out of a
big chest that stood handy, and were wrapped up.
"Now, tell your mother that you 've taken
another house, 'cause the tide comes too high
here, and you just wrap a blanket around her, and
give her to me. I'm going to carry her."
Hester obeyed, and her mother assented, with-
out trouble. She even permitted the rope to be
tied about her waist.
Got a clothes-line, Hester?" asked Andy.
"Right here," answered Hester.
"Put it around your waist, and give me the
other end, in case anything happens to you while I
am gone."
"Now, we are all ready. Going to move into
another house, Mrs. Pratt," said Andy, gently.
"I'11 carry you."
"Hester, Hester, Hester, Hester," moaned Mrs.
Pratt. She never forgot Hester, even when she
was at the wildest. She clung to that name, and
it seemed sometimes as if that name were the
one little ray of reason left in her darkened life.
Yes, Mother; I'm going, too, but you know I
can't carry you. You must let him," coaxed
She let him help, and, together, Andy and
Hester lifted the light figure from the bed, and
splashed through the water with it to the door,
which Hester threw open.
It was not more than sixty feet to the highway
and safety. The little rope-man stood at his post
by the tulip-tree.
"Steady, now, Gus," signaled Andy. "Let go,
Hester, and mind the line. You stay till I come
for you."
Andy put a stout young arm about Mrs. Pratt's
waist, and, mustering all his strength, plunged
with her into the flood, knowing that every step
would be a step into less of water.
The cold flood arose about the poor woman-so
wan, so weak, so insane! She gave one shriek
that might have pierced any heart; and then she
shivered and clung and clung, and, but for the
steadying rope that Gus drew, she would have
taken Andrew from his feet.
"It's all right, now, Mrs. Pratt," said the boy, as
he got where he could lift her more easily and
make his way out of the water.
"Yes, it's all right," said Mrs. Pratt; "but where
is Hester? I want Hester."
What the mischief !" cried a man on horse-
back, suddenly splashing into the scene, his horse
breathing twenty breaths a minute, as he threw




himself off, and proceeded to receive the helpless
figure that Andrew bore.
I thought I should be in time," he gasped.
"Never rode a horse so in my life."
I'm going now for Hester," said Andrew, pay-
ing no attention to the horseman's remarks, and
for some dry blankets. I'll hurry."
Better let me go !" said the new-comer, who
held Mrs. Pratt.
"Save Hester. Go !" moaned Mrs. Pratt.
For the third time that day, Andrew Steele
plunged into the cold flood.
Hold the bundle as high as ever you can,
Hester said Andy, as Hester awaited him.
The water had become deeper. He swam with
her a few strokes. He whispered, as he put her
on her feet and received the bundle to paddle
out with, and she heard the whisper above the
flood, as Andy softly said: "I-I believe, Hester,
that your mother is all right now."
"All right?" demanded Hester. "Andy Steele,
what do you mean? Tell me "
Go and speak to her," was Andy's answer,
"and you '11 find out, may be."
Here I am, Mother," said Hester, approaching
her gently; and we '11 soon be in the new house,
now," she added.
"Hester! Hester! My child! My darling!
Why, Hester, I have n't seen such a flood since I
was a little bit of a girl; and Father carried me out
then; and the water made me feel, I remember,
just as it did to-day."
Certainly, these were not words of insanity, such
as Hester was sadly accustomed to hear from her.
Hester Pratt's, fingers shook, and her heart was
all a-tremble with gladness, as she and Augustus
got the blanket-bundle open, and wrapped many
a fold about the shivering figure.
Did n't I tell you so ?" whispered Andrew, as the
tears began to well over from Hester's happy eyes.
"We must get out of this as soon as possible, or
the highway will be covered before we can strike
away from it!" exclaimed the horseman, for the
water was rising faster than ever.
"There goes the bridge There '11 be no getting
home to-night! cried Gus, as sections of the cov-
ered bridge from above the mill went rushing down.

"My father helped build that bridge. I re-
member it," said Mrs. Pratt, feebly.
The new-comer, Augustus, and Andrew lifted
the blanket on which they had laid the invalid,
and prepared to march to the nearest house-
Hester led the still panting pony. And it was her
mother who had told her she "ought not to ride
when so chilled and wet." Was not this what any
mother would say to her daughter? Hester felt
no chill, although her flesh was shaking-she would
have walked forever in wet garments, with such joy
in her heart, to keep it warm.
"After so many years!" she murmured.
"After so many years, she will get well, at last-at
last! she repeated, her eyes fondly resting on the
covered figure, borne on the blanket in front of her,
and then on the seething waters, that rushed and
crept, and crept and rushed even into the road-bed,
as they went onward.
"Oh, you blessed, blessed Mad River!" cried
Hester, in her joy, forgetting herself.
What 's the matter?" called back the bearers
in front.
"Nothing," answered the happy follower; at
which answer, the pony whinnied a remonstrance,
and deliberately poked his nose over Hester's shoul-
der into her face.
That same afternoon, the Pratt cottage was
swept away. News went over the flood that the
boys were all right; but no code of signals then
known could tell the glad tidings that Hester
Pratt's mother was no longer "that poor crazy
woman." Steele's Mill stood through the freshet,
and, for a generation afterward, ground wheat and
corn. Mr. Steele's rheumatism left him after a few
weeks. The covered bridge, in due time, was re-
built; but the quaint hoop-bridge with its shaky
hand-rail was not "built up," and that river will
never know its like again.
Hester Pratt rejoiced for many years in a sweetly
sane mother, her sanity the work of a Mad River
freshet. And of all the friends who rejoiced with
them, there was none more truly happy than the lad
who had carried the poor woman through the flood.
So nobody was surprised when, later on, Hester
and her mother went to live with him, and joined
the respected family of the A. Steeles.






S" _- they chatter together,-the robins and sparrows,

SBluebirds and'bobolinks,-all the day long,
What do they talk of ?-The sky and the sunshine,
i -!. -r ... of the weather, the last pretty song;

I-! :. .: .....i of friendship, and all the sweet trifles
Ti.r i:. cto make bird-life so careless and free;
TII- i.,i...:r of grubs in the apple-tree yonder,
i ..: i.-.riise of fruit in the big cherry-tree;

Sl.i'ih' In prospect;-how Robin and Jenny
-i i .....'ing together to build them a nest;
i-i. E.-.-i.-.ik left Mrs. Bobolink moping
.r !,.:..._.. nd went off on a lark with the rest.

S u.!, i',Il..l hatle slanders! such innocent gossip!
Such gay little coquetries, pretty and bright!
Such happy love-makings such talks in the orchard!
Such chatterings at daybreak such whisperings at night!

0 birds in the tree-tops! 0 robins and sparrows!
O bluebirds and bobolinks! what would be May
Without your glad presence,-the songs that you sing us,
And all the sweet nothings we fancy you say?



A LARGE black beetle, with a pair of pincers in
front, like the claws of a little lobster, was hurrying
through the forest on a summer day, when he was
.accosted by a lizard.
"Oh, Beetle," said the lizard, "where are you
going so fast? I never saw you in such haste
I am trying to find something," said the beetle,
"and I must not stop."
"What are you trying to find?" asked the
lizard, who was very inquisitive. "Tell me what
it is. I can run fifty times quicker than you, and
can easily slip into nooks and crannies. I am sure
I can find it, whatever it is. Is it anything that
has been lost, or is it something that has to be
discovered ?"
"It is something that has been lost," said the
beetle, a little vexed at being delayed.

What is it, then? and whom does it belong
to ?" asked the lizard.
"I do not wish to tell you," said the beetle.
" There is a reward."
Oh !" said the lizard. Will you tell me if I
"Yes," replied the beetle, still hurrying on;
"but you can't do it. You would never think of
the right thing."
"Will you let me try twenty questions?" asked
the lizard.
"Yes," said the beetle.
"Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?"
"Useful or ornamental?"
"Is it manufactured?"







S" _- they chatter together,-the robins and sparrows,

SBluebirds and'bobolinks,-all the day long,
What do they talk of ?-The sky and the sunshine,
i -!. -r ... of the weather, the last pretty song;

I-! :. .: .....i of friendship, and all the sweet trifles
Ti.r i:. cto make bird-life so careless and free;
TII- i.,i...:r of grubs in the apple-tree yonder,
i ..: i.-.riise of fruit in the big cherry-tree;

Sl.i'ih' In prospect;-how Robin and Jenny
-i i .....'ing together to build them a nest;
i-i. E.-.-i.-.ik left Mrs. Bobolink moping
.r !,.:..._.. nd went off on a lark with the rest.

S u.!, i',Il..l hatle slanders! such innocent gossip!
Such gay little coquetries, pretty and bright!
Such happy love-makings such talks in the orchard!
Such chatterings at daybreak such whisperings at night!

0 birds in the tree-tops! 0 robins and sparrows!
O bluebirds and bobolinks! what would be May
Without your glad presence,-the songs that you sing us,
And all the sweet nothings we fancy you say?



A LARGE black beetle, with a pair of pincers in
front, like the claws of a little lobster, was hurrying
through the forest on a summer day, when he was
.accosted by a lizard.
"Oh, Beetle," said the lizard, "where are you
going so fast? I never saw you in such haste
I am trying to find something," said the beetle,
"and I must not stop."
"What are you trying to find?" asked the
lizard, who was very inquisitive. "Tell me what
it is. I can run fifty times quicker than you, and
can easily slip into nooks and crannies. I am sure
I can find it, whatever it is. Is it anything that
has been lost, or is it something that has to be
discovered ?"
"It is something that has been lost," said the
beetle, a little vexed at being delayed.

What is it, then? and whom does it belong
to ?" asked the lizard.
"I do not wish to tell you," said the beetle.
" There is a reward."
Oh !" said the lizard. Will you tell me if I
"Yes," replied the beetle, still hurrying on;
"but you can't do it. You would never think of
the right thing."
"Will you let me try twenty questions?" asked
the lizard.
"Yes," said the beetle.
"Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?"
"Useful or ornamental?"
"Is it manufactured?"





"What are its dimensions?"
"It is about as long as I am with my legs
stretched out; but it is much larger around."
"Ah!" said the lizard, "is it in the shape of a
cylinder ?"
"Not exactly," replied the beetle.
Is it larger at one end than the other?"
Is it heavy or light ?"
Is it solid or hollow?"
"What is its color?"
"Its general color is yellowish brown, but one
end of it has several colors."
"A light vegetable substance," said the lizard
to himself; made useful by being manufactured;
as long as a beetle, and something like a cylinder,
only larger at one end than the other ;
and ornamented with colors at one -
end. I believe it is a cork stopper."
"Is it a cork stopper for a bottle or '.--
a jar?" he then asked, aloud.
"Yes," answered the beetle, "but
you don't know whom it belongs to." '
"I have ten questions left," said '"''"';,
the lizard. Does it belong to a man L
or a woman?"''
"A woman."
It must be for a bottle," said the
lizard, "for such a cork would be too
small for a jar. Is it for a bottle ?"
"Yes," said the beetle.
Is the stuff in the bottle useful, or
for pleasure only?" asked the lizard.
"For pleasure only."
Then it must be a perfume," said =--.-
the lizard. Does it belong to a high-
born lady?"
"It does." '
The lizard thought for a moment.
"Does it belong to the mistress of
yon castle?" he asked.
"Yes," said the beetle.
Then it is the stopper of the per-
fume-bottle of the mistress of yon
castle," said the lizard. .
"That is it," replied the beetle. .
"And five questions to spare," said
the lizard. Then he went on: '
"I '11 help you to find it, and I shall
only ask you to give me a quarter of
the reward,-if we should succeed in winning it."
All right !" replied the beetle, who was afraid
the lizard would go and look for the lost stopper
on his own account, and get all the reward, if he
should not take him into partnership.

"You can find out anything in the world by
asking twenty questions," said the lizard, who now
seemed to be very much pleased with himself.
"I believe you can," replied the beetle.
They now journeyed on for some distance, when,
passing a little thicket of ferns, they saw a small
dwarf, not much bigger than either of them, asleep
under a toad-stool. He was an old dwarf, for he
had a long white beard, and he held in his lap a
pickax, made of a strong twig, with two sharp
thorns growing from one end of it.
"Hi! whispered the lizard. "Here is one of
those digging dwarfs. Let 's capture him, and
make him look for the stopper. If it has fallen into
any crack, and been covered up by earth, he can
dig for it."
"That is true," said the beetle. "But shall we
have to give him any of the reward ?"

,, ., -- .

'i "
L. ,.
..4 -1 ", ' : _ ;' :- ,_ .,, =T
-,." l .b -."-. .:.- 5' ,

J,.-I ,- X ; 3 - _l:: ,


"Oh, we can give him a little," said the lizard.
"He will not expect much."
"But how are we to catch him?" asked the
beetle. If he hits one of us with that pickax, it
will hurt."




"It will not hurt you," said the lizard. "Your
shell is so hard. I am quite soft, so I will keep out
of his way. I will climb on top of the toad-stool,
and you can creep up, and seize him by the ankle
with your pincers. Then, when he wakes up, he
will see me sticking out my tongue over his head,
and he will be frightened, and will surrender."
It all happened as the lizard said it would. The
beetle slipped up quietly to the dwarf, and, turning
over on one side, so as to get a better hold, he
seized him by the ankle. The dwarf woke up
suddenly, was greatly frightened at seeing the
lizard making terrible faces above him, and surren-
dered. His captors then told him what they were
trying to find, and ordered him to come and help
They all went on together, and the dwarf said to
the beetle:
If you had pinched a little harder, you would
have taken off my foot."
If you had not surrendered," replied the beetle,
"I might have been obliged to do so; but if you
will help us cheerfully, no harm shall come to
For a long time the three searched the woods
diligently. They looked under every leaf, and in
every crack; and the dwarf dug with his pick in
many spots where the lizard thought the ground
looked as if a cork stopper were concealed beneath
it. But no stopper could they find.
"It is very necessary that it should be found,"
said the beetle. "One of the pages told me all
about it. It was lost in these very woods, three
days ago, by the lady of yon castle. And, since
that time, her maids of honor have been obliged to
take turns in holding their thumbs over the top
of her perfume-bottle, to keep the valuable odor
from escaping; and they are getting very tired
of it."
After more fruitless search, the beetle and the
lizard said that they must go and take a nap, for
they were much fatigued; but they told the dwarf
he must keep on looking for the stopper, for he had
had his nap under the toad-stool.
When he was left to himself, the dwarf did not
look very long for the stopper. "It willbe a great
deal easier," he said to himself, "to make a new
cork stopper than to find that old one. I will make
a new cork stopper for the lady in yon castle."
So he looked about until he found a cork-tree.
Then, with his little pickax, he chipped off a
small portion of the rough outer bark from the
lower part of the trunk, and carefully cut out a
piece of the soft cork which grew beneath. This
piece was nearly as big as himself, but he lifted it
easily, for it was so light; and carried it to his own
house, which was not far away, in the forest.

There he took a sharp little knife, and carved and
cut the cork into the shape of a bottle-stopper;
making it very small at one end and large at the
other, so that it would fit almost any bottle. With
a small file he made it smoother than any cork
stopper ever seen before, The lower end was cut
off flat, while the top was beautifully rounded.
Then he took some paint and little brushes, and
painted the top in curious designs of green, and
gold, and red. When he had finished it, it was
the most beautiful cork stopper ever seen.
Then he put it on his shoulder and ran with it
to the place where he had left the beetle and the
lizard, taking their naps.
"Hi! hi! cried the two companions, when
they awoke. Have you really found it ? "
No," said the truthful dwarf, "there was no
use in looking any longer for that old stopper, and
I have made a new one, which, I am sure, will fit
the perfume-bottle of the lady of yon castle. Let
us hurry, and take it to her. I am sure she would
much rather have the new stopper than to find the
old one."
"We should think so, indeed! cried the
others. And they all set off for the castle together.
When the lizard, the beetle, and the dwarf-the
latter carrying the stopper on his shoulder-ap-
peared at the castle, they were welcomed with
great joy. The stopper was put into the lady's
perfume-bottle, and it was found to fit exactly.
Then everybody cheered merrily, especially the
maids of honor, with their tired thumbs.
"But," said the lady of the castle, "my lost
stopper is not found after all."
"No," said the dwarf, "it is not, but this one
fits just as well, does it not ?"
Yes," said the lady, but I wanted the same
one that I lost."
"But is not this just as pretty?" asked the
"It is a great deal prettier," said the lady,
"but it is not the one. It is not the stopper I
lost, and which I hoped to get back again."
"But it keeps the smell in just as well, does it
not ?" said the dwarf, a little crossly.
"Yes," answered the lady, "but that does not
make it the same stopper, does it ?"
"Oh, pshaw said the dwarf. I think that
will do just as well as the old one. It fits just as
well, and it is a great deal prettier; and the old
one can't be found. I think everybody ought to
be satisfied with this new stopper, and forget all
about the old one."
So do we said the lizard and the beetle.
And so do we," cried the maids of honor, and
all the courtiers, and the people who stood about.
Well," said the lady," I suppose it will have to




do. It is very pretty, and it fits, and the reward
can be paid to these little creatures. But it is not
the same stopper, after all."
The reward was a large golden pitcher, with en-
graved sides. It was too heavy for the dwarf, the
beetle, and the lizard to carry away with them, and
they had to leave it on the shelf where it stood.
But they had the satisfaction of knowing that it was
their own.
"Let me go," said the dwarf, as he hurried
away, "to finish my nap under a toad-stool. It
may not be the same toad-stool I was sleeping

under before; but, if it is just as good, it will do
quite as well. I have never heard as much silly
talk as I have heard this day. If a thing is just
as good as another thing, what difference does it
make whether it is the same thing or not?"
"It makes no difference at all," said the lizard;
"but some people are so particular. We ought to
be satisfied with what we can get."
"Yes," said the beetle. "That is true; and I
want you to understand that the handle of the
pitcher is yours. The dwarf can have the spout,
and all the rest is mine. Let us be satisfied."


MY grandma met a fair gallant one day,
And, blushing, gave the gentleman a daisy.
Now, if your. grandma acted in that way,
Would you not think the dear old soul was crazy?
0-h, Grandmamma /

And then the gentleman bent smiling down,
And told my grandma that he loved her dearly;
And grandma, smiling back, forgot to frown,
-Ah, Grandpa nods So he recalls it clearly?
0-h, Grandapa /







_i i _, ',
,A 7!:I:,
,]t:/ i., I:i I:iI [. .
.. .. '_1~ '

01 -:
-. '& --'-- T:... :-- ---3- - -------- -- -f---
"- :':"m I t' "' ----':-" -- .-- - -- ---

A CERTAIN young mastiff being near dog's
estate, his master judged best to trim and shorten
his ears. This the mastiff thought hard, and
complained accordingly. But as he grew older and
met dogs of various tempers, he was often obliged
to fight for himself and his rights: then his short
ears gave great advantage, for they furnished no
hold to the enemies' teeth, while the long-eared
dogs, whom he had formerly envied, came from
the fray torn and suffering. "Aha!" said the
mastiff, "my master knew better than I what
was good for me."-Old Fable.

But why must n't I ?" said Towser.
Towser was not a dog, as you might suppose,
but the nickname of a boy. Exactly why his
school-fellows should have chosen this nickname
for Tom Kane I don't know; perhaps because his
brown, short-nosed face was a little like a dog's-
perhaps because he was bold and resolute, a good
fighter, and tough in defense of his rights and
opinions. I hardly think it was this last reason,
however. Boys are not much given to analyzing
character, and are apt to judge things and peo-
ple by a happy-go-lucky instinct, which some-
times leads them right and sometimes wrong. But
whatever the reason may have been, Towser was

Tom's school-name, and stuck to hirh through life.
Even his wife called him so,-when he grew up and
had a wife,-and the last time I saw him, his little
girl was stroking his hair and saying, "Papa Tow-
ser," in imitation of her mother. Towser is n't a
pretty name, but it sounded pretty from Baby
May's lips, and I never heard that Tom objected
to the title, either as man or boy.
But to return to the time when he was a boy.
"Why must n't I?" he said again. All the
fellows are going except me, and I 'd like to, ever
so much."
"It is n't a question of like," answered his
father, rather grimly. "It 's a question of can
and can't. All the other boys have rich fathers;
or, if not rich, they are not poor like me. It's well
enough that their sons should go off on camping
parties. Twenty-five dollars here and twenty
there is n't much to any of 'em, but it 's a great
deal for you. And what's more, Tom, there 's this:
that if they 'd take you for nothing, it is n't a
good thing for you, any way you fix it. I pay for
your schooling, and I paid for those boxing lessons,
and may be, another year, I '11 manage the subscrip-
tion to the boat, for I want you to grow up strong
and ready with your fists, and your mind, and all
parts of you. You '11 have to fight your way, my




boy, and I want you to turn out true grit when the
tussle comes. But when it 's a case of camping
out a week, or extra holidays, or spending money
for circuses and minstrels and such trash, I shut
down. You '11 be all the better off in the end
without this fun and idling and getting your head
full of the idea of always having a 'good time.'
Work 's what you 're meant for, and if you don't
thank me now for bringing you up tough, you will
when you 're a man, with may be a boy of your
Mr. Kane was a silent, gruff, long-headed man,
who never wasted words, and this, the longest
speech" he had ever been known to make, im-
pressed Towser not a little. He did say to himself,
in a grumbling tone, "Pretty hard, I think, to be
cut off so at every turn," but he said it softly, and
only once, and before long his face cleared, and,
taking his hat, he went to tell the boys that he
could n't join the camping party.
"Well, I say it's a confounded shame !" de-
clared Tom White.
"I call your pa real mean," joined in Archie
"You 'd better not call him anything of the
kind while I 'm around," said Towser, with an
angry look in his eyes, and Archie shrank and
said no more. Tom was vexed and sore enough
at heart, but he was n't going to let any boy speak
disrespectfully of his father.
"I say, though," whispered Harry Blake, get-
ting his arm around Tom's neck, and leading him
away from the others, I 'm real disappointed, old
fellow. Could n't it be managed? I 'd lend you
half the money."
Harry's mother was a widow, well off, and very
indulgent, and he had more pocket-money at com-
mand than any one else in the school.
Towser shook his head.
"No use," he said. "Father don't want me to
go, for more reasons than the money. He says I 've
got to work hard all my life, and I 'd better not get
into the way of having good times; it 'd soften me,
and I 'd not do so well by and by."
How horrid! cried Harry, with a shudder.
"I 'm glad Mother does n't talk that way."
Harry Blake was fair and slender, with auburn
hair, which waved naturally, and a delicate throat
as white as a girl's.
Tom looked at him with a sort of rough, pitying
I 'm glad, too," he said. You 'd die if you
had to rough it much, Harry. I 'm tougher, you
see. It wont hurt me."
A sturdy satisfaction came with these words that
almost made up for the disappointment about the
camping out.

Still, it was pretty hard to see the boys start with-
out him. Ten days later they returned. The
mosquitoes were very thick, they said, and they
had n't caught so many fish as they expected. Joe
Bryce had hurt his hand with a gun-lock, and larry
Blake was half sick with a cold. Still, they had
had a pretty good time on the whole. Mr. Kane
listened to this report with a dry twinkle in his eyes.
"Two hundred dollars gone in giving twenty
young fellows a 'pretty good' time," he said.
Well, all the fools are n't dead yet. You stick to
what you 're about, Towser, my boy."
And Towser did stick, not only then, but again
and again as time went on, and first this scheme
and then that was started for the amusement of the
boys. Now it was an excursion to Boston; next, the
formation of an amateur rifle- company; after that
a voyage to the fishing-banks. Every few months
something was proposed, which fired Towser's im-
agination, and made him want to join, but always
his father held firm, and he had no share in the
frolics. It seemed hard enough, but Mr. Kane was
kind as well as strict; he treated his son as if he
were already a man, and argued with him from a
man's point of view; so, in spite of an occasional
outburst or grumble, Towser did not rebel, and his
life and ideas gradually molded themselves to his
father's wish.
At sixteen, while most of the other boys were fit-
ting for college, Towser left school and went into
the great Perrin Iron Works, to learn the business
of machine-making. He began at the foot of the
ladder; but, being quick-witted and steady, with a
natural aptitude for mechanics, he climbed rapidly,
and by the time he was twenty was promoted to a
foremanship. Harry Blake came home from college
soon after, having graduated with the dignity of a
"second dispute," as a quizzical friend remarked,
and settled at home, to "read law," he said, but
in reality to practice the flute, make water-color
sketches, and waste a good deal of time in desultory
pursuits of various kinds. He was a sweet-
tempered, gentlemanly fellow, not strong in health,
and not at all fond of study; and Tom, who over-
topped him by a head, and with one muscular arm
could manage him like a child, felt for him the
tender deference which strength often pays to
weakness. It was almost as if Harry had been a
girl; but Tom never thought of it in that light.
So matters went on till Towser was twenty-one
and beginning to hope for another rise in position,
when suddenly a great black cloud swooped down
on the Perrin Iron Works. I don't mean a real
cloud, but a cloud of trouble. All the country felt
its dark influence. Banks stopped payment, mer-
chants failed, stocks lost their value, no one knew
what or whom to trust, and the wheels of industry




everywhere were at a stand-still. Among the rest
the Perrin Company was forced to suspend work
and discharge its hands. Tom was a trusted
fellow, and so much in the confidence of his em-
ployers as to know for some time beforehand of the
change that was coming. He staid to the end, to
help wind up books and put matters in order, and
he and Mr. Perrin were the last persons to walk out
of the big door.
"Good-bye, Tom," said Mr. Perrin, as he turned
the key in the heavy lock, and stopped a moment
to shake hands. You 've done well by us, and if
things are ever so that we can take another start,
we '11 do well by you in our turn."
They shook hands, and Tom walked away, with
a month's wages in his pocket and no particular
idea what to do next. Was he down-hearted?
Not at all. There was something somewhere that
he could do; that, he was sure of; and, although
he looked grave, he whistled cheerily enough as he
marched along.
Suddenly turning a corner, he ran upon Harry
Blake, walking in a listless, dejected way, which at
once caught his attention.
"Halloo-what 's up? inquired Tom.
Have n't you heard?" replied Harry, in a mel-
ancholy voice. The Tiverton Bank has gone to
smash, with most of our money in it !"
Your money "
My mother's. It 's the same thing exactly."
Was it much ? Is the bank gone for good ?"
Sure smash, they say, and seven-eighths of all
we have."
Tom gave a whistle of dismay.
"Well, Harry, what next?" he demanded.
Have you thought of anything to do? "
No. What can I do ? Harry's voice sounded
hopeless enough.
What could Harry do? Tom, who had never
wasted a night's sleep over his own future, lay
awake more than once debating this question.
Hard times were hard times to him, as well as to
everybody else, but he had a little money laid by,
his habits were simple, and to pinch for a while
cost him small suffering; besides, he could turn his
hand to almost anything-but poor Harry? One
plan after another suggested itself and was pro-
posed, but each in turn proved a failure. Harry
lacked bodily strength for one position, for another
he had not the requisite training, still another was
unsuited to his taste, and a fourth sounded so
"ungenteel" that his mother would not listen to
it. It would break her heart, she said. Tom him-

self got a temporary place in a locomotive-shop,
which tided him over the crisis, and enabled him
to lend a helping hand, not to Harry only, but to
one or two other old comrades whose families had
lost everything and were in extremity. But these
small aids were not enough. Permanent situations
were what were needed. At last Harry obtained a
clerkship in a drug-store. He disliked it, and his
mother hated it, but nothing better offered, and it
is to his credit that he did the work well and dili-
gently, and only relieved his mind by private
grumblings to Towser in the evenings.
I '11 tell you what," said Tom one night, after
patiently listening to one of these lamenitations,
" you boys used to think my father strict with me
when we were at school together, but I 've come
to the conclusion that he was a wise man. Where
should I be now if I 'd grown up soft and easily
hurt, like you? Giving knocks and taking knocks
-that's what a business man's life is, and it 's a
good thing to be toughened for it. I used to feel
hard to my father about it too, sometimes, but I
thank him heartily now," and he held out his
brown, strong hand, and looked at it curiously
and affectionately. Well he might. Those hands
were keys to pick Fortune's locks with,-only I 'm
afraid Towser's mind was hardly up to such a
"You're right," said Harry, after thinking a
little, "and your father was right. You 're true
grit, Towser,-up to any work that comes along,
and sure to succeed, while I 'm as easily knocked
down as a girl. I only wish I 'd had a wise father,
and been raised tough, like you."
Harry has repeated this wish a good many times
in the years that have passed since then. Life has
gone hardly with him, and business has always been
distasteful, but he has kept on steadily, and his
position has improved, thanks to Tom's advice and
help. Tom himself is a rich man now. He was
long since taken in as a partner by the Perrin
-Company, which re-opened its works the year after
the panic, and is doing an immense business. He
makes a sharp and energetic manager, but his
open-handedness and open-heartedness grow with
his growth, and prosperity only furnishes wider
opportunity for a wise kindness to those who are
less fortunate.' His own good fortune he always
ascribes to his father's energetic training, and
Mr. Kane, who is an elderly man now, likes to
nod his head and reply: I told.you so, my boy;
I told you so. A habit of honest work is the best
luck and the best fortune a man can have."






FROM my hammock I look toward the old willow-tree,
And I feel like a bird, while I lie there swinging,
And when nobody's near to listen to me,
I mock the cat-bird, whistling and singing.
I had my fairy-book yesterday,
Reading Tom Thumb and all the others,
And I cried when he took the crowns away,
And made that poor old Blunderbore slay
The princesses, thinking he had the brothers.

I lay there thinking, and singing a hymn,
Because I felt sad, and the church-bell was ringing,
Till the twilight made everything round me grow dim,
A little wind blew, and the hammock was swinging.
It was not the fence-they may say what they will,
There was a fence there,, with the top cut all pointed,
But fences don't bow-they stand perfectly still,
They do not have voices, all mournful and shrill,
And they don't look like dolls, half alive and stiff-jointed.

