Front Cover
 Why the clock struck one
 The origin of Dantzic
 King Midas
 The story of the secretary...
 The erring scientist
 The rain-man
 Stories of art and artists: Eighth...
 A pleasant surprise
 What the burdock was good for
 Stories from the northern...
 What one year makes of a little...
 Wolf-reared children
 A spring story
 Donald and Dorothy
 April and May
 Master Theodore
 The new red riding-hood (play)
 "Master self"
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Agassiz association - Thirteenth...
 Agassiz association - Fourteenth...
 Back Cover

Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 9, no. 7. May 1882.
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00115
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 9, no. 7. May 1882.
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Uniform Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 9, no. 7
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: May 1882
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: VID00115
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
    Why the clock struck one
        Page 505
        Page 506
        Page 507
        Page 508
        Page 509
        Page 510
    The origin of Dantzic
        Page 511
        Page 512
        Page 513
        Page 514
    King Midas
        Page 515
        Page 516
        Page 517
    The story of the secretary bird
        Page 518
    The erring scientist
        Page 519
    The rain-man
        Page 520
        Page 521
    Stories of art and artists: Eighth paper
        Page 522
        Page 523
        Page 524
        Page 525
        Page 526
        Page 527
        Page 528
        Page 529
    A pleasant surprise
        Page 530
        Page 531
    What the burdock was good for
        Page 532 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 533
    Stories from the northern myths
        Page 534
        Page 535
        Page 536
        Page 537
        Page 538
    What one year makes of a little kitten
        Page 539
        Page 540
        Page 541
    Wolf-reared children
        Page 542
        Page 543
        Page 544
        Page 545
        Page 546
        Page 547
        Page 548
        Page 549
        Page 550
        Page 551
        Page 552
        Page 553
        Page 554
    A spring story
        Page 555
    Donald and Dorothy
        Page 556
        Page 557
        Page 558
        Page 559
        Page 560
        Page 561
        Page 562
        Page 563
    April and May
        Page 564
        Page 565
    Master Theodore
        Page 566 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 567
        Page 568
        Page 569
        Page 570
        Page 571
    The new red riding-hood (play)
        Page 572
        Page 573
        Page 574
    "Master self"
        Page 575
        Page 576
        Page 577
        Page 578
        Page 579
    The letter-box
        Page 580
        Page 581
        Page 582
    The riddle-box
        Page 583
        Page 584
    Agassiz association - Thirteenth report - April
        Page 585
    Agassiz association - Fourteenth report - May
        Page 586
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



MAY, 1882.

[Copyright, 1882, by THE CENTURY CO.]



KETURAH was in the kitchen making a chicken-
pie of the Plymouth Rock rooster, whose domi-
neering disposition had become unendurable.
She had been making pop-overs, which would
soon come out of the oven, in all the crispness,
and flakiness, and general toothsomeness which
made Keturah's pop-overs famous; so the kitchen
was not a bad place to be in, just now. But Ke-
turah had her apron on her head, and that was a
sign that she was in the doleful dumps, and small
boys and girls had better keep out of the way.
That apron of Keturah's cast a shadow over the
whole house, especially when Aunt Kate and Uncle
Rufe had gone to Boston, and Keturah had all the
small fry under her thumb.
Sam put his nose in at the crack of the kitchen
door, and sniffed. The pop-overs allured, but Ke-
turah's apron waved a warning, and Sam, being a
wise boy, retreated.
Polly was in the garden hanging out the clothes.
Sam, looking out of the hall window, saw her, and
wondered if a blackbird had nipped her nose, it
was so red. But the next moment a big tear
dropped past it, and he saw that she was weeping,
and there was her lover, Jake Pettibone, beating
a hasty retreat, looking very sheepish. Keturah
had "shooed" him off, just as she "shooed" the
chickens. Keturab was Polly's aunt, and had
been "more 'n a mother to her," as she was
always reminding her.
Sam did wish that Polly had more spirit, and
would n't allow her lover to be "shooed" away.
Jake was such a good fellow, and owned such
delightful boats.
Ike was down by the currant-bushes, now, dig-
VOL. IX.-33.

going worms for bait, preparatory to going fishing
with Jake. Sam had been invited to go, but Ke-
turah would n't let him, because it might rain,
and he had had the croup when he was six months
old. (This was the very worst attack of doleful
dumps that Keturah had ever had.)
Kitty was in the garden, too, trying to put salt
on a robin's tail; somebody had told her she
could catch a robin so, and she believed it, because
she was only a girl; and she did n't care if she
could n't go fishing, for the same reason. It was
almost as well to be a girl, as to be a boy, under
Keturah's thumb; and Aunt Kate would be away
for three weeks more, and there was no hope that
Keturah would come out of the doleful dumps,
and be her usual good-natured self--unless that
provoking old clock should get over its mysterious
habit of striking One, and unless she should find
her saffron-colored silk stockings!

For Ketural was -,i... -t;t..,,.i; she believed in
signs and omens, and nobody could reason, nor
laugh, nor coax her out of the belief. Nothing
could induce her to begin any undertaking on
Friday; she would not burn egg-shells, lest she
should come to want; and, if she spilled salt, she
was sure she should quarrel. If she saw the new
moon over her left shoulder, or the first robin on
a low bough, ill-luck was certain. If a mirror was
broken, or a whip-poor-will sang on the roof, some-
body in the house would die before the year was
out. If a fork or a pin that was dropped stood up
on the floor, or Casabianca, the cat, washed his
face, she made preparations for company. She
carried a horseshoe in her pocket to ward off



No. 7.


witches, and a potato to ward off rheumatism.
She was always hearing mysterious noises, and
was very scornful when anybody suggested rats.
When she saw a "calico" horse, she wished, and
she was sure that she would get her wish; and she
always made a bow to the new moon, that it
might bring her a present.
Uncle Rufe and Aunt Kate- who were like the
best of parents to their little, orphaned nephews
and nieces-were always telling them, privately,
that Keturah's signs were all nonsense, and they
must not listen to them; but so many signs "came
true" that Ike and Kitty more than half believed
Keturah was right. Did n't Ike have that fight
with Neddy Forrester the very day that he spilled
all his salt at breakfast? And did n't he get his
velocipede, and Kitty her walking doll,-presents
from Uncle Jack,-only two days after they bowed
to the moon ? Sam declared it to be his belief that
they would have had the presents, even if they had
failed to pay their respects to the moon, and, as for
the salt, Neddy Forrester had been threatening to
"whip" Ike for a long time.
Sam was almost ten, and Aunt Kate had told
him that she depended upon him to teach the
other children not to mind Keturah's nonsense.
But he did quake, inwardly, whenever Keturah
heard very strange noises, and prophesied dreadful
things. However, he had n't quaked half so much
since Keturah had twice called him to the door, in
the evening, to see a ghost in the garden; and one
ghost was the Bartlett pear-tree, all blossomed out
white, and the other was a stray white cow that
had taken a fancy to the cabbages Then Sam
had concluded that there was something as sub-
stantial and commonplace as a pear-tree or a cow
at the bottom of all ghost stories, and he had felt
sure that Keturah could n't scare him again-but
it was queer that that clock should strike One !
The disappearance of Keturah's saffron-colored
silk stockings-which had been given her by her
first and only lover, a sailor, who was drowned on
his second voyage-was not so unaccountable.
Keturah had a great many bundles and budgets;
she was, as she declared, "uncommon savin',"
and hoarded all the scraps that would otherwise
have found their way to the rag-bag. Sam sus-
pected that in one of Keturah's budgets the
saffron-colored silk stockings, which she felt sure
had been spirited away as a warning of impending
evil, were hiding themselves.
But what could make that clock strike One?
It was a tall old hall-clock, that had been in
the family for generations; it had not been in
working order for years, and was supposed to have
outlived its usefulness. Some people admired it
very much, but the children thought it very ugly,

with its great gilt griffin on the top, and its gilt
claw feet, just like a beast. Keturah had always
felt there was something queer about that clock.
And now it did seem as if there was something
queer about the clock; for it had struck, on five or
six occasions, just one loud, solemn stroke, which
could be heard all over the house.
It struck the very first night after Uncle Rufe
and Aunt Kate went away, between nine and ten
o'clock at night. Sam and Ike were awakened,
and got out of their beds to see what was the mat-
ter. Keturah was as white as a sheet, wringing
her hands, and bewailing that something was
going to happen, whereupon Ike got back into bed,
and covered his head with the clothes.
Sam slipped into his pantaloons, so as to be ready
for emergencies, and crept down two or three stairs.
He peered over the balusters at the clock. A
moonbeam fell exactly across the griffin's head. It
did n't wink, but its eyes flashed like coals of fire.
I am sorry to say that Sam followed Ike,
Keturah said that something dreadful must have
happened to Uncle Rufe or Aunt Kate. But the
next day she received a telegram, saying that they
were well,'and had had a very pleasant journey.
And Sam thought that something might have
jarred the clock, and made it strike, and he wished
he had n't covered up his head with the bedclothes.
If he'd only had time to think, he'd have marched
boldly up to the clock, and found out what was
the matter! He lay awake for more than an
hour, mourning that he, the man of the family,
should have let the others think he was afraid.
He was awakened by another stroke of the
clock. There was a faint glimmer of dawn creeping
in at the window-not enough to give the cheerful
courage that comes with morning, but just enough
to make the furniture take on ghostly shapes.
Instead of going boldly down-stairs, Sam sat up
in bed, with his teeth chattering; and when the
door-knob turned slowly, and the door opened
softly, Ike or even Kitty could not have popped
down under the clothes more quickly than he did!
It was only Keturah. Sam felt wonderfully
re-assured when he heard her voice, and he
emerged from his retirement, and assumed as easy
and confident a manner as a boy could assume
while his teeth were.chattering.
That clock wa' n't never struck with hands "
announced Keturah, solemnly.
Of course it was n't the hands that made it
strike," began Sam, but his feeble attempt at a
joke was promptly frowned down by Keturah.
I felt in my bones that something was a-goin'
to happen, even before them saffron-colored silk
stockin's was sperited away," said she, in a doleful
voice, and with many shakings of the head. And,




as if them stockin's wa' n't warning' enough, there 's
that old clock, that haint been wound up nobody
knows when, and with its insides all gi'n out, any-
how, a-strikin' out loud and solemn enough to
wake the seven sleepers of Christendom I haint
no expectation that we shall ever
see your aunt and uncle ag'in 1 "
I say, Keturah, if I were
you, I 'd go down and take /
a look at that clock! You
might find out what makes *
it strike," said Sam.
I sha' n't meddle nor i
make with the works of dark- ''
ness, and I 'd advise you
not to, neither," said Keturah. .
Sam scarcely needed that ad-
vice. He felt even less like in- i' '
-vestigating the matter than he I,-: ,.:1
the night before. Even in the b-.., ..
cheerful daylight he gave that j
clock a wide berth. ,' I
After that, the clock struck, on. / I I
or twice, every night; and thr. -
times it had struck in the da''
time,- each time when Jake Peti -
bone, Polly's lover, was in the h...l-.: !
and from this, Keturah had beccu.: I -" "-
sessed of the idea that Jake had -:.i.- ri, .
to do with the impending evil of hi..h t!i. .r.:
warned by the clock. And so .-: h d I l..:ld
Polly to have anything to say hi Po, .i
almost broken-hearted, in cons: -.,in'-c, .in Ii'.
was as much under the weather i_ -i.:h .:.1!'
sailor could be.
Sam and Ike and Kitty all th..i.lt it i .
great shame. If there ever was ai -..-.thc,-[ na ,-ii
was worth having, Jake was on.-. indEd, Kia~,
had resolved to marry him, herself, when she
should grow up, if Polly did n't-unless Ike and
she should keep a candy store, for which enter-
prise she was willing to forego matrimony. Jake
had been "'round the world and home again,"
when he was only a boy. He had seen cocoa-
nuts, and bananas, and dates, growing; he had
been down in the ocean, and brought up great
branches of coral, and shells that looked as if they
were made of pure gold; he had been on intimate
terms with monkeys, and wild men, and alligators,
and earthquakes, and volcanoes; he had been half
cooked by cannibals, scalped-in a mild way-by
Indians, and had had a piece of his arm bitten out
by a shark; he had been on a fishing expedition
to "the Banks"; had killed, with his own hands, a
shark as big as-well, I am obliged to confess that
the size of that shark varied with each time that
Jake told the story; but it was never smaller than

a whale, and it was once as large as the fabulous
sea-serpent; he had caught a cod-fish so heavy
that it nearly sank the vessel; had got wrecked,
and escaped drowning only by a hair's breadth.
After all those good times, he had settled
quietly down in Northport, and, wonderful man as
he was, had become so condescending as to
wish to marry Polly, the children's nurse.
"' P ol-' ,- l .. .. _.0. : : I ,--. O u Ai -r cd I_ t t ,
.O.00 hut :I-t. dtid n... no I h.' r
-' 1.,', ,. i. -I cc ,d, t'

N I : I. .,r .. ,- I. ,
. ik ir ..1 : r .i n. i l *. -h .
_ ti.l -'Ir' : ._i '..'"r- .u = l u_, *1 l a ',

Ex- '" ( ,h l'", nt, I ( i r.: ^ ,,.' "-,: "1
jokin'! while Jake was relating
his most thrilling adventures,
which was very disagreeable.
To say nothing of his past greatness, Jake was
now the proprietor of three boats; in one, he went
fishing; the other two he kept to let. If there
could be a happier or prouder position in life than
Jake's, Sam and Ike would like to know what it was.
The fishing vessel was "as tidy a craft as you
often run afoul of," as its owner often remarked, and
the children were very fond of going fishing in it,
although, to tell the truth, there was a fishy smell
about it, which grew very strong just about the time
the water began to break up into hills, and the boat
began to make dancing-school bows, and you began
to wish you had n't come. The little pleasure-yacht,
the Harnsome Polly," was "desarvin' of her name,
and more 'n that you could n't say." That was
Jake's opinion. The children thought Polly ought







to be very proud and grateful for the honor of hav-
ing such a beautiful boat named for her. Jake's
third boat was only a row-boat, named the "Racer,"
which he had made for himself; but it was every-
thing that a row-boat ought to be, and he often
lent it to Sam and Ike to row in, by themselves.
It will readily be seen that Jake was a valuable as
well as a distinguished friend, and his marriage to
Polly was an event greatly to be desired, especially
as Jake threatened, if Aunt Keturah persisted in
"cutting up rough," and preventing him from see-
ing Polly, to go off to the Cannibal Islands, and get
himself wholly cooked, this time, and eaten; a har-
rowing possibility, the thought of which caused
Kitty to dissolve into tears, and made Sam and Ike
lose their zest for fishing, even, for a whole day.
And that queer, ridiculous old clock was at the
bottom of all this trouble !

As Sam, looking out of the hall window, saw
Jake being "shooed" away from Polly, he beck-
oned to him, slyly. He wanted to see whether
that clock would strike as soon as he set foot in
the house, as on former occasions, and he also
wished to cheer Jake a little, lest he should, in des-
peration, set sail at once for the Cannibal Islands.
Poor Jake's round, rosy face was elongated until
it looked like the reflection of a face in a spoon,
and its jollity had given place to a woe-begoneness
that was enough to make your heart ache.
He came cautiously around to the door, anxious
lest Polly's vigilant aunt should espy him; but
Keturah had returned to her chicken-pie, without
having the faintest idea that Jake would be so
audacious as to enter the house by the front door.
Jake stood still, just inside the door, and sur-
veyed the clock. He was superstitious, as sailors
usually are, and he seemed to prefer to keep at a
respectful distance from that clock.
She's an onacountable cre'tur', now, aint she ?"
Sam understood that he meant the clock, for
Jake had a way of considering clocks, as well as
vessels, as of the female sex.
"But it did n't strike, Jake It did n't strike
One when you came in exclaimed Sam.
She did n't, that 's a fact! said Jake, bright-
ening a little. Mebbe she 's gi'n over her pesky
tricks. I don't see what nobody 's got ag'in' me to
go to bewitchin' on her like that, anyhow "
"I don't think it has anything to do with you,
Jake. It strikes every night, and you are not here
then," said Sam.
But it 's kinder cur'us that she don't never set
up to strike in the day-time, onless I be here.
But there is folks, Sammy, that says none o' them
things don't happen without natural causes, and if
there is a natural cause for that there clock's per-

formances, I 'd gin something' harnsome to find it
out For there haint nothing' but jest clearin' up
this here mystery that '11 ever fetch the old woman
'round"-with a nod toward the kitchen. "As
for them saffron-colored silk stockin's,-she says,
mebbe I haint got nothing' to do with their bein'
sperited away, but that pesky clock's striking' is a
warning' ag'in' me. Well, if Polly 'n' me has got
to part, there 's the Cannibal Islands for me, and
the sooner I 'm off the better! "
"Oh, Jake, don't go !" cried Sam, in distress.
"Perhaps we shall find out what makes it strike.
I 'm going to try "
"Sammy, if you will find out, and fetch Keturah
'round, I '11-I '11 take you mackerelin' clear'n
outside the shoals, and I '11- Sammy, I '11 make
you a row-boat that '11 beat the 'Racer' all hol-
ler, and as pretty as new paint can make her "
This was a dazzling offer, indeed Sam felt
ready to brave all the ghosts he had ever heard of,
for such a prize. And to keep Jake away from
the Cannibal Islands !-though he must be a great
goose to let cannibals eat him, just for Polly.
"Of course, it is nothing but what can be
accounted for, .and I '11 find out for you, for noth-
ing, Jake," said he, grandly. Just at that moment
a sudden breeze, blowing through the open
window, slammed the hall door.
A moment afterward the clock struck One!
Jake's ruddy face actually changed color, and he
gazed at Sam in awe-stricken silence. Sam did n't
feel so brave as he had felt a few moments before,
but he marched up to the clock, and had his hand
on the door when he heard Keturah's voice. He
turned to look for Jake, but he had vanished.
"It 's jest because that Jake Pettibone was
hangin' 'round here, though he did n't set his foot
in the house. I did n't send him off none too
soon, for it's as true as preachin' that that warning'
has got something' to do with him Sakes alive,
child, you aint a-touchin' of it! Come right away,
this minute; it 's a-flying in the face o' Providence
to meddle with such things'!"
Sam was not at all sure that he would have
opened the clock door if Keturah had not ap-
peared, for he felt very queer and shaky."
His heart sank. He had a "presentiment,"
like Keturah. He felt sure that he should never
have a boat that could beat the Racer," that Polly
would die of a broken heart, and the cannibals
would dine off roasted Jake.

Hickory, dickory, dock, A mouse ran up the clock;
The clock struck one, and down he ran, Hickory, dickory, dock "

Sam awoke in the dead of the night, with this
poem of Mother Goose running in his head. It




had, in some way, mingled itself with his dreams.
It was no wonder, for Kitty was continually repeat-
ing Mother Goose's poetry, and the clock, which
was in everybody's mouth, figuratively speaking,
had probably put that verse into her head. Indeed,

tiresome old lady, whose poetry was of very little
account-by which it will be seen that Sam's
literary taste was poor. But now it occurred to
him that a mouse might make a clock strike One,
if it got in and frisked about among the works.

. _---



;,--,- ~ J .;sr -~-~"

Sam remembered, now, that he had heard her A mouse might be the naturall cause" that
singing it over and over the day before. It had Jake would give so much to find. Sam might
not suggested any idea to him then; he only possibly make a discovery that would bring Ke-
wished that he need not hear quite so much about turah out of the doleful dumps, keep Jake from the
clocks, and he thought that Mother Goose was a cannibals, dry Polly's tears, take them all mack-

c~~ ii~i-- -------~i~--- ~-----~




ereling out beyond the shoals, and last, but not
least, give him a row-boat of his own that could
beat the "Racer" all hollow.
He must be a queer boy who would not dare
something with a chance of gaining all that.
He might wait until morning to investigate, but
Keturah seemed to know, by instinct, when any-
body went near that clock, and she would be sure
to interfere, and, besides, he could n't wait.
He slipped out of bed and lighted his candle
(Keturah did not allow him to have a lamp, lest he
should break it and set the house on fire), and he
stole softly down-stairs. The one small candle
had very little effect upon the darkness of the great
hall. There seemed to be shadowy shapes in
every corner, and the stillness was awful. It re-
quired all the courage that Sam could muster to
force himself to go forward.
But at last he did stand before the clock, with his
heart in his mouth, and his hand trembling so that
he could scarcely hold the candle. You may think
it strange that, he was afraid, but you have n't
heard Keturah talk about ghosts and witches until
your blood ran cold. Sam knew there were no
such things, just as well as you do, but he felt very
" shivery."
It was not too late to turn back; but that was
not the kind of boy that Sam was.
He thought of the boy that stood on the burning
deck, of Daniel in the lions' den, and, queerly
enough, of the Plymouth Rock rooster that would
fly around after its head was cut off. People do
think of queer things at great crises, you know.
Then, with a bold little jerk, he opened the
clock door.
The clock struck One !
The stroke came in the midst of a rushing and
scrambling noise, and Sam saw a mouse's tail
whisking out of sight!
Sam put his head inside the clock, and there,
down in one corner, was a nest, full of tiny mice,
scarcely as large as your little finger! And what
do you suppose the nest was made of? A great
quantity of bits of paper came first, but sticking
out at the side was a strange something that
caught Sam's eye. He pulled, and out came-
just as true as you live-Keturah's saffron-colored
silk stockings!
Sam was a brave boy, then, you may be sure !
You could n't have made him believe that he
ever had been otherwise; and happy?-if he had
had anything to set the candle on, he would have

turned a somersault, then and there. As it was,
he had to content himself with uttering a shout; it
was what Ike and he called a Camanche war-
whoop, and it raised the whole household.
Keturah came first, with her night-cap strings
flying, a Bible under one arm, and a horseshoe
under the other. Ike came next, in his night-
gown, with his hair.standing upright, from terror,
but tugging his velocipede along, because, as he
afterward explained, "if everything was going to
smash, he was going to save that, anyhow."
Then came Kitty, half awake and sobbing; and
Polly brought up the rear, her face as white as her
Keturah sat down flat on the hall-floor, when
she heard Sam's report, and saw her saffron-
colored silk stockings, soiled and tattered, but still
her precious treasures.
Seein' that wa' n't a warning I'll never believe
in warning's no more she exclaimed.
"Oh, don't! please don't, Keturah !" cried
Sam. "Nor hear raps nor have doleful dumps-"
"Nor turn ag'in' poor Jake! interrupted Polly.
"It was just because he is big, and stepped
heavily, and jarred the clock, and scared the
mouse, that the clock struck One when he came
here Don't you see ? cried Sam.
"I'm a foolish old woman, and I'm free to
confess I 'd ought to put more trust in Providence,
seeing' things mostly turns out to be jest what you
might have known, and as natural as life "
With this not very, clear confession, Keturah
retired. She dropped her horseshoe on the way,
and did n't stop to pick it up !
Keturah wanted to let Casabianca have those
wee mice, but Sam begged them off; he thought
it was mean to take the advantage of such little
bits of things, and he declared they should have a
fair chance for their lives. But the next time that
they went to look at them,-lo and behold!
their mother had carried them all off She evi-
dently thought a quieter tenement was better
suited to a growing family.
And so the clock never struck again.

That new boat is a beauty. Sam and Ike agree
that the "Racer" "is n't anywhere" beside it.
The Cannibal Islanders will have to go hungry
for a long time, before they make a meal off Jake.
If you '11 believe it, Keturah washed, darned,
and patched those saffron-colored silk stockings,
and danced in them at Jale and Polly's wedding !




(A West-Prussian Legend.)



ON the spot now occupied by the great commer-
cial port of Prussia, the strongly fortified city of
Dantzic, there stood, in ancient times, a little fish-
ing-town named Wieke.
The inhabitants of this place supported them-
selves mostly by trading in eels and smoked her-
rings; there were, however, a good many soldiers
in the town, and their presence made the fishermen
turbulent and quarrelsome. When, as had been
their custom from time out of mind, all the towns-
folk assembled, with their wives and children, to
celebrate their ancient festivals, and kindled great
fires, around which they danced, there was pretty
sure to be a disturbance and a fight before the
frolic was over, and not unfrequently it ended in
the death of one of their number.

The "grundherr," or landed proprietor of
Wieke- that is, the nobleman to whose estate the
village and all the surrounding country belonged-
was a man of high rank, but very uncertain tem-
per. His name was Hagel, and he had built for
himself a large castle, made entirely of wood, and
situated upon the top of a high hill that was called,
from him, The Hagelsberg." But of neither cas-
tle nor village can the smallest trace now be found.
Hagel was a powerful and hard man, for whom
his dependents felt no affection. He punished the
slightest offenses with great severity, and it must
be confessed that the rough conduct of the villagers
too often gave him an excuse and opportunity.
But he was not only severe, he was also unjust, and
insisted upon having, as a sort of tribute, the best






of all that the people obtained by their fisheries, people were their tenants and dependents. Some-
in addition to their labor in cultivating his land. times they paid their rents in produce, sometimes
by their services, some-
times in both, but within
r'1 .0. " . certain limits. Money they
S. seldom used--it was too
scarce. Their condition
Scarcedepended entirely upon
1I the character of the land-
"'. lord, who in different coun-
tries had different titles,
." but all signifying the same
thing,- the "lord," or
owner,"' of the soil.
-i However dissatisfied a
peasant might be with his
landlord, he could not
,- "I-" ... I move away and go to
another. Peasants never
Y( ; s thought of such a thing.
S In the first place, they
-. could not go unless by the
consent and permission of
0 the man under whom they
9. were living; and then the
/landlord who would treat
them the worst would be
-,:.1. most unwilling to part with
a good tenant. So that for
peasants to remove was a
sort of disgrace, for it at
once raised the suspicion
that they bore a bad char-
acter, and had, perhaps,
been sent off. Therefore,
they got along as they
best could, and lived and
died where their fore-
T I -fathers had lived and died
before them,--often in the
same house.

