Front Cover
 Inside a fish-net
 The conscientious Correggio...
 The yellow pane
 An early american rebellion
 Tag's 'coon
 The extra train
 The Queen of Prussia's ride
 The Sultan of the East
 The aesthetic young lady
 The boy who lost the Fourth of...
 A famous sea-fight
 Amateur newspapers
 Donald and Dorothy
 How Santa Claus came to Harry in...
 Fourth of July
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 9, no. 9. July 1882.
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00117
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 9, no. 9. July 1882.
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Uniform Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 9, no. 9
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: July 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: VID00117
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
    Inside a fish-net
        Page 669
        Page 670
        Page 671
        Page 672
        Page 673
        Page 674
        Page 675
        Page 676
        Page 677
        Page 678
    The conscientious Correggio Carothers
        Page 679
    The yellow pane
        Page 680
    An early american rebellion
        Page 680
        Page 681
        Page 682
    Tag's 'coon
        Page 683
        Page 684
        Page 685
        Page 686
        Page 687
    The extra train
        Page 689
        Page 690
        Page 691
        Page 692
        Page 693
        Page 694
        Page 695
        Page 696
        Page 697
        Page 698
        Page 699
    The Queen of Prussia's ride
        Page 700
    The Sultan of the East
        Page 688
        Page 701
        Page 702
        Page 703
        Page 704
        Page 705
        Page 706
        Page 707
    The aesthetic young lady
        Page 708
    The boy who lost the Fourth of July
        Page 709
        Page 710
        Page 711
        Page 712
        Page 713
    A famous sea-fight
        Page 714
        Page 715
        Page 716
    Amateur newspapers
        Page 717
        Page 718
        Page 719
        Page 720
        Page 721
        Page 722
        Page 723
        Page 724
        Page 725
        Page 726
        Page 727
        Page 728
    Donald and Dorothy
        Page 728
        Page 729
        Page 730
        Page 731
        Page 732
        Page 733
        Page 734
        Page 735
        Page 736
        Page 737
    How Santa Claus came to Harry in summer-time
        Page 738
    Fourth of July
        Page 739
        Page 740
        Page 741
    The letter-box
        Page 742
        Page 743
        Page 744
    The riddle-box
        Page 745
        Page 746
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



[See page 700.]

__ _

,., et ^ :"1 :' ;, ,,



JULY, 1882.

[Copyright, 1882, by THE CENTURY CO.]



OF all the stories which have been written since
the world was made, it is safe to say that this one
is the first written inside a fish-net.
There are three of them,-nets and reels,-and
all of them stand about two hundred feet from
land, by the side of a pier that heads out into the
sea full one hundred feet beyond the reels. With
its lonely and almost desolate surroundings it is,
indeed, a curious place in which to write a story.
The net was bought only last summer, and it
cost of somebody's money eight hundred dollars.
But the story itself is now to be told.
Three or four winters ago, when the ice began
to grow along the shores of Cape Cod, and grew
so fast and so strong that it shut up all the fishing
ships before they could get to land, the "Little
Katie" was caught in its grasp. On the "Little
Katie was Captain John Rose; and in Province-
town, on the Cape, were his wife and Wild and
Johnny, the girl and boy who saved their father by
building a big kite and flying it out to the ship
when all Provincetown was trying, in vain, to
devise some manner of getting food to the boats.
That blessed kite carried the string that carried
the line that carried the bread that carried life to
the starving crew of the "Little Katie."
After that hard winter, Captain Rose said that
he would not go to the "Banks" any more for cod-
fish, but would catch menhaden along the shores of
the ocean and in the bays and inlets of the coast,
while the fishing season should continue, and then,
when the very cold weather should come on, he would

stay in his house and let Cape Cod sands blow all
over it and pack it down as solidly as they might.
And this is what came of that venture:
The first season, everything moved along hap-
pily, and the fish came to the seine, or rather
the seine went around the fish, so that the Rose
family began to see prosperous days and to dream
of a time when they might move from Cape Cod
and live somewhere upon the Main."
The first summer, Captain Rose was only a mate,
and the fishing gang to which he belonged carried
their menhaden to a floating fish-oil mill, anchored
in one of the inlets on the coast of Maine.
Before another summer came, the oil-ship
burned, and everything in and upon it was utterly
destroyed. Captain Rose, his wife and children
heard the bad news with dismay in their hearts.
It was Wild who said: Never mind, Father:
there are more oil-ships and more nets, and more
fish in the sea a-growing every single minute."
And more fishermen a-growing to use them,
too! groaned Captain John, with a wild look of
despair in his face at the thought that, the oil-
ship owner might not be able to pay him for his
last season's labor. Captain Rose had been living
on credit until the oil should be sold, and now the
oil had ascended to the sky in flame; and it might
be that no man would trust him with food; for the
news of his loss was abroad in Provincetown.
That was a dark day in the sand cabin, and
many a bright and long-cherished hope of good
things to come turned to leaden facts.


No. 9.


A week went by, and there was no word of
news from the oil-ship owner. Meanwhile, Cap-
tain John and his son John (Johnny's first trip)
went to the Banks on a fishing schooner, for, come
what would, bread must be won.
When they were well away, and the topsails of
the schooner had slipped down almost out of sight,
Wild said to her mother: "We may as well go on
fixing up the clothes, for clothes will be needed,
fishing or no fishing." And so they worked while
they waited.
It was in the spring, in March, that Captain
Rose and Johnny went. They had been a week
gone when one of the fiercest gales that ever blew
on any coast, since coasts were made, blew down
from the north, and shouted in from the east, and
tore fearfully through the sands of Cape Cod. It
was during this storm that a letter for Captain Rose
was carried to the cabin by a brave neighbor lad,
who struggled with it through the shifting sands,
with a vague feeling that it might have in it good
news; and the lad-it was he who had helped
Johnny to build the famous kite-was very glad
to fetch any good news to Wild Rose. A rush-
ing blast swept in at the door as he opened it
and panted into the kitchen, closing the door
with his foot as he sank into a chair, the letter
standing well out of his jacket pocket.
Peter Petit!" exclaimed Mrs. Rose. What-
ever in this world sent you over here in such a
"Nothing sent me. I just came," answered the
boy, rising and drawing the letter forth. I was
down to the post-office when the mail came in, and.
the post-master took notice of this letter, and says
he: 'I hope,' says he, 'that this here letter 's got
some good news in it for John Rose, I do. It
comes from the owners of that oil-ship that burned
up his summer's work !' When he said that, says
I, Give it here, and I '11 take it over,' and here it
is,"-handing the envelope to Mrs. Rose.
"Open it, Mother, do!" pleaded Wild, with
flushed face. "Who knows but that it ought to
be answered?"
Course That 's what made me fetch it," said
Peter. "It would keep jest as well in the post-
office as 't would here."
I neVer open Father's letters," said Mrs. Wild;
he would n't like it."
The sand just then beat in showers against the
cabin, and the sea sound came raging over the
Cape from the Highland Light.
"I wish you was over in the town to-night,
where there's more folks to hear it blow with you,
and I 'm just sorry I came, if I have n't got any
good news inside that letter," said Peter; and then
he rose and bade them Good-night."

He went away, feeling disappointed; for Peter
had a vague feeling that things were going all
right whenever Wild's eyes gleamed with happi-
ness,-but to-night there was no happiness shining
in them.
Wild took a dozen good hard looks at the big
envelope before she went to bed, and thought it
too bad in her mother not to open it.
Ten days later,-the storm having blown out
itself and ships and souls together,-a letter, ad-
dressed to the oil manufacturer in Wild's peculiar
handwriting, was mailed at Provincetown. This
was the letter:
CAPE COD, March 15, 1879.
MR. WASHINGTON WILES: Father went off to the banks a week
ago fishing and your letter is come, but nobody has opened it,
cause mother says father 'don't want anybody to.' Please, if it 's
good news, wont you keep it for father, cause we all need good
news so much--more 'nyou can iell. WILD ROSE."

Wild's letter went over the distance between the
sand cabin of John Rose and the pleasant village
home of Mr. Wiles, and chanced to be given into
his hands just at the moment when his neck was
clasped about by the arms of his daughter Maud,
a young girl as old as Wild Rose herself; and Maud
was saying, in her most entreating tones:
Papa, dear! Don't you remember, you prom-
ised me a new piano this spring? And I want it
now, before my new teacher comes."
Let me read my letters first, Maud, and then I
will tell you."
Maud's gray eyes penetrated to the very heart of
Wild Rose's letter as she looked at it.
"Tell me, Papa, all about it. Who is she, and
why do they need good news?"
"I have never seen the child," said Mr. Wiles,
"but I have heard how Captain Rose's children
saved him and his fishing crew from starving, by
getting a kite-string out to the boat, across the ice,
where no man could go; and this letter is from
Wild, the girl."
"But why do they need good news? Does she
want a new piano, I wonder?"
Mr. Wiles smiled. He had once seen the sand
cabin, as the neighbors called John Rose's habita-
tion. Presently, his face grew very grave, as he
said: "Maud, this Wild Rose means that they
have no money to live upon; that all her father's
summer work was burned up in the oil-ship. Per-
haps they have no bread in the house. I am very
sorry for him, my child."
"So am I, Papa. When you get me my new
piano I '11 send this Wild my old one. She will be
glad to get it. What makes you look so grave,
Papa? "
"Maud," said her father, "I did promise you a
new piano, but I have been thinking a good deal,
lately, of Captain Rose and his hard lot, and I




know of but one way to help him. If you will give
up the new piano for this year, I will take the
money it would cost, and with that buy a new
seine, and give Captain Rose the new yacht, 'Rose-
mary,' and let him have a chance this summer."
Why can't you do both, Papa? "
Because I have not the money. I lost a great
deal of money when the oil-ship burned."
"Then, what did you write about?"
"I told him that there was no money for him,
and that I could not give him work this summer.
I was very sorry to write it, Maud, and I am very
glad his poor wife did not open the letter when he
was away."
Maud inserted a quick little kiss just above the
sharp edge of her father's collar, and said, very
swiftly: I woni have any piano I want Captain
Rose to have the 'Rosemary.' "
Very well, my child. Write, yourself, to this
Wild Rose, and tell her the good news."
Maud wrote:

"DEAR WILD ROSE: I don't know you, but Papa got your
letter, and he says he wrote your father that there was n't any
boat, nor any seine, for him; but since your letter got here, there is
a yacht, the 'Rosemary,' and there is going to be a new net forhim,
too, just as soon as he gets back from fishing. Papa says so, and
he told me I might write the letter to you and tell you the good
news. I hope he '11 take you up here in the boat some time. I
want to see you, and have you tell me all about that kite you and
your brother made. I wish you would write me a letter, and tell
me all about Cape Cod and everything you do down there.
Your friend, MAUD WVILES."

Everybody knows just how anxious and worried
and agonized all the fisher folk of Cape Cod were,
that spring-time, when the great gale had blown
over, and the boats did not get home. When the
days came one after another, and families looked
their eyes dim with peering past the Highland
Light to catch the first glimpse of the inward-
bound sail, that might mean great joy to some one
of their number, Wild Rose was there early and
"He will come! He must come Oh, I know
he will come back to us, and Johnny with him "
she kept saying over and over to herself, as she
went her way across to the light-house in the
morning; and, in the evening, as she turned her
back upon the wild, tossing sea, she still repeated
the comforting assurance to herself; and she whis-
pered it to her sorrowful mother as she bade her
good-night after each dreary day.
At length, the clothes they had made ready
were put out of sight, and the waiting became full
of pain.
A week went by, and then it was Peter,
again, who fetched Maud's letter to Wild-Peter
kept careful watch over the sand cabin in those
days. Wild was just setting forth to take one

more look at the spread of ocean, from the High-
land itself, when Peter shouted to her from afar,
holding up the white envelope.
Wild ran, as fast as the sands would let her, to
meet him. Had her father reached some port,
and sent them word of his safety ?
With panting heart, and fingers all in a flutter
of eagerness, she reached out to receive it.
"It's something so out of the ordinary for a
letter to come for Miss Wild Rose, that I thought
I 'd just come right ahead with it. Provincetown
watches all its letters mighty close just now, you'd
better believe, Wild, and if there 's any news, let 's
have it right off, and I 'll run back with it."
Peter went on talking, whilst Wild got inside the
envelope with all speed.
"Oh, Peter Peter she cried, as she read.
" Father will come now,-I 'm sure he will,-to
get the good news. He 's going to be captain of
a yacht, and have a new net all to himself, and
we '11 have such times "
At any other period in her life- excepting when
her father was caught in the ice-Wild would
have been gladdened to the utmost of joy. Now
she ran with the letter to her mother, and then,
holding it fast, she made her way to the High-
land once again, to search for the sign by which
she should know her father's sail. Wild was the
only watcher that day, and, when the light was
trimmed and the keeper gone, she had the place
to herself Poor, young, faithful Wild, with such
good news for a father who might, at that very
moment, be lying beneath the ocean !
Wild leaned forth from the tower, and looked
northward. She opened wide Maud's letter. She
shook it as a signal. She cried out: "Oh,
Father, Father! Come! Come! Come to your
new sloop and your new net! Come home, you
and Johnny! "
Four sails came into sight during the watch, but
not the sail for sight of which her eyes ached.
Wild went down and homeward, meeting, as she
went, the housewives whose work-day at home was
over, and who might, in the afternoon, take the
dreary march across to the Light.
Wild had folded away her good news, and it
lay in her pocket as she passed one and another.
It was Peter whom she saw, when about half-way
home, plodding valiantly through the yielding
sands to come to her in haste.
"There 's somebody a-waiting, Wild, to see
you to home," said Peter, from afar, the words
brimming from his heart through his lips and
flowing onward to Wild, who responded:
Who is it?"
It 's a man and a boy: it 's Captain Rose and
Johnny -it 's your father and brother, Wild Rose,




it is and Peter laid hold on Wild's hand to pull
her onward.
"Peter Petit! You 're not cheating, are you?"
gasped Wild, feeling with her free hand for the
good news in her pocket.
Cheating you, Wild Did I ever cheat you
in my life ? They are there, safe and sound; but the
batteredest-looking things !- When the bark came
to dock, the old sails were nothing but string strips,
and they just whipped around the mast; the wind
went through and through everything like a chop-
ping-knife. But every man is safe."
Oh, Peter cried Wild,-her feet never did
seem to sink so deep in the sand before,-" I think
I 'm the happiest girl! I 'd rather be just Wild
Rose than anybody else in the whole world; God
is so full of goodness to me. Peter, are any other
boats safe, did they say ? And so talking they
came to the sand cabin, which, for that night, held
within it as much joy as a palace could contain.
The next two weeks found the Rose family pack-
ing up their effects and flitting from Cape Cod to
Long Island.
A small house on its northern shore was taken
for a temporary home, for it was within the waters
of Long Island Sound that the new yacht was to
cruise for fish. Captain Rose went over to Connec-
ticut to take command of the "Rosemary," and back
to Long Island to gather his crew, and it was
there, within sight of his new home, that the seine
was to be made ready.
It was brought, a huge bundle of netted twine,
and opened in the presence of all the family.
When its grand length was outspread over a wide
field, Wild went about it with intense joy, and
begged her father to let her help to finish it; for it
had to be tarred, lined, corked, and leaded before
it was ready for use.
Neither her father, nor Johnny, nor even Peter-
for Peter was to be one of the crew on the Rose-
mary"-despised her deft helpfulness, and the end
of May found everything ready for the first start.
Mrs. Rose and Wild went down to see the seine
put into the boats and the yacht sail away over
the blue in search of menhaden. Three hours
later, Wild had the happiness to see the two seine-
boats row from the yacht and pay out the net, half
of it from one and half from the other boat, as
they described a huge circle in the water, in which
circle were imprisoned thousands of white-fish.
Two months went by, and not once had the
yacht returned to the place whence it had sailed.
The soft summer days slipped into the beginning
of July, and then Captain Rose wrote that he should
run over to spend the Fourth at home. He had
only pleasant things to relate of his summer, thus
far. Half a million fish had come into the new

seine, and, if all went well, last year's misfortune
would be more than made good.
On the morning of the fifth, the Rosemary was
to set sail in the early dawn. That all might be in
readiness, Captain Rose and Peter slept on board,
while Johnny, who said he should not fail to hear
the horn-call, staid at home.
We who live within sight of Long Island Sound
all remember how the thunder called to us that
night; how the peals of sound rolled from cloud to
cloud, following the lightning flash; how we seemed
wrapped in a blaze of light and crash of thunder.
The "Rosemary," lying at anchor, lay in the light-
ning's way. A ball of fire shot through the cabin
-and lo the fishing yacht flashed into flame!
Wild and her mother and Johnny saw it together,
as the yellow fire wrapped it about.
Half-dressed, they got down the oars and made
haste to the dock. There was no time to summon
the nearest neighbor to the rescue, and they must
do what could be done, with speed.
As they got into a great row-boat, Johnny saw,
for the first time, that Wild carried an ax. What
in the world did you fetch that for? he questioned.
May be we can cut a hole in the yacht and
so save her," said Wild, obeying her brother's
instructions to herself and her mother in regard
to their combined management of one oar.
They worked with courage undaunted, pushing
out, by the lightning's blaze, over the white-caps to
the burning yacht. The seine-boat was awkward
and heavy, and the great oar was hard to hold.
At last a shout was heard. Somebody was
alive on the burning boat.
"Coming! Coming!" called Johnny, rowing
harder; while his mother' gazed wildly at the
flames, and clung with both hands to the big oar.
On the bowsprit stood Captain Rose and Peter.
They were cut off by the fire from everything that
could aid them. Even the boat, anchored at the
stern, they could not reach.
Father Father Let us save the new net,"
called Wild, as Captain Rose and Peter dropped
into the boat. "And see I 've fetched an ax to
scuttle the yacht," she added, as the boat pushed
off to avoid the fire.
It took but a moment to row around and cut
loose the other seine-boat, in which lay fully half
of the great net.
While Johnny and Peter, Wild and her mother
dragged at the other half of the seine, which
lay on deck, and was surrounded by flame, to get
it into the water, anywhere away from the burning,
Captain Rose wielded the ax against the side
planks of the "Rosemary," that he might sink her, if
possible, and thereby save something for her owner.
The planking gave way and the water poured in,




but the flames poured up and over and drove both
boats away. With scorched hands, the net being
saved, they sorrowfully left the pretty "Rosemary"
to her fate and pulled away to witness the burning.
She 's sinking cried Peter, as they watched.
She 's surely going down !" echoed Johnny.
She is !" confirmed Captain Rose, as the mast
with flames curling about it swayed and swayed
and slowly settled down, lower and lower, until the
cooling sea surged into the flame on deck and put
out the fire.
The crew had been aroused, in their boarding-
house, and had made haste to the shore ; but the
brave Rosemary" could cruise no more for them.
Misfortunes never come single," said the mate,
as Captain Rose reached the wharf.

to learn the full extent of the loss. It chanced that
only Wild was at home when he arrived, and thus she
had opportunity to tell the story in her own words.
I know," said Wild, "that my father tells the
truth always, and he says a ball of fire came right
into the cabin and set everything into a blaze, and
he would have saved the pretty yacht if he could.
I 'm very sorry for you, Mr. Wiles," she added,
" to lose so much money; and for my father, too,
and for everybody; but it is a comfort to know that
God took it all, is n't it? I believe He 's going to
send us back something a great deal better in its
place, don't you ?"
The oil manufacturer turned away, not know-
ing what to say to the girl who held such faith
in the all-goodness of the Power that rules our


Something better, than the 'Rosemary' is com-
ing for my father," said Wild. I know there is;
but I am glad we 've saved the new net with only
one edge burned a little-see."
It was in the dawn, and the blackened edge of
the netted twine lay on the water between the two
boats that had brought it to shore.
The telegram sent over to Connecticut in the
early morning of the fifth of July contained the
"The 'Rosemary' was struck by lightning and burned to the
water's edge last night. Net saved."
- The same day, Mr. Wiles crossed to Long Island

lives; nor do we know what to say more than
that the seine saved from the burning yacht has
been brought across the Sound and reeled here, to
await. the finding of a new fishing-boat for its
captain, John Rose.
For dear Wild Rose's sake we pat its brown
meshes softly as we write the last words, and hope
that her faith may grow and grow until it blos-
soms in the good times, and even better times,
that she dreams of; for this is a real net and a
real reel, and this story has really been written
here, and the pretty yacht was struck by lightning
and burned on the night of the Fourth of July.






SCHOOL-TIME, Tinkey! Nearly nine o'clock! "
Tinkey was in the attic, stretched out at full
length upon some sacks of potatoes, 1 .....i'o a
fairy story. His Latin grammar lay in front of
him, open at the lesson he should have been
studying. Tinkey really had intended to divide
the hour before school-time between Latin gram-
mar and fairy tales, but when his mother called,
he found the hour was over, and the fairy tales
had had the whole of it.
"Oh, dear sighed Tinkey, looking up from
his book, and putting his fists under his chin.
"Oh, dear! He kicked up both feet, by way
of a preparation for changing his lazy position,
and said, wistfully:
"I wish there were fairies nowadays "
"And who told you there were not?" cried
a very sharp, thin voice that came from close
before him, right under his nose, it seemed to
Tinkey. He looked up quickly. Was that a
fairy ? It was certainly unlike anything Tinkey
had ever seen before, and a sight to startle any-
body. A little old woman in a scarlet cloak, a
black pointed hat, and tiny high-heeled shoes,
leaning upon a crutch, and standing upon the
pages of Tinkey's open Latin grammar.
"Who told you there were no fairies? she
repeated, thumping
her crutch upon
the book, and
looking into
/ '/ .2/ Tinkey's

S- ,
'"'F dl',', J : ' -- -'

:" .-

bewildered face. There are just as many fairies
now as ever, and they are just as powerful, too.

Dear me, boy, don't stare at me so! The eyes
will drop out of your head. You don't believe
me, eh?"

*A 0 j

P- '' ,

--~- --



"I am sure, ma'am," stammered Tinkey, "I
did not say "
"No, but you thought! Nobody need ever
speak to a fairy. You do not believe I am a
fairy. Well, perhaps you will, before the day
is over, for I mean to grant the very first
wish you make. Be careful, now, what you wish
for first; for, as surely as I am a fairy, what-
ever it is, you will get it "
Then the funny little old woman made one
jump on to the sill of the attic window; and
Tinkey, looking after her, saw a tiny carriage,
with sails like a boat, and ten butterflies harnessed
to it, waiting for her. She sprang into it, took
a seat, waved her crutch to the astonished boy,
and the butterflies carried her up and up in the,
air until she was quite out of sight.
Wondering, yet half inclined to think he had
been dreaming, Tinkey took up his grammar,
tucked his fairy-tale book under a potato-sack,
and went slowly down the stairs. There was no
one in the entry as he took his hat from the rack





and sluggishly dragged his unwilling feet across
the garden walk into the road.
Not one single lesson had Tinkey studied, and
he was half tempted to wish he knew them all.
But, no! He would not waste a fairy wish upon
one day's lessons Perhaps he would wish for a
bicycle, or a new fishing-pole, or, better still, for a
million million dollars, and then he could buy any-
thing he wanted.
It was a scorching day in June, and the road to
school was very hot and dusty, excepting at one
spot, where a little wooden bridge crossed a narrow
creek that crept through the meadows on each side
of the road. The water rippled by with a cooling,
musical gurgle, and Tinkey stopped to rest his chin
on his hand, his elbow on the railing, and follow
the stream with his eyes, into his father's meadow,
till it wound around under a clump of large trees,

where a group of cows and their babies stood knee-
deep in the water, under the cool, shading branches.
The school-bell was clanging noisily; the sun was
pouring its hot rays on Tinkey's head; punishment
was in store for neglected lessons; and reality for a
moment was stronger than hope. Quite forgetting
his fairy visitor, Tinkey cried, aloud:
"Oh, dear, I wish I was that red-and-white calf
under the willow, and need n't go to school! "
In one second there was a cool rippling of water
around Tinkey's feet, and, instead of two legs clothed
in dusty trousers, there were four covered with hair,
in the running stream, while something went flop-
ping on one side and the other, keeping away all
obtrusive flies.
Tinkey turned his head, and took a long look at
his hairy sides, his long, awkward legs, and the
reflection of his face in the clear water. Then he
burst out into one long, wailing cry, the well-
known bleat of a distressed calf.


"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" cried Tinkey. But it
sounded like "B-a-a, b-a-a." "I have made my
wish, and wasted it by turning myself into a hate-
ful, ugly calf. Oh! Oh!"

I -



Here a motherly old cow lifted her head, and
tossing it up, said:
"Be quiet! Don't make such a row "
But, as Tinkey had not yet learned the cow
language, it only sounded to him like Moo-o-o,"
and he paid no attention to it. The old cow
lowered her head, and gave him a sharp dig with
her horns, which made his tears flow faster than
ever. But not being accustomed to weep over a
brook, Tinkey wanted his pocket-handkerchief,
and, forgetting he no longer possessed pockets, he
reared up on his hind legs and tried to find his
pocket with his fore legs; he strained his neck in
looking up and down his sides, and cut up such
antics in the water that the cows became quite
indignant at having their quiet so disturbed, and
fairly drove him away.
"Mrs. Whiteface always did spoil that calf,"
said one old cow, pettishly; "he is really too rude
to be in decent society, making such a noise and
commotion! Just see how he has muddied the
water with his capers "
"Let the little plague amuse himself in the


sun awhile, until he learns to behave himself
properly," grumbled another.
But Mrs. Whiteface, the motherly old cow who

r/ ii

I /



had first spoken to the distressed calf, was sure
something dreadful must be the matter with her
baby. Never before had he acted so strangely,
and, full of anxiety, she slowly waded to the bank

;c* j. ^"^

and followed him across the meadow. He was
seeking a shady spot under a great :..: -1i.,o oak-
tree, walking slowly and clumsily along, his head
and his tail hanging down in the most disconsolate
"What is the matter with you ?" asked Mrs.
Whiteface, kindly.
Moo-o-o," sounded in Tinkey's ears; and,
afraid of feeling the old cow's horns again, he
tossed up his head, and trotted away as fast as his
awkward legs would carry him.
He ran across the meadow, through the corn-
field, around the duck-pond and into the yard ad-
joining the school-house, a bare stretch of ground
without shade or shelter. He was all out of breath,
and trembling from head to foot, as he stood for a
moment's rest under the school-room window.
The voice of the school-master came through the
open window, calling out the names of the boys.
Now Tinkey's proper name was Frank Kirke,
but the school-boys had each a nickname, .and
were known at home and in play-time quite as
well by such names as Tinkey, Bobo, Fuzzy, or
Tip, as by their proper names of Frank, Harry,
Tom, or George. But Tinkey knew very well
who was meant when the master asked:
"Where is Frank Kirke this morning?
"Here I am, sir," said Tinkey, thrusting his
head in at the open window.
"B-a-a-a," said the calf, and all the boys
shouted, and the girls giggled, making a great
commotion in the school-room. Even the master
felt a little twitching in the muscles about his
mouth, but he only said, very sternly:


John Smith, drive that calf away "
Tinkey looked around for the calf, and then
suddenly remembered that he, Tinkey Kirke, was
the animal to be driven away.
John Smith," thought Tinkey, scornfully ; "he
had better try it. I can lick John Smith any day."
So, when John Smith lazily sauntered into the
school-yard, he was amazed to see a calf bristling
all over with fight, that, before he could make an
effort to drive it away, rushed forward, thrust a
hairy head between his legs, and sent him sprawl-
ing upon the ground.
But Tinkey had forgotten that he could not
throw stones, and, before he could make another
charge, John had pelted him so rapidly with
heavy stones that he was glad to run away,
bruised and sore all over. As he stood in the hot
June sun, afraid to venture near the water, or
into the meadow, Tinkey thought, mournfully,
that it was not much fun to be a calf, after all.
He wandered about sore and sorry, until, sud-
denly, with a rush and loud shouts, the boys and
girls came pouring out of the school-house.
Recess Hurrah thought Tinkey, hurrying
to join his school-fellows, and quite forgetting he
was a calf, as he trotted into the play-ground.
Here were boys eating luncheon, boys playing
marbles, boys spinning tops, boys swapping pen-
cils and jackstones, boys whittling "pussy sticks,
but not a boy, no, not one, reading or studying.
Tinkey ambled up to one group after another,
but none of the boys noticed him, except to shove
him away, if he came too close. His especial

:.- ..i
---' --- -..-
.. _ ,- -_- .. ;,',,' .1

friend, Jim Jones, was one of three boys playing
marbles, and Tinkey, unrecognized and unnoticed,
stood near, sadly conscious that he could not use
any one of his four long, clumsy legs to join in
the game. But as no one drove him away, he
stood watching the play until Tom Bates cheated.
There was no doubt about it, and Tinkey thrust
his head into the group, crying:



"Tom Bates, you 're cheating!" At least,
that is what he thought he said. What he really
did say, was-" B-a-a-a! "
Never was a game broken up more quickly!
Every boy was on his feet, with a stick or a stone,
and, in an instant, every other game was aban-
doned to make general war upon poor Tinkey.
Driven away, he found two boys strolling down
the road, talking, and heard this sentence:
He 's only playing off sick, I know. Tinkey
Kirke is the laziest boy in school; he never knows
his lessons."
"I 'm no lazier than you are, Bobo Wells,"
cried Tinkey, in a prolonged B-a-a-a !" at the
same time giving Bobo a vicious dig in the ribs
with his head.
Jiminy screamed the boy. "What 's that?
Hey! Here 's a young mad bull, boys! Hey!
At him "
Every boy in the play-ground answered the
loud call, and Tinkey, with a wholesome fear of
stones and sticks, galloped away, followed by a
shower of boy ammunition.
He was very sore all over, very weary, very hot,
and there came over him a great longing to put
his aching head down into his mother's lap to be
petted, and have a good cry. He was very hun-
gry, too, and the attempt which he made to eat
grass proved a miserable failure. It is too nasty
for anything," Tinkeydecided. Just ashe reached
home, the family were sitting down to dinner, and
Mr. Kirke asked:
"Where is Tinkey? He is always late !"
"Here I am, Papa," said Tinkey, in his long
"B-a-a-a," walking in at the door and trying to
take his seat.
With laughing shouts, the whole family sprang
up to drive him away, and Tinkey ran to his mother
for protection. Surely, surely, his own dear mother
would know him !
But Mrs. Kirke ran screaming away. Something
was the matter with the calf, she thought, and she
was afraid of it. Mr. Kirke caught him at last, but
not until every chair was upset, the table-cloth
pulled off, the dishes smashed and scattered, the
dinner a wreck, and the room in direst confusion.
Well belabored with a heavy stick, Tinkey was
led to the barn and tied up, to think over the de-
lights of being a calf and the misery of being a
well-fed school-boy with a happy home.
He was horribly hungry, and made several at-
tempts to eat the hay and oats before him, but he
could not swallow them.
On a level with his head there was a kitchen
window, plainly visible through the great space left
by the barn doors standing wide open. It was
baking day, and loaves of bread stood on the table;


three large, tempting pies were cooling on the win-
dow-sill, while a pitcher of milk was just behind
them on the table. Tinkey tugged and jerked,
until he succeeded in breaking the rope holding
him, and was once more free. He trotted off to
the window, only to meet a new diAculty. It did
not occur to him that he could eat a pie in any way
but with plate, knife, and fork, or, without these,
by taking it in his fingers. His hands, or fore
legs, would not reach up to the window-sill, try as
hard as he would to make them, and, in his efforts,


he knocked two of the pies to the ground, breaking
them to pieces. Only one remained, and, inspired
by hunger, Tinkey at last put his nose down to the
plate and ate up the pie. By a great effort of
stretching he got the pitcher over on its side, and
eagerly lapped the milk as it ran out. But, sud-
denly, a most tremendous blow fell upon his head,
as his mother shouted:
Get out! Go away! Father, the calf has broken
loose! "
Quite sure that his father would find a stronger
rope the next time, Tinkey ran away as fast as he
could, through the cabbage-patch, over the flower-
beds, around the house, from the kitchen window
to the front porch, where he stood panting and
listening as his father hunted in the barn and at
the back of the house for him. The front door
was standing ajar, and as Tinkey looked at it a
brilliant idea rushed into his head-he would go
into his own room and take a nap.
His head ached, and every bone in his body
seemed to be sore with the variety of hammering
he had received. Nobody was about. Indeed,
the confusion in the dining-room was likely to
keep everybody busy for one afternoon, and



nobody saw Tinkey as he made frantic efforts to
walk upstairs on his hind legs, and hold the bal-
usters with his fore legs. By and by it occurred to
him to try the ascent with all his legs down, and at
last he accomplished it in that way.
Getting into" bed presented another difficulty, as
his legs would not go up high enough to scramble
in, in his usual fashion, but, after many efforts, the
desired result was gained by standing sidewise and
rolling himself over. Then a long sleep fell upon
the weary little boy-calf, and he dreamed of cool
waters, of shady lanes, of refreshing drink, until a
welcome sound awakened him-the tea-bell.
But he was confused by his nap, and he mis-
took the bell for the summons to breakfast. Upon
a chair were thrown his best suit and some clean
underclothing that his mother had been mend-
ing; and, knowing he would be late, as he must
have failed to hear his mother's usual morning
summons, Tinkey scrambled awkwardly to the
floor and took up a shirt.
By a great effort he reared up, and tried to lift
this garment over his head. All in vain Strug-
gle as he would, it only hung upon the hoofs that
had no fingers to grasp it, until it fell upon the
floor. Perhaps he could do better with the trou-
sers At least he could try.
But the trousers were still worse. He braced
himself against the wall, and hung the waistband
upon his fore legs, but all his efforts failed to get
even one hind leg into them. He reeled over, he
fell upon the floor, he reared up, and tipped over.
He even tried to crawl into his clothes, after push-
ing them into place upon the floor.
But it was of no use, and, while he was still
working over this problem, harder than any sum he
had ever puzzled out in school, the door opened.

~ j~s~~J~~~:-:

I ^,- 1(



Again that dreadful shout, now so familiar to
him, fell upon his ears, as Bob, his younger
brother, rushed into the room.
"Oh, Papa! Mamma! Here 's fun. Here 's
that calf in our room, pulling Tinkey's clothes all
over the floor!"


"You just shut up !" said Tinkey, in a terrific
SB-a-a-a! "
Sho Get out of my room !" shouted Bob.
It is just as much my room as it is yours,"
cried Tinkey, angrily, dashing at Bob and driving
him against the wall. Oh Oh Papa Come !
He 's killing me yelled Bob.
You big baby," sneered Tinkey, in calf lan-
guage. I have n't touched you! "
But while he spoke, Mr. Kirke and two hired
men were coming up the stairs, and another chase
ended in poor Tinkey's defeat.
But it was not until the neat, pretty bed-room
of an hour previous looked as if there had been
a whirlwind through it. Everything that could be
knocked down was knocked down; everything
that could be smashed was smashed; and from
the dire confusion he had made, Tinkey was at
last led out, and tied, very strongly this time,
with these words of his father's to comfort him:
I can't imagine," said Mr. Kirke, "what ails
that calf; but I will send him to the butcher's in
the morning !"
Tied up securely, the barn doors closed and
fastened, Tinkey had plenty of time to think over
his day's experience.
The butcher Cold chills ran over him, as he
thought of the long, bright knife he had seen
many times in the hands of the butcher. Great
tears ran down his face, and he was bitterly regret-
ting his rash wish, when there was a soft whirr in
the air, and the fairy car, drawn by butterflies,
floated down upon a corn-bin. The wee woman
stepped daintily down, and walked along the edge
until she stood in front of poor, shivering Tinkey.
"So," she said, "you don't like it! You are
tired already of being a calf "
"Oh, yes! yes Very tired! Please, dear
Mrs. Fairy, make me a boy once more, and I will
never, never be so foolish again "
I 'm not so sure of that! You don't like
Latin grammar."
"But I like it better than being stoned and
beaten and driven about. Oh, please, please don't
go away and leave me a calf, dear Mrs. Fairy."
"Oh, ho So you do believe I am a fairy ? "
"I am sure of it."
I will not be a cruel fairy, then. You shall
have one more wish. Be a boy again! "
She waved her wand as she spoke, and a queer,
numb feeling crept over Tinkey. The barn faded
away; the fairy car floated up out of sight; for a
moment all was black, and then he found him-
self lying on the potato-sack, in the attic, with the
Latin grammar still open before him.
With a joyful shout he sprang to his feet, very
glad to be a boy once more !