And fences don't sing-oh! I heard them quite plainly,
Their sad little music came over the street,
They had all pointed crowns, though they looked, so ungainly,
And though they were n't pretty, their singing was sweet!
At first it all jumbled, but after a while
I found out the words that each princess was wailing,
And, though I was sorry, I could not but smile,
For they sang, Oh, who has nailed us up in this style?
What, what is life worth, if one 's fast to a railing?"

The cat-bird flew over to comfort them-he
Sang better than they did-much louder and clearer.
He sang to one poor little princess, "Just see!
Don't look at the dusty road, see what is nearer,
A wild rose is woven all over your crown,
And a daisy is growing right here at your feet;


A velvety mullein has made you a gown."
But the poor little princess sobbed out, with a frown:
" Life, fast to a railing, can never be sweet!"

How this beautiful tree makes a bower above you;
You can listen all day to the whispering leaves,
And they touch you so gently, they surely must love you.
Then this blackberry-bush, with its wreath of white flowers-"
But the princess broke in, with her sad little wailing:
" Oh, don't talk to me of your flowers and bowers,
They are nothing to me"-here her tears fell in showers-
Less than nothing at all, while I'm fast to this railing!"

The cat-bird, discouraged, came back to his nest,
And the princesses still kept on sighing and weeping;
They must have said more, but I don't know the rest-
A great big black ant on my elbow was creeping,
And he was the wizard, I really believe,
Who had kept the poor princesses fast to the railing;
For when I had shaken him out of my sleeve,
I looked over the way, and I could n't but grieve;
There was nothing at all but that old pointed paling.

But to-day, when the school-room was dusty and hot,
And I thought of my hammock, and wished I was in it,
Till I missed in my spelling, because I forgot;
I felt like those princesses, just for a minute.
Then I happened to think of that dear cat-bird's song,
And I thought everybody is fast to some railing;
But the flowers and cat-birds and trees can't be wrong,
The time will seem only more tiresome and long
If we spend it complaining, and weeping, and wailing.







THOSE readers of ST. NICHOLAS who were so
fortunate as to wander through the long aisles of
the Centennial Exhibition in 1876, will perhaps
remember the South African section. It sticks in
my memory on account of two things: One, a
small, heavy stone ring used by the savage Bush-
men; and the other, the ostrich-hatching oven.
Everybody knows what an ostrich looks like,-a
bird standing as high upon its legs as a pony, and
holding a very small and stupid-looking head upon
a neck as long as its legs. As though all the
feather-material in the bird's make-up had been
needed for the plumes, the whole head and neck
are almost bare, being sprinkled with only a few
poor bits of down and hair in place of feathers,
while the legs are positively naked. Even the
gaunt body is but imperfectly clothed, and the tail'
is ridiculously bobbed. But in two rows on the
wings, and falling over the root of the tail, is a
wealth of plumage that makes up for all these
deficiencies,-masses of black, white, and gray
feathers of large size and graceful curve, crowding
one another in exquisitely soft drapery, all the

on the desert; and they were perhaps the first orna-
ments in the hair of those old 'wild ancestors of
ours who lived long before written history began.
There are two sorts of ostriches,-some natural-
ists say more,-both living in open country. One,
the African "camel" ostrich, dwells in the Sahara
deserts of the northern half of that continent, and
in the wide dry plains at the south. The other,
the "cassowary," belongs to the sterile pampas of
Patagonia. Besides this, the sandy barrens of Aus-
tralia have been, or are now, the homes of some-
what similar birds, of gigantic stature.
Ostriches are runners. They have no wings
worth mention, and can no more fly than the
jackals that chase them. Hardly raising their
wings, then, but only taking enormous strides with
their long and muscular legs, they will outstrip any
but a fast horse, and, unlike the swift antelopes,
they have endurance enough to continue the race
a long time. Very wary in some respects, while
excessively stupid in others, ostriches can not be
killed easily without stratagem, and the natives
of the countries which they inhabit, therefore, prac-


more beautiful because surprising in a creature
so uncouth in every other feature. These graceful
ornaments are the ostrich plumes."
From the very earliest times these great, soft,
drooping feathers attracted the eyes of the men-or
possibly the women first !-who found them dropped

tice various devices to entrap them, or to get near
enough to shoot them. In one of these plans, the
hunter stiffens out the skin of an ostrich so that
its head stands up pretty naturally, and then, put-
ting the skin over his head and shoulders, he' ap-
proaches a flock slowly, making them believe that




it is simply another bird coming up, until he is
within arrow-range. When but slightly wounded,
however, the ostrich is a dangerous animal to get
near to, since a blow with its foot has force enough
to knock a man down or to break his leg.
The Indians who inhabit the dreary, wind-swept,
treeless and chilling plains of Patagonia, depend
upon their ostrich'for a large part of their food and
clothing, and hunt it in a most exciting way. They
own herds of tough and hardy ponies, that are
swift of. foot for a short distance, and very clever at
hunting. They have also any number of fleet-
footed mongrel dogs. When they discover one or
two, or, rarely, a group of cassowaries, they en-
deavor, by creeping along behind ridges, to get as

near as possible to the game without alarming it.
Meanwhile, they throw aside their fur capes, and
detach from the saddle their bolas, ready for use.
The bolas are their weapons, and consist of two or
sometimes three balls of lead-frequently, simply
stones-covered with leather, and united by thongs
about four feet long.

When the Indian finds he can steal up no nearer
to the ostrich, he spurs his horse and gives open
chase. Grasping the thong of his bolas, he swings
them rapidly around his head, and, as he comes
close to his game, lets them fly. They strike the
bird, twine around its body and legs, and throw
it down. Before it can get free, the Indian has
ridden up, and dispatched it with a knife or club.
It requires great skill to hurl the bolas well; but
when, mounted upon a wild Pampas-pony, you are
racing over the breezy plains after the swift-fleeing
bird and the close-pursuing hounds, you feel that
nothing can stir the blood into keener action or can
better be called sport.
The nests of ostriches vary greatly, though
always built on the ground. Generally,
a high, dry spot is selected, where there
is plenty of herbage, which may be
heaped into a rim around a depression
scratched out by the feet. But some
birds will choose a most ill-judged site,
where the eggs may be drowned in a
pool during the first rain-storm. Again,
for some nests you must search long and
closely, while others are placed in the
-- most open positions. As a rule, it is
the male that builds the nest, and he
also sits the longest, and always at
night, the female taking her turn dur-
ing the day-time. In the care of the
eggs the birds differ greatly, some being
extremely anxious lest their treasures
shall suffer exposure; or be interfered
with, while others seem entirely careless
about what may happen. So, too, one
1 ostrich will defend his nest or young
S family to the last extremity of his
Strength, while another will desert his
home or brood before an enemy in the
most cowardly manner. Remembering
these individual differences, one of the
farmers at the Cape gave as his reason
for enjoying the cultivation of the birds,
that he never could make out their
characters, and so was constantly amused
by some novelty in their behavior.
The dozen or two eggs that are laid
by the ostrich are precisely like turkeys'
eggs in color, but of greater size. One
would hold three pints of water or mil-
let, and when fresh, they are good to eat. But
to the Indian or the Bushman, these eggs are
chiefly valuable for their thick shells, out of
which he makes his cups and pitchers and water-
jars. In South Africa, particularly, water is ex-
tremely scarce and precious. The wild natives,
therefore, empty the eggs through small holes, and



S -.--_----' -


fill the shells with water, corking up the orifices.
When they are going on a journey, they make net-
bags out of twine, formed from bark or rushes, and

day's journey in the sun, they bury the corked
shells in the ground for an hour or two.
For the first three or four days after coming out




inclose each- shell in a bag. Thus inclosed and of the shell, we are told, the chicks eat nothing
protected in the netting, the stout egg-shells can whatever, "but sit on their haunches and imbibe
be tied together and safely carried over a man's their first impressions of nature." It would be a

shoulder, or on the backs of oxen; and, in these curious thing to know just how the world looks to a
ways, ostrich-egg shells supply drinking-water for baby ostrich; the first things eaten are not food,
long trips across the desert. To cool it, after a but pebbles, sand, and bits of the shells from which
VOL. VIII.-38.





the birds have recently been hatched. Later, they
take mouthfuls of grass, then begin to snatch up
insects and lizards, and meanwhile are becoming
expert in the art of suddenly disappearing at a
warning cry from the watchful parent. "This
they do by diving under a bush where possible,
and lying on the ground with their bodies as flat
as possible, and their necks stretched out upon
the earth. Here they lie motionless as a lump
of clay-and not unlike it in appearance, even to
the practiced eye-until the danger is over." Such
native wisdom is early supplemented in their infant
brains, however, by the farmer's lessons.
Sometimes a stout young ostrich serves as sad-
dle-horse for a rider as adventurous as a Bushboy.
It is strong and fleet enough for the purpose,
but too stupid to be guided satisfactorily, or to be
trusted not to run away and perhaps spill the
rider. In the Zoological Gardens of London,* chil-
dren are sometimes allowed to ride upon ostriches,
in the care of an attendant. They are said by
the people of the Cape of Good Hope to be very
gentle and funny as pets, though full of mischief.
But I am forgetting the promise of my title-to
describe ostrich-farming.
The ostrich-farm is a South African idea, and
has become a great industry at the Cape colony.
It is said to have been founded by accident.
Formerly the supplying of plumes was almost wholly
in the hands of the Arab traders, who traveled
throughout the interior of Africa, and English
merchants at the Cape had little hold upon it,
though prices were high and great profits possi-
ble. The Arab dealers would bring to the coast
from the interior, also, many ostriches' eggs to sell
in the villages as food, or to send to Europe as
ornaments, often with odd, elaborate carvings upon
the shells. The story goes that one day, about
twenty-five years ago, an Algerian trader, having
a heavier cargo than he could carry, left a few
eggs in a cupboard adjoining a bakery in the vil-
lage. Two months afterward, he was astonished
to find there a chick for every egg he had left. Of
course, the young ostriches were dead, but it was
evident that they had been artificially hatched
by the warmth from the neighboring fire. A
French army officer, hearing this fact, set himself
to learn whether he could regularly hatch out
the eggs in an artificial oven or incubator," and
afterward raise the young birds until they should
grow of a size to bear salable feathers; and at last
he succeeded.
It was hardly to be expected that the slow-
going people of Algiers should turn the discovery
to profit at once, but a wide-awake Englishman
heard of it and immediately tried the experiment
in South Africa, for there were plenty of ostrich-

eggs to be had there, and he knew that success
would bring him plenty of money. The experiment
led to many improvements upon the first one,
until now ostrich-farming is a well-settled business;
and of the several millions of dollars' worth of
plumes exported from Africa every year, the Cape
colony sends over three-quarters, wholly of artificial
production, and procured from about half a million
of tame birds.
The ostrich-farmer begins by having an immense
grassy range inclosed by fences, which need be
neither high nor stout. Then he buys a few birds
from another farmer, for which he pays from one
hundred to five hundred dollars apiece, builds his
hatching-machine, or incubator, and is ready.
Incubators are of various patterns, but all are
intended to serve the same purpose, namely, to
imitate just as closely as possible the natural
warmth of the bird when sitting. To accomplish
this, a large chest or bureau is built, in which vats
of hot water are arranged across the whole breadth.
Between these vats are sets of sliding boxes, or
drawers. In these are laid the eggs, wrapped in
flannel, and then, by a system of screws, the
drawers are placed close up under the hot-water
vats. It sounds easy, but six weeks are required
to hatch out the chicks, and we are told that
"during all this period, three times each day, the
farmer must turn the eggs, so as to present first
one side and then another to the life-bringing
warmth. He must follow nature as closely as pos-
sible, for the degrees of heat'and moisture, and the
like, must be just right, or otherwise mischief is
done. He must, moreover, with delicate care,
when the proper moment comes, assist the young
chick to free itself from the shell, and then he
must tenderly nurse the bird during its early help-
less days."
The young ostriches, after three or four days,
eat all sorts of green food, and are regularly fed
and cared for by a servant-thirty or forty young-
sters keeping one man busy. They are tame and
gentle enough, and when they get fairly grown are
so hardy that no more anxiety is felt about their
health, and they are turned out upon the great
ranch to shift for themselves, excepting in times of
unusual drought, when they must be fed. They
eat nearly everything edible, and comical stories
are told of their appetite and powers of digestion.
I read the other day that an ostrich at the Gar-
den of Plants, Paris, having accidentally strangled
itself, the stomach was opened and was found to
contain fifteen pebbles, seven nails, a scarf-pin, an
envelope, a franc piece and thirteen sous in copper
money, two keys, a piece of a pocket-handkerchief
with the letter "R embroidered on it, a medal
of Leo XIII., and a cross of the Legion of Honor.

* And in the Bois de Boulogne, Paris; see ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1874.







The poor birds at the Cape do not get such luxu-
rious fare, but must confine themselves to pebbles,
of which, says a recent writer, as many as nine
hundred have been found in a single bird's gizzard !
These hard substances are swallowed to assist the
crushing of the food and so make the process of
digestion easier. Our domestic fowls follow the
same plan on a small scale.
On the wide range of a Cape farm, the birds can
build nests and lay eggs as though in a wild state,
and in the spring it is a part of the farm-work to
find these eggs and take them to be artificially
hatched. This is not only difficult, but sometimes
perilous; for the ostrich, although usually timid
and inoffensive, will now and then defend his nest
with great courage, and so becomes a dangerous
enemy for an unarmed and perhaps unmounted
man. Many a negro has been killed by a blow
in the chest or face from the sharp-clawed foot.
The whole object of ostrich-culture being the
plumes, the pluckings of the birds are the most
important events of the year; these occur twice.
Sometimes a bird will be ready when only a year
old, but generally another six months are added
to its age before the first plucking. The operation
is performed in two ways. One is a rough-and-
tumble method, requiring the help of six men, but
this plan is less often followed than in former years,
because, in the violent struggles with the birds,
some injury frequently happens to the pluckers,
and sometimes a leg of an ostrich is broken, in

which case the bird has to be killed, however
valuable it may be.
On large farms, where there are plenty of birds,
a more humane plan is pursued. Mounted men
collect a herd' of the birds to be plucked, and partly
drive, partly entice, them into a small yard or
"corral," by a liberal supply of Indian corn, called
mealiess" in South Africa. The corral, or pen,
has a movable side, and when it is full this side is
run in, and the birds are crowded so close together
that they can not spread their wings nor kick.
The men then go among them and pluck or cut the
feathers. The operation seems to have little pain
for the birds, and the feathers begin to grow again
at once." There seems to be no limit to the time
when feathers will be reproduced, birds eighteen or
twenty years old still yielding plentifully. A good
pair of breeding ostriches is now worth a thousand
dollars, and feathers sell for three hundred and
fifty dollars a pound, numbering from seventy-five
to one hundred plumes, sorted according to color,
those from the female being usually lightest. The
feathers of the Patagonian ostrich are far inferior,
and do not bring anything like so high a price.
And all the skill and fatigue of the hunter, all
the risk, trouble, painstaking, patient care, and
close observation of the ostrich-farmer, are given
in order that the ladies of America and Europe
may add the handsome flowing plumes of this
ungainly bird to the already vast and varied store
of ornaments for bonnets and dresses.




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THE impulse which had sent Ned and me head-
long toward Jimmy's home as soon as we heard
of the accident, found itself exhausted when we
reached the gate. As if by concert, we both came
to a dead halt.
"What shall we do?" said Ned. "If Jimmy
were alive we could whistle and call him out; or we
right even go and knock at the door. But I don't
know how to go into a house where somebody 's
dead. I wish we had gone first and asked Jack-in-
the-Box what was the right way to do."
"Perhaps Jimmy is n't dead," said I. "There 's
no black crape on the door."

"That does n't prove it," said Ned; "for
Jimmy's folks might not have any crape in the
While we were still debating what was proper
to be done, the front door opened, and Jack-in-the-
Box came out.
"You're the very boy-I mean man-I wanted
to see," said Ned, running up to him, and speaking
in a whisper.
"That's fortunate," said Jack. "What can I
do for you?"
"Why, you see," said Ned, "we came right
over here as sopn as we heard about Jimmy. But
we don't know the right way to go into a house
where anybody 's dead. We never did it before."
"Jimmy is n't dead," said Jack.
Ned gave a great bound. I suppose that perhaps

* Copyright, 188o, by Rossiter Johnson. All rights reserved.




he felt as if he had been suddenly acquitted of a
charge of murder.
Oh, Jack, how lovely !" said he, and threw his
arms around Jack's neck. "But I suppose he
must be hurt, though ?"
"Yes," said Jack, "he's pretty badly hurt."
Still, if he 's alive, we can do something for
him," said Ned.
Oh certainly," said Jack. "A great deal can
be done for him-a great deal has been done
already. But I think you 'd better not go in to see
him just yet. Wait a few days, until he has
become stronger," and Jack hurried away.
We still lingered before the house, and presently
a little girl came out, eyed us curiously, and then
went to swinging on the chain which supported the
weight that kept the gate shut. "You don't seem
to go along," said she, after a while.
We made no answer.
"Did you want to know about my brother
Jimmy ?" said she, after another pause.
"Yes," said I, "we'd be glad to hear all about
"Well, I'11 tell you all about it," said she.
"Jimmy 's hurt very bad-because he was runned
over by a wagon-because he got in the way-
because he did n't see it-because a gentleman
wanted a paper on the other side of the street-
because Jimmy was selling them-because he
wanted to get money-because he had to pay a
great lot of it to a naughty, ugly boy that lives
over that way somewhere-because he just touched
one of that boy's old things, and it fell right to
pieces. And he said Jimmy 'd got to pay money
for it, and should n't come in his house any more.
And Jimmy was saving all his money to pay; and
he's got two dollars and a half already from the
papers, besides a dollar that Isaac Holman gave
him to write a poem for him. And that makes
almost five dollars, I guess."
"Let's go home," said Ned.
But I lingered to ask one question of the talk-
ative little maiden.
"What poem did Jimmy write for Isaac
"I don't know," she answered. "It's the only
poem Jimmy ever would n't read to me. He said
it was very particular, and he must n't let any-
body see it."
A literary light dawned in upon me, as we
walked away.
Ned was silent for a long time. At last he spoke.
I feel sick," said he.
"What's the matter?" said I.
The matter is," said he, "that everybody seems
to be trying to make out that it's all my fault that
Jimmy got hurt."

"Patsy Rafferty and Jimmy's sister are not
everybody," said I.
"Of course not; but they only talk what. they
hear other people say."
I suppose you were a little to blame," said I.
"Perhaps I was," said Ned, "and I wish I could
do something for him. I'd get any amount of
money from Aunt Mercy-if money would do him
any good."
As our way home led us past Jack's box, I sug-
gested that we stop and consult him about it.
"Jack," said Ned, "please tell us exactly how it
is about Jimmy."
"The poor boy is fearfully hurt," said Jack.
One leg is broken, and the other badly bruised."
"Do you know of anything we can do for him?"
"What do you think of doing ?" said Jack.
If money was wanted," said Ned, and the tears
started in his eyes, "I could get him any amount."
Jack drummed with his fingers on the arm of
his chair, and said nothing for some moments.
Then he spoke slowly: I doubt if the family
would accept a gift of money from any source."
"Could n't I, at least, pay the doctor's bill?"
"You might," said Jack.
Yes, of course," said Ned; I can go to the
doctor privately, and tell him not to charge them
a cent, and we '11 pay him. That 's the way to do
it. What doctor do they have ?"
"Dr. Grill."
"Dr. Grill! Ned repeated in astonishment.
"Why, Dr. Grill does n't know anything at all.
Father says somebody said if a sick man was made
of glass, and had a Drummond light in his
stomach, Dr. Grill could n't see what ailed him."
"We don't need a Drummond light to see what
ails Jimmy," said Jack, quietly.
"Still," said Ned, "he ought to have a good
doctor. Can't you tell them to get Dr. Campbell?
Father says he has tied the croaking artery nine-
teen times. Dr. Campbell is the man for my
money But how queer it must feel to have nine-
teen hard knots tied in your croaking artery. Do
you think Jimmy's croaking artery will have to be
tied up, Jack? If it has, I tell you what, Dr.
Campbell 's the man to do it."
Jack laughed immoderately. But Ned was not
the only person who ever made himself ridiculous
by recommending a physician too enthusiastically.
I don't see what you 're laughing at," said he.
It seems to me it 's a pretty serious business."
I was only laughing at a harmless little mis-
take of yours," said Jack. "When you said 'the
croaking artery,' I presume you meant the carotid
artery-this one here in the side of the neck."
If that 's the right name of it, that 's what I
meant," said Ned.






And when your father said Dr. Campbell had
tied it nineteen' times," continued Jack, "he
did n't mean that he had tied nineteen hard knots
in one person's, but that he had had occasion to tie
the artery in nineteen different persons."
And will Jimmy's have to be tied ?" said Ned.
"As the carotid artery is in the neck, and Jim-
my's injuries are all in his legs, I should say not,"
said Jack.
Of course not; I might have thought of that,"
said Ned. "'But you see, Jack, I don't know
much about doctor-things anyway, and to-day I
don't know what I do know, for everybody 's been
saying I 'm to blame for Jimmy's hurt, and mak-
ing me feel like a murderer. I 'll do whatever you
say, Jack. If you say run for Dr. Campbell, I '11
go right away."
"I think Dr. Grill will do everything that
ought to be done," said Jack. There 's nothing
you can do now, but perhaps we can think of
something when Jimmy begins to get well."
Then you think he will get well?" said Ned.
I hope he will," said Jack.
"I tell you what it is," said Ned, as we con-
tinued our walk toward home, "that Jack-in-the-
Box is the nicest fellow that ever waved a flag.
Sometimes I think he knows more than Father
A day or two later, Ned went to see his aunt,
and I went with him.
"Aunt Mercy," said he, "one of the best boys
in this town has got badly hurt-run over down by
the depot-and his folks are so poor I don't see
what they're going to do."
"Yes, I heard about it," said Aunt Mercy. "It
was that brother of yours who was to blame."
Oh no, Aunty, Fay had nothing to do with it,"
said Ned.
"Don't tell me, child; I know all about it. Miss
Pinkham came to call on me, and told me the whole
story. She said the poor little fellow tipped over
a type or something, and one of those Rogers boys
drove him away, and made him go and sell papers
under the wheels of the cars and omnibuses, to get
money to pay for it. Of course I knew which one
it was, but I did not say anything, I felt so mortified
for the family."
It is difficult to say what answer Ned ought to
have made to this. To try to convince his aunt that
Miss Pinkham's version of the story was incorrect,
would have been hopeless; to plead guilty to the
indictment as it stood, would have been unjust to
himself; to leave matters as they were, seemed
unjust to his brother. And above all was the
consideration that if he should vex his aunt he
would probably lose the whole object of his visit-
getting help for Jimmy. He remained silent.



"What were you going to say, Edmund Burton,
about poor Jimmy Redmond?" said his aunt.
"I was going to say," Ned answered, "that I
wished I could help him a little by paying his
doctor's bill, and not let him know anything
about it."
"You lovely, kind boy!" exclaimed Aunt
Mercy. "As soon as you find out what the
doctor's bill is, come to me, and I '11 furnish you
the money."
Jimmy had the best of care; Mrs. Rogers did
a great deal, in a quiet, almost unnoticeable way,
to add to his comforts; and, after a while, it was
announced that he might receive short visits from
the boys.
Phaeton, Ned, and I were his first visitors. We
found him still lying in bed, in a little room
where the sunbeams poured in at a south window,
but not till they had been broken into all sorts of
shapes by the foliage of a wistaria, the shadows
of which moved with every breeze to and fro across
a breadth of rag carpet.
The walls were ornamented with a dozen or
twenty pictures-some of them out of old books and
papers, and some drawn and painted in water-colors
by Jimmy himself-none of them framed. The
water-colors were mainly illustrations of his own
poems. I am not able to say whether they pos-
sessed artistic merit, for I was a boy at the time,
and of course a boy, who only knows what pleases
him, cannot be expected to know what is artistic and
ought to please him. But some of them appeared
to me very wonderful, especially one that illus-
trated "The Unlucky Fishermen." It was at the
point where Joe and Isaac were trying to catch
a ride behind an omnibus. Not only did the heroes
themselves appear completely tired out by their
long day of fruitless fishing, but the dog looked
tired, the 'bus horses were evidently tired, the driver
was tired, the boy who called out "Whip behind "
was tired-even the 'bus itself had a tired look;
and this general air of weariness produced a won-
derful unity of effect.
Jimmy looked so pale' and ill, as he lay there,
that we were all startled, and Ned seemed actually
frightened. He lost control of himself, and broke
out passionately:
"Oh, Jimmy, dear Jimmy, you must n't die!
We can't have you die We 'll get all the doc-
tors in the city, and buy you everything you need,
only don't die!"
Here he thrust his hand into his pocket, and
brought out two silver dollars.
"Take them, Jimmy, take them!" said he,
"just to please me. And we don't care anything
about the type you pied. I 'd rather pi half
the type in the office than see your leg broken;


We can't any of us spare you. Live, Jimmy, live!
and you may be proof-reader in our office,-we
need one dreadfully, Jack-in-the-Box says so,-
and you know pretty nearly everything, and can
soon learn the rest, and we '11 get you the green
shade for your eyes, and you 're awful round-sho-
that is-I mean-in fact, I think you 're the very
man for i. And you can grow up with the busi-
ness, and always have a good place. And then,
Jimmy, if you want to use your spare time in
setting up your poems, you may, and change them
just as much as you want to, and we wont charge
you a cent for the use of the type."
Ned certainly meant this for a generous offer,
and Jimmy seemed to consider it so; but if he
could have taken counsel of some of the sad-faced
men who have spent their lives in reading proof, I
think, perhaps, he would have preferred to die,
rather than to always have the good place" that
his repentant friend had proposed for him.
Ned had scarcely finished his apostrophe, when
Jimmy's little sister brought in a beautiful bouquet,
sent by Miss Glidden to brighten up the sick boy's
Looking around, we saw that other friends had
been equally thoughtful. Isaac Holman had sent
a basket of fruit; Monkey Roe, a comic almanac,
three or four years old, but just as funny; Jack-in-
the-Box, a bottle of cordial; and Patsy Rafferty, a
small bag of marbles.
"How do you amuse yourself, Jimmy?" said
"I don't have much amusement," answered
Jimmy; "but still I can write a little."
"Poetry?" said Phaeton.
"Oh, yes," said Jimmy; "I write very little
except poetry. There 's prose enough in the
world already."
"Perhaps," said Phaeton, after a short pause,
if you feel strong enough, you '11 read us your
latest poem."
"Yes, if you'd like to hear it," said Jimmy.
"Please pull out a box that you'11 see under the
head of my bed here."
Phaeton thrust his arm under, and pulled out a
pine box, which was fastened with a small brass
The key is under the Dying Hound," said
Looking around the walls, we saw that one of
Jimmy's pictures represented a large dog dying,
and a little boy and girl weeping'over it. Whether
the picture was intended to illustrate the death of
Gelert, or of some other heroic brute, I do not
know. The corner of this picture being lifted,
disclosed a small key, hung over the head of a
carpet-tack, driven into the wall.

When the box was opened, we saw that it was
nearly full of manuscripts.
"The last one," said Jimmy, who could not turn
from his one position on the bed, "is written on
blue paper, with a piece torn off from the upper
right-hand corner."
Phaeton soon found it, and handed it to Jimmy.
"It is called an 'Ode to a Horseshoe'-that
one over the door," said Jimmy. "I found it in
the road the day before I was hurt, and brought
it right home, and put it up there."
"Then it has n't brought you much good luck,
so far, has it?" said Phaeton.
I don't know about that," said Jimmy. It 's
true I was hurt the very next day; but something
seems to have brought me a great many good
"Oh! you always had those, horseshoe or no
horseshoe," said Ned.
"I'm glad if I did," said Jimmy; "though I
never suspected it. But now I should like to read
you the poem, and get your opinions on it; because
it's in a different vein from most of my others."
And then Jimmy read us his verses:

THOU relic of departed horse!
Thou harbinger of luck to man!
When things seem growing worse and worse,
How good to find thee in the van!
A hundred thousand miles, I ween,
You've traveled on the flying heel-
By country roads, where fields were green,
O'er pavements, with the rattling wheel
Your toe-calk, in that elder day,
Was sharper than a serpent's tooth;
But now it's almost worn away;
The blacksmith should renew its youth.
Bright is the side was next the ground,
And dark the side was next the hoof;
'T is thus true metal's only found
Where hard knocks put it to the proof.
For aught I know, you may have done
Your mile in two nineteen or twenty;
Or, on a dray-horse, never run,
But walked and walked, and pulled a plenty.
At last your journeys all are o'er,
Whether of labor or of pleasure,
And there you hang above my door,
To bring me health and strength and treasure.

When the reading was finished we all remained
silent, until Jimmy spoke.
"I should like to have you give me your opinions
about it," said he. "Don't be afraid to criticise it.
Of course, there must be faults in it."
That's an awful good moral about the hard
knocks," said I.
"Yes," said Phaeton, "it might be drawn from
Jimmy's own experience. And, as he says, the
poem does seem to be in a new vein. I noticed a




good many words that were different from any in
his other pieces."
"That," said Jimmy, "is because I 've been
studying some of the older poets lately. Jack-in-
the-Box lent me Shakespeare, and I got three or
four others from the school library. Probably they
have had an effect on my style."
Ned walked to the door, and, standing tiptoe,
looked intently at the horseshoe.
"One thing is certain," said he, "that passage
about the toe-calk is perfectly true to nature. The

because it 's such a good poem, and I enjoyed it
so much; but it seems to me you've strained the
truth a little where you say 'a hundred thousand
miles.' "
"How so?" said Jimmy.
"Calculate it for yourself," said Ned. "No
horse is likely to travel more than about fifty miles
a day. And if he did that every day, he 'd go
three hundred miles in a week. At that rate, it
would take him more than six years to travel a
hundred thousand miles. But no shoe lasts a horse


toe-calk is nearly worn away, and the heel-calks
are almost as bad."
"It's a good poem," said I. "I don't see how
you could make it any better."
"Nor I," said Phaeton. "It tells the whole
I'm glad you like it," said Jimmy. I felt a
little uncertain about dipping into the lyric strain."
"Yes," said Ned; there 's just one spot where
it shows the strain, and I don't see another thing
wrong about it."
"What's that?" said Jimmy,
"Perhaps we'd better not talk about it till you
get well," said Ned.
"Oh, never mind that," said Jimmy. "I don't
need my legs to write poetry with, or to criticise it,
"Well," said Ned, 'I hate to find fault with it,

six years-nor one year, even. So, you see, this
could n't have traveled a hundred thousand miles.
That's why I say the lyric strain is strained a little
too much."
"I see," said Jimmy. "You are undoubtedly
right. I shall have to soften it down to a dozen
thousand, or something like that."
"Yes," said Ned; "soften it down. When
that's done the poem will be perfect."
At this point, Phaeton said he thought we had
staid as long as we ought to, and should be going.
"I wish, Jimmy," said Ned, "you'd let me take
this poem and read it to Jack-in-the-Box. I know
he would enjoy it."
"I 've no objection," said Jimmy. "And if
you can find time some day to print it for me,
here 's two dollars to pay for the job," and he
thrust Ned's money back into his hand.