Even the women had to do their share whenever
extra help was wanted at the castle, and as the
work up there seemed to have no end, there was a
general alarm whenever the boigt (or steward) of
Hagelsberg was seen coming down to the -,ili~..-,
for no one could tell who or what would be wanted
But, before going on to. tell the rest of the
story, I must stop and explain to the little Ameri-
can reader that in those old times in Europe the
country people, or peasantry," as they are called,
did not own their farms, as most American farmers
do. Nowadays, some of the richest own their land,
but in former days the whole country belonged
either to the king or to some great man, and the

still is but little change, not, in these days, be-
cause they might not remove if they wished, but
simply from habit and custom. Now that all parts
of Europe are governed by good laws, the land-
owners have no longer such absolute power over
their tenants as they had in what are called the
"feudal" times,-an expression which means the
times when affairs were in, the very state just de-
scribed. Besides this, the peasants feel a natural
pride in having lived for many generations on the
same estate, and therefore they are very unwilling
to remove, unless driven to it by the most urgent
N.-., to return to the legend.
For ten long years the "Wieker," or inhabitants


of Wieke,-with impatience and murmurs, it is
true,- had borne the weight of the yoke laid upon
them by their grundherr. But at last it got to
be past bearing, and they determined to put an
end to his oppressions, either by force or stratagem.
They would much have preferred to use force, for
to their honest, manly hearts there was something
mean and small in stratagem; but it was only too
evident that they would not be able to accomplish
their purpose in that way. For how could they,
undisciplined villagers, hope to make their way to
the top of the Hagelsberg, in the face of the strong
garrison within the cas-
tle-walls ? And if they iJ
gained the summit, I
how could they effect .''" .1

an entrance through
bars and iron-bound
doors and armed serv-
ing-men, to get at the
tyrant hidden within?
Muskets and cannon
were things altogether
unknown in those
days; arrows shot up-
ward would only fall
back, and perhaps in-
jure those who sent
them. So they came
to the conclusion that
there was nothing left
for them but to try
It was again time for
one of their great fes-
tivals, the remains of

nobleman who owned the castle, implying a degree
of valor and heroism on his part so great as to en-
title him to a share in the honors offered to their
deities. This compliment custom obliged him to
acknowledge by sending out to the revelers a cask
of beer, which, with loud shouts and hurrahs, they
drank to his health.
The Wieker had long fixed upon the present
festival as the time for carrying out their plan of
vengeance; and when the appointed day came,
they ascended the Hagelsberg, as they had often
done before, built and kindled their bonfire, began

the old heathen wor-
ship of their ancestors,
but which their de-
scendants still contin-
ued to observe for mere
amusement and frolic.
The evening before the 7
festival they always
assembled to light a
huge bonfire,-former-
ly kindled in honor of
their gods,- and all
the night they danced --
around it with songs
and all sorts of wild
antics. Accordingly,
on this occasion, they _- -
place,-the open space
in front of the castle. The selection of this spot an- their dance, and seemed to be enjoying themselves
ciently had been made as a mark of respect to the to the utmost. But scarcely had the cask of beer





made its appearance when they seized upon the
serving-men who brought it, and having secured
and fastened them, made a rush toward the castle,
hoping to effect an entrance through the gate,
which still stood open.
All were armed with swords and axes concealed
under their clothes, and not a doubt was enter-
tained of their success, for no one in the castle
could have had the least suspicion of their inten-
tions; but the watchman on the tower happened
to detect the flash of some of their weapons just
in time to spring forward and close in the face of
the assailants the iron-bound gate, against which
they now stormed in unavailing fury. The raging
towns-folk were finally obliged to retire, having
accomplished nothing but the capture of the two
serving-men, about whom Hagel cared not a straw.
Sorely against their own wills, they were now
under the necessity of keeping themselves quiet
until another opportunity should offer for carrying
out their plans. But the outbreak had taught the
oppressor some respect for the courage of the vil-
lagers, whom he did not think it wise to imbitter
by further exactions. He even began to believe
that it was worth his while to make some efforts to
conciliate them, and therefore he determined to
give his daughter Pechta in marriage to one of
the most distinguished among them, hoping by
this means to form with them a bond of mutual
interest which they would be slow to break.
Now, it was a custom that the bridegroom, at-
tended by his friends and family, should go with
great rejoicing to carry away the bride from the
home. of her parents, and take her to the great
square in the center of the village, where the com-
pany were assembled to witness the betrothal.
Hagel knew this well, but, still mistrusting the
Wieker, was not willing to allow any large body of
them to come together up the hill and into the
castle. He therefore gave orders that the mother
of the bridegroom should come in his stead to carry
away the bride, and intimated that she could bring
with her as many young maidens for her attend-
ants as she might choose.
Accordingly, on the day appointed for the cere-
mony, a long train of women, laden with rich
presents for the noble bride, slowly and wearily
ascended the Hagelsberg. Hagel, on his part,
received them with the most flattering cordiality,
and conducted them to the great hall of the castle,
where a numerous and richly dressed company was
assembled, musicians were in attendance, and the
bride in her marriage robes awaited the villagers.
The master of the house and the bride's !i..i.t,:!

immediately led off the ehren-tez (literally the
honor dance), and the principal members of the
castle household, whose duty it was to fall in at a
certain point and follow their movements, began
to seek among the newly arrived damsels for
partners. But at that moment the pretended
young women, throwing off their disguises and
grasping the weapons concealed beneath, rushed
upon the unwary Hagelsbergers, with so much
promptness and vigor that few escaped with
their lives. Hagel himself was slain, and with
his dying breath exclaimed: "Q dance! 0
dance How hast thou betrayed me Not long
afterward, the great wooden castle of the oppressor
Was demolished and burned to the ground.
The country at this time was subject to Sub-
islaus, the first Duke of Pomerellen, who was
threatened with a war by King Waldemar, of
Denmark. As Subislaus had no fortified city
in which he could make a stand against the
enemy, he called upon his subjects to erect
the necessary fortifications in their several
towns, promising them land and timber for
the purpose, together with whatever else they
might need. He made them such representa-
tions of the advantages which they, as towns,
would derive from these defenses, that the inhabit-
ants of Wieke were quite captivated by the idea,
and offered to build and fortify a town themselves,
if Subislaus would give them for it as much land
as they could inclose with their arms.
The duke did not exactly understand what it
was they wanted, but he unhesitatingly granted
their petition for so small a bit of land, and ap-
pointed a day for them to come to select and
measure it off. At the time named, the inhabitants
of Wieke all assembled-men, women, and chil-
dren, old and young, masters, mistresses, and serv-
ants-no one was left out, not even some strangers
who happened to be spending a few days among
them; and, forming a circle around the spot
chosen, they took hold of hands and stretched out
their arms to the utmost. The space thus encom-
passed was very large, but Duke Subislaus had to
keep his word, cost him what it might.
But the Wieker kept theirs also, and in an in-
credibly short time the given ground was covered
with houses and strong defenses.
In remembrance of their agency in building it,
and of the cry that accompanied the death of their
oppressor and left them at liberty to give their aid
to their good duke, they called the new city
"Tanz-Wieke," which has since been corrupted
into its present name-" Dantzic."




~882.l KING MIDAS. 515



HEARD you, 0 little children,
This wonderful story told
Of the Phrygian king whose fatal touch
Turned everything to gold?

In a great, dim, dreary chamber,
Beneath the palace floor,
He counted his treasures of glittering coin,
And he always longed for more.

When the clouds in the blaze of sunset
Burned flaming fold on fold,
He thought how fine a thing 't would be
Were they but real gold!

And when his dear little daughter,
The child he loved so well,

Came bringing in from
The yellow asphodel,

the pleasant fields

Or buttercups from the meadow,
Or dandelions gay,
King Midas would look at the blossoms sweet,
And she would hear him say:

"If only the flowers were really
Golden as they appear,
'T were worth your while to gather them,
My little daughter dear "

One day, in the dim, drear chamber,
As he counted his treasure o'er,
A sunbeam slipped through a chink in the wall
And quivered down to the floor.





" Would it were gold," he muttered,
That broad, bright yellow bar! "
Suddenly stood in its mellow light,
A Figure bright as a star.

Young and ruddy and glorious,
With face as fresh as the day,
With a winged cap and winged heels,
And eyes both wise and gay.

"0 have your wish, King Midas,"
A heavenly voice begun,
Like all sweet notes of the morning
Braided and blended in one,

"And when to-morrow's sunrise
Wakes you with rosy fire,
All things you touch shall turn to gold,
Even as you desire."

King Midas slept. The morning
At last stole up the sky,
And woke him, full of eagerness
The wondrous spell to try.

And lo! the bed's fine draperies
Of linen fair and cool,
Of quilted satin and cobweb lace,
And blankets of snowy wool,

All had been changed with the sun's first ray
To marvelous cloth of gold,
That rippled and shimmered as soft as silk
In many a gorgeous fold.

But all this splendor weighed so much
'T was irksome to the king,
And up he sprang to try at once
The touch on every thing.

The heavy tassel that he grasped
Magnificent became,
And hung by the purple curtain rich,
Like a glowing mass of flame.

At every step, on every side,
Such splendor followed him,
The very sunbeams seemed to pale,
And morn itself grew dim.

But when he came to the water
For his delicious bath,
And dipped his hand in the surface smooth,
He started in sudden wrath;

For the liquid, light and leaping,
So crystal-bright and clear,
Grew a solid lake of heavy gold,
And the king began to fear!

But out he went to the garden,
So fresh in the morning hour,
And a thousand buds in the balmy night
Had.burst into perfect flower.

'T was a world of perfume and color,
Of tender and delicate bloom,
But only the hideous thirst for wealth
In the king's heart found room.

He passed like a spirit of autumn
Through that fair space of bloom,
And the leaves and the flowers grew yellow
In a dull and scentless gloom.

Back to the lofty palace
Went the glad monarch then,
And sat at his sumptuous breakfast,
Most fortunate of men !

He broke the fine, white wheaten roll,
The light and wholesome bread,
And it turned to a lump of metal rich-
It had as well been lead!

Again did fear assail the king,
When-what was this he heard?
The voice of his little daughter dear,
As sweet as a grieving bird.

Sobbing she stood before him,
And a golden rose held she,
And the tears that brimmed her blue, blue eyes
Were pitiful to see.

" Father! 0 Father dearest !
This dreadful thing- oh, see!
Oh, what has happened to all the flowers?
Tell me, what can it be ? "

"Why should you cry, my daughter?
Are not these blossoms of gold
Beautiful, precious, and wonderful,
With splendor not to be told ? "

"I hate them, O my father!
They 're stiff and hard and dead,
That were so sweet and soft and fair,
And blushed so warm and red."

"Come here," he cried, my darling,"
And bent, her cheek to kiss,
To comfort her--when--Heavenly Powers!
What fearful thing was this ?

He sank back, shuddering and aghast,
But she stood still as death--
A statue of horrible gleaming gold,
With neither motion nor breath.






The gold tears hardened on her cheek,
The gold rose in her hand,
Even her little sandals changed
To gold, where she did stand.

Then such a tumult of despair
The wretched king possessed,
He wrung his hands, and tore his hair,
And sobbed, and beat his breast.

Weighed with one look from her sweet eyes
What was the whole world worth?
Against one touch of her loving lips,
The treasure of all the earth?

The Stranger listened-a sweeter smile
Kindled his grave, bright eyes.
" Glad am I, 0 King Midas,
That you have grown so wise!

"Again your wish is granted;
More swiftly than before,
All you have harmed with the fatal touch
You shall again restore."

He clasped his little daughter -
Oh, joy!--within his arms,
She trembled back to her human self,
With all her human charms.

Then came that voice, like music,
As fresh as the morning air,
"How is it with you, King Midas,
Rich in your answered prayer? "

And there, in the sunshine smiling,
Majestic as before,
Ruddy and young and glorious,
The Stranger stood once more.

"Take back your gift so terrible !
No blessing, but a curse !
One loving heart more precious is
Than the gold of the universe."

Across her face he saw the life
Beneath his kiss begin,
And steal to the charming dimple deep
Upon her lovely chin.

Again her eyes grew blue and clear,
Again her cheek flushed red,
She locked her arms about his neck.
" My father dear !" she said.

Oh, happy was King Midas,
Against his heart to hold
His treasure of love, more precious
Than a thousand worlds of gold !







IT must not be supposed that the Secretary when you have enough, come out and eat them at
Bird, which has its home in South Africa, received your leisure."
its name because it is in the habit of writing letters "I should like that plan very well," said the
for other birds, or attending to the correspondence Secretary Bird; "but if I should toss a freshly
of any living creature. On the contrary, there is caught fish upon the bank, he would flop into the
no other reason for his singular name than the water as soon as I had gone to catch another. Thus
fact that he has behind one ear a tuft of feathers, I should always be catching fish, and eating none."
somewhat resembling a quill pen stuck behind "There need be no trouble of that kind to-day,"
the ear of a clerk. This bird has another
name--that of Snake-Eater--which seems
much more suitable; for the most remark- -- -
able thing about the Secretary Bird is his
habit of feeding upon large snakes. He is
a good-sized bird, with long, powerful legs, :- 7 -7
like those of a crane. When he attacks a
snake, which he does with great swiftness -
and apparent fury, his usual way of killing it
is to stamp it to death with his feet. There
are many birds which eat small snakes, but
it is very unusual for any of the feathered -
tribe to pick out large serpents, and feed
exclusively upon them. -
There is a story told about the way the -_-

which is, I am quite sure, nothing but a mere P_' -
fable, but which may be of interest to those
who have heard of the peculiarities of this
curious and interesting creature. The story
runs as follows:
There was a time when the Secretary Bird
lived on fish, like the other long-legged and
crane-like birds, and he was so well satisfied
with this fare that he never cared for any ---
other kind of food. "--
One day, a large Secretary Bird was stand-\
ing in the water, on the edge of a river,
busily engaged in fishing. When he saw a
fish pass by, he would dart down his head
and seize it in his bill, which was strong and
hooke,, like that of a fish-hawk. As soon
as he had caught a fish, he would wade I.
ashore, and there eat it. While he was thus
engaged in fishing, a large serpent came ~-
winding his way along the river-bank, and, THE ANGRY BIRD ATTACKS THE SNAKE.
as soon as he perceived the bird, he stopped
to see what it was doing. When the Secretary said the Snake; "for, if you will throw the fish on
Bird came out of the water to eat the fish, the shore, I will see that they do not get into the
Snake remarked: water again."
"Friend, it seems to me you would make a "Thank you very kindly," said the Secretary
pleasanter meal if you would toss your fish upon Bird. If you will do that, it will save time, and
the bank as fast as you catch them, and then, I shall soon catch enough fish for a dinner."


"I shall be only too glad to oblige you," said
the Serpent.
Thereupon the Bird waded into the river, and as
soon as he caught a fish he threw it ashore, where
the Snake took care that it did not get into the
water again. When the Bird thought he had
caught enough fish, he came on shore and saw the
Snake slowly moving away.
"What is your hurry?" he cried. Stop and
take dinner with me. I have now caught twelve
fish, and as I had eaten some before you came, six
will be all I shall want. You can have the other
six, and we can take a pleasant meal together."
"I am very much obliged to you," said the
Snake, still moving away; "but I do not believe
that anything could induce me to eat a fish at
present. I have no appetite at all for such food."
And he glided into the bushes, and was lost to
He need not be so dainty," -aid the Secretary
Bird to himself; "for fish is very good food, indeed;
but, since he will not accept my invitation, I shall
have all the more dinner for myself. But where are
the fish ? "
The Secretary Bird looked anxiously about, on
the shore and in the grass, but he could find no
sign of the fish he had caught. At length he came
to a little pile of twelve fish-tails lying behind a
bush. The Snake did not like fish-tails, and had
bitten these off before eating the fish. Instantly
the truth flashed through the mind of the Secretary
That wretched Serpent! he exclaimed. He
has, indeed, taken good care that my fish shall not
escape into the water. He has eaten them, one by
one, as fast as I threw them on shore. I never
heard of such an infamous trick. But I will be
revenged on him. I will find him, no matter where
he has hidden himself." So saying, the angry
Bird rushed away in pursuit of the crafty acquaint-
ance who had taken care of his fish.
The Snake, who had made an unusually heavy

meal, felt very lazy and sleepy; and when he had
gone a little distance from the river, he crept
among some tall grass and reeds, and coiled him-
self ip to take a nap. But the Secretary Bird was
not far away, and he saw a movement among the
tall reeds.
"There he is!" he shouted, and he dashed
toward the place.
In a moment he had pounced among the reeds,
and attacked the Snake with great fury.
You infamous creature he cried. "I will
teach you how to deceive a bird of my standing."
And in spite of the Snake's efforts to get away, he
stamped upon him and pecked him until he had
killed him.
You have cheated me of my dinner," said the
angry Bird, and it would serve you right if I were
to make a dinner of you."
So saying,-his appetite whetted by the morn-
ing's work,-he began to eat the Snake, and did
not stop until he had entirely devoured him.
"Upon the whole," said the Secretary Bird,
when he had finished, I prefer snakes to fish,
and I think that for the future I shall make my
meals upon these deceitful creatures, who go about
playing tricks upon honest folk."
After that, this bird gave up eating fish, and fed
entirely upon snakes. He did not trouble himself
to catch the little ones, because it took too many of
them to satisfy his hunger; but he preferred the
large ones, as one of them was enough for a
meal. His wife and children soon learned that
snakes were easy to catch and good to eat, and they
also gave up eating fish.
This Secretary Bird was a very influential mem-
ber of his tribe, and the new diet soon became
quite fashionable; and the descendants of the
Secretary Birds of that day have since lived
entirely upon large snakes.
It may be noticed, also, that the serpents of that
part of the country, remembering, perhaps, this
old story, have a great distaste for fish.


A STUDENT of great enterprise
Went out early to see the sun rise;
But he faced the wrong way,
And stood there all day,
Very much to his neighbors' surprise.





X k c-- --
S ,- -
, i ,

S^" .- .-, "

X-. -I --r 1.

.. I. r'i | 1i...'.r .

T.' r i l;. i i, r I ,- .. ..

.. _w -I .. I .-


I i

Ih i Lip*rc l :Ii- t
SnI i

F.- -, 1. hill. ..



1 ad ~ ~ -' -~.. T--rf

.r '- L: L .
t V
I- I l r- r .. .

F^ "^-^ .^

'- t~ m

-. L _.'- ,
'' i^, -, 'B- i '" b:
t ",. ; + : '', ,~ .'

Lu- L!. r I
.i : L i .. -- .. .

VOL. IX.-34.

' L U h -i : i I III.-i. .-i I. :








THE true family name of this painter was
Vannucchi. He was called del Sarto because his
father was a tailor, or un Sarto, in Italian. An-
drea was born in 1488, and, when quite young, was
employed as a goldsmith and workerin metals;
but his great desire was to become a painter, and,
when he finally studied art, he was untiring in his
efforts to learn its rules and to understand its prac-
tice. Andrea was the pupil of Pietro di Cosimo,
but his style of painting was not like that master's.
He seems to have had many original ideas, and
to have formed his soft and fascinating manner
for himself.
Andrea del Sarto can not be called a truly great
painter, but his pictures are sweet and lovely, and
would be more pleasing to many persons than
those of artists of higher fame. He was very suc-

cessful in his fresco-painting, and was employed in
Florence in decorating the convent of the Nunziata,
and in a building called the Scalzo; the last was
named from the Scalzi, Barefooted Friars, who
held their meetings in it. These frescoes are con-
sidered the finest of Andrea's works, although
some of them are now much injured.
Andrea had so much sorrow in his life, that one
is moved to think he might have painted better
had he been a happier man. He loved his wife
devotedly, though she was a selfish and mean-
spirited woman, who never appreciated his talents,
and seemed only to think of how she could get
money to spend in a showy and extravagant way of
living. She was even unwilling that he should
care for his aged parents, and it was owing to her
that he at length deserted them, although formerly
he had been a kind and dutiful son.
After a time (about 1518) Francis I., the king

* Copyright, i881, by Clara Erskine Clement. All rights reserved.






of France, invited Andrea to go to Paris and exe-
cute works for him. The artist consented, and
was treated with great consideration in the brilliant
French capital. Soon, however, his wife insisted
that he should return to Florence. Francis I. was
very unwilling to allow Andrea to leave France,
where he had engaged already to do many decora-
tive paintings; but Andrea was so much under the
influence of his wife that he did not dare to
remain. So, when he had made a promise, and
solemnly sworn with his hand on the Bible, that
he would soon return and bring his wife with him,
and remain as long as might be necessary to finish
the works he had engaged to do, the king con-
sented. Francis also intrusted to Andrea a large
sum of money, with which he was to buy works of
art and other beautiful objects for the king.
When Andrea reached Florence, his wicked [t
wife not only refused to go to France, but
persuaded him to give her the money which
belonged to Francis I. This she soon spent,
and, although Andrea had been so weak in
listening to her wicked advice, he still was
not so base that he could forget the wrong
he had done in giving the money to her. He
lived ten years longer, and painted many
more pictures, but he was always very un-
happy. Francis I. never forgave him for his
breach of trust; and, to this day, all who
read the story of Andrea can not but feel
sorrow in remembering how weak he was and
how wickedly he came to act, in consequence.
In 1530, Andrea was attacked by a conta-
gious disease; his wretched wife abandoned
him, and he died alone, and was buried with-
out a funeral or even a prayer, in the same
convent of the Nunziata in which he had
painted his finest frescoes. One of these
pictures is a "Repose of the Holy Family,"
which is usually called the ",lMadonna del
Sacco," because in it St. Joseph is repre-
sented as leaning on a sack. I
Now, there are so many different pictures
of the Holy Family, that they are divided
into classes, and such as are called, in Italian,
7I Riposo, and, in our own tongue, The Re-
pose, all represent an incident of the flight
into Egypt, when St. Joseph, his wife Mary,
and the child Jesus halted in their journey for
rest and refreshment. The legend, in telling
of this episode, says that, near the .1 1., of
Matarea, where they were resting, a fountain
sprang forth by miracle; and near by was a syca-
more grove, beneath which the family found shade
and protection. The story has given a peculiar
religious significance to the sycamore tree, by
associating it with the mother of Christ; and the

Crusaders were in the habit of bringing branches.
of it into Europe as sacred mementos of the grove
near the "Fountain of Mary," as the spring is
called. When I was in Egypt, I visited this spot.
which is a few miles from the city of Cairo, and is
always pointed out to the Christians by the Arab
The oil paintings by Andrea del Sarto are very
beautiful; the finest one hangs in the Tribune of
the Uffizi Gallery, in Florence. This is a place
of great honor, because some of the most re-
markable works of art which exist in any collec-
tion in the world are in this same building-such
as the Venus dei Medici," the "Dancing Faun,"
and other beautiful antique statues, as well as
some of the finest pictures by Michael Angelo,


Raphael, Titian, Van Dyck, and other great
masters. This painting, by Andrea, is called the
" Madonna di San Francesco," and represents the
Virgin Mary seated on a throne, with the child
Jesus in her arms, while St. John the Baptist and
St. Francis stand, one at each side.
The Madonna with her Child was Andrea's
favorite subject, and he represented it in a great
variety of ways, and always made sweet and at-



tractive pictures. Occasionally he painted single
figures of saints, such as St. Barbara and St.
Agnes ; one of these is in the Cathedral of Pisa.
There are two churches in Rome dedicated to
St. Agnes, besides many others in various parts of
the world, and, after the Apostles and Evangelists,
she is a very important saint. She is usually

place, and Lieto and Allegri are his family names,
and are Italian words which have the same mean-
ing as the Latin word letus, or joyful. He was
born in 1493, and was so clever that, when thirteen
years old, he had not only studied many things
such as other boys learn, but had mastered the
rudiments of art, so that he could draw very well.

represented in works of art with a lamb by hes
side, because the lamb is the type or symbol of
modesty, purity, and innocence."


ANTONIO ALLEGRI -for this is the true name
of this great painter is called Antonio Allegri da
Correggio, or Antonio Lieto da Correggio. The
name Correggio is taken from that of his birth-

He received his first lessons in drawing from his
uncle, Lorenzo Allegri, and then he studied under
the famous Andrea Mantegna, and, after the death
of this artist, under his son, Francesco Mantegna.
From these men Correggio acquired wonderful
skill in drawing, especially in foreshortening-that
is, in representing objects seen aslant. These
masters all had what is termed a dry, hard style,
which is so different from Correggio's that we are
sure he soon added to what they had taught him the

SFor list of the principal works of Andrea del Sarto still in existence, see page 527.

----i--s~~------ I

~---- --a _-, ~-~- ----- --~s--~-




I'Y ..,~I'"

S: Z..i*... .. : -. .


-. -: .. ,'
*. .'

;.' > ''

i: j- i r

7 I-r


grace and movement, and exquisite management I shall now try to explain further what is meant
of light and shade, which appear in his paintings, by foreshortening, because it is a very important







,.: ,.. .!



element of good drawing, and all who wish to learn
how to appreciate the works of others should under-
stand what it is, as also should those who them-
selves practice drawing. It is especially proper to
speak of this in connection with Correggio, as he is
often said to be the most skillful of artists, in this
particular, since the days of the ancient Greeks.
The art of foreshortening is to make the objects
which are painted or drawn on a plane surface
look as they do in nature when one is farther back
than another, and where one part is thrown out
much nearer the eye than others. To produce
this effect it is frequently necessary to make an
object-let us say, for example, an arm or a leg -
look as if it was thrown forward, out of the can-
vas, toward the person who is looking directly at
it. Now, in truth, in order to produce this appear-
ance, the object is oftentimes thrown backward in
the drawing, and sometimes it is doubled up in a
very unnatural manner, and so occupies a much
smaller space on the canvas than it appears to do,
for as we look at it, it seems to be of full size.
The picture of "Christ in Glory," painted by
Correggio in the cupola of the church of San Gio-
vanni Evangelista, in Parma, photographs of which
are easily got, is a fine piece of foreshortening,
because the head is so thrown back and the knees
are so thrown forward that the figure seems to be
of full size; yet, if the space from the top of
the head to the soles of the feet, in the painting
itself, were measured, it would be found to be
much less than the full height of the figure would
be if it were represented erect.
Another characteristic of this master is his deli-
cate manner of passing gradually from light to
shade, and so softening the whole effect of his
work as to produce what is called in Italian chiaro-
oscuro, which must be literally translated clear-
obscure-or a sort of mistiness which has some
light in it, but is gradually shaded off into either
full light or deep shadow. It is remarkable that,
in the early works of Correggio, his peculiar quali-
ties were evident; this is seen in the beautiful
Madonna di San Francesco, now in the Dresden
Gallery, which was painted when he was but eight-
een years old.
When Correggio was twenty-six years old, he
married Girolama Merlini, and during the next
eleven years he was occupied with his great fresco-
paintings in Parma and with works in Mantua, to
which city he was summoned by the rich Duke
Federigo Gonzaga, who reigned there. In 1530,
the artist returned to Correggio, where he passed
the remainder of his life. In 1533, he was one of
the invited witnesses of the marriage of the Lord
of Correggio, so he doubtless was much esteemed
by that nobleman. In 1534, he died of a fever,

and was buried in his family tomb in the Francis-
can convent at Correggio; his grave is simply
marked with his name and the date of his death.
Correggio had but one son, named Pomponio
Ouirino Allegri; he also was a painter, but he did
not make himself famous.
There are several anecdotes related of Correg-
gio, the father; one is that, when he first saw one
of Raphael's great pictures, he gazed upon it a
long time, and then exclaimed, enthusiastically:
"I also am a painter!" and, I dare say, he then
felt himself moved to try if he, too, might produce
pictures which should live and bear his name
through future centuries.
When Titian saw Correggio's frescoes at Parma,
he said: "Were I not Titian I should wish to
be Correggio." Annibale Caracci, another great
artist, said of Correggio, more than a century
after that master's death: "He was the only
painter!" and he declared that the children
painted by Correggio breathe and smile with such
grace that one who sees them is forced to smile
and be happy with them.
At Seville, in Spain, there was a large picture
by Correggio, representing the "Shepherds Ador-
ing the Infant Saviour," and during the Peninsular
War (1808-14), when the people of Seville sent
all their valuable things to Cadiz for greater safety,
this picture was cut in two, so that it could be more
easily moved. By some accident the halves were
separated, and afterward were sold to different
persons, each being promised that the correspond-
ing half should soon be delivered to him. Great
trouble arose, because both purchasers determined
"to keep what they had, and each claimed that the
other part belonged to him; and as they were both
obstinate, these half-pictures have remained apart.
It is very fortunate that each of them forms a fine
picture by itself, and perhaps they thus give
pleasure to a greater number of people than if
they were united.
It is very interesting to visit Parma, where the
most important works of Correggio are seen. He
painted much, not only in the church of St. John
the Evangelist, but also in the cathedral of Parma,
and in the convent of the Benedictine nuns,
where he decorated a parlor with wonderful fres-
coes. Over the chimney-piece is a picture of
Diana, Goddess of the Moon, and protector of
young animals. Sometimes she has been repre-
sented as a huntress, but in this picture she is
Goddess of the Moon, which is placed above her
forehead. The ceiling of this parlor is high and
arched. The pictures on pages 528 and 529, showing
in the semicircles a Satyr and Ceres, the Goddess
of Plenty, will help you to understand how elabo-
rately and beautifully the ceiling is decorated.