CORREGGIO CAROTHERS was a man of much renown;
The dolls he made and painted were the talk of all the town;
In a room half shop, half study, he would gayly work away,
Completing, by his diligence, one dozen dolls a day.

If it chanced to be fine weather, every Monday he would go
With a number to the toyman's, where he 'd lay them in a row;
And some would be so beautiful that one could scarce refrain
From kissing them; while others would be very, very plain

" Correggio, Correggio," the toyman oft would cry,
" Oh, why do you persist in making dolls no one will buy?
In my second-story wareroom I have hundreds stored away;
And, if each had a pretty face, they 'd not be there to-day! "

"My work is conscientious, sir," he proudly would explain;
" As dolls are mimic people, some of them must needs be plain.
I can not, I assure you, give good looks to every doll,
Since beauty is a priceless gift that does not come to all! "






WHEN overhead the gray clouds meet,
And the air is heavy with mist and rain,
She clambers up to the window seat,
And watches the storm through the yellow pane.

At the painted window she laughs with glee;
She smiles at the clouds with a sweet disdain,

And calls: "Now, Papa, it's sunshine to me,"
As she presses her face to the yellow pane.

Dear child, in life should the gray clouds roll,
Heavy with grief, o'er thy path amain,
Stealing the sunlight from thy soul,
God keep for thee somewhere a yellow pane!



THE event I want to tell you about took place more
than two hundred years ago, and it was exactly one
hundred years before the Declaration of Independ-
ence was framed at Philadelphia--which makes
the date 1676, an easy one to remember. If you
will recollect this date and the story of Bacon's Re-
bellion, you will have learned of one of the most
important and interesting occurrences in the history
of our early colonies. The affair was of so much
consequence that I should think every American
would be familiar with the story; but if you will
ask some' of the older people what it was all about,
they will very likely answer that they used to know,
but somehow have forgotten," and they have not
studied United States history for so long a time,
you know "-or in other words of that kind.
All that now remains of old Jamestown, the first
settlement made by the English under the famous
Captain John Smith, is an old stone wall which once
formed a side of the first church in Virginia, where
the people assembled from all the country around
to worship as their custom had been in England.
At the time of which we write, Jamestown was
quite a colony; the people had built for themselves
comfortable houses; the ground they cultivated
yielded them good crops of tobacco, much of which
they sent to England, where it was just beginning
to be considered a great luxury. They received a
good price for their commodities, and they would
have gotten along very well if they had not hap-
pened to have a very unsatisfactory government,
which taxed their lands heavily and interfered
greatly with their liberty.
The Governor of Virginia at this time was Sir

William Berkeley, who had been appointed to the
post by his King, Charles II. of England. Sir
William was not a popular officer; he was grand
and dignified; he felt himself to be above the com-
mon people. He lived in Jamestown, a short dis-
tance above the James River, in a big house, which
was filled with servants and attendants. In every-
thing he did he sought to make a great show and
to appear very grand. When he rode about, he
went in a ponderous great coach; nothing in Vir-
ginia had ever been seen like it, and by the simple
planters it was regarded with awe. He could afford
to cut such a fine figure and to keep up such style,
because he was very rich, and made a great deal
of money from the Indians, to whom he sold gun-
powder; and as he was the only one allowed to
trade in that dangerous commodity, you may be
sure his profits were enormous.
To disturb such good customers as the Indians
was far from his intention. Although the savages
often attacked the settlers, and carried off cattle and
sheep whenever they had a chance,-and they took
care to make a good many chances,-the Governor
would not seriously attack them, and issued a man-
date forbidding any company of settlers to do so.
Among the owners of plantations was a young man
of good family, named Nathaniel Bacon. He was
warm-hearted and generous; the sufferings of his
neighbors had awakened his sympathies, and he
determined to make some effort to lessen their
troubles. Although only thirty years old, the
settlers must have had great confidence in him, for
they had already elected him to a seat in the Gov-
ernor's council.






WHEN overhead the gray clouds meet,
And the air is heavy with mist and rain,
She clambers up to the window seat,
And watches the storm through the yellow pane.

At the painted window she laughs with glee;
She smiles at the clouds with a sweet disdain,

And calls: "Now, Papa, it's sunshine to me,"
As she presses her face to the yellow pane.

Dear child, in life should the gray clouds roll,
Heavy with grief, o'er thy path amain,
Stealing the sunlight from thy soul,
God keep for thee somewhere a yellow pane!



THE event I want to tell you about took place more
than two hundred years ago, and it was exactly one
hundred years before the Declaration of Independ-
ence was framed at Philadelphia--which makes
the date 1676, an easy one to remember. If you
will recollect this date and the story of Bacon's Re-
bellion, you will have learned of one of the most
important and interesting occurrences in the history
of our early colonies. The affair was of so much
consequence that I should think every American
would be familiar with the story; but if you will
ask some' of the older people what it was all about,
they will very likely answer that they used to know,
but somehow have forgotten," and they have not
studied United States history for so long a time,
you know "-or in other words of that kind.
All that now remains of old Jamestown, the first
settlement made by the English under the famous
Captain John Smith, is an old stone wall which once
formed a side of the first church in Virginia, where
the people assembled from all the country around
to worship as their custom had been in England.
At the time of which we write, Jamestown was
quite a colony; the people had built for themselves
comfortable houses; the ground they cultivated
yielded them good crops of tobacco, much of which
they sent to England, where it was just beginning
to be considered a great luxury. They received a
good price for their commodities, and they would
have gotten along very well if they had not hap-
pened to have a very unsatisfactory government,
which taxed their lands heavily and interfered
greatly with their liberty.
The Governor of Virginia at this time was Sir

William Berkeley, who had been appointed to the
post by his King, Charles II. of England. Sir
William was not a popular officer; he was grand
and dignified; he felt himself to be above the com-
mon people. He lived in Jamestown, a short dis-
tance above the James River, in a big house, which
was filled with servants and attendants. In every-
thing he did he sought to make a great show and
to appear very grand. When he rode about, he
went in a ponderous great coach; nothing in Vir-
ginia had ever been seen like it, and by the simple
planters it was regarded with awe. He could afford
to cut such a fine figure and to keep up such style,
because he was very rich, and made a great deal
of money from the Indians, to whom he sold gun-
powder; and as he was the only one allowed to
trade in that dangerous commodity, you may be
sure his profits were enormous.
To disturb such good customers as the Indians
was far from his intention. Although the savages
often attacked the settlers, and carried off cattle and
sheep whenever they had a chance,-and they took
care to make a good many chances,-the Governor
would not seriously attack them, and issued a man-
date forbidding any company of settlers to do so.
Among the owners of plantations was a young man
of good family, named Nathaniel Bacon. He was
warm-hearted and generous; the sufferings of his
neighbors had awakened his sympathies, and he
determined to make some effort to lessen their
troubles. Although only thirty years old, the
settlers must have had great confidence in him, for
they had already elected him to a seat in the Gov-
ernor's council.




When, therefore, this man called his neighbors
together and said that, whether the Governor liked
it or not, he meant to go out against the Indians
with whosoever would follow him, four hundred
men immediately placed themselves under his
The company started; but they had not gone
far when a messenger came up with them, and, in
the name of the Governor, denounced all those as
rebels who should not return immediately to their
houses and abandon the expedition.
Now, in those days, to be known as a rebel was
a very serious matter. It meant that the person
thus entitled would be the victim of any abuse the

started out to drive off the Indians who had robbed
them and slain their friends, and they would finish
the undertaking.
The little band now pressed forward into the
wilderness, confident of soon coming on the
savages and striking a quick and decisive blow.
But they learned, as many have learned since, that
one of the most difficult parts of Indian warfare is
to find the Indians. For days they wandered
about, keeping up an earnest but fruitless search.
Then a new trouble appeared: their supply of
food ran low; starvation looked them in the face;
it seemed for a time that nothing remained to do
but to return in humility to Jamestown and submit


__, _.' V
..i -, I

J I- .. . .


.. .-

L ._-_ -- i o- -' -

I- --- -


people might choose to heap on him, and not only
would he be made the object of taunts and jeers,
but if the Governor and his council should so
decree, his property, of whatever kind, might be
taken from him. Among so many difficulties the
"rebel" would be in a sorry plight indeed.
None understood better than Bacon's men the
danger they ran in disobeying Sir William's com-
mand; and, although all the four hundred were
attached to their young leader, only fifty-seven had
the courage to stick by him. But those who were
left were brave and determined men; they had

to what punishment the
Governor might be pleased
to inflict.
Bacon's pluck, however,
never failed; he sought to
encourage his men by
cheering words and to
push on till food could be
obtained of some friendly
tribe. It was in this, their
darkest hour, when all
were disheartened, that
they suddenly came upon
the hostile Indians. The
spirits of the little band
of white men rallied in-
stantly. Now was the time
to show that it was not
safe to rob and kill the
English settlers. Before
the savages had time to
prepare, an attack was
made on their stronghold.
For a time the fight was
fierce; but quickly the
Indians wavered, deserted
their defense, and fled into
the thick woods. The
victory was complete, al-
though the red men num-
bered three times as many

as the little company of half-famished settlers.
Bacon hurried back to Jamestown. He was
satisfied that, for a while at least, no trouble was
to be feared from their old tormentors. The news
had gone before him, and the people received the
brave leader and his men with every show of
joy and esteem; they insisted that, in spite of his
being a "rebel," he should again occupy in the
council the seat to which they had elected him.
Of course, Bacon's triumph over the Indians did
not add to Berkeley's regard for him. But the
Governor was shrewd enough to see that this was




no time to inflict punishment; so, after the young
man had asked forgiveness for going against the
Indians without permission, he no doubt thought it
a great condescension when, a few days after, the
Governor accosted him in the Council-room, say-
ing, with a great deal of affected sorrow: "Mr.
Bacon, if you will live civilly but until next quarter
court, I will promise to return you to your place
there," and he pointed to Bacon's empty seat.
The quiet that now reigned in Jamestown did
not last long; for soon the cry went around the
country: "Bacon is fled!" "Bacon is fled!"
and tumult and uncertainty ensued. The forgiven
rebel had doubted the Governor's sincerity, and
had fled for safety. Moreover, he was dissatisfied,
and wished to have the right to go against the foes
of the colony whenever he might think proper.
So, once more he gathered his friends around him,
and within a few days he returned to Jamestown,
which he entered without resistance, accompanied
by five hundred armed men. All was confusion in
the settlement; no one in authority dared to act.
Bacon issued an order commanding the mem-
bers of the Council to appear before him, and
while he waited he walked excitedly along a line of
troops drawn up to receive the expected Council-
men. Of a sudden, some one forced a way through
the crowd, and made toward the young leader.
It was Governor Berkeley, pale and agitated.
Scarcely knowing what he did, he thrust himself
before Bacon, and baringhis breast, cried: Here !
Shoot me! 'Fore God, fair mark! Shoot! "
Bacon stepped back, resting one hand on his
sheathed sword, and respectfully holding his hat in
the other. Simply, and with cool politeness, he said
to the frantic Governor: "No; may it
please your honor, we will not hurt
a hair of your head. We hi .v 0 _
come for a commission to save ..~-i -
our lives from the Indians, -
and," he added, with less
calmness, "we shall have
it before we go."
Sir William said noth-
ing, but turned and walked
away. The next day Bacon

received his commission, granting him the right to
go against the Indians whenever he might choose.
But their strife did not end here. When Bacon
next attacked the savages, the Governor denounced
him again as a traitor; and when Bacon heard of
it, he replied: "We will go see why he calls us
traitors; to which his men all shouted, "Amen "
But when Berkeley found that the man he had
called a traitor was coming back to Jamestown,
he fled, and tried to rally a few followers to sup-
port him against his enemy. These friends hav-
ing come together, as soon as he began to speak,
cried, "Bacon! Bacon! Bacon! and refused to
listen. All this and a great deal more is related
in the full history of Jamestown.
When the troops arrived, the Governor was no-
where to be found, for he had sailed down the
James River, to be out of harm's way. In a
tumult of excitement and rage the men set fire to
the houses; and from the deck of his ship the
craven Governor looked on helplessly at the de-
struction of what to him had been a little king-
dom. It took but a few hours to completely
destroy the little settlement: the people then dis-
persed, and in process of time built new houses for
themselves among the surrounding plantations. It
was, perhaps, on the whole, well that Jamestown
was destroyed; for the place was very unhealthy.
In this expedition Bacon brought on a serious"
illness by exposure and fatigue; he rapidly became
worse, and soon died. He was deeply mourned
by the people, for during his short life he had
been a faithful friend and protector to them.
Governor Berkeley staid in America several years
after this, and when he was recalled home, in dis-
honor, he was a feeble old man, and
he did not long survive his disgrace.
T---IY= ._ I. h3s old Jamestown, the first
a English settlement in America,
S was never rebuilt, and the
church wall, covered now with
; vines a century old, is all
that remains to mark the
..' spot where once so much
that was stirring and inter-
esting took place.








IT was a bright scene in front of the house at
Ormsley farm, one September night, just after sup-
per. The night was dark, but the lawn and the
porch were lighted up by several torches of "fat
pine," which were blazing in the hands of some
negro men and boys; a number of dogs were run-
ning about, barking and yelping as if they were
impatient to go somewhere; three white boys stood
on the steps of the porch, talking to some young
ladies who seemed in a very merry mood; and in
the door stood a pleasant-faced, middle-aged gen-
"What are you all waiting for ? said this latter
personage. You make so much preparation and
noise that I don't believe you '11 do any hunting at
all, and I 'm afraid that Walter will never see a
'coon until some steady person like myself goes out
with him."
" Oh, Father," cried one of the young ladies, "if
Walter never sees a 'coon till you go with him,
VOL. IX-44.

he '11 have to buy a book on natural history to find
out how the animal looks."
"Perhaps that is true," said the gentleman,
Early has gone to tie up Tag," said one of the
boys on the steps. "You know we can't start till
he is tied up. But here comes Early, and now we
are off, sir."
The boys ran down the steps, and started away,
followed by the dogs, the negro boys carrying the
torches, and the negro man with an ax.
Good luck to you shouted one of the girls
from the porch. If you don't find a 'coon, per-
haps we '11 take Walter out some night."
Walter Mason was a boy from the North, on a
visit to his Virginia cousins, Gilbert and Joe, who
were now taking him out on his first 'coon hunt.
The party rapidly made its way out of the great
gate, across the road, and over the fields, toward a
high hill-side covered with forests, about a mile from




the house. Here the 'coon hunters entered a wood-
road, and more slowly made their way among the
high trees. They had gone but a short distance
into the woods, the dogs sniffing and yelping ahead
of them, when a rush and a bark were heard behind
the party, and, in a moment, a large dog was
jumping and barking around Gilbert and Joe.
Here is Tag !" cried Gilbert. "Why, Early,
I thought you 'd tied him up."
"Dat no 'count good-for-nuffin' Tag!" ex-
claimed Early, the negro man. I done tied him
up, but he 's bruck loose."
We might as well give up 'coon hunting now,"
said Joe.
I 'se a great mind to hit yo' in de head wid de
ax," said Early, glaring at the dog. "What yo'
mean, sar, coming' here to spile de fun ? "
"Let him alone," said Gilbert. "Now he 's
here, he '11 have to stay. Perhaps he wont spoil
the fun after all."
Tag was a long-bodied, woolly dog, with a black
face and a tawny body. On looking at him, one
could not help thinking he ought to be a handsome
dog, but he was not. He looked as if he were a
good watch-dog, but he was not that. He was not
a good sheep-dog. He would not drive hogs. He
caught no rats. In fact, he was of no use at all; and
was justly called by Early "a no 'count dog." No-
body wanted him on a 'coon hunt, because it was
well known that Tag would never pursue rabbits,
nor any other creature, but would jump among the
other dogs and begin to fight them, and so give
the game a chance to escape. He was larger than
the other dogs, and would probably interfere so
much with them if they were after a 'coon that
there would be no sport at all. But now he was
here they must make the best of him, and so they
started on again.
Tag was certainly an absurd dog. The other
dogs were now on the track of a 'coon, but he paid
no attention to this important fact, and trotted
along by himself as if he had changed his mind
about joining the party and was thinking about
going home. Reaching a cross-road he turned into
it, and ran quickly into the darkness.
"Tag's done gone!" suddenly exclaimed one
of the negroes.
"Glad of it," said Joe. I hope he wont come
back! And now, boys, keep your pine-knots
burning, or we shall all break our necks."
The whole party was now hurrying forward as
fast as the darkness, only fitfully dispelled by the
light of the torches, would allow. The dogs were
far ahead, and when the boys came up to them
they were barking and clawing at the foot of a tall
persimmon tree.
"Now, Walter," cried Gilbert, "they 've treed a

'coon. He is somewhere up that tree. We '11 cut
it down, and then we '11 have him."
Two of the negro boys were holding the torches
as high up as they could. "Dar he cried one
of them-" dar he, Mahs'r Joe."
Looking up, the boys saw in a crotch of the tree,
not very far above them, a mass of fur, not larger
than a lady's muff, with a sharp nose and two
twinkling eyes in front of it, and a cross-barred tail
hanging down behind.
Is that the 'coon? cried Walter.
That is the 'coon joyfully replied his cousins.
Cl'ar away now! shouted Early, beginning
to swing his ax, "and I '11 have dis yer tree down
in no time."
With strong arms, Early now began to cut into
the tree. The chips flew, the dogs barked, the
boys shouted, and the 'coon sat up aloft and
watched the whole affair with its little twinkling
eyes. Soon the tree began to lean slightly to one
side. "Stand back!" cried Joe. And then it
came crashing down.
At this moment the hunters and the dogs sprang
forward, and the 'coon sprang, too. But the boys
and the dogs sprang toward the top of the tree as
it lay on the ground, while the 'coon sprang on the
branch of a chestnut tree it brushed in its fall. The
dogs dashed in among the fallen branches, and the
hunters, with their torches, looked in vain for the
Whar dat coon?" cried Early. But no one
could give him an answer.
Gilbert was an observing and thoughtful boy,
and he presently suggested that the 'coon must
have jumped into the chestnut tree as the persim-
mon fell. It was not easy to see into the thick
foliage of the chestnut, but the torches, being held
up, soon revealed the 'coon creeping cautiously out
toward the end of one of the lower branches.
Climb up dar, you 'Lijah," said Early to one
of the negro boys, and shake him off. If you
jump on de lim' he '11 drap."
"P'r'aps he 'II bite me," said Elijah, reluct-
antly climbing the tree, assisted by a boost from
the other boy.
"Go 'long, and jump on de lim'," said Early.
" De 'coon wont bite you if you don't bite him."
Elijah clambered out on the limb, and, standing
on it, took hold of the branch above, and began to
shake the branch he stood on. The 'coon was
a good deal bounced, but he did not intend to be
shaken off. He turned and ran along the limb
toward the tree. Elijah, sure he was about to be
attacked, gave a yell of horror, and drew himself
up with his hands, jerking his bare feet and legs
high into the air. The 'coon dashed under him,
reached the trunk of the tree, and disappeared.




Whether he ran out on another limb and got upon
a neighboring tree,- for the woods were very thick
just here,-or whether he had concealed himself in
the top of the chestnut, the hunters could not tell.
Early himself climbed up into the tree, and a
torch was handed him, but he could see nothing of
the 'coon. The tree was too valuable to be cut
down, and the hunters concluded they would have
to let that 'coon go.
I hate to give up a thing like that," said Joe,
"but it 's no use wasting our time. There are
plenty more 'coons in these woods."
Off they went again, dogs, boys and Early, and
in less than fifteen minutes they were all after
another 'coon. This creature did not seem to
want to go up a tree, and it led the dogs and hunt-
ers a doleful chase. Through thickets and bram-
bles, over fallen trees, half the time in darkness
and guided only by the noise of the dogs, the boys
pushed bravely on.
"This is hard work, Walter," said Joe, as the
two boys panted along together, "but we are
bound to get a 'coon. I 'd be ashamed to go back
to the house without one."
That 's so," cried Walter, cheerfully; "we 're
not going to give it up yet."
When at last the 'coon was kind enough to go
up a tree, the hunters had descended to the other
side of the hill, and found themselves on the bank
of a small creek. The 'coon had run up a low,
crooked tree on the very edge of the water, and
the dogs were furiously barking below.
"You '11 have to be careful how you cut down
this tree," said Joe to Early, and see that it falls
on shore and not into the water."
I don't reckon I '11 have to cut it any way,"
cried Early, who was holding a torch out over the
creek. "Look-a-dar He's gwine to jump!"
Everybody looked, and they saw the 'coon sit-
ting near the end of a limb that hung over the
water. He was a larger animal than the other
one, and much quicker, in making up his mind.
The next instant, he leaped from the limb and
plunged into the water.'
At him Sic him Catch him shouted the
boys, and the dogs dashed into the water. Before
the 'coon could reach the other side the dogs sur-
rounded him, and a terrible fight ensued.
In the water a 'coon has great advantages over
dogs, as these fellows soon found out. The 'coon
seemed to have half a dozen mouths, and every dog
snarled and yelped as if they had all been bitten
at the same moment. They kept up a furious
attack, however, upon their common foe; the boys
and negroes, meanwhile, urging them on with
shouts and cries.
There was one dog in the water that belonged

to Joe. This was a setter named Ponto, and was,
indeed, much too good a dog to go on a 'coon hunt.
The 'coon appeared to find out that Ponto was the
best of the dogs, and 11.,i1 ;.... probably, that if he
conquered him he could get away from the others,
he seized the setter by the nose and began to pull
his head into the water.
Poor Ponto jerked up his head, and the other
dogs splashed and snapped at the 'coon, who was
nearly out of sight beneath the surface; but the
brave little creature held on firmly, and down went
Ponto's head again.
Everybody was greatly excited, and especially
Joe. He was sure his dear Ponto would be drowned.
The struggling animals in the creek had drifted a
little down the stream, and were near a fallen log
that lay across the creek. On to this log sprang
Joe. If he could seize his Ponto he would pull him
out of the water, 'coon and all. But, alas there
was a crack and a crash The rotten log broke in
the middle, and down went Joe into the dark
stream! For a moment he disappeared, and then,
by the light of the uplifted torches, he could be
seen struggling to his feet.
In an instant Gilbert, Walter, and Early dashed
in to his assistance. The water was about up to
their waists, but they did not stop to think whether
it was deep or shallow.
Early seized Joe, and attempted to pull him to
the bank, but Joe, by this time, had hold of Ponto,
whose nose was held by the 'coon, upon whose hind
quarters and tail two dogs had now fastened, and
so the negro man had rather a heavy tow. Joe
shouted to him to let go of him, for he was not
going to leave Ponto. Gilbert also seized hold of
the setter, and Walter made several cracks at the
coon with a stick he had picked up.
Suddenly all was darkness. The negro boys on
the banks, in their excitement, had forgotten to
renew their fat-pine torches, and for some minutes,
Elijah had held the only one left burning; this had
burned down to his fingers without his noticing it,
and then he had suddenly dropped it.
In the dark confusion which then ensued, every-
body scrambled to shore, but Joe did not let go of
Ponto. The boy and the dog climbed up the bank
together, but there was no 'coon on Ponto's nose.
Gilbert had some matches in an upper pocket, and
there were several pine-knots left. These were
lighted, and the boys looked at one another and
Joe was wet all over, and the others were drip-
ping to their waists.- The dogs were climbing out
of the water, and the 'coon was gone.
Look h'yere cried Early to the negro boys,
"jump 'round lively now, and pick up some dry
wood! We 'se got to have a fire and all get dry




afore dere 's any more huntin' done. I don't want
to take anybody home wid de rheumatiz."
It was not long before a fire was blazing merrily
in an open space among the trees, and those of
the party who had been in the creek were glad to
gather around it and dry themselves. Ponto, who
had had enough active exercise for the present, re-
mained with the group near the fire, but the other
dogs were scattered about in the woods, sniffing
around for the track of another 'coon.
Joe was just beginning to feel that he was about
half dry,-and that is generally dry enough for aboy
who has a good deal of walking or running before
him,-when, suddenly, among the trees, a short
distance from the fire, was heard a dreadful crash.
High overhead there was a sound of breaking
limbs, then a rush and a clatter, and a thump on
the ground, followed by a muffled cry and a great
stir and confusion among the dark and spectral
Everybody started in affright, and the eyes and
mouths of the negroes flew wide open.
"What 's dat?" whispered Early, his legs
trembling beneath him.
Nobody answered a word. In fact, the white
boys were nearly startled out of their wits.
The disturbing noise had now ceased, and in a
moment Elijah opened his mouth: "It 's little
Jacob he gasped.
Little Jacob exclaimed Walter.
"Yes," said Elijah; "he done died day 'fore
Stupid said Joe, who was now beginning to
recover himself. "You darkey boys are always
looking out for ghosts. What do you suppose poor
little Jacob would be doing up a tree ? "
And he was so dreffel thin," said Early, who
was glad to assure himself that he had not heard
a ghost, "he could neber 'a' made all dat noise
"Let's go and see what it is," said Walter. And
the white boys, followed at a little distance by the
negroes, proceeded cautiously to the spot where
they had heard the noise. There, by the light of
the fire and the torch, they saw upon the ground
a large dead limb, broken to pieces, while in the
trees above them there began a flapping and a
"Oh, hi! cried Early, holding up a torch.
"I '11 tell you what all dis bizness is, Mahs'r Joe.
Dem year's tukkey-buzzards a-roostin' up dar. Dey
was scared by de fire, and one of 'em jumped on
de rotten limb and down come he. And dat was
de whole magnitude of de t'ing And, now, I tell
yo' what 't is, yo' boys," said he, turning to Elijah
and his companion, "yo' ought to be 'shame' o'
yo'selves, bein' skeered at ghos'es. Yo 's allus get-

ting skeered half to death every time you hears a
little noise."
Oh, ho cried Elijah, boldly. Yo' was
skeered yo'self, Uncle Early. Yo' done reckoned
it was little Jacob, coffin and all! "
The white boys burst out laughing. You were
just as much frightened as anybody, Early," said
I neber did hear anybody make such a talking'
and clatterin' as dese two boys," said Early, still
glowering at Elijah and the other negro. Dey 's
enough to frighten all de 'coons out o' de woods."
"Come on!" cried Joe. "We are ready to
start now, and we 'll see if there are any 'coons
The party clambered up the hill again, consider-
ing it better to make their way toward home. They
had scarcely reached the top of the ridge when
the dogs started another 'coon. The hunters fol-
lowed for a short distance, but as the chase led
down into a deep ravine, filled with brushwood and
bushes, the boys stopped, feeling that they had
had enough of that rough kind of work for the
The late moon had now arisen, and by its light
the boys could see the dogs clamoring at the foot
of a tall tulip-poplar tree on the other side of the
"That's the meanest thing of all!" cried Joe.
"There 's a 'coon in that tree, and he just went
up there to make us feel badly. He knows we
can't cut down that tree, for it is the finest poplar
in these woods. People come out here just to look
at it. We might as well keep on. But I do hate
to go home without a 'coon. I hope the folks are
all in bed."
The boys found it very difficult indeed to get the
dogs away from the poplar tree. The animals would
not listen to their calls, and the negroes were at
last obliged to cross the ravine, and drive them
away from the tree. The party had now reached
the wood-road by which it had first entered the
The torches were all burned out, but the light of
the moon occasionally breaking through the tree-
tops enabled the hunters to see their way. It was
not long before they heard the barking of a dog in
the distance.
"Have any of those dogs got off again?" said
Joe, turning to Early. I told you to keep them
with us. We don't want any more break-neck
chases to-night."
"Dey 'se all here, Mahs'r Joe," said Early. "I
done tied a string to old Zack and I 'm leading' him,
and de udders wont go for no 'coon widout he goes
"The dogs are all here," said Gilbert, who had




called them to him. It must be some other dog
we hear."
The barking of this dog was heard more plainly
as they proceeded, and when they reached a cross-
road, Early stopped and exclaimed:
"Mahs'r Joe, dat's Tag!"
"It can't be Tag," said Joe; "he went home
long ago."
"It's bound to be dat dog," persisted Early. "I
knows his bark just as well as if 't was my old dad
a-speakin' to me."
"Let 's go see!" said Joe. And the whole
party ran along the road.
They had just gone around a little bend, when
they saw Tag at the foot of a tall young tree. He
was standing on his hind legs, with his fore feet
against the tree, barking furiously.
"Well I declare! cried Joe; I do believe that
Tag has treed a 'coon "
There was no doubt of the fact. On one of the
straggling limbs of the tree, which stood out in the
full moonlight, a 'coon could be plainly seen.
Did yo' eber see such a dog as Tag! shouted
Early. He 's been a trying' to scratch up dis tree
by de roots. He 's done dug holes all 'roun' it."
I guess he 's been here all the time," said Joe.
And what 's more," said Gilbert, I believe
that he was on the track of that 'coon when he first
turned into the road and left us."
"And if we 'd followed him I guess we might
have had a 'coon long ago, might n't we? asked
I reckon so," said Joe; but nobody ever fol-
lows Tag."
"I s'pose it 's about time to quit preaching' and
go to cutting, said Early. And,\taking the ax
from his shoulder, he began to hack away at the
Tag retired to a little distance, and sat down on
his haunches, apparently satisfied that he had done
all that could be expected of him, and that the
enterprise would now be carried on by other par-
ties. The boys, white and negro, stood back,
holding the dogs out of the way of Early's ax. In
a very short time the tree came crashing down.
As its top fell into the road the dogs and the hun-
ters dashed to the spot, and the 'coon was seized
almost before he touched the ground.
Then there was a lively time The 'coon laid
down on his back, spinning around like a top, and
bit and clawed until the dogs became almost afraid
to touch him. Tag absolutely refused to have
anything to do with the fight, and Ponto, whose
nose was still sore from his adventure in the creek,

was not at all anxious to have another 'coon fasten
upon him, and therefore showed but little zeal in
this affray.
Then Joe, who was fearful that the 'coon would
spring up and get away from the dogs, ordered
Early to kill him with a club, which was accord-
ingly done.
The 'coon was hung to a pole, and the hunters
started home in triumph, everybody petting and
patting Tag.
Wid Tag to tree 'em, an' a bull-pup to fight
'em," said Early to his two companions as they
followed in the rear of the party, an' me to cut
down de tree, dere would n't be no use for nobody
else gwine on a 'coon hunt 'round here."
"Yo' go 'long wid yo' blowin', Uncle Early,"
said Elijah, contemptuously; "de tukkey-buz-
zards 'ud frighten yo' cl'ar out de woods "
When the hunters reached home, they found the
house lighted and the family up. It was late, but
nobody wanted to go to bed until the 'coon hun-
ters returned. The 'coon was pronounced a splen-
did one, and Mr. Ormsley gave directions to have
it carefully skinned.
"Who do you suppose really got the 'coon?"
asked Joe.
Give it up," cried everybody, anxious to know.
Tag !" said Joe.
Not Tag cried the girls.
Yes, Tag said Gilbert.
Tag?" ejaculated Mr. Ormsley.
And the boys, in chorus, answered: "Tag!"

-4 ^




/^ -- ^-''

.. : .. ,1 ; .


No outward blemishes we see
To limit action fair and free.
In view of this, the fact is plain
The mischief lies within the brain.
Now, we suggest, to stop his tricks,
A sail upon his back you fix,
Of goodly size, to catch the breeze
And urge him forward where you please."

The Sultan well their wisdom praised.
Two masts upon the beast were raised,
And, schooner-rigged from head to tail,


With halliards, spanker-boom, and sail,
In proper shape equipped was he,
As though designed to sail the sea!

And when the Sultan next bestrode
That beast upon a lengthy road,
With favoring winds that whistled strong
And swiftly urged the craft along,
The people cleared the track with speed;
And old and young alike agreed
A stranger sight could not be found,
From side to side the province round.





You 'D better believe I was glad when that
letter came from Uncle Joe; for Mother and
Father had promised me that, if I should get a
good average in my marks at school, I might go
and spend the vacation at Uncle Joe's. I put in
and studied like a Trojan, and, at the end of the
term, I stood third in my class. Jim Stearns and
Wally Lyon were ahead of me; but Jim is sixteen,
and Wally's mother helps him at home. At any
rate, Father and Mother were satisfied, and that 's
all I cared for.
But, about Uncle Joe's letter. Oh, was n't I
glad Uncle Joe is a splendid man; I was named
after him, and he always calls me Young Joe. He
lives in Massachusetts and is President of a Rail-
way Company. He said in the letter that I must
be sure to come, for he was going to take us
young ones away somewhere to have a good time
all summer.
As luck would have it, school was just over when
the letter came. I was measured for a new rough-
ing suit of clothes; Father bought me a stunning
fishing-rod and tackle, and I squeezed in my base-
ball and bats after Mother had packed my trunk--
I had to laugh when I saw how she had put all the
socks and handkerchiefs in little rows and piles. I
thought they would n't stay that way a great
while. And right on the top of all I put the
presents I bought for Cousin Hal and Susy and
Baby Bunting. At last I started. I went by the
Fall River boat, and Father stood on the pier wav-
ing his handkerchief until we were out of sight.

Cousin Hal met me at the train the next morn-
ing when I got out. They were all real glad to
see me, and Aunt Maria had a tip-top breakfast.
Hal's school had closed the day before; but Uncle
Joe said we should not start off on our trip until
the next week, so we should have two. or three
days to knock around in.
It was a great secret where we were going. Hal
did n't know. Susy did n't know. And when we
asked any questions Uncle Joe had a funny twinkle
in his eye and Aunt Maria laughed. They said it
was n't to the seaside, nor to the mountains, nor
to a hotel, nor to a boarding-house, nor on a ship,
nor in a tent. At last, Susy guessed "up in a
balloon," and everybody laughed; but Uncle Joe
shook his head again, and so we gave up guessing.
That was on Sunday night, just before we went
upstairs. Hal went down, when he was half-
undressed, to ask if it was in a cave; and when
his father said "no," Hal said, then it couldn't
be anywhere. We went to bed at nine o'clock,
for we were going to start early the next morning.
Hal and I were up before everybody else. We
could n't eat much breakfast, in spite of all that Aunt
Maria said. We had a good many things to see to.
Hal was going to take his dog, Susy her canary,
and Baby Bunting a pet rabbit, which we carried
in a box. Uncle Joe said it was a regular me-
We went down to the depot in two carriages,
with a lumber wagon behind to carry all the bag-
gage. We had hardly got there, when the train
came along. We had a whole car to ourselves,
and, as Uncle Joe is the President, of course we
were "passed," and the conductor did n't come
around to take our tickets. So Hal made believe




he was the conductor, and put a badge on his hat
and went up and down the aisle, calling out at
every step, Tickets, please and Baby Bunting
gave him a bit of card, and it tickled Baby Bunt-
ing 'most to death.
We went through a good many towns and places,
but we did n't stop, except once to water up." It
was past noon when all at once we "slowed up," in
a wild sort of place out in the woods, and pretty
soon we began to back. We backed and backed
as much as a quarter of a mile, on a side track,
until we came to a place that was all woods on one
side and clear, open fields upon the other; and
then we stopped. We asked Uncle Joe what it
meant, but he told us to keep still and we should
see very soon; and then he got up and went out
and talked with the engineer and brakemen. We
could n't hear what they said, but pretty soon the
engine went off and left us. We told Aunt Maria,
and she laughed again, but said nothing.
By and by, Uncle Joe came back and said:
"Now, youngsters, come with me "
We all jumped up and followed him in Indian
file. He went out and unlocked the door of the
next car and told us to go in. We rushed past
him into the car and stopped, and all cried:
Oh !"
What do you think it was? Why, the car was
made into a parlor- not a Pullman palace-car,
but a regular parlor, such as we have at home.
All the seats had been taken out, there was a
carpet on the floor, there were the sofa and easy
chairs from Aunt Maria's room put around the
wall, there was the piano at one side, there was a
center-table and some shelving for books, just like
a room at home.
We asked Uncle Joe lots of questions, but he
only smiled and again said: Come along 1 and
went on to the next car. Then we all shouted
again, for that was fixed up for three sleeping-
rooms: one for Uncle Joe and Aunt Maria, at one
end, a little one in the middle for Susy and Baby
Bunting, and then one at the other end for Hal
and me. There were six little iron beds, and all
the rooms were divided off with heavy curtains, and
there were funny little wash-stands, and combs and
brushes, and lots of nails to hang our clothes on,
and it was just the jolliest thing you ever saw !
Then Uncle Joe led us into the next car, and
there was a dining-room-a large table in the
middle, a lot of chairs, and a cupboard up in the
corner with plenty of crockery.
As soon as we saw that, we all clapped our
hands and cried out:
Oh! now we know the secret: we are going
to live in the cars all summer! "
Uncle Joe smiled and looked at Aunt Maria.