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"All right!" said Ned, as he saw that Jimmy
would not accept the money, and yet did not want
to refuse it rudely. "We'll try to make a hand-
some job of it. Perhaps some day it will be
printed on white satin, and hung up in the Em-
peror of China's palace, like-whose poem was it
Father told about, the other day, Fay?"
"Derzhavin's," said Phaeton.
Yes, Derzhavin's, whoever he was !" said Ned.
"And this one of Jimmy's ought to have a horse-
shoe embroidered in gold thread on the corner of
the satin. But those funny ladies with slant eyes
and little club feet will have to do that. I suppose
they have n't much else to keep them busy, as
they're not able to do any housework. It might
have a small gold horseshoe on each of the four
corners, or it might have one big horseshoe sur-
rounding the poem. Which would you like best,
Jimmy ?"
"I've no choice; either would suit me," said
the poet.
"Good-bye, Jimmy!"
Good-bye, boys !"

EVERY day some one of us called to see Jimmy.
He was well taken care of, and got along nicely.
Jack-in-the-Box lent him books, and each day a
fresh bouquet was sent in by Miss Glidden.
One day Monkey Roe called on him.
"Jimmy," said he, "you know all about poetry,
I suppose."
"I know something about it," said Jimmy. "I
have written a good deal."
"And are you well enough yet to do an odd job
in it?"
"Oh, yes," said Jimmy. "A fellow does n't
have to be very well to write poetry."
"It is n't exactly writing poetry that I want
done," said Monkey. "It's a very odd job, in-
deed. You might call it repairing poetry. Do
poets ever repair poetry, as well as make it new?"
"I don't know," said Jimmy. "I should think
it might be done in some cases."
"Well, now," said Monkey, "I have a broken
poem. Some part of every line is gone. But the
rhymes are all there, and many of the other words,
and most of the beginnings of the lines. I thought
a poet would know how to fill up all the blank
spaces, and make it just as it was when it was
"I don't know," said Jimmy, doubtfully. "It
might be possible to do it, and it might not. I '11
do what I can for you. Let me see it, if you have
it with you."

Monkey pulled out of his pocket the mutilated
poem of Holman's, which Ned had pieced together,
and, after smoothing it out, handed it to Jimmy.
As Jimmy looked it over, he turned every color
which it is possible for an unhappy human coun-
tenance to assume, and then gave a deep groan.
"Where did you get this, Monkey ?" said he.
"Found it," said Monkey.
"Found it-impossible !" said Jimmy.
Upon my word I did find it, and just in the
shape you see it now. But what of it?"
"Where did you find it ?" said Jimmy.
"In Rogers's printing-office, kicking around on
the floor. It seemed to be thrown away as waste
paper; so I thought there was no harm in taking
it. And when I read it, it looked to me like a
curious sort of puzzle, which I thought would
interest you. But you seem to take it very
It's a serious matter," said Jimmy.
No harm done, I hope," said Monkey.
"There may be," said Jimmy. "I can't tell.
Some things about it I can't understand. I must
ask you to let me keep this."
"If it 's so very important," said Monkey, "it
ought to be taken back to Phaeton Rogers, as it
was in his office that I found it."
"No," said Jimmy; "it does n't belong to him."
"Then you know something about it?" said
"Yes, Monkey," said Jimmy, I do know con-
siderable about it. But it is a confidential matter
entirely, and I shall have to insist on keeping this."
"All right !" said Monkey. "I'll take your
word for it."
A few days after this, we were visiting Jack in
his box, when, as he was turning over the leaves of
his scrap-book to find something he wanted to
show us, Phaeton exclaimed:
"What's that I saw?" and, turning back a leaf
or two, pointed to an exact fac-simile of the
mutilated poem. It had evidently been made by
laying a sheet of oiled paper over the original, and
tracing the letters with a pencil.
Oh, that," said Jack, is something that Mon-
key Roe brought here. He said it was a literary
puzzle, and wanted me to see if I could restore the
lines. I 've been so busy I have n't tried it yet."
Phaeton at once wrote a, note to Monkey, asking
him to bring back the original; whereupon Monkey
called at the office and explained why he could
not return it.
"All right! I'll see Jimmy about it myself,"
said Phaeton. "But have you made any other
tracings of it besides the one Jack-in-the-Box
has ? "
Only two others," said Monkey.




"Where are they?"
"One I have at home."
"And the other?"
I sent it to Miss Glidden, with a note saying
that, as I had heard she wrote poetry sometimes,
I thought she might be interested, in this poetical
"Good gracious !" said Phaeton. There 's no
use in trying to dip up that spilled milk."

In those days there was an excitement and
pleasure enjoyed by many boys, which was denied
to Phaeton, Ned, and me. This was the privilege
of running to fires. Nearly all large fires occurred
in the night, and Mr. Rogers would not permit
his boys to turn out from their warm beds and run
at breathless speed to the other side of the town
to see a building burned. So they had to lie still
and possess their souls in impatience while they
heard the clanging of the bells and the rattling
of the engine, and perhaps saw through their
window the bright reflection on the midnight sky.
There was no need for my parents to forbid me,
since none of these things ever woke me.
Running to fires, at least in cities, is now a thing
of the past. The alarm is communicated quietly
by telegraph to the various engine-houses, a team
is instantly harnessed to the engine, and with two
or three men it is driven to the fire, which is often
extinguished without the inhabitants of the next
street knowing that there has been a fire at all.
At the time of this story, the steam fire-engine
had not been invented, and there were no paid
fire departments. The hand-engine had a long
pole on each side, called a brake, fastened to a
frame that worked up and down like a pump-han-
dle. When the brake on one side was down, that
on the other was up. The brakes were long enough
for nearly twenty men to stand in a row on each
side and work them. No horses were used, but
there was a long double rope, called a drag-rope,
by which the men themselves drew the engine
from its house to the fire. They always ran at
full speed, and the two men who held the tongue,
like the tongue of a wagon, had to be almost as
strong as horses, to control and guide it as it went
bumping over the pavement.
Each engine had a number and a name, and
there was an organized company, of from forty
to seventy men, who had it in charge, managed it
at fires, drew it out on parade-days, took pride in
it, and bragged about it.
The partiality of the firemen for their own engine
and company was as nothing in comparison with
that of the boys. Every boy in town had a violent
affection for some one company, to the exclusion of
all others. It might be because his father or his

cousin belonged to that company, or because he
thought it had the handsomest uniform (for no
two companies were uniformed alike), or because
it was first on the ground when his uncle's store
was on fire, or because he thought it was the com-
pany destined to "wash all others. Sometimes
there would be no discoverable reason for his
choice; yet the boy would be just as strong in his
partisanship, and often his highest ambition would
be to be able to run with the hose-cart of his favor-
ite company. The hose was carried wound on a
reel, that ran on two light wheels, and was man-
aged by six boys, fifteen or sixteen years of age.
When a fire broke out, the bells of all the
churches were rung; first slowly, striking one, two,
three, four, etc., according to which district of the
town the fire was in, and then clanging away with
rapid strokes. Thus the whole town was alarmed,
and a great many people besides the firemen ran to
every fire. Firemen jumped from their beds at the
first tap of a bell; or, if it was in the day-time,
threw down their tools, left their work, and ran.
There was intense rivalry as to which engine
should get first to the fire, and which should pour
the most effective stream of water upon it. But
the highest pitch of excitement was reached when
there was an opportunity to "wash." If the fire
was too far from the water-supply to be reached
through the hose of a single engine, one engine
would be stationed at the side of the river or canal,
or wherever the water was taken from, to pump it
up and send it as far as it could through its hose,
there discharging into the box of another engine,
which, in turn, forced it another distance, through
its own hose. If the first engine could send the
water -along faster than the second could dispose of
it, the result would be that in a few minutes the box
of the second would be overflowed, and she was
then said to be "washed," which was a great tri-
umph for the company that had washed her.
This sort of rivalry caused the firemen to do their
utmost, and they did not always confine themselves
to fair means. Sometimes, when an engine was in
danger of being washed, some member of the com-
pany would follow the line of the other company's
hose till he came to where it passed through a dark
place, and then, whipping out his pocket-knife,
would cut it open and run away. When there were
not enough members of a company present to man
the brakes, or when they were tired out, the fore-
man had the right to select men from among the
bystanders, and compel them to take hold.
Monkey Roe was a born fireman. He never
failed to hear the first tap of the bell, about ninety
seconds after which he dropped from the casement
of his window to the roof of the kitchen, thence to
the roof of the back piazza, slid down a pillar, and




was off for the fire, generally following in the wake
of Red Rover Three, which was the company he
sided with. It was entertaining to hear him tell his
exciting adventures; but it was also exasperating.
I don't see," said Ned, after Monkey had fin,
ished one of these thrilling narratives, "what
Father means by never letting us run to a fire.
How does he suppose he 's going to make men of
us, if we never begin to do anything manly ?"
"Perhaps he does n't think it is especially
manly," said Phaeton.
"Not manly! said Ned, in astonishment. "I
should like to know what's more manly than to
take the tongue of Big Six, when there's a tremen-
dous fire and they jump her all the way down State
street. Or to stand on the engine and yell at the
men, when Torrent Two is trying to wash her.
Why, sometimes the foreman gets so excited that
he batters his trumpet all to pieces, pounding on
the brakes, to cheer the men."
Knocking trumpets to pieces is very manly, of
course," said Phaeton, smiling. I did n't mean
to say Father would n't consider it manly to be
a fireman. What I should have said was, that
perhaps he thought there were other ways of be-
coming manly. I should like to run to a fire once
in a while ; not for the sake of manliness, but to
see the fun."
The more Ned thought about it, the more it
seemed to him it was a continuous wrong. At last
he spoke to his father about it, and set forth so
powerfully the danger of growing up without
becoming manly, that Mr. Rogers laughingly
told the boys they might run to the very next fire.
The next thing was to count me in. The only
difficulty to be overcome in my case was sleepiness.
We canvassed many plans. Ned suggested a pistol
fastened to the side of my window, with a string
tied to the trigger and reaching to the ground, so
that he or Phaeton could pull it, on their way to the
fire. The serious objection to this was that a
shower would prevent the pistol from going off. It
was also suggested that I have a bell, or tie the
cord to a chair or something that could be pulled
over and make a racket.
The objection to all those things is," said Pha-
eton, "that they will disturb the whole family.
Now, if you would make a rope-ladder, and hang
it out of your window every night, one of us could
climb up quietly and speak to you. Then you
could get through the window and come down the
ladder, instead of going through the house and
waking up the family."
This suggestion struck us with great force; it
doubled the anticipated romance. Under instruc-
tions from Phaeton,-Ned and I made the ladder.
In the store-room we found a bed-cord, which

answered well for the sides. The rungs must be
made of wood, and we had considerable difficulty
in finding anything suitable. Any wood that we
could have cut would have been so soft that the
rungs, to be strong enough, must have been very
bulky. This was an objection, as I was to roll up the
ladder in the day-time, and hide it under my bed.
At last, Ned came over to tell me he had found just
the thing, and took me to the attic of their house
to see.
"There," said he, pointing to half a dozen
ancient-looking chairs in a cobwebbed corner.
" There is exactly what we want. The rounds of
those old chairs are as tough as iron."
"Whose chairs are they ?" said I.
Oh, anybody's, nobody's," said Ned. "I sup-
pose they are a hundred years old. And who's
ever going to sit in such looking old things as
those ?"
It did seem preposterous to suppose that any-
body would; so we went to work to take out the
rounds at once. The old chairs were very strong,
and after we had pulled at them in vain to spring
them apart enough for the rounds to drop out,
we got a saw and sawed off all the rounds close
to the legs.
With these, the ladder was soon made, and I
drove two great spikes into the sill of my window,
to hang it by.
I used to hang out the ladder every night, and
take it in every morning. The first two nights
I lay awake till almost daylight, momentarily
expecting the stroke of the fire-bell. But it was
not heard on those nights, nor the next, nor the
It would be just like our luck," said Ned, if
there should never be another fire in this town."
It would be lucky for the town," said Phaeton,
who overheard him.
"Perhaps so," said Ned; "and yet I could point
out some houses that would look a great deal bet-
ter burned up. I wonder if it would do any good
to hang a horseshoe over the door."
What for ?" said Phaeton. To prevent them
from burning ?"
"Oh, no," said Ned. "I mean over the door
of our office, to-to-well, not exactly to make
those houses burn, but to bring us good luck
It did seem a long time for the town to be with-
out a conflagration, and one day Ned came into
the office looking quite dejected.
What do you think has happened now? said
he. Just like our luck, only worse and worse."
"What is it?" said I.
"The whole fire department's going to smash,"
said he.





"I should n't think you'd call that bad luck,"
said Phaeton. For now when there is a fire, it
will be a big one, if there's no fire department to
prevent it from spreading."
"But the best fun," said Ned, 'is to see the
firemen handle the fire, and to see Red Rover
Three wash Cataract Eight. I saw her do it
beautifully at annual inspection. What I want is
a tremendous big fire, and plenty of engines to
play on it."
The explanation of Ned's alarming intelligence
was that the fire department had got into a quarrel
with the common council, and threatened to dis-
band. One company, who had a rather shabby
engine-house, and were refused an appropriation
for a new one, tied black crape on the brakes of
their engine, drew it through the principal streets,
and finally, stopping right before the court-house
yard, lifted the machine bodily and threw it over
the fence into the yard. Then they threw their
fireman-hats after it, and disbanded. This com-
pany had been known as Reliance Five. The
incident frightened the common council into giving
the other companies what they asked for; but there
was never more a No. 5 Fire company in that city.
I had become pretty tired of hanging out my
ladder every night, and rolling it up every morning,
when at last "the hour of destiny struck," as
Jimmy the Rhymer might say-that is, the court-
house bell struck the third district, and steeple after
steeple caught up the tune, till, in a few minutes,
the whole air was full of the wild clangor of bells.
At the same time, the throats of innumerable men
and boys were open, and the cry of Fire !" was
pouring out from them in a continuous stream, as
the crowds rushed along.
"Wake up, Ned !" said Phaeton. Here it is
at last, and it's a big one."
Ned bounded to his feet, looked through the win-
dow, exclaimed Oh, glory!" as he saw the ruddy
sky, and then began to get into his clothes with the
utmost rapidity. Suddenly he stopped.
"Look here, Fay," said he. "This is Sunday
night. I 'm afraid Father wont let us go, after all."
"Perhaps not," said Phaeton.
Then, what must we do ?" said Ned.
"Do the best we can."
"The question is, what is 'best?" said Ned.
"It is evident we ought to go by the window, but
it's too high from the ground."
"Then we must make a rope," said Phaeton.
"What can we make it of?"
"The bedclothes, of course."
That 's a splendid idea!-that saves us," said
Ned, and he set about tying the sheets together.
Before Phaeton was dressed, Ned had made the
rope and cast it out of the window, first tying one

end to the bed-post, and, sliding down to the ground,
made off, without waiting for his brother.
He came straight to my ladder, and had his foot
on the first rung, when, a heavy hand was laid upon
his shoulder.
"So you're the one he sends in, are you ?" said a
deep voice, and Ned looked around into the face
of a policeman. I 'd rather have caught the old
one," he continued, "but you '11 do. I 've been
watching this burglar arrangement for two hours.
And by the way, I must have some of it for evi-
dence; the old one may take it away while I 'm
disposing of you." And he turned and with his
pocket-knife cut off about a yard of my ladder.





Holding this "evidence" in one hand and Ned
with the other, he hurried away to the police
It was useless for Ned to protest that he was not
a burglar, nor a burglar's partner, or to tell the




true story of the ladder, or to ask to be taken to his
father. The policeman considered himself too wise
for any such delusive tricks.
"Mr. Rogers's boy, eh ?" said he. "Why don't
you call yourself George Washington's boy, while
you 're about it ?"
Washington never had any boys," said Ned.
Did n't, eh? Well, now, I congratulate George
on that. A respectable man never knows what his
sons may come to, in these times."
"Washington did n't live in these times," said
Ned; "he died hundreds of years ago."
"Did, eh?" said the policeman. "I see that
you 're a great scholard; you can go above me in
the history class, young man. I never was no
scholard myself, but I know one when I see him;
and I always feel bad to put a scholard in quod."
"If I had my printing-office and a gun here,"
said Ned, I 'd put plenty of quads into you."
"Would, eh?" said the policeman. "Well,
now, it 's lucky for me that that there printing-office
and them 'ere quads are quietly reposing to-night
in the dusky realms of imagination, is n't it, young
man? But here 's the quod I spoke about-it's
reality, you see." And they ascended the steps
of the station-house.
In the midst of sound sleep, I woke on hearing
my name called, and saw the dark outlines of a
human head and shoulders at my window, projected
against a background of illuminated sky. I had
heard Father reading an article in the evening
paper about a gang of burglars being in the town,
and I suppose that in my half-wakened condition
that mingled itself vaguely in my thoughts with
the idea of fire. At any rate, I seized a pitcher of
water and threw its contents toward the light, and
then, clubbing the pitcher, was about to make a
desperate assault on the supposed burglar, when he
spoke again.
"What are you doing? Don't you know me?"
"Oh, is that you, Fay?"
"Yes, and you 've drenched me through and
through," said he, as he climbed in.
"That's too bad," said I. "I did n't know what
I was about."
It's a tremendous fire," said he, "and I hate
to lose the time to go back home and change
my clothes. Besides, I don't know that I could,
for we made a rope of the bedclothes and slid
down from our window, ,and I could n't climb
up again."

"Oh, never mind, put on a suit of mine," said I,
and got out my Sunday suit, the only clothes I had
that seemed likely to be large
i \enough for Phae-
Ston. It was a
pretty tight


but he got into i
them at last. TAKEN FOR A
Why did you BURGLAR.
make your ladder so short?" asked Phaeton, when
"It reaches to the ground," said I, peering out
of the window in surprise, but unable to see.
"No, it does n't," said Phaeton; "I had hard
work to get started on it. I expected to find Ned
standing at the foot of it, but he was so impatient
td see the fire, I suppose he could n't wait for us."
We dropped from the shortened ladder to the
ground, passed through the gate and shut it noise-
lessly behind us, and then broke into a run toward
that quarter of the town where both a pillar of flame
and a pillar of cloud rose through the night and
lured us on.
At the same time our mouths opened themselves
by instinct, and that thrilling word Fire was paid
out ceaselessly, like a sparkling ribbon, as we ran.

(To be continued.)






THE bees were too busy making honey,
The birds were too busy building nests,
To carry one morning a message grave
To Elfland, for one of the fairy-guests
(For this was before the butterflies
Had ever been thought of under the skies).

Then the vexed fairy who wished to send
The message, leaned from a lily-bell,
And in her tiny, silvery voice
She scolded poor old Dame Nature well:
Find us," said she, "a messenger light,
Or else we fairies troop home this night."

Dame Nature, who sat on a high green knoll,
Spinning away in the golden light,
Pushed her spectacles back on her brow,
And thought for a moment with all her might;
I must do something, for well I know
The flowers will pine if the fairies go "

Then some pansies she plucked and gave them wings,
A velvet poppy petal or two,
Streaked them with gold and set them afloat,
And they sailed away in the breezy blue.
And this is the way that Dame Nature wise
Fashioned the first of the butterflies.





IT is not often that a painter, or artist of any
kind, gives up nearly all his time to making pict-
ures for children, and yet we are going to tell you
something about one of the best artists of this cent-
ury, who has devoted a large portion of his life to
drawing pictures for children's books.
His, name is Ludwig Richter, and you may see
his picture on this page. He was born in Dresden,
Germany, in 1803, and, like most other good
artists, he showed his talent when he was very
young. But he did not begin at once to make
pictures for children. It often takes a long while
for people to find out what they can do best, and so
it was in Richter's case.
For some time he occupied himself in painting
beautiful little pictures on porcelain cups and
saucers and vases. Very fine ware of this kind
is made in Dresden, and it required excellent
artists to paint the exquisite pictures with
which it is decorated. So Richter, who had
studied a great deal, and had worked very
hard at his profession, was able to ornament
this Dresden ware very carefully and beauti-
fully, and the work that he put on it made it
more valuable than before he painted it.
He had taken a journey to Italy, and, in
order to have plenty of time to study and
to sketch the beautiful scenery through which
he passed, he walked all the way back.
Whenever he saw some fine trees, or a
pretty brook, or a nice little cottage, with
children playing about it, or anything that he
thought would make a good picture, he
stopped and made a sketch of it. And so,
when he reached home, he had a great
many sketches of real things, which he after-
ward used in the pictures he drew and painted.
Some artists draw people and houses and trees
and animals in their pictures from their recol-
lections.of such things, or they get their ideas
of them from other pictures.
But Richter makes his drawings directly
from nature, and that is one reason why they
are so good. Another reason is that he puts
some of his own kind and tender feeling into
his pictures. He tries to make the little children
in them look as good and happy as he would
always like little children to be.
Well, he did not always paint vases and cups
and such things. After a time, he turned his
attention to making pictures for books and maga-

zines. He drew these pictures on wood, and they
were then engraved and printed, and these are the
pictures which have caused him to become so
widely known, especially in Germany, his native
land, as the children's artist."
He was so successful in making drawings for
books intended for children that this soon became
his principal business. He has drawn all sorts of
pictures for all sorts of children-some for little
toddlers, and some for the big boys and girls; and
more than this, these pictures are so-good and true
that grown people take great delight in them.
Richter's drawings are sometimes religious, such as
the illustrations to the "Lord's Prayer," and some-
times lively and amusing, and they are almost
always filled with quaint and pretty fancies.

Some of Richter's pictures have been printed in
ST. NICHOLAS, and thousands of them have been
enjoyed by German little boys and girls, who like
them all the more, perhaps, because they can
easily see that it was among the children of his
father-land that their artist went for his models.





Some like it hot, some like it cold,
Some like it in the pot, nine days old."


I DON'T think that Mother Goose herself could
make better pease-porridge than Barbara. Indeed,
as Mother Goose was a literarylady, I doubt whether
she could make as good. While she was gaining
fame as a poetess she must, sometimes, have
intrusted the porridge-making to somebody else;
and we can not read the story of the four-and-
twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie, who began to
sing as soon as the pie was opened, without a pain-
ful suspicion that Mother Goose was accustomed
to very slack" ovens indeed, or that her knowl-
edge of the art of cooking was very small.
Barbara read her Bible, "The Pilgrim's Prog-
ress," and "The Children of the Abbey," and she
had a cloudy idea that the two latter were both
religious books, and devoutly to be believed, by
which it will be seen that literature was not Bar-
bara's strong point. But cooking was. Even such

every-day and uninteresting things as meat and
bread were delicious, as Barbara cooked them, and
her soups were never the watery, flavorless things
that are often, unworthily dignified by that name.
But when it came to her cream-cakes and peach-
fritters, and pop-overs, there are no words that can
do justice to them. And, besides all that, Bar-
bara was an artist in dough. Her doughnut boys
were so life-like that it seemed a wonder that they
did not speak, and she could make a whole farm of
gingerbread,-a house and barn, cows and horses,
and sheep, hens, and turkeys, and ducks and
geese, little pigs and big pigs, dogs that would
almost wag their tails, and roosters that were going
to crow the very next minute. And some of them
were likenesses of individuals. You would have
recognized Ebenezer, the hired man, in ginger-
bread, the moment you saw him, and old Buttercup,





the yellow cow; and as for the cross gobbler, he
was simply perfect.
There was one rather sad thing about it. The
gingerbread which they were made of was so good
that Ike and Dolly could not help eating them.
They usually began with the cross gobbler-it was
a double satisfaction to eat him-and they left
Ebenezer, the hired man, until the very last, for it
seemed unkind and disrespectful to eat him, he
was so good and told such lovely stories, and,
besides, Barbara always shook her head solemnly,
and called them cannyballs," when they ate him.
Ike did n't mind that very much, for he was deter-
mined to be a cannibal, or a pirate, or something
equally desperate, when he should grow up; but
Dolly did. She had made up her mind to be a
minister's wife, because there were so many pound-
cakes and tarts carried to the donation parties, and
Barbara had explained that cannibalism was incom-
patible with being a minister's wife.
But good as Barbara's gingerbread was, it was
not to be compared with her pease-porridge. "Pea-
porridge," they all called it. Mother Goose has
been dead so long now that people have forgotten
how to speak properly. It was not simply stewed
peas, by any means. There were a richness, and a
sweetness, and a flavor of savory herbs about it,
that made it a dish to set before a king.
It was a gala day for the children when Barbara
made pease-porridge; but they never coaxed her
to make it, because it always made her eyes red,
and they knew what that meant. It made her cry,
because it reminded her of her little brother
Elnathan, who ran away to sea, and never was
heard from after the vessel sailed. She used to
make pease-porridge for him. Only a little while
before he ran away she took care of him through a
long illness, and when he was recovering he would
eat nothing but her pease-porridge. The children
had heard about it a great many times, and she
never spoke of it and never made pease-porridge
without tears. And yet she often made the por-
ridge on wild, tempestuous nights that make
people think, with anxious hearts, of those at sea.
"I can't help thinking' what if he should come
a-knockin' at the door some o' these stormy nights
-my little Nate, just as he used to be," she would
say. And then, if I had some good hot pea-
porridge for him, just such as he used to love so,
he 'd know I was always a-thinkin' of him. I
s'pose he's layin' drowned at the bottom of the
sea, but folks can't help hevin' idees that aint jest
according' to common sense."
And then Barbara would stir the porridge
vigorously, and pretend that she was n't crying.
Barbara was housekeeper and "help," both in
one, at Deacon Trueworthy's, and Ike and Dolly
VOL. VIII.-39.