It is painted to represent an arbor of vines, hav-
ing sixteen oval openings, at each of which some
frolicking children appear, peeping in and out, as
if they were passing around and looking down into
the room. Each child bears some sign or symbol
of Diana. Beneath each of the openings is a
half-circular picture of some mythological story
or personage, such as "The Three Graces,"
"The Nursing of Bacchus," Ceres," Minerva,"
" The Suspension of Juno," "A Satyr," and oth-
ers. All the frescoes in this wonderful room
have been so often engraved and photographed
that they must be known already to many readers
Some of the oil paintings by Correggio are very
famous. Among them is one called the "Notte,"
or Night, which is in the Dresden Gallery. It
represents the "Nativity of the Saviour," and has
received its name because the only light in the
picture shines from the halo of glory around the
head of the infant Jesus. In the same gallery is
Correggio's "Mary Magdalene," represented as
lying on the ground and reading the scriptures
from a book lying open before her on the sward.
Probably no one picture in the world has been
more generally admired than this.
Another masterpiece is the Marriage of St.
Catherine," in the Louvre, at Paris. According
to the legend concerning her, this saint, during the
persecution of the Christians in Alexandria, bravely
went up to the temple and there triumphantly
maintained her cause in argument against the
Emperor Maximin, and also against fifty wise men
whom he then called upon to oppose her reasoning.


But her courage, wisdom, and saintliness availed
not to save her from the rage of persecution, for
she was beheaded by the tyrant's order. There
are two important saints by this name; one is St.
Catherine of Siena, the other, of whom we now
speak, is St. Catherine of Alexandria, and when
the marriage is represented it always refers to
this saint.

The following is a list of the principal works of Andrea del Sarto
to be seen in European galleries. PITTI PALACE, FLORENCE:
Eleven pictures, among which are two of the Holy Family, two of
the "Assumption of the Virgin," and portraits of Andrea and his
wife, which are attributed to Andrea, but are not positively known
to be his work. UFFIZI GALLERY, FLORENCE: Madonna di San
Francesco, his own portrait, and two other pictures. DRESDEN
GALLERY: Marriage of St. Catherine, Sacrifice of Isaac, and
others. PINAKOTHEK, MUNICH: Four studies for the frescoes in
the Scalzo at Florence. MUSEUM, MADRID: Portrait of his wife,
Sacrifice of Abraham, Holy Family, and others. THE LOUVRE,
PARIS: Charity, two pictures of the Holy Family. NATIONAL
PETERSBURG: Holy Family and Saints, St. Barbara.

The following are the principal works of Correggio, known to be
stillin existence. In the UFFIZI GALLERY, FLORENCE: The Re-
pose in Egypt, Virgin Adoring the Infant Christ. MUSEUM,
NAPLES: The Madonna della Zingarella, Marriage of St. Cath-
erine, A Pieta. PINACOTECA, PARMA: Madonna della Scala,
Madonna della Scodella, Madonna di San Girolamo, called "I1
Giorno" or "The Day," and several others. MUSEUM, BERLIN:
Leda and Nymphs, and a copy of the Io, which is at the BELVE-
DERE, VIENNA, where there are several other works of Correggio's.
DRESDEN GALLERY: Enthroned Madonna, Virgin and Child in
Glory, Repentant Magdalene, "La Notte," a portrait called "Cor-
reggio's Doctor," and others. MUSEUM,r MADRD : Noli Me Tan-
gere. LouvRE, PARIS: Marriage of St. Catherine, Antiope
Asleep. NATIONAL GALLERY, LONDON: Mercury Instructing
Cupid before Venus, Ecce Homo, Holy Family, called "au
panier" (a very beautiful picture), Christ's Agony in the Garden.
HERMITAGE, ST. PETERSBURG: Madonna "del Latte," Study of
the Assumption, and another small mythological subject.




..., .... ...... . .
A W g..
i' i ... ,' '' : "I ; !' : ,







a-" -- .

r; p
"~ .i;



" .'



|g S.^
t '~ ~




- ,'

S" '' i '1


r ."* ::,

;" -


,, ,

:' i'

.U ," "2 ";-.':l :^ k;.




, .




' `~p: J~:;n


U- A W. DOES o0 f'G,,E DEN

I- I I \ -,


o^~i .BJ LLIE JS^ J^&

M D A-D p\ETTy. "I D -ALL-I f -A- 1O-'



Y brother Johnny says he would
do for a first-class bumble-bee;
he 's as hot all over as if he had
'forty stings. We've been talking
through the stove-hole to com-
fort each other. This hole is in
the wall at the side of my bed; so, if I
put a chair on the bed, and then climb up
and stand on tiptoe, I can see into Johnny's
room, and we can have a good talk.
We 're in trouble; and this is how it
One day last week, our teacher read us a story
about a good little girl who had a sick father; and
he was going to starve to death 'cause he had n't
any money to buy oranges; and everything had
gone wrong inside. Well, the good little girl

heard that a dentist wanted some teeth, and would
pay well for them. (I don't see why he should pay
money for teeth, when he could have his own for
nothing.) The little girl had fine teeth, so she
went to the dentist and asked him to take some out
and pay her the money they were worth, for her
poor father. Then the dentist made her tell him
all about her father; and he would n't take the
teeth, but he gave her the money all the same, and
went to see her father, and got a doctor for him,
so he did n't die.
It was a beautiful story, and made me cry.
Johnny said it was n't anything to cry about;
stories like that were for examples, and when we
had a chance we must just go and do likewise.
Well, this morning, when Father was putting on
his overcoat, Johnny and I asked him for a penny.




And Father, he said we were always wanting pen-
nies, and he was n't made of money; and then he
went out.
Sister Em began to cry, 'cause Father said she
could n't have a new dress this Easter. Everything
was going wrong, and he did n't know what would
become of him, and he was sick of everything.
Johnny and I did n't cry; we only looked at
each other.
While we were going to school, Johnny said this
was our chance. Now we could do like the good
little girl, and be a support to our parents. Den-
tists always wanted teeth, and we 'd go to the den-
tist right away after school, and have it over.
"And then," says Johnny, if we 've made five
dollars for Father, perhaps he 'll give us our penny,
'cause it '11 be such a pleasant surprise to him."
We could n't- hardly wait for school to be out.
I got a black mark in arithmetic, 'cause when
Miss Stevens asked me if you had an apple, and
if Samuel Smith ate it up, what had you left? I
said, Your teeth."
After school we walked about till we came to a
dentist's, and we went in, and asked him if he
wanted some teeth. And he said, "Why? Did
we want to lose some ? And we told him, "Yes."
We thought he would sit down and ask us all
about it, just as the other dentist did with the
good little girl; but he only said:
Let 's look at em."
Then he made Johnny climb up in the high
chair, and tip his head back; and then he said,
"You want these two out that crowd the rest."
Then he put an iron thing into Johnny's mouth,
and pulled out one tooth, and then he pulled an-
other. And he said Johnny was a brave boy 'cause
he did n't holloa.
I asked Johnny if it hurt, and he said, "Not
much, and don't you disgrace the family, Kitty
White, by howling."
"Now, my little lady," says the dentist, get into
the chair, and I '11 be as gentle as I can." So he
helped me up, and tipped back my head, and
"Your teeth are crowded just like your brother's,"
says he; and then he begins to pull.
My, how it hurt! And did n't I make a noise !
I thought my head was coming off. But it was
over in a minute, and the dentist told Johnny not
to laugh at me, 'cause my teeth came harder than
his did.
When our teeth were out, we thought the dentist
would pay us. He asked us whose little boy and
girl we were, and where we lived, and said this
was pleasant weather for little folks.
After a while he said : It 's four dollars."

We thought he had four dollars for us, and
held out our hands, but he did n't give us any-
thing. Instead of that, he said: "Have n't you
got any money? "
Then Johnny explained to him that we thought
he would pay us for our teeth, :o that we could help
our poor father.
The dentist began to laugh, and said he did n't
pay for teeth; but he would give us a letter that
would make it all right.
So he wrote a letter, and sealed it, and told
Johnny to be sure to give it to Father. He kept
laughing all the time he was writing it, and we
thought he was the pleasantest man in the world.
When we got home, Johnny said we 'd better
wait till after dinner to give Father his pleasant
surprise. And at first I was glad we 'd waited;
for the roast beef was too brown, and Father said:
" There never could be a piece of beef done right
in this house, and Mrs. White, my dear, if you
could only have a carving knife that would cut!
I believe your son uses the carving knife for a
We felt so sorry for poor Father that we thought
we 'd give him his surprise then, so he 'd feel
better. Johnny took out the letter and gave it to
him. He sits next to Father, and I sit next to
Johnny. Father took the letter, and said:
What's this, sir? "
And Johnny said: "Read it, dear Pa, and
Then Father read it, and wrinkled his forehead
all up, and we thought he was going to burst into
tears, like the sick man did when the good little
girl brought him the oranges. But he did n't burst
into tears. He threw the paper across the table,
and said:
"What's this, Mrs. White? Have you been
running me into debt, after what I told you this
morning? "
And Mother said: "I 'm sure I don't know
what you mean, dear." Then she read the letter,
and called us naughty children, and "how dare
you go and have sound teeth out without my
consent ? "
And Father said that, "What we had done was
catamount to robbery; going and getting him into
debt of our own accord; and you may go to your
rooms and think about it till your mother and I
We 've been in our rooms ever since, and both
Father and Mother said they were under the n'ces-
sity of -
Well, Johnny says a switch is the worst, but he
does n't know anything about a slipper. Anyhow,
it 's over for this time.




BY A. S. R.

" GOOD for nothing," the farmer said,
As he made a sweep at the burdock's head;
But then, he thought it was best, no doubt,
To come some day and root it out.
So he lowered his scythe, and went his way,
To see his corn, to gather his hay;
And the weed grew safe and strong and tall,
Close by the side of the garden wall.

"Good for a home," cried the little toad,
As he hopped up out of the dusty road.
He had just been having a dreadful fright,
The boy who gave it was yet in sight.
Here it was cool and dark and green,
The safest kind of a leafy screen.
The toad was happy; "For," said he,
" The burdock was plainly meant for me."

" Good for a prop," the spider thought,
And to and fro with care he wrought,
Till he fastened it well to an evergreen,
And spun his cables fine between.


'T was a beautiful bridge,-a triumph of skill;
The flies came 'round, as idlers will;
The spider lurked in his corner dim,
The more that came, the better for him.

Good for play," said a child, perplext
To know what frolic was coming next.
So she gathered the burs that all despised,
And her city playmate was quite surprised
To see what a beautiful basket or chair
Could be made, with a little time and care.
They ranged their treasures about with pride,
And played all day by the burdock's side.

Nothing is lost in this world of ours;
Honey comes from the idle flowers;
The weed which we pass in utter scorn,
May save a life by another morn.
Wonders await us at every turn.
We must be silent, and gladly learn.
No room for recklessness or abuse,
Since even a burdock has its use.



ONE very hot day, last July, I left the Lake
Shore Railway train at Willoughby, a little station
eighteen miles east of Cleveland, in the State of
Ohio. Some business took me to Mentor, three
miles away, and, while the boy was driving me over
there, I thought I should like to make a call for
pleasure also. You know that President Garfield
lived in Mentor, and you will guess that I wished
to call upon his two youngest boys, who were then
at the Garfield homestead.
The house does not seem like a farm-house at
all. It is more like a dwelling in a village, or in a
city, set in a little piece of lawn, and sheltered by
three great locust-trees. I knocked at the door,
and was asked to enter the parlor. After a little
talk, I asked about the boys, and was told that
they were in "the office," a little one-story build-
ing, back of the house, used by their father for a
study, or working-place.
Then I was led out through a long hall, where a
tall clock looked down on me, and just outside the

rear door was the office. A narrow path led out
to it, and I followed along and stepped upon the
floor of the little porch that covered the only door
there was, which was the front door. The study
was a very small building, with a window on each
side of the door, a window at each end, and a
window just opposite the door. A mite of a chim-
ney came out of the middle of the roof.
The door was open as I stood on the porch,
and I could see four boys playing on the floor. I
said to them:
"Well, boys, is this a fort? "
Now the reason I thought it was a fort was that
I saw some pieces of white chalk, that the boys
had mounted on blocks and set on the floor, so as
to look like cannon.
This was all that I could see from the door when
I asked the question.
But when I was inside the room, I saw a lot
of paper soldiers standing up, and found out my
mistake before this answer came to my question:





"Not much a fort. We are deploying troops
in the field," said one of the two Garfield boys--
whether Irvin or Abram, I forget just now. The
other two boys were cousins of theirs, and they
were rather younger.
I then looked more closely. Besides using cray-
ons for cannon, they also had brass casters for
cannon-wheels, and their soldiers had been cut out
of card-board, with jackknives. Small stones,
nails, and peas were the bullets and cannon-balls.
Small paper flags showed which side was the
enemy, and which the American.
"And who is the enemy in this game?" I
My brother," the elder Garfield replied. He

upon it an inkstand and pen that had seen better
days. The floor was bare and painted.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
"We came here on the 2d of July," they said.
"The very day papa was shot."
"And do you like living here as well as in
Washington ? "
"We like it better here," said they ; "because
there are more boys, and because we can play out
of doors more."
I should say, here, that at the time of my visit
a great many people thought the President would
get well.
"Now, then," I said, "go on with your fun, and
let me see how you fight the battle."


does n't want to be, but he has to be, because he is
beaten so much."
But I beat you the other day," chimed in the
younger Garfield.
Yes, and the way you did it was to bring out a
lot of soldiers that had been sent to the hospital
the day before. That was no fair."
By this time, the boys were again sprawled upon
the floor, and ready to begin the battle over again.
While they were picking up the stones to throw,
I looked about the room. Several large book-cases
were filled with the President's books, and a
desk at the back window, opposite the door, had

You should have seen the stormy time that came
when I said this. First, one side would throw at
the other until all the soldiers were knocked over,
and then the other side would begin. This made
the enemy beat for a while, and then the Ameri-
cans. The sport lasted for a long time, and when
I went away it was not because I wanted to, but
because I had to, in order to take the train on the
railway. As I sat in the car, I thought over the
pleasant afternoon that I had spent; and I could
not help saying:
"Well, after all, boys are boys, and they play
much alike, whether Presidents' sons or not."







JARL RONVALD smiled good-humoredly on the
circle of listeners about the blazing hearth in his
castle-hall. For the little family party had asked
him to go on with his story.
"I see," said he, "that I shall hardly escape
without telling you the whole story of Siegfried,
from beginning to end. But I could not do that
in one evening. The hero's life was so full of advent-
ures that the telling of them would fill a volume.
One of the greatest and most daring deeds that he
ever did was to ride through flaming fire into the
castle of Isenstein, and awaken the Princess Brun-
hild from the deep slumber into which Odin, in
his wrath, had cast her. But our time will not
allow me to tell you much about that adventure.
The old Norse story of Sigurd and Brynhild,
which you often have heard, is very much like it.
"You are anxious to know what became of the
treasure, of which I told you that Fafnir guarded
it so long on the Glittering Heath? Well, to
please you, I shall relate how, after awakening the
Princess, Siegfried escaped from Isenstein and
came to the mysterious land of the Nibelungs."

Every one in the castle of Isenstein, from the
Princess, whom he had awakened to life, to the
lowest kitchen-maid, felt grateful to the young
hero for the deliverance he had wrought so val-
iantly. The best rooms were fitted up for his use;
and a score of vassals were set apart to do his bid-
ding, and ordered to be mindful of his slightest
wish. All the warriors and brave men, and all the
fair ladies, and Brunhild, fairest of all, besought
him to make his home there, nor ever to think
of going back to Rhineland. Siegfried yielded to
their persuasions, and for six months he tarried in
the enchanted land of Isenstein, in one long round
of merry-making and gay enjoyment. But his
thoughts were ever turned toward his father's
home in the Lowlands across the sea, and he longed
to behold again his gentle mother, "i.'.1-.iil
At length he grew tired of his life of idleness
and ease, and wished that he might go out again
into the busy world of manly action and worthy
deeds. And, day by day, this feeling grew stronger
and filled him with unrest.

One morning, as he sat alone by the sea-shore,
and watched the lazy tide creep up the sands, two
ravens lighted near him. Glad was he to see
them, for he knew them to be Hugin and Munin
-Thought and Memory-the sacred birds of
Odin, and he felt sure that they brought him
words of cheer from the All-Father. Then Hugin
flapped his wings and said: "In idleness the stings
of death lie hidden; but in busy action are the
springs of life. For a hundred years, fair Brun-
hild slept; but why should Siegfried sleep? The
world awaits him, but it waits too long."
Then Munin flapped his wings, also, but he said
nothing. And busy memory carried Siegfried
back to his boyhood days in Rhineland, and he
called to mind the wise words of his father, Sieg-
mund, and the fond hopes of his gentle mother.
And he rose in haste, and cried: "Life of ease,
farewell! I go where duty leads. To him who
wills to do, the great All-Father will send strength
and help."
While he spoke, his eyes were dazzled with a
flash of light. He looked, and out of the sea there
came dashing up the beach a wondrous creature,
such as he had never before seen--a milk-white
horse, from whose long mane a thousand sun-
beams gleamed and sparkled in the morning
light. As the noble steed sprang forward, and
stood in all its strength and beauty before the
Prince, Siegfried knew that it must be the horse
Greyfell-the shining hope which the All-Father
sends to those who dare to take in hand the doing
of noble deeds. All uncertainty now fled from his
mind, for he felt that with such a trusty steed to
aid him every hindrance would vanish, and every
hardship would be overcome.
Then he looked toward the sea again, and saw,
in the blue distance, a white-sailed ship, drawing
swiftly near, its golden-dragon stem plowing
through the waves like some great bird of the
deep. And as, with eager eyes, he watched its
coming, he felt that Odin had sent both the horse
and the ship, and that the time had come for him
to be up and doing. The hour for thriving action
comes to us once; if not seized upon and used, it
may never come again.
The ship drew near the shore; the sailors rested
on their oars. Siegfried and the steed Greyfell sprang
upon the deck. Then the sailors silently bent again
to their rowing; the flapping sails were filled and




tightened by the strong west wind, and the light
vessel leaped from wave to wave as if it were alive,
until Isenstein, with its tall towers and green marble
halls, sank from sight in distant mist. And Sieg-
fried and his noble steed seemed to be the only
living beings on board; for the sailors who plied
the oars were so silent and phantom-like that
they might have been but ghosts of the summer
breezes. As the ship sped swiftly on its way, all
the creatures in the sea paused to behold the sight.
The mermen rested from their search for hidden
treasures, and the mermaids forgot to comb their
long tresses, as the radiant vessel and its hero
freight sped past them. And even AEgir, the god
of the sea, left the brewing kettle in his banquet-
hall, and bade his pale-haired daughters, the

around both hero and horse, and they dared not
stir, but stood long hours in the silent gloom,
waiting for the appearance of the dawn.
At length the morning came, but the light was
not strong enough to scatter the thick vapors that
rested upon the land. Then Siegfried mounted
his steed, and the sunbeams began to flash from
Greyfell's mane and from the hero's glittering
armor; and the hazy clouds fled upward and away,
until they were caught and held fast by great mist-
giants, who stood like sentinels on the mountain-
tops. As the shining pair came up from the sea,
and passed through the woods and valleys of the
Nibelungen Land, for that was the name of the
mysterious country, there streamed over all that
region such a flood of sunlight as had never before

L. .- 4-.----

-- -- I.
--Z --



white-veiled Waves, cease playing, until the vessel
should safely reach its haven.
When, at length, the day had passed, and the
evening twilight had come, Siegfried saw that the
ship was nearing land. But it was a strange land.
Like a fleecy cloud it appeared to rest above the
waves, midway between the earth and the sky; a
dark mist hung upon it, and it seemed to be a land
of dreams and shadows. The ship drew nearer
and nearer to the mysterious shore, and, as it
touched the bank, the sailors rested from their row-
ing. Then Siegfried and the horse Greyfell leaped
from the vessel and stood upon the land; but, when
they looked back, the fair vessel which had carried
them was nowhere to be seen. Whether it had
suddenly been clutched by the greedy fingers of
the Sea-queen, Ran, and dragged down into her
deep sea-caverns, or whether, like the wondrous
ship Skidbladner," it had become invisible to the
eyes of men, Siegfried never knew. The thick
mist and the darkness of night closed over and

been seen. In every leafy tree, and behind every
blade of grass, elves and fairies were hidden; and
from under every rock, and out of every crevice,
lurked cunning dwarfs. But Siegfried rode straight
forward until he came to the steep side of a shad-
owy mountain. There, at the mouth of a cavern,
a strange sight met his eyes. Two young men,
dressed in princes' clothing, sat upon the ground;
their features were haggard, gaunt, and pinched
with hunger, and their eyes wild with wakefulness
and fear; and beside them was a heap of gold
and precious stones, which they had brought out
of the cavern. And neither of the two Princes
would leave the place, to get food, nor close his
eyes in sleep, lest the other should seize and hide
some part of the treasure. And thus had they
watched and hungered through many long days
and sleepless nights, each hoping that the other
would die; for the whole inheritance would then
become his own.
When they saw Siegfried riding near, they called



out to him and said: "Noble stranger, stop a
moment Come and help us divide this treasure."
"Who are you?" asked Siegfried; "and what
is your treasure ? "
We are the sons of Niblung, who, until lately,
was King of this Mist Land. Our names are Schil-
bung and the young Niblung," faintly answered
the Princes.
And what are you doing here with this gold
and these glittering stones ? "
"In this cavern lies the great Nibelungen
Hoard, which our father, long ago, found upon
the Glittering Heath. And now he is dead, and
we have longed to bring the hoard out of the cav-
ern where it was hidden, in order that we might
share it between us equally. But we can not
agree, and we pray you to help us divide it."
Then Siegfried dismounted from the horse Grey-
fell, and came near the two Princes.
I will gladly do as you ask," said he; "but
first tell me how the King, your father, obtained
the hoard of the Glittering Heath, and how he
brought it to this Mist Land."
Then Niblung answered feebly, while his brother
fell back upon the ground from weakness:
Our father was, from the earliest times, the
ruler of this land, and the lord of the fog and the
mist. Many strong fortresses and noble halls had
he in this land; and ten thousand brave warriors
were ever ready to do his bidding. The swarthy
elves, and the trolls of the mountains, and the
giants of the cloudy peaks were his vassals. But
he. did more than rule over the Nibelungen Land.
Twice every year he crossed the sea and rambled
through the Rhine valleys, or loitered in the wet
Lowlands; and, now and then, he brought rich
trophies back to his island home. Once on a
time, he ventured past the unknown boundaries of
Hunaland. Upon a dry and cheerless moorland,
which men call the Glittering Heath, he found this
treasure, which had been long guarded there by a
vile snake-dragon, whom men called Fafnir. A
brave young hero slew the monster and gave the
treasure back to its rightful guardians, the swarthy
elves of the mountains. But the chief of the
elves, the dwarf Andvari, had, long before, cursed
the treasure; and now the elves dared not touch
it, nor possess it, unless some man would take
upon himself the dreadful risk of incurring the
curse, and should assume ownership of the hoard.
This thing our father did. Then the dwarf Al-
berich and the ten thousand swarthy elves that live
in the mountain caves gathered up the treasure
and brought it to this cavern, where, with the help
of the twelve giants whom you see like sentinels
on these mountain-peaks, they guarded it for our

This is the story of the hoard as we know it,
although men tell it quite differently. They say
that our father obtained it unjustly and by guile
from his brother, whose vassals had digged it from
out of the earth, in the sunny valleys of the upper
Rhine. But be this as it may, the treasure lies
here within, and lo! for many days we have
watched it and hoped to divide it equally. But
we can not agree."
What hire will you give me if I divide it for
you? asked Siegfried.
"Name what you will have," the Princes an-
"Give me the sword which lies before you on
the glittering heap."
Then Niblung handed him the sword, and said:
"Right gladly will we give it. It is a worthless
blade that our father, last year, brought from the
low Rhine country. They say that it was forged
by Mimer, the Knowing One, and that in the south-
land it is considered a most wondrous blade. Be
that as it may, it is of no worth to us; it turns
against us when we try to use it."
Siegfried took the sword with joy, for it was his
own Balmung.
Forthwith he began the task of dividing the
treasure; and the two brothers, so faint from hun-
ger and want of sleep that they could scarcely
lift their heads, watched him with anxious, greedy
eyes. First, he placed a piece of gold by Nib-
lung's side, and then a piece of like value he gave
to Schilbung. And thus he did again and again,
until no more gold was left. Then, in the same
manner, he divided the precious stones, until none
remained. And the brothers were much pleased,
and they hugged their glittering treasures, and
thanked Siegfried for his kindness and for the
fairness with which he had given to each his own.
But, one thing was left which had not fallen to the
lot of either brother. It was a ring of curious
workmanship -a serpent coiled with its tail in its
mouth, and with ruby eyes, glistening and cold.
"What shall I do with this ring? asked Sieg-
Give it to me cried Niblung.
Give it to me cried Schilbung.
And both tried to snatch it from Siegfried's
hand. But the effort was too great for their strength.
Their arms fell helpless at their sides, their feet
slipped beneath them, their limbs failed; they sank
fainting, each upon his pile of treasures.
O my dear, dear Gold! murmured Niblung,
trying to clasp it all in his arms. "My dear, dear
Gold! Thou art mine, mine only. No one shall
take thee from me. Here thou art, here thou
shalt rest. O my dear, dear Gold! And then,
calling up the last spark of life left in his famished




body, he cried out to Siegfried: "Give me the
ring! The ring, I say!" He hugged his cher-
ished gold nearer to his bosom; he ran his thin
fingers deep into the shining, yellow heap; he
pressed his lips to the cold and senseless metal;
he whispered, My dear, dear Gold! and then
he died.
"0 priceless, priceless gem-stones!" faltered
Schilbung, how beautiful you are And you are
mine, all mine. I will keep you safe. Come!