"But where 's the kitchen?" cried Susy. "Are
we going to cook out-of-doors ?"
Uncle Joe did n't answer, but went to the door
and beckoned, and there was another car! And
when we went in, we found it was a splendid
kitchen, and there sat our own cook and second
girl from home, laughing and kind of blushing to
see us rush in. They had a nice little bed-room
partitioned off for them at the further end of the
car, but when Aunt Maria asked them how they
liked it, we all laughed to hear the cook answer:
Shure, 't is very nate an' foine ma'am, but we 'd
he sheared out of our lives wid the wild bastes an'
"Now, pickaninnies," said Uncle Joe, when we
went out, "this is to be your home for the
summer! "
We shouted with delight, Hal and I threw up
our hats, Susy danced a little jig, Baby Bunting
flourished his fat little arms, and altogether we
made so much noise that Aunt Maria begged us
to stop.
"This is to be our summer home," said Uncle
Joe, again. "And now the question is, what shall
we call it?"
"Let 's call it 'The Sportsman's Bower,' cried
Hal, thinking of his gun and fishing-rod.
"Or 'The Huntsman's Haunt,' said I.
"Or 'The Railroad Ranch,' cried Susy.
"Or 'The Traveling Troupe,' said Hal.
Or 'The Roving Roost,' said I.
"Why not call it what it is?" asked Uncle Joe
-" 'The Extra Train.' "
We all thought that would be first-rate, and
said: "Yes, let 's have that! "
"Very well," said Uncle Joe. "I will have a
sign painted, and send it down to-morrow when
Bo's'n comes with the horse."
"Is Bo's'n coming?-and the horse, too? Oh,
what fun cried Susy.
Yes," said Uncle Joe.
"Where will they stay? There is n't any stable,"
suggested Hal.
"We shall have to build one," said his father.
"Let 's go out now and choose a spot."
We all went out and jumped off the car, and then
we saw what a beautiful place we were in. It was
very high ground. There was a mountain not very
far off on one side, and a little lake quite near on
the other. There was'a splendid view; we could see
miles and miles away. There were ever so many
hills,-big hills, too,-and lots of towns and vil-
lages 'way, 'way off in the distance, so that we could
just see the spires of the churches-oh, I can't tell
you how grand it was!
Uncle Joe told us that the track we were on ran
about a quarter of a mile farther to a gravel-pit,





but that it had not been used for several years and
we should not be disturbed. He said, also, that the
cars were old cars that the company did n't want
any more, and that 's how he came to take them.
The engineer and brakemen had blocked the
wheels tight before they went away, so that we
could n't move. The track was not sandy as most
railway tracks are, but the grass came clear up to
the rails, and the blackberry vines ran all over the
sleepers in some places.
We hunted around for a spot in which to build
the stable, and Uncle Joe at last picked out one in
a little clump of trees, at one side of the big open

measured off and arranged, Aunt Maria came out
to join us, and we played all the afternoon.
After that there was the prettiest sunset I ever
saw: the lake was all gold and the mountain deep
purple. But it seemed sort of solemn and dreary
at first, when the night came on, there were so
many queer sounds. For, besides the crickets and
tree-toads, there were lots of whippoonvills and
something else, now and then, that Uncle Joe said
was a screech-owl. I could n't help thinking then
of what the cook had said about the "wild bastes
an' Injuns," but I did n't say anything to Hal about
it, for he would have laughed at me.


place. We left him drawing plans upon a piece
of paper while we ran and capered all over the
wide green pasture, which we named "The Field,"
playing "Tag" and "Gule" and "Leap-frog,"
till all at once Aunt Maria came out of the dining-
room car and stood on the steps ringing a big bell.
We wondered what it was for, but when we went
in we saw a splendid dinner ready, set just as it is at
home. We were glad to see it, too, for we were
pretty hungry by that time.
After dinner, Uncle Joe said we should go out
and pitch the lawn-tent and set up the croquet wick-
ets. We found a fine place, and after we had got it

We forgot about the woods pretty quickly when
we went in; for Aunt Maria had the big astral
lamp lighted on the center-table, and we had
games, and some music on the piano, and then
we thought it was great fun going to bed in those
droll little beds and bed-rooms. We knew nothing
after that until old Meg, the cook, rang a tremen-
dous big bell for us to get up in the morning.
We did n't know where we were at first, but we
soon were dressed and out. And, oh, you never
saw anything so fresh and sweet as the woods were,
nor heard such a racket as the birds made !
We had breakfast pretty early, because Uncle




Joe was going away. We went with him down to
the main track; he shook his handkerchief when
the train came along, and the engineer, who was
on the lookout, stopped and took him up.
That afternoon a car was switched off upon our
track by the "up freight-train, with two carpenters
and a lot of lumber on it. The carpenters went
right to work building the stable. It was a rough-
looking little shed when it was done, but it was
nice and warm inside, and it was hidden by the
trees, so its looks did n't matter. The carpenters
staid two days, and did a lot of little jobs for Aunt
Maria; they made some steps to go up into the
cars by, for the car-steps were too high to be easy;
then they made some benches to put around in
" The Field," where Aunt Maria could come and
sit to see us play, and where we could sit when we
were tired.
The day after the stable was done, Bo's'n came
with the horse. We were awful glad to see him.
You ought to have seen how he grinned when he
saw the stable and we told him about naming
"The Extra Train." Bo's'n is a real good-na-
tured fellow; he is as strong as a giant, almost,
and knows how to do everything. His name is n't
really Bo's'n, you know-it is George Latham; but
we call him Bo's'n because he was once a real
boatswain on a great ship. He said he would
show Hal and me how to snare rabbits and par-
tridges in the woods, and teach us to swim and dive
and float and a lot of things.
Aunt Maria said she felt more "to rights after
the carpenters had gone and Bo's'n had come;
for she confessed she had been a little afraid,
before, though Hal said she need n't have been,
for he had his shot-gun.
Bo's'n found a splendid spring in the woods,
and used to bring the water every day in big
buckets. Then he found an old grass-grown road
by which we could drive the horse and carriage
out to the highway; and then we used to take a
long ride all 'round the country every day.
Uncle Joe came down 'most every night, and
always brought a big basket of things from the
city. That makes me think I have n't told you
how we did our marketing.
Why, the morning train used to stop and drop
it off, in a big market-basket, two or three times
a week, and Bo's'n was down there to get it. The
engineer soon knew the spot, and used to give us
a salute whenever he went by-a kind of "toot,
toot! on the steam-whistle. We liked to hear it,
but I guess the passengers in the cars thought it
was funny.
Saturday night an engine came down late on
purpose to bring Uncle Joe, who had been kept
by business too late to take the cars. Then Aunt

Maria said, as long as the engine was there, she
wanted the cars shifted so as to put the sleeping-
car at the farther end from the kitchen, which was
a good deal better; for then we did n't have to go
through the sleeper to get to the dining-room.
You know now, pretty well, what sort of a place
we lived in, and so I '11 go on and tell you some of
our adventures.



AFTER the first week, we felt just as much at
home on The Extra Train as in our own houses.
Our papers and letters were thrown out of the
cars every day by the expressman, in a little can-
vas bag, and Hal and I went down the first thing
in the morning to get it.
Uncle Joe took us down to the lake one day,
and picked out the very prettiest boat there, and
hired it for the season. Her name was "Undine,"
and she was the fastest boat on the lake. Bo's'n
rather turned up his nose at her, at first, I think,
and said :
She's all well enough, p'r'aps, forfresk water."
She was nothing but a row-boat, of course, but
he fixed her up with a cat-rigging and we used to
have some jolly sails in her.
Aunt Maria said it was a sweet little lake; and
so it was; and not so very little, for it was six
miles long. We used to go fishing 'most every
day, at first; we caught perch and horn-poutts,
and, now and then, a pickerel. We took Baby
Bunting one day, and he actually caught a fish -
a funny little flat fish -and pulled it in with his
own fat little hands, and his eyes stuck out of his
head, almost.
He took such care of that fish! He wrapped it
up in a piece of paper, he put it in his pocket, he
carried it home, and took it to bed with hifm, and
cried as if his heart would break, next day, when
Aunt Maria said it must be thrown away. But he
stopped crying when we promised to get him some
more. And so we did; we made a little aquarium
out in a hollow rock, and put in two or three little
fishes; but they did n't thrive, for Baby Bunting
would take them out and nurse them every day,
and squeeze them affectionately in his fat little fists.
But speaking about the boat makes me think of
the first scrape we got into; and it was a scrape, I
tell you. Everybody was scared 'most to death for
a while. This is the way it happened:
Aunt Maria said, the day before Hal's birthday,
that we should have a huckleberry pudding next
day for dinner if we would go and pick the berries.
Of course we were glad enough to do that; so,





in the afternoon, Hal and Susy and I set out to go
to the hills. But, after we had gone about half a
mile, Hal stopped, all of a sudden, and said he
remembered seeing lots of huckleberries over on
Crow Island, and we 'd better go there.
Crow Island is the biggest island in the lake, and
it got its name from always having flocks of crows
flying and cawing 'round it.
We thought it would be ever so much more fun to
go to the island; so we got the Undine and rowed
over. We found lots of berries, and picked our
baskets heaping full. It was nearly sundown when
we started to come home. We were just getting
into the boat, when Susy pointed to a large pine
tree, not far away, in which the crows were making
a great noise. We went 'round to see what it was,
and discovered a big crow's nest near the top.
I '11 bet there are some young ones up there "
I said.
Come on, let 's go up, then cried Hal. It
would be such fun to have a young crow; we 'd
teach him to talk."
Without another word we both started up the
tree; it was pretty hard climbing, and when we
got about half way up the old crows began making
a horrible noise over our heads. But we climbed
on, up and up, until we were within reach of the
nest. There it was, sure enough, so full of young
birds that it was a wonder some of them did n't
tumble out.
The old crows made a great fight, and darted
right at our faces. Hal said he was afraid they 'd
pick out our eyes; and so was I. Worse than that,
we were up so very high that I was dizzy and my
knees shook like everything. I kept hold, though,
like grim Death. Hal shouted:
Brace right up, now, and don't go flunking "
And I did n't. He kept the old ones off by
fighting them with his hat, while I grabbed a fine
young crow, and we scrambled down. I did n't,
dare to look below, for I thought I should fall
every minute ; and that young varmint of a crow -
my goodness, did n't he caw and kick, though!
He opened his mouth as if he were going to swal-
low me, tree and all. He knew he was being kid-
napped, I can tell you.
But Hal and I did n't feel guilty, for we knew we
were going to civilize that crow, and give him the
advantage of an education; and then, if he wanted
to, he could go back as a missionary to the other
crows, you know. Any way, we got down with
him all right, and now begins the scrape.
Just as we reached the ground we heard a
cry from Susy. We ran toward the lake, and
what do you think? There was the boat, with
Susy in it, out in the deep water, half a dozen rods
from the shore, and Susy herself, with one of the

oars, was paddling for dear life, and all the time
only making the boat go 'round and 'round in a
circle She was so scared, when she first found
herself floating away from shore, that she had lost
overboard the other oar.
This was a pretty pickle; for Hal and I could
only swim a few strokes then, and of course we
could n't go 'way out there in that deep water. We
made believe not to be scared, but we were; for the
night was coming on, and we were left alone upon
the island without any way of getting off. And
there was the boat, with poor Susy in it, crying as
if her heart would break, floating off toward the
farther end of the lake, from which she would have
to walk miles and miles through the woods to get
home. Besides all that, we knew Aunt Maria
would be frightened within an inch of her life.
We shouted to Susy not to be afraid, but to sit
still in the boat, and she would float ashore; and
then Hal and I began calling and shouting and
hooting, in the hope that somebody would hear us.
And soon we were both as hoarse as frogs. But of
course Aunt Maria thought we had gone toward
the mountain, and she would hunt in that direction
first, when she missed us.
But all this time poor Susy kept floating farther
and farther off, until she looked like a big speck on
the water, and the light was fading fast.
At last, we saw somebody moving on the shore.
We both tried to shout, but we were too hoarse to
shout loudly.
Then what do you s'pose we did?-why, Hal
stripped off his shirt, and we tied it to a tall pole
by the sleeves, so as to make a white 1- ; ; and we
waved it back and forth, taking turns at it, until
our arms ached.
Pretty soon we heard a voice calling. We tried
to answer, but we could n't make much of a noise;
so we kept on waving the shirt.
By and by the voice came nearer, but the even-
ing was becoming so dark that we could n't see
anything plainly. In a few minutes we heard the
splashing of oars, and then came Bo's'n's voice
calling us by name. We managed to make him
hear us this time; and, when he came up to the
rock where we were, we both leaped into the boat
and almost hugged him, we were so glad. He had
brought along Tearer, Hal's dog, who nearly ate us
up with delight, just as if he understood all about
the scrape we had been in.
When we told Bo's'n about Susy, he seemed a
little scared at first; but in a minute he said:
Never you fear, she 's all right; we '11 git her-
but we must give your ma the signal first; she 's
over there on the shore, an' she 's e'en a'most crazy.
I told her, ef 't was all right I 'd signal."
And striking a match as he spoke, he lighted a



lantern in the bottom of the boat and swung it
'round his head three times.
"There; that '11 ease her mind, I reckon, an'
now we '11 go after the little one !"
With that, he just "lay to" the oars, as he called
it, and made the boat almost fly through the water

in the direction we showed him. Now and then he
stopped and wet his finger, and stuck it up in the
air to see which way the wind blew. Then he would
change his course and row harder than before. Hal
and I were so anxious, that we did n't say much;
but we kept a sharp lookout, and every now and
then I swung the lantern. It seemed as if Bo's'n
had rowed a tremendous distance, and that he never

would reach the other end of the lake. We thought
he had made a mistake in changing his course,
but he only said:
"Now, you jest leave this 'ere to me, boys; you
jest leave this 'ere to me."
By and by, we saw the dark shadow of the woods
on shore. We all shouted:
"Susy! Susy!"
But not a sound came back excepting a kind of
echo from the woods. I kept swinging the lantern
all the time, Hal was frightened nearly out of his
wits, and Tearer barked like a good fellow.
Hal and I were going to get out, but Bo's'n
stopped us. He said we could hunt better in the
boat than on shore.
Then he rowed along shore, keeping well in,
and pretty soon we saw some object in the bushes.
We rowed up, and there, sure enough, was the
"Undine," but -she was empty !
Oh, how scared Hal and I were! We could
hardly breathe at first, and I felt all kind of hol-
low inside. We thought Susy was drowned, but
Bo's'n kept saying:
Don't you be scared a bit; set right still here
in the boat I 'll find her."
He jumped out, and called the dog. Tearer
went bounding into the woods, and we could hear
him, for a little while, racing back and forth, this
way and that, trying to find the scent. In a few
minutes the sound of Bo's'n's footsteps and the
barking both died away, and it was terribly still
and dark and lonely.
We waited and waited and waited, it seemed
as if 't was almost a year, and by and by, after a
long, long time, we heard a shout; then Tearer's
bark; then- the crackling of the bushes, and
pretty soon out came Bo's'n with Susy in his arms.
He came right on board, took off his coat and
wrapped her in it, and put her down on the seat
between Hal and me.
She acted in a very funny way, at first; she
laughed one minute and she cried the next, her
teeth chattered, and she shivered all over. Bo's'n
said he guessed she'd got "the histrikes" slightly,
but she 'd get over them quick enough when she
got back to her ma.
We did n't lose much time in getting home, you
can imagine, and there was poor Aunt Maria
waiting on the shore in the greatest fright. I ex-
pected she would scold Hal and me, but she
did n't; she hugged us and kissed us and called
us her dear children, and took us home and gave
us a splendid supper, and was as kind as ever she
could be. And she has never said a word about
it since, nor forbidden us to go again, nor any-
thing of the sort.
And I guess that was the best way, for Hal and




I felt as bad as we could, any way, and I think it
would have been a sort of relief to be scolded. In-
stead of that, Aunt Maria was so awful good to us
that it cut us up worse than ever.
And that was our first regular scrape, but I for-
got to tell one thing. After we had reached home
and we stood shivering around the fire, Aunt
Maria said to me suddenly:
"Why, my dear, what 's that you have in your
I looked down, and there was the poor little crow
which I had tied up in my handkerchief and carried
all the time, without ever knowing it. He was all
alive and well, in spite of what he had been through.
We called him "Jim," in honor of the renowned
"Jim Crow." We taught him a good many tricks
and he grew up to be a wonderful bird-I wish I
had time to tell you some of the funny things he



Now I must tell you about our trip up the
mountain, for that was rather an exciting event;
at least, we thought so.
We had been waiting ever so long to go, so, at
last, Aunt Maria said one evening that we should
start the next morning. It was a splendid day. We
had an early breakfast. Aunt Maria packed a big
basket with luncheon, and Bo's'n drove us over to
the Mountain House, a hotel right at the foot of
the mountain, where we left the carriage.
There was a good path, so we thought there was
no danger of losing the way, and it was easy going,
at first. Bo's'n carried Baby Bunting, and Hal and
I carried the hamper. But, pretty soon, the way
became steeper, and it got to be awfully hot. We
all sat down in a shady place to get cool. We were
so thirsty that we almost choked. While we sat
there groaning for a drink, all at once Tearer, who
had been dashing about in the woods, came rush-
ing up to us.
"There! There! See that! He's found it!"
shouted Bo's'n, and pointed at Tearer's feet.
We looked, and, sure enough, his feet were all
wet. Then Hall and I jumped up, took a pail and
went hunting about in the woods with him; and
there, about half a dozen rods from the path, we
found a splendid brook.
The water was as cold as ice and as clear as
crystal. We took back a pail of it. Aunt Maria
said it was the best water she had ever tasted, and
that we must stop there on the way down, to get
another drink.
Now, just that one remark of Aunt Maria's was

the cause of all the trouble that happened to us,
and a pretty muddle it was.
We went on up to the top, and there we met a
delicious breeze, as cool as could be, and saw the
view-only there was so much of it that, of course,
we could n't half see it.
Hal said he wished he had eyes like telescopes,
and Aunt Maria said she would be a fairy god-
mother for once, and gratify his wish. Then she
smiled and said: Presto -change! and pulled
a big spy-glass out of the basket. We took turns
looking through it. It was funny to see Baby
Bunting-he always shut up the wrong eye.
By and by we had luncheon, and when we were
rested we started down. After a while, Aunt Maria
and Susy wanted to sit down. Bo's'n said he
" guessed he 'd keep right on, and have the carriage
ready for us when we got down." So off he went,
with Baby Bunting on his shoulder.
Susy became so tired that Aunt Maria had to stop
pretty often for her to rest, so Hal and I ran ahead.
When we came to the place where the spring was,
we remembered what Aunt Maria had said, so we
struck into the woods to go over there, thinking
she would stop when they came along.
Hal and I took a drink, and then went to work
building a little dam, expecting every minute to
hear Aunt Maria. We waited ever so long and did
n't hear her, and so we filled our pail and came out
upon the path. Aunt and Susy were n't there, and
so we sat down and waited another long while, but
still they did n't come. Then we thought perhaps
they had gone past, and we hurried on.
After we 'd gone about half a mile, we found
in the path a whistle that I had made for Susy;
then we knew they must be ahead, and ran as fast
as we could to catch them.
Pretty soon, we came to a place where the path
branched off in two directions, which we had n't
noticed in going up. Hal and I took the left-hand
path, which turned out to be right. We hurried
down to the hotel, and there was Bo's'n and baby
sitting in the carriage, but they had n't seen a sign
of Aunt Maria. Then we knew right off that they
must have taken the wrong path and gone astray.
We did n't wait a minute, but just turned 'round
and cut right back. It was a pretty good distance,
but it did n't take us long. It 's funny that we
did n't think of taking Tearer," but we did n't;
we left him behind in the carriage. We ran along
the right-hand path, calling and whistling as loudly
as we could, until pretty soon the path branched
off again. Then we did n't know what to do. At
last we agreed that Hal should go one way and I
the other, and come back to that spot to meet.
And now the muddle begins: Aunt Maria and
Susy came out upon some road at the foot of the




mountain, where they met a farmer driving along
in an old-fashioned wagon, and he told them they
were several miles away from the hotel, so they
hired him to drive them around.
But, meantime, Bo's'n thought something must
have happened to us, and so he tied the horse and
left Baby Bunting in the carriage, with Tearer to
watch him, and he started off up the mountain to
find us.
Then Baby Bunting got lonesome without any of
us, and he got out of the carriage and went wan-
dering about, crying, until a lady found him and
took him up to her room at the hotel; but all he
could tell was that his name was Baby Bunting,
and he lived on "The Extra Train"-which
was n't very clear to the lady.
Then Aunt Maria drove up and found the empty
carriage, and was dreadfully frightened. She asked
if anybody had seen a small child and a man and
two boys. Nobody had seen the two boys and the
child, but a man told her that he had seen
Bo's'n get out of the carriage and start off up
the mountain a few minutes before. Then Aunt
Maria hired the man to go with her, and she
started off up the mountain again.
Now to come back to myself: After I had followed
my path a long way, and found it end in a swamp,
I went back to wait for Hal at the spot appointed.
He did n't come, but while I was waiting, Bo's'n
came up and found me; we stuck a note into the
tree for Hal and started back. We met Aunt
Maria and the man. Then Aunt Maria and I went
back toward the carriage, and sent Bo's'n and the
man to find Hal.
After Bo's'n had told Aunt Maria that he had
left Baby Bunting in the carriage alone, you can
imagine she did n't think of anything but finding
the Baby. We ran 'most all the way back. And
then, lo and behold Susy was gone, too Aunt
Maria had left her in the carriage and charged her
not to stir.
It seemed as if everybody was bewitched.
I thought Aunt Maria would faint away, she was
so tired and excited. But it turned out all right:
somebody had told Susy that her little brother was
in the hotel, and she had gone in to see; and while
Aunt Maria stood there so bewildered, they both
came out on the piazza, and how they did run when
they saw her!
Then I wanted to go off after Bo's'n and Hal,
but Aunt Maria would n't let me. She said she
had had Box-and-Cox enough. So we got into the
carriage and waited; and pretty soon up came
Hal from just the opposite direction that we ex-
pected, and after a long time poor Bo's'n came
back with Tearer; and how he did grin when he
saw us all seated in the carriage.

It was long after dark when we got back to The
Extra Train," and found the two servant girls
scared half to death at being left alone. And what
do you think they said ? Why, that Uncle Joe had
come home and got alarmed about us, and he had
started off toward the mountain to find us. Aunt
Maria dropped into a chair and gasped out:
Oh, dear, this caps the climax "
Bo's'n stood there looking dreadfully sorry for
a minute; then all at once he brightened up and
"I've got it! I '11 fetch him; never you fear,
marm! "
Then he ran out to the stable. Hal and I won-
dered what he was going to do, but we were so tired
we did n't follow.
In a minute there was a tremendous rushing
noise outside, and we ran to the window and saw
what it was.
Bo's'n had set off a sky-rocket!
We had a half-dozen left from the "Fourth,"
and Bo's'n set off three--one after another.
Sure enough, it did the business! Uncle Joe
saw them, and knew we must have got home
and that the signal was meant for him, so he
came hurrying back, just in time to eat supper
with us.
Aunt Maria said it seemed as if she was never
so glad in her life, and that she had had enough
of ci, o..i. mountains; that mountains were
made to look at, but not to climb.



THE days went by, and we had lived a good
while without anybody having come near us, so we
never thought of there being any danger. We
had no neighbors, you know, and folks could n't
see us from the road. We were so hidden among
the trees that they never suspected any one was
living there. We used to play all around where
we liked, and Aunt Maria used to go away to
spend the day whenever she wanted, without wor-
rying about us.
But at last we had our eyes opened. We had
a visit that we did n't forget. Hal and I used to
read Walter Scott's novels, and wished there were
castles nowadays and we could be in one just once,
when it was besieged. We never thought our
wishes would be granted. But they were. And
this is the way it happened:
One fine day, just after dinner, Aunt Maria took
Susy and started off for a town seven or eight
miles away, to do some shopping. Bo's'n went
with them to drive. The two servant girls had




done up their work and gone off for a walk in the
woods. Hal and I were out in the field. I was
painting the hull of a little ship we had been
making for Baby Bunting, and Hal was fixing the
rigging in a way that Bo's'n had showed him.
Baby was inside, taking his afternoon nap on the
parlor sofa, and Tearer was lying on the floor by
his side.
It was just as still as it could be. The birds had
stopped singing, because it was so warm, and
there was n't any noise except the rustling of the
trees and now and then a squirrel whistling in
the woods.
All at once, Hal started up and said:
"What 's that ? "
We listened, and heard a furious crackling of
dead branches in the woods, as if some one was
running, and in a minute more out rushed our two
girls, with their faces as white as a sheet. Hal and
I sprang up and asked what was the matter.
They could scarcely speak, at first, but they man-
aged to stammer out:
"Ugh, ugh! Run, Misther Hal! Run, both
o' yees "
What is it?"
"Oh, they 're coming They'll kill us-they '11
murther us, and ate us "
Who? "
Thim wild Injuns ;-the woods is full of 'em !
Quick! quick! Get into the kairs, like foine byes,
now-they wont lave a stitch of flesh on yer
bones, av they onct lay hands on yees! "
Hal and I began to laugh at this wild story, but
just then there was a sound of trampling in
the woods, coming toward us, and we scrambled
into the cars. Hal darted into the kitchen after the
girls, and I was going to follow, but I happened to
think of Baby Bunting, and rushed into the par-
Luckily, the two other cars were well locked. The
girls always locked up the dining-room, between
meals, on account of the silver, and Aunt Maria
had locked "the sleeper" before she went.
As soon as I had got in and locked both doors of
the car, I stuck my head out of the window to see
what it was. But I popped it in again as quick as
a flash; for there, close to us, was a party of
rough-looking men coming through the trees.
Then I ran and pulled down all the blinds, so that
they could n't see into the car.
They came up and stared and stared all 'round
"The Extra Train." They could n't make it out.
I could see them, as plain as could be, through the
shutters. They were about as dark as Indians, but
they were n't Indians. I did n't know what they
were until I thought all at once of what Bo's'n
had said about there being a party of Canadians

encamped somewhere about the lake. 1 knew
then it must be they.
They were rough, loaferish men, and I did n't
like the looks of them at all. I wished I were in
the same car with Hal. I wondered what he was
doing. All the time, though, I kept a sharp watch
on the Canadians. There were three middle-aged
men and one young man.
Pretty soon they came up the steps and tried the
door. Tearer jumped up; I grabbed him and
stuffed my cap in his mouth to keep him from
barking. But he is n't a barking dog. He
does n't usually waste breath in barking; but
when there 's any danger he takes right hold.
And so, when I saw him get up and go to the door
and stand there so still, with the shaggy hair brist-
ling up all over his neck, I did n't feel quite so
The Canadians tried hard to get in. They
shook the door; they dashed against it and they
tried their best; but it was too strong for them.
Then they went around and clambered up to look
i.i..u _1, the windows; but the blinds were shut, so
they could n't see anything. I kept whispering to
Tearer all the time, to keep him from growling. I
thought perhaps if they did n't hear nor see any-
body they might go away.
All at once the fellow at the window up with his
fist and hit the pane a rousing crack. It was very
thick glass and it did n't break, but I knew it
would n't stand many such knocks as that. Just
as he lifted up his fist to strike again, and I began
to wonder what I should do, there was the sound
of a gun, and the man jumped down to the ground
like lightning.
I knew in a minute it was Hal, and I wanted to
hurrah and clap my hands. He had opened the
window and fired his shot-gun. I guess the
Canadians were well scared, for they ran up to my
end of the train, all four of them, and stood there
under my windows, jabbering a lot of gibberish and
looking around with an ugly scowl.
Just then I happened to see our little brass
cannon under a chair in the corner. I knew it was
loaded; we always kept it loaded-but only with
powder, of course-so as to be ready for a salute.
I picked it up, put it on a little table close to
one of the windows, raised the sash softly, and
bang/ it went, right over their heads !
I thought they would all jump out of their skins!
I giggled right out, but they did n't hear me; they
ran, as tight as they could go, across the field, over
by the stable, and hid in the bushes.
The cannon waked Baby Bunting, and he began
to cry. I had to quiet him, and by that time the
Canadians had rallied, and began to throw big
stones to break the glass.




Crash crash went two of the windows in a
twinkling. I began to be afraid again.
I saw two of them go creeping off through the
woods, and I knew they meant some mischief., I
was afraid they meant to set fire to the train.
Hal shot off his gun again, but I had no more
The Canadians kept well behind the trees, which
showed they were afraid; but now and then one
threw a stone. Luckily, they were a good way off.
At last, when I was just beginning to hope they
had got tired and gone away, I heard a queer little
noise under the train. In a minute more, we
began to move. Then I knew what they had
done: they had taken the blocks away from the
wheels and pushed until they had set the car in
motion. I was awfully scared at this; for it was a
down grade clear to the main track, and. if the
train once got going I knew we could never stop it.
Besides, it .was 'most time for the regular express
up-train, which would surely run into us and smash
us all to atoms.

back, and there were two of the Canadians running
across the field with Tearer at their heels. They
disappeared in the woods. Hal loaded his gun
with some more powder, and we went across toward
the stable.
Somehow we were n't so afraid now we had
seen them run.
We heard a tremendous tussle going on in the
woods. We hurried up, and when we got into the
edge of the woods we found that Tearer had put
the whole of them to flight!
He had seized one by the coat-tail, and the fellow
just slipped out of the coat and ran for his life.
Then Tearer pulled another down, and was just
going to spring upon him, when another Canadian
came up with a big club and cracked Tearer over
the head.
Then Tearer turned upon him, and the first one
got up and ran like a deer. The fellow with the
club fought like a tiger for a few minutes, but at
last he dropped his stick and darted up a tree.
Tearer flew after him, growling furiously, but the


That made me really desperate. I did n't wait
another instant, but opened the door and sprang
out on the platform, yelling like a Mohawk. Hal
came out of his car the same minute. I set Tearer
on the Canadians and we both sprang to the brakes.
As soon as we had stopped the train we looked

Canadian managed to draw himself up to a big
limb, out of the way. Then Tearer sat down at
the foot of that tree and held him prisoner. The
fellow shouted to us, and talked a lot of gibberish,
but we could n't understand him. We went up
and patted Tearer on the head and pointed to the




man, and told him not to let his prisoner escape,
and we knew he would n't.
When we got back to the train, there was the
carriage, and there was Aunt Maria hugging Baby
Bunting and listening to the story which the two
girls were telling of the "wild Injuns."
Hal and I made believe 't was n't much of any-
thing, so as not to scare Aunt Maria; but we told
Bo's'n about the man in the tree, and he slipped
out there to look at him, as soon as he had put up
the horse. He patted Tearer, and nodded his
head, and muttered:
We 've got you trapped, my fine feller !"
We expected Uncle Joe early that afternoon, and
he came just at sundown. We took him out to the
barn and told him all about the whole affair, and
how the tramp was "treed."
Uncle Joe flared up like gunpowder. He said
things had come to a pretty pass if folks could n't
be safe from savages in New England, by this time.
He said he would send those fellows packing that
very night, and told Bo's'n to harness up the horse
right away.
Then he went out into the woods where Tearer
was still keeping the man prisoner in the tree.
Uncle Joe called the dog off, and told the man to
come down.
At first the man was n't going to, but Uncle Joe
has an air of authority about him,-he is used to
commanding men,-and he put on a stern look
which the man did n't dare disobey. So at last he
came sneaking down, and Uncle Joe marched him
back to the stable, and made him get into the
wagon. Then Uncle Joe got in, took the reins, and
drove away.
It was about an hour before dark. They drove
a couple of miles over to where one of the select-
men of the town lived.
Uncle Joe got him, and then they went and
hunted up the Canadians in their camp down by
the lake, made them pack up their duds in their
old tumble-down wagons, and clear off out of the
town. Uncle Joe and the selectman followed them
for several miles and threatened to arrest them if
they were ever seen in those parts again.

And now my story draws to a close. There are
a great many things more I should like to tell, but
I guess you must be tired by this time. The
summer was 'most gone, and there'were only a few
more days left of vacation-but I must tell you
about the end of it, for that was real funny-the
funniest of the whole, I think, and makes it all
seem now, to look back upon, almost like a fairy
We had had a splendid time. We were awfully
sorry to go home; we knew, of course, we should
VOL. IX.-45.


have to go pretty soon, but we did n't ask any
questions-we did n't like to think about it. Uncle
Joe and Aunt Maria had n't said anything, either,
but at last, one evening,-it was Friday night, I
remember,-Uncle Joe went out to the door,
about nine o'clock, and came back pretty soon
saying he guessed it was going to rain, and we 'd
better get our playthings in.
We were in the midst of a game of "Logom-
achy," 'round the parlor table; but we jumped
up and went out, and got in all our traps. It was
real cloudy, and we thought Uncle Joe was right



about the rain, and never suspected anything, but
went to bed as innocent as lambs.
But were n't we astonished in the morning,
though? I waked up pretty early; I had been
having dreams of rolling off a precipice and flying
through the air, and lots of disagreeable things. I
went to the window and looked out, rubbed my
eyes, looked again, turned around and stared at
Hal, rubbed my head, looked again, and finally
roared out to Hal to get up and see what under the
sun was the matter. He came to the window and
rubbed his eyes.
What do you suppose it was? Why, the lake
was gone, the mountain had disappeared, and there
we were standing in the midst of a strange town.
Finally, Aunt Maria came in laughing, and told
us we were half way home: that Uncle Joe had
ordered a locomotive to come up on purpose to
take us, that we had started very early so as not

to interfere with the regular trains, that we were
"watering up," now, and should go on in a min-
ute, and, finally, that it was time for us to get up,
for breakfast was almost ready.
We hurried, and were -ready in less than no
time. It seemed queer enough to be sitting there,
the whole family about the breakfast-table, as com-
fortable as could be, while the cars were flying
along like the wind.
When we arrived at our own station and got up
to go, it almost seemed like leaving home. We
all felt rather down in the mouth, I guess; but,
just as we alighted on the platform, something hap-
pened that made us all laugh.
A man with a big carpet-bag, bundle, and um-
brella came rushing up to Uncle Joe, all out of
breath, and asked: "What train is this? "
"This," said Uncle Joe, with a twinkle in his
eye, "this, sir, is 'The Extra Train.' "



"At the battle of Jena, when the Prussian army was routed, the Queen, mounted on a superb charger, remained
on the field attended by three or four of her escort. A band of hussars seeing her, rushed forward at full gallop,
and with drawn swords dispersed the little group, and pursued her all the way to Weimar. Had not the horse
which her majesty rode possessed the fleetness of a stag, the fair Queen would infallibly have been captured."

FAIR Queen, away! To thy charger speak-
A band of hussars thy capture seek.
Oh, haste escape they are riding this way.
Speak speak to thy charger without delay;
They 're nigh.
Behold! They come at a break-neck pace-
A smile triumphant illumes each face.
Queen of the Prussians, now for a race--
To Weimar for safety-fly!

She turned, and her steed with a furious dash--
Over the field like the lightning's flash--
Away, like an arrow from steel cross-bow,
Over hill and dale in the sun's fierce glow,
The Queen and her enemies thundering go-
On toward Weimar they sped.

The royal courser is swift and brave,
And his royal rider he strives to save-
But no !