were Deacon Trueworthy's grandchildren. Their
father and mother and grandmother were all dead,
and their grandfather was the kind of a grand-
father that has almost gone out of fashion. He
believed that children should be "seen and not
heard." He never laughed, no matter how many
funny things happened, and he ordered Ebenezer
to drown Beelzebub, the black kitten, because it
would chase its tail in prayer-time. (Ebenezer
did n't do it, however. He gave Beelzebub away,
and it is alive and flourishing at this very day.
Ebenezer promised to find Dolly a kitten that
would n't chase its tail, but up to this time all his
efforts have been unsuccessful.) In his heart, the
Deacon was fond of his grandchildren, but he
never let them know it. He would have thought
fondling or petting them very "unseemly." He
never took them on his knee and told them stories,
and he always thought that they made a noise.
He was entirely lacking in the qualities which
make most grandfathers so delightful, and Ike and
Dolly would have had but a dull and dreary time
if it had not been for Barbara and Ebenezer.
Barbara had a motherly heart, big enough to
take in all the orphans in the country. She never
thought any pains too great to take to make them
happy, and she petted and cuddled and comforted
them as if she were their own mother.
And Ebenezer He was a real walking edition
of fairy stories and true stories, funny stories and
exciting adventures. He had been to sea, for
years, as mate of the "Bouncing Betty," and more
wonderful things had happened to that vessel than
to any other that ever sailed. Ebenezer had been
cast away on a desert island, and the wonderful
feats that he had accomplished there would make
Robinson Crusoe "hide his diminished head." He
knew as much about gorillas, and leopards, and
ourang-outangs as he did about sheep and oxen,
and he talked as familiarly about giants, and wild
men, and dwarfs with seven heads, as if he were in
the habit of meeting them every day. And he
knew stories that would make you laugh, even if
you had the toothache. Nobody could be dull or
lonesome where Ebenezer was.
But we must return to Barbara's pease-porridge,
which on this April day, at ten minutes before
twelve, M., was smoking hot, just ready to be taken
from the pot. They usually had pease-porridge
for breakfast or supper, but to-day Deacon True-
worthy had gone to County Conference, and
Ebenezer had gone to the next town to buy a new
plow, and Barbara did n't think it was worth
the while to get a dinner when there were no
"men folks" at home to eat it. The children
were always delighted to have pease-porridge, and
a slice of "company" plum-cake, instead of an




ordinary dinner, and Barbara wanted to pursue her
house-cleaning all day, with as little interruption
as possible-for this was Barbara's one failing:
she liked to clean house, and she turned things
upside down relentlessly. Even the attic, which
was the children's play-room, did not escape.
On this day, Ike and Dolly had staid out-of-doors
for that reason. They were in the barn-yard,
getting acquainted with the new calf,-who was
very fascinating, although somewhat weak on his
legs,-when Zach Harriman, one of the village
boys, came along.
The performers is goin'!" he called out to them.
"A special train is agoin' to come after 'em. If you
aint seen 'em, now is your chance Everybody 's
agoin' down to the depot to see'em off. Never was no
such a show in Cherryfield before That educated
pig he knows as much as the minister, and that
feller that swallers snakes and swords, as slick as
you 'd eat your dinner, is worth going' to see Then
there 's the Giant, more 'n half as tall as the
meetin'-house steeple, and them little mites o'
creturs that stands up in his hands, that you can't
hardly believe is real live folks, and the Fat Woman
-my eyes, aint she a stunner There wa' n't never
nothing' that you could call a show in Cherryfield
before, alongside o' this one. And you can see
'em all for nothing down to the depot. Of course,
they aint a-swallerin', nor performing nor nothing ,
but they 're worth goin' to see, you 'd better
Ike and Dolly did believe it. They had longed,
with an unutterable longing, to see the wonders of
the Great Moral and Intellectual National and
Transatlantic Show," which had been advertised
by flaming posters all over the village. The pict-
ures on the posters, of the performing canaries, the
educated pig, the marionettes, and the dancing
dogs, to say nothing of all the other marvels, had
aroused Ike's curiosity to the highest pitch. But,
alas! his grandfather did not approve of shows,
though they were never so "moral and intellectual."
No pleadings nor tears could move him. Ike knew
well enough, when he saw those enticing posters
put up, that the delights which they depicted were
not for him and Dolly. He never had expected
such happiness as Zach Harriman's announcement
seemed to promise-to see them all.
"Go, quick, and ask Barbara if we may go,
Dolly!" he exclaimed, half wild with excitement
and eagerness.
"But it's twelve o'clock," said Dolly, "and the
porridge all hot! She called us while Zach was
talking, and she might say no. Don't let's ask,
Ike-let's go !"
It was one of Barbara's rules that they should
never go out of sight of the house without leave,

but Ike fell in with Dolly's wicked little plan as
readily as Adam did with our grandmother Eve's.
Because it would be such a dreadful catastrophe
if Barbara should say no !
So it happened that, while the pease-porridge
was standing, smoking hot, upon the table, and
the frosted plum-cake was being cut, Ike and Dolly
were running as fast as their legs would carry them
toward the railroad station.
There was a great crowd upon the platform. It
looked as if all Cherryfield had turned out to see
the last of the performers." But Ike was eager
and adventurous, and pushed his way through the
throng, and Dolly was always ready to follow where
Ike led the way. But, when they stood close beside
the cars, they were so surrounded by taller people
that they could see nothing. It was too dreadful to
lose the sight, after all. With the cheers of the
people at sight of each wonder ringing in his ears,
Ike grew desperate. The steps of the freight-car
were within reach; mounted upon them it would
be easy to see everything; and they always rang a
bell and gave ample notice before a train started.
"Come along, Dolly!" he shouted, springing
up the steps. And Dolly followed, nothing loth.
But when they had mounted the steps, nothing
was to be seen but the crowd. The "performers"
were getting into the forward cars.
Ike rushed through the freight-car, Dolly fol-
They scarcely stopped to glance at a pig, in a
box with slats that looked very much like a hen-
coop. Indeed, he was not at all attractive to look
upon. His education had not affected his appear-
ance in the least, and he was expressing his discon-
tent at the situation very much after the manner
of an ordinary pig. The dogs were handsome, but
Ike did n't stop even for them. He wanted to see
the Giant, and the man who swallowed knives and
snakes. Dolly had set her heart upon seeing the
little people and the Fat Woman. She had had an
extensive acquaintance with dogs and pigs, but
giants and pigmies possessed the charm of novelty.
There they were-all the wonderful people-in
the passenger car, just in front. The children's.
eyes grew big and round with wonder, as they saw
the Giant, whose head almost reached the top of
the car when he was sitting, holding on his out-
stretched hand one of the mites, a wee bit of a lady
who looked like the queen of the fairies, as Eben-
ezer described her, and who was bowing and
kissing her hand in the most fascinating manner to
the crowd outside the car window. Was it to be
wondered at that Ike and Dolly did not hear the
bell when it rang? Not until the train was going
quite fast did they realize that they were being
carried away-away from home, where Barbara was




waiting for them, and the pease-porridge growing
cold; away, nobody knew where, with the "Great
Moral and Intellectual National and Trans-
atlantic Show" !
When Dolly understood what had happened, she
began to cry. Ike screamed to the conductor to
put them off. The conductor was not at all a
polite man.
What business had you to get on, you little
rascal?" he said. "I can't stop the train. I'm
running on fast time, with not a moment to spare."
"Where are you going?" asked Ike, feeling
very guilty and frightened.
"To Barnacle. There 's no train back from
there to-day, but I will see that you get back
to-morrow morning."
He seemed somewhat mollified at sight of Dolly's
tears and Ike's frightened face.
Barnacle was a large sea-port town, forty miles
from Cherryfield. Ike and Dolly had never been
so far away from home in their lives. It would not
have seemed much more wonderful to them to be
going to Paris. And Ike began to think that it
was not, after all, a very unfortunate thing. It was
a real adventure. They were going to see the
world! Excitement and delight began to get the
better of his fears.
The conductor had led them into the passenger
car where the members of the troupe were, and-
oh, joy!-the Knife-Swallower made room for Ike
to sit down beside him. He looked astonishinglylike
an ordinary man-a big, burly fellow, with a good-
natured face, weather-beaten, like a sailor's. Ike
was amazed to see that knife and snake swallowing
had not affected his appearance, any more than
education had affected the pig's. Zach Harriman
had confided to Ike that the man was made of
gutta-percha inside; that was why the knives and
snakes did n't hurt him; and Ike was devoured by
curiosity to know whether this were really so, but
She was afraid it would not be polite to ask.
The Fat Woman, who could not sit on an ordinary
seat, but had one which was constructed expressly
for her, motioned to Dolly to come and sit on her
foot-stool. Dolly felt a little shy of this mountain
of flesh, with features that were scarcely distin-
guishable, and a gruff voice that reminded her of
the big bear's in the story of Golden-hair." But,
as the car was full, and there was no other seat for
her, she obeyed.
"Have you lost your ma, dear?" said the gruff
voice, in a very kindly tone.
We 've lost Barbara, and she 'l1 be so worried,
and the pea-porridge is getting cold, and-oh,
dear!" and poor Dolly broke down, utterly over-
come by her misfortunes.
La I is the lopsy-popsy going to cry? Don't-

there 's a deary. You '11 get back to Barbara all
safe, and just think what a privilege it is to travel
with such a show as this-Moral and Intellectual,
National and Transatlantic !-though they aint
genooyne, child; don't you believe a word of it!
Not one of 'em 's genooyne but me an' the Mites.
Me an' the Mites is genooyne !"
"Genooyne" was too large a word for Dolly's
comprehension; but, by the Fat Woman's mys-
terious air and tone, she knew that she was telling
her something very important.
"No bigger than common folks, the Giant aint,
before he 's built up and stuffed out," the Fat
Woman went on, in a very low tone, and with a
careful glance around, to see that she could not
be overheard.
"Do you mean that he is n't a truly giant?"
asked Dolly, with a crushing sense of bewilder-
ment and disappointment.
"No more than you are. And as for the
Bearded Woman, she takes it off and puts it in her
pocket when nobody's 'round. The Two-headed
Girl, the greatest scientific wonder of the age, they
call her on the bills-why, she's two girls. They
're dreadful slim, and they manage to stick 'em
into one dress. The Talking Giraffe-why, it 's a
man behind the scenes that talks; ventriloquism,
you know! The man that swallows knives and
snakes-that trick is very well done, and folks
is easy to take in, and he is so quick that you can't
see where the knives go to, if you're watching ever
so close. Swallow 'em, child? Of course he
don't. He could n't swallow 'em, no more 'n you
Oh, dear I hope you wont tell Ike. He would
be so disappointed," said Dolly, feeling keenly the
hollowness of the world.
"But me and the Mites is genooyne! There
aint a grain of humbug about me, and the little
teenty-tonty dears is just as the Lord made 'em !"
Dolly had her own private opinion that the
Mites were fairies. She wished Ebenezer could see
them, for he would know. While she was deliber-
ating whether she 'd better tell the Fat Woman
what she thought about them, a man came saunter-
ing through the car, and stopped in front of Dolly,
surveying her intently. He was very finely dressed,
and wore a great deal of jewelry, which Dolly ad-
mired very much.
My heyes W'at a elegant hangel she would
make !" he said, lifting Dolly's flaxen curls, ad-
miringly. "Would n't you like to be a hangel,
missy ? "
Dolly wished very much that he had not asked
her that question. She sang, "I want to be an
angel," at Sunday-school, and Barbara had im-
pressed it upon her mind that she ought to want to




be an angel; but she and Ike had exchanged views
on the subject in private, and decided that the
resemblance of angels' wings-in pictures and on
tombstones-to turkey feathers was an objection
that could not be overcome. She was afraid he
would think her very wicked, but she said, honestly:
"I don't think I should like very well to grow
The man threw back his head and laughed at
that, and the Fat Woman shook with laughter,
and Dolly felt rather hurt, as if she were being
made fun of.
"I think we could manage to 'itch them on, so
you would n't 'ave to grow 'em," said the man.
"The hangel that we 'ad belongin' to the com-
pany 'as gone 'ome, sick with the measles-not to
mention 'er havingg outgrown the business, and never
havingg no such hangelic face as yours. W'ere's
your father and mother ?"
"In heaven," said Dolly, as Barbara had taught
"Then they could n't wish for nothing better
than to see their lovely child a hangel in the
greatest Moral and Hintellectual National and
Transatlantic Show in the world," said the man.
They were carried off in the train by accident-
she and her brother," explained the Fat Woman.
The 'and of Providence exclaimed the man,
rubbing his hands with delight. "W'at a hattrac-
tion she '11 be "
The Fat Woman said something, too low for
Dolly to hear, and the man-who was evidently the
manager of the troupe-replied:
Ho, I shan't do anything illegal. But she
haint got hany parents "
"But we 've got Barbara, and Ebenezer, and
Grandpa: I should have to ask them," said Dolly.
When he had first asked her if she wanted to be an
angel, she had understood the question to be such
a one as her Sunday-school teacher might have
asked her. She knew now that he wanted her to
become a member of the company, and there was
something very dazzling and fascinating about the
"Ho, we '11 hask them," said the manager,
re-assuringly. "But you '11 'ave to stay at Barnacle
to-night, and they could n't object to your hap-
pearing, just for once. 'Ere was I thinking I
should 'ave to give up the 'Ighly Hexciting, Moral,
and Hintellectual Hellevating and Hemotional
Play with w'ich we closes hour exhibition, for
want of a angel, w'en, astonishing to say, a lovely
little himage, exactly adapted and hevidently
intended by nature for a hangel, appears before
me! "
Dolly thought he was a very funny man, he made
so many gestures, and rolled up his eyes so, and

put h's in where they did n't belong, and left them
out where they did. The Fat Woman explained
to her, after he had gone, that that was because he
was an Englishman. Dolly did n't believe that
even Ebenezer had ever seen any Englishmen, and
she felt as if she could hardly wait until she should
reach home to tell him how queer they were.
She did not understand what the man wanted of
her, not having the slightest idea what a play
was, but she felt very much flattered, and thought
it was delightful to be with such wonderful people.
It was almost like one of Ebenezer's stories. She
could scarcely believe that she was little Dolly
Trueworthy, who lived on the old farm in Cherry-
field, and whose greatest excitements had been
coasting and going berrying. It seemed as if some
fairy -must have waved her wand over her, and
changed her into somebody else. She had to look
at Ike, once in a while, to re-assure herself. He
was surely Ike, and he seemed perfectly at his ease,
talking and laughing with the Knife-Swallower.
One would have thought he had been accustomed
all his life to riding on a train with a Great Moral
and Intellectual Show !
The train went so fast that it almost took Dolly's
breath away. The trees, and houses, and fields,
and fences whirled by in the wildest kind of a
dance, exactly as if they'were bewitched, and, in
what seemed to Dolly an impossibly short space of
time, the forty miles were gone over, and they were
whirled into the long, dark, crowded station at
Dolly and Ike were hurried, with the others, into
a great, gaudily painted, open wagon, gayly decked
with bunting. Behind that came two other wagons,
containing all the animals belonging to the show-
the Talking Giraffe standing, very tall and impos-
ing, in the middle of the first. The procession was
headed by a band of music, and accompanied by a
shouting and cheering crowd of people.
Oh, Ike, don't you wish Barbara and Ebenezer
could see us now ?" cried Dolly, feeling that it was
a proud moment.
"Who is Barbara ?" said the Knife-Swallower,
who had taken Dolly on his knee, the wagon being
somewhat crowded. "I used to know a gal by
that name, away up in Brambleton."
Brambleton ? Why, that is where Barbara used
to live cried Dolly.
"Her name does n't happen to be Barbara
Pringle, does it?" asked the Knife-Swallower.
"Yes, it is!" cried Ike and Dolly, both to-
gether. "Do you know her? "
"I calkilate I used to, when I was a boy," said
the man, and he held his head down, and there
was an odd sort of tremor in his voice.
"And did you know her sister Sally that died,





and her little brother Elnathan, who ran away to
sea? asked Dolly.
I knew Sally, and I believe I 've heard tell of
Do you suppose he is drowned? Don't you sup-
pose he ever will come back? asked Dolly, anx-
iously. "I wish he would-Barbara cries so on
stormy nights and when she makes pea-porridge,
because she used to make it for him. Don't you
think he will come back? People always do, in
Ebenezer's stories."
"Well, folks does turn up, sometimes, and then
ag'in they don't, and sometimes it 's a marcy that
they don't," said the Knife-Swallower. "Because,

one of her old friends had become such a distin-
guished man!
They went to a hotel,-a rather dingy and dis-
reputable-looking one, on a narrow side street,-
and after having dinner, Dolly was taken at once
to the hall where the evening performance was to
be given. Ike was allowed to go, too, at his earnest
The Ighly Hexciting Moral and Hintellectual,
Helevating and Hemotional Play" did not need to
be rehearsed, it had been given so many times, but
Dolly was to be taught how to be "a hangel." The
Knife-Swallower went with them; he seemed to
have assumed a sort of guardianship over Ike and


you see, they may have turned out bad, and not be
any credit to their folks."
"Barbara would want to see her brother, if he
had turned out bad," said Dolly, 'after a little
reflection. "She says she loved him better than
anybody in the world, and if he were ever so bad
he would be her brother all the same-just like Ike
and me."
The Knife-Swallower turned his head away,
then, and did n't say any more. Dolly determined
that she would find out what his name was before
she went home. Barbara would be so proud that

Dolly-a very fortunate thing for them, as the
cross conductor had entirely forgotten them.
The angel who had gone home with the measles
had left her costume behind her, and it fitted Dolly
very well, after it had been nipped in and tucked up
a little. It was not a night-gown, as Ike had pre-
dicted,-judging from pictures of angels which he
had seen,-but a beautiful dress of white gauze, with
silver spangles, and the wings which were fastened
upon it were not made of feathers, to Dolly's
relief, but of silver paper. The angel was to
descend through an aperture in the stage-ceiling,




on a frame-work of iron, with a foreground of
pasteboard clouds; clouds seemed to be all around
her, over her head and under her feet. Ike thought
it was wonderful and delightful, and only wished
that they wanted a boy angel, but Dolly was dizzy
and frightened, and clutched the iron frame-work
with all her might. The manager tried to coax
her; promised her all the candy she could eat, and
a whole shopful of toys. But all that did not have
half so much effect upon Dolly as Ike's scorn. She
could not bear to have Ike think her a coward. So
she resolved and promised that, when evening
should come, and the hall should be full of peo-
ple, and the angel would have to step off her
cloud platform and throw herself between the
young man whose guardian she was and the
Fiend who was pursuing him, she would not be
afraid, but would do just as she had been told.
The hall was glittering with lights and thronged
with people. Ike had a seat very near the stage-
thanks to his friend the Knife-Swallower. Dolly,
peeped out from behind the scenes, while the ani-
mals went through their performances, the Fat
Woman was introduced and her history related, the
Knife-Swallower swallowed a whole dozen of table-
knives and a large family of snakes, the Giant and
the Mites exhibited themselves, and sang songs
and danced. At last came the play.
In the most exciting part, while the Fiend was
pursuing the poor, good young man with a red-
hot poker, down came the clouds in an apparently
miraculous manner, with no machinery in sight-
with Dolly standing a tiptoe on them, in her
pretty, if not strictly angelic, attire of gauze and
spangles and silver paper, with her long golden
hair hanging about her. The applause was, as the
manager would have said, immensese" There
was a shouting and cheering and clapping of hands
that was almost deafening. Ike was in such a state
of excitement that he could not sit still-to think
that that beautiful being was Dolly !
The angel had been looking at the people-such
a crowd as she had never seen before-as she sailed
down on her clouds. As she tripped down from
them to the floor, she suddenly caught sight of
the Fiend. He was a most awful fiend. He was
as black as a coal, all over. He had horrid horns
and hoofs; his eyes were like live coals, and a
flame came out of his mouth, and he brandished
his red-hot poker in a way that was enough to
strike terror to the stoutest heart.
The poor little guardian angel's was not a very
stout heart: and he looked exactly like a picture
of the Devil in an old, old book of her grand-
She uttered a piercing scream, and turned to
run. Her dress caught on a nail that projected

from the cloud-frame, and held her fast. She
screamed and sobbed in an agony of terror.
"Oh, Knife-Swallower! Dear Knife-Swallower!
Save me! Save me !" she cried.
The audience had arisen in great excitement,
half of them laughing, the other half trying to find
out what was the matter, and one mischievous boy
crying, "Fire fire "
The Knife-Swallower rushed upon the stage, took
poor Dolly in his arms,-heedless that the nail tore
a long rent in her gauze dress,-and carried her off,
trying to soothe her and calm her fears, as tenderly
as Barbara could have done.
But Dolly would not be soothed. She cried and
sobbecj hysterically, and begged, piteously, to be
taken home. Ike made his way into the dressing-
room where they were.
Well, if that was n't just like a girl! he ex-
claimed. "I knew in a minute that he was only
make-believe. But he must have felt pretty mean
with his insides all on fire. Oh, but the manager
is mad, I can tell you! He is making a speech to
keep the people quiet, and his face is so red."
The Knife-Swallower was wrapping Dolly in a
shawl and putting her hat on. He told Ike he was
going to take them both to a quiet house, where
lived some people whom he knew. Ike felt some-
what disappointed at losing all the wonderful sights
in the hall, but he did n't want to stay behind when
Dolly was going.
It was a pleasant, home-like house, to which the
Knife-Swallower took them, and the people were
very kind, and Dolly soon recovered from her
nervous excitement; but she was very glad to hear
the Knife-Swallower say that he was going to take
them home on the first train in the morning.
Ike, too, now that he was away from the novelty
and excitement of the show, began to feel very
home-sick, and he felt all the worse that pride
prevented him from crying, "as girls did."
At eight o'clock -the next morning they were
homeward bound. When they stepped off the
cars at Cherryfield, the station-master ran to tell
the sexton to ring the church-bell, to tell the people
that they were found. The manager had promised
to telegraph to Cherryfield that they were safe, but
he had not done it, and there had been a great
fright about them.
Barbara was standing at the garden gate, with
her apron over her head, and looking anxiously in
every direction, when they came walking up-two
little way-worn pilgrims, who had seen the world
and were wiser than yesterday. The Knife-
Swallower straggled along behind, as if he shrank
from being seen.
Barbara wept for joy, and hugged and kissed
them until they were almost suffocated.




But when the Knife-Swallower took off his hat
and stood before her, looking fixedly at her, she
uttered a cry and fell upon his neck, looking so
white that the children were frightened. And she
kissed him-the Knife-Swallower-and she called
that great man, six feet tall, her dear little brother
They had brought her brother Elnathan home
to Barbara!
When the children knew that, they were almost
as wild with joy as Barbara herself.
I might never have got courage to come if it
had n't been for them children," he said. "For
you see, Barbara, I got pretty low down. And I
aint what I 'd oughter be, now. It 's dreadful
lowerin' for a chap to pertend to be what he aint,
and do what he can't, even if it's only pertending
to swallow knives and such tricks, and I 'm goin' to

quit the business. What them children told me
about your thinking' of me and feeling' bad about
me, after all these years, drove me to making' up
my mind."
Barbara only hugged him again for answer, and
then hugged the children.
By and by, Barbara remembered that they
must be hungry, and bustled about and got them
all the good things in the house to eat. Ike
remembered the pease-porridge he had missed by
running off, and now called for it.
Sakes alive There it is, jest as I put it into the
blue nappy, yesterday," said Barbara. "Ebenezer
'n' I had n't the heart to touch it. You blessed
young ones I had n't no idea, when I made that
porridge, that you'd find Elnathan, and bring him
home to eat it-no more 'n I had that it would n't
be touched till it was stone cold."


. 615





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Know ye what creatures these Lagunas breed,
Or what the pathless virgin-woods secrete ? "-CHAMISSO.

THE people of Guatemala had treated us so
kindly that we were almost sorry to leave their
mountains; but our agent wanted a number of
animals which are found only in the Southern
tropics, so we took our pets to the sea-port of San
Tomas, and embarked for South America on
board of a Venezuela schooner. When the first
Spanish explorers set sail for the New World, their
enterprise was aided by the western trade-wind,
the Atlantic sea-breeze that blows continually from
east to west, and the same wind now enabled our
schooner to enter the mouth of the Orinoco, and
ascend the river by keeping close to the southern
shore, where the current is not very strong.
We had paid our passage to Port Gabriel, some
twenty miles farther up; but, if the lower shores
had not been quite so swampy, we could not have
wished a better hunting-ground. Swarms of water-
fowl hovered about the mud-banks; peccaries and
river-hogs rooted at the edge of the cane-brakes, or
scrambled for their hiding-places; clumsy manatees
sported in the water; and on a log of drift-wood we
saw an animal that our pilot recognized as a fish-
ing-jaguar. The creature had ensconced himself
in the fork of a floating tree, and seemed to have
made a good catch, for we saw him crunch away at
something-probably a river-turtle or a young
manatee; but, when the passengers began to fire
upon him, he managed to crouch behind a pro-
jecting bulwark of his log-boat, whose swaying,
together with the movement of our own ship, would
have made it a task for the best marksman to hit
the few visible parts of his body.
"Never mind," said the pilot; "it's one of the
common spotted jaguars. I thought it was one of
the dark brown kind."
"Have you ever seen a brown jaguar?" I asked.
"Yes, and a coal-black one, too," said the pilot;
" though it may have been a different kind of ani-
mal-like my snake here: one of the what-is-its'
that have never been seen in North America. You
will come across some curious creatures, if you are
going to hunt in these shore-thickets."
The pilot himself was a curiosity in his way. His
hair was braided into-a sort of diadem, and he was

hung around with trinkets like an Indian medicine-
man. He had with him a tame snake that made
its head-quarters in the upper sleeves of his shirt,
and, judging from its color, the creature seemed
really a nondescript-reddish-brown, with beautiful
orange-yellow spots and rings, and with a black
zigzag line along its back. He would not sell it;
but, when we reached Port Gabriel, he took us to
a house where we could buy four toucans, or
rhinoceros-birds, besides some rare parrots, thus
getting us a basketful of pets on the first day of
our landing.
Near Port Gabriel, the banks of the Orinoco rise
into high bluffs, and the ground is dry enough for
foot-travelers; but the vegetation is still wonder-
fully luxuriant. Some of the larger trees were sur-
rounded with such a wilderness of tangle-vines that
it was quite impossible to distinguish their foliage
and flowers; only the palms towered above the
undergrowth, like steeples above a jumbled mass of
houses; and a few of the lower plants could be
distinguished by the peculiar shapes of their leaves.
The children of the Indian settlers wore a grayish-
green head-dress, which I mistook for a painted
straw hat, with a short brim, until I found that it
was made all of one piece-the pitcher-shaped
flower-sheath of a species of tulip-tree. The store-
keeper was the only white man in the settlement,
and, hearing that we were bound for the western
frontier, he procured us an extra guide, a swift-
footed Indian lad, who could show us the way as far
as the Lascar Mission, where we should find a good
road to the mouth of the Rio Meta. The little
fellow's speech was a queer muddle of Spanish and
of Lascarese; but he evidently knew what he was
hired for, and, pointing to the woods and then to
our hunting implements, he gave us to understand
that we should soon fill our baskets with birds and
beasts. We certainly had dogs enough to do it.
The village swarmed with Indian curs, and, when
we started the next morning, ten or twelve of them
followed us with gambols and merry yelps. The
poor fellows probably thought we were out on a
forage, and hoped to come in for a share of venison;
but Daddy Simon chased them back-all but one,
a long-legged wolf-hound, of a breed which the
Indians often use in their panther-hunts.
About six miles from the landing, we came to a
creek, with a hanging bridge of liana-ropes, and





an artificial ford of submerged logs, where our
mule could wade across without getting beyond her
depth. Our new hound cleared the creek with a



single leap; but old Rough, having entered the
water rather cautiously, suddenly drew back, and
ran up and down the bank as if he were afraid to
repeat the experiment.
"What's the matter with that dog?" asked
Tommy. He is n't afraid of cold water, is he ? "
"Come on," said I. "He will soon follow us if
he sees us going away."
But Rough still ran to and fro, with an appear-
ance of great uneasiness, until our vanguard had
turned the corner, when he at last plunged in and
paddled across, splashing and howling as if he were
bathing in a tub of scalding hot water. Our little
pioneer watched him with great attention, and
repeatedly called out a word in his native language.

"What is it, Niho?" I asked, pointing to the
creek-" alligators ?"
"No, no!" cried he, and shook his head.
"Here," holding out his finger with a repetition of
the Lascarese word. We could not make out what
he meant. But, seeing that Rough had got safely
across, we continued on our way and had almost
forgotten the incident when Tommy suddenly
stopped short, and, throwing himself on the
ground, caught Rough's head with both hands.
"Good heavens!" cried he, "look here. No
wonder the poor fellow would not cross that creek.
Look at his throat! "
That explained it, indeed. From his throat to
his flanks, the old dog was entirely covered with
swamp-leeches, most of them not larger than a
pencil-stump, but some as big as a man's finger.
We removed them as well as we could; but,
between the bites of the little pests and our clumsy
operation, the poor dog lost half the blood in his
body. He was hardly able to follow us; but the
young Lascar and his hound were restlessness
itself. Not content with keeping ahead of us, the
little barefoot lad made detours to the left and
Right, and often through thickets of thorny mes-
quites, paying no heed to the sharp spines.
"Why, that's nothing," laughed Menito. "I
could do that myself two years ago. That's what
they call Indian sandals."
As a matter of fact, the sole of the human foot
can become as tough as any shoe-leather; and,
while shoes wear out from day to day, our natural
sole-leather improves in course of time, till a bare-
foot man is actually able to crush a thorn by step-
ping upon it. Nay, the Indians of the Peruvian
highlands walk unhurt with naked feet over old
lava-beds, in places where the ground resembles a
field strewn with heaps of broken glass.
The Indians of the lower Orinoco live on the
spontaneous products of nature, and their forest
is, indeed, an inexhaustible store-house of animal
and vegetable food. The thickets swarmed with
gazapos, a kind of short-eared rabbits, and, at
the foot of a little hillock, a black cock-pheasant
came fluttering across our road and was captured
before it had reached the underbrush. There
must be hunters around here," said Tommy; "this
poor rooster is crippled, I see."
The pheasant seemed to have broken one of its
wings, and was too tattered-looking for a men-
agerie-bird, so Menito killed it at once and put it
in our mess-bag. We supposed that there must be
an Indian hunting-party in the neighborhood, but,
when we reached the top of the hillock, a young
puma jumped out of the liana-brambles and whisked
up a tree when he saw our wolf-hound. There he
stopped, and, peeping through the lower branches,





kept up a continuous growl, exactly like a tomcat
on top of a fence with a swarm of dogs around.
Tommy had already leveled his gun, but the young
Lascar stopped him with a frightened exclamation,
and pointed to the woods, shaking his head vio-
lently, by way ofemphasizing his protest.
"He means the puma's relatives will come after
us," said I, "but he is right: let the creature
alone; we have no use for him, and he has not
done us any harm."
"And that 's more than the puma can say,"
laughed Menito. "I believe we have stolen his
supper: this pheasant came running down-hill
when I saw him first."
Before we were out of sight, we turned around
to see if the puma was still on guard, and, sure
enough, his yellow head was still peeping from
between the lower branches. He had stopped his
growling, but from the depths of the woods on our
right we heard a singular noise, as if a herd of
cattle were breaking through the underbrush.
"Listen! What can that be?" asked Tommy.
I was unable to tell; as far as I knew, the settlers
of these river-bottoms kept no cows, and deer are
rather scarce in easternVenezuela. Before anything
came in sight, the big wolf-hound dashed into the
thicket, going straight in the direction of the myste-
rious noise. Rough merely pricked up his ears; the
swamp-leeches had cured his racing propensities
for a day or two. I knelt down
to examine his swollen throat,
while my companions pursued
their way, and I had not yet
come up with them,
when the crash of f
a mighty gallop 4
came through the .'
woods, and, looking
up, I saw Menito 1" '
pull his frightened
mare behind a tree,
while Daddy Simon )'. i
snatched away Tommy's "
gun with a violence that
almost- knocked him
down. The young Lascar '
had thrown himself flat on
the ground, and in the
first terror of an unknown
danger I followed his examp!.. -
holding Rough by the throat, ./
as Daddy Simon did Tommy,
who seemed wild with indigna-
tion at such unceremonious
treatment. But in the next moment he, too,
crouched down, panic-stricken: aherd of peccaries
came thundering through the bushes, in head-

long pursuit of the luckless wolf-hound, who, hap-
pily for the salvation of our little party, made
straight for the place where he had seen us last,
and before he could turn to the right, the boars in
the vanguard had cut off his way and chased him
straight ahead toward the river-bottom,where finally
the uproar of the wild chase died away in the dis-
tant shore-thickets.
"That dog started the wrong game," laughed
"It 's the luckiest thing he ever did that he
managed not to start them running this way,"
remarked old Daddy.
"Why, would they have tackled us?" asked
"Tackled us? They would have torn us limb
from limb," said the Indian.
"Yes, indeed, Tommy," I added, "if you had
fired that gun, it would have been your last shot."
"Then I have to ask Daddy's pardon," said
Tom. To say the truth, I thought he was going
to rob me or kill me, by the way he acted. Why,
according to that, peccaries must be quite unman-
ageable brutes."
"In large numbers they are," I replied. "A
herd of them is more dangerous than a pack of
hungry wolves. The old boars do not know any
such thing as fear if they are in a rage."
"Then I wonder how the Indians catch them,"
said Tommy. "Don't you remember the large pile
of peccary-skins they had for sale in San Gabriel ?"
"They take them in pitfalls," said old Daddy,
"and I have heard about their using charms, but