-- ._ --._ & "-_- -- .> ;

_- -

a- T- h---:-2-"
_- .- --- ---.,. "-.. --

r r
:~ ~ ~i -_--.____.-. / ---I
-_-'-."-= -r, "_:j->2--;

and sun-bright diamonds, and two thin, starved
corpses stretched upon them. Some men say that
the brothers were slain by Siegfried, because their
foolish strife and greediness had angered him.
But I like not to think so. It was the gold, and
not Siegfried, that slew them.
"O Gold Gold cried the hero, sorrowfully.
"Truly thou art the world's curse! Thou art
man's bane But when the spring-time of the
new world shall come, then will the curse be taken

-- I






-_- .1 --- ;__--.. .. __. -- __
_.-- g- ff -.i -_ 7. lgT -. --. -

N- V'^->'
a-s i; ,, ; -..
, .q --::4 -- .i ..



Come, my bright Beauties! No one shall harm
you. You. are mine, mine, mine!" And he chat-
tered and laughed as only madmen laugh; and he
kissed the hard stones and sought to hide them in
his bosom. But his hands trembled and failed,
dark mists swam before his eyes; he fancied that
he heard the black dwarfs clamoring for his
treasure, he sprang up quickly, he shrieked,-and
then fell lifeless upon his heap of sparkling gems.
A strange, sad sight it was. Immense wealth,
and miserable death. Two piles of yellow gold
VOL. IX.-35.

from thee, and thy yellow brightness shall be the
sign of purity and enduring worth; and thou
shalt be a blessing to mankind, and the plaything
of the gods."
But our hero had little time for thought and
speech. A strange sound was heard on the mount-
ain-side. The twelve great giants, who had stood
as watchmen upon the peaks above, were rushing
down, to avenge their masters and to drive the
intruder out of Nibelungen Land. Siegfried
waited not for their onset, but mounted the noble




horse Greyfell, and, with the sword Balmung in
his hand, he rode forth to meet his foes, who, with
fearful threats and hideous roars, came striding
toward him. The sunbeams flashed from Grey-
fell's mane and dazzled the dull eyes of the giants,
who were unused to the full light of day. Doubtful
they paused, and then again came forward. But
they mistook for an enemy every tree in their way,
and every rock they thought a foe, and in their
fear they fancied a great host to be before them.
One and all they dropped their heavy clubs, and
cried for quarter. And Siegfried made each of
the giants swear an oath of fealty to him; and
then he sent them back to the snow-covered
mountain-peaks, to stand again as watchmen at
their posts.
And now another danger appeared. Alberich,
the dwarf, the master of the swarthy elves who
guarded the Nibelungen Hoard, had seen all that
had befallen the two young Princes, and when he
beheld the giants driven back to the mountain-
tops, he lifted a little silver horn to his lips and
blew a shrill bugle-call. And the little brown
elves came trooping forth by thousands. From
under every rock, from the nooks and crannies and
crevices in the mountain-side, from the deep cavern
and the narrow gorge, they came at the call of their
chief. Then, at Alberich's word, they formed in
line of battle, and stood in front of the cavern
and the bodies of their late masters. Their little
golden shields and their sharp-pointed spears were
thick as the blades of grass in a Rhine meadow;
and Siegfried, when he saw them, was both pleased
and surprised, for never before had such a host of
pygmy warriors stood before him.
While he paused and looked, the elves became
suddenly silent, and Siegfried saw that Alberich
stood no longer at their head, but had strangely
vanished from sight.
Ah, Alberich cried the Prince, thou art
cunning. I have heard of thy tricks. Thou hast
donned the Tarnkappe, the cloak of darkness,
which hides thee from sight and makes thee as
strong as twelve common men. Come on, thou
brave dwarf! "
Scarcely had he spoken, when he felt a shock
which almost sent him reeling from the saddle,
and made Greyfell plunge about in fright.
Quickly did Siegfried dismount, and, with every
sense alert, he waited for the second onset of the
unseen dwarf. It was plain that Alberich wished
to strike him unawares, for many minutes passed
in utter silence. Then a brisk breath of wind
passed by Siegfried's face, and he felt another blow;
but, by a quick downward movement of his hand,
he caught the plucky dwarf, and tore off the magic

Tarnkappe, and then, with firm grasp, he held his
struggling little enemy.
"Ah, Alberich he cried; indeed thou art
cunning But the Tarnkappe is now mine. What
wilt thou give for freedom and life? "
"Worthy Prince," answered Alberich, humbly,
"you have fairly overcome me and made me your
prisoner. I and all mine, as well as this great
treasure, belong rightfully to you. We are yours,
and you we shall obey."
Swear it said Siegfried. Swear it, and
thou shalt live, and be the keeper of my treas-
ures "
And Alberich made a sign to his elfin host, and
every spear was turned point downward, and every
shield was thrown to the ground, and the ten thou-
sand little warriors kneeled, as did also their chief,
and owned Siegfried to be their rightful master,
and the lord of Nibelungen Land, the owner of the
Nibelungen Hoard.
Then, by Alberich's orders, the elves carried the
hoard back into the deep cavern, and there kept
faithful watch and ward over it; and they buried
the starved bodies of the two Princes on the top of
the mist-veiled mountain. Heralds were sent to all
the fortresses and strongholds in Nibelungen Land,
and they proclaimed that Siegfried, through his
wisdom and strength, had become the rightful Lord
and King of the land.
Then the Prince, riding on the horse Greyfell,
went from place to place, scattering sunshine and
smiles where shadows and frowns had been before.
And the people welcomed him with glad shouts
and music and dancing; and ten thousand Nibel-
ungen warriors came to meet him, and plighted
their faith to him. And the pure brightness of
his hero-soul, and the gleaming sunbeams from
Greyfell's mane, lifted the curtain of mists and
fogs that had so long darkened that land, and let
in the glorious glad light of day and the genial
warmth of summer.

".Did he stay there all the rest of his life ? "
asked Leif, after a pause.
Did they leave the treasure buried in the
cave ?" asked Rollo.
"What became of the fair Brunhild? asked
little Ingeborg. Did Siegfried ever go back to
Isenstein ? "
"Yes, tell us all about it cried the three
As I have said," answered their father, "one
evening will not afford time to tell of all Sieg-
fried's strange adventures. I will answer your
questions by telling you one or two stories more;
and, with those, you must rest satisfied."

(To be continued. )




V \




By Mrs. Fanny Barrow.

At first, a ball of fluffy fur,

All black, or .!:.-, or white,

L,-.I!. to catch its little tail

With all its little might.

Four pretty little velvet paws,

That leap, and catch, and pat;

But presto! in a .-::: you see

A dignified old cat !

._ ,_j. fp

I .,

c_^B~t --ftj

-"i' .
-i,' .


j 7
-- ,, .

* .1

540 GRAB- BAG. [MAY,


BY H. H.

A FINE game is Grab-bag, a fine game to see!
For Christmas, and New Year, and birthdays, and all.
Happy children, all laughing and screaming with glee !
If they draw nothing more than a pop-corn ball,
'T is a prize they welcome with eyes of delight,
And hold it aloft with a loud, ringing cheer;
Their arms waving high, all so graceful and white;
Their heads almost bumping, so close and so near.
The laughter grows louder; the eyes grow more bright.
Oh, sweet is the laughter, and gay is the sight-
A fine game is Grab-bag! a fine game to see!

A strange game of Grab-bag I saw yesterday;
I '11 never forget it as long as I live.
Some street-beggars played it,-poor things, not in play!
A man with a sack on his back, and a sieve,-
A poker to stir in the barrels of dirt,--
A basket to hold bits of food he might find,-
'T was a pitiful sight, and a sight that hurt,
But a sight it is well to keep in one's mind.

His children were with him, two girls and three boys;
Their heads held down close, and their eyes all intent;
No sound from their lips of glad laughter's gay noise:
No choice of '.;1, playthings to them the game meant!
A chance of a bit of waste cinder to burn;
A chance of a crust of stale bread they could eat;
A chance-in a thousand, as chances return-
Of ragged odd shoes they could wear on their feet!





The baby that yet could not totter alone
Was held up to see, and, as grave as the rest,
Watched wistful each crust, each cinder, each bone,
And snatched at the morsels he thought looked the best.
The sister that held him, oppressed by his weight--
Herself but an over-yeared baby, poor child!-
Had the face of a woman, mature, sedate,
And looked but the older whenever she smiled.

Oh, a sad game is Grab-bag-a sad game to see!
As beggars must play it, and their chances fall;
When Hunger finds crusts an occasion for glee,
And Cold finds no rags too worthless or small.
O children, whose faces have shone with delight,
As you played at your Grab-bag with shouting and cheer,
And stretched out your arms, all so graceful and white,
And gayly bumped heads, crowding near and more near,
With laughter and laughter, and eyes growing bright,-
Remember this picture, this pitiful sight,
Of .a sad game of Grab-bag- a sad game to see 1

-. .
- --- .^ -. .





The baby probably suckles with the young wolves,
and the mother-wolf comes to have a wild affection
for the child, and he. grows up with the wolf-cubs.
At length, the mother-wolf is smoked out of her
cave, or the cubs are killed or caught, or they are
all hunted down, and the wild little human being is
caught also-sometimes after he has lived six or
eight years among his four-footed companions.
Mr. Ball saw two of these wild children in an
orphan asylum at Sekandra, in Oude, and in differ-
ent orphanages in India there have been others
whose history was well known. At first they
appear like wild beasts; they have no language,
and only keep up a curious whine, creeping around
on hands and feet like the young wolves, and
smelling everything before eating it, as an animal
does. For a time they will eat nothing but raw
flesh, and they snatch eagerly at a bone, and gnaw
it like a dog. Their hands and the skin of the

- t -.


A TRAVELER who has recently journeyed in
India, a man of science, Mr. V. Ball, gives an
account of a very curious matter which before had
been somewhat discussed by the celebrated scholar,
Mr. Max Miiller-that is, the history of "Wolf-
reared Children."
It appears that, in the province of Oude, the
wolves are exceedingly destructive. They creep at
night from the jungles and mountains into the vil-
lages of the poor people, and, crawling into the
little huts, will often snatch the babe from the
mother's arms, sometimes even without awaking
her; or they will pick up an infant that has been
left for a moment during the day by the hard-work-
ing mother. Wolves are said to have an especial
appetite for young and tender infants, and so de-
structive are their ravages that, in one district men-
tioned by Mr. Ball, it is estimated that one Ihundred
infants are carried off.-n l,.. ii. by wolves; and the
business of smoking out wolves from their dens, in
order to find the golden and other ornaments worn
by the unfortunate babies, is an extensive and
profitable one.
It seems that now and then a wolf captures and
carries home an infant to his cubs, and that they do
not at once eat the child; perhaps because they
have recently eaten a kid or a lamb, or other food.

I, .. -(
i ',' II

--_- J (, '--
rkV'7 @I.


knees are hard and callous from constant creeping,
and the fore-arms of one whom Mr. Ball saw had
become short from the same habit. A photograph *
was made of one, who, with his open mouth and

* "Jungle Life in India," by V. Ball, of the Geological Survey of India. Page 459. London, 1880.




vacant expression, looks like an idiot. Rescued
wolf-reared children have a constant desire to get .
back to the jungles, and to creep into holes, and
they have not been able to learn much, nor to
become used to civilized habits; and then, too,
they die early. It is said, though for this we can. "i'
not vouch, that when a wolf comes to a house
where is a wolf-reared child, he seems to know it
by its odor, and never harms it.
The wolf-child has no language; its morals and
habits are wolfish; it has drawn into its body wolf-,'
milk; it hates the 1 .i _,-, and ways of men; it
loves creeping instead of ii.i.-, and jungles and il
caves and the forest, rather than fields and cot-
tages and houses. It is a wild beast, but with the
brain and soul of a human being. The wolf-child
of India has all the capacities and possibilities of
any ordinary boy or girl. No doubt, if he were
left with his step-mother, the wolf, his brain would
make him more cunning than his wolf play-fellows, -
and he would show the savageness of the beast ,
with the skill of the man. He would become the ..- '
most dangerous wild animal-worse than tiger or-
leopard-of the Indian jungles.

Did ,er
think Ei ,L. Lh'uLI .. ..ul d Chldl- 1i luui U, L i.. ,. k
boys and girls who were born to hunger, and cruel treatment, and who live in miserable dens and
holes; who are as ignorant of love and hope, and of the missions, and churches, and schools of this





city as are the infants found in the wolves' dens of
the mountains of Oude; who have been taught
only in the schools of poverty, vice, and crime;
whose ways are not our ways, and who have wolf-
ish habits; whose brain makes them more cun-
ning, more dangerous, than the animal, and who,
if they grow up thus, will be more dangerous to
this city than wolf or tiger to the villages of India.

But, fortunately for us, these children have not
lost our language, like the poor babies of Oude,
and, though wolves in human shape have brought
them up to crime and sin, they can be saved and
made into reasonable human beings.
Would you like to hear how this is done ?
Well, here comes one of the wolf-reared children
to the office of the Children's Aid Society, in




Fourth street, New York. He has no cap, but his
tangled hair serves as a covering for his head;
bright and cunning eyes look out from under the
twisted locks; his face is so dirty and brown that
you hardly know what the true color is; he has no
shirt, but wears a ragged coat, and trousers out at
the knees and much too large for him; he is bare-
footed, of course. He is not at all a timid boy,
small as he is, but acts as if nothing would ever
upset his self-possession, whatever might happen.
The benevolent Mr. Macy, who has been dealing
with poor children for the last quarter of a century,
meets him, and asks:
Well, my boy, what do you want?"
"A home, please, sir."
"What is your name? "
"Haint got no name, sir; the boys calls me
"Well, Pickety, where do you live? "
Don't live nowhere, sir."
"But where do you stay ? "
"I don't stay nowhere in the day-time, but

and jist now a cove has taken me in at the iron
bridge at Harlem."
Iron bridge What do you mean? "
Why, them holler iron things what holds the
bridge up. He got it first, and he lets me in."
Pickety, who is your father? "
Haint got no father, sir; he died afore I
knew, and me mother, she drinked and bate me,
and we was put out by the landlord, and she died,
and the City Hall buried her And something
like a shadow came over the cunning blue eyes.
Pickety, did you ever hear of God ? "
Yes, sir; I have heard the fellers swear about
Him, and I know it's lucky to say something to
Him when you sleep out in bad nights."
Did you ever go to school, Pickety, or to
church ?"
No, sir; I never went to no church nor school.
I should kind o' like to learn something' "
"Well, Pickety, we 'll make a man of you, if
you will only try. You will, I see "
So Pickety is sent by Mr. Macy down to a clean,

I sleeps in hay-barges, sir, and sometimes in beautiful Lodging House," put up by a generous
dry-goods boxes, and down on the steam-gratings lady for just such homeless children. It stands at
in winter, till the M. P.'s [policemen] come along, No. 287 East Broadway. A kind, experienced






Calder, mets him,.

and a matron-Mrs.
-*--in -
^* ._._2___---_-=__
. .. Y R
,ae.,." m e -. ---

Calder-takes him in hand.
Her smile alone would take
the wolf-feeling out of him and ,
make him more of a human -
child. In his secret heart, lit- I
tie Pickety thinks they must I ill
be a very soft set, or else that
they want to make money out ..
of him by and by, but be takes -
their kindness very quietly. 7?
Perhaps, too, he is watching '
for a chance to pocket a handy --
little, article or so, or to slip
out-of-doors with something. -
And now, first, he is put
into a bath and made clean,
and his hair s cut short by a
cutter such as those used for THE EAST END OF THE SCHOOL-ROOM.
cutter such as those used for H A E O E n0LRhI



clipping horses. -i. l..: .. r.: ii i
all this, and qu .': "-o i..: i.- i ,T[.:.:k-:,. r _
given him ; but I,- 1in.- ri -. i ,: 1o.-u .I
his old trousers _.~,uin, ,. Ii hlai ll ii: 1 ..
plan of slipping away with a whole suit of
new clothes is nipped in the bud.
He then enjoys a plain, wholesome supper
in company with a number of other boys, who have
been in the house longer; and when he sees the
sweet face of the matron who is serving them, he
finds his feelings change a little, and he almost
thinks she is too good for him to try to cheat her.
Presently, he goes up willingly to a large, cheer-
ful school-room. It is the prettiest place he ever
saw; there are many lights, and large windows, and
beautiful flowers in a conservatory at the end, and
pot-flowers at the sides, and a nice library, and.

long rows of neat boxes, where the boys keep their
books and things.
Every part of this room is as clean as wax-work,
and Pickety is very glad he has had that thorough
washing; it begins to dawn upon him, too, that
the people must be good who have made such a
nice room for poor boys. But he still keeps a
lookout, lest he should be entrapped in some dis-
agreeable way.
By and by, the Superintendent, a handsome,
benevolent-looking man, talks to the boys about




things our little waif never
heard of before-of doing
right, and making true
change in selling newspa-
pers, and not stealing other
people's property, and of
a God above who is pleased
if a street-boy is honest
and good. Little Pickety
thinks this is meant for
him, for only yesterday a
customer gave him a ten-
cent piece by mistake for
a penny, and he never told
him, but pocketed the
money; and he remembers
a poor old woman, whose
apples he used to steal, till
she had to break up her
stand and go to the Island
Almshouse; so he feels