" Vive l'empereur! rings sharp and clear;
She turns and is startled to see them so near,
Then softly speaks in her charger's ear
And away he bounds like a roe.

He speeds as tho' on the wings of the wind.
The Queen's pursuers are left behind.
No more
She fears, tho' each trooper grasps his reins,
Stands up in his stirrups, strikes spurs, and strains,
For ride as they may, her steed still gains
And Weimar is just before.

Safe 1 The clatter now fainter grows;
She sees in the distance her laboring foes.
The gates of the fortress stand open wide
To welcome the German nation's bride
So dear.
With gallop and dash, into Weimar she goes,
And the gates at once on her enemies close.
Give thanks, give thanks She is safe with those
Who hail her with cheer on cheer!






THERE was a Sultan of the East
Who used to ride a stubborn beast;
A marvel of the donkey-kind,
That much perplexed his owner's mind.

The beast was measured o'er with care;
They proved him by the plumb and square,
The compass to his ribs applied,
And every joint by rule was tried;

By turns he moved a rod ahead,
Then backed a rod or so instead.
And thus the day would pass around,
The Sultan gaining little ground.
The servants on before would stray
And pitch their tents beside the way,
And pass the time as best they might
Until their master hove in sight.
The Sultan many methods tried:
He clicked and coaxed and spurs applied,
And stripped a dozen trees, at least,
Of branches, to persuade the beast.
But all his efforts went for naught;
No reformation could be wrought.
At length, before the palace gate
He called the wise men of the state,
And bade them now their skill display
By finding where the trouble lay.

With solemn looks and thoughts profound,
The men of learning gathered round.

But nothing could the doctors find
.To prove he differed from his kind.
Said they: "Your Highness! It appears
The beast is sound from hoof to ears;




, ^ V




U ;i~'
Qi :





ONE of the most clearly marked differences be-
tween man and the brute beasts lies in the fact
that with his own unaided strength man is seldom
able to take the life of his fellow-beings. Conse-
quently, when we wish to put ourselves upon a level
with the tiger and the wolf, and to qualify ourselves
for the shedding of blood and the taking of life,
we are obliged to find some other weapons than
those nature has given us. Here and there may be
a man who can kill another man by the exertion of
his unassisted strength, but it is very seldom indeed
that human life is taken by human beings without
the use of an artificial weapon.
The first weapon used by man was probably a
club; and it is also likely that in time this was
made of very hard wood, and somewhat sharpened
on one or more sides, so as to inflict a more deadly
wound. Wooden weapons of this kind are now in
use by some savage races. Then it was found that
more effective weapons of the sort could be made
of a harder substance, and short, unwieldy swords
were hewn out of stone, very much as our Indians

made their arrow-heads of flint. But a sword of
this kind, although a terrible weapon in the hands
of a strong man, was brittle and apt to break; and
so, in time, when the use and value of metals came
to be understood, swords were made of these sub-
stances. The early Romans, and some other na-
tions, had strong, heavy swords made of bronze.
But when iron and steel came into use, it was
quickly perceived that they were the metals of which
offensive weapons should be made.
Thus it may be seen that the sword was one of
the first weapons made by man; and, in time, it
became the most important arm and auxiliary of
By a careful study of the form and use of the
sword, from its first invention until the present time,
we may get a good idea of the manner in which, in
various ages, military operations were carried on.
At first, men fought at close quarters, like the beasts
they imitated. They struggled hand to hand, and
with their short swords they banged and whacked
at each other with all the fury and strength they






N1:1 1


Yr -

~ ,



possessed. But as the arts of warfare began to be
improved, and as civilization and enlightenment
progressed, men seemed anxious to get farther and
farther away from one another when they fought,
and so the sword gradually became longer and
longer, until, in the Middle Ages, a man's sword
was sometimes as long as himself.
But there is a limit to this sort of thing, ana
when the use of projectiles which would kill at a
great distance became general, it was found that a
soldier was seldom near enough to his enemy to
reach him with his sword; and so this weapon
gradually fell into disfavor, until, at the present
day, it is seldom used in actual warfare except by
cavalrymen, and these frequently depend as much
on the fire-arms they carry as upon their sabers.
It is said that cavalry charges, in which the swords
of the riders are depended upon to rout the enemy,
do not frequently occur in the warfare of the
present day; and those naval battles of which we
all have read, where the opposing ships are run
side by side, and the sailors of one, cutlass in hand,
spring upon the deck of the other, and engage in
a hand to hand fight, are now seldom heard of.
Our iron-clad ships fire at one another from a great
distance, or one of them comes smashing into an-
other with its terrible steel ram; and a sword would
be a very useless thing to a modern sailor. Our
armies lie a mile or two apart, and pop at each
other with long-range rifles and heavy cannon, and
to the great body of the opposing forces swords
would be only an incumbrance. Even bayonets,
which may be considered a sort of sword, though
they more nearly resemble the lance, are not so
much used as formerly in actual warfare.
The officers, even in the infantry service, now
wear swords, but these are merely insignia of
rank, and are seldom used to fight with; and,
indeed, I have heard that it is not considered
proper for an officer to have his sword sharp, be-
cause, when using it in marshaling and leading his
men, he might accidentally hurt some of his com-
Swords have been made in so many different
forms, on account of the various methods in which
they have been used and the widely differing
tastes of the people making and using them, that
a description of all the different kinds of swords
with which we are acquainted would cover a great
deal of printed space. Some of the more distinct-
ive forms of the weapon, however, are shown in
the illustrations to this article.
First we see the short, bronze sword, used by the
early Romans before they knew how much harder
and better a weapon could be made of steel or
even iron. There was also a longer, bronze sword
with a formidable sharp point, but a very awkward

handle. After the Romans made much better
swords, they still preferred the short, thick form,
although a longer weapon was sometimes used.
The most usual form of the ancient Roman
sword is seen in the picture of the sword of
Hadrian. These blunt, heavy weapons were
employed in hand to hand conflicts, and their
blows were warded off by stout shields or bucklers,
which the warriors wore upon their left arms. The
sword of the fourteenth century, which is shown
in the next illustration, though in some respects
more clumsy than the Roman sword, is longer,
which shows that fighting men had already begun
to get farther away from one another.
The claymore, once famous in Scottish history,
was a very long sword, with a hilt so large that it
could be grasped by both the hands of the warrior
who wielded it, and when this tremendous weapon
was swung around by any of the brave

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,"

there was every reason for the opposing soldiers to
want to get as far away as possible. Long, two-
handed swords were in use in various parts of
Europe during the Middle Ages, but it is from Scot-
land that we have heard the most about them.
Andrea Ferrara, who was born about the middle
of the sixteenth century, was a celebrated Italian
armorer, and he made swords which were well
known throughout Europe for the fineness of their
temper and the beauty of their ornamentation.
The hilt of the Ferrara sword shown in Figure 7 is
of a rather curious form, although not very elabor-
ate. But some of the swords made about this
period for the rich knights and nobles who de-
lighted in elegant armor and handsome as well
as useful arms, were very elaborately ornamented,
the hilts often being of complicated and artistic
In Eastern countries, also, the ornamentation of
swords was carried to a great extent. The East
Indian saber, or Tulwar, shown in the illustration,
has a neat and pretty hilt, while the East Indian
scimitar is more highly and artistically ornamented.
The Malabar sword is a simple weapon, but very
broad at the end, and apparently intended to be
used more as a hatchet than as a sword. The East
Indian cutlass, or Polygars knife, is a weapon of
somewhat similar shape, although not so blunt at
the end. A cut from one of these heavy blades,
wielded by a quick and powerful arm, must be a
terrible thing. The modern cutlass, shown in Fig-
ure 12, page 704, was used very much in the same
manner as these East Indian weapons-that is, its
stroke was always a cut and never a thrust; but a
blow with its comparatively slight blade must have



'882.] SWORD S. 703



i and 2. Bronze Roman sword. 3. Sword of Hadrian. 4. Sword of the fourteenth century, at the British Museum. 5. Claymore.
6. Medieval two-handed sword. 7. Andrea Ferrara sword. 8. Indian saber, or Tulwar. 9. East Indian scimitar. xo. Malabar sword.


ix. East Indian cutlass, called a Polygars knife. I2. Cutlass. 13 and 14. Rapiers of the sixteenth century. 15 and x6. Swords of
the sixteenth century. 17. Italian Malchus. S1. German sword. i9. German two-handed sword. 2. Michel Angelo's sword. 21 and
22. Japanese swords.




been much less effective than one delivered with
any of the ponderous, curved weapons of the East.
From the first invention of the sword down to the
period when the fifteenth century was drawing tb a
close, this weapon had always been used as an arm
of offense. The person wielding it thrust it or
hewed it into the body of his antagonist whenever
he had a chance, and the only defense against it
was stout armor or an interposed shield. It is not to
be supposed that an ancient warrior, or one belong-
ing to the earlier Middle Ages, never thrust aside
or parried with his own blade a stroke of his enemy's
sword; but this method of defense was not depended
upon in those days; the breast-plate, the helmet, or
the buckler was expected to shield the soldier while
he was endeavoring to get his own sword into some
unprotected portion of the body of his antagonist.
But about the time of Ferdinand and Isabella of
Spain, the science of fencing was invented. This
new system of fighting gave an entirely new use to
the sword: it now became a weapon of defense as
well as offerfse. Long, slender rapiers, sharpened
only at the point, were the swords used in fencing.
Armed with one of these, a gallant knight, or high-
toned courtier, who chose the new method of single
combat, disdained the use of armor; the strokes of
his opponent were warded off by his own light
weapon, and whichever of the two contestants was
enabled to disarm the other, or to deliver a thrust
which could not be parried, could drive the sharp
point of his rapier into the body of his opponent if
he felt so inclined. The rapier, which was adapted
to combat between two persons, and not for general
warfare, soon became the weapon of the duelist;
and, as duels used to be as common as lawsuits are
now, it was thought necessary that a gentleman
should know how to fence, and thus protect the life
and honor of himself, his family, and his friends.
Swords of elaborate and wonderfully executed
hilts, like those of the sixteenth century, shown in
the cuts on page 704, excited the admiration of
lovers of art, as well as of warriors.
People who understood such things regarded
these beautiful weapons with as much interest as
we look upon any work of art of our day; and,
indeed, some of these sword-hilts were so admir-
ably executed that those which are preserved in
museums command as much admiration now as
they ever did. The blades of swords were also
sometimes beautifully ornamented, as may be seen
in the cut of the Italian "Malchus" (Figure 17).
The German sword next shown (Figure 18) exhib-
its a very artistic peculiarity of hilt.
Some of the German swords, used by the mer-
cenary soldiers in the French religious wars, were

the blade (Figure 19). These were used only by
soldiers who were uncommonly strong and skillful;
for any awkwardness on the part of a man swinging
such a tremendous blade was apt to inflict as much
injury on his companions as on the enemy. Some
of the long swords of the Middle Ages were used
more for show and ceremony than for actual serv-
ice. The sword of Edward the Third, which is
preserved in Westminster Abbey, is seven feet
long, and weighs eighteen pounds. This, it is
said, was carried before the King in processions,
and was probably never used in any other way.
But the art shown in sword-making was by no
means confined to beautiful forms and elaborate
ornamentation. The greatest skill was exercised
in the manufacture and tempering of the blade,
which, in the days when swords were not only worn
but used, was more important than any other part
of this weapon. In Europe, the sword manufact-
urers of Spain first began to have a reputation for
producing work of superior quality, and the armor-
ers of Toledo stood foremost among their country-
men. A "Toledo blade" was considered to be a
weapon of great value, and, even now, when we
wish to speak of something remarkably fine-tem-
pered and sharp, we compare it to one of these
swords. The peculiarity of the Toledo blade was
not only its extreme hardness, which enabled it to
receive and retain the sharpest and most delicate
edge, but its elasticity, which allowed it to be bent
without being broken. Some of the most famous
of these swords could be bent so that the points
touched the hilts, and yet they would spring back
to a perfectly straight line. It is said that, in
Toledo, sword-blades have been seen in the cutlers'
shops coiled in boxes like watch-springs, and
although they might remain in this position for
some time, they would become perfectly straight
when taken out. Other places in Europe were
also famous for producing good swords. Many
excellent weapons were made in Italy, and Andrea
Ferrara, the Italian sword-maker, who has been
mentioned before, was better known throughout
Europe than any other of his craft. To possess
a genuine Ferrara blade was considered a great
thing by the nobles of France and England.
But it is to the East that the world owes the pro-
duction of the most finely tempered swords it has
ever seen; and the steel of Damascus has been
celebrated for many hundred years as superior to
any other metal that has ever been made into
sword-blades. Even the cutlers of Toledo doubt-
less owed their skill and knowledge to the Moors,
who brought from Damascus the art of making
blades that were as hard as diamonds, as sharp as

enormous two-handed weapons, with sharp points, razors, and as elastic as whalebone.
jagged edges, and great spikes near the base of Wonderful stories are related of these Damascus




swords. We have been told that with one of them
a full-grown sheep could be cut in half at a single
blow, a heavy iron chain could be severed without
turning the delicate edge of the sword, and a gauze
veil floating in the air could be cut through by one
gentle sweep of the glittering blade. These wonder-
ful scimitars are not manufactured now, but their


their manufacture will be attempted. We should
consider, however, that although the present age
is preeminent as an inventive and manufacturing
period, there are some things which have been pro-
duced by the ancients and the artificers of the
Middle Ages which we of the present day have
not been able to equal. It is possible, therefore,


lain d .. .. .,, i ; ,, ,'


fame has exceeded that of any other weapon of
their kind, and it is quite certain that their extraor-
dinary excellence has not been exaggerated. It
is probable that the workers in steel of the present
day might be able to discover the peculiar methods
by which the Damascus steel was made, but as
there would be little use or demand for the blades
after they had been produced, it is not likely that

that our steel-workers might never be able to make
a Damascus blade, even if they wanted to.
Some of the swords of Japan are said to possess
wonderful qualities of hardness and sharpness.
The story is told that if one of these celebrated
blades is held upright in a running stream the
leaves floating gently down with the current will
cut themselves in two when they reach the keen


edge of the sword. Samples of Japanese swords
are shown in Figures 21 and 22, on page 704.
But these Japanese swords, some of which were
held in such high esteem that they were worshiped,
and temples were built in their honor, were only
hard and sharp; they had no elasticity, they could
not bend and they might break, and in this respect
they were far inferior to the splendid scimitars of
the Moors and Saracens.
To show still further the extent to which the art
of ornamentation was carried in the manufacture
of swords, we give pictures of the hilts of some of
these weapons which are preserved in museums.
Figures 23, 24, and 25 show the sword of Gonzalvo
di Cordova, the sword of Don John, and the Mas-
caron" sword, all preserved in the Royal Armory
of Madrid; and Figure 26 represents a Spanish
sword, of very beautiful workmanship, which is to
be seen in the Artillery Museum of Paris.
Having said so much about the art of ornament-
ing and making the sword, we must add that the
literature of the weapon has been as widely extend-
ed as its use. When the story-tellers and trou-
badours of the Middle Ages told or sang about a
noble knight, his trusty sword was mentioned
almost as often as himself. In those days, many of
the swords were named, and in reading about them
you might almost suppose that they were actually
personified, and that they thought out in their own
minds, and carried into execution, the brilliant
deeds that are recorded of them. We all have
heard of King Arthur's famous sword Excalibur,"
and of the sword of Edward the Confessor, which
was called Curtana," the cutter, although we are
told it was not very sharp. But even before the
days of chivalry, the favorite swords of warriors
bore titles and names. The sword of Julius Caesar
was called "Crocea Mors "-" yellow death"; and
the four blades used by Mohammed were called
"the Trenchant," "the Beater," "the Keen,"
"the Deadly." The sword of Charlemagne, called
"Joyeuse," is famous in story.
Not only were names given to swords, but in-
scriptions intended to indicate their quality, or
the deeds they were expected to perform, were
engraved upon their blades. Some of these
were of a very vaunting and boastful spirit.
The best inscription upon a sword of which
I ever heard was one upon an old Ferrara blade,
which read thus: My value varies with the hand
that holds me." On a great many of the blades
made at Toledo was the inscription: "Do not
draw me without reason, do not sheathe me without
honor." Among the vaunting inscriptions was
this: "When this viper stings there is no cure in
any doctors' shops.'! A Sicilian sword bore the an-
nouncement: "I come," meaning, probably, that

everybody else had better go away; while a Hun-
garian sword declared: He that thinks not as
I do thinks falsely." These are but a few of the
legends by which a man's sword, in the days when
cavaliers and warriors used to do as much talking
as fighting, was made to imitate its master.
But the sword was not always used for the mere
purpose of taking human life. From its first in-
vention to the present day, it has, of course, like
every other weapon, offensive or defensive, been
mainly used in war or private quarrel, but, unlike
all other weapons, it has a dignity and a quality,
not so great now as formerly, but still recognized,
which is entirely distinct from its character as an
instrument for shedding blood. It was so long the
constant companion of rank and valor that it ac-
quired a dignity of its own. Thus the sword
was used in many ceremonies as a rep-
resentative of its owner. In England, at
t ,. p t1 ,_,. ,.1 ,, I1 .- ,t._ -, t .= .. i.1: ..f

sr .. I l' IL r1 .
C.- '. I" "11 d

I. ,..,... .,-, [_,.., i I., .t :' -". '-'-
...Ih .... : ,, i_.. -Ir-,

S '- i
I,.~ ~~I '_ttletP 1


accompanying picture is seen the ceremonial weapon
borne by the sword-bearer of the city of Exeter.
But not only did the sword represent and indi-
cate rank and high position, whether civil or mili-
tary, but it was used, and is still used in parts of
Europe, as an instrument for conferring rank.
When an English commoner is to be made a
knight, and he kneels before his sovereign as plain




Mr. Thomas Brown, the regal personage touches
him on the shoulder with the tip of a sword, and
he rises-Sir Thomas Brown. Nothing but the
sword-blade is considered adequate to confer
knighthood. A man might be touched by his
monarch with a battle-ax of solid gold, or a most
costly rifle, but he would never consider himself a
genuine knight or baronet. It is the sword alone
which is aristocratic enough to confer aristocracy.
Not alone, however, for such noble purposes has
the sword been used. In many countries, both
barbarous and civilized, it has been the weapon of
the executioner, and we read of great blades made
for this purpose, containing within them a narrow
channel in which ran a column of quicksilver.
This heavy and fluid metal, suddenly flowing from
hilt to point as the sword was swung, gave an addi-
tional impetus to the blow, and made the work of
the headsman easier and more certain. The sword
was used, too, in the bull-fights of Spain, to dis-
patch the wounded and maddened animals.

But, as we have said, such uses as these are
merely incidental, and do not detract from the
rank and character of the sword, which, although
it is not relied upon now, as formerly, in war and
combat, is yet emblematic of all that it once was.
Thus, when a general surrenders his army he hands
his sword to the commander of the conquering
forces, thereby indicating that he gives up his
power to lead his men into further combat.
It is not at all likely that cannon, pistol, gun, or
any weapon that may be invented will ever attain
the peculiar regard and high estimation in which
the sword has been held so long. A weapon which
was the personal companion of its owner, and de-
rived its greatest value from its holder's skill and
courage, was considered almost a part of the soldier
or cavalier, and with it he often carved his way to
fortune or to fame.
But in our times, fame and fortune are seldom
won, even in military life, by mere hewing and
stabbing. The palmy days of the sword are over.

*-- ii I -:-.--- ,* 2 --
* I'. *A' C


. j .p _


I i-ir '. is a fair maid named Louise,
\Vi-... I... handy-work, painted a frieze;
If1, room was quite big,
i:li she cared not a fig!
I .1i -. ail.us, aesthetic Louise.

1;.i, l..:, for the Lady Louise,-
\V'.i. .. ked at her task by degrees,-
I I.:- style of that day
i-i ,d long passed away
E -l.: '.1 come to the end of her frieze!

S k':. 11 r ie, to the group at her knees
' I ilr .:-i .!idchildren whom she would please)
-h:. said: "'T will improve it,
I 'n sure, to remove it,"-
A.- -I .'- was the end of her frieze!




, 1,


NICK TWEEDLE sat astride the hen-house, whit-
tling. The roof of the hen-house could not be said
to afford a comfortable seat, especially in the posi-
tion which Nick always chose; but it was a retired
spot, and therefore suited to meditation, and Nick's
mind was so absorbed that he thought little of his
bodily comfort; besides, he liked to get astride
the hen-house when he wanted to form a very
brilliant plan, because it suggested being on a
horse's back, and gave him a sense of courage and
He could n't be on a horse's back, because Aunt
Jane did n't believe in boys riding horseback. The
very worst thing about Aunt Jane was her skepti-
cism; there were so many things that she did n't
believe in.
She did n't believe in two pieces of pie.
She did n't believe in swapping jack-knives.
She did ri't believe in circuses.
She did n't believe in dogs.
She did n't believe in guns.
She did n't believe in playing all day on Saturday.
She did n't believe in camping out.
She did n't believe in playing Indian, and would
n't let Tommy be scalped.
She did n't believe in base-ball.
She did n't believe in carrying jam-tarts and
pickles to bed.
She did n't believe in making a noise.
She did n't believe in leaving things 'round.
She did n't believe in red-headed boys, any way.
When she expressed that last sentiment, as she
did very often, Nick found it hard not to regard it
as personal; for his hair was undeniably red-so
red that people were always making unpleasant
jokes about its being a beacon light on the top of
Tweedle's hill, and the men who lounged in the
village store pretended to light their pipes by it.
Perhaps Aunt Jane "did n't mean .:i. Hi_.," as
his father always assured him, but Nick thought it
was a little singular that it never happened to be
light-haired boys, nor brown-haired boys, nor black-
haired boys that she did n't believe in.
She did n't believe in tearing trousers, nor being
forgetful, either. In fact, Nick was of the opinion
that a list of her unbeliefs would be longer than the
catechism that he had to say in Sunday-school.
To-day, Nick had planned to go fishing with Jack
Deering; they were going to Lazy Brook, where, as
Jack declared, the trout were so thick and so will-
ing to be caught that they would "peek out and

wink at you," and Aunt Jane had commanded him
to stay at home and weed the garden, because she
did n't believe in going fishing.
And Nick had made up his mind that there were
some things that no boy could endure.
He had fully determined to run away.
Just how and where to go were the subjects to
which he was now giving his attention. Although
he sat astride the hen-house and whittled, no brill-
iant ideas seemed to come.
Nick did n't want to do anything commonplace;
he was convinced that he had uncommon talents.
He had thought of running away to sea, but three
boys from the village had already done that, and
so it seemed rather tame. Besides, Dick Harris,
who had come home, darkly hinted that there was
more hard work than fun about it, and it was a
peculiarity of Nick's that he liked fun better than
hard work.
Jacob, their hired man, had secured a position in
a menagerie to educate a whale. That was an oc-
cupation that would just suit himself, Nick thought,
but from inquiries that he had made he judged
that whale educators were not in great demand.
Not everybody was as lucky as Jacob-though
Aunt Jane thought he had better have staid on
the farm, and said she did n't believe in menageries
nor whales.
Another thing that Nick wanted was to be a
magician and take a cat and three kittens out of a
hat that would n't begin to hold them, but he did
n't know just where he could go to learn the busi-
ness. His father could not tell him, and as for Aunt
Jane, she did n't believe in magicians.
He had thought somewhat of joining an Arctic
exploring expedition, until he read that the pro-
visions almost always gave out; Nick never thought
there was much fun where there was n't plenty to
eat, and he read a list of the supplies that were
usually taken, and found no mention of pies. After
that he went over to Aunt Jane's way of thinking,
and. did n't believe in Arctic exploring expeditions.
He had intended to invent a telephone which
should be so superior to those already in use that,
instead of merely transmitting the sound of voices,
it should do the talking all by itself. But he had
not succeeded as yet, and it would hardly be pru-
dent to run away from home trusting to that as a
means of support, although, once out of Aunt
Jane's reach, his chance of success would be much
better, for he had no opportunity to experiment







now, because she did n't believe in telephones.
Another plan that occurred to him was to ride
around the world on a bicycle. He thought that
by the time he got to Kamtchatka he might make
money by exhibiting himself, as it was quite prob-
able that they did n't have bicycles there; but there
was a difficulty in the way-it would take money to
get as far as Kamtchatka, even on a bicycle. A boy
might possibly endure to sleep out-of-doors with
only ambition to keep him warm, but Nick was of
the opinion that ambition would never keep a boy
with a big appetite from being hungry.
It is very sad, but one has to take a practical
view of matters, even if one is a genius and expects
to do great things in the world; so Nick decided
that he would not attempt the tour of the world on
a bicycle, even if he could get a bicycle, which was
very doubtful, as Aunt Jane did n't believe in
Walking on a tight-rope he regarded as an
agreeable and elevated means of gaining a liveli-
hood; but an experiment of that kind which he had
tried, with the rope fastened to the high beams of
the barn, had proved so disastrous that he was
forced to the conclusion that his talents did not lie
in that direction.
Going to fight Indians on the Western plains
was another of his favorite plans, but the unpleas-
ant habit of scalping people which the Indians
indulged in so freely made him feel 'some hesita-
tion. He might be like the "Red-handed Rover
of the Rocky Sierras," whose adventures he had
read, who always turned upon the twenty-seven
uncommonly large Indians who were about to scalp
him, and scalped them with their own weapons.
But although he might not have acknowledged it,
he had some doubts, drawn from his experiences in
the fighting line, whether his abilities were as great
as the Red Rover's. He reflected that he had once
"licked little Billy Shannon out of his boots," but
when Billy Shannon's big brother came upon the
scene the results of the contest were sadly changed.
He was as ready as anybody to stand up man to
man," but when it came to encountering twenty-
seven uncommonly large Indians, all in war-paint,
and brandishing tomahawks, Nick felt that he would
rather not.
To be a soldier had always been his greatest
desire. He was very patriotic, and wanted an op-
portunity to defend his country, but as there
seemed. no prospect whatever of a war he felt
almost discouraged about that. He had gotten up
a sham fight at the last Fourth of July celebration,
and with several other boys had become so excited
as to entirely forget that it was a sham, and the
result had been more lively than delightful.
And Aunt Jane did n't believe even in ten-cent

pop-guns, nor two bunches of fire-crackers under a
tin pan at four o'clock in the morning, nor even in
the dinner-bell and a fish-horn-which did n't make
any noise to speak of,-and she said she did n't
believe Nick wanted anything but to give her a
There really seemed to be no way of giving vent
to patriotic feeling without being misunderstood.
Nick concluded that it was a hard world for a
boy, but still he did n't think he could find any-
thing harder in it than staying at home with Aunt
Jane and her unbeliefs, and he was just resolving
to go and be a tramp until he could raise money
enough to buy out a tin-peddler, when Tim Harri-
man, a next-door neighbor, came along and called
out to him that he had brought him a letter from
the post-office.
"Jehoshaphat! exclaimed'Nick.
His list of correspondents was extremely limited.
In fact, he had received but one letter in his life,
and that was from Aunt Jane when she had gone
to pay a visit, telling him that she did n't believe
in boys wasting money on postage stamps, so he
need n't write to her. There was nobody who would
be likely to write him a letter, so it must come from
somebody who was unlikely to, and that might be
the Khan of Tartary, who had written to offer him
the position of Grand Vizier, or Decapitator Gen-
eral, or whatever the highest dignitary of his court
was called.
After such a splendid vision it was somewhat
disappointing to open the letter and find it was
from their old "hired girl," Tryphosa, who had
married Augustus Spilkins, and moved up into the
back-woods. Tryphosa wrote:

"My DEER noY: me and augustus Wants yu to kum and sea
us, And Stay A long Spell. we Kepe tavern and hey a Plenty off
Good Vittuls. not exception Pys. yu Kan take augustuses Old
Muskit and Shoot the cros that is eatin' up all the Corn and aint a
Smite Afrade off the scarcro though it is maid to look edzacly like
augustus and yu kan brake in the Colt that is caliker and a romun
Nose and One Good i and Terrerble Skitish, and yu kan help
augustus maik Jinger Ail which has to bee Plenty bein a temperance
house and not Another Drop though soshyble. me and augustus
always set by yu and we Want yu to kum sertin sure pertikerly as
it kant bee none two kumfurtin' where thare is sich an Onbeleiver az
sum fokes that yu and i noes off. with Respecks yores respeckful
"p. S. Kum Rite Of."

If a visit to Tryphosa was not so delightfully ex-
citing as the adventures which Nick had been pro-
posing to himself, it had an advantage over them
which was not to be disregarded in this uncertain
world-it was a possibility.
And there was a wild attractiveness about the
prospect of shooting crows, and breaking in the
calico colt, with his one eye and his skittishness.
Besides, Nick liked Tryphosa; she knew how to
sympathize with a boy that had an Aunt Jane; and




her sympathy did not take the form of hugging and
kissing-things which Nick could not endure-it
took the form of pie. If there was a person in the
world who '.:.l... 1.1 understood the art of pie-
making, it was Tryphosa, and she was never known
to cut a pie into stingy little pieces.
Augustus Spilkins was very agreeable, too, and
had gifts that distinguished him. He could balance
a pitchfork on his eye-lid, and do a trick with cards
that the school-master could n't find out. He
could swallow a cent and take it out of his sleeve,
and he could fiddle and dance so that the minister
could n't help listening and looking on. And,
though he came from Nova Scotia, there never was
a Yankee who could equal him at !l-,,i!m ; he
could whittle out a pig that could almost squeal,
and mice that drove the cat half crazy. And he
whittled out a dog that would wag his tail-though
the wag did get out of order very soon.
Tryphosa used to scold at first, because he "lit-
tered up" the kitchen, but he won her heart by
whittling out a butter-stamp for her with two
hearts, joined together, and a turtle dove upon it.
That was how they came to be married.
Nick thought things over and decided that there
was sure to be fun going on where Augustus was.
He was sure that his father would give him leave
to accept Tryphosa's invitation, but Aunt Jane did
n't believe in boys visiting, so Nick decided to avoid
any little unpleasantness that might possibly arise,
by omitting to take leave of her.
He wrapped his clothes in a gay bandana hand-
kerchief, which was a present from Augustus, and
hung the bundle over his shoulder, upon a stout
stick. He had a traveling bag, but he thought
that gave him a less adventurous air than the
bundle. As he left the gate he heard Aunt Jane's
voice calling him, and declaring in shrill tones
that she did n't believe in boys having on their
best clothes on a week-day. Nick hurried along.
He did n't know how many bad people he might
meet in the world, but Tryphosa had once solemn-
ly assured him that he would never find another
such an infiddle as Aunt Jane.
He stopped at his father's store, but his father
not being in he contented himself with leaving a
note for him, in which he explained where he was
going, and asked him not to tell Aunt Jane.
Nick's father was a very easy and obliging man,
and, besides, Nick suspected that he suffered him-
self from Aunt Jane's unbelieving disposition, and
would enjoy keeping the secret from her.
He felt a little sorry that he could not take
Tommy with him. Tommy was Aunt Jane's son,
but he was not in the least like her. He was four
years younger than Nick, and believed in every-
thing Nick did. And he never was so mean as to

" tell on him." How much of his reticence was
due to the fact that Nick threatened to make fiddle-
strings of him if he did tell, it is impossible to say,
but it is probable that this terrible threat had a
powerful effect on Tommy's mind, as it always
made him turn pale.
Tommy's most striking characteristic was a pro-
pensity to tumble into the well; four times he had
been rescued dripping 'and senseless, and Aunt
Jane "did n't believe that boy would be anything
but a lifeless corpse the next time he was hooked
out of the well." Nick almost wished that he had
taken Tommy with him when he thought of that
dreadful possibility, but he contented himself with
going back and adding a postscript to the note he
had left in his father's store: Tell Tommy not
to get drowned in the well till I come home."
Then Nick went on with a mind at ease.
Augustus had appended to Tryphosa's letter
minute directions, so that Nick might have no diffi-
culty in making his way to Tantrybogus, the town
where he and Tryphosa lived; but he mentioned
so many different railways and stage-routes that
Nick was afraid his funds would not hold out until
the end of the journey.
He found that railroatis and stage-routes came
to an end nine miles from Tantrybogus. By the
good nature of the driver of the last stage he was
enabled to ride to the end of the route, although
his money was exhausted. And he found that
nine miles was as far as he cared to walk, but he
reached Tantrybogus about nine o'clock.
Tryphosa was almost overcome with surprise and
delight, but instead of fainting, or kissing him, she
gave expression to her feelings by setting six kinds
of pie before him. There was no doubt that
Tryphosa was just as agreeable as ever.
Augustus complimented him in a very gratifying
Well, now, I swanny, I would n't have thought
't was you, you 've growed so If I was onbeliev-
in' like your Aunt Jane, I should declare 't wasn't
you I declare you 're getting' to be a man so fast
it makes me feel awk'ard to think what a little
spell ago 't was that I made free to call you sonny !"
You may say what you will, it is pleasant to
meet people who realize that one is getting to be a
man, and cannot properly be called sonny."
The tarvern seemed to be a very soshyble"
place, as Tryphosa had said; there were many very
pleasant and jolly people there, but it seemed to
Nick that they looked and talked very differently
from Stumpville people. Some of them he could
hardly understand, and they had very odd, out-
landish names.
Nick came to the conclusion that very night that
Tantrybogus was a queer place.




He found out the next day that it was also a
very delightful place. There were plenty of good
times to be had, and no school, no garden to weed,
no Aunt Jane, and unlimited pie.
Shooting crows was great fun. He did n't hap-
pen to hit any, but he hit the scarecrow and made
a complete wreck of him. He also hit Tryphosa's
favorite black turkey that was roosting in a tree,
and a neighbor's black tat, mistaking them for
crows. So nobody could say that he was apoor shot
if he did n't kill crows. As for the colt, everybody
knows that a calico colt with a Roman nose and
one good eye is very hard to break, so it is not
surprising that he ran away with Nick into the
river, and might have drowned him if he had n't
been able to swim.
Tryphosa cried over Nick, because he had had
such a hard time, and carried a whole pie to his
bedside, in the middle of the night, and Augustus
said he did n't know how they had ever got along
without him, he made things so kind o' lively.
All these things happened in a few days, for it
was less than a week after Nick's arrival in Tantry-
bogus that he suddenly became aware that the
very next day would be the Fourth of July. At
home, in Stumpville, he would have been counting
the hours that must pass before the day came, but
here he had found so many novel diversions that
he had quite forgotten that it came so soon.
In a great state of excitement he rushed to Au-
gustus, who was bottling ginger ale.
"Fourth of July, to-morrow he shouted,
"and not so much as a fire-cracker ready! Have
you forgotten? "
Augustus seemed disturbed and uneasy. He let
the corks fly out of two or three ale-bottles, in his
uncertainty of mind. Nick thought that popping
was better than nothing; it sounded a little like
the Fourth of July.
You see, Tantrybogus is kind of a cur'us
place. They don't seem to set no great store by
the Fourth of July, and seeing' it 's Canady, and
they 're mostly English and French, it could n't in
nater be expected," said Augustus, looking sad.
Canada! Nick knew it was just across the
line, and had n't thought of it, he had been hav-
ing so many other things on his mind. He sat
down on the lowest step of the cellar stairs, clasped
his hands around his knee, and reflected.
"I could n't stand it, Augustus!" he said,
firmly, at last. "It's all right for the Tantry-
boguses, and for you, because you came from
Nova Scotia, but I should burst!"
Augustus scratched his head in perplexity, and
went on letting the corks pop.
'"You might go down to Polywhappit," said
he, brightening suddenly. "That's across the line,

and it 's only a matter of ten miles from here, and
I expect they '11 have a rousing time."
"I '11 start right off! cried Nick, jumping up.
"I 'll harness up, and carry you a good piece,
and you can walk the rest of the way; and I '11 give
you a five-dollar bill to do your celebration' .with.
Oh, you need n't feel bad about takin' so much, for
I 'm glad to have you go and enjoy yourself, and
bein' you're so lively, it's worth more 'n that to me
to have you go."
Afterward it struck Nick that a double meaning
might be attached to those words of Augustus', but
he was too eager to go to think about them then.
Tryphosa took a tearful leave of him, and insisted
upon putting a pie in the crown of his hat, where
it "would n't be in his way, but would be handy
when he got hungry," and told him to be sure to
find her brother's wife's cousin, Lysander Hewitt,
who lived in Polywhappit, and would be sure to
welcome him for the sake of the family connection.
Augustus drove him a little more than half way
to Polywhappit, and then had to hurry back lest his
ginger ale should spoil.
It was late in the afternoon when Nick reached
Polywhappit. It was almost as large a town as
Stumpville, but Nick thought it did n't look very
wide awake, and though he looked about him very
sharply he could see no signs of preparation for the
Fourth of July.
However, they were, unquestionably, Yankees in
Polywhappit, and Nick had never heard of Yankees
who did n't make a noise on the glorious Fourth.
Great, therefore, was his dismay when he learned
from Tryphosa's relative, Lysander Hewitt, "that
Polywhappit did n't calkilate to do no celebration .
They had built a new town hall and repaired a
great many roads, and did n't feel able to spend
any more money. Money's skerce in Pollywhappit,
and that 's a fact," said Tryphosa's relative.
Do you mean to say that they wont make any
noise at all to-morrow ?" asked Nick, not without
an accent of disgust.
"Well, Polywhappit folks seem to feel that when
your powder is burnt up, your money 's burnt up
too, and there a'nt no great profit in it, to say
nothing' of the danger of bein' sot afire. I did hear
that the school children over to the East Polywhap-
pit district was every one agoin' to recite the Dec-
claration of Independence and sing some of them
appropriate pieces like Ameriky and Old Hundred.
If you feel like celebration' I '11 carry you over there
to-morrow morning. "
Nick heaved a sigh, and thought of the grand
times that he had been wont to enjoy at Stumpville
on the Fourth of July.
"I 'm afraid that would n't be quite lively enough
for me. We do things differently in Stumpville.




We don't value money that we spend to do honor
to our country! said Nick, with a grand air.
His thoughts were turning, wistfully, to Stump-
ville. Even if he had to endure Aunt Jane and her
unbeliefs, Stumpville was not the worst place a boy
could live in. For there they had not lost the
Fourth of July. There they would have a ringing
and a banging, a rattling and a snapping, that it
would do one's heart good to hear. And, probably,
at five o'clock in the afternoon a balloon would go
up from the common. If he were at home, Nick
might have some chance of going up in that bal-
loon, for the aeronaut was Aunt Jane's brother-in-
law's wife's nephew. And, at all events, he could
go up on to the band-stand when the band was
playing, because Aunt Jane's sister-in-law's second
husband's son played the cornet. There were ad-
vantages as well as disadvantages about having an
Aunt Jane. It occurred to Nick that he had never
fully realized the advantages. He had thought too
much about Aunt Jane's unbeliefs and not enough
about her desirable family connections.
He decided to get back to Stumpville very soon
-if possible, before that balloon went up.
He asked Lysander Hewitt whether he thought
he could do it by walking all night, but Lysander
thought he would get there just as soon by taking
the stage at five o'clock in the morning. The rail-
road station was only seven miles away, and an
express train connected with the stage.
So Nick accepted Lysander Hewitt's hospitality
for the night, and, being very tired, he fell asleep,
although it was entirely contrary to every Stump-
ville boy's ideas of propriety to sleep on the night
before the Fourth; and he dreamed that he was
an enormous fire-cracker, and was all lighted and
going off splendidly, and very proud of himself,
when all the people in Tantrybogus and all the
people in Polywhappit began to pour cold water
over him. He was very angry and made an im-
mense effort to go off, in spite of the cold water,
and suddenly found himself wide awake and rolling
out of bed.
It was daylight, but not a sound indicated that
it was t1. ril.l, different from an ordinary day-
no ringing of bells, no firing of guns, no inspiring
rattle and bang of fire-crackers, not so much as
the cheering snap of one small torpedo! Nick
felt that Polywhappit was in a low condition mor-
ally, and ought to be aroused to a sense of its
duties and encouraged to perform them. He took
his money out of his pocket and counted it; be-
sides the five dollars that Augustus had given him
he had some change which Tryphosa had slipped
into his hand after she put the pie into his hat;
there was just thirty-seven cents; counting it over
three times would n't make it any more than that.

On a scrap of paper which he found in his pocket
he wrote this note:

"Please celebrate a little, for it is an Orfool Disgrace not to have
any fourth of july at all. i give you this dollar and Thirty Seven
Cents to Help Along. as much noys as you could get for this
would be a Grate Deel better than no fourth of july at all."

He inclosed the money in the note, and slipped
it under the door of Lysander Hewitt's chamber.
Then he hurried to the stage, and soon bade fare-
well to Polywhappit.
He had saved a little more than enough money
to pay his fare home, and would have been glad to
invest that little in fire-crackers for a parting salute
to Polywhappit, but the stage-driver told him that
not a fire-cracker was to be had in the town.
There wa' n't no great liveliness about the
Polywhappiters," he said.
It seemed to Nick that never before had stages
and railroad trains moved so slowly as those that
he rode on that day. The stages waited for the
mails, and waited for passengers, and waited to
feed the horses, and waited for a young lady to go
back and find something she had forgotten, and
for an old lady to go back and see if she had n't
forgotten something. And the trains waited for
wood and waited for water, and stopped not only
at the stations but at almost every house they
came to. Nick thought it was fortunate that the
houses were a good many miles apart, otherwise
they might never reach Stumpville. All the sta-
tions seemed half buried in the woods, and Nick
saw scarcely a sign that anybody knew it was the
Fourth of July. Once or twice a horrible suspi-
cion seized him that the day had really dropped out
of the calendar. But that was when he grew very
tired and sleepy with the long ride and the jolting
of the cars.
Five o'clock came and went, while they were still
miles away from Stumpville. Nick, in despair,
pictured to himself the scene on the common, the
crowd shouting and clapping hands as the great
balloon-the balloon which he might have been in
-sailed skyward. But he might still be in time
for the fire-works; it was likely to be a dark night
and they would begin early, but he might get there
before the close. But, alas! nine miles away from
Stumpville the engine broke down! It might take
hours to repair it, so Nick decided to walk the rest
of the way. The seven-league boots could hardly
have gone over those nine miles in a shorter space
of time than Nick did, but it was all in vain. A
distant glimpse of the last sky-rocket that went up
from Stumpville common was all he had!
When he walked into the village there were
still a few belated people in the streets whom he
heard congratulating each other upon the grandest




Fourth of July celebration that Stumpville had ever
Nick hurried homeward, not feeling just in the
mood to hear about the celebration.
He went into the back yard, thinking he would
creep up to his room by the back stairs, and
not let anybody see him. But he stumbled over
Tommy, who was fast asleep on a heap of empty
torpedo boxes and fire-cracker papers, with a pop-
gun still clutched tightly in his hand, and Tommy
awoke, with one of the resounding screams for
which Tommy was famous.
Keep still what have you got to cry about? "
said Nick, bitterly.
"I w-w-want it to be F-f-fourth of July some
more sobbed Tommy.
Tommy's cry drew Aunt Jane from the front gate,
where she was talking over the glories of the day
with a neighbor, and Nick was discovered.
"So it 's you, though I would n't have believed
it," said Aunt Jane. I don't believe in boys
slinking in by the back way, even if they have
reason to be ashamed of themselves. If you 'd
been here you might have touched off the cannon,
for Captain Thumb said he meant to let you-
though I don't believe in boys touching off cannons.
And you might have gone up in the balloon, for

you had an invitation, and your father said he
should have let you go, though I don't believe in
balloons. I should like to know where you have
been, for I don't believe in people leaving a splen-
did Fourth of July celebration in their own town to
tramp all over the country! "
"Neither do I," said Nick. He would n't have
believed that he should ever come to share one of
Aunt Jane's unbeliefs, but he did.
Nick never expected to hear anything of the re-
sult of his effort to arouse the patriotic feelings of
the Polywhappiters; but in less than a week after
his return he received a letter in which Lysander
Hewitt, in behalf of the selectmen, returned
thanks for his generous gift, and regretted to say
that, owing to the lateness of its reception, they
had been unable to apply it to the object which he
had mentioned, but as the town had been for years
afflicted with the nuisance of stray animals, es-
pecially pigs, running loose about the streets for
lack of a suitable inclosure, they had resolved to
use the money, with his permission, to make a
pound, to be called in compliment to him The
Nick Tweedle Pig-pound Nick hoped he never
should hear anything more from those benighted
Polywhappiters, who preferred a pig-pound to a
Fourth of July celebration.


WHEN I was a small youngster, years ago, we
boys used to be told thrilling stories of what was
called "The Last War." In these later days, we have
had a war on our own soil, which was, let us hope,
the last war that we shall ever be engaged in as
long as the American Republic lasts. But boys of an
older generation than this knew "The Last War"
to be the war between the United States and Great
Britain, now generally called "The War of 1812."
It is a long and painful story of misunderstandings
and oppressive acts which must be told to explain
the causes that led to the beginning of that war.
Happily, the contest was not a very long one, and
Americans, whatever may be said of the rights and
wrongs of the two parties engaged in the fight,
look with pride upon the achievements of the
American navy of that period. The names of
Bainbridge, Hull, Decatur, Porter, Perry, and
many other gallant sailors, will be remembered as
long as the traditions of the United States navy
endure. Their wonderful exploits did much to
close the sorrowful and wasteful struggle.

In 1813, the frigate "Essex," commanded by
Captain David Porter, after committing much havoc
upon the British marine off the Atlantic coast of
South America, sailed boldly around Cape Horn
into the Pacific Ocean. Porter had resolved to
strike out into a new field of operations, and, car-
rying into the Pacific the first American flag that
had floated from the mast-head of a man-of-war,
he swooped down upon the British merchantmen
and whalers, causing tremendous consternation.
Nobody had dreamed that the Yankees would dare
to send a man-of-war into this distant sea, and
the British frigates were making things very un-
comfortable for the few American merchantmen
engaged in the Pacific trade. The arrival of the
"Essex" soon changed all that. Within a year she
had captured four thousand tons of British ship-
ping, and had taken four hundred prisoners. She
may be said to have subsisted upon the enemy, as
the vessel was not only supplied with everything
needed for repairs, rigging, ammunition, clothing,
and provisions, taken from the enemy's captured






ships, but the men were paid with money found on war that should be fortunate enough to catch her.
board of one of her prizes. But the American frigate was fleet, and difficult to
Orders were given that the "Essex" must be catch. Finally, in February, 1814, the frigate,
destroyed, at all hazards, by any British man-of- accompanied by a small craft called the Essex
VOL. IX.-46.




Junior," a cruiser made over from one of the prizes
captured from the British by Porter, cast anchor in
the harbor of Valparaiso, Peru. The Peruvian
Government was not then independent, Peru being
a province of Spain. But Valparaiso was a neutral
port, although the people of Peru, and the Spanish,
also, were somewhat unfriendly to the Americans.
So, when two British men-of-war, the "Phcebe"
and the Cherub," entered the port, it was toler-
ably certain that there would be a fight, should
the "Essex" dare to put out to sea.
The Englishmen had the redoubtable "Essex"
and her little consort in a trap. For six weeks, the
two British vessels kept a very close watch on the
Americans, sailing up and down the coast, just
outside of the entrance to the harbor. Finally,
on the 28th of March, Captain Porter, trusting to
his ability to outsail either of the British ves-
sels, and draw them away, so that the "Essex
Junior" might escape, set sail and drew out of the
anchorage. In doubling a headland at the entrance
of the harbor, the "Essex" was struck by a squall,
which carried away her maintopmast and several
men. Captain Porter returned toward the road-
stead, and anchored three miles from the town and
about the distance of a pistol-shot from the shore.
The "Phoebe" and the "Cherub" had been ex-
changing signals, and it was evident that they meant
to attack, although the vessels were all in neutral
The "Phcebe" carried thirty long eighteen-
pounders and sixteen thirty-two-pound carronades
for her armament, besides seven small guns in her
tops. She also had 320 men, all told. The
"Cherub" carried twenty-eight guns of various
caliber and 180 men. To meet this formidable
force the "Essex" had 255 men, and her arma-
ment consisted of twenty-six thirty-pounders and six
long twelve-pounders. The "Essex Junior," which
took no part in the fight, had twenty guns and sixty
men. Nevertheless, Porter resolved thaf he would
never surrender as long as he had men enough to
work his guns; and right manfully did he hold to
his resolution.
The Phebe opened fire at four o'clock in
the afternoon, being then nearly dead astern of the
disabled "Essex." The long eighteens of the
Englishman did great damage on board the
"Essex," which, notwithstanding her disadvan-
tage, returned the fire with gallantry and spirit.
The Cherub," then on the starboard bow of the
" Essex," next opened fire also, but was driven off
by the guns of the American. Three of the long
twelve-pounders of the "Essex" were then got out
astern, and played upon the Phoebe with such
terrible effect that she, too, was hauled off for repairs,
many of the shot having struck below the water-line.

Both the British vessels now closed upon the Am-
erican frigate, being on her starboard quarter, and
poured into her a fire so galling that the spars and
rigging of the doomed ship were soon in a tangle
of wreckage. Porter slipped his cable, and, hoist-
ing his flying-jib, bore down upon the enemy, pour-
ing broadsides into them as the ship slowly drifted.
The Cherub "was driven off for a second time,
and the "Phoebe retired out of the reach of the
guns of the "Essex," but near enough to worry
her with her long-range ordnance. After two
hours of fighting, Porter tried to run his vessel
ashore, to prevent her falling into the hands of the
enemy; but a change of wind prevented him, and
he anchored once more, making fast a sheet-anchor
with a hawser.
Very shortly after, the hawser parted, and, to
increase the trials of these determined heroes, the
ship took fire below deck. In this extremity, Cap-
tain Porter told the men to save themselves as best
they could. Some threw themselves into the sea
and swam to shore, some were drowned, and many
were picked up, while clinging to bits of wreck, by
the boats of the enemy. But a larger part of the
crew staid by the ship, and continued firing into
the enemy, in the midst of the smoke and flames.
Finally, the fire was partly subdued, and men
enough to work two of the long twelves kept up a
brisk fire.
But further resistance was useless. Only seventy-
five men were left to do duty, the remainder being
killed, wounded, or missing. So, after an engage-
ment that had lasted two hours and a half, Porter,
with a sorrowful heart, hauled down the American
flag, and the wreck of the gallant Essex was
surrendered to the foe. The British lost four killed
and seven wounded on the "Phoebe," and one
killed and three wounded on the Cherub." Both
ships were badly crippled, their sails and rigging
being riddled, and the "Phoebe" had received
eighteen shots below water-line from the long
twelves of the "Essex." Thousands of spectators
crowded the shores to gaze on the bloody encounter.
The Spanish Viceroy was vainly entreated by the
American Consul to insist upon the maintenance of
neutrality. He refused to interfere.
Thus ended one of the most remarkable naval
engagements of modern times. It ended in disaster
to the American cause. But the heroic defense of
the "Essex," in which officers and men vied with
one another in a determination not to give up the
ship, fired with fresh enthusiasm all who heard the
story of their brave and obstinate fight. And,
when the young people of this republic shall cele-
brate once more the deeds of the patriotic defenders
of the American Republic, let them give a hearty
cheer for David Porter and his crew.






IT is coming to be regarded as an axiom by the
young people of America that "What man has
done, boy can do "; and the notion is not entirely
unheard of that what a boy can do, so can his
sister. There is scarcely an industry of any im-
portance, carried on by the energetic and inventive
men of the day, which has not its counterpart in
reduced scale among the amusements of our boys
and girls. Even in early childhood, those games
are most popular which lead children to imitate the
employment of their grown-up friends.
Six-year-old Mary is never so happy as when she
is playing "keep house"; especially if she is so
fortunate as to own a real iron stove in which she is
allowed to kindle a real fire for boiling a real potato ;
and if Johnny has a father wise enough to give him
a box of tools, he will cheerfully play carpenter all
winter long. So the clouds of labor have their
sunny side of imitative play. The mighty rumble
of the locomotive is echoed in the tiny roar of
thousands of mimic engines; the intricate rattle of
the busy telegraph is reproduced in a minor key on
multitudes of little sounderss "; and even imple-
ments of deadly warfare are reduced in caliber and
sold as playthings.
If this is true in the case of little children, much
more is it true of our boys and girls as they grow
older. The age is swiftly reached when toys no
longer satisfy, and the boy must have a chest of
tools that will do good work; he must engineer an
engine that has horse-power in it; he must culti-
vate a patch of ground, and plant something more
practical than the watermelon seeds of his early
years; he must have a gun that will throw real
Among the many youthful occupations which
this spirit of imitation has created, none, perhaps,
has been more widely extended and more enthu-
siastically followed than AMATEUR JOURNALISM.
The idea of a newspaper printed and edited by
a boy is, in one sense, not a novel one. Benjamin
Franklin might be called the pioneer boy printer;
for it is commonly mentioned in connection with
the Discovery of America, the Landing of the Pil-
grims, the Surrender of Cornwallis, and various
other incidents of the sort, that when Benjamin
Franklin was very young he published his broth-
er's paper in his absence, and won himself distinc-
tion thereby.
It is said, also, that in 1812, at the time when
England and the United States were engaged in

their second discussion, a boy by the name of
Thomas G. Condie, or Cundie, living in Philadel-
phia, edited the Weekly Portfolio, a paper which
had some local repute. Tradition has it that
Condie's paper was of four pages measuring eight
and a half by eleven inches.
We speak of this as a tradition; for-alas, for
the vanity of earthly glory!-learned scribes and
critics have arisen who have proved, in the Censor
and elsewhere, not merely that, as with Shakespeare,
the spelling of our hero's name is uncertain, but
that no such person as either Condie or Cundie
ever lived, breathed, or edited a paper.
We learn from Mr. W. M. Clemens, that on
the 2Ist of August, 1820, Nathaniel Hawthorne,
then sixteen years of age, sent forth the first num-
ber of The Spectator, a small but neatly printed and
well edited paper. A prospectus had been issued
only the week before, setting forth that the Spec-
tator would be issued on Wednesdays, "price
twelve cents per annum, payment to be made at
the end of the year."
Among the advertisements on the last page was
the following:
Nathaniel Hawthorne proposes to publish, by sub-
scriition, a new edition of the "Miseries ofA authors "
to which will be added a sequel containing facts and
remarks drawn from his own experience.

Whatever others may think, no member of the
National Amateur Press Association will hesitate to
attribute a fair share of Hawthorne's subsequent
greatness to the discipline of these early labors
in the editorial chair.

The Boy.

In 1834 or 1835, a little lad of Hartford, Conn.,
then known as "Nat," now as Rev. Professor
Nathaniel Egleston, of Williamstown, Mass., pub-
lished an amateur paper called The Boy.
He set up his type in one of the tin Sedlitz
powder boxes common then, and printed a sheet
as large as a postal card.
And this device of the Sedlitz powder box calls
to mind a very interesting account of another
original contrivance devised in 1839 by a Western
boy, or at least by an Eastern boy gone West.
The story was told in ST. NICHOLAS for June, 1879,
under the title of "How a Comet Struck the
Earth," and should be carefully read and pondered




by all who would know with what difficulties early
amateur editors were forced to contend.
In 1858, appeared the Coos Herald, from
Lancaster, N. H., which attracted considerable
attention. Between these dates there were, doubt-
less, many other papers whose names, though long
forgotten by the world, still nestle in a warm corner
of the memories of their quondam editors. Per-
haps the difficulties in the way of obtaining presses,
which the editors of The Boy and The Comet
succeeded so ingeniously in overcoming, deterred
many less energetic boys from attempting similar
However this may be, it is certain that the
invention, in 1867, of the cheap "Novelty" press
was the event from which must be dated what is
now understood as Amateur Journalism. The
widely scattered advertisement, "EVERY BOY HIS
OWN PRINTER," proved irresistible. Not Comets
only, but whole constellations, suddenly flashed
across the journalistic sky ; Suns shone, Stars
twinkled, Meteors blazed and burst; and, before
the end of 1868, at least fifteen papers were regu-
larly issued once a month.
In September, 1869, the first convention of
amateur printers assembled at the house of Mr.
Charles Scribner, of New York. This convention
organized itself, with Charles Scribner, Jr., as its
President, into the "Amateur Printers' Associa-
tion," but changed its name the following year
to "Amateur Press Association."
It was during this year, too, that Our Boys'
Intellect (later, Our Boys) was first issued in Wen-
ona, Ill., by Charles A. Diehl. After a time, its
publication office was removed to Chicago; Fred.
K. Morrill became one of its editors, it was enlarged
from time to time, until it grew to be a handsome
journal of sixteen pages. Its circulation is said to
have reached ten thousand copies, and it was
finally consolidated with a professional juvenile
magazine. Mr. Diehl, its founder, adopted jour-
nalism for his profession, and has, for many years,
been on the staff of the Chicago Times. Mr.
Diehl is by no means the only amateur editor
who has, in later years, reached a position of pro-
fessional eminence. William Howe Downes left
his boys' paper for the Boston Globe. Frank H.
Converse, well known to readers of the Portland
Transcriti, ST. NICHOLAS, and Golden Days, was
once editor of an amateur journal. So was
Thomas Edison; and Mr. Mark M. Pomeroy, three
or four years ago, wrote:
"It is now twenty-four years since we started as an amateur edi-
tor with a little paper, the Sun, at Corning, N. Y. We have
grown out of the atmosphere of youth, but can never forget that we
were once a poverty-scarred amateur editor, and never can have in
our hearts other than good wishes for the youths, the young men,
amateur editors, some of whom, in the course of years, will be the
leading journalists of this country."

The list might be greatly extended, but enough
has been given to show that in the publication of
amateur papers we may have one of the truest
schools of journalism.
On this point, Hon. Horatio Seymour has ex-
pressed himself in the following letter:

EDITOR COMET- My Dear Sir: I am much pleased with the
copy of the Comet you sent me, and I am gratified with your
courtesy in letting me see the account of the proceedings of your
Association. I hope and believe that great good will grow out of
the efforts of your young associates to put journalism upon the
right basis. You begin at the beginning, and I know of no other
way of having any useful pursuit carried on with success. This is
demanded in all professions. I can see no reason why men should
jump over the fences to get into the field of journalism. It should
be entered through the regular gateway. It is as much a learned
profession as law, medicine, or divinity. It calls for early training
and careful preparation. I believe your association will d much to
give the next generation higher toned journalism than we now have
in our country.
UTICA, N. Y., Feb. a2, 1872.

One of the best papers which appeared during
the renaissance of 1870-76 was the YouthfulEnter-
frise, conducted by Miss L. Libbie Adams. This
is undoubtedly the "thirteen-year old girl-editor"
mentioned in the "History of Woman Suffrage,"
who, "for three years, wrote, set up, and published
a little paper in the interior of New York" (El-
mira). It may be new to the authors of the just
mentioned history that Miss Adams began her
editorial labors in Carbondale, Pa., where she
printed some numbers of the Carbondale Enterfrise
on a press which her father had secured for her,
and in an office which had been fitted up in a gar-
ret. We shall mention later the Hurricane which
still blows freshly from the orange groves of Caro-
lina, but even at the date of which we are writing,
Miss Adams was not the only girl in the ranks of
amateurs. Miss Delle E. Knapp, who still writes
excellent articles for the "mimic press," edited a
bright paper in Buffalo, N. Y.; and at Wartville,
Tenn., Miss Birdie Walker published the Girls'
Own Pafer for several years. She is now one
of the editorial contributors of a professional lit-
erary magazine.
In 1870, more than fifty excellent papers were
published, and the future of Amateur Journalism
was assured.
During 1871, Amateurdom, or the "Dom," as
it is pleasantly called by its members, prospered
exceedingly. "The Centennial year," says Mr.
Charles J. Steele, Jr., in the Buffalo Courier, "in-
augurated what are now known as 'halcyon
days.' "
The whole country then looked to Philadel-
phia. All sorts of societies and clubs held re-
unions there. Friends who had long been widely
dispersed took that occasion to meet again.
Naturally enough, it occurred to some of the
brighter amateur editors that it would be a good




plan to have a grand reunion, and to publish a
weekly amateur journal there. The last part of
this programme was found impracticable. When
the World's Exhibition had been held at Vienna
in 1873, a paper called Our American Youth had
been issued weekly, under the auspices of the
New York Branch of the A. P. A.; but either the
American Exposition managers were not so favora-
ble as the Austrian, or the boys did not manifest
so much enthusiasm in 1876 as in 1873.

N. A. P. A.

The reunion, however, was a grand success.
Seventy-five amateurs were present in the Quaker
City, and on the Fourth of July, amid the noise of
martial music and the tramp of great processions,
formed. The mercury stood at 104 in the shade,
but the intense heat served only to weld the boys
into firmer union.
The former organization had been local, and its
members were from the

Eastern States, but this
Association was national,
and embraced young
men from all sections
of the country. From
that time, the letters
"N. A. P. A." have
been regarded with
growing affection by a
rapidly increasing num-
ber of American youth.
The Constitution,
which was adopted in
1876, has been recently

I .

..... i. i, ,


amended and will be given, in part, in its proper
place. The first President of the N. A. P. A.
was John W. Snyder, of Richmond, Virginia. It
is estimated that, during the year of his adminis-
tration, there were five hundred amateur journals
of all sizes and kinds.
In 1877, the annual Napa meeting was held
at Long Branch, and was the largest yet convened.
There were over a hundred present, and, after a
most exciting contest, A. W. Dingwall, of Mil-
waukee, was elected President, and C. C. Henman,
of New York, Official Editor. During this year
the number of papers reached flood-tide, and there
were over six hundred.
In 1878, during the administration of President
Will T. Hall, of Chicago, the great trouble with
the Post-office authorities arose. One brief ac-
count says: "It was determined by the powers
that be, that papers published by boys were not
legitimate newspapers, and that the publishers

should be required to place a one-cent stamp on
each and every paper sent out. The boys could
not afford to do this, and the papers went down
like grass before the mower. From this severe
blow Amateur Journalism has been slow to re-

As it is evident from editorials in many leading
papers of the Dom," as well as from this quotation
from an ex-amateur editor, that this 'P. O.
Trouble' is regarded by the boys as one of the
main events in their history as an association," we
have been at some pains to become acquainted
with the inside facts and reasons of what has
seemed to many an unreasonable discrimination.
The foregoing quotation was sent to Washington,
accompanied by a request for advice as to the
principles on which a distinction is made between
papers published by boys and men. In reply, we
were referred to certain sections in the Postal Guide
and in a circular issued by the Third Assistant


I I, -i. -

I I '- -
I -' -'

i i




Postmaster-General, a careful study of which con-
vinces us that, however severely the decision of the
Department may affect some of the less energetic
boy editors, yet the complaints of unjust discrimi-
nation have no substantial foundation. And, while
the rulings of the Department are in full force at this
date, it is still true that very many boys are sending
their papers at pound rates through the mails, and


.^,. i-


yet acting in perfect harmony with law. For the
information of all interested we will quote briefly
the rulings which are in point:
"Publications asserted to be issued in the general interest of printers
and publishers can not be admitted to entry as second-class matter
where it appears that the number of their paid subscriptions is so
insignificant in comparison with their exchange lists as to demon-
strate that the primary object of their publishers is to advertise their
own business and that of others by means of a free circulation among
other publishers and printers. *
"The rule just indicated for the exclusion of so-called printers'pub-
lications, designed primarily for the purposes of free exchanging,
should also be applied to so-called 'Amateur' publications, and the
same evidence of a self-ssstainig subscrion on list required of them
as of trade-journals before admission to entry as second-class mail
Thus it appears that amateur papers which are
on a business basis, and which are self-supporting,
have never been deprived of the advantages ac-
corded to the professional journals. The circular
quoted enters into a long explanation of the reasons
for this rule, showing that the nominal rate of two
cents a pound does not cover the actual cost of
transportation, and is accorded to no paper as a
right, but is extended as a favor to such periodicals
as are believed to be issued with a view to the
spreading of intelligence among the people. The
Government has always followed the policy of as-
sisting in this good work, and has, therefore, carried
newspapers to bona-fide subscribers at a nominal
rate, for the sake of helping the public to obtain
information cheaply. The favor is intended for the
public good, not for the publishers' pockets. But
when most of the copies of a paper are distributed
by the publisher at his own expense, the inference
is that they are distributed for his own advantage,
and in such cases it is proper that he pay the post-
age. If the people at large consider any paper to
be of advantage to them, they will support it with
their subscriptions. Then, the Government is will-
ing to help them by reducing the rate of postage.
Uncle Sam has a great and a generous heart, boys.
He loves fairness above all things. Even Wright
acknowledged this after his bright Egyptian Star
secured pound rates !
Speaking of government reminds us that one of
the most absorbing interests of the N. A. P. A. is
the yearly election of officers. The desire for office
seems to be quite as strong among boys as among
men, and the struggles for the Presidency and
the Chief Editorship are often extremely close and
The yearly conventions are looked forward to
with eager expectancy by the friends of the several
candidates, and the oral debates and intricate wire-
pulling of the actual meeting are preceded by
months of earnest discussion, and even occasional
partisan violence, in the numerous papers connected
with the Association. It appears that many of the

amateur editors print their papers for no other
purpose than that they may try their luck in the
yearly race for office, and certainly one of the
strongest incentives to hard work in producing a
creditable sheet is the fact that, as the boys are
rarely personally acquainted, they are obliged to
form their opinions of one another largely from the
essays, poems, or editorials which they write.
From this it happens that the offices usually fall
to the lot of the most energetic, painstaking, and
intelligent members, and whatever may be thought
of political aspiration as a motive to literary en-
deavor, it appears certain that herein lies the
strongest bond of union among the fraternity.
Take away the annual conventions, with their plat-
forms, discussions, and preceding campaigns, and
the N. A. P. A. would soon dissolve.
With regard to the officers, their election and
duties, the Constitution speaks as follows:
"ART. IV.- Officers. The Officers of the National Amateur Press
Association shall consist of a President, First, Second, and Third
Vice-Presidents, Recording and Corresponding Secretaries, Treas-
urer and Editor.
"ART. V. It shall be the duty of the President to preside at all
Conventions of the N. A. P. A., and to perform such other duties as
are called for in conformation with this Constitution and these By-
laws, and the adopted parliamentary authority." (Robert's Rules
of Order.)
The President's duties are further defined
through ten elaborate sections. Among these
duties, may be noticed the publishing of at least
ten numbers of a journal during his year of office,
and the appointment of Judges of Award. Their
duties will presently be explained.
The duties of the Vice-Presidents are naturally
those of the President in his absence, and there
are also special duties relating to the reception of
articles sent in competition for the various prizes
which are offered by the Association.
The duties of the Secretaries and of the Treas-
urer are those which naturally fall to such officers,
with special charge of certain matters connected
with an intricate system of "proxy" voting.
The Editor is one of the most responsible offi-
cers, and concerning his work Article XII. says:

"It shall be the duty of the Editor to take entire and complete
control of the Official Organ, to issue four numbers of said paper
during the official year, to allow nothing of a political character to
appear in the columns of the paper, and to mail to every member
of the Association and to every subscriber to the Official Journal
one copy of each number, as soon as issued."

It is provided by the next article that this "Offi-
cial Organ shall be known as the National Ama-
teur, that it shall have at least four pages, which
shall be 9 x 13 inches in size, and set in long
primer type. The names and addresses of the
officers shall be published at the head of the editor-
ial page, with full information regarding the method
of joining the Association.
The "Judges of Award," just referred to, per-




form duties which are explained by Articles
XXIII., XXIV., and XXV. of the Constitution.
"ART. XXIII.-Prize Comfpositions. SEC. i. In order to pro-
mote the interest of our Editors and Authors, and the general tone
of amateur literature, this Association will present to the author of the
best written article on any subject, in accordance with section 3 of
this article, the title of Laureate as hereinafter specified.
"SEC. 3. Articles may be written under the following heads and
sent to the officer whose name precedes them:
Second Vice-President, S Serials.
Department A. 5 Stories or Sketches.
Third Vice-President, Poems. Essays.
Department B. History ofAmateur Journalism.
"ART. XXIV.--Judges ofAwards. SEC. I. There shall be five
Judges of Award, each of whom shall have a distinct department.
"SEC. 2. Four of these Judges of Award shall be literary men of
known ability not actively connected with Amateurdom. The fifth
Judge of Award shall be an active Amateur.
"SEC. 3. It shall be the duty of these Judges of Award to exam-
ine closely every article sent them, and to report to the President as
soon as possible the one they believe to be in a majority of respects
the best, ..: ;. -: ,..:;. ,.. ,-., therefore.
"ART. '.'. -- -" EC. i. The title of Laureate shall be
conferred upon the pers .. : ,,I..1 ..:... the best article on the sub-
jects specified in Article X i i! .. 3."
Such are the offices which are yearly filled from
the ranks of amateur journalists. A large share
of all the talent of the "Dom is exercised in the

The latest question for discussion has been re-
garding certain boys' papers of New York which
are of a sensational and far from elevating nature.
Some of the N. A. P. A. have strenuously opposed
any fellowship with them. Others have argued
that, although the tone of such papers was bad,
still it was the best policy for the Nafa to allow
the obnoxious editors to retain their membership,
in order to reap the benefit of their initiation fees,
yearly dues, political influence, and advertising
assistance. This appears to us to be one of the
most vital questions which have arisen, and our
confidence in the perpetuity of the Association is
greatly strengthened by i; .... in Article XVI.,
Section 2, of the Revised Constitution: "No fer-
son connected witt or contributing to [here follow
the names of the disreputable sheets] shall be '..
to nzemiberslhi."
No motives of policy ever could overrule the
wisdom of that section, and if the boys would take
a step further, and promptly expel from their ranks

I /^ *

', ./<' ''L' / -'_.'
1i I i '

'ow i 1~ III

I Ii ';"" 1,
:: -.J L ^ ....., ,,r i, ,i i, ; .

._- --e : ': ** ,,,i t t,,
' "/ .q *..- -' ..

-- .. -- -' -- -

-~~~j *^.nr ^^
N-- /- "I:a,, '2 -h -
1 II -, ,i

'Ii .. _


--. l -!' i, 7- ^ { / <


---:1 Wla 1'
S, I,'i i -

2 q : :

... i- iii

iiG "I


weekly discussion of the various candidates for
these offices, and truth compels the statement that
many of the young editors allow themselves, in the
heat of the campaign, to cross the limits of courtesy
quite as far as their elder brethren of the pro-
fessional press.
A brief history of the latest election will give a
clear notion of Amateur Politics. Before begin-
ning this, however, it may be well to glance at one
of the great questions which have divided Amateur-
dom during the past ten years.

every editor who publishes a single profane or inde-
cent paragraph, they would greatly benefit the cause.
It must not be inferred from this that there are
many editors who do print such matter, but, in
looking over large bundles of amateur journals,
one is occasionally pained by seeing paragraphs
which tend to throw discredit on the institution.
To their credit be it said that the leading spirits
of the Dom are bravely fighting this evil, and
we have no doubt that they will succeed in stamp-
ing it out entirely.




The latest convention was held in Buffalo, and
is acknowledged by all the boys to have been a
decidedly poor affair. There were only fifteen mem-
bers present, as a large faction had bolted, and
there was a good deal more excitement than either

\' i ,

II I "

I i -


dignity or good nature. Practical jokes were in-
dulged in among the members, proxy ballots were
thrown out, and technicalities strictly observed in
other respects. The convention appears to have
been pretty well "fixed" beforehand; there was a
good deal of "denouncing," some carousing, and
a little business done. Still, oddly enough, excel-
lent results have followed this most unfortunate
meeting. In the first place, an energetic and
enthusiastic set of officers were elected, and in the
next place, the whole Association has been aroused
to see the necessity of sending more and abler
representatives to the yearly convention. More-
over, the evils of a cumbrous system of proxy
voting have become evident, as has also the
unwisdom of a Constitution with eighty-eight sec-
tions, besides voluminous By-laws.

Boys wish to have fun at their conventions, of
course; but they do not wish to be locked in their
hotel-rooms, so that they can not reach the meet-
ing without crawling through the transom!
The following account of this meeting is con-
densed from Sanderson's wide-awake Bay State
Press :
A full, complete, and authentic account of our trip to Buffalo, and
of the Convention.
Since June ist we have thought of nothing else but the convention
of the National Amateur Press Association which was to be held at
Buffalo, in July. It had been our one thought and wish to attend
the meeting, and in accordance with this we began to save up our
spare shekels and to accumulate enough collateral to attend it. The
morning of the i6th of July found us counting our cash, and to our
great joy we found that we were able to go. Hurriedly packing our
knapsack, we boarded the train at the little depot in Warren and
were soon proceeding at a rattling rate toward the capital of the
Empire State.
After a ride of five hours, we jumped off the train in Albany.
While waiting here for eight dreary hours, we were suddenly con-
fronted by two hungry individuals who had the appearance of being
amateurs. One of them stepped up to us and said, "Is this San-
derson?" and we were soon shaking hands with Reeve and
Kempner. The eight hours at length passed away and found us
slowly rolling out of Albany. At eight, next morning, the train
steamed into Buffalo. After a short search we found Charlie Steele
of the Boys' Herald, and soon afterward came unexpectedly upon
Parsons, Imrie, and Gleason.
We took no breakfast, but went directly to Congress Hall to see if
any of the boys had arrived. Finding no new names on the hotel
register, we adjourned to Reeve's room, and stretched out on a sofa
to sleep. We were scarcely lost to consciousness when a clatter of
feet was heard in the hall, the door flew open and in came Pelham
of Detroit. After a fraternal handshake, we learned that the Pitts-
burgh boys had arrived, and, rushing upstairs, we soon had hold of
the hands of Weissert and Koch. In a few minutes all the boys had
gathered in Reeve's room, and a lively conversation was earned on
for some time.
Telegrams had been coming in all day from the boys, but the
evening brought the most important one. It was directed to "F. N.
Reeve, Congress Hall, Buffalo," and read as follows: "Monroe,
Mich., July 17th. Train wrecked. Nobody hurt. Will come
Wednesday eve. Niles and kast."
All were suspicious that something was up, for the message was
received on the wrong kind of a blank, and a capital letter was
missing. Hunting up the boy who brought it, we found that it was
given him by three boys on the corner of Michigan Street, and that
it never came through the office. It was, as we afterward found
out, a dodge of the Lesserites to dishearten us.
Looking over the register that evening, we found that Lesser,
Ritter, and Buckley had arrived.
Tuesday morning found us at Congress Hall at an early hour.
About eight o'clock Niles, Kast, Brown, and Rickert arrived, and we
were introduced in rapid succession.
At eleven o'clock a caucus was held in Reeve's room. A regular
ticket was made up and a plan of business mapped out. A huge
sign adorned the entrance of the room and read as follows: "REEVE
HEADQUARTERS. No QUARTER GIVEN." In the middle of it was
a representation of a skull and cross-bones.
The meeting was appointed to convene at two o'clock, but it was
not called until three. None of the Lesser faction appeared, and a
committee consisting of Fischer and Sanderson was sent to request
their attendance. Arriving at their room, we were invited in. Tell-
ing them that the meeting was to be called in five minutes, we were
replied to by young Gleason, who said:
You appointed the convention at two o'clock. No one appeared
and Lesser called the meeting. No one came and now the thing 's
adjourned sine die."
We said nothing and turned to go, but what was our dismay to
find the door locked and the key on the outside. The Lesserites
had us completely in their power. The meeting was being held
down-stairs and we could not get there. Our wrath rose a little at
this point, and stepping to one side of the roomwe gave the servants
bell a violent pull. No one answered, but, having observed the lay
of the land, we suddenly seized a chair and, placing it by the side of
the door, leaped up over it and squeezed out of the little window at
the top, before they could realize what we were doing. Hurrying
down to the parlor, we found that the convention had just been
called to order.







At 3.05 o'clock, President Parsons called the meeting to order.
Minutes of last meeting were read and accepted. A large number
of new recruits were added to the membership list. The following

STARTING A PAPER.-" Whalt shall we call it?"

were appointed as laureate winners for the year: Jas. L. Elderdice,
poet; Wm. F. Buckley, sketch; Chas. S. Elguttie, essay.
The treasurer reported $15.50 in the treasury. After a good deal
of minor business had been transacted, the election of officers
occurred at 4.50. Will C. Brown arose and stated that he had the
pleasure of nominating Frank N. Reeve for the presidency. No
opponent appearing, he was elected by acclamation. In response
to the cries of "speech," he rose and addressed a few well-chosen
words to the association, and sat down amid hearty applause. He
was then escorted to the chair by a committee of two and the election
proceeded as follows: Louis Kempner nominated F. E. Day for
first Vice-President, and he was elected unanimously. Sanderson
nominated J. A. Imrie for second Vice-President, and he was also
elected without opposition. For third Vice-President, Wylie and
Kempner were nominated. The association then proceeded to ballot,
and it resulted as follows:
Kempner ............................................ I
Wylie ............... ............................. ...
Mr. Kempner was declared elected. J. J. Weissert and
Warren J. Niles were elected Recording and Corresponding
Secretaries respectively. Howard K. Sanderson was elected
Treasurer by a majority of eight votes over his opponent,
Chas. C. Rickert. Finlay A. Grant was elected Official Edi-
tor, and Detroit, Mich., as the next place of meeting.
Each of the newly elected officers present responded with
short speeches. Bills against the association were ordered
paid. Adjourned.
The next convention is to assemble this
month in Detroit, Michigan, and bids fair to
be the largest and most enthusiastic yet held.
It will probably decide the fate of the Dom."
There is a small faction who are desirous of
a revolution, like Orgetorix of old, and unless
a rousing meeting is secured, and a strong set
of officers elected, trouble is threatened. But
the better element is well organized and alert,
and fully determined to have fair play and
keep the old N. A. P. A. afloat.


An account of amateur newspapers which
should give no specimens of what the amateur
editors produce would be like a Thanksgiving din-
ner with the ornithology omitted; but the style of
these papers is so varied, and the papers them-

selves so numerous, that one is at a loss where to
begin. A bare list of their names would fill several
pages of this magazine. An excellent representa-
tive of its class is the julndendent
Times, published by Frank Newton
Reeve, of Newark, N. J., who is now
Sthe President of the Association. His
^- 6 t portrait appears on the next page of
This article. The Times is printed on
S/ fine paper with excellent type by Jas.
B. H. Storms, who is considered to be
- ,' I the best printer in Amateurdom. The
size of the paper is 8Y x 12y inches.
-' An idea of its general appearance,
i With its effective title-head and
S"make-up," may be gained from the
reduced fac-simile which we present.
The NationalAmateur, which is the
official organ, will be mentioned fur-
ther on. Next to it in importance
come the organs of the various sub-
societies, such as the New England
A. P. A., The South-Eastern, The Western, The
Ohio and Michigan, etc.
F-.' !. i' 'r these comes the long train of miscel-
laneous papers, among which may be noted The
Hurricane, of Charleston, S. C., edited entirely by
a little girl of fourteen years. Her name is Eva
Britton, and she is well known to many at the
North, for she makes annual tours -li..... i the
cities, securing subscribers for her bright paper.
She has now about four thousand, and is one of

a very few amateurs who are supported by their
work. Is she not the only one?
The Mercury, of Towanda, Penn.; The Young




'. .A ..


Recruit, of Vineland, N. J. ; The
Bay State Press, of Warren, Mass.;
Our Standard, New Glasgow, N.
S.; The Latest, Malden, Mass.;
Nonpariel, New York City; The
Venture, Detroit (edited by a col-
ored boy); The Miscellany, Spen-
cerville, Ont.; The Topic, Rhila-
delphia; Literary Journal, Phila-
delphia; The Paragon, New York;
The Censor, Philadelphia; The
Commentator, Philadelphia; Puz-
zler's Pride, Chicago; Amateur
Review, Cincinnati; New York's
Favorite; The Tablet, Halifax;
Pittsburgh Independent ; Young
Aspirant, Punxsutawny, Pa. ;
Phunny Phellow, Nebraska City;
Monthly Eagle, Rockford, Ind.;
Florida, Hawkinsville, Fla.; The
Dauntless, Fostoria, O.; The
Sphere, Washington, D. C.; Blush-
ing Bud (by two girls), Evansville,
Ind.; The Vigilant, Pittsburgh, Pa.;
Amateur Exchange, Stanberry,
Mo.; The Stylate, Frederick, Md.;

SOur Blade, Buffalo, N. Y., and The Union,
Hamilton, Ont., are names taken at random
from a huge pile of Amateur journals of all
shades of politics and all degrees of excellence.
Those who are interested in this subject
will doubtless be able, by obtaining specimen
copies of some of these sheets, to satisfy their
reasonable curiosity.
The National Amateur is the official organ
of the N. A. P. A., and is as good as any ama-
teur paper we have seen. Important informa-
tion heads its editorial columns, as may here be
seen. It is conducted by Finlay A. Grant, of
New Glasgow, N. S. Mr. Grant also pub-
lishes The Boy's Folio, and is the leading spirit
of Young Nova Scotia, both excellent papers.
He has won his way to the front of Amateur-
dom by a long service of earnest and devoted
labor. It was largely due to his exertions that
Canadian boys were admitted to the Association,
and, in spite of the drawback of his distant home,



n (Iptediqt tips.

',. '. NEWARK, N, J., JULY, 188,L WHOLE NO. 4L

rr- sIIish 'i TanMQ efm '*Tdareiicnwajn ,-aiarngtlcsa
: FL Ei llliAIATIONS. \ ,.... ,].ht ..l.

I I'll ItO 1"ie P1,000. 7", .. 0100 oat o. ,
SA M .Her is Bvnow nhl gentler moments:--
SIo 0 aveo toyd my leiIor n el0 0., when not c-'
labol to discrminaih: agm uatcur public T egend forl nide c e
Iefo i Wini.itatio0 of Tron,0--Is *, .V00i,,o." Tlhe d 0h sh h
whio ar acquainted r tl 1 hat somewl at orvr estimatlcd po will, ,
I o iuk, recognize the O uselle s of the semo blo ace o -. Still u,(.,o o l;o( o(( rwh000 hewa,
Comet 000 hho e lo n .i'.r bth at hon .o

S .. .. .. .. Whlw.illhs i e o ie 6e

h .l tws i,' at d Oii a o o e lc li
*Will ihair h crow i ne d 0hli eo ded mycol llle 0ln 0 il dll0 C 00 r M i

T l t a l l ioiI of EI A. Po. It is e ps .
d tr uli h. s, ndI I p Ido for l du i thi' ," ,'
rue ( M. 0 I Fl I(i, riid, ((. 0 .l-
erringo o' iotto ; IOO k O(0now 00 th X0

h: J-, I. I -. s,,,Ol ,-
S T. l, "", JO hi id1 -,i,4=
ell=*irlf o nin a t.t o1 al -n d-ao ud~meath.

TO.. ioo I,. It 1 00010(00(00000(0.004.. -roy-. 1000 o.


k= 1 '- '

N 1 ...


he has been elected to the highest office but one.
He is an entire stranger to us personally, but we
have read with admiration his editorials on various
topics, and they breathe a manly and true spirit.
We present on page 726 an engraving of the
editors of the Petit Anse Amateur as they appeared
when at work. Their paper has had the reputation
of being the smallest in the world, and a fac-simile
of the first page of it is also given. But there are
now many papers much smaller. The lidget,
for instance, is an exact reprint of one of them,
"life-size." The Amateur, of Warsaw, Ind., is
only 4/ x I inch, and The Oak, which was, at one
time, printed in Boston on a hand-press, was still
more minute. Its four pages were as follows :



The articles contributed to amateur journals
may readily be divided into five classes: Editorials,
Stories, Essays, Poetry, and Criticisms. As a
sample of the first, see the following from the
Independent Times, by President Reeve:


"Not for years have the future prospects for Amateur Journalism
seemed so promising. New papers are coming into existence daily,

and especially in the vicinity of New York City are affairs assum-
ing a healthy activity. Every spring and summer new papers ap-
pear, their editors invariably being inspired by the campaign for
National officers, but a distressing number of suspensions take
place as soon as the campaign is past. But this year [1881] the
campaign was entirely too tame and one-sided to prompt the publi-
cation of the usual number of campaign sheets. We are, therefore,
led to believe that the present spurt in amateur affairs is a genuine
and healthy one. We have on our exchange list eighty-two papers
that have started since last year, and we know of many more soon
to appear.
With those strong influences for good to our cause will be coupled
as much encouragement from the officers of the N. A. P. A. as it
is possible for active leaders to give. The National A mafeur will
appear regularly, and the entire board of officers will exert their
best efforts to elevate and increase Amateurdom in character and
strength. All they ask is to receive the hearty cooperation of every
amateur. If they err, criticise them as they deserve, but don't allow
political bickering to cause you to say disheartening things or act in
a manner calculated to retard them in their efforts to benefit the
'Dom.' "
Most of the papers have good editorials; but,
alas, after a search of several hours through our
whole bundle of Amateur journals, we can not find

i. 1


FINLAY A, GRANT, Editor, New Glasgow, Nova Scotia.

FRANK NEWTON REEVE,......... ......Newark, N. J.
FRANK E. DAY,.......................Cedar Rapids, Ia.
JOHN A. IMIE, .....................Spencerville, Ontario.
LouIS KEMPNER ........................New York, N. Y.
Corresponding,-CHAs. C. RICKERT,......Canal Dover, O.
Recording,-JNo. J. WEISSERT,............Pittsburgh, Pa.
HOWARD K. SANDERSON, .................. Warren, Mass.
FINLAY A. GRANT, ............ New Glasgow, Nova Scotia.

THE NATIONAL AMATEUR is sent free to members. To
others it is 15 cents per year.

The National Amateur Press Association is composed of
the amateur editors, authors, publishers and printers of
North America, who meet yearly, during the month of July,
for the purpose of acquaintance an- tr-n--tin; -tich busi-
ness as may be proposed. The -. r -. ..r ... will be
held in Detroit, Mich., subject to the call of the President.

ARTICLE XVI.-Section .-Any person who is actively
interested in Amateurdom, is the publisher of an amateur
paper, or a contributor to the Amateur Press, or the printer
of amateur publications, and resides in the United States
of America or Canada, may become a member of the Asso-
ciation by conforming with the requirements set forth in
this Constitution and these By-Laws, and no person shall
be entitled to the privileges of membership until he has.
Persons who are Puzzlers only are not construed by this
section to be contributors to the Amateur Press.

I; Any person desiring to join the National Amateur
Press Association and who conforms with the above con-
ditions must make application to C. C. Rickert, Canal
Dover, O., Chairman Credential Committee, stating in
what manner he or she is connected with amateur journal-
ism, and who will notify such applicant of his or her
acceptance or rejection. If accepted, send two dollars
,\ for initiation fee and one year's dues, to J. J.
.', i Wylie Ave., Pittsburgh, Pa., when such person
will be entitled to all the privileges of membership for
one year.




a single story which can properly be reproduced
here. Many of them are poor imitations of the
dime novel, others, less trashy, are marred by slang
words, gross allusions, or the irreverent use of
sacred names.

*,"; ;1";17,,l^.n .. .. ; !! \ i f. l!?, .ic *;,'

^! lli'

1 1 111'; '!I
I ..'re 0
Al :,fi

' ." ,, .


I' only in praise of the
friends, we should
be neglecting a plain duty did we fail to warn them
that the three greatest enemies of their cause are
vulgarity, irreverence, and abusive personalities.
The first two of these three are found chiefly in
the story columns. The last, which sometimes
includes the others, appears mainly in "Notices
of our Exchanges," but often steals into what, if
anything, should be kept pure and courteous and
Christian-the Editorial page.
If Amateur Journalism has been looked upon
with disfavor by the professional press, a potent
cause may be found in the bitter sneers, coarse
jests, rude taunts, and open accusations which
used to form a constant feature of the average
boy's paper; and if, as we believe, this disfavor
is passing by, the reason for it will be found in the
noble, persistent, and successful efforts for a higher
standard by the clean-minded and whole-souled ed-
itors, like Grant of the Nalional amateur, Mercur
of the Mercury, and Morris of the Young Recruit.
Although many excellent essays are before us,
they are too long to be available here, and we

therefore give a few specimens of the manner in
which the boys criticise each other. Some of them
may serve as warnings rather than as models !

"Latest advices state that the Fool Killer is roaming through
Michigan, and that he will shortly fetch up in Detroit. A hint to
the wise is sufficient, Mr. ."-IManfest.
This youthful Socrates should know that fools are
rarely, if ever, wise."-Detroit Venture.
"We hereby give notice that we have noticed -- in these col-
umns for the last time. If our contemporaries are desirous of keep-
ing their papers clean and doing us a favor they will pay no further
attention to that parasite."- Independent Times.
"Bay State Press, Lynn Amateur, and Golden Moments lug off
the bun for neatness."- Puzzler's Pride.
"We can digest an issue of the Mercury of Towanda, Penn.,
with as great a zest as, perhaps, any other paper of its size we
receive. It is decidedly interesting at times, and remarkably fresh."
"The Nonfariel is decidedly a i. .. : sheet of much merit,
and ably conducted. Its regular .II I of much importance
to the cause, now that Kempner is a National officer."
"'Idle Hours is quite an improvement on the A amateur Reformer,
and its interesting contents and good management will do much
good for the cause in Indiana. Such papers we delight to notice."
"The Danbury Hornet is the liveliest little sheet in the 'dom.'
Admirably and vigorously edited, neatly and regularly issued, it
deserves much credit, and will certainly gain it if it continues its
present creditable issue."



Is published, owned, and
printed by eshool-boys,
and the articles which
appear are the efforts of
children whose agoa.range
from 7 to 13. The object
of the paper is principal-
ly for ale-improvement,
as typography is now a
braheh oof study in the
Petite 'Anse Grammar
School. It Is issued ev-
ery month, and a yearly
sub~cription price of 50
cents is charged. Yearly
advertisements are in-
serted at the rate of $1 50
per square; 86 50 per col-
umn. and ly per page.
Editors and Proprietors,
to whom a11 communica-
tioae should be addressed
JUNE, 1870.
Our ftrends will br de-
lighted to hear of our
continued success. The

circulation is rapidly ex-
tending over the country,
white advertisers are
crowding our pages. Our
evenings are occupied in
scanning exchanges and
in answering the daily
increasing correspond-
once. Every moment of
the daytime is n demand;
and if type-setting, com-
position, and other mat-
ters connected with; the
AMATEUE do not call on
us, then kite-flying, fish-
ing, swimming, or base-
ballis the order.

THE papahbtte return
rom thelr southeraflght
to feed on our pratries,
on which they will fatten
and afford good sport for
gentlemen of the gun and
enjoyment for those who
love goo eating.



Doubtless some of our young friends, if any have
followed us so far, are asking themselves: "Could
I start a paper?" "How should I begin?"
"What would it cost? "Would it pay ?"
To these questions we answer briefly by quoting
from a letter recently received from the official
editor of the "Dom":

In reference to running an amateur paper, I will first of all state
that it seldom if ever pays. The only way to save it from being a
continual expense is to have a printing outfit of your own and print
your paper yourself. By doing this you will he able to make both
ends meet. However, an amateur paper could be made to pay, and




- -

["tu :'.n.,l 1..;It, : .,.,



has been before now, by a proper course of .1. 1 i address, monthly. All the manual labor on the paper for the last
voting time to working it up. But not one r .... six months has been executed by the editor alone, and he has also
thing over running expenses. Those now publishing papers do it written more than two-thirds of the reading matter which has filled
solely as a means to benefit themselves, to give them a bright mental its columns. During all of this tim we l have attended school
and moral training, or as an amusement. The cost of ,in' nn regularly."
r*. ..r ., .. .. .. two to ten dollars per issue. .
S ... dollars. A paper half the size can be There can be little doubt that boys who are
issued in the U. S. for four or five dollars. A paper two columns to
a page, four pages, can beissued at a cost of two or three dollars. Willing of their own accord to subject themselves to
such discipline as that have a power

4 THE MIiDGET. of will, a spirit of perseverance, and
4 E DGET. THE. MIDGET. a praiseworthy ambition which will
PERSONAL. surely lift them, by and by, into
Masher's Column.- Vol. i ll. Ii.a 0. positions of greater honor and wider
"Wi77 F'-. :, has given up
-.: ;.:. I ,,.,-7 to Indianapo- INTRODUCTION usefulness. It is claimed that about
Ifo I.ot.e. rizg a wash pan one-half of those who begin by edit-
Gus !.I.~thiii as:r, has been Inintroducing'thislittle-paper ing such papers continue their con-
sick, Cause, drinking toomuch to the boys and girls of Evans-
ce-wa aer, villa -we-will first of all, heg o section with the Press after they have
.Tlhe August rambe of tha them and th a Amateur Press. passed the age of boyhood. Many
Aillar'is eightpages. not to.crithcisenstoo severeIyab
first, as thisis our first attempt successful editors and newspaper cor-
W WAN'rT ir Ce Ast h e der canplablyEee.snes respondents attribute their present for-
lIn SmtiAets.Mlnthlyfar fhe omrpaper.is saall, and we -will tune to the training they gave them-
month of Agust the .Petife .'.: .er .-nla.- a;-': % 1 c.,1- ..!
An;, .A'. .rJ.:r .:i;m, r,. t...- t he c ,'- .: .e itrIaIr. ir: h..rc selves as amateurs. The boys are
mllet ppper i the orld. l.. ...' :' excuse all th~ fond of quoting a saying of Speaker
TWe ii. ru vme',jre.me r. -ttea err.., "o t*h- q e o tiig sayigSl ip
the Mi.rcer i- aouL uthalf th ';en is .:,," t,; :i..t, ich Randall to the effect that amateur
sizenof theA mfen v hpe '.;ilt .l.. a L!.-- ., journalism is the "noblest work in-

"THE tt T'-LtF-tZ. dulged in by our American youth."
Whether this be strictly true or not,

"The directions for starting an amateur paper are very simple. All
that is necessary is to decide upon starting one, then upon what
size. The editor can then use his judgment as to what to publish;
but whatever he publishes should be original, as that is the prime
motive for starting a paper: to exercise the literary ability of the editor.
It would be well for a beginner to make the acquaintance of some
one who has had experience as an amateur in order to get the names
and addresses of exchanges, for the exchanges are the life of an
amateur paper that is devoted to the cause. If the would-be editor
wishes to print his paper himself, let him consult the advertising
columns of some boy paper and he will find out where to purchase
presses and material. There are many who keep all the requisites
of an amateur printing office for sale, and who do nothing else but
manufacture and sell them. How many boys spend more than ten
dollars a month upon those things which do them not half the good
which would come from publishing an amateur paper! "

Some notion of the toil required to manage suc-
cessfully even a small paper may be obtained from
the experience of the editor of the Egyptian Star.
He says:
"This paper contains about sixty thousand pieces of type metal,
which have not only to be set up, but handled the second time when
distributed. Our press being small, only one page of the Star is
printed at a time, therefore one month's issue of our average size
S i- r 1 :. thousand impressions. Besides this the
.'I :,... .. :. .,. has to be carefully prepared, in itself no
S, i 'I 'h.- I i I -.. number alone coveringover one hundred
and fifty sheets of common note-paper.
"Then with our three hundred exchanges every month, and as many
or more letters during the same time, we have a vast amount of
reading to do. One thousand two hundred papers we fold, wrap, and

we reckon among the strongest reasons which cause
us to regret that we have passed the boundaries

1 7 I



of youth, the impossibility of editing an amateur
paper, of joining the N. A. P. A., of decorating
our breast with the silver shield and pen, of going
to the convention at Detroit, and doing our very
best by voice and ballot to elect to the presiden-
tial chair for next year Mr. But, alas the
ivory gates of boyhood have closed behind us, and
we have no right to nominate. We can only ex-
press our hope to see an honest fight, and a true
devotion to the cause. May the best man win !





WHEN the scarlet cardinal tells
Her dream to the dragon-fly,
And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees
And murmurs a lullaby,
It is July.

When the tangled cobweb pulls
The corn-flower's blue cap awry,
And the lilies tall lean over the wall
To bow to the butterfly,
It is July.

When the heat like a mist-veil floats,
And poppies flame in the rye,

And the silver note in the streamlet's throat
Has softened almost to a sigh,
It is July.

When the hours are so still that Time
Forgets them, and lets them lie
'Neath petals pink till the night stars wink
At the -sunset in the sky,
It is July.

When each finger-post by the way
Says that Slumbertown is nigh;
When the grass is tall, and the roses fall,
And nobody wonders why,
It is July.





DONALD had won the gratitude of many Nestle-
town fathers and mothers, and had raised himself
not a little in the estimation of the younger folk by
his encounter with the rabid dog. That it was a
case of hydrophobia was settled from the testimony
of some wagoners, who had seen the poor animal
running across the road, but who, being fearful of
having their horses bitten, had not attempted to stop
him. Though all felt sorry for General," every-
body rejoiced that he had been put out of his
misery, and that he had not bitten any one in his
mad run through the fields.
As the summer advanced, and base-ball and
running-matches proved to be too warm work for
the season, the young folk naturally took to
the water. Swimming and boating became the
order of the day and the night, too; for, indeed,
boats shot hither and thither through many a boy's
sleep, confounding him with startling surprises and
dream-land defeats and victories. But the lake
sports of their waking hours were more under con-
trol. Donald and Ed Tyler, as usual, were among
the most active in various contests with the oars;
and as Donald believed that no event was absolutely

complete if Dorry were not among either the actors
or the spectators, boat-racing soon grew to be as
interesting to the girls as to the boys.
The races usually were mild affairs- often im-
promptu, or sometimes planned in the morning and
carried into effect the same afternoon. Now and
then, something more ambitious was attempted:
boys in rowing-suits practiced intently for days
beforehand, while girls, looking on, formed their
own not very secret opinions as to which rowers
were most worthy of their support. Some went
so far as to wear a tiny bit of ribbon by way of
asserting allegiance to this or that crew sporting
the same color in cap, uniform, or flag. This,
strange to say, did not act in the least as "a
damper" on the pastime; even the fact that girls
became popular as coxswains did not take the life
out of it--all of which, as Dorry said, served to
show the great hardihood and endurance of the
After awhile, Barry Outcalt, Benjamin Buster,
and three others concocted a plot. The five
held meetings in secret to complete their arrange-
ments, and these meetings were enlivened with
much smothered laughter. It was to be a "glori-
ous joke." A boat-race, of course; and there must
be a great show of previous practice, tremendous
rivalry, and pressing competition, so that a strong

*Copyright, x881, by Mary Mapes Dodge. All rights reserved.






WHEN the scarlet cardinal tells
Her dream to the dragon-fly,
And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees
And murmurs a lullaby,
It is July.

When the tangled cobweb pulls
The corn-flower's blue cap awry,
And the lilies tall lean over the wall
To bow to the butterfly,
It is July.

When the heat like a mist-veil floats,
And poppies flame in the rye,

And the silver note in the streamlet's throat
Has softened almost to a sigh,
It is July.

When the hours are so still that Time
Forgets them, and lets them lie
'Neath petals pink till the night stars wink
At the -sunset in the sky,
It is July.

When each finger-post by the way
Says that Slumbertown is nigh;
When the grass is tall, and the roses fall,
And nobody wonders why,
It is July.





DONALD had won the gratitude of many Nestle-
town fathers and mothers, and had raised himself
not a little in the estimation of the younger folk by
his encounter with the rabid dog. That it was a
case of hydrophobia was settled from the testimony
of some wagoners, who had seen the poor animal
running across the road, but who, being fearful of
having their horses bitten, had not attempted to stop
him. Though all felt sorry for General," every-
body rejoiced that he had been put out of his
misery, and that he had not bitten any one in his
mad run through the fields.
As the summer advanced, and base-ball and
running-matches proved to be too warm work for
the season, the young folk naturally took to
the water. Swimming and boating became the
order of the day and the night, too; for, indeed,
boats shot hither and thither through many a boy's
sleep, confounding him with startling surprises and
dream-land defeats and victories. But the lake
sports of their waking hours were more under con-
trol. Donald and Ed Tyler, as usual, were among
the most active in various contests with the oars;
and as Donald believed that no event was absolutely

complete if Dorry were not among either the actors
or the spectators, boat-racing soon grew to be as
interesting to the girls as to the boys.
The races usually were mild affairs- often im-
promptu, or sometimes planned in the morning and
carried into effect the same afternoon. Now and
then, something more ambitious was attempted:
boys in rowing-suits practiced intently for days
beforehand, while girls, looking on, formed their
own not very secret opinions as to which rowers
were most worthy of their support. Some went
so far as to wear a tiny bit of ribbon by way of
asserting allegiance to this or that crew sporting
the same color in cap, uniform, or flag. This,
strange to say, did not act in the least as "a
damper" on the pastime; even the fact that girls
became popular as coxswains did not take the life
out of it--all of which, as Dorry said, served to
show the great hardihood and endurance of the
After awhile, Barry Outcalt, Benjamin Buster,
and three others concocted a plot. The five
held meetings in secret to complete their arrange-
ments, and these meetings were enlivened with
much smothered laughter. It was to be a "glori-
ous joke." A boat-race, of course; and there must
be a great show of previous practice, tremendous
rivalry, and pressing competition, so that a strong

*Copyright, x881, by Mary Mapes Dodge. All rights reserved.




feeling of partisanship would be aroused; while, in
truth, the race itself was to be a sham. The boats
were to reach the goal at the same moment, no-
body was to win, yet every one was to claim the
victory; the air was to be rent with cries of
"foul!" and spurious shouts of triumph, accom-
panied by vehement demands for a "fresh try."
Then a second start was to be made-One, two,
three, and off! All was to go well at first, and
when the interest of the spectators was at its height,
every eye strained and every heart almost at a
stand-still with excitement, two of the boats were to
"foul," and the oarsman of one, in the most
tragic and thrilling manner, was to fall over into
the astonished lake. Then, amid the screams of
the girls and scenes of wild commotion, he was to
be rescued, put into his empty boat again, limp and
dripping--and then, to everybody's amazement,
disregarding his soaked garments and half-drowned
state, he was suddenly to take to the oars in gal-
lant style, and come in first at the close, rowing
So ran the plot-a fine one truly. The five con-
spirators were delighted, and each fellow solemnly
promised to stand by the rest, and not to breathe a
word about it until the sell" should be accom-
plished. So far, so good. Could the joke be
carried out successfully? As the lake was public
property, it was not easy for the two "fouling"
boys to find opportunities for practicing their parts.
To make two boats collide at a given instant, so as
to upset one and spill its occupant in a purely
" accidental way, required considerable dexterity.
Ben Buster had a happy thought. Finding him-
self too clumsy to be the chief actor, he proposed
that they should strengthen their force by asking
Donald Reed to join the conspiracy. He urged
that Don, being the best swimmer among the
boys, was therefore best fitted to manage the fall
into the water. Outcalt, on his part, further sug-
gested that Ed Tyler was too shrewd to be a safe
outsider. He might suspect, and spoil every-
thing. Better make sure of this son of a lawyer
by taking him into the plan, and appointing him
sole judge and referee.
Considerable debate followed-the fros urging
that Don and Ed were just the fellows wanted,
and the cons insisting that neither of the two
would be willing to take part. Ben, as usual, was
the leading orator. He was honestly proud of
Don's friendship, and as honestly scornful of any
intimation that Don's better clothes and more ele-
gant manners enhanced or hindered his claims to
the high Buster esteem. Don was a good fellow
-the right sort of a chap-and that was all
there was about it. All they had to do was to let
him, Ben, fetch Don and Ed around that very

day, and he 'd guarantee they 'd be found true
blue, and no discounting.
This telling eloquence prevailed. It was voted
that the two new men should be invited to join.
And join they did.
Donald entered heartily into the plot, impelled
both by his native love of fun and by a brotherly
willingness to play an innocent joke upon Dorry,
who, with Josie Manning, he knew would surely
be among the most interested of all the victimized
A number of neat circulars, announcing the race
and the names of the six contestants, with their
respective colors, were written by the boys, and,
after being duly signed by Ed Tyler, as referee,
were industriously distributed among the girls and
On the appointed afternoon, therefore, a merry
crowd met at a deserted old house on the lake-
shore. It had a balcony overlooking the place
where the race was to begin and end.
This old building was the rendezvous of young
Nestletown during boating hours; indeed, it was
commonly called the boat-house." Having been
put up long years before the date of our story, it
had fallen into a rather dilapidated condition when
the Nestletown young folk appropriated it; but it
had not suffered at their hands. On the contrary,
it had been carefully cleared of its rubbish; and
with its old floors swept clean, its broken windows
flung open to air and sunlight, and its walls deco-
rated with bright-colored sun-bonnets and boating
flags, it presented quite a festive appearance when
the company assembled in it on the day of the race.
Fortunately, its ample piazza was strong, in spite
of old age and the fact that its weather-stained
and paintless railing had for years been nicked,
carved, and autographed by the village youngsters.
It was blooming enough, on this sunny Saturday,
with its freight of expectant girls and boys, many
of the first-named wearing the colors of their
favorites among the contestants.
The doughty six were in high spirits--every
man of them having a colored 'kerchief tied about
his head, and sporting bare, sinewy arms cal-
culated to awe the beholder. Don was really
superb. So were Ben Buster and young Outcalt.
Many a girl was deeply impressed by their air
of gravity and anxiety, not suspecting that it was
assumed for the occasion, while the younger boys
looked on in longing admiration. Ed, as starter,
umpire, judge, referee, and general superintendent,
rowed out with dignity, and anchored his boat a
little way from shore. The six, each in his shining
boat, rowed into line, taking their positions for the
start. The stake-boat was moored about a third
of a mile up the lake, and the course of the race




was to be from the starting-line to the stake-boat,
around it, and back.
The balcony fluttered and murmured as Ed
Tyler shouted to the six rowers, waiting with up-
lifted oars:
"Are you ready? ONE, TWO, THREE GO "
On the instant, every oar struck the water, the
six boats crossed the line together, and the race
No flutter in the balcony now; the spectators
were too intent.
Not for a moment could they imagine that it was
not a genuine race. Every man bent to his work
with a will: soon Ben Buster, with long, sweeping
strokes, went laboriously ahead, and now Outcalt
and another passed him superbly, side by side;
then Don's steady, measured stroke distanced the
three, and as he turned the stake-boat .his victory
was evident, not only to Dorothy but to half the
spectators. Not yet- a light-haired, freckled fel-
low in a blue 'kerchief, terribly in earnest, spun
around the stake-boat and soon left Don behind;
then came the quick, sharp stroke of Ben Buster
nerved for victory, closely followed by Steuby Butler,
who astonished everybody; and then, every man
rowing as if by superhuman exertion, inspired by
encouraging cries from the balcony, they crowded
closer and closer.
"Ben 's ahead cried the balcony.
"No, it 's Don.Reed!"
Good it 's Outcalt! "
"No, I tell you it 's Butler! "-And then, before
any one could see how it was done, the boats, all
six of them, were at the line, oars were flourished
frantically, the judge and referee was shouting
himself hoarse, and the outcry and tumult on the
water silenced the spectators on the land. Cries of:
" No fair! No fair! It wont do Have
it again!" "Hold up!" "I wont stand such
work!" culminated in riotous disorder. Seven
voices protesting, shouting, and roaring together
made the very waters quiver,
But Tyler was equal to the occasion. Standing
in his boat, in the identical position shown in the
picture of "Washington Crossing the Delaware,"
he managed to quiet the tumult, and ordered that
the race should be rowed over again.
Once more the boats were in line. Again the
umpire shouted: '"Are you ready?" and again
the crowd fluttered and murmured with expecta-
tion as every boat dashed forward.
But what was this ? Dorry and Josie, with flushed
cheeks and sparkling eyes, moving rapidly as they
could among the crowding spectators, and whisper-
ing urgent words that evidently produced a strong
Still the boats pressed on, every rower apparently

outdoing himself, if not outdoing everything else.
If cheers and shouts had inspired them before, the
intense silence now was even more inspiring.
Could ii1.; have succeeded better? With
every show of exertion, the rascals managed to
slacken or quicken as the case required, until,
when nearly home, they were all close together.
It was glorious! They never had known such
fun in their lives. Now for the grand business !
Donald and Outcalt came together with a crash
-a perfect "foul"! One masterly effort-over
went Don's boat and over went Don, headlong into
the water !
The boys in the other boats did beautifully,
crowding about and, in spite of Don's wild struggles,
catching him with oars and arms, never hearing
the screams of the girls in the suppressed mirth and
wild activity of the moment, but getting Don into
his boat again, limp and dripping; and finally,
with real dramatic zeal, carrying out their entire
plan-too busy and delighted with success to note
its effect upon the crowd of spectators. Every-
thing worked to perfection. Don, scorning his
half-drowned state, had sprung suddenly to his
oars, and in dead earnest had won the race,
against every dead-earnest competitor, and -
What do you think?
When those six oarsmen, including the victor,
looked up to receive the acclamations of the crowd,
white- with the waving of pocket-handkerchiefs,
they heard only--silence; saw nothing but an
empty piazza. Not a spectator was to be seen-
not even a face at a window-not a single eye
peering through a crack. Worse than all, their
judge and referee was in the bottom of his boat,
kicking with merriment. He had strength only to
point to the boat-house and gasp, between his bursts
of laughter :
Not a soul there -they found us out !-went
off before Don's ducking "
The boat-house was, in truth, deserted; After
the mysterious movements and whisperings of
Dorry and Josie, every boy and girl had sped away
on tiptoe; and down in a hollow grove near the
road, where they could not even see the water, they
were chatting and giggling and having the very best
kind of a time-all because they had turned the
tables on the gallant seven.
It was now well understood by these spectators
who had deserted their post that a second mock
race had been carried on without a single eye-
witness, and the thought was rapture. How much
more they would have enjoyed it had they known
of the difficult foul," of Donald's headlong plunge,
and of the subsequent frantic but honest contest of
rowing !
So much for carrying out one mock race and




starting another in the presence of somebody
named Dorothy, who first had suspected and then
had been morally sure that those boys were play-
ing a trick! When four of them crossed the line
at once, her suspicions were aroused. "I do be-
lieve they 're fooling! she had said to herself,
and then, remembering certain recent mysterious
conferences that Don and some others of the
"seven" had been holding, coupled with a sly
look or two that she had seen exchanged by the
contestants, she had jumped at the correct con-
clusion. As she afterward expressed it to Ed
Tyler, she had seen through it all in a flash.
Misery loves company. Those seven boys, from

unbend, and that was when little Fandy ventured
to observe that he ought to have heard what one
of the girls had said about him in the race. This
remark rankled even that stony bosom. The more
Ben Buster tried not to care, the more it tortured
him. To make matters worse, he had betrayed
himself too soon to the sagacious Fandy. In vain
the big brother cajoled the little one, in vain, at
cautious intervals, he tried the effect of indirect
bribes and hidden threats. The more he desired
to know what that girl had said, the more Fandy
would n't tell him. At last he triumphed. In a
yielding moment, when Ben had been touchingly
kind, the grateful youngster let it out.

I~'; *


that day, had a peculiar tenderness for one another.
They were linked by a hidden bond and while
they laughed heartily at their own expense, and
tacitly confessed themselves beaten, they compelled
all outsiders to be satisfied with guessing and with
hints of the catastrophe that somehow came to
light. Not one of them ever disclosed all the
facts of the case the secret sessions, the fre-
quent upset-practicings on cloudy evenings, the
difficulty of the final performance, and the full sum
of their defeat.
Ben, usually a kind brother, was sternness itself
so far as the great race was concerned. Not one
of the juvenile Danbys dared to allude to it in his
august presence. Only on one occasion did he
VOL. IX.--47.

Ah, that wily Ben Not fur the world would he
have had that small child know how those words
thrilled him.
"Dorothy Reed said it It sounds like her,"
was Ben's ecstatic thought, but to poor Fandy's
surprise and disappointment, he only muttered
aloud: '"There, there, that 's a good little boy.
Go and play "
Many a time after that, in the sanctity of the
lonely fields, did Ben, rather sheepishly, repeat to
himself the bewitching phrase:
How splendid your brother Ben can row!"
Judge, then, of his feelings, when one Sunday
in September, Master Fandy whispered to him,
rather loudly, while coming out of church, "There




she is" (pointing to a little tot of seven summers)
-" that 's the girl who said it! "
Ben stared at her, speechless with disgust.
"I might have known," he thought, "that the
little goose would call a baby like that a girl !"
So much for Ben's private feelings. Concerning
the race, the six-among themselves--enjoyed
exceedingly the unexpected recoil of their little
joke. I say six, for in this matter Ed Tyler was
unanimously suspected by the others of being on
the fence. They never could tell whether he was
laughing at them or with them. Donald was sure
that it was the very best thing he ever heard of
in his life. Outcalt protested he would n't have
missed it for the world; and Ben Buster, laughing

.--. _
-"- -

11- I ------ -- ... --~
rather ruefully, declared that he never knew the
"beat of it" but once, and that was one day when
he had slipped into Jones's cider-yard and taken a
good, long drink, through a straw, from a barrel
marked "sweet cider," as he thought. "I tell
you, fellows," was Ben's concluding remark, "if
I was n't sold that time, I 'I1 give in. I was so
warm and thirsty that I took a good, long pull be-
fore I found out that it was n't cider at all, but
vinegar, sour enough to take a man's head off.

It 's a blamed shame the way a fellow gets caught
sometimes !"


DONALD and Dorothy exchanged but four words
on the subject of the sham race after it was over,
but these were very expressive :
Donald. "Well, madam "
Dorothy. "Well, sir "
Their sparkling looks, Donald's tone of accu-
sation and injured innocence, Dorothy's playful,
rather defiant, air of triumph, said the rest. Uncle
George, who was present at the interview, having
previously heard both sides of the story from
the D's separately, was much amused. In
fact, he laughed aloud in quite an undigni-
fied manner, and so did they.
The next day brought news of Dr. Lane,
their old tutor, who had been living for sev-
eral months in South Carolina. He was
better-indeed, quite well again, and hav-
ing lately accepted the position of principal
of the boys' academy at F- about ten
miles from Nestletown, he proposed taking
up his abode there immediately.
Oh, Don," said Dorry, as she folded
the letter; I 've an idea!"
"I can not believe it," exclaimed Don,
in well-feigned surprise.
"Yes, but I have," she insisted. "Dr.
Lane will be at F- by Friday. Let us
ride over on Dood and Yankee and give
him a welcome "
Agreed "
Friday came, full of sunshine, and in a
fresh, breezy way, as if to say, Now for
S the ride "-at least, so it seemed to Dorry.
Lydia, who was shaking rugs over the
wide piazza railing, was pleased to salute
Sailor Jack as he led the ponies, saddled
and ready, to the door. Fine ponies they
were, too, large of their kind, glossy black,
With flowing tail and mane. Uncle George
had given them to the D's, on the Fourth
of July of the previous summer; and in
honor of the day they had been named Yankee
and Doodle. Yankee being the more spirited was
given to Don, and Doodle, by no means a lamb,
became the special pride and property of Dorry.
Good-morrow to you, Mistress Blum said
Jack, in a subdued though airy way, returning
Lydia's nod. Are the middies ready ? "
"If you mean the twins, I presume they are,
Mr. Jack. Have you looked carefully to Miss
Dorothy's saddle ? "




"Not extra," he answered, in an aggravating
tone-first looking up at the windows to be sure
that none of the family were near; think the
girth 's 'most broke-'t aint worth while to be too
Yes, it is; you 'd better make sure of saddle
and bridle, too, I can tell you. Miss Dorry '11 ride
twenty miles, and more, before sundown."
Well, well! exclaimed Sailor Jack-still bent
on teasing her. Had n't you better come down,
Mistress Blum, an' see to it that the pony's legs is
on good and tight ? It would be dreadful if one on
'em was to tumble off, now."
Lydia laughed. Oh, but you 're a funny man,
Mister Jack! Well, I need n't worry. You 're
even worse about Miss Dorry than I am, bless her !
-Hush here they are."
Off went Jack's hat, though he had to hold the
two bridle-reins with one hand to accomplish it.
Up-a-daisy he exclaimed, as Dorry, assisted
by Donald, sprang lightly to her saddle. It 's a
splendid day for a ride, Miss! "
"Yes, indeed," said Dorry, looking about her
with bright, happy eyes, as she stroked her pony's
Uncle George came out upon the piazza. By
this time, Don was on Yankee's back, dexterously
making him appear as spirited as possible-where-
at Dorry's steed began to prance also.
Good-bye, Uncle! Good-bye, Jack and Liddy!"
cried Dorry, waving her whip and looking back
with a laughing face.
Good-bye shouted Don; and they cantered
off-glad to be together; glad to breathe the
bright, clear air; glad at the prospect of a good
gallop over the hills.
Uncle George, Liddy, and Jack looked after
them proudly, till the road turned and the sound
of hoofs died in the distance. Jack was the first
to speak.
Aye but they 're a pretty pair, Capt'in "
Mr. Reed nodded a happy assent.
"An' do you know, sir, I'm fancyin' of late
they 're groin' liker to one another."
"Ah?" said Mr. Reed, well pleased. "In
what way? "
"Why, in feature, sir, an' manners, an' most
ev'ry way."
"Why should n't they favor one another," re-
marked Lydia-"bein' twins? Yet, some way, I
don't see it myself, sir, as plain as I might. Shall
I serve dinner on the back porch, Mr. George ? "
"Well, yes, Lydia, as I shall be alone. The
birds and trees will be good company for me."
And so the three separated.
Meanwhile, the D's cantered on, happy as-I
was going to say, as birds, but they were happier

even than birds-they were happy as happy
brothers and sisters.
For a while, they galloped in silence, Don often
going so far ahead that he had to wait for Dorry to
catch up; then, when the road was specially pleas-
ant and shady, they rode leisurely, side by side,
laughing and chatting. The day was so fine, and
they saw so much to interest them, and there were
so many things to talk about, that the ten-mile
ride to F- was accomplished almost before they
were aware of it.
Leaving the ponies in the yard of its pretty hotel,
to be fed and cared for, they enjoyed a hearty
luncheon, and then proceeded on foot to the
Academy near by-Dorry deftly carrying the train
of her riding-habit over.her arm, and snapping her
riding-whip softly as she tripped beside her com-
panion. Fortunately, the path was well shaded,
and the dust had been laid by showers of the
night before.
Dr. Lane was surprised and delighted to see
them so soon after his arrival. He had many in-
teresting things to tell them, and they, in turn,
rather shyly but heartily related the main incidents
of the past months and gave him some account
of their present course of study.
Then they all went through the Academy build-
ing, which, as it was "vacation," was. now being
cleaned and made ready for the fall term. Globes,
maps, black-boards, collections of minerals, elec-
tric machines, patent desks, dining-room, and dor-
mitory passed before them in rapid succession,
figuratively speaking; afterward, they went up to
the cupola to see the view, and finally settled them-
selves on the large front porch to rest.
Then, and not till then, they noticed a change.
Light clouds were gathering; the sun still was
shining, but it was shining under difficulties,
as Dorry observed, and the air was heavy and
It 's going to rain, Professor," said Don, rising
from his seat on the steps of the porch. I think
we '11 have to go now."
"Yes, indeed," said Dorry, in her impulsive way
-" we 've no time to lose either. Good-bye, Pro-
fessor. What shall we say to Uncle for you ?"
Give Mr. Reed my hearty regards, and tell
him I hope to see him at Nestletown very soon."
"Yes, thank you," said Dorry, starting toward
the gate. Good-bye. Come, Donald, we may
be able to get home before it rains hard."
The Professor joined her at once, and the three
were soon at the hotel.
At first it seemed best to wait until the approach-
ing shower should be over; but, as the clouds
grew no darker, and the ponies evidently were
ready for a brisk run, it was decided that they




should try a race with the shower and see which
could get home first.
The shower beat. They were not half-way home
when, just after crossing the railroad, with its cot-
tage-like station in sight, the sky darkened rapidly
and a big drop fell upon Donald's nose !
"We 're in for it he cried. "Whip up, Dot!
We '11 make for the station."
Reaching the station, and finding themselves
still dry, in spite of the warning thunder, they de-
cided to hurry on to the next stopping-place.
This was Vanbogen's, a little country inn about
half a mile further, where they could be comfort-
ably housed, if necessary, and the horses be shel-
tered also.
A sudden flash gave point to their determina-
tion. On they sped, the lightning now dancing
ahead of them, and the thunder rolling on, apace.
It's a race for life," thought Dorry, in high
spirits so pleased to have an adventure that she
forgot to dread the threatening shower. Yankee
and Dood did nobly; abandoning their canter,
they galloped on, neck and neck, while their riders
carried on a panting sort of conversation concern-
ing the new turn of things and the prospects of
reaching home before dark.
"What mat- ter if-we don't?" said Dorry,
her voice almost lost in the i.1iii,.. thunder;
"we '11 find-the way."
"But, Uncle- ex-pect- ed us by -- "
Well-he '11 know -what keeps- us."
"Plucky girl! thought Don, admiring her
bright cheeks and graceful air as she at that mo-
ment dashed by.
Yankee, on principle, never let Dood beat him.
In the commotion of the thunder and lightning, it
seemed to Donald that a livelier race had begun;
bur-the next instant, he realized that Dorry's pony
thad halted and his own was some paces ahead.
Turning at Dorry's call, he saw that something
was the matter. Dood limped .'i ii.U!! for a few
steps, then stopped.
He 's hurt his foot," cried Dorry. It was n't
a stumble; he tripped. Poor Dood she added,
as the pony's head turned pitifully toward her;
"you must go on now."
Dood tried, but it was slow work. He grew
lamer at every step. Don, noticing that one of the
pony's fore-shoes was loose, dismounted and tried
to take it off, but it would not come.
A turn in the road disclosed Vanbogen's not far
away. By this time, slanting lines of rain showed
against the trees.
It 's going to storm, in earnest, Dot-you '11
get soaking wet! said Don.
"Not I," chirped Dorry. "My riding-habit
is water-proof. You 'll be the wet one. Hurry

ahead, Don. Dood and I will be there as soon as
we can. I do hope he is n't hurt seriously. Oh,
Don, do hurry !"
But Don would n't and Dood could n't. If the
shower had not paused to take breath before mak-
ing its grand dash, they certainly would have been
As it was, they hardly had dismounted at the
inn, before the rain came down in torrents.
"Dear me said Dorry, shaking her riding-
skirt, as she sprang into the bare hall, our sad-
dles will get soaked !" But a negro, in a blue
checked jacket, already was leading the steeds to
It was a very shabby house at the best of times,
but it was particularly dreary now. Dorry was
sure she never before had seen anything so dismal
as the damp, little parlor into-which Donald escorted
her. The closed blinds, the moldy, bumpy sofa,
the faded green table-cover, the stained matting,
the low-spirited rocking-chair with one arm broken
off, and the cracked, dingy wall-paper oppressed
her strangely.
"What a horrid place! she exclaimed in an
awe-struck whisper to Don, as a flash of lightning
shone through the blinds. Let us go "
"Don't mind it, Dot," he answered. "We 'll
start as soon as the shower is over. Wait here
a while, and I '11 run and see what we 're to do
about the pony. Would you like to have a cup of
hot tea ?" he added, looking back as he left the
Mercy, no said Dorry, not here !"
They both laughed. "It 's fun, after all,"
thought the young girl as he went out. I don't
mind anything as long as Don 's around-the dear
old fellow! "
Vanbogen's seemed deserted. She had noticed a
solitary hen stepping daintily across the long, wet
stoop as she entered, and a woman, going up-
stairs, had turned to stare at her. A sound of
men's voices, too, had reached her from a closed
room opposite the parlor, yet she felt strangely
alone. For company's sake, she examined some
ambrotypes that stood upright in their half-opened
cases on a table between the windows. The
ghastly things made her only more lonely.
At that moment, hearing a clicking sound, she
raised her head and saw a man's face outside look-
ing at her through the blinds. The slats closed
sharply, when she moved back.
How nervous I am she thought, with a slight
shiver. "A pretty traveler I 'd make "
Donald soon came in.
"Here 's a fine piece of business! Dood has hurt
his foot in some way-sprained, I suppose. It is
swollen, and evidently pains him dreadfully. I 've




sent for a man who claims to be a veterinary sur-
geon. No, indeed, no use in your going out there,
Dot; the men appear to be doing all they can for
him. It 's out of the question for us to travel with
that pony to-night; the last train that stops at this
one-horse station has gone by, and I can't get a
carriage anywhere."
Can't you hire a horse, then, for yourself? Put
my saddle on Yankee; I can ride him."
Can't get a horse either. They 've only one,
and he 's out for the whole afternoon."
Let 's walk, then. The shower is nearly over.
It 's only five miles."
"Good!" said Don. "But no-Yankee can
carry you, and I '11 trot alongside on foot; and he
hastened out to have the side-saddle put on Yankee.
To Dorry's amazement, Donald came back in a
few minutes, looking flushed and excited.
I 've taken a room for you, Dot; come up-
stairs- quick."
"But I don't want a room. I- "
"Yes, you do; you 'll need to rest. Come right
up," he insisted in a low voice, hastily locking the
parlor door behind him, and almost pulling her
toward the stairs. I'11 tell you up there; come
They ran up together.
"What 's the matter ?" she asked on the way.
" What have you heard? "
Oh, nothing at all," he said, as they stepped
into a room shabby with ragged matting and worn-
out furniture; then closing the door, he added:
" Dorry, you must go away from this place at once.
Don't ask any questions- Oh, it's nothing much,
Dot,"--as he noticed her alarm,-" but this is a
rough sort of place, you see, and of course I can't
leave Dood here with these fellows. The sooner
you get off the better. I '11 bring Yankee around
to the back door at the end of the hall, so as not to
attract attention. Lock your door while I 'm gone,
and when I come back, hurry down with me, jump
on Yankee, and be off without a word."
"Well, I never she exclaimed, half inclined
to laugh, but he was gone.
She turned the key in the lock and ran to the
window, pulling its green paper shade aside. Noth-
ing to be seen but tumble-down out-buildings, a
dog-kennel, trampled grass, an empty clothes-line,
and a barrel or two.
Well, I never! she exclaimed again. "Oh,
there comes the pony."
Donald lost not a moment; but it seemed to
Dorry that he never would come up. Meantime,
she resolved that, happen what might, she would
not go and leave him. Unlocking the door, she
stood with her hand upon the knob, intending to
discuss the matter with Don; but no sooner had

his hand touched the other side than somehow she
found herself on the stairs; in the hall; then on
Yankee's back, and leaning to catch Don's words.
"Careful, now-don't lose a moment-send
Jack to me at once with Lady and the buggy
- Go!" Even after she had started, she still
seemed to feel the pressure of his hand upon hers.
Never had she seen Don more resolutely in earnest.
As she galloped through the open gate-way, and
passed the inn, she turned and saw him in the
hall, talking savagely to a man in a wet linen
duster, whose back was toward her.
The idea of leaving Don here alone! I shall
not go," she said, suddenly pulling at the bridle.
But Yankee thought otherwise. He had deter-
mined that she should. After a momentary con-
test, Dorry yielded, deciding to hurry home as fast
as possible, and send Jack to Don's relief.
The shower, which had held back for awhile,
now started afresh. Yankee, with visions of a dry
stall and bountiful supper before him, went on his
rapid way through the rain, troubling himself little
about Dood or Don, and quite unconscious of the
disturbed state of his rider's mind, where anxious
thoughts and surmises chased each other in quick
I noticed that it was a rough place the moment
we went in. Who were the noisy men in the other
room, I wonder ? The man in the wet duster was n't
one of them. What could Don have been saying
to him? May be Dood had broken his leg, and
Don did n't like to tell me. Ridiculous idea, as if
a pony with a broken leg could go a step May be
Don's watch was stolen, or he 'd lost his pocket-
book. But he could have told me that. Dear me,
he need n't have been so dreadfully afraid for me
to stay there. It's forlorn to be a girl and have peo-
ple think you can't stand anything. Don can take
care of himself, anyhow. I 'd like to see any of
those fellows trying to hurt him (and here, by way
of showing how very much she would like" it,
Dorry's cheek turned very pale)-" How foolish!
Probably he staid for Dood's sake. Poor Dood!
I hope he '11 not be laid up long; Jack could
cure him quickly enough. Dear me, how it rains !
Glad my riding-habit is water-proof. Liddy will
be frightened about me. I suppose they think
we're at F- yet, waiting to ride home by moon-
light. How well Dr. Lane looks! But he has a
i.,-i.i, Greek-and-Latin expression. Can't help
it, I suppose. Don knows nearly as much Latin as
Uncle, I do believe. Dear old Don How kind
he is Oh, if anything should happen to him "
-here, Yankee, already speeding bravely, re-
ceived instructions to "get up," and then Dot, to
her great joy, spied a familiar object in the dis-
tance, coming swiftly toward her.






DONALD was talking rather savagely. But the
man in the wet duster was not in the least vexed on
that account. On the contrary, he assumed a
lordly air, and called Donald my boy."
All the Reeds are impetuous," he had said
lightly, as if apologizing for this particular member
of the family; "so we '11 waive ceremony, my
boy. With your permission, as I said before, I'll
step into the parlor now, and have a little chat with
the young lady."
"And as I said before'-' retorted Donald, "you '11
do no such thing."
Calm yourself," sneered the other. It would
be easy for me to get in through the window, were
it not that one hates to scare the pretty bird-and
as for the key--"
"As for the key," echoed Donald, who hap-
pened to have it in his possession; "well, and
what of the key ?"
"Why, my boy," glancing toward Don's pocket,
it would n't tax a six-footer like me overmuch to
help himself to it-but, under the circumstances, it
might be wiser merely to tell mine host in yonder
room that an irate little manikin has taken it into
his head to lock his sister, as he calls her, in the pub-
lic parlor and refuses to let her out."
Insolent fellow! exclaimed Donald, yet re-
straining his anger as well as he could. "Look
out what you say. Another word like that, and
I '11 have you turned out of this place, neck and
"Ha! ha! Pretty good. Well, as I was re-
marking, I 've a word or two to say to my young
lady in there. Hold up! H-o-l-d up! No one is
going to kill her. Perhaps you 're not aware I
have a right there "
"You have a right there, I '11 admit, as a trav-
eler," said Don; "but just now, I ask you to stay
And I ask you to let me in," returned the six-
footer, beginning to be angry.
At any other time, Donald would not have par-
leyed a moment with the man, but, as the reader
may have surmised, he had reasons of his own for
prolonging the interview. He had planned well
and worked hard to get Dorry off unobserved, and
now that his strategy had succeeded, the next
point was to gain time for her to be far on her
way before Eben Slade- for he it was should
discover that Dorry was not safely locked in the
dingy parlor.
"I ask you to let me in," repeated the long,
lank man, softening his tone, "as one gentleman

would ask another. May be I 've more right to
talk to her than you have yourself."
What do you mean, you rascal? "
"Thank you!" sneered Eben. "Rascal is
good. Pray, do you know my name? "
"No, I do not, and I don't want to. It 's
enough that I recognize you; and probably the
less one knows about you the better."
May be so. But the time 's gone by for that.
My name 's Eben Slade. Now do you know why
I want to go into that room? No? Well, I'11
tell you," continued Eben Slade; "it's because
I 've more right to speak to that girl than you
have. It 's because- Hi! hi! not so fast,
young man," muttered Eben, restraining Donald
with considerable effort. You can't put me out
on the road this time. As I was saying
What do you mean by those words, sir? "
"Let me into the room, my boy, and I 'll tell
you and her together, quietly, just what I mean.
I want to tell both of you a plain story and appeal
to her sense of justice. She 's old enough to act
for herself. Perhaps you think I have n't heard
something of Dorothy's, or what-you-call-her's,
spirit by this time."
Let her name alone! cried Donald, furiously.
If you mention my sister again, I '11 knock you
flat-you overgrown ruffian "
Hush--not so fast- you '11 have those fellows
out here in a minute. What 's the use of letting
everybody into our private affairs? "
Here Eben stepped into the hall, followed by
Let me into that room, will you ? "
Donald, taking the key from his pocket, now
threw open the door, with a much good may it
do you"; and, closing it again after Slade had
entered, coolly locked him in the room. The
blinds flew open-Don rushed to the still deserted
stoop, only to see Eben Slade's angry face glaring
at him. The man could have got out at the win-
dow easily enough, but he preferred his present
position. Leaning out, with his elbows on the sill,
he said distinctly, in a passionate, low voice:
"You've baffled me this time, Donald Reed,
but I '11 carry the day yet. That girl, wherever
she 's gone to, is no more your sister than she is
mine-and I can prove it to her! She 's my
niece my own niece I 've a right to her, and I
can prove it. She 's going back home with me,
out West, where my wife 's waiting' for her. Now,
sir, what have you to say to that ? "
The poor boy, aghast at Eben's statement, stood
at first as if stunned; but recovering himself, he
made a rush toward Eben, not blindly, but with a
resolute determination to clutch him by the throat
and force him to unsay his terrible words.





Eben sprang from the window at a bound. A
struggle ensued-brief, violent. Donald was
nearly mastered, when a strong man sprang upon
them and with one blow knocked Eben Slade pros-
trate upon the boards.
It was Sailor Jack, who had driven up unper-
ceived and leaped from the buggy just in time.
Three or four men rushed from the bar-room,
all calling out at once :
What 's the matter here ?"
What 's all this ? "
Who's killed ?"
Two of them seized Jack as Eben rose slowly;
another tried to catch hold of Donald. Their
sympathy plainly was with Slade, who, seeing his
opportunity, suddenly started toward the buggy
with the evident intention of driving off in it.
Jack, breaking from his astonished captors, was
upon him in an instant, dragging him back, just
as Slade had put one foot on the buggy-step, and
as Donald was alertly seizing Lady's bridle.
Stand off-all of you cried Jack, still hold-
ing Eben by the collar. "We 're out on the open
seas at last, my man and now look out for your-
self! "
The thrashing was brief but effective. Jack
wore a serene look of satisfaction when it was over;
and Eben Slade slunk doggedly away, muttering:
I '11 be even with 'em yet."

Every hat was off, so to speak, when Jack and
Donald, who had paid the landlord handsomely,
drove from Vanbogen's door. Lady was impatient
to be off, but Jack soon made her understand
that the splendid time she had made in coming
from Nestletown was no longer necessary, since
Dood, tied at the rear of the buggy, could not go
faster than a walk. The removal of his shoe and
prompt nursing had helped the pony so much
that by this time he was able to travel, though
with difficulty.
It was a strange drive. The spirited mare ahead,


relieving her pent-up speed by gently prancing up
and down as she walked; Jack, grim and satisfied,
going over again in fancy every stroke that had
fallen upon the struggling Eben; Donald, pale and
silent, with Slade's vicious words still ringing in his
ears; and the pony limping painfully behind.
He 's taken up with his own thoughts," said
Jack to himself, after a while, noting Don's con-
tinued silence. It aint for me to disturb him,
though them twins somehow seem as near as if
they was my own children; but I would like to
know just what the little chap has heard from that
sea-sarpent. Something' or other 's took fearful
hold on him, sure 's sailin', poor lad He aint apt
to be so onsociable."
Following up these thoughts, as the mare jogged
along, it was a great solace to good Sailor Jack,
after their dismal drive, to see Don look up at the
house as they turned into the lane and wave his
hat gallantly to Dorothy.
She, too, standing at her bed-room window with
Lydia, was wonderfully relieved by Don's saluta-
"Oh, it 's all right she exclaimed, cheerily.
"Even Dood is n't hurt as badly as we feared, and
how lovely it is to have Don back again, safe and
sound! You should have seen Jack, Liddy, when
I refused to get into the buggy, and made him
drive on for his life with Lady. But the trouble
is over now. How lovely! Both of us will take
supper with Uncle, after all! "
Lydia, who had been doing all sorts of things to
save Dorry from "taking her death o' cold," stood
admiringly by while, with rapid touches and many
a laughing word, the happy girl arrayed herself to
go down and meet dear old Don and Uncle."
Meanwhile Mr. Reed, in his study, looking up
inquiringly to greet Donald's return, was surprised
to see the boy's white face and flashing eyes.
"Uncle Gebrge," said Donald, the moment he
entered the room, "tell me, quick! Is Dorothy
Reed my sister ?"

(To be continued.)





WHY does n't San-ta Claus come in sum-mer time?" asked lit-tle
Har-ry, as he lay up-on his back on the sweet, green grass, and looked
up in-to the blue sky.
Per-haps be-cause there is no snow for his sleigh," said his moth-er.
"What a pit-y!" sighed Har-ry. "I wish it would snow this min-
ute. There is my horse; it has on-ly one leg, and no nose at all.
My foot-ball went pop! the oth-er
''day, and turned in-to a lit-tle
crook-ed twist of In-dia rub-ber.
'' ':.','" My ex-press wag-on is all to
pieces, and my drum is bu'st 'cause
-- I banged it so hard."
Oh, what a boy! said his
'''' moth-er. I am a-fraid you banged
1, -. your poor horse a lit-tle, al-so."
S' "Yes, I did, and I kicked the
'"l, foot-ball tre-men-jous-ly and up-set
my wag-on ev-er so man-y times;
I, but I don't care for those now; I
---- "''-i want a book, Mam-ma-a book full
of pict-ures and sto-ries."
I "Well, list-en; I will sing .you a
': song a-bout Kris Krin-gle -which
is the Ger-man name for Saint
Nich-o-las, as well as San-ta Claus.
And who knows? per-haps he will hear me, and make you a vis-it,
al-though it is sum-mer-time."
Then his moth-er sang the song, which so de-light-ed Har-ry that
he begged her to lend him the mu-sic, so that he might learn the
words. He had just be-gun to read, and he was ver-y proud and hap-
py when he had read an-y-thing all by him-self.
"1 '11 sing it, too!" cried Har-ry, "and keep time with my drum-
sticks." But first he went down in-to the kitch-en and begged Bridg-et,
the cook, to give him a big tin pan.



What do you want it for, Mas-ter Har-ry ?" she asked.
"Oh, nev-er mind," said Har-ry, and he ran a-way as fast as he
could. He fas-tened the mu-sic to the back of a chair with a big pin,
and put the tin pan up-side down on the seat, and then he be-gan to
sing, rat-tling with the drum-sticks in fine style. He did not get the
tune quite right, but the cho-rus came in splen-did-ly. This is it:

" Jin-gle, jin-gle, jin-gle, jing, jing, jing. How mer-ry we shall be!
Jin-gle, jin-gle, jin-gle, come Kris Krin-gle-Come with your Christ-mas-tree."

His moth-er laughed soft-ly to her-self as she list-ened, and then she
wrote a lit-tle note, ad-dressed to some-bod-y in New York Cit-y, and
sent it to the post-of-fice.
Har-ry lived in the coun-try, and it was three days be-fore the
an-swer came. It was a beau-ti-ful book; just as full of pict-ures and
sto-ries as a book can be! And you nev-er saw a bright-er face than
Har-ry's, when he ex-claimed to his moth-er: "On-ly think! San-ta
Claus has come to see me in sum-mer-time! "


OH, what a noise! I -.-
Ah, what a clatter! ,! i' .' .
Is it the boys ? t .: K
What is the matter ?
Dozens and dozens-- i-
Only eight, is it?-- i . 7
Only some cousins
Come on a visit?
Hearing the rattle, -
I thought 't was an
Sounds of a battle
Always alarm me. -



ir~ l,--

- .- r.

1 | '- o

* : ..- ,. ..-


IN this country, July is the grand eagle month of
the year, I'm told. Hundreds and thousands of the
finest American variety are called in on the fourth
day by orators and lesser speakers, all over the land,
and made to do duty in various ways. Some poise,
some pounce, some scorn, some droop, and some,
according to the special mood of the speaker,
soar-soar-soar so high that they find great
difficulty in getting down again, especially if the
Star-spangled Banner happens to be waving at
the same moment.
For all that, America is a great country-no-
body loves and knows it more than your Jack-
and the eagle is a noble bird. I 've watched him
from my pulpit more than once, and felt that our
nation did well to adopt him as its own-so inspir-
ing is his flight, so majestic his repose. By the
way, on last Fourth of July, when I, your loyal
Jack, stood listening,-stripes on my pulpit and
stars -daisy stars-at my feet,-the birds brought
me a letter. It is not very poetical, but it will in-
terest all of you chicks, who are of a scientific and
inquiring turn of mind. Here it is;- but first let
me explain that a bald eagle is not really bald.
He only looks bald, because the feathers on the top
of his head are lighter and smoother than those on
the rest of his body :
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Some years ago I had a bald eagle,
which I kept for several months in captivity. He had been wounded
inonewing by a hot, but not otherwise injured. He was very fierce
and savage, and for a day or two refused to eat; but finally hunger
prevailed, and he greedily seized the meat which I gave him. I knew
that, though eagles commonly eat the flesh of animals either killed by
themselves or already dead, yet they also sometimes eat fish, often
robbing the fish-hawks to get the fish. But I was not aware how
much they seem to prefer fish to anything else, until I gave by
chance some fish to this captive of mine. I had returned from fish-
ing, and as usual stopped by the eagle's cage, or rather the large pen
in which he lived, to admire him. Taking a perch from my basket, I
threw it to him. His quick eye detected the treasure on the instant,

and instead of walking up to it, as he would have done had it been a
piece of meat, he made a furious dash and caught the fish before it
reached the ground. The eagerness of his movements and the sav-
age haste with which he devoured the perch told the story--it was
the food which he chose above all others; and from that time, I fed
him on fish when I could get them. Anything less than half a
pound in weight he always swallowed head foremost entire; larger
fish were held down with his claws while his beak tore them to pieces.
He soon learned that I would throw them to him, and it was curi-
ous to see him catch them in the air. I can not remember that I
ever saw him miss one. Yours truly, W. 0. A.

"THERE 'S only one thing in astronomyy I'm
sure about," said a little chap near my pulpit, one
very hot day last July.
"Ah exclaimed Deacon Green, "and what
is that, my little man ? "
Why, sir, that this earth is a heap nearer the
sun in summer than it is in winter," says the boy.
"But it is not nearer in summer, my lad,"
says the Deacon. "What are you going to do
about that?"
Deacon Green," says the little boy, trying to
speak respectfully, "I skated on that creek over
there last winter, many a time. It was frozen hard
as a rock, sir. To my knowledge, it has n't been
fit to skate on once this summer. What 's more,
sir, my father always tells me to take the evidence
of my own senses when I can, sir-and if that
there sun is n't nearer this earth to-day" (here
the speaker dried his freckled little forehead with
his sleeve) "than it was last Christmas, sir, I '11
give up."
Give up, then," says the Deacon, nodding and
smiling a real good, sociable smile at the boy, "for
you 're wrong."
Now the Deacon's reckoned to be a learned
man, and a sensible man, but yet somehow, my
hearers,-what with the July weather and all,-
it was as much as I could do not to side with that
innocent child.
IN connection with the above, I am advised by
the Deacon to "throw out a hint about orbits-
the earth's orbit in particular." I am not familiar
with them myself, but perhaps you will know what
the good soul means.

ANOTHER day, out in my meadow, a little girl
from the Red School-house asked the Little School-
ma'am why summer is warm and winter cold.
As near as I can remember the answer, it was
something like this : (I can't say I quite see through
the matter myself, but I've no doubt you '11 be able
to puzzle it out, my clever ones.)
The earth leans over in one direction on its
journey about the sun; and, when it is near the
sun, the top or northern part of the earth, where
we live, is a little nearer to him than are the other
parts; it is then summer time in the north. But
when the earth is at .the other end of its path,
farther from the sun, it still leans over in the same
direction, so that the top is turned away from the
sun; and then it is winter in the north. Besides



this, the sun shines so directly on the middle parts
of the earth that they never get very cold; but
near the top and bottom the sun's rays reach the
earth at a slant, and the heat is not felt so much
DEAR JACK: The red-headed woodpecker of California, scien-
tifically known as Melanerfes formicooru." has a strange custom
of storing away acorns which it seldom, if ever, eats, using the
trunks of trees for its store-house. These industrious little birds
pick holes in the bark; and with their strong bills hammer acorns
into the holes until the trunks of the trees look as if they were stud-
ded from top to bottom with big-headed tacks from some upholstery
shop. Even the giant trees that have withstood the tempests for
thousands of years are made to serve as a mighty store-house of
provisions for these little red-heads. During this process, many pair
of bright eyes look on approvingly. These eyes belong to the pert,
chattering squirrels, who, no doubt, consider it a kind and very con-
siderate act upon the part of the woodpecker to thus lay up winter
provisions for Mrs. Squirrel and all the family of little Squirrels.
Jack is very much obliged to Mr. Beard, both
for his letter and for.the pretty picture it explains.

Sometimes, a number of birds are driving acorns
into a tree at the same time, and then what a lively
time they have!-pushing, driving the nuts in
with their bills, darting off a moment for a play-
spell, filling the air with rattling cries, and then
back again to their skillful work. Meanwhile, the
expectant squirrels look boldly on, and lazy jays,
hard by, chatter about the good time they will yet
have, eating the acorn-meat, and laughing at the
red-headed, unsuspecting little workers.
By the way, the Little School-ma'am has asked
me to tell you that there is a very interesting paper
on this matter in the May number of The Ameri-
can. Naturalist.

YESTERDAY, in my meadow, the Deacon told a
group of boys and girls about three ravens that
belonged in turn to one Charles Dickens. The
first raven loved horses-in fact, generally
slept on horseback, in his master's stable.
The second was a discoverer of stolen goods,
and managed to dig up in his master's gar-
den all the cheese and half-pence that the
first raven had pilfered from time to time,
and hidden there. The third was a hermit,
and neither loved horses nor had any special
S; talent, excepting that he could bark like a
; dog. This same Mr. Dickens studied the
habits of his ravens, the Deacon said, and
Wrote about them. Finally, he put two of
them into one splendid book-raven, which is
alive to this day, walking about and doing
astonishing things in a volume known as
S"Barnaby Rudge."

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: My brother and I went to.
see Jumbo, but I liked the baby elephant better. He is the
funniest little fellow I ever saw-just like a canton-flannel
elephant suddenly made alive. But other baby animals-
have been exhibited. We read one night about a lioness
named Old Girl, that belonged to a Zoo in Ireland. She
died when she was sweet sixteen, and she had raised about
fifty little baby lions during her life. These baby lions were
just like kittens at first, but gradually they learned to roar,
and then they were lions. Your little friend, ANGIE T.

Some of my birds are related to these little red-
headed fellows, and they tell me that, while the
mighty California trees are thus forced to store
acorns, the acorns themselves, in turn, often hold
fine grubs that are considered especially delicate
eating by the woodpecker.

MY birds have told me of a queer thing.
They hear so much, because they and their
friends travel in so many different directions.
In South Africa, it appears, mounds like
haycocks are sometimes seen stuck high up
in the trees. These mounds, though really
made of coarse, wild grass, also remind one
of a honey-comb, if looked at from below;
Sfor they are full of shapely little openings.
And the openings are entrances to the nests
of a colony of grossbeaks, who live sociably
side by side, each in an apartment of his own,
though under one common roof.
When the dear Little School-ma'am heard of
these mounds, she called them natural apartment-
houses, and seemed to think that birds were very
like human folk, after all.




WITH sincere sorrow we chronicle here the decease of Mr. Albert
Robert Thompson, who died of scarlet fever at his home in Brook-
lyn, on the xoth of May. Mr. Thompson had been for the last five
years a faithful and efficient assistant in the office of ST. NICHOLAS,
and in his sudden an4 lamented death the readers, as well as the
editor and publishers, of this magazine have suffered a loss.
Mr. Thompson was born in Paris, about thirty-four years ago, the
son of a colonel in the British army, who was lately financial adviser
to the Governor of Western Australia. He was educated at one of
the English public schools, and devoted himself to business. He
came to this country, about fourteen years ago, as the agent of a
large London house engaged in the manufacture of rubber goods.
Subsequently he was employed by the publishing house of
D. Appleton & Co., and E. Butterick & Co., and taught a pub-
lic school in a New Jersey village. He then returned to England,
and became engaged in the real estate business. When E. Butter-
ick & Co. commenced the publication of a literary weekly known
as The Metropolitan, in the winter of 1874-5, Mr. Thompson
returned to New York to become its associate editor, and continued
todo literary work for the firm for a considerable time after The
Metropolitan ceased to exist. In 1877, he became an assistant in
the editorial office of ST. NICHOLAS, where his fine qualities of char-
acter and temperament soon won the hearts of all his associates.
He was possessed of a good education and a wide and thorough
culture, and all his duties were performed with a faithfulness that
never shrank from, nor slighted, any demand upon it. The state-
ments already made in a 'few newspapers that he was the "asso-
ciate editor" and the "Jack-in-the-Pulpit" of ST. NICHOLAS are
incorrect; but his devotion, energy, and capacity made themselves
felt in almost every department of the editorial work, and were
of enduring benefit in many ways. It is but just to him who so
sincerely loved and honored his work that all our readers-thou-
sands of whom may not even have seen his name before-should
know of his tireless zeal and efficient aid in their behalf.
Mr. Thompson was for some time superintendent of the Sunday-
school in the Brooklyn church that was presided over by Dr.
Edward Eggleston, and his deeds of unostentatious kindness will
be long remembered by many whom he aided and cheered. He
married an English lady, a Miss Ashmore, of London, in 1875.
His wife and one child, a boy of two years and a few months,
survive him. One other child, a bright and beautiful little girl,
died when two years old of scarlet fever.
To those who knew Mr. Thompson, the years of acquaintance or
friendship yield no memories of him that are not kindly. Life
seemed beautiful and noble to him, and he helped to make it so
for others by his gentle courtesy, his integrity of word and deed,
and his serene, generous, and cheerful spirit.

THROUGH the courtesy of a friendly correspondent we are allowed
to present to our readers the following charming letter, written by
Mr. Longfellow to a young friend of his about eighteen months ago.
Though'merely a brief note, it is full of the poetry and gentleness
characteristic of the great man who penned it, and will be read
with interest by young and old:
CAMBRIDGE, MASS., Jan. 23, i881.
DEAR : The echo answers at once, and does not keep you
waiting. And it says: Thank you for your postal card, and for .the
kind remembrance of your mother.
As one grows old, the memories of youth become more and more
precious; the forms of early friends brighten in the sunset. You
know nothing of this yet, but some day you will find it out.
To tell you the truth, I do not think so much of birthdays as I
used to do. I have had so many of them that I begin to wish they
would not come quite so often and quite so soon. I like other peo-
ple's better than my own. And that is another thing you know
nothing about yet, hut will find out later.
By to-day's mail I send you my latest if not my last volume of
poems, and hope you will find something in it to please you. I
date it January Ist. This is what Plato calls a well mtentioned and

necessary untruth," and what, perhaps, a modern philosopher would
call an unnecessary fiction or something worse.
And now, my dear child, I will hang up the mistletoe and kiss
you under it, and over it, and wish you many happy New Years,
one at a time, and with kindest regards to your mother,
I remain sincerely yours,

THE report upon the stories for The Very Little Folk's page,
received in answer to the invitation on page 497 of the April
number, will be given in next month's Letter-box.


Dear Madam: We desire to acknowledge from the children who
read the ST. NICHOLAS the kind gift of $416.02, sent by them in small
sums in order to found a "Children's Garfield Fund." for the poor
and sick children of New York. This fund will be devoted to the
children from New York tenement-houses who come down to the
"Summer Home" at Bath, L. I., under the charge of the Children's
Aid Society. It will help to give a happy week at the sea-side to
those who are shut up in close tenement-houses the rest of the
year. Here they will enjoy fresh air, nice sea-bathing, good coun-
try milk and food, and all the pleasures of this beautiful place, for a
week. Mr. A. B. Stone has purchased one of the most lovely spots
on the coast for the sum of twenty thousand dollars, and has gener-
ously presented it to the Society to be used for this purpose. The
"Children's Garfield Fund" will greatly increase the number of
those who enjoy the pleasures of this beautiful spot, and we hope it
will be added to, each year, so that more and more of these poor little
children can have this great pleasure. I send you a letter received
from one of the little children who enjoyed the Home last summer.
Yours very truly, C. L. BRACE,
Secretary Children's Aid Society.

NEW YORK, March 27, 1882.
DEAR MR. : I am writing to tell you about Bath.
How I would love to sit down on the beach, and watch the large
waves roll on the beach, and sing songs which we learned in day-
school and in Sunday-school! Oh, such lovely times in bathing!
When the large waves rolled over our heads, we would give a long
breath and a jump. Miss Lane would take us a good ways out
and play "Ring" in the water; she would run fast in with us, and
then the large waves would make us run back to the shore, as if to
say, "What are you coming so far out here for?" And Miss Lane
would go out farther; I tell you she would not be afraid, like us
babies. I would love to hear the trees shake their glossy leaves!
We had a lovely time out there! Miss Agte would make me speak
all the pieces I knew and all the songs I knew. Mary Vander-
noot and I would trim Miss Agte with daisies, and all kinds of flow-
ers! We would have all kinds of nice things to eat. We would
have nice potatoes, blackberries, and I could not commence to
tell you what nice things we had! We all, when we went to bed,
said the Lord's Prayer. I love to go there. I close my letter.
Most respectfully, JENNIE BLACK [age 1o0 y-c
Eighteenth Street :.:..-.I

Mr. Brace's letter explains itself. We trust Willie P. Herrick and
all the kind-hearted boys and girls who sent contributions to the
Children's Garfield Fund, through the ST. NICHOLAS, will be glad
to know that $416.02, the entire sum received thus far, has been
placed where it will be sure to help poor and sick little ones, and
brighten lives that know very little of pleasure or even of comfort.
Long before the beautiful June days come, prosperous city parents
eagerly discuss the question: Where shall we iake our young folk
for a delightful and refreshing home during the hot season ? But
the city poor are dumbly wondering whether or not their little ones
can live through the sufferings and sicknesses of another crowded
and scorching summer.




If any of the present or future contributors to the Children's Gar-
field Fund wish to know more of the Bath Summer Home, or of
the Children's Aid Society, they may apply confidently at the rooms
of the Society, No. 19 East Fourth Street, New York.
Meantime, we refer new readers to "A Summer Home for Poor
Children" in ST. NICHOLAS for June, 1880,- also to The Letter-box
of November, 1881, for the letter from Willie and Tottie Herrick and
one from Mr. Fry, Superintendent of the Summer Home, and to an
article by Charles L. Brace, in this magazine for May, 1882, entitled
"Wolf-reared Children."
These articles will throw light on the great and good work that
the Children's Aid Society and kindred associations are doing.
Already, the last-named paper has been the means of making at
least one poor street-boy happy, as the following letter eloquently
Dear Madawm: Many persons--some of whom had not been
familiar with the process by which the Children's Aid Society takes
rough-hewn street Arabs and puts them in the way of becoming
useful and respectable citizens-have spoken to me of the pleasure

and interest with which they have read Mr. Brace's pretty story on
"Wolf-reared Children" in this month's ST. NICHOLAS. In these
times, when the country is flooded with tales that have a most per-
nicious influence on the young, it is refreshing to read a story like
that of Pickety," and I am sure you will be gratified to hear that
some good fruit of it has already appeared.
Yesterday, a boy of sixteen came up to me in the office of the
Children's Aid Society and asked if we could not provide him with
a home in the West. He was poorly equipped in the matter of
clothing and shoes, but had a bright, intelligent face. He said he
did not know where he was born, had no knowl. .
and his earliest recollection of himself was in an ...' ..... i ..
chusetts. On being asked how he knew about the Children's Aid So-
ciety,hesaidhehadjustarrived -. r... .-.: l. i .I . I r.
on board of which he had found i. I :, .- *- ..i.....
the story of "Pickety." He said he had no money and had become
greatly discouraged, but after reading about "Pickety" he made
up his mind to go and ask to be treated just as that boy had been.
The poor fellow's eyes danced with delight when I told him that I
was Superintendent of the house where Pickety was cared for,
and that I should be happy to treat him in the same way. On
Tuesday next, I lea .. -..1. .... of boys for Kansas, where
good homes will be 1. ... ..1, ..-j I shall take this latest edi-
tion of Pickety along with the rest.
I am, dear madam, very respectfully yours,


IT is with great pleasure that we are able to report unabated prog-
ress during the last month. We number now 251 Chapters and
2,900 members. The reports from our Chapters are, as usual, fullof
enthusiasm and rich in valuable suggestions. The following new
Chapters have been admitted:


No. Name of Chapter. Members. A address.
225. Burlington, Kansas (A)..... 7.P. M. Floyd.
226. Alfred Center, N. Y. (A)... 6..C. A. Davis.
227. Ypsilanti, Mich. (B)........6..Louis B. Hardy.
228. Buffalo, N. Y. (D)..........7..Percy Scharff,
o03 Tremont Street.
229. Chicago, Ill. (F)............ 4..E. R. Lared,
2546 South Dearborn St.
230. Brazil, Ind. (A)............5.. .red. Clearwaters.
231. Wiconisco, Pa. (A) ......... 5..J. R. Engelbert.
232. Utica, N. Y. (A) ......... C.. C. Baker.
233 Sidney, Iowa (A) ........ 12..Ed. Cooke.
234. New York, N. Y. (F). ...7..E. H. Hoeber,
339 West 29th Street.
235. Washington, Pa. (A) ...... Miss M. M. CGow.
236. Factory Point, Vt. (A)... Miss Jessie D. Nichols.
237. Plantsville, Conn. (A).......6..Bertie Shepard.
238. Wintuset, Iowa (A)........20o..Harry Wallace.
239. Georgetown, D. C. (A).... 4.F. P. Stockbridge.
24o. New Milford, Pa. (A)....... 6..Wm. Ainey, Box 253.
241. Scituate, Mass. (A)........ ..Geo. B. Hudson.
242. Philadelphia, Pa. (I) ..... 5..E. G. Lewis,
1125 Mt. Vernon St.
243. Peekskill, N. Y. (B)... .... ..Austin D. Mabie.
244. Newport, Ky. (A)..........6..Jerome Clarke.
245. Germantown. (C)...........7..Miss Ida Champion, corner
Walnut Lane and Green St.
246. Bethlehem, Pa. (A)........ 5..Harry Wilburr.
247. Columbus, Ga. (A).... .... 8..Chas. H. Dillingham.
248. Richmond, Va. (A)......... 5..Mrs. J. B. Marshall,
302 West Grace St.
249. Orange, N. J. (A)............Geo. M. Smith.
250. Tiffin, Ohio (A).............
251. Saratoga, N. Y. (A)........4..Harry A. Chandler, Box 15.


In response to repeated and urgent requests, the President has
written and printed a complete Hand-book of the ST. NICHOLAS
A. A. It contains a history of the A. A., its Constitution and By-
laws. There are chapters on-How to Organize a Chapter; How
to Conduct Meetings; Parliamentary Law; The A. A in the Pub-
lic School; How to Collect all Kinds of Specimens; How to Col-

lect and Preserve Birds; Sea-weeds; How to build a Cabinet;
Reports from Chapters and Members; Minerals; Full list of scientific
books (over two hundred titles), etc., etc.; concluding with a com-
plete and revised list of all our 250 Chapters, with the addresses of
their secretaries. The book is well illustrated. We are able to fur-
nish copies to those wishing them at fifty cents each, postage prepaid.
We have written this book with the intention of answering in it all
the questions which any one can care to ask about the A. A.
Every active member of the A. A. should have one.

"How can 'poison ivy' be distinguished? "
I will send an answer which I once wrote and read at one of our
club meetings. Poison ivy closely resembles the Virginia creeper
or woodbine, as it is often incorrectly called. It usually grows as a
vine, clinging to a tree or bank, but in some parts of the country it
grows like a bush, about two feet high, with a trunk from three to
four inches through. The leaflets of the ivy (Rhus toxicodendron)
are similar in shape to those of the Virginia creeper, but each leaf
of the ivy has three leaflets, whereas the creeper has five. More-
over the leaf of the ivy is darker, more glossy, and somewhat blis-
tered. It can also be readily distinguished by handling.
AGNES WILEY (Chapter A).

[Will some one mention other characteristics of Rhas /to. ?]

Being frequently asked how animals can be preserved, we are
glad to present the following excellent report from the Manhattan

Taxidermy is the art of preserving animals. It includes preser-
vation in spirits, the operation of stuffing, the arrangement of skele-
tons or parts of them, and the preservation of the skin alone.
To Preserve Aimals in Spirits. Alcohol is generally used. Any
animal can be preserved in it. The alcohol is diluted about fifty
per cent. (some say as low as twenty per cent.). The animals
that are generally preserved in this way are those that can not be
readily stuffed, as reptiles, fishes, mollusks, and some insects. Ben-
zine is also used, and is preferred by some as it does not lose color.
To Stuf Mammals. This operation requires skill, patience, and
Lay the animal on its back, and then stuffthe mouth, nostrils,
and wounds with cotton or tow, to prevent the blood from disfigur-
ing the skin. Then split the skin from the tail to the breast-bone,
taking great care not to penetrate so deep as to cut the abdominal
muscles. Push off the skin gently, right and left, and as the skin-
ning proceeds, put pads of cotton between it and the muscles.
When the skin is removed as far as it can be without pulling or




using force, separate the thighs at their junctions with the pelvis;
the tail should be severed inside the skin. Now separate the skin
from the carcass carefully till the shoulders are reached, then sepa-
rate the legs at the shoulder-joints. Next remove the skin from the
neck and head; cut off the ears close to the skull. Great care must
be taken not to injure the eyelids and lips. Cut off the head, re-
move the external muscles of the face, and take out the brain and
eyes. Now return to the legs, clean away all the flesh to the toes,
but do not remove the tendons around the joints, as the bones are to
remain in the legs; skin the tail by forcing a cleft stick in between
the bones and skin. When all is removed, sprinkle the skin thor-
oughly with preservation powder or soap it well with arsenic soap.
Leave the skin stretched till it becomes perfectly dry and absorbs
the mixture. Fill the eye-orbits and nostrils with cotton, put a thin
layer of cotton along the back, introduce the wire frame-work, stuff
all the small parts with cotton and the remaining parts with any dry
vegetable substance. Return the skull to the head; great dex-
terity is required in placing the artificial eyes-they are fastened
with cement. When stuffing, care should be taken not to stretch
the skin and to have the animal shaped into its natural appearance.
Skeletons. Remove the skin, muscles, and everything that will
come off easily, except the ligaments, place it in water for several
days, then take it out, clean it more thoroughly and remove the
brain; place it in fresh water. Repeat this from day to day (chang-
ing the water each time). The bones are, each time, to be well
cleaned. (The operation of cleaning and scraping should properly
be done under the surface of the water.) After the skeleton is clean,
place it in clean lime-water or solution of pearl-ash, then wash
again with clean water, wire it and place it in position, and allow it
to dry. Do not expose it to the su'i or to a fire to dry. All large
animals' skeletons can be prepared in this way. But for small
skeletons, an easier method is to clean and soak the bones, and
place them in perforated boxes, which should then be put into ant-
hills. The insects will quickly remove the flesh; the skeletons must
be taken out before they attack the ligaments. Now wash, wire,
and place in position.

Walter H. Martin, 216 Franklin avenue, Brooklyn, N. Y., is now
Secretary of Chapter 151, in place of E. A. Osborne. (Nothing
causes so great confusion as a change of secretaries. The change
can not be noted here until three months after it occurs, and by that
time a new one may have been elected. In case of Chapter 15x,
this change was necessary, but, ordinarily, the secretary should be


Minerals and fossils for other minerals, fossils, and woods.-P. vM.
Floyd, Burlington, Kansas.
Birds' eggs blown with one hole.-Louis B. Bishop, Box 905, New
Haven, Conn.
Petrified shells (labeled).-W. E. Loy, Eaton, Ohio, Secretary
Chapter 128.
Botanical specimens and correspondence.-Harry L. Russell,
Poynette, Wisconsin.
Minerals and birds' eggs.-Louis D. Orrison, 1206 Independence
Avenue, Kansas City, Mo.
Lepidoptera correspondence.-Ed. R. Putnam, Davenport, Iowa.
Chalcopyrite for quartz crystal.-E. R. Lamed, Sec. Chapter 229,
2546 S. Dearborn St., Chicago, Ill.
Indian arrow-heads for a sea-horse or starfish.-Jerome Clark, 145
Washington Ave., Newport, Ky.
Feldspar, tourmaline, and Mexican onyx, for woods, geodes,
minerals, and birds' eggs.-R. P. Kaighn, 20x4 Ridge Ave., Phila.
Minerals in exchange for minerals, fossils, or woods.- Harry L.
M. Mitchell, 23 W. xath St., N. Y.
Minerals, Indian curiosities, and wood, for anything equal in
value.-S. B. Arnold, Whipple Bk's, Yarapai Co., Arizona Ty.
Pressed ferns and a stuffed bat, for foreign coins and birds' eggs.
-Miss Hattie M. Grover, Folsom State Prison, Folsom, California.
Curiosities and relics for minerals and curiosities.-Wm. R.
Nichols, 2016 Arch St., Philadelphia.
Eggs for woods, sea-weeds, etc.-C. M. Sprague, x9 Oakwood
Ave., Chicago, Ill.
Red-head ducks, black skimmer, and other rare eggs, in sets or
single.-C. G. Doe, 28 Wood St., Providence, R. I.
Birds' eggs.-A. H. Rudd, 956 Asylum Ave., Hartford, Conn.
Garnets for fossils.-H. I. Hancock, Box 1339, Waltham, Mass.
Texas centipede, stinging lizard, and homed frog.-Miss Jennie
Wi I. 4. Waco, Texas.
t :a.tr.. ; ... -hell' coral, etc., etc., for ocean curiosities and
r.-,.. :r -i J. ,. I -, 459 Superior St., Toledo, Ohio.
Birds' eggs.-Samuel L. Magie, Rutherford, N. J.
Minerals.-Elliston J. Perot, Westchester, Penn.
Petrified moss.-Wm. G. Loy, Eaton, Ohio.
Moss agates.-James O'Connell, Fort Stockton, Texas.
We will send Emerton's Structure and Habits of Spiders, for the
best mounted collection of six species of spiders received by Sept.
8th.-Philadelphia B., H. Taylor Rodgers, Sec., ro15 Vine St.
Sea-shells and sand-dollars for ores.-P. Lucker, Galveston, Texas.


GEODES are rounded hollow concretions, either empty, or con-
taining a more or less solid and free nucleus, and frequently having
the cavity lined with crystals. On account of their size and shape
they are sometimes called potato-stones. The word Geode comes
from the Greek, and means 'earthy.'
GEo. POWELL, St. Clair, Pa.
[Thi gives no explanations of how geodes are fonned. No one
has answered this question yet. Please ask the nearest" Professor."
anddreport. Stay! Here is a letter from the home of the geode.]

DEAR SIR: I send you this day a box of geodes. We find them
in a quarry in a bluff of soft limestone. Some have colored crystals,
but the colors fade on exposure to light. I am inclined to think
that they were once living animals, something like sponges. In
course of time they became covered with sediment, and this, through
some action of the elements, changed to limestone, without petrify-
ing the animal substance. This decaying, left cavities, which later
were filled with crystals. If any one has a better theory, I should
be glad to hear it. Please tell good ST. NICHOLAS that it is rather
inconvenient for me to get my mail in Ohio.
Very respectfully, L. L. GoonwmN.
[Mr. Goodwin's theory is surely ingenious. One member has
suggested that geodes may have been volcanic in origin, and formed
in the air like hail-stones. We shall hear further from this question.]

BEES carry the honey in a honey-bag. It is connected with the
mouth, and the juices which the bees gather pass into it and are
changed into honey. This can brought up again at will.
THE APTERYX is a bird living in New Zealand. It has stumps of
wings and no tail. Its feathers look like fur. Its eggs are laid in
deep holes in the ground.
PEANUTS are the fruit of a trailing vine, with small yellow flowers.
After the flowers fall the stem bends downward, and the pod forces
itself into the ground, where it ripens.
BRAzIL has two seasons. It would be the "dry" season there at
the time mentioned.
DARK SPOTS on leopards correspond to the leaves of the tree in
which it hides, and prevent its being seen easily.
IF THE OSTRICH is hunted, it will often thrust its head into the
sand and think that no one can see it.
THE MANATEE, Porpoise, Dolphin, Whale, and Narwhal are am-
phibious animals. [Who will correct this?]
MOST FLIES die in winter; a few live in crannies until spring.
THE HOUSE OF A BEAVER is built of mud, stones, and sticks. The
entrance is always below the surface of the water.
THE FUSING POINT of copper is 1994 deg.; oflead, 620 deg.; of
silver, 1873 deg. [All F.]
SALT WATER freezes at 26% deg. F.
HIRAM H. BICE, Utica, N. Y.
[This is Miss Klyda Richardson's excellent answer to one of the
March questions.]

I. Probably the hardest wood in the world is that of the Euca-
lyplts resitife;ra, Order Myrtacea. This tree is a native of Austra-
lia and the Indian Archipelago. It is, in common with the other
rees of this genus, very tall. Often it attains a height of two hun-
dred and fifty feet, and is seventy feet in circumference at its base.
This tree is called the brown gum tree, or iron bark. From it is
obtained one of the valuable kinds of kino, so much used in medicine.

Many other answers received, for which space can not be given.
SNOW-CRYSTAL PRIZE.-The prize for best drawings of snow-
crystals is again awarded to Miss Mary L. Garfield, of Fitchburg,
I have read the reports of the A. A. with great interest, and fully
appreciate that through its influence a constantly increasing army
of naturalists is being formed, which is destined to accomplish
valuable results in the line of scientific observations. America needs
this army of trained and enthusiastic observers. Please tell Clarence
L. Lower, that Tortrix Clorana feeds on the leaves of willow
(Salix fentndraa) in Europe, but this insect has never been found
n this country, and he doubtless has mistaken some other insect for
it. If he will send me the insect by mail, I will give him the true
name, and what is known of its habits. I will name tortricids for
any of the members of the A. A. who will collect and send them to
me, for I am making a revision of all the described species of the
world, and wish to see as many as possible, especially from the South
and West. Yours truly, C. H. FERNALD, Prof. of Nat. Hist.
[This opportunity for making the acquaintance of tortricidss"
will not be neglected by our entomologists.]




and leave a philosopher. 7. Syncopate a division of a poem and
leave a Roman censor. 8. Syncopate a covering for the head worn
by a bishop and leave deep mud. 9. Syncopate the sea-shore and
leave value. to. Syncopate impressions in plaster and leave do-
mestic animals. "t MINNE-HA-HA."


My first is in hinge, but not in joint;
My second in apex, but not in point;
My third is in coffee, but not in tea;
My fourth is in wasp, but not in bee;
My fifth is in dial, but not in face;
My sixth is in fringe, but not in lace;
My seventh in bonnet, but not in hood;
My eighth is in lumber, but not in wood;
My ninth is in harmony, not in tone:
My whole had a place on King Arthur's throne-
'Twas drawn from the water, or drawn from a stone.
w. v. M.

THE above should first be read as a rebus. The answer will be a FROM I to 2, the main timber of a ship. From 2 to I, a vegetable.
four-line stanza which forms a charade. This should, in turn, be From 2 to 5, an oblique glance. From 5 to 2, a lively dance.
solved as ifit were printed like similar charades. EORGE FOLSO. From 2 to 3, a noose. From 3 to 2, a small body of stagnant
water. From 4 to 2, vicious. From 2 to 4, to subsist.


2 .
3 3
4 4
5 5
6 6
ACROSS: i. A marine conveyance. 2. Of the same age. 3. A
prophet and judge, of the tribe of Levi, who consecrated Saul
king of Israel. 4. A land-tortoise. 5. A county of England. 6.
DIAGONALS: Left to Right--A Roman general, born 106 B. c.
Right to Left-A constellation. BERTIE BUSHNELL.

MYvfirst has no love for my second,
But hopes 't will be his er e dies;
My o/wle is so pleasant a matter,
To do it each clever one tries. w. H. A.

EACH of the words described contains five letters, and the synco-
pated letters, placed in the order here given, spell the name of the
daughter of a powerful Indian chief.
I. Syncopate a substance used in making varnishes and leave a
combustible mineral. 2. Syncopate a product of warm countries
and leave fermented liquors. 3. Syncopate events and leave oleag-
inous matter. 4. Syncopate a small fish and leave a Scottish
name for a lake. 5. Syncopate a town of Lombardy and leave an
island of the 2Egean Sea, near Cape Blanco. 6. Syncopate a poet


STEVEN ear lony dewing thuslets ciwhh fyl form noe dies fo het
mool fo file ot het throe, eribang het namy coolder hardset tou fo
hiwhc het cabfir fo rou treachrac si dame.

THE initials and finals, read downward, each spell the surname
of a famous American statesman.
CRoss-WORDS: i. The cry of a bird. 2. Public records which
are preserved as evidence of fact. 3. A branch of a tree. 4. To
annoy. 5. An animal of the cat kind. 6. To turn to account. 7.
One who directs the course of a ship. R, H,. M.


I AM composed of sixty-three letters, and am a quotation from the
Bible, in the book of Ecclesiastes.
My 45-23-62-32-15-3 we should "apply our hearts unto," says the
ninetieth Psalm. My 59-14-60-6o-12 is just the reverse. My 29-42-
60-47-18-5i is to expand. My 43-57-21-6-50-16 is just the reverse.
- I '- is said to be "stranger than fiction." My oo-
S- -- 4 i t the reverse. My 17-33-26-1-38-63 means
evenly spread. My 21-54-39-8-36 is just the reverse. 7.1
8-46 isawise man. My40-34-25-35-27 isjust thereverse. I! -
1-35-41 is something entirely imaginary. My 55-4-35-56 is just
the reverse. My 13-48-49-53-5 is quick. My 52-60-44-45 is just
thereverse. My9-61-30-7is contemptible. My 2-10-49-21 isjustthe
reverse. My 24-58-21-61-31-22is quiet. My 55-48-44-28-18-6-35
is just the reverse. PARTHENIA."


74 H I D E- O .[UY

ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE. thus, Ether Van, by Dean Rolla Peag, is an anagram on "The
____Raven," by Edgar Allan Poe.
i. The Woes o' Hemme, by Rodney J. H. Wahpona.
S-_ 2. Granther Spedbann's Tale, by Stacy K. Crofstein.
3. The Baby of Churltin Temple, by Hilda J. Waurowe.
4. The Kaudlebent Cook, by Waldo Southmower.
5. Adora Wheaton's Tempter, by Roger 0. P. Grimes.
M. C. D.

You 'LL find my first in Africa;
My second in Mexico;
In Portugal my third is placed;
For fourth to Russia go;
My fifth in Scotland has a home;
My sixth in Candahar;
My seventh dwells in Hindoostan;
My eighth in France afar;
My ninth is in Jerusalem;
My tenth in Paraguay;
-- My eleventh 's fast in Belgium;
-/ My twelfth is in Norway.
My whole comes only once a year,
The boy's delight, the mother's fear.


WHAT animals are represented in this picture ? A. B.
AUTHORS. AcROss: i. The son of Mercury, who was the god of shepherds
and huntsmen. 2. Is anxious. 3. Small bundles or packages. 4.
IN the following Anagrams, the letters of the titles of the songs The ancient name of a picturesque portion of Greece. 5. Lacking.
are not mingled with the letters which form the authors' names; 6. To steal away. 7. To settle. "ALCIBIADES."

NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "Though the mills of God grind SUNFLOWER MAZE. See accompanying illustration.
slowly, yet they grind exceeding small." n /\ \ ACROSTIC: Tadmor in the Desert. i. T-ime. 2.
AN AVIARY. 7 .',l.r,.n ,i.: 2. Goldfinch (chat). % if /\ A-varice. 3. D-ebt. 4. M-ercy. 5. O-bedi-
3. Lark. 4. Tea : .. 6. Nut-hatch. A / ence. 6. R-efreshment. 7 I-ndustry. 8.
7. Bobolink. 8. Coot. 9. Cockatoo To. Snipe. N-ought. 9. T-ailoring. :o. H-eroism. ia.
l. Whip-pes.o. illd. Magpie. h3. Lap- E-arth. 1 .. D-ath. 13. E-xcellence. 4.
wing. 14. Plover (plan). 5. Kingfisher l S-atisfaction. 15. E-terity. o6, R-epu-
. Linnet(line). 7.Ague. Martin.3 Tune. Sparrow. Station. 7.II. JuneT-ar. .
59. Toucan. an. Thrush (threne.. Sr. AXoRUw'S one ST. ANSS OF DIAMONDS. Up-
NOVEL ACROSrtc. Battle of Waterloo. .ice per Left-hand Diamond: a. P. 2. See.
Crosswords: I. BoWert a. AbAse. 3. 3w Peaap. 4. Era fS. S Upper Right-
TiTle. 4. TrEat. 5. LaRch. 6. ElLen d n the June number. .mA. eard ner,
7. OzOne. 8. FrOwn. 4. End. 5. E. Central Diamond: A S.
Two CRos woo ENALLio I R S IN T A we r b e May 20, fm e3. SpEr. 4 Err. 5Co Er-" The
bud I. Anemone. -ea and Bae-Clara a nd her Aunt-Emilie Wheeloc he.
TWELVE CONCEALE CITIES. a. Eton. yLeft-hand Diamond: a. S. a. Ate. 3.
S. Paris. 3. Dover. Thebes. 5.Athens. diamond: Er. a. Lau e ager. 4i n
6. Ephesus. 7. London. 6- lt Eirie, J. Herbert Jordan, -H. W. Diamoen, 2 Two Subscribers, 7 Edith4.
Rome. an. Verona. as. Nice. o .. Sparta.. NOVEL CROSS-WORD ENtI A. Joan of Arce
Po.i.E. Roses. f kii 1 Ague. 3 Tune. 4. S een. II. a June. a.
I r o ; r a iru R Used. Need. 4. Eddy.
Sraotnot in l ittM.en but noted in ll L l, J. 5 ln ahaint Augustine Well hast thou said,
-A. J. C. 2-MaudThat of ourence r vices we can frame
In gloves, but not in mitten; in pitcher, but A ladder, if we will but tread
norm t t not in te; the whole appailrs in J;. Beneath our feet each deed of shame.
in trmprs ut no in tune; the whole appears in Jne. HENRY W LONGrELLOW in T/r LadderofSt. Agunatie."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES 1N THE APRIL NUMBER were received too late for acknowledgment in the June number, from A. Gardner, ii,
and Mary A. Dodge, a.
ANSWERS TO ALL OF THE PUZZLES IN THE MAY NUMBER were received, before May 2o, from C. Hornme- Ernest B. Cooper-" The
Houghton Family"- Emma S. Wines Freda- Alice Maud Kyte Marna and Bae- Clara and her Aunt- Emilie Wheelock-The
Blanke Family Florence Leslie Kyte Clara J. Child Sallie Viles.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE IMAy NUMBER were received, before May s, from Pansy, 2- Minnie and Laurence Van Buren, a-
S. W. McClary, :-- Frank L. Burns, 6- Mary Deane Dexter, Frank N. Dodd, 2 Jessie Bugbee, 6 Bess and Madge, 7-" Alci-
blades," 7-Effie K. Talboys, 6--R. Hamilton, a-Eirie, 3-J. Herbert Jordan, a-H. W. Ogden, s-Two Subscribers, 7-Edith
McKeever, 4--E. Blanche Johns, --A. B. C., 6 --Ruth Camp, -- Carrie Weitlng a -North Star, 1 -Addie W. Gross, -- Grace
and Blanche Parry, 5-Annie Lovett, 7-Mattie G. Colt, --Rory O'More, 3- Bertie and Maud, 4-Rene, Bert, and Grace, 6-
Louise Kelly, 4- Frankie Crawford, 2- F. N. Dodd, 4-Nellie Caldwell, 5 A. R., 4- L. E. R., --Livingston Ham, -- Bessie P.
McCollin, 6- Celetta M. Green, 6- Vin and Alex, 4-~ Nicoll Ludlow, Jr., 5 Helen E. Mahan, 6- Fred. Thwaits, 7- Anna Clark, 2
-A. J. C., s-Maud and Sadie, 2-H. M. S. "St. Vincent," 7-Florence E. Pratt, 6-Lyde McKinney, 6.






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