I don't believe it: peccaries have no religion what-
ever, and are very hard to bewitch."
As long as the echo of the crashing gallop was




still audible, our dog Rough had stood spell-bound,
looking fixedly in the same direction, but, hearing
a rustle in the thickets on the other side, he turned
his head that way, and, suddenly setting up a
fierce bark, trotted forward as fast as his weak legs
would carry him.
Dear me! More peccaries?" whispered Tommy.
" Look out, or we shall get ourselves into a scrape,
after all."
"No, look here-it's an ant-bear," cried Menito.
"Quick-run! We can head him off-it 's quite
a young one."
The three boys started at the top of their speed,
and soon their triumphant
shouts told us that they
had brought their


his weak condition, was no match for it, but the
presence of the boys kept it at bay until Tommy
approached it with his forked stick.
"Let me handle that thing," cried Menito.
"Yes, there he goes; give it here, quick !"
The ant-bear had suddenly parted to its feet;
but, before it had run twenty paces, Menito's fork
caught it behind the shoulders and pressed it
to the ground. Menito had to bear down with
all his might to hold the little animal, but help
was at hand. In' spite of all his claws, Master
Longnose was overpowered, and clapped into one
of the wire prisons. While there was yet any
chance of escape, the ant-bear- had struggled in
silence; but, when it gave itself up for lost, it
broke forth in a noise unlike anything-we had
i il-. :! i l' i -:' i ; i -ii *i ': S

[h,7 in.! l':,-h ,_ ,.J I b 1 -- -. ...
T r h..:- _-'..do,'. ..f rh.: .' i,% i.liht l'.--.t i to
-: I-..d tl uii h i h.- l. f,,r.:. t .. l'.:r, our
little .uidc r I:,-t br -Ul _ht
t.* an I l-_rrc k,
S _- -_- --_ ain. r,'i.icd


message confirmed my guess. We 've got him,"
he shouted, running up in hot haste. "He 's down,
going to fight us. Get your hatchet, Daddy: Men-
ito says he can catch him with a forked stick. Oh,
come on, Uncle, and see the fun!" cried he, and as
soon as we had got the stick ready, the impetuous
lad dragged me along until we came in sight of a
strange scene. An animal about the size of a large
badger lay flat on its back, flourishing its long nose,
and poising its claws, ready for action. Rough, in

inclined to push on into the darkening woods
"That wont do," said Daddy Simon. "I can
not hunt up water and fuel in the dark. We must
camp here and cook our supper."
The young Lascar stared; but, seeing us unstrap
our blankets, he seemed to guess our intent, and
helped us to gather a large pile of fire-wood. If
there were any dry hills ahead, our little Indian
had been right, though. We found that the





ground was a spongy swamp, drawing water wher-
ever we stamped it. So, instead of pitching our
tent, we spread it like a big hammock, and fastened
it between two poles and a large caucho-tree, whose
hollow trunk formed a sort of roof. People going
to camp in a tropical forest must not expect to be
"lulled to sleep by the stillness of the night," as
the northern poets say. In the Venezuela virgin-
woods the time from sundown to midnight is
almost the noisiest part of the twenty-four hours.
Soon after dark, the oriyas, a species of whip-poor-
wills, began to call to each other with a flute-like
whistle; night-hawks whirred through the tree-tops;
and from the depths of the jungle came now and
then the scream of a larger bird; it was the time
when the ocelot leaves its hiding-place and visits
the thickets and the roosts of the crested bush-
cock. A strange buzz was in the air. Swarms of
beetles and night-butterflies seemed to be on the
wing, and from time to time we heard the click of
a large bat, as its jaws closed upon one of the poor
buzzers. But there are bats that do not content
themselves with insects, and, before we fell asleep,
I noticed a black object crawling over the white
VOL. VIII.-40.

canvas of our hammock, and, slapping it with my
hat, I recognized the squeaking chirp of a vampire,
the Vampirus spectrum of the American tropics.
Menito grabbed it just when it was about to take
wing, and soon killed it. Whenever the night-
wind stirred the woods, the trees above and around
us flamed up with the glitter of a thousand lumin-
ous insects,-fire-midges, fire-flies, and fire-locusts,
-most of them apparently dozing in the foliage till
the wind waked them, although there were mo-
ments when they all seemed to join in a general
torch-light dance, making the trees sparkle as if a
shower of stars were drifting through the forest. I
had been sleeping for an hour or two when Tommy
shook me by the arm.
"What can be the matter with our dog?" said
he, with a yawn, and rubbing his eyes. "Did you
ever hear such howling? There must be some-
thing wrong! "
Rough had taken charge of our baggage at the
foot of the tree, and, if there had been robbers or
wild beasts about, he would have barked in a very
different way. His voice sounded like the whining
of a wolf-a most singular wailing howl, that might



have made a person dream of witches and were-
wolves. We hardly knew what to do. As soon as
we tried to go to sleep and stopped talking to the
dog, his howling grew worse than before. At last,
we could not stand it any longer.
"We have now only that one dog," said Tommy,
"or I should ask you to shoot him. He must be
crazy. What shall we do about it?"
"I don't know," said I; "but I would give
something if we could go to sleep."
"What will you give me?" asked Menito.
"For half a dollar I will get him as still as a mouse.
That dog is my countryman, and I do not want
you to shoot him. Will you let me try?"
"All right," I laughed. "Go ahead."
Menito picked up his jacket and slipped down
the tent-pole, and that was the last we heard of
the were-wolf music. The next morning we found
the two countrymen sleeping, cheek by jowl, at the
foot of the tree.
The birds in the tree-tops had almost finished
their morning concert when the creatures of the
lower woods were still half benumbed with the
heavy dew, and as we made our way through the
long, wet grass we could have captured bagfuls
of iguanas and lizards, if there had been room for
game of that sort. By and by, however, the
warmth of the rising sun penetrated the under-
brush, and all flying and creeping things were now
wide awake.
The young Lascar had led the way, a little
faster than we could follow, until something or
other seemed to draw his attention to a copse of
tree-ferns at the road-side. He stopped, and,
*turning abruptly, grabbed me by the arm, looking
as wild as a hawk.
Mira, mira!" cried he, in Spanish. Look
there, what a -" but then followed a Lascarese
word of about sixteen syllables; still, looking in the
direction of the coppice, I thought that the length
of the word really corresponded to that of a strange
creature crawling swiftly across our path. For a
stretch of about fifteen yards the herbs swayed up
and down, but running up, with all guns cocked, we
could find only a slimy streak in the grass; the
reptile must have moved with the swiftness of a
"A boa!" cried Tommy. "Quick-there it
goes, up the tree there! You can see the boughs
About twenty yards from the road stood a cluster
of sago-palms, and at a considerable height from
the ground their stems were joined and intertwisted
with a maze of cordero-vines, but in the short time
it had taken us to run up, the creature had actually
forced its way through that mass of tangle-wood,
and was now out of sight in the tree-top. Museum

managers pay a high price for the skins of such
large boas, and we tried to dislodge the monster
by throwing stories and clubs, against the lower
branches, when Menito bethought himself of
climbing a taxus-tree on the other side of the
"Yes, I can see it now," he shouted. "Come
up here-it is 'way up in that big palm-tree; you
can shoot it down like a turkey."
The lianas or bush-ropes of the Southern forests
are a great help to climbers, and even old Daddy
managed to follow us to the upper branches of the
taxus-tree. Menito was right; the boa had taken
refuge in the top of the sago-palm, and seemed
to have noticed us, to judge from its motions and
the uneasy glittering of its little eyes,
"Now let us try," said Tommy. "Do you think
buck-shot will hit at that distance ? "
"Yes, they will," said I, "but we must kill
it at the first shot; if it is only wounded, it will
fling itself down and give us the slip, after all.
Let us both aim at its head,, and fire at the same
But the boa now clung to the stem of the palm,
with its head on the safe side, and we came near
committing the imprudence of firing at the rear of
its body, when old Daddy put his finger in his
mouth and gave the shrill whistle -of a Mexican
muleteer. The boa started, and was still listen-
ing, with its head held out erect, when our two
guns went off together. Somehow oi other we
had both aimed a trifle too low; but the buck-shot
had done their work, and broken the monster's
neck-bones in several places. It started back, and,
suddenly reversing its coils, threw itself into the
lower branches, and came plumping to the ground.
There its struggles continued, and we could thank
our good fortune that we were out of the way;
the reptile was at least thirty feet long, and the
tail-end of its body struck out left and right with
a violence that made the branches fly in every
direction. It took it nearly half an hour to die,
and when it lay still, and our Indians came down
and tied it to a tree to pull its skin off, the tail
gave a twitch that made Menito take to his heels
with a scream of horror.
Come back here, boy!" cried old Daddy.
"There is no danger, I tell you-that boa is only
shamming, trying to scare us; in reality, it is as
dead as a door-nail."
Thus far our road had led us through swampy
bottom-lands and densely wooded hillocks, but
toward noon we found that the ground was getting
rather rocky, and when the sun inclined to the
west our guide halted on top of a steep emi-
nence, and pointed to the open country at our
feet. It was a glorious sight: the broad valley




of the Orinoco, with its bays and rocky headlands,
and at the mouth of a tributary stream the mission-
settlement of Soledad, in a thicket of orchards and
"That is the missionary's house, I suppose?"
said I, pointing to a large stone building at the
junction of the two rivers.
"Yes, it used to be," said Daddy Simon. "The
old government had put a Franciscan abbot in
charge of the place, but the monks went away
with the Spaniards, and the Indians have been
left to themselves ever since."
"How are they getting on?" I asked. "Their
orchards seem to be in first-rate condition."
Oh, the trees take care of themselves," said
the guide, and the Rio Claro is full of fish the
year round; there is not much danger of starving
in this country."
The Rio Claro was a fine mountain-stream, with
gravel banks, and we passed a place where the
gravel had been piled up in mounds, some of.them
as much as twelve or fourteen feet high. "What
is all this?" said I. "There have been gold-
hunters at work here, it seems ?"
"Yes, treasure-hunters," said Daddy Simon.
" Some years ago, a fisher-boy found here a silver

" .' I.' i' ,L1-.
,',"2: '-, -.


cup and a piece of a golden chain, and it was sup-
posed that this must be the place where the
Spaniards had buried their treasure; so a lot of'
people came up here from La Guayra in hopes of
making fortunes. They found nothing but gravel,
however, and it seems that the current of the river
must have brought those things down here, and
that the rest is buried somewhere farther up."

We stopped at the first cottage to inquire after a
spring which old Daddy remembered to have seen
near the banks of the Rio Claro. There was
nobody at home but an old woman, who had nearly
forgotten the language of the Spanish missionaries,
but she understood what we meant when we pointed
at the river and showed her our empty water-
bucket. While she was jabbering away in her
strange dialect, I noticed at the farther end of her
porch a big cage full of little white things that
seemed to move about like birds, till I came nearer
and saw that they were rats--white and brown
speckled tree-rats, looking somewhat like guinea-
pigs, with long tails. Seeing me stare at the cage,
the woman took it down and handed me a rat, with
a sort of courtesy, as you would offer a stranger a
flower or an orange. Tommy gave her a silver
coin, about the equivalent of an American twenty-
five-cent piece, whereupon we received five more
rats-willy-nilly. The generous old lady would not
be put off, and stuffed every one of them into one
of our empty cages.
"What makes them keep such strange pets?"
asked Tommy.
"They eat them," laughed old Daddy. "The
old chief that lives in the big stone house fattens
them by scores and hundreds. No proper person
would touch such things; but what can you expect
from people that do not know a Sunday from a
The Lascar Indians seemed, indeed, to be in
need of a missionary. Many of the children we
met in the street were entirely naked, and when we
had pitched our tent at the river-bank, some of
their grown-up relations visited us in the strangest
costume we had ever seen on human beings. One
big chief strutted around in a stove-pipe hat, with
a pair of embroidered slippers for epaulets; and a
toothless squaw, looking old enough to be his
grandmother, wore a boy's straw hat, with a bunch
of parrot-feathers. Another woman, who could
talk a little Spanish, was carrying a young child
that looked as red as a boiled lobster, although
.her mother was almost too black to be called dark
"What's the matter, Sissy?" asked Tom. Are
you sick?"
"Yes, sir; she has been steamed," said the
"Steamed? How do you mean?"
"Why," was the parent's answer, "we put her
in a willow basket, and hung the basket over a
kettleful of boiling water."
What did you do that for ?" I asked. "Were
you trying to kill her?"
"No, to save her life," said the woman. "She
was bitten by an arafion [a venomous spider], and



that's the best remedy. The poison seems to pass
out through the skin with the perspiration."
The arafion, or bird-eating spider of South Amer-
ica, is almost as big as a toad, red-brown, with long,
hairy legs and claw-feet, and a pair of venomous,
pincer-like fangs. The strangest thing about its
poison is that most persons hardly feel the bite at
first; but after an hour or so, their hands or feet
begin to swell as if they had caught the erysipelas.
The araion often covers a whole bush with its gray-
ish-white net, and catches birds as well as insects.
The threads of its net are, indeed, as sticky as
bird-lime, and strong enough to hold a good-sized
We made a very good bargain that afternoon.
The Indians gave us a splendid king-parrot and
several purple pigeons, in exchange for a few pounds
of sugar and gunpowder, and the parents of our
young Lascar guide sold us a nursing Midas-mon-
key, with a baby-a funny, nervous little young
one that clasped his mother's neck as if he were
trying to choke her.
While we ate our supper, a swarm of Indian
children of all ages and sizes had gathered around
our camp, and, after playing with our rats and
monkeys, they began to throw stones at a mango-
tree near the river-bank.
"What in the world can those children be
after?" said I, seeing that they pursued their sport
with a growing interest.
Hallo there is a big snake in that tree," said
Tommy. "Not a boa, though," he added, when
I jumped up. It's a long red one, like those we
saw in southern Yucatan."
A big coral snake lay coiled up in a fork of the
tree, watching us with a pair of those glittering
eyes that are supposed to paralyze birds and small
"Make those boys stop, Tommy," said I. "Let
us try an experiment. We can spare one of those
white rats. I am going to see if the eyes of the
snake will charm him."
The rats were quite tame, and the one we se-
lected clung to the knob of my walking-stick, and
stuck to his perch until I brought the knob in close
proximity to the head of the serpent. They looked
at each other for five or six minutes; but when
the snake reared up, getting ready for action, the
rat jumped back and slipped into my sleeve with

the nimbleness of a weasel. A few days after, we
tried the same thing with a different result. The
snake paralyzed our rat with a snap-bite, and
gobbled him up when he began to stagger around
like a blind puppy. So we almost suspected that
little animals have generally been bitten before
they act in the strange way which makes people
suppose that the eyes of a snake must have be-
witched them.
While we were watching the result of our experi-
ment, one of the little boys fooled with the monkey-
cage until the door came open, and, before we knew
it, the Midas-monkeys jumped out, and would
both have escaped if another boy had not caught
them in the nick of time. But, in the scuffle, the
old one dropped her baby, and, to our astonish-
ment, the youngster whisked up an acacia-tree,
with big, long thorns that prevented us from fol-
lowing him. All calling and coaxing was in vain,
and, when we found that we could not shake him
off, we fastened his mother to a long string to see
if we could not make her go up and bring him
down. But, for some reason or other, she refused
to go, and threw herself on her back like a wild-cat
when we tried to drive her up.
"Let us try Bobtail Billy," said Menito. "He
likes to climb. I never saw him refuse a chance of
that sort."
We at once put Menito's suggestion into execu-
tion, but it quickly proved almost too much of a
success, for Billy bolted up the tree with a sudden-
ness that nearly snapped the string. But, when he
passed the baby, the little imp grabbed him, and
in a twinkling had both arms around his neck. At
the same moment, we pulled the string, and,
though Billy struggled violently and snatched at
the thorny branches left and right, the baby still
stuck to him, resolved, as it seemed, to be skinned
alive rather than lose this new protector fate had
sent him. Down they came, locked together,
and we dragged them to where the youngster's
mother had been tied up in the interval. When
she saw her bantling, she jumped up and made a
grab at him; but, in a strange fit of jealousy, Billy
now declined to surrender his charge, and he was
making for the tree again, when Menito stopped
him, and put all three of them in the same wire
basket, to let them settle their family quarrels at
their leisure.

(To be continued.)






had one fault
down the pia
ticing. Now,


/i / 1/

: ..


the piano-lid
which Mrs. B
over it, no one
was not just
whoever it mi
while waiting
no one could
Brown and K
you may imal
finding, instead
were accustom
matic noise, ai
ago named th
Kitty," sa
day, after she
some of the c
piano; "Kitty
pies next we
give you some

'WN was a nice little girl, but she little turn-over for you and your friends; but I shall
; she never would remember to put only give it upon one condition."
no-lid, when she had finished prac- "Oh! Mother, Mother," answered Kitty, joy-
there were two reasons why it was fully. "You know I '11 do anything for you, if
important for her to remember this you really will let me make a turn-over out of some
duty: one was, that the piano was of your good dough and mince-meat."
very much afflicted with asthma, and "But listen to the condition, Kitty: it is, that
it always grew worse if it took cold you will not forget, once, between this and then,
' ,' .. .,. 1 .\,: :r r.i:.:rn i.:. put .1... i.. i[J.iaiio-lid after you have finished
i i.i- :. i.0 i,' I l 1. \V i I.r ii ,-- r r ..n., remember !"
"That's a very easy con-
dition, I 'm sure, Mother,
..t'' and I'm certain to earn my
little pie, if that is all I have
Sr to do to get it."
S" Very well; now be sure
S. e a[ 1 ll nd remember, after this,
S ', ,j c o ,':l for if you forget once, you
S know what you forfeit."
SL Oh I '11 not forget,"
and away skipped Kitty,
3; full of joy at the thought
of her mother's kindness.
.- That afternoon, she sat
S down to practice, and had
it in her mind about clos-
ing the piano, after her
p.:.. E.'r pretty soon she heard the
S-...r.i -:.I .r .:ri i i n on the pavement outside,
PRACTICES THE FAIRY WEDDING. and she ran out to see if a funny little monkey,
which had been there a few days before, had come
was down, and the nice, pretty cover again. Of course she did not stop to close the
rown had embroidered was spread piano, for she- fully intended to return in a few
would have suspected that this piano minutes, but sure enough, there was the monkey,
as good as any other in the city of performing all sorts of antics, and so long did it
But if the lid was up, the visitor, take her to watch him, and listen to the organ, and
ght be, was sure to try to play on it, run up for some pennies, that she forgot all about
for Mrs. Brown to come down. Now, the piano, until that evening at the tea-table her
really play on that piano but Mrs. mother said to her, in a sorrowful tone of voice :
itty, and the music-teacher, so that "Now, Kitty, you 've forfeited your little pie
gine any visitor's disappointment at already; you forgot to put the piano-lid down this
d of the sweet musical sounds they afternoon."
ed to at home, only a wheezy, asth- Oh-h-h-h so I did, but indeed, Mother, the
nd what the Brown family had long monkey made me ; I should n't have thought
e "rattle-bone accompaniment." of forgetting, if it had not been for him; wont
id Mrs. Brown to her daughter one you please try me again? I don't think I could
had been very much mortified by possibly forget, to-morrow."
comments of her visitors, about her Well, I '11 try you again; but this time you
y, I am going to make some mince- must not forget it."
ek, for Christmas, and I intend to The next day, Kitty sat down to the piano with the
e dough and mince-meat,. to make a best intentions; she was practicing very diligently,



for she hoped to know "The Fairy Wedding Waltz "
well enough to play it at the entertainment which
was to be given in their school the day before

I*: ,1 .

- a

Christmas. Neither her school-mates nor teachers'
would have been able to recognize what Kitty was
playing, had they listened to her as she played it
at home. But Kitty knew it was the very same
that she had been playing on the school piano
every day at recess for the. last week or so. To. be
sure, it sounded very differently on her own
asthmatic instrument, and with the rattle-bone
accompaniment, but Kitty had it so well in her
mind, and at her fingers' ends, that she could
almost hear the tune of it as she played, although
the part in which she ran up the piano with her
forefinger could not be performed in such a
grandiose manner as usual, Toward the end of
her practicing hour, she heard the door-bell ring,
and then when Hannah went to the door she could
hear the voices of some of her little school-mates
asking for her. She knew what an important errand
they had come upon, and she rushed out to greet
"You must go with us to choose Miss Colton's
Christmas present," began Annie Peters, breath-
"Oh, yes. I 'II be ready in a minute, if you '11

just wait. Come up to the nursery and get warm.
We have a splendid fire there in the grate."
Kitty had asked her mother's permission at
dinner-time to go with her school-mates
if they should come for her; and, as Mrs.
Brown was now out, there was no one to
r..i rir, hr.:-r about the piano, so that she
i. .I .:.,:: thought of it again until tea-time.
S" Ki.l." began Mrs. Brown, mournfully,
S**:,.:.i h.i forfeited your little pie again.
Si':u k, you were only to have it upon
t. i: condition, and that you have
.. l.;rjgotten to fulfill."
l'".. "'So I have, Mother. But indeed
',il I '. would not have forgotten, only for
Annie Peters and the other girls
S coming for me. We really did
S have to go to choose Miss Col-
:1' ton's present. Wont you let
me try once more? Indeed,
S no matter who may come to-
S .'' morrow, I shall be sure to re-
Ii, ',I'' member it."
I,' '., "Well, you may try just
i l'lri?,' II' once more. But remember,
i you must not expect such a
V I Jl? ii,. favor again."
I.' '' "Oh, thankyou, Mother!"
'I : The next day, a great
I I 1 I".'l many important things took
place, and when Kitty sat
down to practice, her mind
PRESENT. was full of the events of the
morning, so that she played her scales and pieces
without thinking much about them. When her
hour was up, she arose from her seat in a kind
of day-dream, and walked deliberately out of the
room, without thinking of closing the piano.
That afternoon, some visitors came in, and Mrs.
Brown, who was busy making mince-meat in the
kitchen, could not come into the parlor imme-
diately. The visitors, who happened to be very
fond of music, took turns in trying to draw some
out of the instrument; but, one after another, they
gave up in despair.
"I should think Mr. Brown could afford to get
something better than that for his wife and
children; you can buy a good piano for a mere
song, now, at auction," said one of the visitors-I
will not say ladies, for a perfectly well-bred person
would not have made such a remark.
At that moment, Mrs. Brown came into the par-
lor, just in time to catch the last part of what her
visitor had said. Of course, neither she nor the
others enjoyed the interview very much, and she
felt exceedingly vexed with her little daughter for
again having been the cause of such annoyance to




her. If Kitty had only left the piano closed, no
one would have thought of doing anything to it
but look at it, and in appearance it was very much
like any other. Indeed, it had a pair and a half of
very fine legs, and the pedal was quite respectable;
while as for the embroidered cover, there were few
prettier ones on this side of the Atlantic.
"And now, Kitty," said Mrs. Brown to her
little girl, "you do not deserve that I should give
you another chance. It is too bad that I should
have suffered such mortification on account of your
"Oh, Mother I know I do not deserve another
chance, but you 've often given me things I did not
deserve, because you say we all, grown people and
everybody, get more than we deserve; so, if you '11
only let me try once more, I'll not ask you again
if I forget this time."
"Well now, remember, this must be the very
last time. No little pie for you to bake if you for-
get to put the piano down between this and Mon-
day, for that is the day I begin my baking. So
you will only have to-day and to-morrow, for then
comes Sunday."
"Oh! thank you, dear, kind Mother, and do

"I '1 remember," said Kitty, quite as sure as if
she had the best memory, for a little girl, in the
That afternoon, when Kitty was practicing, the
door-bell rang, and some of her mother's friends
were announced.
Poor, anxious-hearted Mrs. Brown, with face
very white, rushed in by one parlor door, hurried
Kitty from her position, and closed the piano, just
as the visitors entered by the other door.
What a relief to Mrs. Brown, to know that she
had succeeded in preventing any mortification to
herself, for that afternoon And what a relief to
Kitty, to know that she would not have to remem-
ber any more for that day Only one more day,
and then she would be sure of her turn-over for
Christmas. She would ask her mother to let her
invite her little friends to help her eat it on Christ-
mas afternoon.
The next day came, and Kitty felt sure she
should not forget, this time. She practiced very
diligently now, for in a few days they would have
their school exhibition, and her music-teacher had
told her she would have to know her piece a great
deal better to play it before a room full of visitors,


you think I could forget now, when you have been than when she was only playing it to herself or
so 'leaning' with me?" She meant "lenient." some admiring friend. And so she played The
"I don't know; but, if you do, you must not Fairy Wedding" over and over again, until she
expect to bake any little pie; remember that." almost knew it with her eyes shut; then she played




her scales to make her fingers limber, then she
played the waltz, until she grew fairly tired, and
every finger ached.
Just as she was wondering whether it was time
to stop, her father put his head into the parlor,
and called her to him. It was such an unusual.
thing for him to be home so early in the afternoon,
that she jumped up in joyful surprise and ran out
to greet him.
"Here, Kitty," he said, holding a large parcel
in his hand, if you know how to keep a secret,
just hide this, until the night before Christmas: it
is my present to your mother, and I don't want her
to know anything about it until then."
Oh! I '11 hide it in my closet: I know what
it is, too ; a set of furs, is n't it ?"
Never mind-you 'd better not know, and then
you can keep the secret better."
Kitty ran up to her room, and hid the parcel,
and, sad to say, never once thought of the piano
until the next morning, when her mother said to
her, solemnly:
Kitty, the piano was up all night, owing to
your carelessness: I was too busy to go in there
last evening, but discovered it this morning. I fear
the piano will take a very bad cold."
"Yes-it is always cold in there at night,"
chimed in Mr. Brown, "and of course that is very
bad for the asthma and rheumatism."
I fear you will not be able to recognize your
piece for a few days," said -Mrs. Brown, sadly;
then, after a preparatory pause, and of course,
Kitty, you will not now expect your little pie."
"Of course not answered Kitty, meekly:
then, in a few minutes, brightening up, she said:
" But indeed, Mother, if you only knew what made
me forget, this time, you would not be hard on me.
Do you think she would, Father?"
S-s-h said Mr. Brown, very much fearing
that Kitty would not be able to keep his little secret
for him. Then he said, hurriedly: "No, don't be
hard on her, wife."
I don't really think I have been," replied Mrs.
Brown; "but it seems to me Kitty ought to have

STRAWBERRIES Ripe straw-berries! "
Shouted big Johnny Strong;
And he sold his baskets readily
To folks who came along.

But soon a tiny voice piped forth,
"Me, too!" Nell could not shout

something to make her remember-no, I don't
think she need expect to bake her little pie."
The next day, when Kitty came home from
school, she found her mother in the midst of mak-
ing her pies. She sat down in a corner of the
kitchen, and watched her: it was so interesting to
see the pieces of pastry which were cut off from
each pie, as Mrs. Brown's deft fingers shaped them;
these were the pieces which Kitty had once hoped
to profit by, but now she had no such expectations.
Mrs. Brown looked over at her with eyes full of
"Of course, Kitty," she began, "you do not
expect to get any of this dough, nor any of this
"No, Mother, of course I do not expect any;
but you know you told me once that blessed are
they that expect nothing' because they shall not be
disappointed; and I should not be a bit disap-
pointed if you should give ne just enough to make
a dear little pie for myself and Annie Peters, and
Mamie Goodwin, and Alice Adams; and if I could
only have them here Christmas afternoon to help
me eat it, I 'm sure I should never forget to put
down the piano-lid again. You said I needed
something to make me remember it, and I am sure
this would, more than anything else I could think of.
Of course I don't expect you to, and I will not even
ask you, because I promised not to ask you again
-but-oh! you dear, kind, good leaning mother-
is all that for me ? all that dough and that mince-
meat? I can make two turn-overs, and that will
be a half a one apiece, and I am very, very sure I
shall never forget to put down the piano-lid again:
and now I must run up and get my little pie-board
and pastry roller."
And Kitty ran off with a light heart and with
beaming eyes, feeling sure her mother would never
have reason to be sorry that, after all her little
girl's carelessness, she was going to let her bake
her turn-over and have a good time at Christmas
with her young friends.
But do you think Kitty ever again forgot to put
down the piano-lid?

As John did. Yet she too must sell
The fruit she bore about.

Ho, STRAW-BERR-E-E-S roared lusty John.
"Me, too piped Nell, so sad.
And Johnny made good sales that day,
But Nell sold all she had.






'. It'

-.-:.*.'if- j











ALL who live in this favored land know the wealth
.of its lavish summer and rejoice that its June may be
had of the poorest comer "-June, with its songs, its
roses, and its warm, swift breezes-and they will be
ready to echo in their hearts every word of Lowell's
beautiful verses which the Treasure-box offers you this
You will find, as you see more and more of literature,
that almost every good writer has his special line or
style of writing, and has won fame by excelling in that
special line. For instance, of modern authors, we speak
of Thackeray, George Eliot, and Dickens as great
novelists; of Ruskin and Carlyle as great essayists or
critics; of Scott and Hawthorne as romancers; and
,of Tennyson and Longfellow as poets. But now and
then we find a man who, writing in all these ways,
proves himself a master in each. Among the foremost

of such writers is James Russell Lowell. He is poet,
essayist, critic, humorist, all in one. For a long time,
he was a professor in Harvard University; but, as many
of you know, he is now-to the honor of his country
-serving as American minister to England.
Although Lowell has written almost entirely for grown-
up readers, there is many a page of his works that
would help you to appreciate good literature, and many
a description or poem that would charm and delight you.
For Lowell, with all his learning and deep thought,
keeps himself forever young at heart,-as, indeed, do all
true poets,-and his writings are full of the spirit and
joy of youth and of youthful delight in life. This is
shown clearly enough in the following short extract
describing the sights and sounds of the happy month of
June. It is taken from his noble poem, The Vision of
Sir Launfal ":


AND what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays:
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to .a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there 's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and
He sings to the wide world, and she to her
.In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?