h -- -

^^ ^.S ^

~~~ 0

i~r. ~i~ r

very uneasy at the Superin- .- -
tendent's words.
After this came the les-
sons, and for the first time BOYS WHO WANT TO GO WEST, WAITING IN
he was introduced to all the letters, though he had another ; and he
known enough before to tell one newspaper from learned them qu

e was very glad to find that he
ickly, and that in counting and




- s --~- ~-~~~~ls~l


sums he was quicker than the others ; of course,
this was because he had sold papers and so had
had to make change so often.
Little Pickety's greatest surprise, however, was
when he was taken up to the sleeping-room-a
lar e. h-nd)riome ?ir drlnrmitnr-". reqn i q ybhip'c

b i . ,,, I- i

b tc ,, ,, :lt-.I l :..i,, I. i. ]. i i t,,, i'r
hlu r L, .... :11il, LhL.i

SCh ,,,_!, i..1 ..I -, ,
hr ,,, ,,-l,. ,- : ...Ii i i-,n I -, ,-t i'

at ,'I o i",. J 1.1:,
st: ~ + '.t',r o I I I Il : i, ,

hfe !i ,.I I:, ,:l,

enrl, Ih t :tri.:i

I. ,, ,,i -
ll. !'l '; I 'I.

ness, and others had paid for their lodgings and
meals (five cents each), and he began to feel he,
too, must do something. He did not wish to be a
" pauper," nor to have anybody think of him as
one, and he saw lads as small as he who said they

_: ..... :. ',-


- .. 7

I '---

.. "'

._ t \C % ".. '-

ii ,_ '
, 2 -1

i: L i.. [ r... 1,11 .:cents to a dollar a
.',. ,.Itl ,I I-,. bought their own

lii II
iii:i I45! '



/ '





,i,,_- ST,

, };

After his breakfast next morning,
some boys had put their money into
bank" in the audience-room; an
borrowed from the fund for starting

I.- LI i.11. !..iI- 'ellow especially ex-
S i .ii: I _: ,: I,- declaring that he
l,.. i L. rI.- upper ten," as it
ir'':.': l I, i' n the ten-cent dor-
,i- r I,. 1 his own special
I- ... :.I:... for his clothes,with
I,[ t-i' "I It -,: .
i.: .,r... llt ..i, Pickety at length
-_- ,.. r I.. :i;ak to the Superin-
-- i l I., .. Ikindly explained to
him that each boy was expected to
Sdo all he could to pay his own way,
I 'that idle and pauper boys were not
wanted there, and that some kind
S i' gentleman had supplied money with
which to help boys who might wish
I / to start in business.
Pickety knew all about the boot-
S"blacking business, but, as he
THE SAVINGSBANK. explained, "a big boy had
punched him and stolen all his
he heard that kit." He could sell newspapers, too, but he had
the "savings- been "stuck" with his last lot, and had lost all
d others had his money; and after that piece of bad luck he
boys in busi- had lived on bits of bread that a hotel-waiter had


a n



lL I~i~j~Jr




i' ;

I I I_ i

i 'I-"

I' ,Il

-. '1

1 i .. .. "


given him, and once or twice he had been fed by
one of the other boys.
Mr. Calder was ready to supply him with a boot-
blacking outfit, or to give him checks which would
entitle him to so many copies of the Telegram or
Daily News, the boy to return the value of the
checks, after a few days, when he should have made
some money.
Pickety chose the newspaper checks, and cleared
twenty-five cents, and then invested again, and
came back at night with fifty cents made,
feeling very proud and independent, since
he was now able to
pay for hi: !.:..i- i,
and meal:

buy policy-tickets," and thus take a short path
to fortune. Other boys were after him to "go on
7. the lay," as they called it-that
/ I -a is, to break open

stores, and so gain
fifty or a hundred
dollars at once, in-
stead of working
hard every day
and all day, for
the sake of get-
ting a few pen-
/nies. But in
the Sunday-
evening meet-
.. of the




The next day and the next, he appeared at the
Lodging House, for he rather liked the place and
the people, and, wide-awake as he was, he saw that
he got a great deal for his money, and could not
hope to do better anywhere else. In a few days
he had repaid the loan, had a little capital ahead,
and actually found himself rich enough to afford
a pair of new trousers.
Then, later, having some money, he was sorely
tempted to pitch pennies and make more, or to

Lodging House, Pickety heard a great deal about
the sin of stealing and the folly of such "short
cuts to fortune," and he began to see how wrong
and foolish all these things were; and that he
ought to try in his humble way to lead a straight-
forward and manly life, and to please the wonderful
Being of whom the teacher read in the Testament,
and who -had lived and died on the earth for men.
So Pickety broke away from bad companions,
and, finding that liberal interest was offered in the






savings-bank of the Lodging House, he put his
money there; and when, after some:months, they
would no longer keep it there, because, they said,
it was too much to risk, he felt very proud to place
it in a big savings-bank in the city.
Little Pickety happened to be sent one day to
the Superintendent's sitting-room; he knocked at
the door, and heard a harsh voice cry:
Come in "
So he opened the door and entered.
To his surprise, he found no one in the cozy,
tasteful little room. But a deep, sepulchral voice
from a dark corner of the room asked: "Who are
you ?"
The little street-rover was not afraid of human
enemies, but of ghosts he had heard many a fear-
ful story; and he now began to quake in his shoes.
Suddenly, however, he discovered, in a cage in the
corner, a strange, weird-looking bird, about as
large as a crow, dark as night, with a most beauti-
ful metallic luster on its feathers. The bird held
its great head sidewise, and, after peering at the
boy in a most searching fashion for a minute, it
unexpectedly exclaimed, in a tone of the deepest
misery :
P-o-o-r M-i-n-o and again: "M-i-n-o
w-a-n-t-s a drink of w-a-ter with various other
plaintive speeches, which seemed to come from
the throat of some stout, heavy alderman. The
creature ended by whistling, in not at all a melan-
choly manner, that lively air called "Captain Jinks."
Pickety ran back in great haste to describe his
wonderful discovery to his comrades, when Mr.
Calder brought down the cage among them, and it
was a source of endless amusement, as it often had
been before to other sets of lads. The mischiev-
ous boys took special delight in having Mino in the
school-room; for whenever the Superintendent had
begun a prayer, or was making some serious
remarks, the bird was sure to give vent to an
unearthly scream, or to call out in its harsh voice:
"Who are you ? or otherwise break in upon the
sobriety of the occasion.
Pickety was especially touched, one day, by see-
ing poor sick women and children come up to
Mr. Calder's desk for the little bouquets of flowers
furnished to the Flower Mission by kind people in
the country. The lad knew that these beautiful gifts
were. carried home to the dark cellars. and miser-
able. attics of that neighborhood, and that these
bunches of bright, sweet-snmelling flowers came like
gifts'from God, gladdening the bedside of many a
sick and dying creature in the poor quarter around
the Lodging. House.

Pickety had no.v lost much, of his former wAolfish,
savage nature: he did not wish to go back to his

jungle and den; he had learned to eat with his
knife and fork, and to sleep in a bed, like a civil-
ized human being; he was less cunning but more
bright, and was kind to other boys; he had begun
to have a desire to earn and own something, and
to get on in the world. Besides, he had some idea
of religion, and a great longing to be considered a
manly fellow; and he was beginning to read in
At length, one day, the Superintendent called
him and told him he could not be always in'the
Lodging House, for they did not keep boys long,
and he must soon strike out by himself and en-
deavor to make his own way in the:world.
The Superintendent also explained to the bright
young lad that the best possible employment for a
young working-boy in this country was farming,
and that there were kind-hearted farmers in the
West who would be glad to take him, and teach
him their business, giving him at first only cloth-
ing and food, but paying him fair wages later on.
In this way he would have (for the first time in
his life) a home, and might grow- up with the
farmer's family, and share in all the good things
they had.
Pickety at first thought he might be sent where
bears would hunt him, or Indians catch him, and
that he would earn very little and would lose all
the sights and fun of New York, so he was almost
afraid to go; but, on hearing all about it, and see-
ing that he would never come to much in the city,
and especially hoping to get more education in the
West, and by and by to own a bit of land for him-
self, he resolved to join a party under one of the
western agents of the Children's Aid Society and
go to Kansas--which to the New York boy seems
the best State in the West.
We have not time nor space to follow his fort-
unes there: everything was strange to him, and
he made queer work of his duties in a farmer's
house; but the strangest thing of all to him was to
be in a kind, Christian family. He wondered what
made them all so good, and he began to think he
would like to be as they were, and most of all like
the One he had heard of in the Lodging House
He was careful to write to his New York friends
about his new home, and here is one of the letters
received.from him, after he had been in the West
a few months:
".MR. MACY DEAR SIR: I write you these
few lines hoping you are in: good health at present,
and not: forgetting the' rest of the gentlemen that
I remember in the Children's Aid Society.. I am
getting on splendid with my studies at school, and
I send you my monthly report, but please return




", ,
fil: 1h,,,'

a*A) 'I^
mi -" e' "
W ;^1

'I :7TO ii~i '~, '' i ,'
i '
l, I'I



VOL. IX.-36.


I h ,

:1'ji; 1

:: i 'r "I''
q i
l. 1 1




it, as I want to keep all my reports. I have a
good place and like my home, and am glad I came.
The first time I rode a horse bare-back, he
slung me off over his head and made me sick for
a week. I also had diphtheria but I am all right
again and in good health, and can ride or gallop a
horse as fast as any man in town. When summer
comes I will learn to plough and sow, and do
farmer's work. I will get good wages out here.
It is a nice country, for there is no Indians, or
bears, or other wild animals 'cept prairie-wolves,
and you can scare ti/em with anything.
"If any boy wants a good home, he can come
here and have plenty of fun. I have fun with the
mules, horses, pigs and dogs. No pegging stones
at rag-pickers or tripping up men or tramps in the
Bowery or City Hall Park.
Tell 'Banty' I send him my best respects. Tell
him it is from 'Pickety,' and he will know me.
Yours truly,
He learned his farm-work fast and soon made

..i .


i ..-.-- .. V ,* S. ..

.. :'.. -n ii O

"'/~ ""'

himself very useful; the next winter he went to
school again, and became a very good scholar. He
knew how to make money, too: when the farmer
gave him a calf, or a lamb, or a 'sheep, he took
good care of it, and by and by sold it, and bought
other stock with the proceeds, and in this way,
after a few years, he had saved a considerable sum.
With this he bought some "Government land,"
on which he built a shanty; and so he began to be
a "landed proprietor."
He was no longer "Pickety," but had a Chris-
tian name, and for his last name he took that of
the kind people to whom he felt like a son. He
had acquired a fair education, too; and the neigh-
bors liked and respected the "New York orphan,"
as they called him. He had quite lost his wolfish
nature by this time, and now had a new one, which
had come to him from the Good Being he had
heard of in the Lodging House, through the civil-
izing, Christian influences that had been thrown
around him. And here we will leave him,-

; .

P. i
,' !'

II I } ,'





t- *-




I .

Ci i


1-d' 12

L ~-S--I-

- i + .- ..

iiiPP ,, I-ITOP I

I I ill I I .

i I,. ,, I I I I 1.

....I II 1 1 .. .I .. h I i ll

lI, ..jI.. I.1 l l 1 n
1, I U1 1 I I, ,l ,

I,.I I, i I i ,, I, I ,~ 1,i 1.

i I I ., I_ I r l. II ", .,.I

.... ........... .II ., I I.. I.. ,

I I r *'I

S II II., I ,r I .1
i- I ,,

I I I, I i l. I. .. l .

I I, ,. .. . I I I

r, I i I



r .


b-LCpC~~ I------ ----- ~-"--L-s~O-- --

----- 1










"Is Miss Dorothy in?"
I think she is, Miss Josie. And yet, it seems
as if she went over to the Danbys'. Take a seat,
Miss, and I '11 see if she 's in her room."
"Oh, no, Nora! I '11 run up myself and sur-
prise her."
So the house-maid went down-stairs to her work,
for she and Liddy were "clearin' up after the
house-picnic of the day before; and Josie Manning
started in search of Dorry.
"I '11 look in her cozy corner first," said Josie to
Only those friends who knew the Reeds inti-
mately had seen Dorry's cozy corner. Mere ac-


quaintances hardly knew of its existence. Though
a part of the young lady's pretty bed-room, it was
so shut off by a high, folding screen that it formed

a complete little apartment in itself. It was deco-
rated with various keepsakes and fancy articles--
some hanging upon the walls, some standing on
the mantel-shelf, and some on the cabinet in
which she kept her "treasures." With these, and
its comfortable lounge and soft Persian rug, and,
more than all, with its bright little window over-
head, that looked out upon the tree-tops and the
gable-roof of the summer-kitchen, it was indeed
a most .1..1;i.i i place for the little maid. And
there she studied her lessons, read books, wrote
letters, and thought out, as well as she could, the
plans and problems of her young life. In very
cold weather, a wood fire on the open hearth
made the corner doubly comfortable, and on
mild days, a dark fire-board and a great vase of
dried grasses and red-sumac branches made it
seem to Dorry the brightest place in the world.
Josie was so used to seeing her friend there that
now, when she looked in and found it empty, she
turned back. The cozy corner was not itself with-
out Dorry.
"She 's gone to the Danbys' after all," thought
Josie, standing irresolute for a moment-
I '11 run after her. No, I'll wait here."
So, stepping into the cozy corner again, but
shrugging her pretty shoulders at its loneliness,
she tossed her hood and shawl upon the sofa, and,
taking up a large book of photographic views that
lay there, seated herself just outside the screen,
where she would be sure to see Dorry if she
should enter the room. Meantime, sitting in the
sunshine, a pleasant heat came in upon her from
the warm hall; not a sound was to be heard, and
she was soon lost in the enjoyment of the book,
which had carried her across the seas, far into
foreign scenes and places.
But Dorry was not at the Danbys' at all. She
was overhead, in the garret, kneeling beside a
small leather trunk, which was studded with tar-
nished brass nails.
How dusty it was !
I don't believe even Liddy knew it was up
here," thought Dorry, "for the boys poked it out
from away, 'way back under the rafters. If she
had known of it, she would have put it with the
rest of the trunks."
Dorry laid the dusty lid back carefully, noting
as she did so that it was attached to the trunk by
a strip of buff leather inside, extending its entire
length, and that its buff-paper lining was gay with

*Copyright, 188i, by Mary Mapes Dodge. All rights reserved.




sprays of pink rose-buds. In one of the upper cor-
ners of this lid was a label bearing this inscription:

"Oh! exclaimed Dorry, under her breath, as,
still kneeling, she read the words,-" it 's Aunt
Kate's own writing "
Papa," ran her thoughts, that was Donald's
and my grandpapa. October, 1849-ten whole
years before we were born when she was a little
girl herself !"
Then with reverent hands Dorry lifted the top
article-a soft, pink muslin dress, which had a
narrow frill of yellowish lace, basted at the neck.
It seemed to have been cast aside as partly worn
out. Beneath this lay a small black silk apron,
which had silk shoulder-straps, bordered with nar-
row black lace, and also little pockets trimmed with
lace. Dorry, gently thrusting her hand into one
of these pockets, drew forth a bit of crumpled rib-
bon, some fragments of dried rose-leaves, and a
silver thimble marked "K. R." She put it on her
thimble-finger; it fitted exactly.
Oh, dear!" thought Dorry, as, with flushed
cheeks and quick-beating heart, she looked at the
dress and apron on her lap; "I wish Don would
come! Then followed a suspicion that perhaps
she ought to call him, and Uncle George, too,
before proceeding further; but the desire to go on
was stronger. Aunt Kate was hers,-" my aunty,
even more than Don's," she thought, "because
he's boy, and of course does n't care so much,"-
and then she lifted a slim, white paper parcel,
nearly as long as the trunk. It was partly
wrapped in an old piece of white Canton crape,
embroidered with white silk stars at regular inter-
vals. Removing this, Dorry was about to take off
the white paper wrapper also, when she caught
sight of some words written on it in pencil.
"Dear Aunt Kate!" thought Dorry, intensely
interested; "how carefully she wrapped up and
marked everything! Just my way;" and she
My dear little Delia : I am fourteen to-day,
too old for dolls, so I must fut you to sleep and lay
you away. But I 'll keep you, my dear dolly, as

long as I live, and if I ever have a dear little gihl,
she shall wake you and flay wit/ you and love
you, and I promise to name jcr Delia, after you.
Kate Reed. August, 1832.
With a strange conflict of feeling, and for the
moment forgetting everything else, Dorry read the
words over and over, through her tears; i.i.1-..
softly: "Delia! That's why my little cousin was
named Delia."
And, as she slowly opened the parcel, it
almost seemed to her that Cousin Delia, Aunt
Kate's own little girl, had come back to life, and
was sitting on the floor beside her, and that she
and Delia always would be true and good, and
would love Aunt Kate forever and ever.
But the doll, Delia, recalled her. How pretty
and fresh it was! -a sweet rosy face, with round
cheeks and real hair, once neatly curled, but now
pressed in flat rings against the bare dimpled
shoulders. The eyes were closed, and when
Dorry sought for some means of opening them,
she found a wire evidently designed for that pur-
pose. But it had become so rusty and stiff that
it would not move. Somehow the closed eyes
troubled her, and before she realized what she
was doing, she gave the wire such a vigorous
jerk that the eyes opened-bright, blue, glad
eyes, that seemed to recognize her.
Oh, you pretty thing exclaimed Dorry, as
she kissed the smiling face and held it close to her
cheek for a moment. Delia never can play with
you, dear; she was drowned, but I'll keep you as
long as I live---Who 's that? Oh, Don, how
you startled me I am so glad you 've come."
"Why, what's the matter, Dot? he asked,
hurrying forward, as she turned toward him, with
the doll still in her arms. Not crying ?"
"Oh, no, no, I 'm not crying," she said, hastily
wiping her eyes, and surprised to find them wet.
"See here! This is Delia. Oh, Don, don't
laugh. Stop, stop "
Checking his sudden mirth, as he saw Dorry's
indignation, and glancing at the open trunk,
which until now had escaped his notice, he began
to suspect what was the matter.
Is it Aunt Kate's ? he asked, gravely, as he
knelt beside her.
"Yes, Don; Aunt Kate's doll when she was a
little girl. This is the trunk that I told you about
-the one that the diary fell out of."
A strong, boyish step was heard coming up the
garret stair: "Who is it? Run, Don, don't let
any one come up here begged Dorry.
"It's Ed Tyler,-Hold up, Ed! cried Don,
obediently. "I'll be there in a minute." Then
hurriedly kissing Dorry, and with a hearty cheer
up, little sister! he was gone.




Don's pleasant tone and quick step changed the
current of Dorry's thoughts. More than this, a
bright beam of sunlight now shone through the
dusty window. Sobbing no longer, she carefully
wrapped the doll in the same paper and piece of silk
that had held it for so many years. As she arose,
holding the parcel in her hand, the pink dress and
black silk apron on her lap fell to the floor.
A sudden thought came to her.
Dorry never could remain sad very
long at a time. She hastily opened
the parcel again.
Lie down there, Delia dear," she
said, gently placing the doll on the
rose-buds of the still open trunk-lid. l .
' Lie down there, till I put on these
things. I'm going to take you down
to see your uncle !" i
"Wont he be astonished, though !"
murmured Dorry, as, half smiling,
half sighing, she took off her dress in
great excitement, and put on, first
the pink muslin, and then the black
silk apron, fastening them at the
back as well as she could, with many
a laborious twist and turn of her
white arms, and with a half-puzzled
consciousness that the garments were
a perfect fit.
The dress, which was high at the
neck, had short sleeves, and was
gathered to a belt at the waist.
Tying the apron at the back, so that
the ends of its black ribbon bow
hung down over the full pink skirt,
she proceeded to adjust the silk
straps that, starting in front at the
belt, went over the shoulders and
down again at the back.
As she did this and perceived that each strap was
wide on the top and tapered toward the belt, it
struck her that the effect must be quite pretty.
Bending, to take up Delia, she saw, for the first
time, among the bits of calico and silk lying in the
bottom of the trunk, what proved to be a wide-
brimmed straw hat. In another moment it was on
her head, and, with a quick little laugh, she caught
up Delia and ran down the stairs.

Looking neither to right nor left, Dorry sped
down the next flight; across the hall, on tiptoe
now, and so on to the study door, which stood
ajar just enough to admit her slight figure.
Mr. Reed, who sat at the table busily writing,
did not even look up when she entered.
"How d' ye do?" she exclaimed, courtesying
.to her uncle, with the doll in her arms.

He sprang to his feet in amazement.
"Don't be frightened. It 's only Dorry. I just
wanted to surprise you See," she continued, as
he stood staring wildly at her, I found all these
things upstairs. And look at the dolly! "
By this time the hat had fallen off, and she was
shaking her tumbled hair at him in a vehement
manner, still holding Delia in her extended arms.

"Good-bye, Ed!" rang out Donald's clear
voice from the piazza, and in an instant he was
looking through the studywindow, much surprised
to see a quaint little pink figure folded in Uncle
George's embrace, while Dorry's voice was calling
from somewhere: "Be careful Be careful!
You '11 break Delia "

Ed Tyler, sauntering homeward, met Josie Man-
ning on her way to the Danbys'. I think Dorry
has gone to see Charity Danby," she said, "and
I 'm going after her. I 've been waiting at her
house, ever so long."
"I've been at Don's, too," said Ed. Just
come from there."
Josie laughed. "As if I did n't know that," she
said. Why, I was in Dorry's room all the time.
First I heard Don run up to the garret for some-




thing, then you went up after him, and then you
both passed down again, and out upon the piazza.
I suppose you went to the old carriage-house, as
usual, did n't you? "
Of course we did. We 're turning it into a
first-class gymnasium. Mr. Reed has given it to
Don outright, and I tell you it will be a big
thing. Jack 's helping us. Don has saved up
lots of pocket-money, and Mr. Reed gives him
all the lumber he wants. Just you wait. But, by
the way, Dorry is n't out. Don told me himself
she was rummaging up in the garret."
"Why, that's queer! was Josie's surprised
exclamation. Then it must have been Dorry
who ran down-stairs. It could n't be, though-
some one with a hat on and a short-sleeved pink
dress went by like a flash."
Don't you know Dorry Reed yet?" laughed
Ed-" she is always dressing up. Why, one day
when I was there, she came into Don's room
dressed like an old woman-cap, crutch, corked
wrinkles and all complete-never saw anything
like it. What a little witch she is "
"I think she 's an angel! said Josie, warmly.
A pretty lively angel! was Ed's response.
But the tone of admiration was so genuine that
it satisfied even Josie Manning.

"Well!" exclaimed Donald, noting Dorry's
strange costume as he entered the room, after
shouting a second good-bye to Ed Tyler.
"Well!" echoed Dorry, freeing herself from
her uncle's arms, and facing Donald, with a little
jump-"what of it? I thought I 'd pay Uncle a
visit with my pretty doll-cousin here (hugging
Delia as she spoke), "and he started as if I were a
ghost. Did n't you, Uncle?"
"I suppose I did," assented Mr. Reed, with a
sad smile. In fact, Dorry, I may as well admit
that what is fun to you happened, for once, not to
be fun to me."
"But it was n't fln to me cried that aston-
ishing Dorry. "It was it was tell him, Don;
you know."
There was no need for Don to speak. Dorry's
flushed cheeks, shining eyes, and excited manner
told their own story- and both her brother and
uncle, because they knew her so well, felt quite sure
that in a moment Dorothy's own self would have
a word to say.
Still folding the dolly to her heart and in both
arms, just as she would have held it years before, and
with the yearning look of a little child, the young
girl, without moving from the middle of the room,
looked wistfully toward the window, as though she
saw outside some one whom she loved, but who
could not or would not come to her. Then she

stepped toward her uncle, who had seated himself
again in the big chair, and laying her hand upon
his shoulder, said earnestly:
"Uncle, I 've been brought nearer to Aunt
Kate to-day than ever in my life before, and the
lonely feeling is almost all gone. I found a little old
trunk, far back under the rafters, with her doll in
it, her clothes and her writing, and now I see how
real she was,-not like a dream, as she used to
seem, but just one of us. You know what I mean."
"A trunk, Dorry! What? Where?" was all
the response Uncle George made, as, hastening
from the room, he started for the garret, keeping
ahead of the others all the way.



DONALD and Dordthy followed their uncle
closely, though he seemed to have forgotten them;
and they were by his side when he reached the
little treasure-trove, with its still opened lid.
Paying no attention to their presence, Mr. Reed
hurriedly, but with the tenderest touch, took out
every article and examined it closely.
When he came to the diary, which Dorry that
day had restored unopened to the trunk, he eagerly
scanned its pages, here and there; then, to the
great disappointment of the D's, he silently laid it
down, as if intending soon to take it away with
May we see that, Uncle ?" asked Dorry, softly.
"Is n't it right for us to read it? We found out it
was her diary-but I put it back- "
Without replying, Uncle George went on with
his examination. Finally, replacing the last arti-
cle in the trunk, he closed the lid with a hopeless
air, and turned toward Dorry, saying :
Dorothy, where is that doll? It must go back
where you found it, and the clothes, too."
She handed it to him without a word all her
hope turned to bitterness.
But as he took it, noting her grieved expression,
he said:
"Thank you, my dear. You are too old to
play with dolls- "
Oh, Uncle, it is too bad for you to speak so !
You know I did n't mean to play with it. It is n't
a dolly to me she 's more like-like something
with life. But you can shut her up in the dark, if
you want to."
Dorry Dorry said Don, reproachfully.
"Don't be so excited."
In a flash of thought, Dorry made up her mind
to speak -now or never.
Uncle said she, solemnly, I am going to




ask you a question--and, if it is wrong, I can't
help it. What is the reason that you always feel so
badly when I speak of Aunt Kate ? "
He looked at her in blank surprise for an instant;
then, as she still awaited his reply, he echoed her
words, Feel badly when you speak of Aunt Kate !
Why, my child, what do you mean ? "
I mean, Uncle dear, that there is a secret in
the house : something you have never told Don and
me. It 's always coming up and making mischief,
and I don't think it's right at all. Neither does
"That's so, Uncle,' said Donald, emphatically;
" we feel sure there is something that gives you
trouble. Why not let us share it with you ? Re-
member, we are not little children any longer."
The uncle looked quickly from one to the other,
mentally deciding that the children could be told
only the facts that were positively known to him;
then seating himself on the corner of a large chest,
he drew Don and Dorry toward him.
"Yes, my children," he said, in his own hearty
way, as if already a load had been taken from his
mind, "there is something. It is right that I
should tell you, and this is as good a time as any.
Put the doll away, Dorry (he spoke very gently
now), "wherever you please, and come down-stairs.
It is chilly up here-and, by the way, you will
catch cold in that thin gown. What have we been
thinking of all this while ?"
"Oh, I 'm as warm as toast, Uncle," she re-
plied, at the same time taking her pretty merino
dress from the old chair upon which she had
thrown it, scarcely an hour ago; "but I suppose
it 's always better to be on the safe side, as Liddy
Much better," said Uncle, nodding with forced
cheerfulness. "Down with you, Dot. We '11 join
you in a minute."
Dorry saw her uncle stooping low to peer into
the far roof-end of the garret, as she left them;
and she had time to place Delia carefully in her
treasure-cabinet, put on the warmer dress, and be
ready to receive her uncle and Donald before they
made their appearance.
"May we be your guests, Dot?" asked Uncle
George, at her door.
Oh, yes, sir; come right in here," was her
pleased response, as, with a conflict of curiosity
and dread, Dorry gracefully conducted them into
her cozy corner.
It is too pretty and dainty here for our rough
masculine tread, eh, Don ?" was Mr. Reed's re-
mark, as, with something very like a sigh, he
seated himself beside Dorry upon the sofa, while
her brother rested upon one of its ends.
"Well," began Dorry, clasping her hands

tightly, and trying to feel calm. "We 're ready,
now, Uncle."
"And so am I," said he. "But first of all, I
must ask you both not to magnify the importance
of what I am going to reveal."
About Aunt Kate? interposed Dorry.
"About Aunt Kate. Do not think you have
lost her, because she was really, no --I should say
--not exactly."
"Oh," urged Dorry, "don't stop so, Uncle!
Please do go on!"
As I was about to say," resumed Mr: Reed, in
a tone of mild rebuke at the interruption, "it
really never made any difference to me, nor to
your father, and it should make no difference to
you now. You know," he continued, with some
hesitation, children sometimes are adopted into
families-that is to say, they are loved just the
same, and cared for just the same, but they are
not own children. Do you understand?"
"Understand what, please, Uncle ? Did Aunt
Kate adopt any one? asked Dorry.
"No, but my father and mother did; your
grandfather and grandmother Reed, you know,"
said he, looking at the D's in turn, as though he
hoped one of them would help him.
"You don't mean, Uncle," almost screamed
Dorry, "that it was that-that horrid "
Donald came to her assistance.
"Was it that man, Uncle? he asked, quickly.
Ben Buster told me the fellow claimed to be
related to us-was he ever adopted by Grandfather
Ugh shuddered Dorry.
Very little help poor Uncle George could hope
to have now from the D's. The only way left was
to speak out plainly.
"No, not that man, my children; but Aunt
Kate. Aunt Kate was an adopted laughter-an
adopted sister-but she was in all other respects
one of our family. Never was daughter or sister
more truly beloved. She was but two years old,
an orphan, when she came to us. Grandpa and
Grandma Reed had known her parents, and when
the little'"-here Mr. Reed hastily resolved to say
nothing of Eben Slade for the present--"the
little girl was left alone in the world, destitute,
with no relatives to care for her, my father and
mother took her into their home, to bear their
name and to be their own dear little daughter.
"When Aunt Kate was old enough, they told her
all, but it was her wish that we boys should for-
get that we were not really her brothers. This
was before we came to live in this house.
"Our Nestletown neighbors, hearing nothing of
the adoption, naturally supposed that little Kate
Reed was our own sister. The secret was known





only to our relatives, and one or two old friends,
and Lydia, who was Kate's devoted nurse and
attendant. In fact, we never thought anything
about it. To us, as to the world outside, she was
Kate Reed -the joy and pride of our home-our
sister Kate to the very last. So it really made no
serious difference. Don't you see ?"
Not a word from either of the listeners.
"~ f course. PDrr- dar-
'~J 1 i!,.1 .. c .I. :

" i i -d r -. 1 :
7 ., nu I-n, ,, in L... .. .
:1 Li ,_i, .md .- I -_._, I:.,- -


fore, without giving it undue importance. I wish
now that, from the first, you and Donald had been
told all this; but indeed your Aunt Kate was always
so dear to me, that I wished you to consider her, as
she considered herself, a relative. It has been my
great consolation to think and speak of your father
and her as my brother and sister, and to see you,
day by day, growing to love and honor her
memory as she deserved- Now, do you not

understand it all? Don't you see that Aunt Kate
is Aunt Kate still?"
Yes, indeed. I says, most decidedly," broke
forth Donald. "And I am very glad you have
told us, Uncle. Are n't you, Dorry?"
Dorry could not speak, but she kissed Uncle
George and tried to feel brave.
Mamma and Aunt Kate were great friends,
were n't they?"
Donald asked.
"Yes, indeed.
Though they be-
came acquainted
only afew months
before your par-
ents married and
departed for Eu--
rope, they soon
became very fond
of each other."
"'Then, Uncle,"
pursued Donald,
"why did n'tyou
_0 know Mother,
too? I should
think she would

visit Aunt Kate,
"As your moth-
I er was an only
child, living alone
with her invalid
father, she was
unwilling to leave
.. 1.-l -i... aI I1. visited her instead.
I :! i 1 1..: ..ri;-mt, and that Icould
r.. -..., 1 [ .,thy more fully of
.., I-, 1. I,, i rarely saw. W e all
-o I_ ...-1 I vely, but I should
l I.. 1.., L .i .. t .. 1,i. i fam iliarly to your
,,,- ih. ,Id i'..i',,- ......1 l be all the dearer
i! .,1, I. ,: ..,-:, -i I. thoughts of your
...,thrl.., -. ,,-! 1' i. !. -he had passed here

.. p. i.t t- summoned to his
study. A gentleman from town had called to see
him on business.
Keep up a good heart, my girl," he said, ten-
derly, to Dorry, as he left her, and as soon as
you feel like it, take a run out-of-doors with
Donald. The bracing air will drive all sad
thoughts away."
Dorry tried to smile -.I. .: -1i., as she promised
to follow his advice. She even begged Don not to
wait any longer, assuring him that she would go
out and join him very soon.




"That 's a good old Dot," said Don, proudly.
"I '11 wait for you. Where 's your hat ? "
"No, you go first, Don. I 'll be out soon. I
really will."
"All right. Ed's out there again by this time.
You '11 find us in the gymnasium," and off he ran,
well knowing that Dorry's heart was heavy, but
believing that the truest kindness and sympathy
lay in making as light as possible of Uncle
George's revelation-which, he felt, was n't so
serious a thing after all, if looked at in the right
Dorothy waited until he was out of sight, and
then sat down to think it all over.
The result was that when Liddy chanced to pass
through the hall, a few moments later, she was
startled at hearing half-suppressed sobs.
According to the custom of the house, which
made the cozy corner a sort of refuge for Dorry,
the good woman, upon entering at the open door,
stood a moment wondering what to do. But as
the sound of another little sob came from behind
the screen, she called out in a cheery voice:
May I come in, Miss Dorry, dear ? "
Y-yes," was the answer. Oh, Liddy, is that
you? Uncle has told us all about it."
"Sakes alive!" cried Liddy, holding up her
hands in dismay-" not told you everything ?"
Yes, he has," insisted Dorry, weeping afresh,
as Lydia's manner seemed to give her a new right
to consider that an awful fact had been revealed to
her. "I know now all about it. I haven't any
Aunt Kate at all. I'm a-all alone "
For shame, Miss Dorry; how can you talk so ?
You, with your blessed uncle and your brother, to
say nothing of them who have cherished you in
their arms from the day you were a helpless baby
-for shame, Miss, to say such a thing "
This put matters in a new light.
"Oh, Liddy, you don't know about it. There's
no Aunt K-Kate, any way," sobbed Dorry, rather
relieved at finding herself the subject of a good
There isn't, eh ? Well, I 'd like to know why
not!" retorted Lydia, furtively wiping her eyes.
I guess there is. I knew, long before you were
born, that she was a dear little adopted girl. But
what of that-that does n't mean she was n't ever
a little girl at all. Don't you know, Miss Dorry,
child, that a human being's a human being, and
folks care for 'em for what they are? It was n't
just belongin' to this or that family made Miss
Kate so lovely-it's what she was herself, and I
can certify to her bein' as real as you and me are
-if that's all that's wanted."
By this time Dorry, though half comforted, had
buried her face in the sofa-pillow.

"Not that I can't feel for you, poor dear,"
Liddy continued, gently patting the young girl's
shoulder, but speaking more rapidly many 's
the time I've wept tears, just to think of you,
longing with all your little heart for a mother.
I 'm a rough old body, my dove, and what are
your dear good uncle and Master Donald but
menkind, after all, and it's natural you should
pine for Aunty. Ah, I 'm afraid it 's my doings
that you 've been thinking' of her all these days,
when, may be, if I 'd known your dear mother,
which I did n't,-and no blame to me neither,-
I would n't always have been holding Miss Kate
up to you. But she was a darling, was your Aunt
Kate, as you know by her picture down-stairs-
don't you, dear ? "
Dorry nodded into the cushion, by way of reply.
Liddy gazed at her a moment in sympathizing
silence, and then, in a more cheerful tone, begged
her to rouse herself:'
"It wont do any good to fret about it, you
know, Miss Dorry. Come, now, you '11 have the
awfulest headache that ever was, if you don't
brighten up. When you 're in trouble, count
your blessings-that 's what I always say, and
you've a big share of 'em, after all, dear. Let me
make you a nice warm cup of tea--that '11 build
you up, Miss Dorry. It always helps me when
I- Sakes what's that? "
"What's what, Liddy?" said Dorry, languidly
raising her head from the pillow. "Oh, that's--
that 's her--that 's Aunt Kate's frock and apron.
Yes, and here 's something else. Here 's Delia-
I '11 show her to you."
And so saying, she rose and stepped toward the
Show me Delia ? Merciful heavens," cried
Liddy, has the child lost her senses "
But the sight of the doll re-assured her.
"Oh, that 's Delia, is it?" she asked, still won-
dering; "well, where in the world did it come
Dorry told her all about the discovery of the
little trunk that had been hidden in the garret so
many years.
Oh, those miserable house-cleaners!" was
Liddy's wrathful comment. "Only to think of
it! We had 'em working' up there when you twins
were too little to spare me, and I 've never felt easy
about it since, nor trusted any one but myself to
clean that garret. To think of their pushing things
in, 'way out of sight and sound like that "
This practical digression had a good effect on
Dorry. Rousing herself to make the effort, she
bathed her face, smoothed her hair, and seizing her
hat and shawl, started with a sigh to fulfill her
promise to Donald.




And all this time, Liddy sat stroking and folding
the little pink dress and black apron.



WHEN Dorry reached the "gymnasium," as
Ed and Don called it, she could not help smiling
at the grand title they had given prematurely to a
very unpromising looking place.
The building had been a fine carriage-house in
its day, but of late it had been used mainly by
Jack as a sort of store-house for old barrels, boxes,
wheels, worn-out implements, and odds and ends
of various kinds. Its respectable exterior had
saved it from being pulled down when the new
carriage-house was built. As Donald had planked
off one end for his own special purposes,-first as a
printing-office, later as a carpenter's shop,-and as
Dorothy had planted vines, which in summer sur-
rounded its big window with graceful foliage, it had
become the special property of Jack and the D's.
Consequently, when Donald asked Mr. Reed to
allow him to sell or send away the rubbish, and,
with the proceeds of the sale of the old iron added
to his own saved-up pocket-money, to turn the
place into a gymnasium, his uncle not only gave
free consent, but offered to let him have help and
material, in case the young man should fall short
of funds -as he most undoubtedly would.
The project was but a few days old at the time
of the house-picnic, but being a vigorous little proj-
ect, with life in its veins, it grew and prospered
finely. Sailor Jack entered heartily into the work
-the more so as his gallant fancy conceived the
idea of some day setting up near by a sort of ship's-
rigging with shrouds and ratlins, in which to give
the boys lessons, and occasionally disport himself,
by way of relief, when his sea-longing should

become too much for him. Plans and consulta-
tions soon were the order of the day, and Dorry
becoming interested, learned more about pulleys,
ropes, ladders, beams, strength of timber, and
such things than any other girl in the village.
The building was kept moderately warm by an
old stove, which Jack had set up two years before,
when Don and Dorry had the printing-press fever
(which, by the way, had broken out in the form of
a tiny, short-lived newspaper, called The iestle-
town Boom), and day after day the boys spent
every odd moment of daylight there, assisted in
many ways by Dorothy. But perhaps more
efficient help was rendered by Jack, when he could
spare the time from his horses, and by the village
carpenter, when he would deign to keep his
Above all, it was decided that the new tutor
should not begin until after the Christmas holidays,
now close at hand.
Under this hearty cooperation, the work pros-
pered wonderfully,
Pretty soon, boys who came to jeer remained
to try the horizontal bar or the "horse," or the
ladder that stretched invitingly overhead from one
end of the building to the other. By special
request, Don's and Dorry's Christmas gifts from
Uncle were a flying-course, a swinging-bar, and a
spring-board. Jack and Don carted load after load
of saw-dust from the lumber-mill, and presto the
gymnasium was in full operation.
All of which explains why Josie Manning and
Dorothy Reed bought dark-blue flannel, and sent
to town for the latest pattern for gymnasium
dresses,-why Don and Ed soon exasperated them
by comfortably purchasing suits ready-made,-why
Dorry's cheeks grew rosier, why Uncle was pleased,
why Jack was happy, and why Lydia was morally
sure the D's would break their precious necks, if
somebody did n't put a stop to it.

(To be continued.)




THERE once was a man from "Par-ec," '
Whose reply to all questions was "Oui!"
When told he 'd go wrong,
Should he not change his song,
He replied very much as you see.



S .IL .. I.-

L J .. L .. .
- ..n. '-' ... :. .'. L. 1i. ...,. ,L;_, d s,,

'i :. .-L...Z: .. L.L .. .' .:. -i-. ... -..-I:I:

'T'i, ; 1 H ....- ': i: comes down!

1.. i. Li.. ...-I-. .. ,

1 i... L iL '..: .' '.l ,.L

T 1.. i. -::I clouds;
.. ..I L.. ,.. 2,. .L 2.

- ..- '.' .I.. I i. 'Ii '.L "'- u"1
' : '" ; -"til c.. 111. ,,,.



1882.] APRIL AND MAY. 565

Skies are .. -. :.
W hat ... .....
An....... o, .... .......... -
In the .. .

She calls .: 2 :, .. ., L l .
And b.t .'. ;--'AA. ". A. -..
And straig Li- -: ....
And t '.. i,- ..L .. ."

Oh, the gla .. .' ; .,: ..,, '
Oh, d .-. :. .. .;..
Storm and .......
In a i- L l. .I

From dew .L.:.. .... .' .1
The b: .. ..
That the ra:.. .. ..... li,.
That ... .. ...' .. ..u. -.

That bees .'- ... .L. .... --
Earth A o ..;- :.'. .. !
And 't is j'.. .:. :, L -...
In the .... ., .- ,, i



'A I

. I
'* ".-, -




. ,':


; '






S'.-is the prettiest baby that ever was born.
,' -' i bathed him and fed him and taught him "Bo-peep,"
F...cked him and trotted him, sang him to sleep.
f' .' '. I en I bade him good-by, and crossed the wide sea,
.-o\d it rolled twenty years twixtt that baby and me;
-- T at last I resolved I would cross the blue main
.'-.d hug my own precious wee baby again.

Well, that old ship creaked, and that old ship tossed,-
I was sure as I lived that we all should be lost,-
But at last we saw sea-gulls, and soon we saw land;
And then we were in; and-if there did n't stand
My own blessed baby! He came there to meet me!
Yes, when we all landed, he hastened to greet me!
And wonder of wonders that baby had grown
To be bigger than me, and he stood all alone!
Why, Nursey he said (he could talk, think of that !),
As he bowed like a marquis and lifted his hat.
"Ah, how did you know your old Nursey? Oh, my!
You 've changed very much, and no wonder," says I;
When I spied of a sudden his mother, behind,-
Sweet lady She 'd helped him Old Nursey to find.
And he told me, right there, he 'd a sweet little wife
And that I should live with them the rest of my life.

So I 'm here, and right happy. You just ought to see
The dear little fellow that sits on my knee.
He has beautiful dimples and eyes like his Ma,
And a nose and a chin just the same as his Pa.
Ah, me He 's a beauty! There never was born
A prettier babe than this latest Van Horn.



"IT 'S too bad that the fairies and giants died
so long ago. It does seem as if all the wonderful
things happened before there was a chance to see
them. If a gnome or a nixie would appear in the
woods near the fairy ring, and send word that
it would do something, we could go to the tele-
phone in the library, and tell all the boys and girls
in the neighborhood to meet at the railway depot
and take the train for the woods, so as to be in
time to see. That would be something like!
They have put an electric light on a tall mast near

the Town Hall. They say you can see it from
Perkins's Hill where the fairy ring was found, and
that's more than nine miles from the Town Hall.
Perhaps if there were any gnomes or fairies there,
they could see it. What do you suppose they
would think about it ? It is very bright, and
it makes the streets look like fairy-land."
You see, the boy who made this long speech
was a great talker. He certainly mixed things
up in a strange fashion,-fairies and telephones,
gnomes and electric lights. He was sure nothing



wonderful happens now, and yet he spoke of
three things that leave poor Mr. Aladdin quite out
of sight. What was the good of his old brass
lamp? If you rubbed it well, you could fly away
wherever you wished; but there's nothing to show
that even the wonderful flying carpet was half as
fast as a train of cars. As for talking through
a wire ten miles long, there is nothing like that
in any fairy story ever written.
There are men and women still living who re-
member the time when there were no railways.
It was at the Centennial Exhibition that the tele-
phone was first shown, and some of you can
recall the day the men brought the wires over
the top of the house and put up that little box
in the library. Now comes this mysterious electric
light. It is queer and strange, bright as a small
chip split off the sun, and they say the small white

perimenting," and it is in this way that nearly all
the strange new things were discovered. Faraday
knew the battery would give him sparks and
flashes of light. By trying the wires of the bat-
tery in a particular way, he found he could make
the sparks stand still, while a great and wonderful
light flashed up, burning and dazzling, before him.
Franklin, you remember, went out one day, just
as a thunder-shower was coming, and sent up his
kite. The lightning ran down the kite-string and
gave him a tiny spark from a key tied to the string.
That was a famous experiment, for it proved that
lightning and electricity were the same thing.
From Faraday's experiment we learn that a thun-
der-storm is a grand show, similar to the electric
lights that shine in the streets. The lights in the
clouds are not steady;-the lightning is not a good
lamp to read by. Yet these three are the same -


flame is so hot that it will burn up hard metals,
like platinum, or tough stones, like diamonds.
The gnomes never did anything like that, and, if
they could do it, they never said so, or never took
the trouble to try. Giants and nixies and gnomes
don't amount to much, after all, nowadays.
It was Faraday who first saw the electric light.
He was one day at work with his battery, trying
experiments. He was continually trying things to
see how they would behave. We call this ex-

the sparks from the battery, the lightning from the
clouds, and the new lamps in the streets.
Place a needle near the ends of a magnet, and it
will be pulled toward it. If the needle touches
the magnet, it will stick to the ends. Something
draws the needle to the magnet and makes it cling.
The attraction of the magnet for the needle we
call "magnetism." We can see nothing of it; it
has no light and no motion of fts own. We can
not hear it, and yet we know there is force of some




kind. This force that drags the needle to the mag-
net we call magnetism. In trying our experiment
we have been, as it were, asking a question, as if
we said, Mr. Needle, what would you do if you
met Mr. Magnet?" Mr. Needle is not very talka-
tive, but the pointed way he has of clinging to Mr.
Magnet speaks more loudly than words. Could
he speak, he might say: "There is a force I must
obey, and it draws me to the magnet. In nature
there is a law of attraction, and in nature nothing
ever breaks a law."
Put a two-cent piece in the mouth, on the tongue,
and lay a nickel five-cent piece under the tongue,
so that the edges of the two coins will just touch.
In a moment you will have a curious bitter taste
on the tongue. Neither coin by itself will have
this taste. When the two pieces touch each
other in the mouth, something happens besides
their touching. You feel a strange, biting sensa-
tion on the tongue. Look at the coins. Nothing
seems to have happened to them, yet you feel sure
that something did take place when you held them
in your mouth.
Another way to perform this experiment is to
wind a short piece of fine copper wire around each
coin, and then to drop them in a cup of vinegar.
Take care that the bundles do not touch each
other, and bring the ends of the two wires close

One wire does not have this effect, but, when
both wires touch the tongue, something happens,
for you feel it plainly. What does this experiment
tell us? That here is force of some kind. This
kind of force is called electricity. The coins on
the tongue or in the vinegar make what is termed
a battery," that is, a fountain, of this force, and
the taste on the tongue is caused by electricity.
If, in place of the coins, you use a sheet of cop-
per.and a sheet of zinc, each with its copper wire,
and if in place of the vinegar a stronger acid, like
sulphuric acid, is used, there will be more force,
and the electricity will give us light and sounds.
If the ends of the wires are brought together, there
will be a tiny spark and a low sound, like the
snapping of a bit of wood. There is nothing new
to be seen or felt in the wires. They are cold .and
silent, yet, when they touch, they seem for an instant
to be full of crackling fire. If the battery is a strong
one, and you place a piece of paper between the
ends of the wires, you will find after the flash
that a small hole, with blackened edges, has been
made through the paper. This shows that there is
heat as well as light, for the spark burned a hole
in the paper. From these experiments you can
prove for yourself that electricity is something that
can be tasted, and that it gives light and sound
and heat; and yet, it can not be seen.

c3 7* -e

a-- .... :---: *"X-. 2 -7t U-- -


together. Now, holding the cup in the hand,
touch the ends of the two wires to the tongue.
Again you feel the strange, biting, bitter taste.

At one time it was imagined that electricity was
a kind of fluid, like water, and that it could, in
some way, flow through the wires of a battery.




-E E- I L 3 H-T-- I D:- -S; -:K -N O;- .


It is better to think that electricity is merely
energy displaying itself; but no one can tell what
it really is. We can see its light; we can feel
it in the hands and arms-as when you touch
a Leyden-jar; we can taste it, as you know; and it
will burn and give out terrible sounds. We see the
lightning strike a barn, and the barn burns down,
and we hear the pealing sound when the flash
has darted, from the black clouds. These things
are only the ways in which it shows itself to us,
and we say these are displays of energy. The
acid in the battery bites and eats up the copper and
zinc. This process releases force or energy, and
this force gives light and heat and sound. Electric-
ity is the name we give to this strange force that
comes from the copper coins in your mouth; that
streams from the battery; that flashes from the
clouds; and burns with such beautiful fires in the
Northern Lights. It is this force that is now used
to light the new electric lamps in the streets.
Faraday knew that the battery would give
sparks, and he discovered a way of making them
stand still and burn like a lamp. After this, for a
long time, nothing more was done with the light.
A strange thing was next discovered. If the
wire from a battery were wound around a piece
of iron, the iron would become a magnet. If the
wire were cut in two, so that it did not reach the
VOL. IX.-37.

battery, the iron would cease to be a magnet, and
become mere ordinary iron, for which needles did
not seem to care. If the wire were again joined
to the battery, the needles found it out quickly
enough. Now, here is a curious matter. A piece
of iron may be a magnet at one time, and not at
another. While the electricity runs through the
wire, around and around the iron, the iron is a
magnet. When the electricity stops, the iron loses
its magnetic power. So it appears that the kind
of energy which we call electricity. may create
magnetism in a rod of iron. We might say, Mag-
netic force and Electric force are brothers. It
seems so; and a magnet made by passing elec-
tricity through copper wire wound around iron, we
call an electro-magnet, and the attractive power
it has over a needle, we call electro-magnetism.
If Electricity is brother to Magnetism, perhaps
the magnet can give us electricity ? This appears
to be so ; for if a coil of wire is placed near a mag-
net, and then made to revolve rapidly, electricity is
found in the wire just as if it had come from a
battery. Electricity obtained in this new way
was therefore called magneto-electricity. Then,
working on this discovery, inventors made machines
for producing electricity. These machines gave
more electricity than could be obtained from a bat-
tery, and it was much cheaper to make a steam-




engine turn the new machines, than to put costly
metals like zinc and copper into batteries.
These electrical machines are now very common,
and it is from them we get the electric force for the
new lights. They are called dynamo-electrical
machines, because the science of making engines
work is called dynamics, and the motion or en-
ergy of the engine is used to drive the machines.
They are sometimes called "dynamos "-for short
-or, as we might say, "work machines."
These "dynamos are of various kinds, but all
are much alike. There is one large magnet, or a
number of small ones placed together, and near
the ends are set bundles of insulated wires-that
is, bundles of wires, each wire being coated with
gutta-percha, which shuts in, or insulates, the elec-
tricity, and prevents its escaping from the surface
of the wire. These bundles of wires are called
"armatures," and they are placed on axles, as if
they were wheels. The steam-engine is connected
with the armature of a machine, and when the
engine is at work the armature turns around many
hundred times in a minute, close to the end of the
magnet. The armature feels the magnetism of
the great magnet, and every bit of the winding
wire seems to thrill and quiver with electricity.

Brilliant sparks leap from the ends of the flying
wire, and crackling blue flames seem to dance on
the copper brushes that touch the armature, as
it whirls swiftly around. On page 567 is a picture
of one of these strange machines. You can not
distinguish the parts of the armature as it spins
around and around near the magnets. There must
be -something going on inside, for the whole
machine is hot, as if it were in a terrible excitement
over its work. Big copper wires, covered with

cloth, are fastened to the machine, and are car-
ried along the street on telegraph poles. Outside,
in the dark, gleam and shine the fiery lamps, look-
ing like baby moons glowing on the lamp-posts,
or like clusters of brilliant stars burning on tall
masts above the trees in the park.
If we examine one of these electric lamps in the
streets, we shall find it consists of two rods, one
pointing upward from the bottom of the lamp, the
other hanging downward. The rods seem to
touch, and the brilliant flame is exactly where they
seem to meet. The man in the picture on the next
page is just putting these rods into place in the
lamp. Once a day he comes around with a bag of
the rods. He takes out the old rods that were
burned the night before, and places a new set in
each lamp. After he 1ias gone about, as if he
were putting new wicks into the lamps, and each
is ready for its night's work, all the lamps are
lighted in broad day, to see that every one is in
proper trim. They are allowed to burn until the
men have walked about in the streets and looked
at each lamp. If all are burning well, they are
put out till it begins to grow dark. If one fails to
burn properly, a man goes to that lamp to see
what is the matter. The rods are made of a
curious black substance,
like charcoal, that is called
carbon. When the lamp
is out, the two rods touch
each other. In order to
light the lamp, they are
pulled apart; and if you
look at the flame through
S a smoked glass, you will
S- see that the rods do not
quite touch. There is a
small space between their
points, and this space is
S- filled with fire. Look at
a the other parts of the
roc,--.: nd'_-_ rods, or the copper wires
that extend along the
streets. They have no
light, no heat, no sound.
... The wires are cold, dark,
IE BAY OF NAPLES. and silent. If we were to
push the two rods in the lamp close together, the
light and heat would disappear, and the curious
hissing sound would stop. Why is this ? Let us
go to the woods near some brook, and it may be
that we can understand this matter.
Here is the brook, flowing quietly along, smooth,
deep, and without a ripple. We walk beside the
stream, and come to a place where there are high
rocks, and steep, stony banks. Here the channel
is very narrow, and the water is no longer smooth




and silent. It boils and foams between the rocks.
There are eddies and whirlpools, and at last we


,' .. C. .-