JUST before June comes in with her peerless days; and
while May still is awaiting her arrival, our people unite
in doing grateful service to the many soldiers who fell in
the late terrible national struggle known as our Civil
War. They deck the crowded graves with flowers, and,
while they recognize and mourn over the War as a great
.calamity, they love to remember the brave and true hearts
who yielded up life for their country's honor and best
prosperity. We cannot go into the story of the War,.

Now is the high tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'T is enough for us now that the leaves are
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We may shut our eyes, but we can not help
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,
That maize has sprouted, that streams are
That the river is bluer than the sky,
That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For other couriers we should not lack;
We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,-
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing!

here. It is written in the great book of Human Life,
with which you all shall, day by day, grow more familiar,
and which even now you are reading in the light of your
own homes. Enough for the Treasure-box, to say that
every great country, at some period of its history, has had
to fight for its existence; and that, at such times, when the
whole land is aglow with zeal and excitement, songs and
utterances spring from the very heart of the hour and
become forever a part of the nation's literature. Such an





utterance is the selection we give you this month,-the in November, 1863, of the soldiers' burial-ground, on the
renowned speech of Abraham Lincoln at the dedication, battle-field of Gettysburg:


FOURSCORE and seven years ago, our fathers
brought forth upon this continent a new nation,
conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposi-
tion that all men are created equal. Now, we are
engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that
nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated,
can long endure. We are met on a great battle-
field of that war. We are met to dedicate a
portion of it as the final resting-place of those who
here gave their lives that that nation might live.
It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do
this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate,
we can not consecrate, we can not hallow, this
ground. The brave men, living and dead, who
struggled here, consecrated it far above our power

IN connection with this grand and simple speech,
you may fitly read, on Decoration Day," the beautiful
poem written by Judge Finch. It was inspired by a
newspaper paragraph stating that, two years after the

to add or to detract. The world will little note
nor long remember what we say here, but it can
never forget what they did here. It is for us, the
living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfin-
ished work that they have thus far so nobly car,
ried on. It is rather for us to be here dedicated
to the great task remaining before us; that from
these honored dead we take increased devotion to
the cause for which they here gave the last full
measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve
that the dead shall not have died in vain; that
the nation shall, under God, have a new birth of
freedom; and that government of the people, by
the people, and for the people, shall not perish
from the earth.

close of the War, the women of Columbus, Mississippi,
had shown themselves impartial in their offerings made to
the memory of the dead, strewing flowers alike on the
graves of the Confederate and of the National soldiers.


BY. the flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead;-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
S Under the one, the Blue;
Under the other, the Gray.

These in the robings of glory,
Those in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet;-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
Under the laurel, the Blue;
Under the willow, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers,
Alike for the friend and the foe;-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
Under the roses, the Blue;
Under the lilies, the Gray.

So, with an equal splendor,
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all;-
The Union or Northern soldiers wore blue uniform,

Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
Broidered with gold, the Blue;
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So, when the summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain; -
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
Wet with the rain, the Blue;
Wet with the rain, the Gray.

Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done;
In the storms of the years that are fading,
No braver battle was won;-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
Under the blossoms, the Blue;
Under the garlands, the Gray.

No more shall the war-cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever
When they laurel the graves of our dead
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;-
Love and tears for the Blue;
Tears and love for the Gray.
s; the Confederate soldiers wore gray.






JIM SWAYNE did not fail to make a full report
to Fanny of his talk with Mr. Ayring.
"I can bring along boys enough, too," he added,
confidently; "but it wont do to be in too great a
hurry. There are all sorts of talk about it among
Madame Skinner's girls."
Fanny would hardly have told even her brother
how keen an interest she was beginning to take in
the matter.
She was a tall, showy-looking young lady, of full
sixteen, and the slightly haughty expression of her
mouth might have made some people think she
would be above mingling with such an affair of
mere boys and girls as a May-Day Festival."
She had been present the previous year, how-
ever, and had now before her mind's eye a vivid
picture of the crowded hall, with its brilliant lights,
its hanging flags, its festooned evergreens, and its
prodigal display of flowers.
She remembered, too, the music, the applause,
and how very beautiful Belle Roberts looked, march-
ing in upon the stage with her maids of honor and
her bowing retinue of young gentleman attendants,
and she was sure in her heart that she could her-
self exceed the triumphant success of that or any
other "crowning."
It was to be a "public appearance," as the
central figure, the observed of all observers, the
mark for, perhaps, two thousand pairs of admiring
eyes, and the prospect of it thrilled her from head
to foot.
She had great confidence in James and his zeal
and energy. Nothing could be better devised than
the little plot of Mr. Ayring. The result seemed
as sure as anything could be, but the flush of hope
and gratified pride faded away from her cheeks as
she muttered: "There 's nearly a week for some-
thing to happen in. I may not be elected, after all."
The Park girls were not planning her election,
when so many of them gathered, after school, in
the parlor of the Roberts's dwelling.
They talked of many candidates, but there was
one street, not far below the Park, beyond which no
suggestion of theirs had big enough wings to fly.
"Beyond that," as one of them said, "all the
girls go to Madame Skinner's."
No amount of grace or beauty could make up

for such a misfortune, as long as there were any
Park girls to choose from.
There did once rise a faint voice with: "What
if they should set up Fanny Swayne ?"
"She?" exclaimed Dora Keys. "Why, she's
too old. She was graduated from boarding-school
last year. She 'll be out in society in a season or
Belle Roberts had been barely fourteen when
the May diadem had fallen upon her glossy brown
hair, but she was a year older now, and her friends
seemed still to regard her as a sort of queen-model
to go by.
It was not long, therefore, with Dora's help,
before a second line of exclusion was formed, as
fatal to candidates as was the cross street this side
of Madame Skinner's school.
The number fifteen began to have a kind of
magic, and the girls who could not show a birthday
with those figures upon it were pitilessly set aside
as too young.
Half of the present company and a larger frac-
tion of their absent school-mates were under the
mark, and the problem was made more simple by
having just so many girls less to pick from.
Old age was as fatal as extreme youth, and
"sixteen, going on seventeen" was also ruled out
by common consent.
Dora had a kind heart, and she could but put
her plump, white hand on the shoulder of pretty
Jenny Sewell, and whisper: "You may have a
chance next year, darling."
Belle Roberts overheard it, and added, in her
frank,. smiling way: "Yes, Dora dear, and you 'll
be a year too old, then."
I'm just barely fifteen now."
But you could pass for more and not half try."
"I don't mean to try."
The young lady "caucus" was even more ani-
mated than that of the boys had been, but there is
an old proverb in the army that "a council of war
never fights." They could not and did not agree
upon any one candidate, and so Belle had to tell
Jack after they had gone.
"No candidate!" he exclaimed. "Now that 's
funny. It must be that they all want it."
"They all said they did n't,-all but Dora
"She did n't, eh ? She would n't make a bad
queen, if once she were upon the platform. The
trouble is, she '11 never get there."




You could n't make her believe that."
She 'd better, then. She 's a year too old and
a head too tall."
How would Jenny Sewell do ?"
Capitally, if Bob Sewell were not so high and
mighty. The boys 'd vote for her, may be, but
they wont want to set him up any higher."
Making her queen would n't make him king."
"He 'd look at it that way. He feels bigger
than the mayor now, and he is n't twenty."
I don't see whom you can take, then, unless
it 's Sarah Dykeman."
She 'd do splendidly, if you could get her to
take it."
Don't you think she would?"


"Did n't she say she would n't ?"
"Well, yes; she said so -- "
"Then she wont. That's just the difference
between her and the rest. She and Dora Keys
are honest."
She's worth ten of Dora."
Of course she is, but Dora can't keep in any-
thing she thinks about herself."
She thinks a good deal, then."
It was all said good-humoredly enough.
Dora had gone home with a growing con-
viction that her prospects were bright, and getting
brighter. Not one of them said anything against

my running. They '11 have to vote for me or else
it '11 be one of Madame Skinner's girls."
That night, Dora had as vivid a dream as had
Fanny Swayne, herself, of standing on a brilliantly
lighted platform, before a vast, enthusiastic crowd,
and with a crown of roses on her head.
Fanny, indeed, had gone one step farther, for
she had dreamed so vividly, while she was yet
wide awake, that she had pulled out from its hiding-
place the pretty white dress she had worn at her
" graduation," and had decided upon what it would
need to turn it into a royal "coronation robe."
The train will be the main thing," she said.
" It must be long enough for six maids of honor to
hold it up,-three on a side. The end of it must
fall to the floor behind them, with lilies on it. Yes,
the skirt can be lengthened, easily, and it is n't
very expensive stuff. I '11 have a prettier scepter,
too, than Belle had. Hers was far too big and
clumsy. It looked as if it weighed a pound."
Jim had been hard at work, and he had made
his report.
"Candidates? Oh, they 're all talking about
everybody. They don't seem to have fixed on any
one name yet."
But the Park set ?" asked Fanny.
"Not a word. Some of our boys think they
must have heard of what Mr. Ayring said, and
mean to give it up. They know they can't do
anything against him, with all the town to help



JEFF CARROLL was a quiet, near-sighted, care-
less sort of fellow, with a strong tendency to chuckle
over the things close up to which his short vision
compelled him to bring his face.
It was not often, however, that his chuckle
seemed to have a deeper meaning in it than when
he and Will Torrance came together, half an hour
before school-time, in the morning.
Will was a character, in some respects, com-
bining a queer disposition to write poetry with a
liking for fancy poultry, and an ambition to be the
champion athlete of his set. He was, as yet, a
good deal more of a wrestler than of a poet.
He and Jeff were great cronies, and his entire
boy rose within him to inquire the meaning of that
"Can you keep a secret, Will?"
"Icantry. What'sup?"
Old Ayring's going to have the May Queen
election come off next Tuesday evening."
"Everybody knows that."




"And I know whom he 's going to have
How did you find out?"
He 's having some voting tickets printed in our
office, on the sly. I saw the proof this morning,
on Father's desk."
"You don't say!"
"Guess who it is."
Can't do it. Some one of Madame Skinner's
girls, I suppose."
"Not a one. Guess again."
Give it up. Unless he 's chosen me?"
"It's Fanny Swayne "
She 's pretty enough, and would make a good
queen. Is n't she too old, though ?"
He does n't care, as long as his show goes off
to suit him."
"But Jim would be proud as a peacock."
"We wont let him, Will. Let you and I elect
a May Queen of our own."
"You and I? Why, we count but two votes.
Some of the boys might go with us, if the girls
would let 'em; but I don't believe you and I have
much influence with the girls."
"We don't need any. But I 've picked out our
queen, if you 're agreed to try it."
"One 's as good as another, for me, if it is n't
Dora Keys, or Bob Sewell's sister, and if she 's
pretty enough and is n't too old."
Did you ever see Milly Merriweather, Pug's
sister ? "
"Lots of times, but I never spoke to her.
It seems to me the girls rather snub her."
She 's a quiet little thing, and the older girls
just lord it over one of that kind. I tell you what,
Will, that's the very reason we ought to elect her.
But we must n't breathe it."
We must ask her if she '11 consent."
"Not a word of it. She 'd say no, of course,
and spoil it all. The first thing she knows of it
must be her election. It must be a regular sur-
prise, all around."
It '11 be a tre-mendous surprise to me, for one."
"No it wont. You come down town with me,
after school. I '11 show you. It 's time to go in,
now. Not a word to any of the boys."
The young politician blinked his gray eyes
merrily and walked away in a fit of chuckles that
seemed almost to choke him.
Will Torrance not only scribbled no poetry that
morning, but he actually earned a bad mark in
geometry, which was his especial stronghold, next
after chickens. It was dreadfully severe on a boy
of fourteen to have a big secret to keep and only
know one-half of it, himself.
Even when the hour of noon recess came, Will
was unable to obtain any consolation from Jeff.

That worthy did but blink at him in a most bar-
barous way and keep himself surrounded by a per-
petual body-guard of the other boys, in whose
quick-eared presence no secret could be safely
hinted at.
They were all "talking May Queen" but not
one of them spoke of Milly Merriweather.
We shall be like a pair of mittens," growled
Will. "Only just two of us. It '11 take more
than that to elect her."
Nothing unusual occurred in school, that after-
noon, but the moment he reached the sidewalk
at the close of it, all of Jeff Carroll's indifference
Come on, Will. I 've got it all worked out.
Let 's get away before any of the rest hang on."
Will was ready, and away they went, down
town, at a pace that was almost a trot.
All the answer Jeff would give to any questions,
"It's all right. You '1 see."
He paused, at last, before the shop of a thriving
dealer in cheap literature and stationery.
That is, he did not so much pause as plunge in,
and in half a minute more he was asking Will's
opinion of a large assortment of embossed "cards"
of staring colors, such as were greatly used for ad-
vertising purposes.
"Don't they blaze?"
They 're as big as my hand."
"Well, pretty nearly," said Jeff, chuckling.
"But they 're four times as big as the tickets old
Ayring is having printed for Fanny Swayne's elec-
tion. Don't you see the dodge, now?"
"I begin to. Every single small boy in the
chorus will take one of these for a ticket, sooner
than one of the little white ones."
"That's it."
"And that is n't all of it, Jeff."
What more, then ?"
"Every one of them '11 keep your pretty card,"
objected Will, "and put Ayring's ugly one in the
"We must make them trade with us, where we
can. They '11 do it. And every chick and child
of 'em must have two. One to vote and one to
Jeff's electioneering powers were fit to make
an alderman of him, some day, and he and Will
divided between them the not very heavy cost
of three hundred of the most extraordinary paste-
boards in the stationer's stock.
"Now where, Jeff?"
"Where ? Why, to our job-printing office. Old
McGee, the foreman, is a pet of mine. He '11
print Milly's name on the cards in bronze-gilt let-
ters, bright enough to dazzle the little fellows."




Jeff had not at all overestimated his influence
with the rotund and jolly-looking fcreman, and it
only needed a hint of what was up, to insure the
most absolute secrecy. Anything in the way of
election tickets was a direct appeal to the heart and
conscience of Corny McGee.
Now, Will, we must keep perfectly silent about
this. We 're the only party'in this election that
knows just what it 's about."
Jeff knew that his friend could do far better than
he could, in rallying active supporters. However,
Jim Swayne and Mr. Ayring could have named
another "party" that knew what it meant to do
and how it meant to do it.
The next day was Saturday, and the boys of Mr.
Hayne's school, as well as those of the Wedgwood,
were scattered far and wide by the customary holi-
day duties of young gentlemen of their age.
There were several games of base-ball that needed
to be played, and other affairs of equal importance
to be attended to, and Will Torrance had a trip of
two miles to make into the country, after a remark-
able pair of Bantam fowls.
Jeff "stood by his guns."
That is, he stood as a sort of sentinel at Corny
McGee's elbow until the last of that lot of gorgeous
cards fell from the printing-press, with the name of
" Amelia Merriweather" printed thereon in full,
readable type, and the apprentice in attendance
had powdered the same to brightness with a sift of
glittering bronze.
If any small boy or girl could be proof against
the power of such an attraction as that, Jeff felt
that he should lose his confidence in juvenile
human nature.
That Saturday was a day of trial among the
young ladies.
There were endless "caucuses" but no con-
ventions," and no one of the several gatherings
knew what the others might be doing.
Late in the day a direful rumor began to spread
among the girls who had brothers, or whose friends
had brothers, at the Wedgwood school, to the
effect that Jim Swayne had pledged six of the best
boys there to help him elect his sister.
"Fanny is to be a candidate, then !" came from
many lips.
Fanny could have obtained a larger idea of her
age, if not of her other qualities, if she could have
listened to all the comments called out by that
little piece of news, as it traveled so fast among the
girls of Saltillo.
The next day was Sunday, and of course the May
Queen business was dropped, but Monday could
fairly have been described as "busy." So busy,
in fact, that by sunset the confusion was worse than
ever in all the camps and councils but those of Mr.

Ayring and Jim Swayne, and of Jeff Carroll and.
Will Torrance.
It is possible that Dora Keys imagined herself a
camp and council or something of the sort, for at
least a dozen of the smaller girls had said, or had
allowed her to say without any contradiction, that
her chances were as good as those of any other girl
around the Park.
Belle Roberts asked her brother, at supper, what
he thought of Dora's chances.
That's just what I have n't been doing, Belle."
"Don't you think she has any?"
"There 's no telling where the lightning may
strike. But I think she's safe. The fact is, Belle,
the Wedgwood boys and old Ayring are going to'
be too much for us, this time."
It looked a good deal like it, and the Park boys
came together, on the morning of the decisive
Tuesday, with despairing hearts.
That suited the shrewd mind of Jeff Carroll.
exactly, for they would be ready to bite at any kind
of chance for a victory.
He worked with care, nevertheless, and only ex-
plained his plan of battle to a select few, under
tremendous pledges of secrecy.
One after another, Charley Ferris, Otis Burr,
Jack Roberts, and Joe Martin were engaged as
lieutenants under the generalship of Will Torrance,
with Jeff himself for what the army men call a
"chief of staff," which means the man who knows
more than the general, but does not wish to say so.
You see, boys," said Jeff, "our best hold will
be among the little chaps, just where Ayring
means to get his. He means to have them all
supplied with tickets and their votes put in, before
the older girls and boys are ready. If he knew
what we are up to, he might do something to head
us off."
The idea that they were working out a myste-
rious plot supplied all the added energy required,
and by tea-time on Tuesday evening every boy of
them was a good deal more than ready.
The drilling for the vocal music of Mr. Ayring's
annual "festival" had been going on quite success-
fully for several weeks, and it was a capital sing-
ing-school" for the rank and file of the chorus."
It would now be necessary to have the older per-
formers in training, and 'so the time for choosing
them had fully come.
When Will Torrance looked in, that evening, at
the door of the "lecture-room of the Presbyterian
church, where the drills were held and the election
was to take place, he exclaimed:
"Jeff, there are more 'n two hundred voters, but
we've tickets enough to go 'round. There 'll be
a good many who wont want 'em, so we shall have
two apiece for the rest."



The "pretty tickets had already been divided
among the active workers, to whose ranks five or
six more of the Park boys could now be safely
The best reinforcement of all came at the very
Pug !-Pug Merriweather, come here loudly
whispered Jack Roberts to the head-center of all
the noise there was in his part of the room.
What have you got for me? "
"Come here. We 're going to elect your sister
May Queen. Make every boy and girl you can get
at, vote one of these tickets. If they have little
white tickets, get them to exchange them for one
of these. Give 'em two apiece, and they can vote
one and keep the other."
If they don't, I '11 make it hot for 'em! "
His little hands were filled with the gaudy paste-
boards and his keen black eyes were all a-sparkle
with delight and energy.
"Look at him, Will," exclaimed Jack. "A
wasp in a sugar-barrel is nothing to him."
Even after Mr. Ayring called the meeting to
order, and all were listening to his business-like
statement of what they were to do, Pug was slip-
ping slyly along from seat to seat, till his tickets
were out and he had to come back for more.
Mr. Ayring's own plan called for prompt action,
with no useless time given to be wasted on writing
out tickets or in "electioneering," a thing he had
said something against in his opening remarks.
In less than five minutes after the appointment
of four young gentlemen to act as "tellers," and
ply their hats as "ballot-boxes," a good share of
the voting had been completely done."
Not a few had written ballots ready, and pencils
and paper were busy, but there were signs of excite-
ment speedily visible among the Wedgwood boys.
Dora Keys herself handed Jim Swayne one of the
colored tickets, although she did not drop one like
it into his hat.
Sarah," exclaimed Belle, "this is the work of
our boys. We must help them. Pass the word
among as many girls as you can. Will Torrance?"
-he was passing her just then-" Can't you let us
have some tickets ? "
Here they are. If you girls '11 help, we 're sure
to win."
The "surprise" part of Jeff Carroll's plan
worked to a charm.
Half the small-fry in the room had voted, before
an effort could be made to check the sudden and
unexpected flood of those very brilliant ballots.
If Mr. Ayring was vexed he did his best not to
show it; but the color of Jim Swayne's face be-
trayed the disturbed condition of his mind.
Pug Merriweather was everywhere.

"Jeff," said Will, "that little piece of quick-
silver is worth both of us put together."
They and their friends were by no means idle,
however, during that exciting quarter-hour.
Poor Milly Merriweather sat among some of her
friends, with a staring green ticket in her.lap,
hardly knowing whether to blush or to run away.
Otis Burr and Jim Swayne met in front of Mr.
Ayring's desk, in their capacity of tellers, at the
moment when it was announced that "the polls
are closed."
"It's a regular trick! exclaimed Jim.
"And of a shrewd kind," calmly responded the
red-haired boy; "but you did n't make it work
well. How does your hat feel?"
The other hats came swiftly in, and the tickets
were piled in a great heap in front of Mr. Ayring.
It looked as if the counting them would be a mere
matter of form, but for form's sake it had to be
"Two hundred and fifty-three votes cast. I
should hardly have thought there were so many in
the room," said Mr. Ayring.
It was too late to count the voters present, how-
ever, and the separate count began.
For a few minutes, Jim Swayne's face grew a little
more cheerful, for the white tickets were pretty
numerous, though not making so much of a show,
and there were a good many scattering votes writ-
ten with pen and pencil.
Tally was made after tally, and now the Merri-
weather strength began to show itself, as the big
tickets heaped up in a larger and larger pile.
Then, at last, came a moment when you could
have heard a pin drop, although nobody took the
trouble to drop one.
Mr. Ayring slowly arose to announce the result
of the voting.
He drew a good long breath, for it was not
what he had expected to read, when he had come
there, early that evening.
"Miss Frances Swayne has received eighty-three
votes; Miss Alice Bridge, seventeen; Miss Dora
Keys, five; there are twenty-one votes scattered
among other candidates; Miss Amelia Merri-
weather has received one hundred and twenty-
seven votes, and is elected, by a majority of one
over all competitors."
The Park boys cheered and stamped; all the
children under twelve did their best to make the
noise louder, and if there were any tokens given
of discontent, vocal or otherwise, they were com-
pletely drowned.
"We shall now proceed with the other exercises
of the evening," continued Mr. Ayring, "but I
shall be happy to confer with Miss Merriweather
at the close. I will add that, in my opinion, you



~85x.] SALTILLO BOYS. 641

have shown excellent taste and good judgment in
your selection."
Milly Merriweather hid her face in her hands,
but the girls crowded around to congratulate her,

Well, I don't know which side was most sur-
prised. On the whole; I think it was Milly
"She '11 get over it."


the Park boys raised a tempest of applause, and
Jeff Carroll whispered to Will Torrance:
"We 've done it, old fellow. See Pug Merri-
weather is trying to stand on his head!"



THERE was not a single boy of Mr. Hayne's
school in danger of being late on the morning after
the May Queen election.
Even Andy Wright was one of the earliest on
the ground, and his first remark was to Otis Burr:
"I 've heard that you had a kind of surprise
party last night ?"
VOL. VIII.-41.

"That 's more than Jim Swayne will. I say,
Will Torrance! you 've cut out a job for yourself."
"What kind of job ?"
"Oh, Jim Swayne and the rest of 'em lay it all
to you."
"Jeff Carroll deserves more credit than I do."
"All right. We '11 give him the honors; and
you may take the rest for your share."
That had not been Will's first intimation that the
wrath of the defeated party was gathering upon
him. Even Jeff Carroll had said to him, with a
chuckle: "Jim says he '11 make you eat one of
those tickets, Will."
And Charley Ferris had put on a terribly pug-
nacious look in declaring: "Don't let 'em scare
you, Will. I '11 stand by you."





There was not a shadow of doubt that he would,
either, nor of the sincerity of all the rest, one after
another, in echoing his heroic declaration. The
school would be as one man, or boy, in La affair of
that sort. At the same time it was not likely that
more than half a dozen of their rivals felt badly
enough about it to do more than bluster.
They were talking very big, indeed, over at the
Wedgwood, that morning, although Jim Swayne
himself did not appear until just as the bell rang,
and then he did not look as if he were anxious
to talk to anybody.
He had, in fact, done quite enough of mere talk-
ing the previous night, both before he went home
and after he got there.
He even felt hurt at Mr. Ayring himself for his
very calm and smiling way of treating the matter.
"To think," said Jim to his sister, "of his
laughing about it as if it were a good joke of some
There were many persons besides the music-
teacher who were able to see a funny side to such a
performance, and it was quite as well they were, for
the sake of good feeling and the success of the
The girls of Madame Skinner's were hardly dis-
posed to make merry, and their dignified "princi-
pal" did not refer to the election at all in her
"morning remarks." Her pupils did, very freely,
and so did the young ladies at Miss Offerman's.
Of course these were all pleased, and said so, and
many of them were able to add: "I voted for
Milly. She '11 make a capital May Queen."
Dora Keys was a good deal mystified, at first.
She said to herself, and afterward to others:
"I never so much as heard Milly's name men-
tioned; and they certainly talked of me. Every
ticket I wrote out was voted, too. It must be,-
that 's it. It was those hideous printed tickets.
There were more of them to be put in and so they
put them in. The children were crazy to get them.
I never thought as far as that."
The remaining interest in connection with the
May Festival would be in the selection of the
'court," and in that, at least, Mr. Ayring was
pretty sure to have almost everything to say.
The Park boys knew that some of them would be
chosen, but that a good many more would not, and
it may be they were all the better pleased over a
new excitement that sprang up among them at the
noon recess.
I say, Joe Martin," began John Derry, "what
is this about Friday afternoon? "
Declamation and composition. Every boy will
have to try. One thing or the other. Each
I '11 speak, then. What '11 you try for, Jack? "

"Have n't you heard? It 's Jeff Carroll's.
"He 's always up to something. What is it,
this time? Going to elect a queen every Friday?"
"No,-sir !-It's newspapers."
I '11 bring one -"
"Bring one Every boy that wants to can get
up one of his own and read it."
But my father does n't own a printing-office.
Does yours ? "
"We 're to write them,-editorials and all."
''Look here, Jack," interrupted Otis Burr.
"Don't you think I look a little like Horace:
"Can't say you do."
"I feel like an editor of some kind, anyhow..
I 'm going to start the 'Weekly Plunger.' "
Mine 'llbe the 'Journal,' said Charley Ferris.
"Andy has his Review' half written. Joe Martin's.
will be.the 'Register.' It '11 be big fun."
The plan seemed to grow in popular interest
every minute, but one o'clock came upon them
before half of the proposed periodicals" were
even named.
The boys were hardly in their seats before they
began to find out that Mr. Hayne himself had
been thinking of the matter, for he made them a
little speech about it.
The papers met with his approval, but once in
two weeks would be often enough for them. Half
the pupils each week. The editors were to be
orators one Friday and writers the next. He would
give them no sort of advice now, but wait and see
how they would succeed. All who could be ready
by the next Friday would be welcome to read.
It was a serious piece of business, but the boys.
could see that there was fun to come.
"Wont I report 'em?" remarked Jeff to, his.
crony, after school.
"I 've poetry enough on hand to run my paper
all summer."
That wont do, Will. Just a little of it, may
be. Can't you give us a leader on chickens?"
Perhaps I could. And I have another idea in
my head. It'sa Ramblers' Club."
"What's that?"
"Oh, you and I, and as many as want to, go
somewhere in the country, every Saturday. We
could get up some yarns about it."
"And have fun, too. I 'm in for it. Let 's go,
next Saturday."
But, Jeff, shall you have a newspaper ready by
Oh, wont I? You '11 see!"
Jeff could not be induced to divulge anything
more about his plans, but Will felt sure there was
something of interest coming.




As for the rest of the boys, neither that day,
after school, nor the next, was there any attention
paid to leap-frog, base-ball, pull-away, or any
other of their customary affairs.
On the contrary, there was a general scattering
toward home, the moment they got out of the
"They're all editing, Mr. Hayne," remarked
John Derry to the teacher, when he found himself
alone on the sidewalk, and was asked where the
rest were. I 'm the only orator left, this week.
I '11 be ready, sir."
He said it soberly enough, but Mr. Hayne knew
something of boys, and he felt sure his young
friend would bring as much as anybody to the
Friday's entertainment.
John Derry was always ready to do his share of
anything he liked, and although he could not say
he liked "declamation," when it took the shape
of work, it was quite another thing when it could
be made to look like mischief.
So he, too, went home and did his best, even
carrying a big book of "rhetorical selections"
up into the garret of his father's house, and very
nearly missing his supper.
"They '11 do it," remarked Mr. Hayne, to him-
self, as he walked along. "They'll get more
practice out of it than they would from any amount
of mere grammatical exercises. If I can keep
them at it, there 's no telling how much they may
All the while, too, they would be doing their
own driving, and that was a grand thing, of itself.
Thursday and the forenoon of Friday were
crammed full of reserve and mystery.
The disposition to talk seemed to have vanished,
and every editor in the school was as solemn as a
young owl, over the intended contents of his first
number." The excitement was not less on that
account, and for once the hour between twelve
o'clock and one seemed altogether too long for
Jeff," said Will, do you know who 's to read
first ? "
"No. Perhaps Mr. Hayne '11 call the roll and
have us read in turn."
Then I 'm away down the list and you '11 come
next after Ote Burr."
"Ote has something queer. He came within
half an inch of laughing when I asked him about it."
"Did he ?-There goes the clock. Come on."
Mr. Hayne was as calm and smiling as usual,
and the boys half envied him his power of keeping
cool under such exciting circumstances.
He had very little to say, however, seeming dis-
posed to treat the Friday performance just like any
other day's proceedings.

"As we have but one exercise in declamation,
young gentlemen, we shall begin with that. Mr.
John Derry."
John was ready and marched gravely forward to
the platform. There was a faint flush on his face,
but nobody could tell whether it arose from bash-
fulness or something else. He gave a low bow
to Mr. Hayne, another to the school, and then
launched boldly out into Daniel Webster's great
speech in reply to Colonel Hayne, of South Caro-
lina. The boys all knew bits and slices of it, and
thought John had made a good selection. That
is, if he*meant nothing personal to the Mr. Hayne
he had just bowed to.
Up to that time, not one of his boy friends had
dreamed how good a memory John Derry really
had, but they began to know something about it,
Any other boy would have thought six inches of
that speech quite enough for once, and been glad
to get through and sit down.
Not so John Derry, on the present important
occasion. He was to be the only speaker, and he
had made up his mind that there should be speak-
ing enough-as much as if a dozen boys had taken
the business in hand, instead of one.
On he went, speaking more and more slowly,
but never missing a word, until even Mr. Hayne
himself looked at him with a queer sort of sur-
prised smile on his'face.
There could be no doubt of the hard work it had
cost to get John Derry ready for such a feat as that,
but all the editors he was addressing wished more
and more strongly every minute, that his memory
would fail him.
Would he-could he-go on in that way all the
afternoon? They were afraid he would. And then
what would become of the newspapers ?
The thought of not reading them grew dreadful,
and John was talking more slowly yet, and going
straight on, when Mr. Hayne suddenly spoke:
"That will do, Mr. Derry."
"Not half through, sir."
"I know it. Any editor in the room is at
liberty to publish the rest of it. You may sit
John's effort to look dignified, as he bowed him-
self off the platform, came near setting the school
into a laugh, but Mr. Hayne promptly announced:
The Park 'Review' will now be read by Mr.
Andrew Wright."
"Beginning at the wrong end of the roll-call,"
grumbled Otis Burr, but Andy rose in his place
and lifted from his desk several sheets of paper,.
neatly fastened together at the top with red tape.
"Remain where you are, Mr. Wright," said Mr.
Hayne, and the reading began.




First came what the editor called a "prospectus,"
or, as John Derry said afterward:
That means a what I 'm going to do.' "
It was by no means long, and it was followed
by a very well written "leader" on the general
subject of boys." There were two book-
notices," and a conundrum, but it had evidently
not occurred to Andy to bring in any "fun." On
the whole, every one of the other editors was glad
when it was finished, if only for the sad conviction
he had that the "Review" would get the habit of
being the best edited paper in the whole school.
"Mr. Jefferson Carroll will now read 'The
Spy,'" said Mr. Hayne.
"Skipping all around," was Otis Burr's mental
comment, as a faint chuckle came to his ears from
Jeff's desk. Jeff was promptly on his feet. Not
a breath of anything like a "prospectus" opened
"The Spy."
Instead thereof, began a high-sounding essay on
the great question of How did the cow get into
the Park?" and this was followed by a vivid
"report" of the May Queen election. Jeff was
wise enough not to speak of any of the young
ladies by their real names, but the boy politicians
were described as acting under the leadership and
direction of the great Pug Merriweather. Not one
of them escaped a good taking off, the several
criticisms upon them being set down as coming
from the wise lips of Pug.
As Jeff himself declared, editorially, his list of
"local items" would have been longer if he had
been given more time to gather them.
Otis Burr was almost taken by surprise in being
called upon next, for the "Plunger."
His face was as red as his hair when he arose,
but it almost instantly grew solemn as he began
to read a stirring account of the Fight for a
cocoa-nut," in which Jack Roberts was made to
figure as at least a regiment and his antagonist
as a whole tribe of Indians. Pug Merriweather
appeared as a defenseless settler, and the cocoa-nut
was described as nearly losing its scalp.
Otis had not given all his space to "war," for he
followed that with an article severely pitching into
a make-believe quotation from some imaginary for-
mer number of Andy Wright's "Review." Before
he had read a dozen lines of the "extract" itself,
Andy was squirming on his seat with vexation, for it
was an odd mixture of bad grammar, Irish brogue,
and all sorts of broken English, not to speak of
It was easy enough to abuse a thing like that,

and even Mr. Hayne caught himself laughing when
Otis gravely wound up with:
"The author of this wretched piece of nonsense
does not know how to spell, much less how to con-
duct a 'Review.' He should at once place him-
self under the care of our gifted friend, Professor
John Derry."
It was John's turn to squirm a little, for it was
plain that he had been mentioned by his friend
the editor of the "Plunger" as the last boy in
school who was likely to be able to teach, even
spelling, to Andy Wright.
Charley Ferris followed, with his "Journal," and
Joe Martin with his Register," but they com-
plained of the short notice they had had of publica-
tion day.
Will Torrance had been waiting as patiently as
he could, and when at last his name was called, it
seemed to him as if something chilly had come
over that school-room.
The fact was, he was conscious that everybody
had heard enough.
He only read, therefore one of the three pieces
of poetry he had selected from his own writings for
the occasion.
It was pretty long, but it rhymed fairly well and
paved the way for what Jeff Carroll had suggested
to him-a leading editorial article on chickens.
There was a suppressed giggle all around the
school when he announced his subject, but it died
away when he added that he intended to write, this
time, about "Our Coop," and went right on with
a decidedly personal description of the young gen-
tlemen around him.
It was pretty good fun, but some of the boys
failed to see why Will need have been so careful to
explain the difference between chickens and geese,
and then to add that many people would be unable
to see it plainly, after all.
He wound up with a notice of an excursion to
"the lake," on Saturday,-to-morrow, -by that
ancient and honorable society, the Ramblers'
Club," which hardly any of them had ever heard
of before.
"Young gentlemen," said Mr. Hayne, after
Will sat down, the hour has arrived for closing
school. I will examine these papers carefully, and
give you my criticisms next week. I must say,
however, that I am very well pleased with so good
a beginning. It is much better than I expected."
All the editors were proud of that, and the boys
whose turn was to come determined in their hearts
to beat anything which had been read that day.

(To be continued.)





(A new style of Tableauz Vivants.)


THIS curious novelty can be produced with very little trouble in
any parlor, by children, for the amusement of their friends, or in a
public hall.
A little girl dressed in white is discovered on a couch strewn with
picture-books and toys, as if she had fallen asleep at play. She is
dreaming of the pictures as they are shown in the great book which
leans against the wall in the center at her right. The Fairy God-
mother rises from behind the couch, and stands on a cricket above
and behind the child. She is dressed in red (paper muslin or some
cheap material), with long pointed waist over a black skirt. Her
high pointed hat and her shoes and stockings are red, and she wears
a white ruff about her neck and another inside her hat, which has a
wide black band and a gilt buckle.
She holds in her right hand a cane with a bar across the top, and
after saluting the spectators, she sings:
Sleep, darling, sleep!
My fairy watch I keep,
In dreamy visions I call to view
Your childhood's friends so tried and true-
Sleep, darling, sleep!
The Fairy Godmother then springs down from her perch, and opens
the picture-book (which will be explained hereafter), taking care to
open the cover and fly-leaf together, and a life-sized picture is seen;
after waiting a moment she shuts the plain or fly leaf, which she
opens again as soon as the picture has been changed; and so on,
until the effect produced resembles an actual exhibition of a great
picture-book by turning over its leaves.
When all the pictures of one story or series have been shown, the
Fairy may shut the book, which will be the signal for the curtain to
be dropped or for the folding doors in front of the sleeping child to

be closed. After all the pictures selected for the evening have been
shown, the characters, still in costume, are displayed in one group
around the room, or stage, in a semicircle which is opened in the
center, to allow the opened book, still containing a lovely picture, to
be shown also.
After they have remained still in tableau for one moment, the
Fairy, who has resumed her place upon the high cricket, waves her
cane and sings to some pretty lullaby tune this verse, in which all
join; during which the little girl wakes, rubs her eyes, jumps off the
couch into the center of the room, makes a bow to each one in order;
they return her civility, and all bow to the audience as the curtain
Wake, darling, wake !
For we our leaves must take,
And go right back to our picture-book,
In which the little ones love to look.
Wake, darling, wake!
Now, we must explain how the picture-book is made, as it can be
used hundreds of times for all sorts of pictures. By a little change
of decoration on the cover, it can serve as a history in which historical
pictures can be shown-or it can be made to illustrate miscellaneous
selections, or some well-known story. Place a long, solid table
against the back wall in the exact center, and procure two boards
one inch thick, six inches wide, and just long enough to touch the
ceiling when they stand upright, leaning against the table. They
must fit well, for they must be firmly fastened to the floor as well as to
each of the front corners of this table. Having found the exact height
of the boards, lay them on the floor and see that they are straight
and parallel and just four and a half feet apart. Fasten upon them
four strips of board six inches wide and five and a half feet long,
one at each end of the boards, one at thirty inches from the bottom,








and one six feet above the last-named. The strips must be fastened
firmly with two-inch screws to each board, going through one into the
other. Tack white bleached muslin on the upper strip and draw it
tight by tacking it to the strip next below, then fasten another piece
from the lowest strip to the strip which is thirty inches above it.
Tack both pieces of cloth also to the outer edges of the long boards,
and cover all the cloth and the boards which show, with white or
tinted printing-paper; after this is done you will have an opening
six feet high and four and a half feet wide. Then raise the whole
until it is upright, and fasten it to the table by means of the second
strip, which will lean against it, as most tables are about thirty inches
high. If there should not be a chandelier near in front, to light it
sufficiently, a gas rod with ten burners in it can be placed on the
inner side of the upper bar, and fed with an elastic tube, which can
be arranged by a plumber at a trifling expense; but unless a very
elaborate exhibition is proposed, the ordinary light will probably
answer. Shawls or curtains are hung on each side of this frame to
the corners of the room, which will allow a passage for the per-
formers; and a chair is placed at each end of the table so that they
can step up and down out of the frame, behind which a curtain of
dull green cambric is tacked on the back wall. The performers are
to stand in a line behind the side curtains, at the right side of the
hidden table, ready to step into the frame the moment the fly-leaf is
shut and the former occupants have stepped down.
The fly-leaf must be made by covering a light wooden frame with
muslin, on which printing-paper is pasted. It must be as high as the
ceiling and five and a half feet wide, andt is hung on common hinges
at the right outer edge of the upright board which forms one side of
the frame. Behind these hinges a long strip of board, two inches
thick and the height from the floor to the ceiling, is securely nailed, to
hold the hinges of the cover so that it can swing freely apart from the
fly-leaf without interfering with its motion, for although the fly-leaf is
often opened with the cover, it is closed by itself when the pictures
are changing, as the cover is only shut when one set of pictures is
ended. The cover is like the fly-leaf only that it is decorated with
pictures or ornaments at the comers and margin, and if in a large
room it might have the title of the story to be shown. These titles
can be made on strips of paper eight inches wide and three feet long,
with black or colored chalk crayons, and can be changed whenever
the curtain is shut. If for the entertainment of little children, the
Fairy can tell the stories (which are too well known to require any
description here), or she can read any of the stories aloud if she has
no gift at story-telling. In the sketches of pictures introduced here,
the very effective costumes and properties can be furnished in almost
any house'with very little trouble or expense, and the skill and taste
used in preparing them will add much to the enjoyment.


IN the first picture, Cinderella is crouching in
the left corner; her head is bowed, and her face is
hid in her hands, as if crying at her disappoint-
ment in having to stay at home from the ball. The
fairy godmother is bending over the prostrate girl,
as if about to arouse her from her sad revery,
and is pointing up with her stick, which she holds
in her right hand. Cinderella wears a loose brown
robe, under which is concealed a white muslin
dress, richly trimmed with stars and fringe of gold-
paper. The godmother's dress and stick are
described on the preceding page ; the colors of it
may be altered if preferred.
Second Picture: The same characters as in the
first; same positions, excepting that the godmother
and Cinderella have changed sides. The loose
robe has been pulled off, and Cinderella stands
proudly in the center, in a dancing attitude, con-
templating with delight her beautiful ball-dress.
The godmother is lifting up a large yellow pump-

kin, as if showing Cinderella that her carriage will
soon be ready; and a box lies at her feet, to repre-
sent the trap in which the horses are stabled, ready
for the trip. Cinderella should be a blonde young
lady, with small hands and feet, and a graceful,
slight figure.
Third Picture: The Prince and Cinderella
stand as if about to lead the dance, in the attitude
of the old-fashioned minuet; his right hand holds
hers high, as she holds her dress with the left.
Their left feet are extended, and their heads turned
toward each other. The dress of the Prince can
be made of light-blue sateen, trimmed with puffs of
pink on the shoulders and at the sides; he has loose
trunks of pink with light-blue puffs, and pink
stockings. Two ladies in court-dresses, similar to
those described on the next page, may be intro-
duced, one at each side, to represent other dancers.
Fourth Picture: Cinderella in terror is flying
from the ball, her old ragged dress on, and a dingy
handkerchief tied loosely over her head.
Fifth Picture: Cinderella is meekly asking the
Prince to let her try on the glass slipper, which he
holds, standing in the center. At the left, her
angry sisters turn away in disgust, because they
could not succeed in wearing the slipper. The
sisters are dressed very showily, but Cinderella still
wears her old brown costume, as she stands at the
right of the Prince, with downcast eyes and
extended hand.
Sixth Picture: Cinderella sits in the center.
The enraptured Prince kneels before her, with the
foot wearing the glass slipper resting on a foot-stool;
the companion glass slipper she has just drawn from
her pocket. The godmother stands over them,
having changed the old brown robe into a ball-
dress by her mystic power, and she seems to be
waving her stick in triumph; and after this picture
has been shown for one minute, the book is closed.


FIRST PICTURE: A smallboy stands looking up
into his mother's face in terror; her right hand is
raised above him in anger, as if she intended
punishing him for selling the cow to so poor ad-
vantage. She wears a black dress with very high
panier over a gray underskirt; a white kerchief
over her shoulders, and a high pointed white cap.
Jack wears red stockings, yellow trunks, a loose
red jacket trimmed with yellow points. He holds in
his left hand a round red cap, which is partly filled
with beans, some of which, being strung separately
on fine black silk, seem to be falling out of the cap.
Second Picture: Jack is climbing up the bean-
stalk, which is made of a rake-handle or long pole,
one end being fixed in the table and the other out







of sight in the picture; a cross-stick on which he
stands'is made of an old broom-handle, two feet
from the bottom of the picture ; another cross-stick
five feet higher he clings to with his hands; and
all the sticks are covered with dark green cambric.
Third Picture: The Giant is seated at a table;
before him is the celebrated hen, and behind her,
.several golden eggs lie on the table (these are
easily made by covering china eggs, or real ones,
with gilt paper), while the hen is easily cut out in
profile (as only one side is seen), on which feathers
.are drawn with crayon or stuck with glue. The
giant is partly concealed by the table upon which
he really kneels, and a large cloak covered with
red calico and stuffed with pillows makes him very
large; and his head is made by covering a bushel
basket with unbleached muslin, on which a face is
drawn, red carpet yarn being sewed on the back
to represent hair.
Fourth Picture: Jack and his mother sit one
at each side of a table, contemplating with wonder
the hen and the two bags of gold. The table used
in all these scenes is only a board ten inches wide,
.covered with a white cloth and furnished with
rough legs which do not show.
Fifth Picture: Jack is raising his hatchet to cut
down the bean-stalk, and by his side is an enor-
mous golden harp, which is made of pasteboard in
profile, covered with gilt paper.


FIRST PICTURE: The merchant is taking leave
of his daughters; Beauty is in the center winding a
scarf around the neck of her father, while her
proud sisters stand one at each side with extended
hands, as if urging their father to bring them rich
.and costly attire. Beauty looks down, as if too
modest to ask for any gift but a rose.
The sisters wear silk dresses of as brilliant color
as they can find, with long trains and.square necks,
which are easily contrived by sewing a square of
white muslin upon the dress waists of their mother's
dresses, the skirts of which will do for court trains.
Their hair is rolled over a cushion, powdered, and
dressed with feathers or flowers, which can be bor-
rowed from bonnets. Beauty wears a plain loose
waist of white muslin over a plain black skirt. Her
hair falls loosely.
The father has a square-cut suit (to arrange
which, fold the skirts of a sack coat away in front to
form square corners, which, with the lapels, must be
faced with white paper-muslin. The vest is covered,
and also lengthened a quarter of a yard in front,
with the same, and large flap pockets are added.
Pantaloons rolled to the knee do very well for

breeches, with long stockings and low shoes, and
a felt hat can be pinned into a chapeau by turning
up one side and fastening the other corner into a
Second Picture: The father is plucking the rose
from a bush which stands in the center,' covered
with paper roses. The Beast, with uplifted club,
seems about to destroy the old man, who stands
with knees together and hands down in a comic
attitude of despair.
The Beast wears a fur cloak or mat over his
shoulders, pinned around his waist and reaching to
his knees below the tops of long pink stockings.
His arms may be bare, and he wears over his face
a mask, which may be bought at a toy-shop, or
made of brown paper.
Third Picture : The father introduces his
daughter to the Beast, who stands as if bowing low
at the right. Beauty is at the left, drawing back,
and making a courtesy. She is dressed as before,
with the addition of a shawl pinned over her
shoulders, and a red handkerchief over her head.
Fourth Picture: Beauty's return home, in which
scene she is embracing her old father, who seems
in raptures; they are in the center while the proud
sisters stand one at each side, one looking off in
anger, and the other gazing with envy at the happy
pair. Beauty has a rich silk dress of a style sim-
ilar to that shown in the first picture.
Fifth Picture: Beauty is asleep in her chair in
the center, while her sisters bend over her in
triumph, one holding a vial containing the sleep-
ing draught, of which they have administered a
dose in order to make her overstay her time, and
break her promise to the Beast.
Sixth Picture: Beauty stands weeping over the
body of the poor Beast, which is represented by a
roll of dark shawls, around which the robe of the
Beast is wrapped, as his head and feet would be con-
cealed by the sides of the frame : her face is covered
with her hands and she seems overwhelmed with
Seventh Picture: A handsome prince is kneel-
ing at the feet of Beauty, who is overjoyed to find
in him her faithful Beast, restored to his form and
rank through her fidelity and truth. His dress can
be arranged with a lady's velvet basque with an
opera cape across the shoulders, a pair of white
satin breeches made of paper muslin, white long
hose, and low shoes with large bows; a sash may
cross from the left shoulder to the waist, in case the
basque is too small to meet neatly in front.

Wigs can be made of black and white curled hair, sewed upon a
skull-cap, made of four conical pieces. Beards can be contrived by
fastening the same articles, or white llama fringe, on a wire frame,
which goes under the chin to each ear, around which it is fastened.




Do You know a nice girl
named Kate, who lives up-town
in New York? I do. And I
,..,' .... -- know her broth-er Joe. Ev-er-y
', sum-mer, Kate and Joe leave
.. the cit-y and go to vis-it their
S' aunt, who lives in a'big house
S.... i i in the coun-try. And on pleas-
; ant days, their aunt lets them
1. I .1 -"' go in-to the vil-lage near by
".I".' l,.. to get the let-ters at the post-
I-. of-fice. They start ear-ly, and
: walk through the fields, and the
S.: pret-ty green lanes, in-stead of
-.I .a-long the hot, dust-y road. Joe
'= I.-i is not so big as Kate, but that
".i is not his fault. He grows
S(I just as fast as he can, but as
Kate is three years old-er
C- than Joe, he can not catch up
: to her yet, nev-er mind how
hard he may try. But he tells
Kate that he is a BOY, any
way, and he can take good
care of her. So some-times, when they start down the lane, she takes
his arm just'as if he were a big man, and then Joe feels ver-y proud.
One day when Kate and Joe were go-ing to the vil-lage, they saw
a dog who was bark-ing at a ver-y lit-tle
girl. The lit-tle girl cried with fear. But '
Joe came on just in time to say, in a r
ver-y'loud voice, Stop, sir !" and the dog r '" ,
stopped at once and crawled a-way. Joe
thought it was be-cause he was a BOY,
but the real rea-son was that the dog saw -'.^
a man com-ing with a whip in his hand.
Next they saw an-oth-er dog, and what do you think this dog was
do-ing ? He was jump-ing af-ter a but-ter-fly But the but-ter-fly did



not care one bit. He flew a-round and a-round the dog, just keep-ing
out of reach of his mouth, un-til the dog was tired out.
"Joe," said Kate, who thought she would teach her broth-er some-
thing, that beau-ti-ful but-ter-fly will turn to a
_. -' worm some day."
I Pooh!" said Joe. "Just as if I did n't know
'- that. Now see me catch him in my hat!"
/- But Joe did n't catch him at all. For the but-
S-' ter-fly flew a-way, and left Joe sprawl-ing on the
ground. The bright wings shook as if the but-ter-
fly was laugh-ing at Kate and Joe. They made a
ver-y fun-ny mis-take when they thought the but-
ter-fly would turn to a worm. The worms change; but not the but-ter-
flies. First, the worm slow-ly hides him-self a-way in a soft cov-er-ing
which he makes for him-
self un-til it looks like a I
lit-te bu t n- ome. Then in I{ II. i1j I, I:^ i1?^
time the bun-die bursts
o-pen and out comes a -

self up that day, he rubbed .
his knees, and what did '-
he see but an-oth-er dog t I .
It was white and small
and its tail curled nat-
u-ral-ly, Joe said. This .--
dog was a great pet and .-.. W
he be-longed to a pret- '
ty lit-tle girl whom Joe I: .
and Kate did not know. -

sweet-ly, and Kate said, "What a pret-ty pair of pets they are!"
These musld not leave the dog-days," said Joe, as they walked on; and

Kate said she thought so too.
came near her. But the I
lit-tle girl smiled at them I
sweet-ly, and Kate said, "What a pret-ty pair of pets they are!"
"These must be the dog-days," said Joe, as they walked on; and
Kate said she thought so too.


t -.


:4 _,,


JUNE is the boys' and girls' own month-fresh,
rosy, busy, and full of plans for the season to come.
This is the time when young feet twitch restlessly
under school-desks and benches, and young eyes
wander from school-books in hand to happy birds
in the bush just outside the school-house door, and
when the weary teacher has the same longings that
make the children restless, though she may not
think it best to confess it.
Some of you have outdoor work in the summer,
and some of you have outdoor play; but whether
it 's one or the other, or both, June is eager for you
to be at it; and the way she whispers and pulls
and beckons is something wonderful.
Now, you shall hear about

IN most rivers, as I 've heard, the cataracts and
rapids flow down-stream, but one of my Canadian
friends sends word that the St. John River, New
Brunswick, has a cataract which has a queer habit
of sometimes rushing up-stream.
A little above where the river flows into the
ocean, there is a wide and deep basin that empties
itself into the harbor through a narrow passage
between two walls of rock. When the tide is
going down, the water runs out of the harbor into
the ocean far more quickly than the river can flow
through the narrow channel above, and so the
stream pours itself seaward through the harbor end
of the passage in a roaring water-fall. But when
the tide is rising, the ocean fills the harbor and
passage so rapidly that the sea-water plunges down
into the basin from the river end of the narrow
channel, in a foaming cataract that falls up-stream!
Twice in every tide, however, there is a space of
about twenty minutes when the waters are at one
height in the harbor, passage, and basin, and then

the ships that are to go up or down must be hur-
ried through before the river gets its back up,"
as the boys say.
MY DEAR MR. JACK: In your Christmas remarks you mentioned
a "curious winter-tree that lasts only a few hours." Well, now,
please let me remind you that out here, in Australia, the winter
weather does not come until June, and that it is full midsummer
when Christmas comes. So, you see, our Christmas-trees can not be
really "winter-trees," but they are "midsummer-trees." We enjoy
them quite as well, though, and those of us who know you feel that
we are jast as much your youngsters as are the English and Ameri-
can boys and girls who are lucky enough to have their Christmas-
trees in true Christmas weather.-Your little friend, W. T. V.

A LADY who likes cats-and who also must be
as fond of hunting up the origin of words as a cat
is of hunting mice-sends the Little School-ma'am
anice long letter all'about "puss" and "cat." As
many of you may like to know where these famil-
iar titles come from, you shall have an extract from
the letter:
"Cat" is from the Latin "catus," which came into use in place
of the older Latin "felis." The Romans brought the cats from Syria,
where the name is "kato"-Arabic "kitt," from which we have
"kitten," as I think. In Persian, the word is "chat," and the Per-
sian language is allied to that most ancient tongue, the Sanscrit; so,
perhaps, "chat" is the earliest form of our word "cat."
In Persian, also, a cat wild or tame is "puschak," from a word in
Sanscrit meaning "tail"; and, to this day, Persian catsare noted for
their handsome tails. This word "puschak" is pronounced "pis-
chik" by the Afghans, and "puije" by the Lithuanians, and all
these words are very like our word "pussy." Some derive "puss"
from a Latin word pusus," "pusa," meaning "little boy," "little
girl." But where did this Latin word come from ? Sanscrit is older
than Latin. Since the Sanscrit word means "tail," and Herodotus,
the ancient historian, in describing the Egyptian cat, calls it by a
word that means "the creature with waving tail," I, for one, shall
believe in the Sanscrit origin of our word "puss," and not in the
supposed Latin origin. J. H. K.
DEACON GREEN tells me that the Editors of ST.
NICHOLAS will give you, this month, a nice long
talk about the ostrich, its ways and habits, and
also some human ways of dealing with that nimble-
footed bird. In this case, the sooner I show you
my prize-bird, the better; for it's the most ostrich-y-
looking bird for one that is not an ostrich, that you
have ever seen.
Now, the question is, what is he? And where
does he live? What is his Latin name? And
what is his every-day name? Can he run like an
ostrich, or is he one of your slow-goers ?
And what of the little fellows down foot? They
are striped, and the big bird is speckled. Why is
this thus? And what means that queer house in
the background ? That may give my shrewd ones a
clue as to the home of this no-ostrich bird.
There are encyclopedias and dictionaries and
picture-books and works of travel, the dear Little
School-ma'am tells me, that are even cleverer than-
my youngsters. I can hardly believe it; but if the
dear little lady is right, as she always is, why not
consult these cleverer things ?
Let me hear from you soon, my hearties !





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CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that between the ist of
June and the 5th of September, manuscripts can not be conveniently
examined in the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who
wish to favor the magazine will please postpone sending their articles
until after the last-named date.

OUR thanks are due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for
their courtesy in allowing us to reprint in our Treasure-box of
English Literature an extract from one of Mr. Lowell's poems; and
to Hon. F. M. Finch, for kind permission to use his poem, "The
Blue and the Gray."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : What is the proper way to spell the name
of the poet Shakspear? In this town, which is only a few months
old, I can not find out from any body. Uncle Robert knows, I
think; but he is a tease, and all that I can get from him about it is
such ridiculous things as, Shakspear himself did n't seem to know
how his own name ought to be written," and "once he even went
s far as to say what 's in a name," and "he never could have
learned properly how to spell, for he wrote his words all crooked,"
and so on. But if you can help me, please do, and oblige your true
admirer, FANNY G., 12 years.
For an answer to Fanny G.'s letter, we can not do better than
reprint a part of a communication relating to the subject, and which
came to us lately from Mrs. Mary Cowden-Clarke, who, with her
husband, has written many works concerning Shakespeare and his
writings. She says:
The mode of spelling "Shakspere" was used when printing my
concordance to the great poet's plays, in deference to the wish of
Mr. Charles Knight, its original publisher; otherwise I should have
used the form Shakespeare," which I have always adopted, because
it was the one given in the First Folio Edition of his dramatic works
by its superintendents and his brother-actors Heminge and Condell.
The name is also given thus in the First Edition of his Sonnets;
and it seems to have been the orthography used in print, where his
name was given during his life-time. That as many as sixteen different
modes of spelling the name have been found to have been used at
the epoch when he wrote, and that he himself did not adhere to any
particular one when signing his name, appears to be merely in
accordance with a fashion of the time, which allowed of the utmost
irregularity in the orthography of men's names.

CHESTER WHITMORE.-Your questions about a fresh-water
aquarium will be answered' by Mr. Daniel C. Beard in an article to
be published probably in our next number.

ALL our readers who enjoy Mr. Rossiter Johnson's admirable
story of Phaeton Rogers" will appreciate the accompanying letter
concerning the scene of Phaeton's exploits, and giving some inter-
esting facts about the author of the story.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : We are very much interested in the story of
"Phaeton Rogers," because the scene of it is laidin our native town.
All the adventures recounted took place in that part of the city where
I was born, and have lived fifteen years, and where my parents have
lived nearly forty years; so it is all very familiar to me.
We have many times been over the railway crossing where that
most interesting character, Jack-in-the-Box, lived in his delightful
i -...,, Ti. T,, ii g-house is no longer standing, but mamma
:'....*. '.-. .- i. r :.. years ago, with its pointed roof, and one
side covered with morning-glory vines. I wish she had looked inside,
and seen the shelf full of books, and all the other things described.
I am curious to know whether the story of Jack-in-the-Box will be
spoiled by ending in a romance, or whether he was a veritable char-
acter, for I think he is made very interesting.
We know the very spot where the author of the story used
to live when all his adventures with Phaeton and Ned took
place. The other day we walked out on the street where
the boys rode when they took Uncle Jacob's horse to pasture,
on purpose to see if we could recognize any of the places
mentioned in that famous ride. But the city has changed very
much since those days. Then, that street was a country road,

with barns and hay-fields on either side, but now it is one line of
stores and houses, with a street-car track in the center. The only
things we recognized were, the stone brewery, now transformed into
a flour-mill, and the building that used to be the Quaker meeting-
house, in front of which the boys sat when they were listening to
Jimmy the Rhymer's ballad.
Deep Hollow, mentioned several times in the story, is a beautiful
ravine. We have often explored parts f it in summer. My brother
well members the strife between the Dublin boys and the boys on
our side of the river, and it is said to continue, even now.
My older sisters once went to a school in this district, where they'
remember Mr. Rossiter Johnson as one of the scholars, and that he
was considered the smartest boy in the school. So, children in
reading "Phaeton Rogers," may know that the most unimportant
character in the story, who rarely says anything, and then only
"ventures to suggest," is really an uncommon boy.
The name "Rochester" is certainly buried very plainly in the
little couplet, where readers are given a chance to find out the
name of the town in which the boys lived, but if I had not already
recognized Rochester in the familiar scenes of the story, I'don't
think I should have discovered it. No author could find a more
delightful place for the scene of a story than Rochester, especially
that part of the city which includes Deep Hollow and the river.
Mr. Johnson is now well known to fame. His wife also is literary,
and my sisters went to school with her at one time, when they
attended Miss Dolittle's seminary on Fitzhugh street. She is the
daughter of a Greek professor in the University of Rochester, who
has a wide reputation.
I never read a story before where the scene was laid in Rochester,
and it greatly adds to its interest to have it such a charming story as
"Phaeton Rogers," and to know that its author is a native of our
The coming of the ST. NICHOLAS is always anticipated in our
family, but now I hail its appearance with peculiar pleasure.-Very
sincerely, M. F.

THE responses to our request to hear from performers of "The
Land of Nod," the operetta published in the number for December,
i88o, have been very gratifying, and we are glad to know that the
little piece has been successful in so many places. Among the
most profitable performances that have been reported to us were
those in Boston Highlands, at the Church of the Unity; Chatham,
Mass.; Brooklyn, N. Y., at All Souls' Church; Jefferson, Ohio;
and Santa F4, New Mexico. And the following letter from Little
Falls we are sure will interest everybody everywhere who has had
anything to do with bringing out the operetta:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I don't usually read the letters in the*
"Letter-box," but going to the piano to try the piece of music
entitled "Romance Without Words," I discovered the letter from
Mrs. Flagg, which led me to think you would be pleased to know
we have had the 1" Land of Nod here in Little Falls. The ladies
of our parish held a three-days' festival, and for one evening's enter-
tainment, my mamma and Mrs. Ransom prepared the children of
our Sunday-school, in "The Land of Nod." It was "too cnaning
for anzyf ng'" to see the little sleepy-heads" of three and five
years of age act their parts so nicely. The red light thrown on the
last scene brought great cheering from the audience. To finish the
evening entertainment, mamma had drilled twelve little girls in the
"Fan Brigade," after the description given in your January num-
ber. Mamma wishes me to say it will repay any one for the trouble
and time spent in drilling them, when properly costumed, and suc-
cessfully presented.
I meant to mention that I took part as one of the dream-sprites in
"The Land of Nod" (as I am twelve years old), and I was also in
the Fan Brigade. We repeated the operetta another e'"sinc" and
after our expenses of $x2o.oo were paid, we had over :- left.
I hope you will publish some more pieces as nice.-Your subscriber,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I tried the magic dance described in your
March number, and I wish. to tell you it is a fraud. I followed the
rules exactly, and it would not work. I like your book very much.
-Your constant reader, C. M. H.
We are sorry that C. M. H.'s experiment did not succeed;
but, as we ourselves have seen the magic dance performed success-
fully by merely following the directions given in the March number,
we feel sure that there must have been some mistake in C. M. H.'s




arrangements. Moreover, several other readers have sent accounts
very different from C. M. H.'s. Here is one:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : On Saturday, March s2th, I had a few
little girls come to visit me. I wanted something nice to amuse
them with, so I tried the magic dance spoken of in the March ST.
NICHOLAS. Mamma bought me a pane of glass and I traced some
of the figures in Miss Kate Greenaway's little book, "Under the
Window," and put the glass between two bound volumes of ST.
NICHOLAS. The figures danced beautifully. With much love to
you, dear ST. NICHOLAS, A. S. K.

THE question was asked in June, 1879, by Jack-in-the-Pulpit, how
the strawberry got its name. .Answers came, of course, but none
or them appeared to be satisfactory. Here, however, are two letters
that seem to settle the question:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Years ago, when strawberries grew wild
about London, England, the children used to gather them, string
them on the long, straw-like grasses, and sell them for a penny a
"straw of berries," which soon was shortened into "strawberry."-
Yours sincerely, HELEN M. LAMB.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been told that strawberries are so
called because in former times people used to string the berries on
straws read. r -f .. T I-.;.xk this is a queer idea, but perhaps it
is true, for :. i. i ,j'.i.' notions.-Your friend,

IN connection with Mr. Ernest Ingersoll's article upon "Ostrich-
Farming," in the present number, we print the following cutting from
the London Times" of May 14, 188o:
An ostrich, long on exhibition at Rome, having been suffocated
by thrusting its neck between the bars, there were found in its
stomach four large stones, eleven smaller ones, seven nails, a neck-
tie pin, an envelope, thirteen copper coins, fourteen beads, one
French franc, two small keys, a piece of a handkerchief, a silver
medal of the Pope, and the cross of an Italian order.
And here is a slip from the New York "Tribune" of January, i88i:
A mania for ostrich farming possesses the settlers in South Africa,
and vast tracts of sheep-pasture are being converted into ranges for
the more profitable bipeds. As a result, the price of mutton has
advanced two cents per pound.

KITTIE HANAFORD.-Any reader-whether a subscriber or not-
who sends solutions of ST. NICHOLAS puzzles, will be named in the
list printed at the end of the "Riddle-box."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Roller-skates are very nice-on other peo-
ple. Gertie or Edie sweeps by on a "set of wheels," and you say:
" Dear me! How nice it is I 'l ask Mamma to get me a pair; "
and, on being assured that "it is the easiest thing in the world to
learn," you go to your mother or father and say: "Please, please
get me a pair of roller skates! I 'l be so good! I saw Gertie on a
pair to-day, and she went like everything. She says it is awful easy
to learn. Ah, do now, please. I want 'em so!" And in the end
your father goes and buys a pair.
Ah, how proud you are of the bright metal heels, the rattling
buckles and straps, and the clicking wheels And how impatiently
you await the first fine day, that you may "go skating." It has
come. Gertie or Edie is willing to give you a lesson, and you en-
i 1-. the graceful ease with which she flies up and down
..I: I.: .i She takes your hand-you "strike out"-- What is
it?--Is the world waltzing?-Are yo i .:r. i.'i-.. i.^ ,:.- Only
a tenth of a second do you think this. --'l. ri.. anguish
of that moment! Gertie laughs. You think, "Oh, how heartless
that girl is! "
Then she helps you up. You try to smile, and when she asks:
"Are you hurt ?" you say "A 1-i-t-t-l-e."
Then you try again, only to repeat the same experience. Finally
you learn to go the width of a flag-stone without falling, and slowly
you learn to /go, perhaps, a block alone. But this is only after
about, "to dra' it mild," fifty falls.
If you think it worth while, "'go ahead." If you think it easy,
take warning, and stop while there is yet time.
HELEN N. STEARNS, 12 years.
Helen evidently has not had patience to master the art of roller-
skating. But there are hundreds and hundreds of boys and girls
who will not agree with her concerning it. For the city parks of
New York of late have been almost transformed into rinks for the
boys and girls on roller-skates. During the months of March and
April, the whirl of the skates was heard on all the pavements there,
and even the crowds upon Broadway were startled by the swift
young skaters shooting by on their way to school. We give below
a scene on a bright April day in Madison Square, New York, which
.shows the enjoyment the young people of this city have taken in
this style of skating.





DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw in December number Jack-in-the
Pulpit's remarks about the gingerbread-tree, and it reminded me of
an old-fashioned poultry-tree that I saw last September while out
riding with papa. It was in this Connecticut village, and near a
dilapidated house. There was a small orchard of old-fashioned
apple-trees, one of which attracted my attention, for it bore both
fowls and fruit. There were a great many apples upon the tree, so
many I could not count them; the branches came near the ground,
and a variety of poultry had taken lodgings there for the night,
namely, turkeys, guinea-hens and chickens. These, together with
the apples, were to me quite an amusing sight. I think if the readers
of the "Letter-box" could have seen it they would have laughed as
heartily as I did.-Yours truly, CARROLL S. SHEPARD (iT years).

WE have received from the publisher, James H. Earle, a copy of
a neatly bound little book entitled From Log-cabin to the White
House," by William M. Thayer. It details the life of President
Garfield, and gives many incidents of his boyhood; and it can be
recommended to boys and girls as both interesting and helpful.


s 6


As PROMISED last month, here are a few directions for collecting
and pressing wild-flowers:

i. Bring your flowers home, roots and all, in a botany-box made
like the picture in the other column, and not painted.
The most convenient length is eighteen inches. The ends are
elliptical, with a long diameter of seven inches.
2. Specimens should be put to press as soon as possible after they
have been collected. Each leaf should be smoothed and held in
position by the finger or a bit of glass, until the paper has been
pressed down upon it. When properly treated, pressed flowers
retain a large degree of their grace of form and richness of color.
3. Roots and branches too thick to be pressed entire may be
thinned with a sharp knife to a section not much thicker than the
leaves. The petals of heavy flowers, like the water-lily, may be
pressed separately and put together again when dry.
4. There is a kind of blotting-paper made expressly for drying
plants, but an excellent substitute is newspapers. Lay a smooth
board over all and use a heavy stone for pressure.
5. After the specimens are thoroughly dried, they may be trans-
ferred to a Plant-book or Herbarium.
We have devised a book for the use of our members, in which

THE following verses are appropriate to these bright summer
mornings, and are very cleverly written for a girl only eleven years
of age:
OVER the fields the sun shone brightly,
Among the trees the breeze blew lightly,
And seemed to say,
At peep of day,
Good-morning, little girl! "
The little streamlet ran on in glee,
And on its bank waved many a tree;
They seemed to say,
At peep of day,
"Good-morning, little girl!"
The butterflies and the bumble-bees,
The bright blue skies and the bright blue seas,-
All seemed to say,
At peep of day,
"Good-morning, little girl! DAISY.

flowers can be fastened without paste, by the use of little slips of
gummed paper. These directions are contained in it. We will
send one of these books to the boy or girl who will send us the
best set of specimens of pressed wild flowers, prepared unaided,
and accurately named and dated. Each set is to consist of six speci-
mens. Mount each specimen, after it is thoroughly pressed, on a
card of bristol-board.
For your own collection, sheets of paper at least 1o X 16 inches
should be used, but for convenience in mailing, use cards cut to the
size of a page of commercial note-paper. The scientific and common
names of each specimen are to be written in the lower right-hand
corner of its card, together with the date and place of gathering the
flower, and the name of the collector.
Write your name and address on the back of each card. Put two
or three thicknesses of paper between the specimens, to prevent
injury in the mail-bags, and send, as before, to H. H. Ballard,
Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass., by the i5th of September, 1881.
See "Jack-in-the-Pulpit," ST. NICHOLAs for August, 1877; and
" The Sea-weed Album," ST. NICHOLAS for August, 1875.
Next month about insects.
The list of our correspondents is now enlarged to about 800. The
following new chapters have been formed:

Address. No. of M1embers. Secretary.
Flint, Mich ................... 5..H. Lovell.
Utopia, N. Y................... .D. E. Willard.
Hartford, Conn .............-..C. A. Kellogg, 27 Niles st.
Auburn, Ala..................-. .K. B. Trichenor.
Hartford, N. Y............... xo..S. E. Arnold.
Nashville, Tenn............... o..R. I. Tucker, 117 Monroe st.
Greene, Iowa, "Pine Croft".. 6..L. Price.
Glencoe, Ill ................. ..O. M. Howard.
Philadelphia (D) Pa........... 4..J. McFarland, 13r4 Franklin st.
Santa Cruz, Cal............... 4..C. W. Baldwin.
Pigeon Cove, Mass............. .C. C. Fears.
Pittsfield, Mass............... 4..---
Ypsilanti, Mich............... 33..E. R. Shier, Care VW. Snyder.
Northampton, Mass .......... 6..Chas. Maynard.
Cedar Rapids, Iowa..... ..... 13..L. Leach.
Wright's Grove, Ill............ 6..Wm Greenleaf.
Waltham, Mass ................ 7.H. Hancock, P. 0. 1339.







WORDS WITHIN WORDS. i. S-laver-y. 2. E-we-r. 3. S-event-y.
4. F-actor-y. 5. P-lent-y. 6. C-row-d. 7. C-luster-s. 8.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "She came adorned hither like sweet
May." Shakespeare's Richard I., Act V., Sc. a.
4, RENDs. 5. TrYst.- PUZZLE. Poe-t.
WORD-BUILDING. I. A; pa; ape; pear; drape; spared; despair;
paradise; disappear. II. I; it; tie; tile; stile; tinsel; tingles;
nestling; listening; glistening. III. M; am; man; main; mania;
animal; laminar; marginal. IV. U; us; sum; muse; Remus;
muster; sumpter; trumpets.-- CHARADE. The letter I.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals: Honor the Brave. Finals: Dec-
oration Day. Cross-words: i. HeralD. 2. OriolE. 3. Numis-
matiC. 4. OctavO. s. RectoR. 6. ThaliA. 7. HelmeT. 8.
El. 9. BanjO. to. RatioN. Ir. AntiquateD. 12. VistA. 13.
ElasticitY.-PICTURE PUZZLE. Fagin, Sykes, and his dog.
Two EASY CROSS-WORD ENIGMAS. I. May. 2. Marbles.

IN each of the following puzzles, the word which is to fill the first
blank is to be such that its letters may be re-arranged to form a
word that will fill the second blank and make sense.
I. You can not cross the in a 2. After saying a
few his enemy handed him a-- 3. In spite of his
- leg, he was as firm as the -- 4. We found the doors of
all the and cottages -- 5. The owner of the -
house had a large collection of antiquities. 6. The man who
was playing the uttered a as he lifted it on his shoulder.
7. The -- was obliged to the book. 8. It was -- ,
and not Alice, who deserved the -- D. w.

Kepas lulf lewl, ni ganlugea antiuq dan done,
Eon how wedltelh yb het tasdlec neRih,
Hwne eh eladcl eth lerfsow,os uleb nad ogelnd,
Sastr, taht ni rathe's nirametfm od hisen.



THESE differ from the ordinary word-square in that the words
which form them do not read the same, horizontally and perpen-
dicularly; in each square, the letters which are represented by stars
in the diagram, when read across, or up and down, spell the name
of the same pretty flower.
I. I. The plant from which opium is obtained. 2. To withdraw.
3. A flower. 4. Fragrant blossoms. 5. The chief magistrate of a
city. II. i. A poisonous reptile. 2. Track followed by a hunter.
3. A flower. 4. A treatise. 5. Harmony of language. III. i.
One of a vagabond race. 2. To demand as due. 3. A flower. 4.
A wooden frame for supporting pictures. 5. Kingly. IV. i. A
kind of tree. 2. A trap. 3. A flower. 4. Obscure. 5. Designate.
V. i. A fruit. 2. A fixed position. 3. A flower. 4. A large wild
animal. 5. A stratum. RUTH A. CARLTON.

IN the month of a cape ofNews Jersey, a small island in the Irish
Sea, named a lake in New York, went to the capital o/Italy, in a
lake at the north of Minnesota. He took for islands of Oceanica,
his friends, two capes extending into Chesapeake Bay. The island
near Scotland, was a cape of Southern Ireland, and rejoiced their
mountains in Germany, although the air was a little country on the
Pacific coast of South A merica. Each took for refreshments in a
satchel, of a country in the north ofAfrica ; an islands of Oceanica,
and fritters made of chopped Bay ofLong Island. For a beverage
they carried an imitation of the wine of a city in France made from
grapes gathered in an island soutl of MIassachusetts. In their
rambles, one of them lost a cuff-button ornamented with a river in
Mississippi. They suspected that it was found by a person called a
caps in Massachusetts, for they passed her and afterward met a river

EASY ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE. May-pole. Ape. Map. Mole.
Lamp. Play.-- RIDDLE. Spring.
ABRIDGMENTS. Hawthorne. I. H-air. 2. A-we. 3. W-hen.
4. T-horn. 5. H-and. 6. C-0-at. 7. Pea-R. 8. Pri-N-ce.
9. M-E-an.
ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS. Upper Left-hand Diamond:
1. C, 2. Mab. 3. Caleb. 4. Bee. 5. B. Upper Right-hand
Diamond: a. B. 2. Lea. 3. Begin. 4. Aim. 5. N. Central
Diamond: i.. 2. Era. 3. Brown. 4. Awe. 5. N. Lower
Left-hand Diamond: i. B. 2. Boa. 3. Bourn. 4. Art. 5. N.
Lower Right Diamond: x. N. 2. Eos. 3. Noted. 4. Set. 5. D.
EASY HOUR-GLASS. Centrals: Peacock. Across: x. LeoPard.
2. BlEss. 3. SAd~.4- C. 5. FOg. 6. DeCks. 7. WilKins.
ANAGRAMS, FOR OLDER PUZZLERS. i. Shadows. 2. Signature.
3. Credentials. 4. Revolution. 5. Patriotism. 6. Reformatory.
THREE EASY WORD-SQUARES. I. i. Crab. 2. Rice. 3. Acre.
4. Beet II. i. Dive. 2. Iron. 3. Void. 4. Ends. III. i.
Pond. 2. Over. 3. Neva. 4. Drab.

in Brazil, who, when they questioned him, looked an island near
i ..i rihey must a cape of Nrrtk Carolina for an island

My first is in jewel, but not in gold;
My second is ia bugle, but not in horn;
My third is in young, but not in old;
My fourth is in even, but not in morn;
My whole is a pleasant time of year,-
A time of flowers and sunny cheer. DYCIE.

I AM composed of forty-five letters, and am a quotation from one
of Coleridge's poems.
My 38-28-34-35-6 is an aromatic garden plant. My 39-10-15-26-23-
43-5 is odious. My 42-13-8-30 is a prison. My 20-36-3-27-14 is a
temporary building. My 44-22-40-9 is a comer. My 41-7-32-24-45
a layer or stratum. My 16-21x-t-37-31 is a kind of bee. My 33-x-
25-19 is desirous. My 17-29-12-4-2-18 is to explain. ARCHIE.

THE initials and finals name two countries of Europe often on the
verge of war. CROSS-WORDS: c. A leather strap. 2. Clamor. 3.
A deserter. 4. A kind of hawk which, in India, acts as street
scavenger. 5. A heroic poem. 6. Old times. F. A. w.

THE central letters of this puzzle, reading across, form a word of
ten letters made of two words of five letters each. Upon the first
half of the long word the Left-hand Diamond is based; and upon
the other half is based the Right-hand Diamond.
SIn bouquets. 2. An inclosure. 3. The dry stem of wheat. 4. A
ruminant animal. 5. In flowers. RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND (across):
,. In blossoms. 2. A kind of atmospheric moisture. 3. A small
fruit. 4. Distorted. 5. In nosegay. w. H.

ROMAN or Grecian, all the same,
My first is pleased my whole to meet.
Whether in delicate array,
Or, like my second, always gay,
Its blooming face we gladly greet. n.

IN the following puzzle, each pair of definitions refers to a word
spelled alike in German and in English. The German definition is
printed first, then the English.
i. A head-gear; a hovel. 2. A relative; to talk indistinctly. 3.
An infant; beneficent. 4. A resting-place; to seize. 5. A definite
article; a cave. 6. Acrid; an annual plant. 7, A sort; skill. 8.
An ablution; wicked. 9. Remote; a plant that grows in moist
places. to. A division of time; a label. xx. Part of a verb; a
terrible contest. 12. A poison; a present. A. T. MOMBERT.






EASY PICTORIAL ANAGRAM. that describes one picture of each set, and re-arranging them so as
to spell a word or words that will fairly describe the mate picture or
AN anagram is a word spelled with all the letters of another word, pictures. In the illustration, each numeral is so placed that it
the letters being, of course, arranged differently. In the present stands in, and thus indicates, all the pictures belonging to its set.
puzzle, there are five anagrams, and five sets of pictures to corre-
spond. The puzzle is to be solved by taking the letters of a word DIAMOND.

_--' zs. AN invocation. a. That which caused the death of a royal
--=.. woman of great beauty. 3. A means for holding a door closed
S-- without locking it. 4. A bird. 5. A king whose city was taken by
the ancient Greeks. 6. Something accomplished, something done."
7. An ill-used, too-often used, and too-little used, letter. v.

S' I THE names of solvers are printed in the second number after that
Sin which the puzzles appear.
/ ANSWERS TO MARCH PUZZLES were received, too late for acknowl-
S[, / edgment in the May number, from Carl and Norris, London, Eng.,
2- "Brownie Bee," 8-Lillie Keppelman, I-"Two Little Bees,"
i L' / '0z Les Ruches, France, 6- L. Bradner, Paris, 6-A. Merrylees, Italy, i.
"'i I before April 20, from Edwin Walker, Jr., 8-Alice M. Kyte, x3-
[jI IC. and J. Treat, all- J. S. Hunt, all- Kittie Hanaford, 9-
Sz "Partners," i2-Pearl and Birdie Bright, 4-Marion Booth, 2-
/Samuel D. Stryker, Jr., 7-"S So So," all--"Adam and Eve," all-
S I "Carol and her Sisters," all- "F. H. R.," ii- Georgia Jones, 5-
S Florence G. Lane, C. Willenbucher, so-E. S. Hosmer, io-
S q Harriet L. Pruyn, r-J. Alvah Scott, 14- Clarence Haviland, 13-
Lanman Crosby, 5-Robert K. Harris, 2- "Queen Bess," z6-W.
r C. McLeod, io--Richard Anderson, --Hii.: B. Wilson, 4-
#q# JGussie and Anna Larrabee, 24-M. M. I... r-Philip Sidney
j-..j Carlton, x2-"K. F. M.," 12-"Hallie and her Cousin," 7-
S'- Jeanie and Edward Smith, r--Edith Louisa Miner, 3-Nanie
-' Gordon, 12- "We, Us and Co.," 13-Julia T. Pember, 3-Clarence
/* ,W. Peabody, 5-Katy Flemming, x4-Lester D. Mapes, X2-
S//1 Wilbur F. Henderson, i-Willie Van Kleeck, s2-Mors 0. Slocum,
,* i. ,1' r--F -.1: Thwaits, all- "Buttercup and Daisy," 8-Eugene A.
S-Nettle Richards, i-J. Milton Gitterman, 3-The Stowe Family,
I,/ i all-"Carlyle,"2-Florence E. Pratt, all-C. L. Brownell, all-
.- Sallie Viles, 13-Mary E. Sprague, 4- Olive," 4-"Johnnie and
-_ Jessie," 16-Annie Mills and Louie Everett, i6-Witch and
S Wizard, r2- Carrie Davison, 3- Estelle Merrill, I -" M'liss," 4-
S-- Florence Leslie Kyte, 13- Sid and I," 14- George A. Stahl, 2-
S/ \"A. G. B. and M. G. B.," ui-Edmund C. Carshaw, 9-John B.
S Miller, 7-"Willie F. P.," 4--W. B. Potrere, 8-John B. Blood, 6
-Ellen L. Way, 12-"0. We R. Y.Y.," 12-0. B. Judson, 13-
--'W .' F \ Bertie Manier, 14-Louise and Nicoll Ludlow, r4-" Frenchy," uo
S.- -Lulu M. Brown, o--" Zaydee," x--Luzia and Elsbeth Hitz,
S' 7-Caroline Larrabee, 5-Walter W. Silson, i-Horace F.,
-I \ -' Bernard C. Weld, 15-Nellie Caldwell, 4-Effie Wagener, x-May
S _____ __ Shepardson, i-Josie McCleary, 7--Leonie and Zella, 12-Mark
.___ L. McDonald, Jr., 3-Cora Gregory, x--J. C. and L. Tomes, all
-W. F. Harris, 12-Archie and Hugh Burns, s2---,ulu G.
Crabbe, all-Arabella T'' .-Robert E. Coates, 4-Ollie and Inez ?.7 : ,, 3--Willie F. Woolard, 5-"Indian," I-A. B. C., all
-Lulu Meisel, i-" .," 2-De F. W. Chase, i-W. Eyes, o".- I R. Heath, 15- Mabel Thompson, 3-H. and F. Kerr,
8-M. Nicure, "Chic," 2-Bessie and her cousin, 16-"Puck," 2-Raymond Cilley, I-Frank W. Crane, 7-" Crystale," 3-Henry
L. Mitchell, 14- Grace Crosley, I- 7T r:;. Trio," xi--Austin M. Poole, all-Ethel Gillis, 3-F. W. H. and G. U. C., 9- Etta Iva
Anthony, 14-Sadie Medary, xr--',u.. I Ward, all-Mamie and Annie Baker, 2-Willie Evans, 7-E. Matthews, 4-" Puzzle
Seeker," 4-Frank C. Caldwell, 2--H. O. i.-..:. --J. M. T., 6-Charlotte McIlvaine, 12- E. S. Meyers, 4--Wheelie, 13-Lilian
R. M., --Jack R. Wrenshall, 2- Minnie '" i.... 5-Virgie and Ettie, 2- .;.: .-.:,l-. Isabelle, 13-G. H. and Charlie Allyn,
5-Lizzie C. C., 4-Mary L. Thorne, all-Thos. Hillson, Jr., all- Mamie' -...,.. r- i ......: Pifer, i-" Mauch Chunk," 15-C. H.
Tibbits and W. E. Billings, r2-Dycie, iz-Archie and Charlotte, 4-Hepry Rochester, -Violet, 3- Starr K. Jackson and Maud L.
Lacey, 13- Willie L. Ross, 5- Willie R. Folsom, i- Ruth Camp, 4-Alice and Walter, 7- Evangeline Wade, 5- Grace M. Fisher, 12-
Herbert Barry, all---Estelle M. Beck, 3-Charlie F. Potter, r5- "Two Grown Folks," x5-J. Harry Anderson, 6-Edward Browazki, 4
-Harry Heydrick, 5-Bessie S. Hicok, all-Bertha Hills, i--J. Harry Robertson, 5- Guesser," all- "Fraud," 4-Jennie- Elliott, 8-
Fannie E. Case, ro-B. B., 4-"The Inmates," 5--Jeannie Osgood, o--Gerard H. Oulton, 6- Mignon," x-Grace B. Taylor, 5-
Joseph Wheless, 4-Fanny Bissinger, x-Grace E. Hopkins, all-Jessie and Charles F. Lipman, all- Jessie," s1-Lizzie D. Fyfer, 3
-E. Wirth, 3-" Bab," all-Frank E. Newman, 2-Bertha, Herman, and Charles, 6--Gustav T. Bruckmann, i-Marie C., 14-"Belle
and Bertie," u4-Nettie and Willie Van Antwerp, i4-Warren Cook, i-Harry Cook, --E. R. Conklin, 3-Herbert C. Thirlwall, 13-
Daisy May, all-Helen, Florence, and Louise, 5-Wallace'K. Gaylord, 13-E. H. Neville, 2-Fred. C. McDonald, all-Lizzie H. D.
St. Vrain, x3-Frederick W. Faxon, all-R. O. Chester, 7-" Ulysses," s3-Agnes Fulton, --R. T. Losee, 15-John H. H. Coleman,
5-Hattie Evans and Mary de N., 6- "Bosun," r5-T. K. and N. B. Cole, i--" 80 and 8x," all-Elsie B. Wade, 8-Ned Thompson, 3
-Emma and Lottie Young, 13-Edith and Alfred, 9-Nellie C. Graham, 15-May Farinholt, i-B. Hopkins, 5-Mamie Hardy and
Alice Lucas, r--Henry C. Brown, all- Margaret S. Hoffman, 6-Ernest F. Taylor, 9-Lilla and Daisy, all--S. C. Thompson, 14-
Willie O. Brownfield, i--Gent e -ind Carrie, 8-Dick Bab, i2-Myrick Rheem, 7-"Lode Star," --i-Mamie L. Mensch, 5-Laura
Moss, 5- "X. Y. Z.,"r-- -I" '. i .1-', 2-Sophie M. Gieske, 7-Charlie Wright, 2-Loulie H. Monroe, 2-G. E. Hemmons, 3-1
Fannie Knobloch, 7-Estelle Weiler, 3-Carrie and Mary Speiden, :3-Three Little Subscribers, i-Lulu M. Hutchins, ro-Bessie
Meade, 8-P. S. and H. K. Heffleman, 4-Albert J. Brackett, 7-Bessie Taylor, 8-Anna and Alice, 14- Genie Smith, 6--Maggie
Lawrence, 2-Sanford B. Martin, I-Lewis P. Robinson, 2-Deter and Meter, 14-Katie Williams, 6--H. R. Reynolds, Is-Hope, ix
- Paul and Jessie, all-Dollie Fry, 3-Ella M. Parker, 3-Charles Emerson, 5-Jennie Morris Moore, x- C. E. B." 3- Mary Wiehl
and W. H. Moyer, x4-Faith Walcott, I-Rose. Irene Raritan, 6-J. A. Scott, 12-Bessie C. Barney, 9-Grace E. Smith, 8-Lizzie
Nammack, 8- Katie Nammack, 4- George and Frank, x5- G. T. Maxwell, 15- Sammie Dodds, all- Gabby, 6- Florence Wilcox, 15-
Belle W. Brown, 9-Letetia Preston, 5-Gracie Hewlett, all- "Phyllis," 13-Ned and Loe, all--Williston, 3-P. S. Clarkson, all-G. J.,
i-Edith Granger, 7- Charlie W. Power, all-W. and G. L., all-Cig A. Rette, x2-Edith B. Fowler, s--Ella W. Faulkner, 15-
"Churck," 5s-Lyde and Will McKinney, x4-Edward Vultee, all-Chow Chow, 3-George D. Sabin, 8-Emma Merrifield, 6-
Carl Howden, 6-Belle F. Upton, 2-Phebe, Hettie, and Annie, 7-Clara D. Adams, 4-Mabel Adams, 3-Isabel Chambers, 2
-C. A. Chandler, xi-Al. Mond, 13-Georgia and Lee, 13-L. H. P., 8-Pierre Jay, 5-" Brownie Bee," Xu-"Carl and Norris," 5-
"Two Little Bees," 13. Four solvers forgot to sign their names to their letters. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.

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