coe to' : n p o all. H t o



dark and silent water roars and foams in white,
stormy rapids. There are sounds and furious

leaping and rushing water and clouds of spray.
What is the matter? Why is the smooth, dark
water so white with rage, so impetuous, so full of
sounds and turmoil? The rocks are the cause.
The way is narrow and steep. The waters are
hemmed in, and there is a grand display of flash-
ing white foam and roaring water-falls, as the

waters struggle together to get past the narrow
It is the same with the electricity flowing
OTEMSTI,- -_- --

through the large copper ires. It passes down
one wire into the other, through the lamp, in
silence and darkness, so long as the rods touch and
stormy rapids. There are sounds and furious

the path is clear. When the rods the s lamp are
pulled apart, there is a space to be got over, an
obstruction, like rocks in the bed of the brook.

The electricity, like the water, struggles to get
through the large copper wires. It passes down
one wire into the other, through the lamp, in
silence and darkness, so long as the rods touch and
the path is clear. When the rods in the lamp are
pulled apart, there is a space to be got over, an
obstruction, like rocks in the bed of the brook.
The electricity, like the water, struggles to get

over the hindrance in its path, and it grows white-
hot with anger, and flames and hisses as it leaps
across the narrow space between the rods.
One of the pictures gives a good idea of the way
some of the lamps are placed on tall masts,
high above the trees and houses, and of the curi-
ous cone-like effect produced by the rays shining
across the rain-drops at night, making each one
glisten like a diamond falling out of the sky.
Another view was taken from the windows of the
tall building in Union Square where ST. NICHOLAS
may be found at home; it shows how the masts
and lamps look in the day-time. Besides these, we

-- I.



i I'5 r i

ci 'i

C 4rl'

M' i -


have a picture of an electric light on board an
Italian war-ship in the bay of Naples. These
lights are also used on steam-boats on the West-




ern rivers. The pilot moves the light about until it
shines on the trees or houses upon the bank, and in
this manner picks out his way along the stream.
There is another kind of electric lamp, used in
houses; it has a smaller and softer light, steady,
white, and very beautiful.
In these lamps, also, we have something like the
narrow place in the brook. They are made with
slender loops of carbon, inclosed in glass globes.
The electricity, flowing silently through a dark
wire, enters the lamp, and finds only a narrow
thread on which it can travel to reach the home-
going wire, and, in its struggle to get past, it heats

the tiny thread of carbon to whiteness. Like a
live coal, this slender thread gives us a mild, soft
light, as long as the current flows. It seems calm
and still, but it is enduring the same fury of the
electricity that is shown in the larger lamps.
This is the main idea on which these lamps are
made: A stream of electricity is set flowing from a
dynamo-electric machine through a wire until it
meets a narrow place or a break in the wire.
Then it seeks to get past the obstruction, and there
is a grand putting forth of energy, and in this
way the electric force, although itself invisible, is
made known to our eyes by a beautiful light.

, V; .- i "
iii T1

'' :if- F~- -- ^^ -i^

';:r. .. : :'-- l' ,..
-. ? -.
_ _ i'





CHARACTERS: JENNY, a girl of eight years. JOHNNY STOUT,
a boy of sixteen or eighteen years. J IMMY BINGS, a Tramp.
The argument shows that wolves are just as designing, little
girls just as heedless and helpful, and the chances of rescue just as
possible to-day as at the time of the original Red Riding-hood.
SCENE: .: .1, 1...-.. i parlor. JENNY discovered dusting fur-
niture, ... ....,. n ..,., and making things look nice generally.
JENNY, surveying her work critically .
There!-my mamma 's gone away,
To be gone, she said, all day,
And so I am keeping house. Oh, what fun!
I shall have no time to play,
But must work and work away,
And be busy as a mouse, till I 've done.

But my mamma said to me-
Now, what was it? Let me see:
"Jenny, darling, don't go out all the day;
But keep close at home till tea,
When I '11 come and set you free;
So just mind what you 're about, dear, I pray.

"And keep Bridget right in call;
And mind this, dear, most of all:
Don't let in any stranger while I 'm gone.
Lock the windows and the hall,
And be careful not to fall,
And don't get into danger here alone."





Well, I '11 try my best, I 'm sure,
To keep everything secure;
But I 've no need for Bridget, that I know;
Girls are such a bore about,
And she might as well go out;
I '11 just go down and tell her she can go. [Exit.]
[JIMMY BINGS appears outside at window (or door,
if a window is impracticable) ; hepeers in, looks around;
then tries the window, opens it, and enters cautiously.
JIMMY BINGS: Well, now, here 's a lucky go !
With that window open so,
I just skipped right in the house as slick as soap.
Why, here 's loads of pretty things.
You 're in luck, old Jimmy Bings,
And can do a stroke of business here, I hope.
[A noise outside.]
Hello! Who 's that coming here?
[Goes to door, and looks out cautiously.]
Men? No! Dogs? No! Well, that 's queer!
Why! it 's only just a p.. r. i. tle gal.
Jimmy Bings, slip out, .,,.I I,.,,:
Just walk in here bold again-
Play your game, and make that little chick your pal!
[Exit through door cautiously.] [Re1nter JENNY.]
JENNY: There! Now Bridget 's gone away,
And I '11 have a quiet day,
Fixing everything up lovely while I wait;
So that Mamma, she will say,
When she comes back home to-day:
"What a lady is my little girl of eight!
[Enter by door JIMMY BINGS, hat in hand. He makes
JENNY a low boto.
JIMMY B.: Ah! Good-morning, little miss !
You look sweet enough to kiss.
Is your Ma at home this morning, may I ask ?
JENNY: Why, sir, no. She 's gone away,
To be gone the livelong day,
And I 'm keeping house alone.
JIMMY B. : A pleasant task.
And you 'II do it, I '11 be bound.
Well, I 'm sorry Ma 's not 'round,
For I wanted quite pertickeler to see her.
JENNY: May not I, sir, do as well?
Is it-anything to sell?
Pray sit down, sir, so that we may talk the freer.
JIMMY B., sitting: Thank you, Miss, I '11 sit awhile;
For I 've traveled many a mile,
Just to see your precious Ma, if you '11 believe me.
JENNY: She '11 be sorry, sir, I know,
When she hears she 's missed you so.
Can't you tell me, sir, your business, ere you leave me?
JIMMY B.: Well, the fact is, I 'm her cousin!
[JENNY looks surprised.]
Oh, she 'd know me in a dozen.
I 'm her cousin, come to see her, from Nevada.
JENNY, suspiciously:
In those clothes ? Oh, sir,- I fear-- !
JIMMY B.: Oh, a railroad smash-up, dear,
Mussed'me up a little-never was jogged harder!
JENNY: Oh, I 'm sorry! Are you hurt?
JIMMY B. : Not the least. It 's only dirt;
But I always am so neat, I quite despair;
And my wardrobe all is down
At the Clarendon, in town,
Where I 'm stopping: I am Algernon St. Clair.

JENNY: My, though! What a pretty name!
I, it really is a shame
You should have to go to town in such a plight.
There now, would n't Papa's do ?
Oh, please look the papers through,
And I '11 run upstairs, and soon fix you all right.
JIlIY B. : No, don't fret yourself, my dear;
I prefer to have you here,
Though perhaps I may accept your offer later.
Is your Pa as big as me?
JENNY, surprised: Don't you know him?
JIMMY B. : Well, you see,
I 've been West so long I 've kind of lost my data.
JENNY: Wont you have a bit to eat?
JImry B.: Well, I do feel rather beat.
Then I '11 go and bring you up a little luncheon.
JIMMY B., carelessly:
Have you silver, dear-or plate ?
JENNY: Mostly solid, sir.
JIMMY B.: Fust rate!
Bring it up, and let me see it while I 'm munchin'.
JENNY, surprised: Bring up all the silver, sir ?
JIMMY B. : Why, that 's what I come here fur,
Just to make your dearest Ma a little present,-
Silver service lined with gold,-
And if her's 's a trifle old
I '11 have it all fixed over.
JENNY, Oh, how pleasant!
I will get it right away.
My! I 'm glad you came to-day,
It will be, oh, such a nice surprise to Mamma.
JIMMY B.: Well, I rather think so, too.
JENNY: Now, your luncheon. [Exit.]
JIMMY B., looking after hr and ru-bbing his hands:
Good for you!
What a blessed little chick you are, my charmer!
Just the cream of tender things;
You 're in luck, old Jimmy Bings-
Oh, excuse me, Mr. Algernon St. Clair !-
Just you turn an honest penny.
Now, let 's see if there are any
Of these things worth my packing up with care.
[Takes the table-cloth of the table and begins ", it
with ornaments, knickknacks, and valuables, look-
ing at each article sharply. Suddenly he stops, both
hands full, as if struck by a brilliant idea.
Jimmy Bings Why, that is grand,-
Here 's a fortune right at hand!
For contriving little schemes you are the boss.
Scoop in all the things you can,
And then, like a prudent man,
Take the little girl off too like Charley Ross!
[Hur'ries the rest of the things into the tabl,-cloth, stop-
ping occasionally to express his approval of his
plan by sundry slaps and itods. Enter JENNY
a tray of luncheon, nicely set. She stands in the
door-way amazed.
JENNY: Mr. Algernon St. Clair,
Why-what are you doing there?
JIMsmy B.:
Only clearing off the things to help you, dear.
JENNY: But the table 's large enough.



JIMMY B.: Oh, well! Just set down the stuff,
And I '11 make the reason very, very clear -
Brought a lot for me to eat?
JENNY: Bread and cake, preserves and meat.
JIMMY B.: What a handy little chick you are,-
[Nods at her, his mouth full.] That 's so!
Don't you want to come with me -
And your little cousins see?
Oh, no, thank you, sir; from home I can not go.
JIMMY B.. r rapidly:
V.:, .. '11 speak of that bime-by.
Vittles, fust-class-spiced quite high.
Yes-they're most as good as what I get in town.
[Pushes his plate away.]
Now, then; I will tell you, Miss,
What 's the meaning of all this.
[Points to his bundle.]
Where 's that silver service?
[JENNY opens sideboard and shows the silver service. ]
All right-pack. her down.
[.,. it into the bundle.]
Well, you see, it is n't fair
That a sister of St. Clair
Should have to use ii.;.- when they 're worn and old.
So, I think 1 !! take them down
To my jeweler's, in town,
And just swap 'em off for nicer things in gold.
JENNY: 0 h! But that will cost so much!
JIMMY B. : Now, then, Sissy, don't you touch
On that question, 'cause the new ones I shall buy;
But I 'd like to have you go
And help pick them out, you know;
'Cause you know what Mamma likes best, more
than I.
JENNY: But I really can't leave home.
JIMMY B. : Oh, I think you 'd better come;
For it wont be long before I bring you back.
JENNY, *. I have half a mind to go.
I-i .... 'd let me.
JIMMY B. : That I know.
So get ready, while I go to work and pack.
JENNY, deliberating.:
She said: "Jenny, do not go."
But, of course, she could not know
That her cousin, Mr. Algernon St. Clair,
Would come here to take me out.
Oh, I know what I 'm about,
And I '11 go along with him, I do declare.
[ Goes to closet and brings out her red cloak and hood. ]
JIMMY B. : What a pretty cloak and hood!
JENNY: Mamma made them. She 's so good!
JIMMY B. : Good as gold! Just wear them, wont you?
That's a dear.
JENNY: But I must n't get them wet.
JIMMY B. : I wont let you; don't you fret.
I '11 take care of them when once we go from here.
Now, then--are you ready, Sis ?
JENNY: Yes -but, then, I must n't miss
To see everything locked up all safe and tight,
So that none of those old tramps -
My! but are n't they horrid scamps ?-
Can sneak in before we both get back to-night.
JIMMY B., looking at doors and windows:
Oh, well! Everything 's secure.
JENNY: Did you look?

JIMMY B.: Oh, yes. I 'm sure.
So let 's both be off at once, without delay.
[Noise outside-Jimmy starts, .]
JIMMY B. : Hello, there, now! What was that?
JENNY: Where?
JIMMY B.: Out there!
JENNY : It was the cat!
JIMMY B.: No, it was n't.
JENNY: P'r'aps it 's Mamma!
JIMMY B., starting for the door.: Get away!
[Door opens suddenly. JOHNNY STOUT bursts in and
then stops, astonished.
JOHNNY: Goodness, Jenny! What 's this mean?
JENNY: What?
JOHNNY: Why this confusing scene?
Are you moving?
JENNY : No, I 'm going out to walk.
JOHNNY: Going out? Whom with? and where?
JENNY, points to J. B. : Mr. Algernon St. Clair.
JIMMY B., loftily .
So don't keep us here, young feller, with your talk.
JOHNNY, suspiciously :
Jenny, who 's that party there? [Points to J. B.]
JENNY, outing. Mr. Algernon St. Clair-
Mamma's cousin, who has come here from Nevada.
JOHNNY: From Nevada! How you talk!
[Suddenly to JIMMY B.]
Well, my friend, you '11 have to walk!
Pretty quick, sir, too, before I make it harder!
JIMMY B. : Why! You saucy little cub,
Why! -I '11 have to thrash you, Bub.
Just you scatter, or I '11 help you with my toe, sir !
JOHNNY, quickly out a pistol from the table-
drawer, andpointing it at JIMMY B.:
Do you see this little toy?
There 's six pills for you, my boy,
Unless you drop that stuff at once and-go, sir!
JIMMY B., to JENNY, '.
Look here, -. il. n't square!
JENNY, protesting: Mr. Algernon St. Clair!
JOHNNY, contemptuously:
Mr. Algernon St. Fiddlesticks, my Jenny !
Why, this sneaking fellow, here,
Is just out of jail, my dear!
He 's a tramp, without a single honest penny.
JIMMY B., stepping toward him:
That 's a lie!
JoHNNY levels pistolat him: Hush! don'tyou talk.
Drop your bundle, sir, and walk,
Or I '11 shoot you like a dog, without objection.
Now, then-go, sir, or I '11 fire!
Put your hands up!-higher! higher!
Wait here, Jenny : I '11 just sever this connection.
[He backs J. B. out of the room at the muzzle of the
pistol; JENNY listens for a while, and then sinks on
a chair and cries.
JENNY: Just a horrid, dirty tramp!
What an awful, awful scamp!
Oh, what shall I say to Mamma ? Dearie, dear!
If I 'd only minded her
Such a thing could not occur,
And she '11 never trust me so again, I fear.



[Cries a little longer. Then jumps itp, indignantly.]
Oh, but what a horrid bear !
Mr. Algernon St. Clair! [Contemptuously.]
What an awful, awful, awfidl wicked story!
[Enter JOHNNY.]
Oh, but Johnny, where is he?
JOHNNY: He 's as safe as safe can be.
Fast in jail, now, all alone and m his glory.
I just marched him to the gate;
There I made him stand and wait
Till I saw a big policeman come along;
Then, when I had told the tale,
He just walked him off to jail,
And so there your cousin 's locked up, good and
JENNY: Oh, don't say my cousin, please!
JOHNNY: Well, 'twas just the tightest squeeze!
But how did he, Jenny, get you in his snare?
JENNY: He was so polite and kind!
JOHNNY: Oh, you goosey! Oh, how blind!
Ha, ha, ha, ha Mr. Algernon St. Clair!
JENNY: Now, don't laugh, please; for, you see,
It did seem all right to me;

And I thought he meant to do just what he said.
Dear but what w~ill Mamma say,
When she comes back home to-day ?
Oh, I wish, I wish that I could hide my head!
JOHNNY : Why, just tell the whole thing out,
And say how it came about.
Well, I will. And Johnny, I will tell her, too,
How you came, so bold and brave--
JOHNNY, Oh, no I that '11 do to save.
But I should n't have been saved, dear, without you!
JOHNNY: Never mind, my Jenny, then;
But I 'nC- v-i" '1l know again
That to mind 1. i. ...... i says, alone is good.
JENNY: Yes, I shall!
JOHNNY: And, now it 's through,
I shall always think of you,
[ Taking her hand.]
Little Jenny, as the NEW RED RIDING-HOOD.


"THERE was once a lit-tie boy," said Mam-ma, and he loved Some-bod-y
ver-y much. It is n't a ver-y large Some-bod-y, but it has bright blue eyes
and curl-y hair."- Why, it's me said Char-lie. It 's me, my-self."
"So it is," said Mam-ma, laugh-ing. "And it's 'Mas-ter Self' whom
Char-lie loves best. He even does n't love Sis-ter so much as Mas-ter Self.'
So he keeps all his pret-ty toys and does n't give them up. He loves 'Mas-ter
Self' bet-ter than Mam-ma, for when Mam-ma says 'Go to bed,' and Mas-ter
Self' says 'No,'-Char-lie likes best to please that naught-y 'Mas-ter Self.'"
I wont please 'Mas-ter Self,'" said Char-lie, and he kissed Mam-ma,
and said Good-night." Next day, Mam-ma gave Char-lie a bright, new
ten-cent piece, and said he might go with Nurse to buy some can-dy.
When Nurse and Sis-ter were read-y, and Char-lie had taken his lit-tie
stick, they set out. Char-lie was think-ing. He was think-ing ver-y much,
and he was say-ing to him-self: "I don't love 'Mas-ter Self.'"
He walked qui-et-ly by Nurse's side. Now and then he looked at the
mon-ey in his hand; it was ver-y bright and ver-y white. It seemed a long
way to the can-dy store.- What will you buy, Char-lie ?" asked Nurse.
Some can-dy for my-self," said Char-lie, as they reached the Park.
"Keep close to me while we cross the road," said Nurse; but just then
Char-lie pulled her dress and whis-pered: "Look, Nurse! Look there!"
and Nurse saw a lit-tie girl stand-ing near a tree, a-lone and cry-ing.





What's the mat-ter with her, Nurse? asked Char-lie.
"I '11 ask her," said Nurse. "What are you cry-ing for, dear? "
But the lit-tle girl on-ly cried the more, and Char-lie went close to
her and said: What 's the mat-ter, lit-tie girl ? "
The lit-tle girl could not speak, she was sob-bing so much. Don't cry,"'
said Char-lie, in great dis-tress. It makes me want to cry too."
Oh, dear Oh, dear! said the .lit-tle girl. "I have lost my mon-ey
All my mon-ey." But soon she be-gan to tell Nurse how it was. She was
go-ing to get some bread, and she had the mon-ey in her hand,-" and," said
she, "a boy pushed me, and I fell, and lost my ten-cent piece, and I can't
buy the bread, and Moth-er will be so an-gry."
I 'm glad I did n't lose my piece," said Char-lie, squeezing it hard.
"I am ver-y sor-ry for you," said Nurse. If I were you, I 'd run home
and tell Moth-er."
"I can't! I can't! cried the lit-tie girl. It was all Moth-er had, and
we 're so hun-gry! "
Char-lie held his mon-ey tight-ly. What was he think-ing of, all the
time ? He was say-ing to him-self: I don't love Mas-ter Self.'" He pulled
Nurse's dress, and said: "Nurse, can't you give the lit-tie girl some mon-ey ?"
I have n't my purse, dear," said Nurse.
The lit-tle girl moved a-way, cry-ing. Char-lie walked on be-side Nurse.
They were near the can-dy store. He could see the sweets in the win-dow,
-sticks and balls and creams! Char-lie turned his head. He saw the
lit-tie girl look-ing back too. She was still cry-ing. Char-lie pulled Nurse's.
dress. "Nurse," he said, "I want to turn back."
"What do you want to turn back for?" asked Nurse. "Here is the store."
Char-lie raised him-self on tip-toe to get near-er to Nurse's ear, and
whis-pered :
"I want to please the lit-tle girl and not 'Mas-ter Self'!"
Nurse knew what he meant. She turned back. Char-lie looked once
more at the can-dy store, then he ran a-cross the street. When he came
close to the lit-tle girl, he held out his bright ten-cent piece and said: It is
for you, and not for Mas-ter Self'!"
The lit-tie girl stopped cry-ing and be-gan to smile; then she tried to say
"Thank you," to Char-lie; but Nurse said: Run, now, and buy your bread,"
and she ran off, aft-er look-ing back to nod and smile at Char-lie.
But Char-lie was even hap-pi-er than she. He walked brisk-ly home
and sat on Mam-ma's lap, and told her all a-bout it. Mam-ma kissed him,
and said: "Is n't Char-lie hap-py now?"
And Char-lie said: "Yes; be-cause I did n't please Mas-ter Self.' "



* r


:i, ,,, : T ~
!i ,i.
I; 5 i
'6I -t
















,.. '_ to2,, -

. -- .
,-. ,. .

.j^. f '. ,,., 'y


HURRAH May is here once more, my darlings,
and has gone to work at once, as we knew she
would, a-decorating this great, big, lovely Home
of ours. She is as busy an artist as you ever saw,
just at this present moment, for there are still a
good many April-y cobwebs to be swept from the
walls before the colors can be put on. But May
will make short work of that-bless her !:
Yes, May is here -and not too soon for your
Jack; no, nor for you neither, my hearties! Here
you are, too-the girls with new spring dresses
and their hands full of arbutus; and the boys with
kite-strings instead of sled-ropes in their sturdy
grip, and a suspicious creak of marbles in their
pockets as they crowd close up to my pulpit.
Well, it 's a sight for any May to be proud of- and
we 're all ready for her. So we '11 begin with a
cheer all round, for the opening of the season.
And now for
NOT bottled fish, my dears, nor a fish made of
glass and sold in apothecaries' shops, nor a candy
fish shaped like a bottle. No, indeed, but a verita-
ble, live, sly fellow, who, it appears, contrives to
be either a fish or a bottle, or both, according to
the whim of the moment. Just hear this:
One day, last summer, when I was fishing in Long Island
Sound, where the water was about ten feet deep, and so clear that I
could see the bottom perfectly well, a queer-looking fish came creep-
ing slowly up toward my hook. He moved very stupidly, but pres-
ently he took the bait and I caught him. He was about five inches
long, a little larger around than my thumb, and very prettily colored
with green and yellow and black.
"As I took the hook from his mouth he began to grind his teeth,
or rather his jaws, together, and at the same time his body was
swelling. I found that at each motion of his jaws he w. :1.
in air, until, instead of ,. 1 .- as my thumb, he o 'i.. 1 .-
largest orange you ever .. slender bit of body and a tail
projecting from one side of it.
"The fisherman with me called him a 'Bottle-fish,' or as he
phrased it, a 'Bote-ey.' When the fish was fully blown up, I laid him
on the water, where he floated, back downward, as light as a bubble.

Forthwith he began to blow out the air, but before enough was gone
to enable him to go under water, I took him into my hand again. I
then held him just below the surface, and on L; ..,;.. him lightly
he swelled as before, only that now he was :-. :.! ,i'i ater instead
of air, and of course was now heavy. I took my hand from him,
and he came up spouting a stream of water from his mouth clear
above the surface As soon as he had thrown it all out, he turned
head downward, went to the bottom, swam straight to my book,
took the bait, and I caught him the second time, apparently not at
all troubled by his past experience. W. 0. A."

Queer fellow, Mr. Bottle-ey. Another queer
thing about him is that, according to all accounts,
he 's never found in the neighborhood of Cork.
Speaking of animated floating things, what do
you think of
HERE is the story of it just as it came to me:
"A living life-buoy recently saved a sailor from
drowning. A seaman on board a British ves-
sel, sailing to Australia, fell overboard when the
vessel was crossing the Southern Ocean, and al-
though a boat was lowered immediately, a long
pull was necessary before reaching the sailor.
When the boat got near the man, he was seen to
be supporting himself in the water by clinging to
a large albatross which he had seized on coming to
the surface after his plunge. Albatrosses in the
Southern Seas are, as a rule, most fierce, and
have, in several cases, killed men by blows from
their terrible beaks. But in this case the sailor
had evidently obtained a good grip of the bird's
neck with both hands, preventing it from using its
beak, and converting a would-be foe into an unwill-
ing friend."
DEAR JACK; I heard something very singular about the weather
the other day. One Saturday, when it was raining, a lady who
lived in the country said to me, as we remarked about the rain:
"The sun must shine some time to-day." "How so?" I asked.
"Why," she replied, "there is only one Saturday in the year when
the sun does not shine some time in the day." After the lady went
away, I laughed at what I supposed was a foolish whim, while I
watched the rain falling ever faster-but how surprised I was to
find, as the hours went on, that the clouds were dispersing, and
finally the sun came out bright- all fair at three o'clock Would
the readers of ST. NICHOLAS notice the Saturdays and see if this
mystery holds good ? Remember, the saying is, not that "it will
rain but one Saturday in the year," but that "there is only one Sat-
urday in the year when the sun does not shine some part of the
day." L. B. G.
Follow this up, my youngsters,- keep a record
of it, some of you, and report to me next May.

You all have heard about the terrible floods in
the South and West, this spring, and how they
have made many families homeless, and caused
dreadful destruction and suffering. But you may
not have heard that lesser floods of this sort are
sometimes caused by a t. i-1.: ,..I torment.
My learned brother, i'..r:--..i Froshey, of New
Orleans, calls it "a perpetual nuisance and d' -L, ..' ":
and he ought to know, for he has had the honor of
its acquaintance during more than forty years. It is
the ten-legged craw-fish, or cray-fish, and it brings
destruction upon immense tracts of fertile country.
You know that for about three hundred miles of
the Lower Mississippi, the rich land at each side is
low and flat; but that it has many lovely homes,





broad cotton-fields, and gardens of sweetly scented
flowers; and the sunlight glitters and flashes from
acres and acres of satin-leaved sugar-cane. In the
early spring, when the great
stream i swnll1 n with rin and
w ith ,,, !r... .I ... .. .
fro n I,. I i, ..... .. .. ,. ..
is 1- b th i
the .. .1 -- ,- ,)-
A -
S' I

,- ,

----- -- -- l..... --

-__ I.""


you are so inferior to that person that you are not
fit even to serve him in the capacity of candle-
IN November last, my dears, I told you about
the curious Butterfly branch, and showed you a
picture of it; and now, here is another butterfly
picture, quite as curious in its way. The queer
creature shown in this picture is perched head-down-
ward on a branch, the under-part of him turned
toward you in such a way as to appear to be the
head of an owl peering at you over the branch. In
the dim forests of his South American home, this
.. II, .11 might easily be mistaken for an owl, for
in this position his body outlines a beak, his wings
are like the
bird's feathers "v
in color, and
the bi-. d'rl-
biht. -i.. I ,.t
for''. 1,. ....


only prevented from overflowing by high side-
banks of earth, or levees, built for that purpose.
Well, it appears that it is through these walls of
defense that the craw-fish loves to drive his tun-
nels; and the earth being soft, the holes are quickly
enlarged by the running of the water through
them. The sides of some of these tunnels wash
away, and one large hole is made, through which
a strong stream pours itself upon the plain. Sud-
denly, the bank caves in, the river plunges through
the gap, and the yellow floods spread out and lay
waste the farms.
Then comes the long and toilsome labor of mend-
ing the levee, and all the while the yet unbroken
parts must be watched night and day, so that every
leak may be stopped as soon as it shows.
Of course, the river sometimes breaks through
its banks without the aid of mischievous Mr. Ten-
legs; but he so often is the guilty party, that it is
little wonder his victims call him hard names.
The craw-fish in the picture does n't appear to
have ten "legs"; but that is what the naturalists
call them, saying there is a pair in front with large
nippers,-next, a very short pair with small nip-
pers,- then, a long pair with small nippers,-and,
lastly, two pairs of thin legs, each with a single
How does a cat come down a tree ? Why don't
cats and squirrels descend trees in the same man-
ner? And why can not animals of the dog tribe
climb trees ?
THE other day, Deacon Green was poring over
a big book he has, and I heard him read, that in
old times in England it was the fashion for a serv-
ant or an inferior to stand and hold a candle for
his master to see by. Hence, the saying, "You
can't hold a candle to him," is as much as to say

(, :
sh: ,,
ne i.
is a

.s the wings "
bout seven .' '
es, and to -

they see
owl with a
of that size



must be disagreeable for small South Americans,
who may happen to be :11.. 1I.1 in the woods at
L. M. D. SAYS, in answer to my January cues-
tion: What becomes of all the old moons? "
"I think they turn to new moons."
But if so,-howv ?-and dwhen ?










~-~ ----




As MOST of our readers know, the ST. NICHOLAS pages have to
be made-up far in advance of the date of publication; and so it was
impossible for us to finish, in time for the April number, the pictures
of the new Baby Elephant, which we present on the opposite page.
Many of our readers will have seen the delightful little creature him-
self before this number reaches them, but they will be none the less
interested in taking a second peep at him in the comical positions in
which our artist caught him. Further than this, all that need be
said of him is told in the following interesting letter from a girl cor-
respondent who lives in the city which was the Baby Elephant's
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Having read all the interesting letters that
your contributors have written about their pets, I thought perhaps
you would like to hear a little about -"1 _-: :i 1 its accompani-
ment, as you might now call the I ,. i- I-i. ..I We were so
fortunate as to receive a permit" from Mr. Barnum (only a few
are given), i.. i. i ..1 I Mamma, a friend, and myself to see this
wonderful ....... walked to the show i .,ii.._ ; 1 ..
ushered in with about fifty others, among whom i :..... '
scientists. The first room was filled with cages, in which were all
the animals you could think of. We staid here but a few minutes,
being impatient to see the "Baby Elephant," so we went right
Through that room, to the next, where was a large ring, in which
were the "baby" and its mother. It is about the size of a large
Newfoundland dog, very playful, and ran all around the ring. I
felt of it. It is covered with coarse black hair, which felt just like
bristles. It did not know what to do with its trunk, sometimes try-
ing to lift the hay to its mouth, like its mother.
The mother was much annoyed when the keeper touched it; she
flapped her ears and trumpeted very loudly. After we had looked
to our hearts' content at them both, they were led out of the ring,
and eight small elephants were called in. They drilled very nicely,
answering to roll-call, lying down and snoring, standing on their
heads, and then on their hind legs, etc. After they had performed
as much as they knew, they were sent back to their stalls, and

eight large ones were led in. Then followed quite a scene. One
elephant turn-.. hn .- .r;n, three teetered on a board, one stand-
ing in the ... I .. r od on barrels,- one sat in a big arm-
chair, rang a dinner-bell which stood on a table in front of him,
poured the contents of a bottle down his throat, wiped his mouth
with a napkin, and then fanned himself It was very fine, and very
funny. After we had seen all we could of the elephants, we went
to see the other animals fed. They made the most horrible noises,
jumping over one another, and fighting to get the first piece of meat,
as they are fed only once a day, and on Sundays not at all-which
they do not make any fuss about. I heard a hyena laugh. It was
terrible, so we did not stay any longer. The hyena is the ugliest-
looking animal you can imagine.
Hoping you will give this a place in yourletter-bo- I r-m-in your
constant reader and admirer, !- H.

A Toy SYMPHONY for children ought to be a timely recreation at
this season, when so many of the grown folk are interested in the
May Music Festivals, with their mighty choruses and grand orches-
tras. So we are glad to print the following little letter, which calls
attention to a toy symphony by Romberg. Some of our readers
will remember that ST. NICHOLAS already has printed an article
concerning "Haydn's Children's Symphony" (see the number for
May, r874), and we should be glad to hear that Rudolf Holtz's
note had caused both that pretty musical exercise and the one by
Romberg to be performed in many households:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Romberg's toy symphony is more effective
than Haydn's, though Haydn's is quite as pretty. There are
eight toy instruments, first and second violins, a violoncello and
piano. It is better to have two first violins, as the toys overpower
the string instruments. The first and second movements are very
pretty and rather easy, but call for careful playing. The adagio is
difficult and not very pretty, but it is very short. The rondo is gay
and effective, and is very pretty; it is longer than the other move-




ments. The presto is also lively, and played very quick. The
eight toy instruments are the cuckoo, the triangle, the drum, the
quail, the schnarre, the trumpet, the rattle, the nihlt;inrl. The
cuckoo, the r. 7-.tn ;-l? .7' -h -he -il are the most i." .Ir I the toy
instruments. i I .... .I- .. i on time, because if you come in
a moment too early or a moment too late it spoils the effect. I was
one of the many performers; we did it in a large room, and the effect
was beautiful. RUDOLF DORAN HOLTZ.

THOSE of our readers who remember the true story of Rebecca,
the Drummer," printed in ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1874, will be
interested in the following item, which we clip from a newspaper:
Miss Rebecca Bates died at Scituate, Mass., T.. 1. aged
eighty-eight years. Miss Bates and her cousin, i -. the
heroines in the British "scare," in 1812, when the two girls, hidden
behind rocks on the beach, with fife and drum sounded the roll-call,
and put to flight several boat-loads of troops from a British man-of-
war, who were about to make a landing. Miss Bates' cousin,
Abbie, is still living, and is eighty years of age.
The article in ST. NICHOLAS gave a full account of the two girls'
brave stratagem, and was illustrated with a frontispiece showing the
"American army of two."

HERE is a very interesting letter from a young correspondent in
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I had an incident told me the other day,
which convinced me that dumb creatures have some mode of commu-
nicating. The house of Mr. C., a friend of mine, was troubled greatly
with rats, so he brought home a very large rat-trap, which he set
with cheese. The next day, Mrs. C. and her daughter saw a very
large rat walking up and down outside the trap. The trap hav-
ing a wire bent open a little, the rat stuck its head in; but he
could not reach the cheese, so he pulled his head out and went down
his hole, and in a few moments returned with a very slim rat, which
went into the trap and got the cheese; and then they both went

down the hole together. This I know to be true. Can any of my
friends tell me how they communicate ?
Your constant reader, GEo. T. CATHELL, JR.

WE gladly print the following quaint and charming little story,
just as it was told by a little girl five years old. It was sent to us by
her mamma, who wrote it down for her:
A Lion wanted tc ..-- -.n: ----
They asked him i., ..1i i.. r .
And he said, Roo-oo-oo."
They asked him what else could he sing?
And he said, "Roo-oo-oo."
They said they did n't want a singing-teacher who could n't sing
:. ,1-... but 'cept just one song.
I i.... the Lion went to a horse-race.
All the other animals were there; the mouse that squeaked, the
kitten that mewed, the puppy that bow-wow-ed, the lamb that
baa-ed, the pig that yi-yi-ed, the colt that ha-ha-ed, the wolf that
boo-ed, and the bear that ur-ur-ed.
The prize of the horse r .I.ri1 -
The mouse d .. 1,i h I i i 1.. ...,, ,i soheate the
apple up. TI.... .1 [I.- other animals hollered out, "No fair! No
fair!" And the mouse was scared and ran round the track, and
the kitten that mewed ran after and ate the mouse up, ... i r,. .,i ,.
that bow-wow-ed ate the kitten up, and the lamb that ..
puppy up, and the pig that yi-yi-ed ate the lamb up, and the colt
that ha-ha-ed ate the pig up, and the wolf that boo-ed ate the colt lip,
and the bear that ur-ur-ed ate the wolf up -and the Lion ate the
bear up.
Then the Lion came around again and wanted to teach singing-
They asked him what could he sing?
And he sang: "Squeak squeak, mew mew, bow wow, baa baa,
yi yi, ha ha, boo boo, ur ur, and roo oo oo I "
Then they said, "Your voice has reproved."
And they all let him be their teacher. MARIA M. C.

4: --- _

--- N-

/777y U-







I. I. IMPORTANT parts of a ship. 2. A girl's name. 3. To
breathe with a hoarse sound in sleep. 4. Fatigued. 5. Parts of a
plant. II. i. To make choice of. A large basin. 3. To escape.
4. Surrenders. 5. A ringlet. MABEL R., AND "ALCIBIADES."

-" ,,, e. r ..r .- ,.- I ;ers on the five vases, form five words
.-!:.-. II,- ...-i. r May. Two of the words remain un-
.I .I G. F.

1 ,I --. -.j. t i.- .ght letters, and am a soldier's proverb.
"1-. ~i,~~--'-: "...r...... -'" ---;;- -,--,:-,.-n-
... -. -36-43-13 is a garden vegetable. My
i-- -... -; .7 29 is conversing n a low tone. My 41-
......- My 16-42-5 is the noise made by a
S -. the joint on which a gate turns.


.. ... I-. .. 1 et in one of the blanks, the letters of
1 TI..[ ... I -.-, ,. I ro fill each of the remaining blanks, and

.--.,:... .-, .vhich he put in an empty box, over
i-. i-. I-... .- I i-, mother's; with the hope that the -
i ,: i .1 i r .. do-- MAGGIE PHILPS.


*2 2*
4 4
I. ACROss: I. A mineral salt. 2. A troublesome insect. 3.
Vessels for holding the ashes of the dead. 4. Christmas time.
Pit-_nn'le downward from right to left, and from left to right,
S... -.... queen of England.
II. AcaRss: I. A dandy. 2. Small round masses of lead. 3. A
piece of metal bent into a curve. 4. Period. Diagonals, downward,
from right to left, and from left to right, each name an article
necessary to pedestrians. "SUMIMER BOARDER.


EACH of the words described contains five letters, and the synco-
pated letters, placed in the-order here given, spell the name of a
celebrated Athenian who was twice banished, and who at length
died in poverty, 467 B. c.
i. Syncopate a country of Europe, and leave to revolve rapidly.
2. Syncopate fatigued, and leave fastened. 3. Syncopate to color,
and leave to gasp. 4. Syncopate a kind of cement, and leave the
top of the head. 5. Syncopate an appellation, and leave a thin
--- -f --1.-4 -\-- '-.nT- -. ;;-?ln tinl-r,^ and leave an
... I .. .. i i .. I. Scotch penny,
and leave the body or stem of a tree. 8. Syncopate a name by
which the white poplar tree is known, and leave having ability. 9.
Syncopate speed, and leave to abhor. ERNEST B. COOPER.


ACROSS: I. A cluster of leaves. 2. A sheetof paper once folded.
3. Antique. 4. In spring. DOWNWARD: i. In foreign. 2. A
preposition- 3. Three-fourths of;. :... -; : -... 1 diving bird of the
Arctic regions. 4. What "flesh .:i ,. Succor. 6. To
proceed. 7. In foreign. MABEL WHITE.




THE answer to this rebus is a couplet describing the fate which may overtake the heedless.


To-bring-out the-flowers we-need good-showers of-April-rain,
Of-rain good-showers for-fragrant flowers we-must-obtain.
2. We-need good-showers of-April-rain to-bring-out the-flowers.
For-fragrant flowers we-must-obtain of-rain good-showers.
3. The-flowers to-bring-out of-April-rain we-need good-showers,
Good-showers of-rain we-must-obtain for-fragrant flowers.
DIAGONALS--April Fool. Across: I. Ample. 2. SPoke. 3.
MeRle. 4. Frall. 5. PeriL, 6. CraFt. 7. FrOwn. 8. TOpic.
9. Lilac.
TRANSPOSITIONS.-Shakespeare. i. Disk--S-kid. 2. Shoe--
H-ose. 3. Daze-A-dze. 4. Leek-K-eel. 5 Bone--E-bon.
6. Host-S-hot. 7. Neap- P-ane. 8. Tide-E-dit. 9. Rave-
A-ver. so. Cork-R-ock. ii. Seat-E-ast.
CHARADE.- Mint-drop.
INVERTED PYRAMID.-Across: i. Partial. 2. March. 3. Pie.
4. P.-- DIAMOND.- I. L. LAd. 3. LaTin. 4. Dig. 5. N.

CONCEALED CENTRAL AcRosTIc.-April Fools. i. rAFt. 2.
uPOn. 3. fROg. 4. fILl 5. aLSo.
SHANESPEAREAN ENIGMA.-" This above all,-to thine own self
be true." Hamlet, Act i, Sc. 3.
Old Mother Hubbard went to the cufiboard,
To get her poor dog a bone;
When she got there, the cupboard was bare (bear),
And so the poor dog had none (nun).
RHOMBOID.--Across: I. Cave. 2. Home. 3. Time. 4. Rede.
METAGRAMS.--I. B-ark. D-ark. H-ark. L-ark. M-ark.
P-ark. II. D-ine. F-ine. K-ine. L-ine. M-ine. N-ine. P-ine
T-ine. V-ine. W-ine. III. B-one. C-one. D-one. G-one.
H-one. L-one, N-one. T-one. IV. B-ear. D-ear. F-ear.
G-ear. H-ear. L-ear. N-ear. P-ear. R-ear. T-ear. W-ear. Y-ear.
PHONETIC SPELLING-LESSON.-I. Ivy. 2. Piqud. 3. Easy. 4.
Essay. 5. Empty. 6. Excel. 7. Essex. 8. Envy. 9. Obe.
1o. Array. x. Aye-aye. 12. Ogee.
RABBIT PUZZLE.-For answer, see preceding page.

THE names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear.
ANSWERS TO FEBRUARY PUZZLES were received too late for acknowledgment in the April number, from "H. M. S. S St. Vincent,' "
Portsmouth, England, 5-Maggie Philps, Essex, England, 3.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, before March so, from "Fire-fly"-A. B. C.- Genie J.
Callmeyer Bessie C. Rogers Mama and Bae Frary Scrap Effie K. Talboys John Kirkman -Clara J. Child Little John,
Kittie, and Minnie- Clara and her Aunt- Lyde W. McKinney- Aidyl Airotciv Trebor-Ernest B. Cooper- Engineer-Appleton H.
- Florence Leslie Ti *
ANSWERS TO 1 *-. -- IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, before March 20, from Little Ida Brown, 3--" Greene Ave.," I-
W. P. B. Jr., Helen Dexter, 3- Cambridge Livingston, 2 Maidie R. Lang, I Somebody, 4- Edward Lytton, 2 Robert Hamilton,
S- Walter A. Hopper, 2-H. I i i. -O'Flannigan an.T HT.,:.. .-Alice B. Summer, i-Harry A. Burnham, 2-Jennie and
Bessie, 6 -V. P. J. S. M. C.,; l Vi.,i. :..;. T .: ch, i !i,.. I, .I,., I -E. Y. Thorp, 2-Weston Stickney, 7- Margaret W.
Stickney, 6 -G. H., T--in_--n H- a I .., -Warren, 5 -"The Blanke Family," 12- Minnie B. Murray, xo- Ernest W.
Hamilton, 3 Grace ... J i .. .. i.. i -Mattle and Kittie Winkler, 4 -- Ralph A. Hoffinan, 9-"Lode Star," 9- Gilman S. Stanton,
2- Amy and Edith, .- 1 Mary P l-mn Pollywog and Tadpole, 5-" Alcibiades," n- Anna and Alice, -
Grahame Hume Powell, 2-"Bunthorne and C- .-.... -"Rory O'Moore," 2-" Celleta," 3-Joseph Wheless, 2-Nellie R.
Sandell, 53-Allie C. Duden, x-Emma D. Andrews, 1o-Anna K. Dessalet, 3- Nellie Caldwell, 5-Virginia M. Giffin, 2-Freda, si
-"Shumway, 6-Lulu Graves, 9-Charlie Townsend, 4-Rubje and Marion, 7-Ray Thurber, 5-Delaware and Mary, 7-Harry
LeMoyne Mitchell, 3-Ellie Suesserott, 5-J. Ollie Gayley, 2-Algernon Tassin, 6-B. B., 9-Bessie Watson, 2-Anna Clark, 2-
J. S. Ten.-sr ---W. M. Kingsley, so- Busy Bees, I--Sallie Viles, 13-Fred. Thwaits, 14-Charlie Power, 7-Isabel Bungay, 6
-"Two -. .i.. ," 12-Queen Bess, 13-Professor and Co., 12-" Pat and Kid," 6-Maud and Sadie, 2-Paul England and Co., 3
-Nicoll Ludlow, Jr., 14-Tommy and Jack, 5-Curdycie, 8-Henry E. Johnston, Jr., 4-Daisy and Buttercup, 9- Mother and I, 6-
L. F. Barry, -H. M. S. "St. Vincent," ii. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.



THE Swiss cross proposed by Kenneth Brown meets with univer-
sal favor, and is hereby adopted as the badge of the Agassiz Asso-
ciation. (See ST. NICHOLAS for February, page 342) It may be made
of any metal preferred, and worn with or without a ribbon. It may
be of any desired size, and plain or with engravings of fern, butterfly,
and crystal; but it must bear the letters A. A. and the name or num-
ber of the Chapter.
Since its organization, May 15, 8 our Chapter has been very
prosperous. I ...- ...-;.. 1. .- members, we now number seven-
teen, and oth- ..... I our committee for consideration.
We have a cash balance of $i8.o5.
Our cabinet is quite extensive, and we have started a library.
All our meetings have been full of interest; sometimes reports are
read; and we have had compositions, lectures, and discussions. Be-
sides the members of the Association, a number of persons have
become interested in our project, and several donations have been
received from them. EDWARD B. MILLER.
[The Manhattan is one of the banner Chapters.)
Our line of work has been chiefly in answering questions. At
e ,erw meett'in t~h member is to bring in at least two questions. The
I,, ,, h I ,,, ,,H ,I
We i.- -'. to celebrate Agassiz's birthday. Would it not he
a good I I i 11 the Chapters to do this?
[A most excellent plan, and one adopted, last year by only a few
Chapters. Accounts of Agassiz's life should be read, poems recited,
an excursion and picnic, perhaps, taken. We hope to hear reports
from all the Chapters, of some such observance of the 28th of May.]
We have added to our collection a Taranhtla and its house;
gold ore from Colorado; some rubies and pottery from Aztec ruins
in Mexico. NELLIE HUGHES, Cor. Sec., Fairfield, Iowa.

I have kept three caterpillars; one was gray, one white, black, and
yellow, and one yellow. No. i, I found on a cucumber vine; 2, on
a milkweed; 3, ( ..... .. 1 No. i ate up No. 2, and the yellow
one got away. ..i.: : one had eaten up the black one, he
began to spin a cocoon, but a neighbor's little boy spoiled it.
I found four cocoons, but they all died. HARRY TOWNSEND.
[Truly, the way of the young naturalist is hard! Try again,
Harry. If you once succeed in seeing a butterfly come out from
his chrysalis, you will be repaid for all your misfortunes.]
Do spiders change their color ? Sometimes I see a yellow spider
on a yellow lily, and once Mamma found a snow-white spider on
white paper. I have found six kinds of snails. One of them lies on
bits of coal in the cellar. I call it acoal snail. The only time I saw
it move it put out two little black horns. I have seen mosquitoes
leave the water a good many times, but I never saw a dragon-fly do
it. IRENE PUTNAM, Bennington, V..
[Most boys and girls grow old and die without seeing either mos-
quitoes or dragon-flies leave the water; yet how many millions of
them leave it every summer Who next will catch them at it ?]
I have several tadpoles changing to frogs.
E. G. BROWN, Angola, Ind.
[Then, please tell us what becomes of the tadpoles' tails.]

The Lenox Chapter has for exchange geodes, crystals of tour-
maline, quartz, cryolite from Greenland; woods, eggs, and shells,
for which are especially desired four or five ounce, labeled specimens
of diorite, dolomite, labradorite, and the ores of tin, zinc, and gold.
Peacock coal and Florida moss, for sea-side specimens, insects,
or minerals.- K. S. M., Box 98, Wilkesbarre, Pa.
Clear winged sesia, phanaeus carnifex, Misippus butterfly, and
l1 1. ads, for sea-weed, rare shells, or star-fish.--Inez R.
i ., EHope Villa, East Baton Rouge, La.
Labeled minerals and mosses, for good sea-shells. I will send
directions for ,.1. ', 1'.. F .... and leaves cheaply at home, if
desired.-Cat :..... i I Lempster, N. H.
Birds' eggs.- I ..' i-i '. I ..I ox 113, Poultney, Vt.
Correspondence and mineral exchanges.-J. F. Glosser, Cor.
Sec., Berwyn, Pa.
Bird's-eye maple, white holly, black-walnut, oak, ash, red cedar,
butternut, and birch-bark, for other sorts of woods.- Frank Rama-
ley, Sec. St. Paul ^ -,- C1dar St., St. Paul, Minn.
I have a lot of i I ... two to five inches in diameter, which 1
should like to exchange for marine curiosities, sea-shells, corals,
whales' teeth, etc.-L. L. Goodwin, Waverly, Bremer Co., Iowa.
[A rare opportunity for those who can offer good specimens in
exchange, as we know by experience. The geodes are fine. By
the way, what are geodes, and how are they formed? We are sure
that not all can tell.]

Drawings of snow-crystals, with accurate record of tempera ture,
u wi I- for the same.-H. H. Bice, Utic., N. Y.
i .., .. I shells, for quartz crystals, agates, or tourmaline. Cor-
respondence desired on geological subjects. Ellington (A), N. Y.
-W. H. Van Allen, Sec.
P. S.-Everybody here seems to like the Agassiz Association.
[Sensible people !]
Fossil shells r,- -. -i-'; ri" theirr minerals and ores. except
iron.-W. H. V:. I .. I... ... N. Y.
Fossil coral, kianite, pyrites, copper, for fossil ferns, ,1.
crystals, and red corals.-H. NW. DubIois, 1527 N. 2otbh -. .I.
Eggs and minerals.- Chas. G. Carter, Titusville, Pa.
Soil, stones, and wood, from noted parts of Philadelphia, for gyp-
sum, birds' eggs, and tin ore.--R. P. Kaighn, 2014 Ridge Avenue,
Water- --1-- rp--ir f-tom nature, for labeled sea-weed (pressed
but not ......-. ii Ihbeled birds' eggs.-John L. Hanna, 219
Madison i ,. Ind.
Flicker's egg for a snow-bird's. I also wish a humming-bird's
e77 I can furnish excellent specimens of plumbago and iron.-
i.. P. Oberholtzer, Cambria Station, Pa.
Minerals. I especially desire a moss-agate.-E. S. Foster, 18
Chestnut St., Boston.
A sand-dollar and a shark's egg, for --:1 -r -. --i-.: of insects.
--Frank C. Baldwin, 17 Montcalm St., i .. .1, '. I.
Birds' cggs.-Robcrt Beach, Albion, Orlcan 'Co., N. Y.
F-V .r'-'ra, Ill., Chapter (A).- Lilian Trask.
-!" .* I curiosities.- F. H. Dodge, 59o Huron St., Toledo,
1. A fly-has two compound eyes, each containing about four
thousand facets, or simple eyes.
2. The Vervain hu........ .... of Jamaica.
tn;pp"r .ff' rh-i I 1 ,, .... I, 'i... hickory-nut.
!I I, h ,, 1 t ,.. ... ii ..
4. The sperm-whale (Physeter mnacr-cephahns) has from forty to
fifty teeth, all in the lower jaw. The true whale has no teeth.
5. "Quadrumana" means four-handed, and is a term applied to
monkeys, apes, etc.
6. Zoophyte means "animal plant." The name has been given
to minute animals which bear a strong resemblance to plants.
7. Quartz, feldspar, and usually mica.
8. Crystallized carbon.
L. ontofiodin)z Aslp b z, or Gaafk alizu Leonioiodntiii Lit-
eral ..- .,,._ r fdeloiss, nobly white." The flower belongs
to family.
so. Clove is from Lat. clavis- a nail, from the shape.
Best answer, Frances M. Heaton.

i. How do bees carry their honey ?
2. What is the Apteryx, and where found ?
3. How do pea-nuts grow?
4. What is the season in Brazil, Nov. 3d?
5. Why is a leopard spotted?
6. How does an ostrich hide itself?
7. Name five amphibious animals.
8. Name five useless d.;..
9. Where do flies go:.....
xo. Describe a beaver's house.
ii. How many mouths has a spider?
1o. How many degrees of heat are needed to melt copper, lead,
and silver?
13. At what point does salt water freeze ?
14. What do sponges feed on ?
[Best set of answers will be noticed.]
This has been by far our most prosperous month. We now num-
ber over one thousand nine hundred, and have one hundred and
sixty-three chapters. This great number of correspondents neces-
sarily demands much time. We arecompelled again to remind our
young friends to be concise. We are also compelled to insist rigidly
upon the following rules:
I. Inclose in each letter a self/addressed and sanified envelope.
[Hitherto we have answered all letters, whether their authors have
complied with this rule or not. But our numbers have so increased
that this is becoming impossible. A little reflection will show that,
to answer each of our one thousand nine hundred members once,
costs fifty-seven dollars, without il,,in s-,sni,,f' rf piper or envel-
opes. Recollect that we charge '-.. ... i .. in our Chap-
ters, and hereafter none can expect to receive answers unless this rule
is observed.]
2. Use note paper-nol letter paper.
3. Write on only one side of your paper.
4. Give your name and full address it eac le tter.
5. Whenever you send specimens, state from whom they come,
and what you wish in I
6. Address-not S- .--but HARLAN H. BALLARD,
Pr/imi/, al /f Leno-i A rcaideny, Lenox, Mass.


Chapter. Members. Secretary's Address.
E. Bridgewater, Mass .... 6..Geo. S. Young.
Mt. Vernon, N. Y ....... .,ibe-_T---
Indianapolis, Ind ........ -....
265 E. N. Y. St.
.iii..i...... .. .. o2..W. H. Van Allen.
I. I, ... I, .. ..... -. .F. Kendall, 768HarknessAve
De Pere, Wis. (B)....... so..Mrs. R. W. Arndt.
:1:.. ... Mass.......... 6..Geo. C. Beal, Box 16.
I i..i .- L. I............ 4..Frances M. Heaton.
Brooklyn, N. Y. (B)... 6..Ernest Osburne,
761 DeKalb Ave.
-I...:.., Del......... 6..John H. Rollo, ToE. 7th St.
I.I,, (D) ........ 4..Frank Wentworth,
1337 Michigan Ave.


VERY cheering are the reports this month. It might have been
feared that, after the novelty had worn off, many Chapters would
quickly have fallen to pieces. But, on the contrary, the oldest Chap-
ters are the most active and wide-awake, and nearly all report addi-
tions in membership, while never were so many new branches formed
in a single month. We now number more than two thousand one
hundred, and more than twenty letters have been received in a
single day.
We have four new members this month. A scrap-book has been
bought, and we are collecting -i1pr;n" t- fill it. Our meetings
have been held regularly. .* ,- .. Waterbury, Conn.
Chicago (C) has two new members. We have held our meet-
ings every Saturday, and have had our badges made. We have
some new books for our library, one of which is Woods's Natural
History." NELSON BENNETT, Chicago, 11l.
[Many Chapters have begun to form libraries -a most excellent
At one of our late.. .:ti.- ^ paper was read, descriptive of the
manufacture of steel : .* ,1 II Edgar Thomson Steel Works, in
Allegheny County. With the paper were samples of the various
kinds of ores, coals, coke, lime-stone, etc., used. The reading and
examination of specimens occupied the enmir- e"nin inrd was in-
teresting to young and old. J. F. .. i -' .., Pa.
We can not ,; ... a Chapter here unless you will accept our
family as such. .-.u.nber six, and all are interested in natural
history. We live in the vicinity of extinct volcanoes. Here are
hills of lava, and others of ancient ashes, with pieces of obsidian.
In the mines we found round balls of hardened clay, or, sometimes,
partlyiron ore. These are hollow, and filled with ashes. We call
them volcanic gcodes. MRS. E. H. K.
[You are heartily welcome as a Chapter, and are number 166.
We have several such family chapters, and they are one of the
most delightful features of the Association. Obsidian is a word
calculated to arouse the curiosity of our Eastern friends. Will some
one write a report on it?]
Chapter x38, '' .., Maine, Miss J. L. Crocker, Sec., has
now nineteen members. By an error we gave this Chapter credit
for a dual existence, at Orono, Me., as No. 122, as well as at War-
ren. There is no Chapter at Orono.
We have .;-...: .1 a Chapter with seventeen members. The
principal of -.. Hi.. School is our president. The directors have
given us the .... r ..e of the school-rooms in the evening, with
gas and fire. We meet once in two weeks. ANNA SCHALL, Sec.

I think the wasp described by W. R. Edwards in the February
report was Crabro cribarius. It feeds its young with the larva. of
the i. I...; caterpillar (Tortr which lives in the
oak. ..11 ... body tell me what the i 1 i i.: caterpillar is ?
For the past month we have been assigning questions to members.
For instance, Take twenty insects, give their scientific names, and
tell all you know about each. Get twenty different kinds of woods
and give their names." The members also take turns in ?r'-r;r"-
papers to read. We have two papers every meeting. 'i.. i
ones were on Ants and their Habits and Snakes."
WALTER S. SLAGLE, Sec., Fairfield, Iowa.
I have a piece of oak containing a bullet which must have been
shot into it more than for- -- for there are forty-three rings
between the last trace of ,.. I ii.. bark.
FRED. C. RANSOM, Jackson, Mich.

Birds' eggs.-Wm. G. Talmadge, Plymouth, Conn.
We 1. ...--. -.i I" <. r ..- ,ir inland. We will exchange it for
a lizard '." r r. I i t i ... Hillsboro, Ill.

Coral li-r-t.-;- -n. .tumn leaves, and ferns, for marine curiosi-
ties. .i -..... ; 1. Chapter A.-E. R. Shier, Sec.
[We have seen some of these "coral limestones." They are
Fossils of Lower Silurian, for marine curiosities, or for such
specimens of walking fern, trailing arbutus, or ground-pine as
would live after they reached us, if properly cared for.-L. M.
Bed-ln-,er Greenwood Lake, Ky.
i. .' woods, atr 1 1i-. .1 :. views, for United States and
r.. .T. changes.- I..... L: i 174, C .-.1. ... N.Y.
L i --l -I-; woods, and minerals.-' I. '. carter, Sec.,

Mounted birds and of this locality for sale. Send for price-
list.-A. B. Averill, C .I. Washington Ter.
Minerals, calamites, bird-skins, eggs, nests, corals, algae, in-
sects, lichens, ferns, and grasses.- H. G. White, Taunton, Mass.
California specimens for specimens from Palestine.-Lenox
Academy, Lenox, Mass.
Clay stones, for pressed and labeled sea-weed, or a star-fish.-
C. H. McBride, Rexford Flats, N. Y.
Shells, sea-mosses, and marine curiosities, for minerals.-Howard
Cook, 21 Harbor St., Salem, Mass.

And now the snow-flakes have taken their northward flight, and the
singing birds have come back from the south. "The winter is over
and gone," and the A. A." is out-of-doors.
I wish every member of our society would catch one bee, and
steal the pollen from his thighs. Examine this pollen under the mi-
croscope, and make accurate drawings of the grains. Examine also
the pollen from some one flower, and make drawings of it in the
same way, writing underneath the name of the flower. Then send
the drawings to me, and we may thus ascertain, perhaps, some facts
regarding the number and variety of the flowers that furnish the
honey which the Queen in her chamber eats on her bread.

No. Chapter. Members. Secretary's A address.
164. Jackson, Mich. (B.)....... z6..Mrs. Norah Gridley,
cor. Main & Fourth.
165. Plymouth, Conn. (A)..... 6..Wm. G. Tqlmn-rire
666. St. Helena, Cal. (A) ...... 6..Mrs. E. I .,.
167. Rochester, N. Y. (A) ..... 4. .Miss Monica Clurran,
2 Prince St.
168. Buffalo, N. Y. (C)........ 5..Miss Claire Shuttleworth,
35 North Pearl St.
169. Norristown, Pa. (A)..... 17..Miss Anna Schall.
17o. No. Brookfield, Mass. (A). 6..H. A. Cooke, Box 61o.
171. New London, Conn. (A).. 7..R. L. Crump.
172. Hoosac, N. Y. (A)...... 14..Wm. C. Langdon,Jr.,Box53.
173. Fitchburg, Mass. (B) ..... 14..MissMary.L. Garfield.
174. Easton, Pa. (B)......... io..Frank Starr, 60 So. College.
175. Easton, Pa. (C) ......... 14..W. F. Kennedy,
122 North ad St.
176. Nashua, N. H. (D).... r ..Fred. A. Burke, Box xo63.
-Andover, Mass. (A)...... 6..N. H. Douglass.
Farmington, Minn. (A)... 8..H. N. Wing.
179. Sacramento, Cal. (A).... T-T;.-r Larkin, P. O
180. Milford, Conn. (A)... ... ; *!. S. E. Frisbie.
181. Nashua, N. H. (E) ...... 6..Geo. M. Tinker.
182. Warren, R. I. (A)........ 5..H. L. Warren.
183. Salem, Mass............. 5-M. E. Burrill, 4 Cherry St.
Hereafter, Chapters number x-50 are requested to send their
reports to W. P. Ballard, Easton, Pa.; Chapters number 51-100, to
M. J. Taylor, Lenox, Mass.; 101-130, to Mr. John F. Glosser,
Berwyn, Chester Co., Pa. All other letters, including requests for
exchange, will be received, as before, by Harlan H. Ballard, Lenox
Academy, Lenox, Mass.


No. Chaf er. Members. Secretary's Address.
154. Jefferson, Ohio ....... 2o..Clara L. Northway.
155. Heyworth, Ill........... 7..Samuel E. Low.
156. Peoria, Ill............... 2.. Tobey Van Buskirk,
104 Pennsylvania Ave.
157. Detroit, Mich. (C)...... 7..A. T. Worthington,
44 Marion St.
158. Davenport, Iowa......... 5..Edwin K. Putnam.
159. Greenville, Ill............ 7..Frank Tathan.
x6o. Toledo, Ohio............. 7..Fred. Dodge, 590 Huron St.
161. New York, N. Y. (D)..... 4.C. R. Burke,
224 West 34th St.
162. Boston, Mass. (B)........ 4..A. C. Chamberlain,
99 Revere St.
x63. Hartford, Conn. (C)...... 4..H. M. Penrose.




University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs