Front Cover
 The doll that couldn't spell her...
 The cockatoos
 Eleven or none
 Our largest friends
 Nonsense song
 Little brown Betty
 A dozen squirrels
 Jiro - A Japanese boy
 Stories of art and artists: Ninth...
 The story of the arbalist
 Seven idle little men
 Do you know such boys?
 Laughing Lill
 The land of Noddy: A lullaby
 September (picture)
 How the children earned money for...
 In school again
 Young wolves at play (picture)
 Stories from the northern...
 Donald and Dorothy
 Long ago
 A queer boat and a funny crew
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 9, no. 11. September 1882.
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00119
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 9, no. 11. September 1882.
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Uniform Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 9, no. 11
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: September 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: VID00119
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
    The doll that couldn't spell her name
        Page 829
        Page 830
        Page 831
        Page 832
        Page 833
        Page 834
        Page 835
    The cockatoos
        Page 836
        Page 837
    Eleven or none
        Page 838
    Our largest friends
        Page 838
        Page 839
        Page 840
        Page 841
        Page 842
        Page 843
        Page 844
    Nonsense song
        Page 845
    Little brown Betty
        Page 845
        Page 846
    A dozen squirrels
        Page 847
    Jiro - A Japanese boy
        Page 848
        Page 849
        Page 850
    Stories of art and artists: Ninth paper
        Page 851
        Page 852
        Page 853
        Page 854
        Page 855
        Page 856
        Page 857
        Page 858
        Page 859
    The story of the arbalist
        Page 861
        Page 862
        Page 863
        Page 864
        Page 865
        Page 866
    Seven idle little men
        Page 860
    Do you know such boys?
        Page 867
        Page 868
        Page 869
        Page 870
        Page 871
    Laughing Lill
        Page 872
    The land of Noddy: A lullaby
        Page 873
    September (picture)
        Page 874
    How the children earned money for charity
        Page 875
        Page 876
    In school again
        Page 877
    Young wolves at play (picture)
        Page 878
    Stories from the northern myths
        Page 879
        Page 880
        Page 881
        Page 882
        Page 883
    Donald and Dorothy
        Page 885
        Page 886
        Page 887
        Page 888
        Page 889
        Page 890
        Page 891
        Page 892
        Page 893
        Page 894
        Page 895
    Long ago
        Page 884
    A queer boat and a funny crew
        Page 896
        Page 897
        Page 898
        Page 899
        Page 900
        Page 901
    The letter-box
        Page 902
        Page 903
        Page 904
    The riddle-box
        Page 905
        Page 906
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



., I
LI ,~

I ~M
~i~;!ll1ll lll'illi 1


= :':z
_ -- --
1 _.-.- __ ;
_._ .. ... ._- ...
I'i WiR BiPI I



, 'i"


hiI~ .1 Y :I
II i

T- I1IIII; lr

i ', ', '

a *-,-a~an

c~,! r



" r~ ~1~



[Copyright, 1882, by THE CENTURY CO.]



TOM was really at the bottom of it. It very
often turned out that Tom was at the bottom of
In the Belknap household, when the pot of jam
tumbled off the top shelf of the pantry, when the
cream was all drunk up, when the Sevres china
cups were broken, they never suggested that it
was the cat; they merely groaned, "Tom 1 "
Sometimes there was mischief done for which
Tom was not accountable, but, being proven guilty
of so much, of course he was blamed for all.
Bess had Tom for a brother. She had no sister
and no other brother, so, of course, she had to
make the best of Tom. And sometimes he was
really quite nice; he had once taken her out into
the park, and let her fly his kite-a beauty, with
Japanese pictures all over it, and yards and yards
of tail; once in a while he would draw her on his
sled-though I am sorry to say he generally did n't
want to be bothered with girls; and now and then,
though not often, he had more caramels than he
He put on as many airs with Bess as if he were
the Great Mogul, and, if he had been, Bess could
not have had greater faith in him, or obeyed him
more implicitly. When you are a boy thirteen
years old and study Latin, it is easy to be the
Great Mogul to a little body not quite eight, who
is only a girl, any way, never went to school in her
life, and can't go out when it rains, because she is
Bess was sure that a boy who studied Latin and
could ride on a bicycle, as Tom could, must know

everything. So when Tom told her that, if her doll
was going to give a kettledrum, she (the doll) ought
to write the invitations herself, she did not think
of questioning it. She could n't quite see how it
was to be done, but it must be the proper way, if
Tom said so.
"It's the fashion now for ladies to write their
own invitations," said Tom. "Have n't you no-
ticed that Mamma writes all her cards ? Never has
them engraved, as she used to. It would n't be at
all stylish, or even proper, for your doll to have a
kettledrum, unless she wrote the invitations her-
"But Lady Marion can't write," said Bess,
mournfully. I was going to ask Mamma to write
Oh, you have only to put the pen in her hand,
and guide it slowly, and she will write them well
enough. I will tell you what to have her write.
And she must draw a kettle at the top of the sheet
and a drum at the bottom, like those that Miss
Percy sent to Mamma, you know."
It would be beautiful, Tom, but Lady Marion
never could do it in the world said Bess.
Oh, pooh! I '11 show you just how, and you can
help her. It will be just the same as if she did it
all herself. There that is the way to draw a
kettle, and that's a drum," and Tom drew, with just
a few strokes of his pencil, a kettle that was just
like a kettle, and a drum that you would have
known anywhere, while Bess looked on in breath-
less admiration, and thought Tom was almost a


And this is what you're to write--to make the
doll write, I mean." And he repeated a formula
several times, until Bess had learned it by heart.
Oh, Tom, it will be perfectly splendid How
good you are to me!" said Bess, gratefully.
"You shall have my new Roman sash for a tail to
your kite "
Mamma would n't like that, and she would be
sure to find it out; but I '11 tell you how you can
pay me: you can lend me your two dollars and
fifteen cents. I am awfully short, and I must have
a new base-ball bat."
Bess's face fell at this suggestion. She had been
hoarding that two dollars and fifteen cents for a
long time, to buy Lady Marion a new traveling
trunk, her old one being very shabby, and having
no bonnet-box in it, so that her bonnets got fright-
fully jammed whenever she went on a journey;
and Nurse advised her never to lend money to
Tom, because his pay-day was so long in coming;
and when he got to owing too much he often went
into bankruptcy, and paid but very little on a
But when one has been very kind, and shows
you how to get up beautiful invitations, it is not at
all easy to refuse to lend him your money. And,
besides, if Bess should refuse, Tom would be very
likely to tear up the beautiful kettle and drum
that he had drawn, and, without a pattern to copy,
Lady Marion could never draw them.
So Bess produced her purse, and poured its
contents into Tom's hand.
"I'11 be sure to pay you, Bess, the very first
money I get," said Tom, as he always said.
I hope you will, Tom," said Bess, with a sigh,
"because Lady Marion is suffering for a new
trunk. She '11 have to stay at home from Saratoga
if she does n't get it."
Oh, you '11 get the money long before summer.
And, I say, Bess, I shall expect you to save me
some of the goodies from that kettledrum-though
I don't suppose you can save much, girls are such
greedy things "
"I will, Tom," said Bess, earnestly. "I will
save lots of meringues and caramels, because those
are what you like. And I 'm very much obliged
to you."
"Well, you ought to be I don't know how
you'd get along without me." And Tom went off,
singing, at the top of his voice, about the "ruler
of the queen's n.avee."
Left alone, Bess went to work diligently. Lady
Marion's kettledrum was to come off next week;
it was high time that the invitations were out.
Lady Marion had been invited out a great deal,
but she had never yet given a party. She was
well fitted to be a leader of fashion, but hitherto

her mamma's health had prevented her from
assuming that position. Nature had been very
bountiful to her, giving her cheeks just the color
of strawberry ice-cream, eyes like blueberries, and
truly hair the color of molasses candy that has
been worked a long, long time. She was born in
Paris, and had that distinguished air which is to
be found only in dolls who have that advantage.
She had, it is true, been out for a good many sea-
sons, and looked rather older than several of her
doll associates; her cheeks had lost the faintest
tinge of their strawberry ice-cream bloom, and her
beautiful hair had been so tortured by the fashion-
able style of hair-dressing-bangs and crimps and
frizzes and Montagues and water-waves and puffs-
that it had grown very thin in front, and she was
compelled to wear either a Saratoga wave or a Mar-
guerite front to cover it. The Saratoga wave was
not a perfect match for her hair, so she wore that
only by gas-light. She had also been in delicate
health, the result of an accident which strewed
the nursery floor with saw-dust, and made poor
Bess fear that her beloved Lady Marion would be
an invalid for life. The accident happened at the
time when Tom had decided to be a surgeon, and
had bought three new knives and a lancet to prac-
tice with, and the dreadful cut in Lady Marion's
side looked, Bess thought, very much as if it had
been done with a knife.
Tom, however, affirmed that it was caused by
late hours and too much gayety, and Bess did not
take Lady Marion to a party again for more than
two months. The accident destroyed her beauti-
ful plumpness, but Mamma thought that slender-
ness added to her distinguished appearance, so Bess
was comforted. This kettledrum was intended to
celebrate Lady Marion's return to society, and Bess
was anxious that it should be a very elegant affair.
It was to be held in the drawing-room, and Bess
had permission to order just what she liked for
refreshments. There was to be more than tea and
cake at that kettledrum.
And the invitations must be in the very latest
style. Bess felt as if she could not be grateful
enough to Tom for telling her just what was the
latest style.
She aroused Lady Marion from her afternoon
nap and forced a pen into her unwilling fingers-
being such a fashionable doll Lady Marion had
neither time nor taste for literary pursuits, and I
doubt whether she had ever so much as tried to
write her name before. But at last the pen was
coaxed to stay between her thumb and forefinger,
and Bess guided her hand. After much patient
effort and many failures, a tolerably legible one was
written, and Bess thought it was a great success
for a doll's first effort, although the kettle and




drum were not by any means perfect like Tom's,
and, indeed, she felt obliged to write their names
under them, lest they should not be understood.

7. '- -


They did not all look quite so well as the first.
After one has written twenty-five or thirty invita-
tions, one's hand grows tired, and one is apt to get
a little careless; but, on the whole, Bess thought
they did Lady Marion great credit. Not one was
sent that had a blot on it, and Bess was satisfied
that the spelling was all quite correct. Before six
o'clock they were all written and sent, and Bess
had a great weight off her mind. But she was
very tired, and Lady Marion was so exhausted
that she did n't feel equal to having her hair
dressed, and was not at home to visitors.
Before she slept, however, Bess made out a list
of the refreshments she wanted for the kettledrum,
and she gave especial orders that there should
be plenty of meringues and caramels, that Tom
need not come short-he was so fond of them, and
he would make such unpleasant remarks about
the girls if they were all eaten.
And having settled all this, Bess felt that there
was nothing more to do but to wait for that slow
coach of a Tuesday to come around; party days
always are such slow coaches, while the day on
which you are to have the dentist pull your tooth
comes like the chain-lightning express! There
was nothing more that she could do, but there was
one little thing that did n't quite suit her: she
wanted to invite the nice little girl who lived
around the corner of Pine street, and when she
had asked leave, Mamma had said:
Oh, hush, dear! No, no! you must n't ask her.
You must n't speak of her! Papa would be very
angry! "
Bess thought that was very strange. She was a
very nice little girl. Bess had made her acquaint-
ance in the park; they had rolled hoops together,
ahd exchanged a great many confidences. Bess
had told her about her parrot that could say
"Mary had a little lamb," and about the funny
little mice that Tom had tamed, and described

Lady Marion's new dresses that Aunt Kate had
sent her from Paris; and the strange little girl
told her that her name was Amy Belknap,-Bel-
knap, just like Bess's name, which Bess thought
was very strange,-and that she had three
brand-new kittens, as soft and furry as balls of
down, with noses and toes just like pink satin,
with dear little peaked tails, and the most fascinat-
ing manners imaginable; and she had invited
Bess to come and see them. But her mamma
would not let her go, and told that if she ever
talked to the little girl again her papa would be
angry. And Mamma looked very sad about it;
there were tears in her eyes. It was all very
strange. Bess did not know what to think about
it, but Papa was very stern when he was angry, so
she did not say anything more about Amy, al-
though she met her two or three times at parties.
But she did so want to have Lady Marion invite
her doll to the kettledrum that she could not
help asking; but it was of no use, and Mamma said
"Hush hush! as if it were something frightful
that she had proposed. And last night she had
heard Nurse talking with Norah, the parlor maid,
when they thought she was asleep, and Nurse had
said that Amy Belknap's father was Papa's own
brother, but they had quarreled years before
about a will, and were so angry still that they
would not speak to each other. And Amy's
mother was Mamma's cousin, and had been
brought up with her, so that they were just like
sisters, and Mamma felt very unhappy about the
It did not seem possible to Bess that her papa
would quarrel, when he always told Tom and her
that it was so wicked, and when he got down on
his knees and said, Forgive us our trespasses as
we forgive those who trespass against us," just as
if he meant it !
Just what a will was, Bess did not know, but she
had a vague idea that it had something to do with
money. Surely her father would not quarrel
about money She had heard him say that it was
very wrong to think too much of it.
There must be a mistake somewhere, Bess
thought, and she wished very much that it might
be set right, so that Amy and she might be friends.
Tuesday came at last, and long before four
o'clock Bess and Lady Marion had their toilets
completed, and were perched up on the window-
seat to watch for the coming of their guests. It
was not very dignified, certainly-Mamma never
did so when she expected guests; but then Lady
Marion was of a nervous temperament, and could
not bear to sit still.
Lady Marion had on a lovely tea-gown" of
Japanese foulard over blue satin, trimmed with




beautiful lace, and carried a new Japanese fan,
with pearl sticks and lace, and her hair was
arranged in a new style that was extremely be-
The refreshments and flowers had all come:
there was nothing wanting to make the kettle-
drum a complete success-nothing but the guests.
Strangely enough, they did not appear! Four
o'clock came, and half-past four, and not one of
the dolls that Lady Marion had invited came, but
all the time a stream of carriages had been going
around the corner of Pine street, and stopping at

Amy Belknap's door; and Bess could see gayly
dressed little girls tripping up the steps, every one
with her doll in her arms !
Had Amy Belknap sent out invitations for this
afternoon, and did all the girls prefer to go to her
party? It was very strange. And a doll's party,
too, apparently! Amy's best doll, Flora McFlim-
sey, had been left carelessly on the mantel-piece
when a very hot fire was burning in the grate, and
there was nothing left of her when Amy found her
but a pool of wax, a pair of lovely blue glass eyes,

and some locks of golden hair. And Amy de-
clared that she never would have another doll
that looked in the least like Flora; it would
break her heart. But she had another doll, who,
strange as it may seem to you when I tell you
how she looked, was very popular in society. She
was a colored doll, and her name was Mary Ann.
A very black doll indeed she was, with the kink-
iest wool that ever was seen, eyes that would roll
up so that you could see only the whites, and
very big, red lips, that were always smiling and
showing her white teeth. She looked so jolly that

it made one laugh just to see her. She could turn
her head from side to side and give you a friendly
little nod, and if you pulled a string she could
walk and dance. It was not a dance suited to
polite society that she danced-it was a real negro
break-down ; indeed, I do not think that Nature
had intended Mary Ann for polite society, but for
all that she was very popular in it. No doll's party
was thought to be complete without her, and her
mamma paid as much attention to her toilet as to
the lamented Flora McFlimsey's. Was Mary Ann




having a party this afternoon? A suspicion darted
into Bess's mind. The names were a good deal
alike-Marion and Mary Ann. Could they have
made a mistake ?
She rushed up to the nursery, and found one of
the invitations which had been discarded by reason
of many blots. It seemed to her that the o was
plain enough, but, oh, dear i Mamma had told her
once that Marion was spelled with an i and not
with a y.
"It was Lady Marion's fault! If I had been
writing by myself I should have thought. It does
look like Mary Ann, and Amy's Mary Ann had so
many parties, and goes so much, they thought it
must be her kettledrum, and they have all gone
there "
Bess wrung her hands, and hid her face on
Lady Marion's sympathizing bosom. Only for one
moment; in that moment she decided that she
could not bear it. She rushed to the table, in a lit-
tle ante-room, where the refreshments were spread,
and taking up her over-skirt, apron fashion, she
filled it full of goodies, tossing them all in helter-
skelter, never minding that the candied fruit was
sticky and the grapes juicy. Then she seized Lady
Marion upside down, actually with her head down-
ward and her feet sticking up in the air, so that she
was in imminent danger of apoplexy-not to men-
tion her feelings, which were terribly wounded by
such an indignity-and ran out of the street door,
not waiting for hat or cloak!
Mamma was away, and would not be home until
night, but if Nurse saw her she probably would
not allow her to go, so she closed the door very
softly behind her. In her eagerness she quite
forgot that there was a mysterious reason why she
should not go to Amy Belknap's house; she only
realized that Lady Marion's kettledrum had gone
astray, and she was fully determined not to lose
it entirely.
The servant who opened the door had been sur-
prised at the appearance of so many little girls and
dolls, when none had been invited, but she was
still more surprised when she opened the door to a
little girl without hat or cloak, with her over-skirt
full of bon-bons, and her doll's legs waving wildly
in the air !
Amy had thought it a surprise party, and there
had been no explanations until Bess and Lady
Marion appeared. The girls were all very much
surprised at the mistake, and said they did not
understand why Lady" was prefixed to Mary
Ann's name, and some of them thought they ought
to go at once to Lady Marion's house, since the
invitations had really come from her; but Bess was
quite willing to stay where she was, and Lady
Marion made no objection.

The only difference was that there were two
hostesses instead of one, Lady Marion and Mary
Ann being seated side by side in state. Lady
Marion was very elegant and polite, and was
greatly admired; and as for Mary Ann, she fairly
outdid herself, setting everybody into roars of
laughter with her dancing; and the refreshments
were not so very much mixed up.
Bess and Lady Marion staid after the others
were gone. Bess wanted to see the kittens and the
other pretty things that Amy promised to show her;
and, besides, she had begun to realize by this
time that she had done wrong in coming, and she
did n't want to go home and tell how naughty she
had been.
If it were wrong merely to mention Amy's name,
how .I...-, I .,' .., it must be to have run away,
without asking leave of anybody, and stay so long
in Amy's house She must be as bad as Tom was
when he got acquainted with the circus clown, and
went home with him and staid all night. Tom
was kept shut up in his room all day, on bread and
water, and Papa said he would rather have no
boy at all than a boy he could n't trust." Would
he wish that he had no girl at all? That was a
dreadful thought.
But why should n't she visit Amy, who was the
very nicest little girl she knew, and never got cross
and said she would n't play if you did n't do just as
she wanted to, as some of the girls did?
Bess turned it over and over in her small mind,
and decided that it was very unjust. But she was
very tired, and while she was puzzling over it her
thoughts got queerly mixed up, and, before she
knew what she was going to do, she had taken
the boat for Noddle's Island." They were sitting
on the warm, fluffy rug, before the fire, in the nur-
sery. Amy's nurse had given them some bread and
milk, and then she had hinted, very strongly, that
it was growing late, and Bess had better go home.
Bess did n't choose to pay any attention to the
hints. She dreaded going home, and it was very
pleasant where she was. They had the three kit-
tens, who were twice as furry, frolicsome, and
fascinating as Amy had said; a toy mouse, with a
spring that, when wound up, would make him run
and spring so like a truly mouse that it made
one's blood run cold, and nearly drove the kit-
tens frantic; a music-box that played the love-
liest tunes, and a Jack-in-the-box that fired off a
tiny pistol when he popped out; all these I I,!., I.i
things they had on the hearth-rug, besides Lady
Marion and Mary Ann, who were a little neglected,
I am afraid, but so tired and sleepy that they did n't
After such an exciting day as Bess had spent,
one can't keep awake long, even when there is so




much fun to be had, especially when it is past They had discovered her absence two or three
one's bed-time, hours before, and had been seeking her far and
Nothing but politeness had kept Amy's eyes near, in the keenest anxiety and distress. They

.. .. .
_. : _. .:. .-. _-.-, ,..__-: ...: ; :,_ -- .. ,,-

. ... A- ,,.
4'. .--r. ,-
-.~is 1r

t: 2

. *. .1
- .- : .
.-: ., _.i,



C* i
z': ~

s 1 .
~~ !t. ltd


open so long, and when she saw that Bess was-
asleep she gave a great sigh of relief, and she, too,
got into Noddle's boat. The three kittens, finding
it very tame to play with a mouse that would n't
go for the want of winding up, curled up together
in a little furry, purring heap, and went fast
asleep, and the Jack-in-the-box, losing all hope of
getting another chance to pop out, did the same.
Lady Marion had long ago been lulled to sleep by
the soft strains of the music-box, and, last of all,
Mary Ann, who ached in every joint from so much
dancing, and whose eyes were strained and smart-
ing from continual rolling up, but who never left
the post of duty while there was anybody to be en-
tertained, stretched herself comfortably out on the
soft rug and, like the others, forgot her weariness
in slumber.
The nurse stole out to have a chat with a crony.
Amy's mother was out, and there was no one to
notice that it was very quiet in the nursery, or think
that it was time for the strange little girl to go
home. But in the strange little girl's own house
they were thinking that it was time for her to come

had visited every house where they thought she
would be at all likely to go; they had given notice
of her loss at several police stations, and secured
the aid of two or three police officers in the search.
Last of all, having heard that Amy Belknap had
had a party that afternoon, they came there: Papa
and Mamma almost beside themselves; Nurse never
ceasing to weep and wring her hands; Tom out-
wardly stolid, and with his hands in his pockets,
but inwardly wishing heartily that he had been a
great deal better to Bess, and resolving that, if
they ever found her, he would pay her that two
dollars and fifteen cents right away.
"I am sure she is n't here," said Bess's mamma,
as they rang the door-bell. Bess never does what
she knows I would not wish her to."
But when the door was opened the servant said
she thought she was up in the nursery. And up-
stairs rushed Bess's father and mother imme-
diately, scarcely remembering whose house they
were in, but thinking only of their lost little girl
who might be found.
It happened that they opened one door into the
nursery just as Amy's papa opened another. And




~-... I-~.
F.U~ ~-~f`j~







- :--- .e




when Bess opened her eyes, almost smothered with
her mother's hugs and kisses, there stood her papa
and Amy's papa, looking at each other, as Tom,
afterward, rather disrespectfully remarked, "just as
his big Newfoundland Rover and Bobby Sparks's
big Caesar looked at each other, when they had n't
made up their minds whether to fight each other, or
go together and lick Dick Jefferd's wicked Nero "
Bess discovered that she was not going to be
scolded, but was the heroine of the hour; even
Tom, who hated "making a fuss," was ..ru !!
crying and kissing her; and Bess began to feel
very important and thought she might set things
to rights. She tugged at her father's coat-tails to
gain his entire attention.
"Papa," she began, "don't you know 'Birds
in their little nests agree,' and 'Let dogs delight
to bark and bite '? I '11 get Nurse to say them
to you, if you don't. It is n't right for you to
quarrel just because you 're big And he 's your
brother, too-just like Tom and me. And he 's
Amy's father, and Amy 's my pertikler friend.
You kiss him, now, and say you 're sorry, and-
and I '11 buy you something nice! "

In her eagerness, Bess had fallen into Nurse's
style of bribery.
There was one very good thing about it-it made
everybody laugh; and sometimes a laugh will
swallow up more bitterness than tears can drown.
They did not kiss each other, to Bess's great dis-
appointment; but the very next day Amy came to
see her, and Amy's mamma too, and she and
Bess's mamma kissed and cried over each other,
just as if they were school-girls; and they called
Bess "a blessed little peace-makcr;" so Bess is
quite sure that it is all coming out right, and that
she shall always have her cousin Amy for her
" pertikler friend."
When Bess's mamma heard that it all came
about because Lady Marion could n't spell her own
name, she praised Lady Marion, and said her
ignorance was better than all the accomplishments
that she ever knew a doll to have!
But as for Tom, who was really at the bottom
of'it, nobody thought of praising him.
But Bess had saved a great many meringues and
caramels for him-more than anybody but a boy
could eat-so he did n't mind.

yici a -j*IIsmigifm- 6 B PIi-ainnneJ
(,d Gsi be,-c baln
(jSors Itadg sifmC,
sd. dt 6o iiila~l btai o
ovev it. atl/s/ro








EMPTY the throne-chair stood;
The king was taking his royal
For early it was in the afternoon
Of a drowsy day in the month
of June.

And the palace-doors were
open wide
To the soft and dreamful airs
And the blue sky burned
with the summer glow,
And the trees cool masses
S of shade did throw.

....' The throne-chair stood in
2 a splendid room.
There were velvets in ruby and purple bloom,
Curtains magnificent to see,
And a table draped most sumptuously.

And on the table a cushion lay
Colored like clouds at the close of day,
And a crown, rich-sparkling with myriad rays,
Shone on the top in a living blaze.

And nobody spoke and nobody stirred
Except a bird that sat by a bird-
Two cockatoos on a lofty perch,
Sober and grave as monks in a church.

Gay with the glory of painted plume
Their bright hues suited the brilliant room:
Green and yellow, and rose and blue,
Scarlet and orange and jet black, too.

Said one to the other, eyeing askance
The beautiful fleur-de-lis of France
On the cushion's lustrous edge, set round
In gleaming gold on a violet ground-

Said one to the other, "Rocco, my dear,
If any thief were to enter here,
He might take crown and cushion away,
And who would be any the wiser, pray?"

Said Rocco, "How stupid, my dear Coquette !
A guard is at every threshold set;
No thief could enter, much less get out,
Without the sentinel's warning shout."

She tossed her head, did the bright Coquette.
" Rocco, my dear, now what will you bet
That the guards are not sleeping this moment
as sound
As the king himself, all the palace round?

" 'T is very strange, so it seems to me,
That they leave things open so carelessly;
Really, I think it 's a little absurd
All this should be left to the care of a bird !

" And what is that creaking so light and queer?
Listen a moment. There! Don't you hear?
And what is that moving the curtain behind?
Rocco, dear, are' you deaf and blind ?"

The heavy curtain was pushed away
And a shaggy head, unkempt and gray,
From the costly folds looked doubtful out,
And eagerly everywhere peered about.

And the dull eyes lighted upon the blaze
Of the gorgeous crown with a startled gaze,
And out of the shadow the figure stepped
And softly over the carpet crept.

And nobody spoke and nobody stirred,
And the one bird sat by the other bird;
Both overpowered by their surprise,
They really could n't believe their eyes!

Swiftly the madman, in fear's despite,
Darted straight to that hill of light;
The frightened birds saw the foolish wretch
His hand to the wondrous thing outstretch.

Then both at once such an uproar raised
That the king himself rushed in, amazed,
Half awake, in his dressing-gown,
And there on the floor lay the sacred crown!

And he caught a glimpse through the portal
Of a pair of flying heels outside,
And he shouted in royal wrath, "What ho!
Where are my people, I 'd like to know! "

They ran to the rescue in terror great.
Is this the way that you guard my state?
Had it not been for my cockatoos
My very crown I had chanced to lose!"




They sought in the shrubbery to and fro,
Wherever they 1i..l. li the thief might go;
They looked through the garden, but all in vain,
They searched the forest, they scoured the plain.

They 'd a special servant on them to wait,
To do their pleasure early and late:
They grew so haughty and proud and grand,
Their fame was spread over all the land.

"- -".. .../

* '.^'^\- .. ..


..... . .
f',' **'.;
*-t ; I A -"-^ *'^--*** ;- '- -

They gave it up, for they could not choose.
But oh, the pride of those cockatoos!
If they were admired and petted before,
Now they were utterly spoiled, be sure!

And when they died it made such a stir!
And their skins were stuffed with spice and myrrh,
And from their perch they still look down,
As on the day when they saved the crown.






A KINDLY looking gentleman one day accosted me:
" Do you know any one who wants eleven dogs?" asked he.
They 're so gentle and so good
That I 'd keep them if I could,
But I really can't gratify their appetite for food."

I told him I 'd take one, but he slowly shook his
There are many who have told me that they
wanted one," he said,
But I 've such a tender heart
That I could n't bear to part
Eleven little doggies all so loving in their sport! /

" They would soon pine for each other, and the
person who wants one
Must either take the family or be content with none!
'Impossible !' you say?
Then I '11 bid you a good-day,"
And, followed by his many pets, he sauntered
on his way.




FEW persons will deny that an elephant is as
large a friend as any of us can expect to have.
There is but one other living creature that is
larger than an elephant, and that is a whale; but,
on account of the peculiarity of his residence, it
would be difficult for any one to keep company
with a live whale long enough to form a lasting
friendship. Even Jonah and his whale staid to-
gether only three days, and, after that, it is quite
certain that they never.met again.
But strong friendships have been formed be-
tween elephants and men, and it is on this account

that I call these great beasts our largest friends.
And who could chide a person on good terms with
an elephant for boasting that he had an extensive
acquaintance ?
At the present time of writing there is no animal,
not domestic, which occupies so prominent a posi-
tion before the public as the elephant; and the
great interest which is now taken in these ani-
mals is probably due to the fact that we have
some extraordinary specimens of them among us.
One of the most remarkable of these is the baby
elephant recently born in this country. This






A KINDLY looking gentleman one day accosted me:
" Do you know any one who wants eleven dogs?" asked he.
They 're so gentle and so good
That I 'd keep them if I could,
But I really can't gratify their appetite for food."

I told him I 'd take one, but he slowly shook his
There are many who have told me that they
wanted one," he said,
But I 've such a tender heart
That I could n't bear to part
Eleven little doggies all so loving in their sport! /

" They would soon pine for each other, and the
person who wants one
Must either take the family or be content with none!
'Impossible !' you say?
Then I '11 bid you a good-day,"
And, followed by his many pets, he sauntered
on his way.




FEW persons will deny that an elephant is as
large a friend as any of us can expect to have.
There is but one other living creature that is
larger than an elephant, and that is a whale; but,
on account of the peculiarity of his residence, it
would be difficult for any one to keep company
with a live whale long enough to form a lasting
friendship. Even Jonah and his whale staid to-
gether only three days, and, after that, it is quite
certain that they never.met again.
But strong friendships have been formed be-
tween elephants and men, and it is on this account

that I call these great beasts our largest friends.
And who could chide a person on good terms with
an elephant for boasting that he had an extensive
acquaintance ?
At the present time of writing there is no animal,
not domestic, which occupies so prominent a posi-
tion before the public as the elephant; and the
great interest which is now taken in these ani-
mals is probably due to the fact that we have
some extraordinary specimens of them among us.
One of the most remarkable of these is the baby
elephant recently born in this country. This




little animal, not higher than a table, is certainly
the most amusing and interesting creature of its
kind that I ever saw. He is very frisky and play-
ful, and trots about on his stumpy little legs in a
way that is very surprising to those who have al-
ways considered elephants among the steadiest
and most solemn creatures in the world. The
fact that, with the exception of being ever so much
smaller, he is exactly like a full-grown elephant,
makes him all the more interesting and peculiar.
In color and proportions he resembles a full-sized
elephant looked at through the wrong end of a
telescope. If he should never grow any larger
than he is now, he would be the most valuable
elephant in the world.
Another very noticeable elephant is the great
beast Jumbo, recently brought from England to this
country. This is one of the very largest animals of
his kind; and although he has been a long time in
captivity, he is occasionally very difficult to manage,
and, until recently, there was only one man who
was able to control him. Most of us know what an
undertaking it was to bring him to this country.
It was necessary to put him into a great box, as
strong as iron and wood could make it, which was
hoisted on board of a ship, and in this way
Jumbo was brought across the ocean.
It is very unusual to have such trouble in trans-
porting elephants from place to place; for, al-
though I have classed them among the animals
that are not domestic, it is generally quite easy to
train and tame them. I suppose, in some coun-
tries where they are extensively used as beasts of
burden and for other purposes, they may be said
to be domesticated. But, after all, an elephant,
however kind and gentle he may be, is not the
sort of animal we would like to have about our
houses, like a cat or dog.
Most of us are so familiar with elephants, which
we frequently see in menageries and circuses, and
which are generally so gentle and docile, obeying
the slightest word or sign of their keepers, that
we are accustomed to look upon them as the most
peaceable and quiet, as well as the slowest and
most awkward animals on the face of the earth. It
is therefore difficult sometimes to imagine what an
active and often terrible fellow an elephant is in
his native wilds. He can run very rapidly, and
when his temper is aroused there is no more savage
creature to be found. Sometimes two of these pon-
derous beasts, who have imagined themselves in-
sulted or injured in some way, or, from their natural
viciousness, feel inclined to vent their bad temper
upon any animal they may meet, join themselves
together, and range forest and plain in search of a
victim. It would be a terrible thing indeed, to
meet a pair of such elephants on murderous

thoughts intent, for it would be almost impossible
for any man to defend himself against two such
assailants. With one of the heavy rifles used in
elephant-hunting, a steady eye, and an unflinch-
ing soul, it might be possible to stop the onward
progress of one such mass of savage fury. But if
two creatures of the kind should be met, there
would be no safety but in a very high tree with a
very thick trunk.
Apart from man, there is no animal that can suc-
cessfully combat with a full-grown elephant. The
largest tiger can be crushed beneath his feet or
knees. His great tusks can be driven even into
the body of a rhinoceros; and, although a savage
enemy may spring upon his back, and keep out of
the way of his elastic and powerful trunk, it is not
easy for even the fiercest tiger to make much of an
impression upon his thick hide and enormous body.
Sometimes, indeed, when attacked by two ani-
mals at once, such as a lion and a lioness, who
surprise him at his favorite drinking-place, an ele-
phant may be thrown into a state of considerable
agitation. In such a case, he would feel very much
as a boy would who should be attacked by two
hornets, for the teeth and claws of the lion and
lioness would inflict painful wounds; but, if he
were not able to throw off his antagonists, so as to
pierce them with his tusks or trample them with
his feet, he would soon feel as the boy would if a hor-
net had got down his back, and his impulse would
doubtless be to rush into deep water, where he
could breathe with nothing but his trunk in the
air, but where his enemies would have to swim
ashore, or be drowned; and they might be obliged
to swim away with much alacrity, for it would
doubtless please the elephant as much to seize a
swimming lion with his trunk and hold his head
under water, as it would please the boy to clap his
hat over a half-drowned hornet and help him to
In warm countries the borders of rivers are
favorite places for hunters, whether they be men
or animals, to wait and watch for their game or
prey; and when a herd of elephants approaches
one of these drinking-places it is customary for the
leader to go on ahead, and if, when he reaches the
edge of the water, he perceives or suspects the
presence of enemies, he throws up his trunk and
loudly trumpets an alarm. His companions then
halt, and the whole band retreats, unless it is
thought better to stand and make a fight. If the
latter plan is determined upon, it is quite certain
that the affair will be well managed and carried on
with spirit, for the elephant is endowed with good
sense as well as courage.
But if the enemies lying in wait happen to be
hunters, armed with murderous rifles, it is probable





that several of the huge animals will soon lie life-
less on the sands, and that their tusks will be
carried away to make billiard-balls and piano-keys.
Considering the elephant as a fighting animal,
we should not forget to include his trunk among
his weapons of offense and defense. With his
powerful and sinuous trunk, which the elephant

uses for so many and such different purposes, he
can seize almost any animal and hurl it to the
ground. But wily and savage creatures, such as
tigers, almost always attack an elephant in the
rear, and spring upon some part of him which he
cannot reach with his trunk. It is not likely, how-
ever, that lions and tigers often attack elephants,




unless there is some unusual reason for so doing.
When, for instance, a Bengal tiger springs upon
an elephant which is trampling through his jungle,
it is because there are men upon the huge creat-
ure's back who are hunting the tiger, and who have
wounded or otherwise enraged him. It is scarcely
possible to suppose that any wild beast would be so
hungry as to try to kill a full-grown elephant for
his dinner.
A great deal has been written about the ele-
phant's trunk, but I believe that few persons thor-
oughly understand the variety of uses to which it is
put. Not only is everything the elephant eats or
drinks conveyed to his mouth by the trunk, but
the little hand or finger at the end of the long
proboscis is used very much as we would use our
hands and fingers. Not long ago, I saw the great
elephant. Jumbo receive from one of his visitors a
package of candy, neatly wrapped in white paper.
He curled up the end of his trunk and laid the

and carried it to his mouth without dropping a
single piece.
In regard to Jumbo, who is one of the largest, and
is perhaps the best known elephant in the world,
I must say something more. We have all heard
of the sacred white elephants of Siam and Bur-
mah; but if one of these revered beasts had
been carried away from either of those countries, it
is scarcely possible that the Siamese or Burmese
could have been more excited or troubled than
were the English people when their favorite ele-
phant Jumbo was carried away from the Zo6logical
Gardens in London, and brought to the United
States. Great public feeling was aroused, and there
was a general demand that he should not be taken
away. Lords and ladies, and even high public
officers, signed petitions protesting against his re-
moval. He had been in England for nearly thirty
years; thousands and thousands of children had
ridden upon him, and even the Queen of Great


package in the hollow of the curve; then he rubbed Britain had mounted upon his back. If the Prime
it with his finger until the paper was broken and Minister had left the country, it is not likely that
the candy fell out on his trunk. He threw the there would have been such public grief.
paper away, gathered up the candy with his finger, In looking at Jumbo, it is easy to see that it is




not on account of his beauty that the English peo-
ple wished to keep him among them. He is one of
the ugliest beasts alive. But he is enormously
large, and towers far above other elephants. He
was born in Africa, and, like the other elephants of
that country, has very large ears and a slightly
humped back. The Indian elephant has a much
handsomer head. His ears are smaller, and his
tusks grow more gracefully from his upper jaw.
It seems a curious thing for elephants to work
on a railroad, for we generally consider these ani-

constructed, elephants were used to pack the earth
down firmly. Long lines of the great creatures
walked backward and forward on an embank-
ment, their immense weight pressing the earth
into a solid and compact mass. It is not likely
that in that country anything else could have been
found so serviceable for this purpose as the wide feet
and ponderous bodies of elephants.
In connection with the employment of the ele-
phant by man, there is an allegorical fable which,
although it has probably no basis of fact, may



mals as either inhabitants of forests and jungles,
or the servants of oriental masters who have no
idea of the improvements and inventions of mod-
ern times. And yet, elephants have been employed
on railroad work. On a road recently built in
Burmah, from Rangoon to the city of Prome, there
were many embankments to be made where the
road ran over low lands. While these were being

possess a certain interest for those who are fond
of investigating the reasons of things.
According to this story there was, at one time, a
comparatively small number of elephants upon
the earth, and these lived together in one great
herd. They were quiet, docile animals, and did
no injury to any one. They were formed, how-
ever, somewhat differently from the elephant of the





them the heavy loads which they were often
obliged to carry from place to place.
One day, several of the men saw the leader of
the herd of elephants standing in the shade of a
clump of trees, and they went to him to talk
upon this subject. They told him of the diffi-
culty they had in taking journeys with their
wives and children, especially in the rainy sea-
son, when the ground was wet and muddy, and
explained to him how hard it was for them to
carry loads of provisions and other things from
one "ill .:. to another.
"Now, twenty of these loads," said the spokes-
man of the men, "would be nothing for one
of you to carry; and if one of us, and all his
family, and even some of his household goods,
were upon your great back, you could walk off
with ease. Now, what we wish to propose to
you is this: If some of your herd will consent
to carry us when we wish to make a journey,
and to bear about our heavy goods for us, we
will give you grass, rice, and banyan-leaves and
melons from our gardens, and such other things
as may be proper, for your services. By this
arrangement both sides will be benefited."


present day. You may
have noticed that the hind
legs of these animals bend
forward like the legs of a
man, while the hind legs
of nearly all other quad-
rupeds bend out backward.
In the days of which this
allegory tells, the ele-
phant's hind legs were
formed in the same way :
they bent out backward
like the legs of a dog, a
horse, or a cow. The
people in that part of the
country where these ele-
phants lived had no beasts
of burden, or wagons, or
carts, and they often
thought what an excellent
thing it would be if the
great, strong elephants
would carry them and their
families about on their
broad backs, or bear for
VOL. IX.-54.




S ,I




The elephant listened with great attention, and
when the man had finished speaking he replied:
Melons are very tempting, for these we seldom
find in the forest, and fresh leaves from the luxuri-
ant banyans which grow about your houses are
highly attractive to elephants; but, in spite of the
inducements you offer, there are objections to
the plan you propose which will, I fear, prevent it
from being carried out. If, for instance, one of
your families wished to get upon my back, or if
you desired to place a heavy load thereon, it would
be necessary for me to lie down, would n't it?"
Oh, yes," said the man. Our women and
children could never climb up to your back while
you are standing, and we could not reach high
enough to place loads upon it unless you should
lie down."
"There comes in the difficulty," said the ele-
phant. Our bodies are so large and heavy that
when we lie down it is as much as we can do to
get up. Indeed, most of us prefer to sleep leaning
against a tree, because when we lie down at night
we often find in the morning that it is almost im-
possible for us to rise. Now, if we find it difficult
to get up from the ground when we have nothing
but ourselves to lift, it is quite plain that we could
not rise at all if we had a load upon our backs.
That is clear to your mind, is it not?"
"Yes," said the man, rather ruefully. "I see
that what you say is true. You would be of no
service to us if you could not get up after we had
placed our loads upon your backs."
And he and his fellows returned sadly to their
But some of the people, when they heard this
story, were not willing to give up the matter so
easily. There was a witch of great wisdom who
lived in the neighborhood, and they went and con-
sulted her. She considered the matter for three
days and nights, and then she told them that, if
they would give her twenty pots of rice and a
bronze gong, she would make it all right. The
twenty pots of rice and the bronze gong were
speedily brought to her; and that night, when the
elephants were all fast asleep, she went to the
place where they were lying on the ground, or

leaning against the trees, and bewitched them.
She managed her witcheries in such a way that
the hind legs of the elephants all bent inward in-
stead of outward, as they had done before.
When the head elephant awoke and walked
from under the tree against which he had been
leaning, he was very much surprised at the change
in his gait. He shuffled along in a very different
way from that in which he had always walked
"I feel as if I were all shoulders," he said to
his wife.
"And well you may," said she, "for your hind
legs bend forward, exactly like your fore legs."
And so do yours he cried, in utter amaze-
The elephants who were lying down were awak-
ened by this loud conversation, and, noticing that
many of their companions were moving about in a
very strange way, thought it would be a good idea
to get up and see what was the matter. To their
astonishment they arose with great ease. Their
hind legs were bent under their heavy bodies, and
they were enabled to lift themselves up with what
seemed to them no trouble at all.
When all this was made known to the men of
the village, they immediately urged upon the head
elephant that he and his companions should enter
into their service. An elephant was thereupon or-
dered by his chief to lie down and be loaded, and
when the men had tied an immense number of
packages upon his back, he arose with apparent
ease and shambled away.
There being now no possible objection to an
elephant becoming a beast of burden, these great
animals began to enter into the service of man.
But many of them did not fancy labor, no matter
how able they might be to perform it, and these
separated from the main herd and scattered them-
selves over various parts of Asia and Africa, where
their descendants are still found.
As has been said before, it is quite likely that
this story may not be true; but still the facts
remain that the elephant's hind legs bend forward
just like his fore legs, and that he shambles along
very much as if he were all shoulders.






7 Jack and the Jolick and the Jamborie,
/They climbed up into the banyan tree.
They climbed to the top,
But they had to stop,
SFor no more foot-hold could they see.
SThe Jack and the Jolick and the Jamborie
To climb still farther did all agree,
S So the Jack stood up on the topmost limb,
And then the Jolick climbed over him.
/ Over the two went the Jamborie,-
He climbed up quickly the world to see,-
And then the Jack from the topmost limb,
With grin and chuckle, climbed after him.
To the top climbed he,
The world to see,
And there in the air swung all the three:
The Jolick gleefully followed the Jack,
"And quickly reached the topmost back.
And then again went the Jamborie
Up to the top, the world to see.
On they are going, and on and on;
'1 They 'll reach the stars before they are done !



LITTLE brown Betty looks out in the morning, And nearer the tinkle of baby's tin rattle,
And sees the great dew-drops the bushes adorn- And the hum of the bees o'er the dainty white
ing, clover.
The sky all aglow, and the clouds in a flurry,
Where the sun has jumped out of his bed in a Little brown Betty fills deftly her bowl,
hurry. And splashes and gurgles and laughs as the
She hears in the distance the low of the cattle, Goes trickling and tickling from forehead to sole;
The shout of the herd-boy, the bark of old Then she brushes her curls as her mother has
Rover, taught her.




7 Jack and the Jolick and the Jamborie,
/They climbed up into the banyan tree.
They climbed to the top,
But they had to stop,
SFor no more foot-hold could they see.
SThe Jack and the Jolick and the Jamborie
To climb still farther did all agree,
S So the Jack stood up on the topmost limb,
And then the Jolick climbed over him.
/ Over the two went the Jamborie,-
He climbed up quickly the world to see,-
And then the Jack from the topmost limb,
With grin and chuckle, climbed after him.
To the top climbed he,
The world to see,
And there in the air swung all the three:
The Jolick gleefully followed the Jack,
"And quickly reached the topmost back.
And then again went the Jamborie
Up to the top, the world to see.
On they are going, and on and on;
'1 They 'll reach the stars before they are done !



LITTLE brown Betty looks out in the morning, And nearer the tinkle of baby's tin rattle,
And sees the great dew-drops the bushes adorn- And the hum of the bees o'er the dainty white
ing, clover.
The sky all aglow, and the clouds in a flurry,
Where the sun has jumped out of his bed in a Little brown Betty fills deftly her bowl,
hurry. And splashes and gurgles and laughs as the
She hears in the distance the low of the cattle, Goes trickling and tickling from forehead to sole;
The shout of the herd-boy, the bark of old Then she brushes her curls as her mother has
Rover, taught her.


Then neatly puts on all her clothes in a twinkle,
With her little brown hands patting out every
Then softly she kneels at her bedside, and prays
That God will watch over her words and her

Now little brown Betty is helping her mother,
And merrily flitting from cupboard to table;
Now stooping a moment to fondle her brother,
Now giving a pat to the black kitten Sable.

She sets up the chairs, and she goes for the
And sings as she comes with her pail running
Then she watches for Father,-the dear little
daughter! -
And picks him a posy of daisies and clover.

Little brown Betty, when breakfast is ended,
Trips into the garden, by Rover attended,
And waters her pansies, and ties up her roses,
While Rover lies under the lilacs and dozes.

Then back to the house, with her dusky cheeks
Goes little brown Betty, and takes out her sew-
And in her small rocker she patiently matches
On apron and stocking the wearisome patches.

Now little brown Betty, knee-deep in the clover,
Stands watching the mower's harmonious motion,
While the tender cloud-shadows go hurrying
The meadows like ships on an emerald ocean.

The bobolink sings o'er his nest in the meadow,
The breezes blow cool from the distant blue
The grasshopper sleepily whirs in the shadow,
And Betty's head droops and her soft eyelids

And now on a bed of the newly mown hay
Sleeps little brown Betty as sweet as the clover,
And here we must leave her, half hidden away,
While her father is searching the meadow all over.




- ..V -4; 1!-'*

-7 -"* -..
--. I
-s : '. ,' -<
*--e' '^ .f ;I

I, r -.


Si- .^ -"'1 .-: ,' r

S 7-- .. '-.---_

: -, .. ; ., .-
\ ^, -. I .. ... _-
-' -" --- -

r,,-- _' '^ ",", "-
,' : ._ .,

:!I:,. ed and gray,
i :1 .L a day.
i, land to go;
t:.,1- what did they do?

_: _ ..:+ .. .. ..7.

~-~ ....~-~

i .
: ;I 1


. : 1 >


', ,


"-,. :--

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

-, ,* *?



F..ur days they traveled, then they found
S4rove where beech-nuts did abound;
., there they staid, devoid of fear,
A .1 happy lived for many a year.

- '-..


*' '.I,
. .',F T,






p F i ,, l ,.,u-l li .:- 1 i r !. l-i. .

-! .. >: I': ,; .i ,.,l'r t l : r lI:,, : 1 i ..

-V ; ~ Il:, u I.. h : !,:r

,.-. ,. /..

1, '

- I "
. I 'I
ib:l,: -.,,







BY C. A. W.

l ONCE knew a little boy
who was not at all
S/, like the little boys
SI ', '.. whom you are accus-
tomed to see every
day. He did not
have blue eyes and
curly brown hair,
nor did he wear
gray trousers and
short jackets.
No; his eyes and
hair were jet black,
and he was troubled with no other clothing than
a loose, wrapper-like garment, which he bound
about his waist with a long sash, using its wide
sleeves for pockets. Perhaps, from the descrip-
tion of his dress, you will think that he looked
like a girl; but he was a real boy, and would
have felt indignant if you had taken him for any-
thing else.
In fact, Jiro-for that was the young gentleman's
name-was an inhabitant of that country some-
where down under our feet known as Japan, and
sometimes called the "Children's Paradise."
Now, Jiro was very proud of his country, and
believed, as did all his countrymen, that the
inhabitants had descended from the gods. Al-
though he was only eight years old, because his
father was one of those terrible fellows called
samurai, or retainers (who would lop your head
off in a minute and think nothing of it), little Jiro
was allowed to carry in his belt a real sword. He
was not ignorant of its use, either, as he took
lessons in fencing twice a week.
Jiro's elder sister, Miss Koto, was learning to
handle the lance and spear-an accomplishment
of Japanese ladies of position, which is considered
as necessary as learning to sew, or read, or paint;
and Jiro longed for the time to come when his
own hands would be strong enough to lift these
heavier weapons. One day, as our little friend was
returning from fencing-school, he thought that,
instead of making his way homeward through
the crowded streets, he would take a shorter cut
he knew of, across the fields, where he would be
able to find some tall lotus-flowers for his sister's
deft fingers to arrange in the parlor flower-vases.
On reaching the pond where the lotus grew, he
found that several children were already there,
some busily engaged in collecting the sweet lotus-

roots for eating, and others, who were more fond
of play than of work, strutting about, holding up
the great lotus-leaves for parasols, or wearing
them as jaunty sun-hats. Jiro did not care for the
roots (as his mother frequently bought them of
the vegetable-man), and, as he felt too busy to
play, he set manfully to work and cut down some
of the most beautiful buds growing high above
his head. When he had cut enough he started
for home, sturdily trudging along with his arms
full of the rosy flowers and their great, wide
He had not gone very far, however, before one
of those long snakes which, in Japan, inhabit trees
or low shrubs, lifted up its ugly head right in
Jiro's path, and made him drop his fragrant bundle
and grasp the hilt of his little sword. The serpent
looked' very ugly, seeming to say, "No! no!
Master Jiro, you can't pass here until I have a bite
of you and I rather suspect that Jiro's first im-
pulse was to run away. But, remembering that his
father was the retainer of a great prince, and that
some day he would be a retainer too, Jiro felt
braver, and as the snake continued to rear its head
right in his path, Jiro cut at it with his sharp little
sword and lopped its head right off; giving it an-
other cut to make quite sure it was dead, the lad
picked up his flowers and went on, feeling very
proud of his triumph.
Jiro went to school like other boys, and sat on
the floor, as every one does in Japan. The school-
room was full of children, who studied their les-
sons aloud, without disturbing each other in the
least. He had plenty of holidays, so you need not
be afraid that he hurt himself by studying too hard.
Perhaps you will think it strange that, among
all Jiro's holidays, he had never counted a birthday.
Birthdays are so important over here, that I fancy
the boys would be inclined to object if they were told
that such days were not to be celebrated any more.
Jiro, however, did not even know the day of the
month when he was born, but, like all good Japan-
ese, counted his age from the first New Year's
day of his life. So you will understand how much
the people over there love New Year's, which
comes, like ours, on the first of January. But I
think that our friend Jiro, together with the other
boys of Japan, was most pleased when old Father
Time brought around the fifth of May, which is
called "Boys'- Day," because especially devoted to
the boys of Japan. Oh, they do have good times




then And I have no doubt that the
little, olive-tinted, almond-eyed fel-
lows look forward with as much
pleasure to that day as our boys do
to the fourth of Tnlv. The little
girls feel very ''i.:i' .: r ti t .. h:i..

: -T-' -

,, ,',, i,--
GT_ (B/.


on "Boys' Day"; but then they
have their time to rejoice on the
third of March, which is dedicated
to them.
I suppose you would like to know
what the boys do on their day,"
so I will tell you some things our
young friend did.
There was no need of a breakfast-
bell to arouse Jiro on that eventful
morning, for he was up and dressed
long before Tama, the maid, had
finished dusting the sitting-room,
from which he was therefore shut
out. So he amused himself by teas-
ing his sister's cat, Sir Tora-no-sk6,
until he could have his breakfast
of rice, which he ate with chop-
sticks instead of a spoon. He walked
out into the garden and tried to
count the numerous canvas fishes
which floated from nearly every
house in the neighborhood. Per-



,__ 'x *-

/ '-

I. --

/- ,



.b-- ~i~
r n~,
~ r.


' .t




haps you would like to know the meaning of
the curious fishes which, on the fifth of May, float
from every house where a boy lives. You are
probably familiar with the round, red sun-flag of
Japan, which suggests the "Rising Sun Land,"
as the Japanese call their country, and if you lived
there you would soon learn to distinguish the flags
of the different provinces and their peculiar designs.
Well, then, the fish is the boys' flag, and I will tell
you why. Did you ever see a shoal of fish swim-
ming one by one down a water-fall? Salmon and
trout do this, but there are few fishes which can
ascend a cataract, as well as leap down it. There
is one kind, however, which can do this, and the
Japanese call it roi, but we know it as the carp. As
is readily apparent, to be able to swim up the rapids
as well as to descend them requires both strength
and courage; so the fanciful Japanese decided
that the carp would be a good emblem for their
boys, and in presenting the image of this fish ex-
press a wish that they may be as strong and as
brave as the carp in overcoming the difficulties of
life. I do not suppose that little Jiro quite under-
stood the meaning of the boys' flag, but he felt very
proud as he looked at the swelling monster floating
from his father's roof in his especial honor.
Jiro was presently told to go into the parlor,
where he found that the loving hands of friends

had prepared a surprise for him. The deep niche
which usually contained his sister's flower-vases
and his father's favorite pictures had been robbed
of these ornaments, and was now filled by a com-
plete set of miniature weapons. A large picture of
a battle -scene hung against the wall, and below it
was a rack filled with crested standards, lances,
spear-heads, and shields, surmounted by a plumed
helmet. In front of these, but a little lower, were'
arranged some pretty bows and a quiver full of
arrows. To crown all were two figures of fully
equipped warriors, each bearing in his hand a
small but exact copy of the provincial flag under
which his father once fought.
You ought to have seen how Jiro's eyes sparkled
when he beheld all these wonders The first
thing he did was to make a low bow to his parents
(for Jiro was a well-taught boy), and thank them
very politely for the pleasure they had given him.
All day long the presents of kind friends were left
at Jiro's door-among them numerous represen-
tations of the favorite carp, and plenty of highly
colored story-books about great generals and fa-
mous soldiers. That night, when it was time to go
to bed, I do not believe there was a happier boy in
Japan than little Jiro as he laid down to dream of
famous warriors of ancient times and their thrilling
deeds of bravery.





--'-......- :-------- *;-a i..A-*'-.

Icoua, sail JohdThom as l Spine]d

A stable I'd build iia minute;

Sfor this shoe I hC found, I

And now 1 be bound




IN reading about art we often find something
concerning a certain time which is called the Re-
naissance, and the art of that period bears the same
name--the art of the Renaissance. This is word
meaning a new birth or a re-awakening, and in
art it denotes the time when the darkness and
ignorance of the Middle Ages was passing away,
and men were arousing themselves and endeavor-
ing to restore literature and art to the high places
they had once occupied. The artists who took the
lead in this movement were a remarkable class of
men, and merit remembrance and gratitude from
all those.of later times who have profited by their
Some authors call Filippo Brunelleschi, or Bru-
nellesco, the "Father of the Art of the Renais-
sance." He was born in Florence in 1377, and died
in 1446. His mother was of a noble family, and on

his father's side he had learned notaries and phy-
sicians for his ancestors. Filippo's father desired
that his son should be a physician, and directed
his education with that end in view; but the boy
had such a love of art, and was so fond of the study
of mechanics, that his father at length allowed him
to learn the trade of a goldsmith, which trade was,
in that day, more closely connected with what we
call the fine arts than it is now.
Filippo made rapid progress, now that he was
doing something that pleased him, and soon learned
to excel in the setting of precious stones, and this,
too, in exquisite designs drawn by himself. He
also made some beautiful figures in niello. This
art was so interesting that I must describe it to
you, especially because to it we owe the origin of
The niello-worker drew a design upon gold or
silver, and cut it out with a sharp tool called a
burin. He then melted together some copper, sil-




ver, lead, and sulphur, and when the composition
was cool ground it to a powder. He covered his
drawing with this, and over it sprinkled some
borax; he then placed it over a charcoal fire, and
the powder and borax melted together and ran into
the lines of the drawing. When this was cool, the
metal on which the drawing had been made was
scraped and burnished, and the niello then had the
effect of a drawing in black 'lpon gold or silver.
Niello-work was known to the ancients, and there
are very rare old specimens of it in some museums.
The discovery of the art of taking impressions on
paper from these drawings on metal is ascribed to
Maso Finiguerra, who flourished about the time
when Brunelleschi died.
After Filippo had perfected himself as a gold-
smith and niello-worker he studied sculpture and
executed some designs in bass-relief, but he was
always deeply interested in such mathematical and
mechanical pursuits as fitted him to be the great
architect which he finally became.
He went to Rome with his friend Donatello, and
there Filippo was untiring in his study of architect-
ure, and made innumerable drawings from the
beautiful objects of ancient art which he saw. One
day, when these two artists were digging among
the ruins in the hope of finding some beautiful
sculpture, they came upon a vase full of ancient
coins, and from that time they were called "the
treasure-seekers." They lived very poorly, and
made the most of their small means, but even then
they suffered many privations. Donatello returned
to Florence, but Filippo Brunelleschi studied and
struggled on, and there grew up in his heart a great
desire to accomplish two things in his native city-
to revive there a pure style of architecture, and to
raise the dome upon the then unfinished cathedral.
He lived to see the realization of both these am-
bitious hopes.
The Cathedral of Florence is also called the
Church of Santa Maria del Fiore, which means St.
Mary of the Flower; this may also be rendered
-St. Mary of the Lily, and is better so, since the
lily is the emblem of the Virgin Mary, the chief
patron saint of Florence. St. Reparata is another
favorite Florentine saint, who, in pictures, holds
in her hand a banner, on which is a lily. The
same device was on the red shield of the republic;
indeed, the very name of Florence is popularly
believed to have had its origin in the abundance
of its flowers, especially the lily known as the Iris
Florentina, which grows wild in the fields and in the
clefts of the old walls in various parts of the city.
In 1407 Brunelleschi returned to Florence, and

soon after the superintendents of the works upon
the cathedral listened to the plans of various
architects for raising the dome. Filippo proposed
his views, but they were considered far too bold.
He made models in secret and convinced himself
that he could accomplish the great work. After a
time he wearied of the waiting and returned to
Rome, always thinking and planning about the
dome, the erection of which had now become the
one passionate wish of his heart. The struggle
was long, and he suffered from the ignorance and
indecision of the officials of Florence; at length,
in 1420, a call was made for the architects of all
countries to come with their plans, and, after many
meetings and debates, the commission was finally
given to Brunelleschi, thirteen wearisome years
having passed since he had first asked for it.
At this meeting of architects, Filippo refused to
show his models, and when he was criticised for
this it is said that he proposed that, if any one
present could make an egg stand upright on a
smooth marble, he should be the builder of the
dome. The eggs were brought, and the others all
tried in vain to make one stand. At last Filippo
took his egg, and, striking it a little blow upon the
marble, left it standing there. Then the others
exclaimed that they could have done the same.
To this Filippo replied: Yes, and you might
also build a dome if you had seen my design *
The story of the building of the dome is very
interesting, but it is too long to be given here.
There were endless difficulties placed in Filippo's
way, but he overcame them all and lived to see
his work almost completed; only the outer coat-
ing was wanting at the time of his death. It is
the largest dome in the world. The cross on the
top of St. Peter's at Rome is farther from the
ground than is that above Santa Maria del Fiore,
but the dome of the latter is larger than the
dome of St. Peter's. It was also the first dome
that was raised upon a drum, as the upright part
of a dome or cupola is called, and this fact alone
entitles Filippo Brunelleschi to the great fame
which has been his for more than four centuries.
He designed many other fine architectural works
in and about Florence, among which are the
church of San Lorenzo, that of Santo Spirito,
some beautiful chapels for Santa Croce and other
churches, the Hospital of the Innocents, and the
Badia at Fiesole. That he had also a genius for
secular architecture is proved by his having de-
signed the famous Pitti Palace.
Its builder, Luca Pitti, was a very rich rival
of the great Medici and Strozzi families, and he

This story of the egg is also told of Columbus, but it doubtless originated as given above, as many Italian writers thus tell it, and,
if true of Brunelleschi, the incident must have happened some fourteen years before Columbus was born. The astronomer Toscanelli was
a great admirer of Brunelleschi, and there is little doubt of his having told this story to Columbus.





determined to erect a palace which should excel
theirs in grandeur and magnificence. This palace
stands in the midst of the Boboli gardens, and was
for a long time the residence of the sovereigns of
Tuscany and Italy, but was given up by Victor
Emmanuel when he removed to Rome and made
that city -I.: capital in 1870.
The visitor to the Pitti Palace has his interest
and attention divided between the beauty of its
surroundings, the splendor of the palace itself, and
the magnificent treasures of art preserved there,
the collection being now best known as the Pitti
Filippo's enthusiasm for art made him willing to
endure any amount of fatigue for the sake of see-

q "-

,4- t


ing beautiful things. One day he heard Donatello
describe an ancient marble vase which he had
seen in Cortona. As Filippo listened he was pos-
sessed with the desire to see it, and quietly walked
away, saying nothing of his intentions. He went
on foot to Cortona, a distance of seventy-two miles,
saw the vase and made accurate drawings from
it, and was again in Florence before he was really
missed by his friends, who supposed him to be
busy with his inventions in his own room.
A very interesting story concerning himself and
Donatello is that the latter received an order for a
crucifix, carved from wood, for the church of Santa
Croce, and when it was finished asked Brunelleschi's
opinion of it. Relying on their long friendship,
Filippo frankly said that the figure of Christ was
like that of a day-laborer, whereas that of the Sav-
iour should represent the greatest possible beauty.

Donatello was angry, and replied: It is easier to
criticise than to execute; do you take a piece of
wood and make a better crucifix."
Brunelleschi did this, and when he had com-
pleted his work invited Donatello to dine with him.
He left the crucifix in a conspicuous place in his
house while the two went to the market to buy the
dinner. He gave the parcels to Donatello and
asked him to precede him, saying that he would
soon be at home. When Donatello entered and
saw the crucifix, he was so overcome with admira-
tion that he dropped eggs, cheese, and all on the
floor, and stood before the carving as motionless
as if made of wood himself. When Brunelleschi
came in he said, What are we to do now ? You
have spoiled all the din-
.-- ner "I have had din-
:- --=-- -- ner enough for to-day,"
-- replied Donatello. "You,
-- -::z- --- --- perhaps, may dine with
--- -- better appetite. To you,
I confess, belongs the
power to carve the figure
of Christ; to me that of
representing day-labor-
S- ers." This crucifix is now
--- in the chapel of the Gon-
-: di in the Church of Santa
i Maria Novella, while that
of Donatello is in the
i. ., chapel of Saints Ludo-
Svico and Bartolommeo,
in the Church of Santa

On the south side of
the square which sur-
rounds the cathedral,
called the Piazza del Du-
omo, there is a modern

statue of Brunelleschi. He is represented as sitting
with a plan of the great dome spread upon his
knee, while his head is raised and he looks at the
realization of his design as it rises above the cathe-
dral. He was buried beneath the dome. His
monument is the first in the southern aisle, where
he was interred at the expense of the city. A
tablet in the wall bears his epitaph, and above it
is his bust, made by his pupil Buggiani.


LORENZO GHIBERTI also belonged to the early
days of the Renaissance, and took a leader's place
in the sculpture of bass-reliefs, as Brunelleschi did
in architecture. He was born at Florence in 1378
and died in 1455. He was both a .-. .i1 ...ili and a
sculptor, and all his works show that delicate finish




and exquisite attention to detail which is so im-
portant when working in precious metals. When
the plague broke out in Florence in 1398, Ghiberti
fled to Rimini, and while there painted some pict-
ures; but his fame is so closely linked with one
great work that his name usually recalls that alone.
I mean the bronze gates to the Baptistery of Flor-
ence, and these are so grand an achievement that
it is fame enough for any man to be remembered
as their maker.
Andrea Pisano had made the gates to the south
side of the Baptistery, which is octagonal in form,
many years before Ghiberti was born. When the
plague again visited Florence in 1400, the people
believed that the wrath of Heaven should be ap-
peased and a thank-offering made, so that they
might be free from a return of this dreadful scourge.
The Guild of Wool-merchants then decided to add
these gates to their beloved Church of St. John the
They threw the work open to competition, and
many artists sent in models of a bass-relief repre-
senting the sacrifice of Isaac. Finally all were
rejected but those of Brunelleschi and Ghiberti,
and for a time there was a doubt as to which of
these artists would be preferred. It had happened
that, while Brunelleschi had been struggling for the
commission for the building of his dome, Ghiberti
had annoyed him very much, and, indeed, after the
work was begun, he did not cease his interference.
For this reason it could scarcely have been ex-
pected that Brunelleschi should favor Ghiberti;
but the true nobility of his character declared it-
self, and he publicly acknowledged that Ghiberti's
model was finer than his, and retired from the
The gates on the north were first executed; they
were begun in 1403 and finished twenty-one years
later. They contain twenty scenes from the life of
Christ, with the figures of the Evangelists and the
four Fathers of the Church, in a very beautiful
frame-work of foliage, animals, and other orna-
ments, which divides and incloses the larger com-
positions. These gates are in a style nearer to
that of Pisano and other artists than are his later
works; however, from the first Ghiberti showed
original talent, for even his model of the Sacrifice
of Isaac, which is preserved in the Museum of the
Bargello together with that of Brunelleschi, proves
that he had a new habit of thought.
Beautiful as these gates are, those on the east are
finer and far more famous; it is of these that
Michael Angelo declared, They are worthy to be
the gates of Paradise!" Here he represented
stories from the Old Testament in ten compart-
ments: i. Creation of Adam and Eve. 2. His-
tory of Cain and Abel. 3. Noah. 4. Abraham

and Isaac. 5. Jacob and Esau. 6. History of
Joseph. 7. Moses on Mount Sinai. 8. Joshua
before Jericho. 9. David and Goliath. o1. Solo-
mon and the Oueen of Sheba.
Ghiberti showed great skill in composition, and
told these stories with wonderful distinctness; but
I fancy that every one who sees them fgr the first
time must have a feeling of disappointment on
account of the confusion which comes from the
multitude of figures. But when they are studied
attentively this first effect passes away, and the
wonderful skill of their maker is revealed. They
must ever remain one of- the great monuments of
this most interesting age of the Renaissance.
Ghiberti also made the Sarcophagus of Saint
Zenobius, which is in the Cathedral of Florence, and
is his greatest work after the gates. Other sculpt-
ures of his are in the churches of Florence and

THE real name of this sculptor was Donato di
Betto Bardi. He was born in 1386 and died in
1468. He was a realist; that is to say, he fol-
lowed nature with great exactness, and this was
not productive of beauty in his works; indeed,
many of his sculptures were painfully ugly. Don-
atello is important in the history of art, because
he lived at a time when every advance was an
event, and he made the first equestrian statue of
any importance in modern art. This is at Padua,
in the square before the Church of San Antonio;
it represents Francisco Gatta-Melata, and is full
of life and power.
He made some beautiful marble groups of danc-
ing children for the f.lil .If ,il organ in the
Cathedral of Florenice, which have since been re-
moved to the Uffizi Gallery. One of these groups
is shown in the illustration on page 858. Several
of his statues of single figures are in Florence,
Sienna, and Padua. He considered his "David,"
which is in the Uffizi, as his masterpiece. It is
familiarly known as Lo Zuccone," which means
the bald-head; he was so fond of this statue that
he had the labit of affirming his statements by
saying, "By the faith I place in my Zuccone !" In
spite of Donatello's opinion, however, it is gen-
erally thought that his statue of St. George"
(shown on page 856) is far more admirable than
the "David."
The German art-writer Grimm says of this
statue: "What a man is the St. George in the
niche of the Church of Or San Michele He stands
there in complete armor, sturdily, with his legs
somewhat striding apart, resting on both with equal
weight, as if he meant to stand so that no power
could move him from his post. Straight before




.j 'el" -- -
--; -|[II : ..

... K l / !.-



him he holds up his high shield; -
both hands touch its edge, partly
for the sake of holding it, partly
in order to rest on it; the eyes
and brow are full of expectant
boldness. We approach
this St. George, and the mere
artistic interest is transformed
suddenly into a more lively sym-
pathy with the person of the .
master. Who is it, we
ask, who has placed such a man
there, so ready for battle ? "
The story we have told of- :-
Donatello, in connection with
Brunelleschi, shows that he was '
impetuous and generous by nat- '
ure. Another anecdote relates -.
that a rich Genoese merchant
gave him a commission to make ,
a portrait bust of himself in
bronze. When it was finished,
Cosimo de' Medici, the friend
and patron of Donatello, admired
it so much that he placed it on
a balcony of his palace, so that -
all Florentines who passed by
might see it.
When the merchant heard the
artist's price for his work he ob-
jected to it; it was referred to I
Cosimo, who argued the case
with the merchant. In this con- -
versation the Genoese said that t
the bust could be made in a
month, and he was willing to
give the artist such a price that
he would receive a dollar a day
for his time and labor. When
Donatello heard this he ex-
claimed, "I know how to destroy a
the result of the study and labor
of years in the twinkling of an -
eye!" and he threw the bust -
into the street below, where it
was shivered into fragments. ,
Then the merchant was .
ashamed, and offered Donatello
double the price he asked if he -- -
would repeat his work; but,
though the sculptor was poor, he
refused to do this, and remained .
firm in his decision, though : -.
Cosimo himself tried to persuade DONATELLO'S STATUE OF ST. GORGE.
him to change his determination.
When Donatello was old, Cosimo gave him a sum workmen. In spite of this generous provision the
of money sufficient to support himself and four sculptor paid little attention to his own appearance,


and was so poorly dressed that Cosimo sent him a
gift of a red surcoat, mantle, and hood, but Dona-
tello returned these with thanks, saying that they
were far too fine for his use.
His patron and friend died before him, and dur-
ing the last of his life the sculptor was a bedridden
paralytic. Piero de' Medici, the son of Cosimo, was
careful to supply all Donatello's wants, and when
he died his funeral was conducted with great pomp.
He was interred in the Church of San Lorenzo, near
to the tomb of his friend Cosimo. The artist had
purchased the right to be thus buried-" to the
end," he said, that his body might be near him
when dead, as his spirit had ever been near him
when alive." Several of Donatello's sculptures are
in this church, and are a more suitable monument
to his memory than anything could be that was
made by others after his death.


THIS sculptor had an eventful life, and the story
of it, written by himself, is one of the most inter-
esting books of its class in existence. He was born
in Florence in 1500, and died in 1571. He gives a
very interesting though improbable account of the
origin of his family, which is that Julius Casar
had a chief and valorous captain named Fiorino da
Cellino, from a castle situated four miles from
Monte Fiascone. This Fiorino having pitched his
camp below Fiesole, where Florence now stands,
in order to be near the river Arno, for the conven-
ience of the army, the soldiers and other persons,
when they had occasion to visit him, said to each
other,.'Let us go to Fiorenza,' which name they
gave to the place where they were encamped,
partly from their captain's name of Fiorino, and
partly from the abundance of flowers which grew
there; wherefore Casar, thinking it a beautiful
name, and considering flowers to be of good au-
gury, and also wishing to honor his captain, whom
he had raised from an humble station, and to whom
he was greatly attached, gave it to the city which
he founded on that spot."
When the child was born, his father, who was
quite old, named him Benvenuto, which means
welcome, and, as hewas passionately fond of music,
he wished to make a musician of this son. But the
boy was determined to be an artist, and his time
was divided between the two pursuits until he was
fifteen years old, when he went as an apprentice to
a celebrated goldsmith. We must not forget that
to be a goldsmith in the days of the Renaissance
meant in reality to be a designer, a sculptor -in
short, an artist. They made altars, reliquaries,
crucifixes, caskets, and many sacred articles for the
churches, as well as the splendid services for the

tables of rich and royal patrons; they made weap-
ons, shields, helmets, buttons, sword-hiits, coins,
and many kindred objects, besides the tiaras of
popes, the crowns, scepters, and diadems of sov-
ereigns, and the collars, clasps, girdles, bracelets,
rings, and numerous jeweled ornaments then worn
by both men and woman. So exquisite were the
designs and the works of these men that they are
now treasured in the museums of the world, and
belong to the realm of art as truly as do pictures
and statues.
Benvenuto was of so fiery a temper that he was
early involved in a serious quarrel and fled to
Sienna, and then to Bologna. When he dared he
returned to Florence and resumed his work, but
soon again became angry because his best clothes
were given to his brother, and walked off to Pisa,
where he remained a year. Meantime he had be-
come skillful in the making of various articles, and
not only his execution but his designs were so fine
that in some respects he has never been excelled.
When Cellini was eighteen years old, the sculp-
tor Torregiano -who had given Michael Angelo
a blow upon the nose which disfigured the great
sculptor for life -returned to Florence to engage
workmen to go with him to England to execute a
commission which he had received. He desired
to have Cellini among the number, but the youth
was so outraged by Torregiano's boasting of his
disgraceful deed that he refused to go, in spite of
the natural desire of his age for travel and variety.
Doubtless this predisposed Michael Angelo in his
favor, and led to the friendship which he afterward
showed to Cellini.
During the next twenty-two years he lived princi-
pally in Rome, and was largely in the service of
Pope Clement VII., the cardinals, and Roman
nobles. The Pope had a magnificent diamond,-
for which Pope Julius II. had paid thirty-six thou-
sand ducats,-and he wished to have it set in a
cope button. Many artists made designs for it, but
the Pope chose that of Cellini. He used the
great diamond as a throne upon which sat a figure
representing God; the hand was raised to bless,
and many angels fluttered about the folds of the
drapery, while various jewels surrounded the whole.
The other artists shook their heads at the boldness
of Cellini and anticipated a failure, but he achieved
a great success.
Cellini, according to his own account, bore an
active part in the siege of Rome, May 5, 1527.
He claims that he slew the Constable di Bourbon,
the leader of the besieging army, and that he also
wounded the Prince of Orange, who was chosen
leader in place of Bourbon. These feats, however,
rest upon his own authority. Cellini entered the
castle of St. Angelo, whither the Pope retired for




safety, and he rendered such services to the cause of
the Church that the Holy Father pardoned him for
all the "homicides he had committed, or might
commit, in the service of the Apostolic Church."
But, in spite of all his boasted bravery on this

In 1534, Cellini committed another crime in kill-
ing a fellow goldsmith, Pompeo. Paul III. was
now the pope, and because he needed the services
of Cellini he pardoned him, but the artist felt that
he was not regarded with favor. He therefore

"1"- -



tr "r


* -%-.

.... ." '5 .....- '. .. .. --" !
.5"-- -'4
';' ** -' '-: .. ^ ..: *,-.v^ ': "

'* .. .

.- :"" ;- .. -^'. .'- .-.-' *' ,-"" 'i:. ..
-- -
... ....; .-.;. ;.-- ... .
.- -. _
.. r ._ _ ,- o i
.. -., '5 ,',
,r : I7!-_ .- . .. ''
"."}'.;.i 7'. : : .'. .. .
". L.:i _}: -: .. .:: v: - 7 :- ,:.-


occasion, Cellini acted a cowardly part a few years went to France, but returned at the end of about
later, when he was called upon for the defense of a year, to find that he had been accused of having
his own city: he put his property in the care of a stolen certain jewels, the settings of which Clement
friend and stole away to Rome. VII. had commanded him to melt down, in order



* F'
: t,.,''..


- I'



-. -.' .*-. ,'7/
;: -, ,. .

". r
-' @ ,, '? .**'
^ r,.*,.
i' ..
r ^ "

'- ',,,"; ,
:'" t .'t *"
", ;..;

r .

-, ,. _


I I --s-l IIIII ---~-- -


:- i -- ---


to pay his ransom when he was kept a prisoner in
the castle of St. Angelo. Cellini's guilt was never
proved, but he was held a prisoner for nearly two
In 1540, his friend Cardinal Ippolito d'Este
obtained his release on the plea that Francis I.,
king of France, had need of his services. He
remained five years in France, and received many
gifts and honors. He was made a lord and was
presented with the H6tel de Petit Nesle, which was
on the site of the present Hotel de la Monnaie.
The story of his life in France is interesting, but
we have not space to give it here, and he never
made the success there which he merited as an
artist, because Madame d'ttampes and other per-
sons who had influence with the King were the
enemies of Cellini. Francis I. really admired the
sculptor, and on one occasion expressed his fear
of losing him, when Madame d'Etampes replied
that "the surest way of keeping him would be to
hang him on a gibbet." A bronze nymph which
he made for the Palace of Fontainebleau is now
in the Renaissance Museum at the Louvre, and a
golden salt-cellar, made for King Francis, is in the
" Cabinet of Antiques in Vienna; these are all
the objects of importance that remain of his five
years' work in France.
At length, in 1545, Cellini returned to Florence,
never again to leave it for any considerable time.
He was favorably received by Duke Cosimo, and
received a commission to make a statue of Perseus
to be placed in the Loggia dei Lanzi. When Cel-
lini heard this, his ambition was much excited by
the thought that a work of his should be placed
beside those of Michael Angelo and Donatello.
The Duke gave him a house in which to work,
and a salary sufficient for his support. Nine years
passed before this statue was in place and uncov-
ered. Meantime the sculptor had suffered much
from the hatred of his enemies, and especially
from that of Baccio Bandinelli. In one way and
another the Duke had been influenced to with-
hold the money that was necessary to carry on
the work; but at last the time came for the cast-
ing; everything was prepared, and just at the im-
portant moment, when great care and watchfulness
were needed, Cellini was seized with so severe an
illness that he was forced to go to bed and believed
that he should soon die.
As he lay tossing in agony, some one ran in and
exclaimed, Oh, Benvenuto t your work is ruined
past earthly remedy Ill as he was he rushed to
the furnace, and found that the fire was not suffi-
cient and the metal had cooled and ceased to flow

into the mold. By superhuman efforts he reme-
died the disaster, and again the bronze was liquid;
he prayed earnestly, and when he saw that his
mold was filled, to use his own words, I fell on
my knees and thanked God with all my heart, after
which I ate a hearty meal with my assistants, and
it being then two hours before dawn, went to bed
with a light heart, and slept as sweetly as if I had
never been ill in my life."
When the statue was at last unveiled it was as
Cellini had predicted: It pleased all the world
excepting Bandinelli and his friends," and it still
stands as the most important work of his life.
Perseus is represented at the moment when he has
cut off the head of Medusa, who was one of the
Gorgons and changed every one who looked at
her into stone. The whole story of what he after-
ward did with this dreadful head before he gave it
to Minerva to put in her breast-plate you will find
one of the most interesting in your i, t .. 1:.
After the completion of the Perseus, Cellini
visited Rome and made a bust of Bindo Altoviti,
concerning which Michael Angelo wrote: "-IMy
Benvenuto, I have long known you as the best
goldsmith in the world, and I now know you as an
equally good sculptor, through the bust of Messer
Bindo Altoviti." This was praise indeed. He did
no more great work, though he was always busy as
long as he lived. A marble crucifix which he
made for his own grave he afterward gave to the
Duchess Eleanora ; later it was sent to Philip II. of
Spain, and is now in the Escurial.
We have spoken of his autobiography, which was
honored by being made an authority in the Ac-
cademia della Crusca on account of its expressive
diction and rich use of the Florentine manner of
speech; he also wrote a valuable treatise upon the
goldsmith's art, and another upon sculpture and
bronze-casting. He takes up all the departments
of these arts, and his writings are of great value.
He also wrote poems and verses of various kinds.
But his association with popes, kings, cardinals,
artists, men of letters, and people of all classes,
makes the story of his life by far the most interest-
ing of all his literary works.
His life was by no means a good one, but he had
a kindly spot in his heart after all, for he took his
widowed sister with six children to his home, and
treated them with such kindness that their depend-
ence upon him was not made bitter to them.
When he died, every honor was paid to his
memory and he was buried in the Church of the
Annunziata, beneath the chapel of the Company
of St. Luke.

VOL. IX--55.






HAVE you ever seen one of those old-time
Southern kitchens? Think of a room twenty-four
feet long and twenty feet wide, with a huge fire-
place and a heavy, rudely carved mantel. Over-
head are great beams of hewed pine, smoked until
they look like ebony, upon which rest the broad
planks of the ceiling. In one corner is a cup-
board, of triangular form, in which may be seen
pottery plates and dishes of curious shapes and
brilliant colors. Several four-post chairs are scat-
tered around, and the tall, black andirons spread
out their crooked legs and seem to gaze at you
from beneath the charred wooden crane. The
walls are smoked and dingy, but the floor is clean
and white. In such a kitchen I saw my first cross-
bow. It was a heavy piece of finely carved oak,
with a steel lathe or bow. It was hung obliquely
across a raw-hide shield, or buckler, just above the
mantel. Two or three arrows, called quarrels,
stood beside it, and the head of an ancient spear
projected from a rude stone jar just beyond. In
this kitchen, two brown-haired boys heard their
father tell all about cross-bows. It was a windy
night and a cold rain was falling. The blackness
and dreariness out-doors made the flaring pine-
knot fire on the wide hearth seem doubly bright
and comforting. The mother of the boys, a sweet-
faced woman, was sewing near a round cherry
table whose feet had claws like those of a lion.
On this table stood a brass candlestick in which
burned a tallow candle, and beside the candle-
stick lay a big Bible bound in undressed calf-skin,
with the hairy side out. The father sat in front
of the fire. The boys sat one on either side of
him. The pine-knots flamed and sputtered, and
black, fleecy-looking smoke rolled heavily up the
yawning chimney.
I will now tell you about the cross-bow," said

the father, settling himself deeper into the wide-
armed chair.
"Oh, I 'm so glad said the older boy.
"Oh, good, good cried the younger, clapping
his hands and laughing happily.
The mother looked up from her sewing and
smiled at the joyfuL faces of her children. The
rain swashed and throbbed on the roof, the wind
shook the house.
That cross-bow was sent to me from England.
It is said to be of Spanish make, and to date back
to the fourteenth or fifteenth century. It may have
been used in the terrible battle of Cressy, for all
any one knows. The cross-bow was the most
deadly of all the missile weapons before the per-
fecting of fire-arms. The Spaniards brought
it to the greatest degree of efficiency, but the
French and English also made very fine cross-
bows. You see how simply it is constructed.
The stock is of black oak, carved to suit the taste
of the maker, whilst the lathe, or bow, is of spring
steel. The stocks of some cross-bows are straight,
others are crooked, somewhat after the shape of the
stock of a gun. A great many of these weapons
had wooden bows in the place of steel lathes;
these were made of yew-wood. The arrows of the
cross-bow were called quarrels, or bolts. They
were shorter, thicker, and heavier than the arrows
of the English long-bow. The place in the cross-
bow where the string is fastened when it is pulled
back, ready to shoot, is called the nut. From the
nut to the fore end of the stock the wood is hol-
lowed out, so that, when a quarrel is placed in posi-
tion for firing, it does not touch the stock, except
at the tip of its notch and the point where it lies
on the fore end. The trigger, as you see, works
on a pivot, causing the nut to free the string, where-
upon the bow discharges the quarrel.



The history of the cross-bow is very interest-
ing. You will find that Richard the Lion-hearted
was a great cross-bowman. He used to carry a
very strong arbalist (the old name for cross-bow)
with him wherever he went. Even on his long
expedition to Palestine against the Saracens his
favorite weapon (possibly it may have been that
one hanging over the mantel there) was his con-
stant companion."
"Oh, Papa!" cried the -,..uLIn .:. I... I. .m.:'.-
cited voice, "do you really rliii.: il : :- ...:
King Richard's bow ?"
"Ihave no means of tel! '..b I..-: I .
once have been," replied hi: I1',l,. 1 I t Ur
I was going to tell you tha: 1.. .r.l I...
de Lion, at the siege of A-..... I... i
to have aimed his quarrels -.:* -1!il.!-, ril ,I,
many an armed warrior o: I I,- I ill_ I II.
was pierced through and thi. '
"The steel bolts fired frc.i r I!.. ! .- --i.
cross-bows would crash tl1 .... .- i i ..i. i
the very finest armor.. ThI:,. I.. L -.....ir-
plates andhelmetsofsteel, pr._:..r- .1 ...
British antiquities, which I L: ...
pierced by quarrels. I have (1 11 .- -
books, written in French ar.i .
Spanish, all about how the-:.
terrible weapons were maJ : .
and used."
"Tell us more about Ric .- I'
ard the Lion-hearted," urg.d ,i ' '
the younger boy, who deligi- -
ed in stories of battle.
Richard was killed '"
by a quarrel from a' '
French cross-bow," re-
plied the father. '
Oh, dear !" cried ..
the boys. .
Yes, I will tell you .
the story as I have gath- -= i
ered it from the old -
accounts: A plowman
in the province of Conm-
picgne unearthed a gold
statuette of Minerva, a
most valuable thing. LISTE
This he divided, send-
ing one half to Richard, and keeping the other
half himself. But, you know, in those days a
king wanted everything. Richard's lion heart
could not brook to divide a treasure with one of
his vassals. So he peremptorily demanded the
other half of the treasure, which being refused, he
called together a small army and went to lay siege
to the strong castle of Chalus, in Normandy,
wherein the treasure was said to be hidden. But

it was a dear expedition for the bold king. A
famous cross-bowman by the name of Bertram de
Jourdan, standing on the tall turret of the castle,
saw Richard riding around in the plain below and


-1 I,
'.A __ i/
t ,,I,, -
,I ,,,,, i, .
J .2 I i -- -


took steady aim at him. This Bertram de Jourdan
had cause to hate the king, for Richard had killed
his two brothers with his own hand. So when he
pressed the trigger of his powerful cross-bow he
sent a hiss of revenge along with the steel-headed
quarrel. Richard heard the keen twang of the
bow-string and bentlow over the bow of his saddle,
but the arrow struck him in the shoulder and he
died of the wound. So, you see, he would have




done better to leave that gold alone. However, his
men stormed the castle and brought Bertram de
Jourdan before him while he lay dying. Richard
was too noble to mistreat a prisoner, so he gave
the cross-bowman a magnificent present and ordered
him to be set at liberty. But one Marcadee, an
infamous brute, who was next in command to
Richard, as soon as the king was dead ordered De
Jourdan to be flayed alive and hung up for the
vultures to eat."
Oh, how mean and cowardly exclaimed the
younger boy, indignantly. If I'd been there and
had a cross-bow, I 'd have shot that miserable
Marcadee! "
"Yes," said the older boy, "and then his
soldiers would have hacked you to pieces in a
"It may be," said their father, reflectively,
"that our cross-bow up there is the very one
with which Bertram de Jourdan killed the lion-
hearted king."
If it is, let's burn it up said the younger boy.
"I would n't have a cross-bow about that would do
so mean a thing."
On the 2d of August, in the year ILoo," con-
tinued the father, William II., surnamed Rufus,
a famous king of England, and a son of the con-
queror, was killed by a cross-bow bolt in the forest
at Charningham, accidentally, it is said, by Sir
Walter Tyrrel, his bow-bearer. A nephew of King
Rufus had been killed in May of the same year by
a like mishap. But the deeds done with the cross-
bow were not all so bloody and terrible. From a
very early date in the history of France companies
of cross-bowmen have existed, among which those
at Lisle, Roulaix, Lennoy, Comines, Le Guesnoy,
and Valenciennes may be mentioned as prominent.
That at Roulaix was instituted by Pierre de Roulaix
in 1491, a year before America was discovered by
Columbus. The members of these societies shot
at targets and marks of various kinds, and their
meetings were often the occasion for great pomp
and splendor. Many of these companies have been
suppressed by law in comparatively recent times.
"The sportsmen of Spain and France used the
cross-bow as their principal hunting weapon up to
the time when the flint-lock fire-arm had reached
a degree of power and accuracy at short range
second only to the perfected weapon of the nine-
teenth century. In England, as far back as the
reign of William Rufus, laws were passed forbid-
ding the use of the arbalist, excepting by persons
having especial royal permit. This was because
the cross-bow, particularly the kind with a wind-
lass attachment to draw the string, was so destruc-
tive to the king's deer. You will at once see the
great advantage the arbalist gave to huntsmen who

used it instead of the long-bow; for he could
shoot from any tangled thicket where a long-bow-
man could not use his weapon at all. Then, too,
it required years of patient practice before a man
could shoot well enough with a long-bow to hit a
deer, while any one, with but a day or two's expe-
rience, could successfully aim a cross-bow.
"The medieval arbalister, as the cross-bowman
was called, is represented in old drawings and

p~-~K I

-/ t
,r : jI I,

^ \


engravings as a strong, heavy-limbed man, wear-
ing a helmet and a coat of chain mail, or of quilted
silk and thongs of raw-hide, and a loose, shirt-like
garment over all, belted at the waist. He stands
in the attitude of aiming, with his feet planted
firmly on the ground, his bow-stock resting in the
hollow of his left hand, whilst his right forefinger
presses the trigger. He takes sight over the point
of his quarrel. His attitude is very much like that
of a rifleman aiming a rifle.
"I have told you that the Spaniards were proba-
bly the most skillful arbalist-makers in the world,





but I forgot to relate how I once came near becom-
ing the owner of a genuine old Spanish weapon. I
was at St. Augustine, that strange old town on
the coast of Florida, and was having a man dig up
a plant which grew close beside the crumbling
wall that flanks the famous gate, when his hoe
struck something hard, and he dragged out of the
loose sand a rusty bow of iron set in a piece of
rotten oak-wood."
That was luck !" exclaimed the older boy.
But it belonged to the man who dug it up,"
interposed the younger.
"Not when Papa had hired him," replied the
"As I was proceeding to tell you," continued
their father, it proved to be -- "
"'Oh, how came it there? cried the younger
boy, excitedly. Tell us the story !"
"Well, he was telling it, and you went and
stopped him," said the elder.
Now Claude," said the younger, whose name
was Jesse, "you know I did n't mean it! "
"You know," said their father, that when that
celebrated captain, the blood-thirsty Menendez,
was fighting everybody, white or Indian, that he
could find in Florida, his cross-bowmen used to
prowl all through the woods where St. Augustine
now stands, and they no doubt had many a deadly
trial of skill with the cunning Indian archers.


,- '' : 4 '


This, of course, might be one of Menendez's arbal-
ists, or even one of De Soto's. To be sure, it was a
mere fragment, which the teeth of time had left
for me; but would n't the merest rotten splinter
and rusty remnant of those knightly days be worth
a good deal ?"

I should think so," said Claude.
"Tell us about fighting the Indians and the
wild game and all," said Jesse.
Oh, for that matter," said the father, those
Spanish soldiers were great murderers. Once
when De Soto and his men were pursuing some
flying savages, a warrior suddenly turned his face
toward the Spaniards and halted. He was armed
with a long-bow and arrows, and was just across a
narrow river from his foes. He made signs that
he challenged any one of the Spanish cross-bow-
men to fight a duel with him. The challenge was
accepted by one Juan -de Salinas, a most expert
arbalister, who stepped forth and faced the Indian.
The comrades of Salinas offered to cover him with
their shields, but the brave soldier scorned to take
advantage of a naked savage. So he refused the
cover, and placing a quarrel on the nut of his drawn
bow made ready to shoot. The Indian also was
ready by this time, and both discharged their ar-
rows at the same moment. But Salinas was cooler
under such stress of danger than the Indian was, and
so took truer aim. His quarrel pierced the savage
warrior's heart, and he fell dead. The bows of the
savages were pimy things when matched against
the steel arbalists of the trained Spanish soldiers.
The Indian's slender reed arrow passed through
the nape of Juan de Salinas' neck, but without
seriously hurting him. A quilted shirt of doubled
silk was sufficient protection against most of the
Indian missiles, and a man in steel armor was
proof against all."
"But did the man let you have the old cross-
bow he dug up?" asked Claude, as his father
stopped speaking.
I picked it up," said his father, and found
it to be a rotten barrel-stave with an arc of old
rusted hoop fastened to it."
"Oh, pshaw !" cried Jesse. You were badly
sold, were n't you ? "
But to go back to hunting with the cross-bow,"
said his father. "I have seen a picture of Queen
Elizabeth of England, representing her in the act
of shooting at a deer with an arbalist."
Oh, Papa May be our cross-bow was the one
she used said Claude, breathlessly.
"Why, Claude," exclaimed Jesse, in a tone of
voice that indicated surprise, you know very well
that a woman never could have handled that
bow! "
"But Queen Elizabeth had a strong man for her
bow-bearer," said his father, "and all she had to
do was to take aim and pull the trigger after the
bow-bearer had made the arbalist all ready for
shooting. Nevertheless, I think she would not
have chosen so heavy a weapon. Its recoil might
have hurt her."




"The manner of hunting deer in those days
was to stand in a spot whence you could see in all
directions through the forest, while a number of
expert woodsmen drove the game near to you as
you held your arbalist ready
to shoot. If you shot at a
running deer you would have
to aim far ahead of it in
order to hit it.
Hare or rabbit shooting '
was great sport for the cross- .
bowmen. For this purpose
lighter arbalists were used.
The hunter kept carefully
trained dogs, somewhat like
our pointers and setters,
whose business it was to find
the game. Twenty-five yards
was about the usual distance
for shooting at rabbits. They
were rarely shot while run-
"A cross-bow for throwing
pebbles, called a stone-bow,
was used in small bird shoot-
ing. This weapon was also
called a rodd. At short dis-
tances it shot with great force
and precision. The rodd dif-
fered very little from the or-
dinary arbalist. Its string
was armed with a sort of loop
or pouch at the middle for
holding the pebble or small
stone. Some men became
very expert in the use of the
stone-bow. There are old :-
pictures which seem to con-
vey the idea that birds were '
shot on the wing; but I doubt
if that could be done with so
clumsy an instrument as the or
Papa, I think my rubber gun must be some-
what like a rodd," said Jesse. "You know it has
an attachment for shooting bullets."
"Yes," replied his father; "it is the same
principle. But your rubber gun shoots by the
elasticity of its string, while the rodd was a real
cross-bow, or arbalist, many of them having power-
ful lathes of steel.
"The long-bowmen of England cordially hated
the arbalisters, especially when it came to shooting
game in the green woods. The good yeomen who
had spent years of unremitting practice to become
proficient with the famous Norman long-bow, could
not bear to see lazy fellows, who had never given a

month to practice, coming into the best hunting-
grounds armed with those murderous steel cross-
bows. A great deal of quarreling and bloodshed
was the result. So, as I have said, the Government




of England passed stringent laws against the arbal-
ist, and the weapon became somewhat dishonored.
But in France and Spain it held the supremacy
over all the weapons of the chase. Even to this
day in Spain a hunter is called ballastero, which
means cross-bowman or arbalister.
De Espinar, a Spanish writer of the seventeenth
century, in a curious and most delightful book on
hunting and field sports, gives minute details of the
grand royal hunting matches in the time of Philip
IV. of Spain; but I think the arbalist fell into
comparative disuse at about the end of the first
half of the seventeenth century.
The strongest and most deadly arbalists were




those constructed with monlinet pulleys and mov-
able handles or cranks, which gave a man power to
spring a bow of enormous strength. These were
clumsy instruments and rather uncouth in appear-
"But, Papa," exclaimed Jesse, why don't you
sometimes take the old cross-bow and go hunting ?
I should think it would be just splendid fun "
His father gazed into the fire and smiled rather
grimly, as if some curious recollection had been
suddenly called up.
I did try that once," he presently said.
Oh, tell us about it! cried both boys, drawing
their chairs closer to him and leaning forward in
their eagerness.
It was soon after I got the arbalist," continued
their father, "when the idea of trying its shooting
qualities came into my mind. I think I must have
allowed the poetry of the thought to get the better
of me, for I never once stopped to consider the
chances of any disastrous result to the experiment.
For some time the hares had been gnawing at my
young apple-trees. This afforded me a good ex-
cuse, if any was needed, for shooting the little
pests. So one morning I took down the old cross-
bow and its quarrels and went forth, as I imagine
the poachers of the fourteenth century used to do
in Merrie Englande, to have an hour or two of
sport. It chanced that the first live thing I saw
was a gold-shafted woodpecker. It was on an old
stump, and I thought I would try a shot at it.
But I found it no easy task to pull the string back
to the nut. I tell you that steel bow was strong.
The string came near cutting my hands, I had to
pull so hard. At last I got the weapon sprung and
a quarrel in the groove, ready for firing; but when
I looked for my bird it was gone and I could not
find it any more. So I kept the bow set and my
thumb on the nut to prevent any accidental dis-
charge, as I pursued my search for game. Hares
were plenty in this region then, and it was not long
before I discovered one lying in its form. A form

is the shallow bed a hare sleeps in during the day-
time. I was not more than forty feet distant from
it as it lay in its peculiar crouching attitude, amid
the thin weeds and briers. I raised the arbalist,
and took careful aim at the little animal. When I
thought all was right, I pressed the trigger with the
forefinger of my right hand. Clang whack you
ought to have heard that racket. The recoil was
astonishing, and painful as well. The stock had
jumped against my chin and hurt it; but I did not
take my eyes off the hare. You never saw any-
thing so badly scared. The quarrel had hit the
ground just a little short of the game and was
sticking there. The hare had turned its head and
was gazing wildly at the quarrel, but the next second
it leaped from its form and scudded away, soon dis-
appearing in a thicket of sassafras and persimmon
bushes. Upon another occasion I tried the same
feat again, with a somewhat different but equally
unsatisfactory result. Though my aim this time
was truer, the second hare was too quick for me.
Simultaneously with the 'clang' of the bow it
disappeared in the thicket, my arrow burying itself
harmlessly in the hollow it had just quitted. This
was the last of my cross-bow shooting, however.
The recoil of my second shot had snapped one limb
of the steel lathe of the arbalist short off."
Oh, Papa, that would spoil it! said Jesse.
"So it did. I got a skillful workman to rivet
the lathe, but of course it is spoiled for all shooting
purposes, and must hang over the mantel as a
mere relic of the past. Sometimes I half imagine
it broke in sheer resentment at having a nineteenth-
century man presume to disturb the long rest it had
enjoyed since Richard Cceur de Lion, or Bertram
de Jourdan, or Sir Walter Tyrrel, or Queen Eliza-
beth, or Ponce de Leon had last fired it."
"I am sorry it is broken," said Claude, rue-
Soon after this the boys kissed their mother good-
night, and went to bed to dream of mediaeval days
and mighty feats with the arbalist.








SEVEN idle little men were sitting on a tree,
Discussing all that 's happened and all that's sure to be.
Seven giant bumble-bees, from off a bush of posies,
Stung the seven little men upon their seven noses.


Seven shrieks arose at once and seven wives did run;
All the seven noses were bandaged, one by one;
Seven messengers were sent, in seven separate
To bring back seven doctors in seven awful hurries.

Into bed the men were put, still groaning loud and dazed,
And seven solemn doctors upon their patients gazed;
" Hum the case is dangerous to hinder further ills,
We must give you boneset, and castor-oil, and squills!"

Seven little backs arose without the least delay;
Seven fearful somersaults were turned, right away;
All the clothes were scattered on all the seven beds;-
Slap went all the medicines at all the doctors' heads !

Seven doctors scurried in very
Seven little men sat down a
their might;
Then their seven hats they put, e
Sallied out together and walked

serious fright;
nd laughed with all
ach, on his curly pate-
abroad in state.


- i?

f~ I


A 3




TOM KIDDER lay stretched upon the hay in the
loft of his father's barn, idly whittling a piece of
wood with his new knife, and listening to the
superior conversation of his latest acquaintance,
Dick Jones. Tom had never been out of Sconsett
in his life,- except once when he went to Portland,
-and heard with deep interest the marvelous tales
which Dick, who was a summer visitor down at the
beach, had brought from Boston. The two boys
were about the same age, but Tom regarded his
friend with as deep veneration as though Dick had
been Methuselah. It was a beautiful summer
afternoon, the air was perfectly still and not very
warm, and Dick, having exhausted for the time his
stock of adventures, began to find the haymow too
confining for his restless ambition.
Say," he remarked," don't you want to harness
up the horse and take me down to the beach ? It
would be a nice afternoon for a drive, and I ought
to be going home."
Tom looked a little uncomfortable.
"I don't believe I can do that," he said. "Father
has gone off with the buggy and old Sam."
So much the better," remarked Dick. That
leaves the other horse for you and me, don't you

see ? Only it's a nuisance that we shall have to
take the wagon."
"But I can't," remonstrated Tom. 'Fathernever
lets any one drive Prince but himself, and never
harnesses him to the wagon. I'll row you down to
the ferry-pier, i'.. ., ., and you can take the train
there over to Marlborough."
Dick curled up his lip in a disagreeable way,
rising at the same time to his feet. "Thanks,"
he said, "but I guess I'll walk. Only I don't
see how I can get up here very often if it is such
hard work to get back. It is n't any joke, you
know, to walk two miles through the heat and
Tom was in an agony of mortification.
Oh, I say, Dick he cried, you know I don't
want you to walk; let me row you down to the
pier. The tide will be running out in ten minutes,
and it will be an easy row. Or, stay here all night,
wont you ? and I'll row up to town and telephone
down to the beach that you wont be home."
But Dick was quite inflexible.
"No," he declared, "I am not going to be
drowned in the river, and I can't stay all night. I
have got an appointment at six o'clock, at the hotel.


(A Tale of the Miriborough/ Sands.)



--~~---;~. -


If you can't harness up Prince, as you call him,
why, I'll have to walk."
But he balks," faltered Tom.
Balks, does he ? Well, if there's one thing I 'm
more glad to get hold of than another it's a balky
horse. Why, my dear boy, I know a trick that
will cure the worst case you ever saw."
Tom hesitated. Had not his father said, only the
day before, that if some one could not cure Prince
of his balking the horse must be sold? What a
grand thing it would be if he could take Prince out
and bring him back cured! Deacon Kidder did
not like Dick, as Tom very well knew, but if Dick
should cure Prince the Deacon could have no reason
for not liking him.
How do you do it? Tom asked at length.
Dick surveyed him with an air of surprise.
"How do I do it? he asked. "Well, I guess
that's my secret. May be you wont find out how
when you've seen it done, but I'11 do it all the
same. Does he balk when you drive him? "
I never drove him," said Tom, meekly.
"Never drove him? Well, before I'd let a
horse like that stand idle in my father's stable while
my father was away, I'd know it. It 's time you
began, young fellow. You can drive him part of
the way this afternoon."
Now, considering that the horse belonged to
Tom's father, and that if either of the two boys had
a right to drive him it was not Dick, this offer
was not so magnanimous as it seemed. Indeed, it
was what Tom himself, if he had not been dazzled
by Dick's air of superiority, would have called
impudent; but just now he was under a spell which
blinded his judgment and made him willing to do
things that at other times he would not have
dreamed of doing.
"Well, I'd like to drive Prince," he admitted.
"Of course you would, and if you 'd had any
pluck you 'd have driven him long ago. The idea
of a fellow like you having to take that old cow
every time you go out! Why, your father ought
to buy you a light wagon and let you drive Prince
out every afternoon. I dare say you could train
him so that he 'd go inside of three minutes.
Come, let's go down and harness."
Tom still deliberated. He felt flattered by
Dick's sugared compliments and enticed by his
wily suggestions and stung by his contempt. Per-
haps it was the contempt that decided him; for
when Dick rather sneeringly remarked, "Afraid,
are you ?" Tom with a quick, angry flush jumped
to his feet and faced his friend.
"No, I 'm not afraid!" he said. "I dare say
Father '11 thrash me for it; but I 'm not afraid."
"Oh, he wont thrash you, if you bring the
horse back cured."

"Well, I don't know," said Tom, reflectively.
"Father would n't believe he was cured until he 'd
tried him himself; but we '11 go down just the
same and harness him."
Tom had not lived on a farm all his life without
knowing how to harness a horse, but Dick, when
it came to putting Prince in the wagon, did not
display that proficiency which his somewhat boast-
ful conversation had led Tom to expect from him.
Tom, indeed, had to go over his work, straighten-
ing out the trace, readjusting the breeching strap,
and making things generally safe and sure. It
was strange, he thought, that a fellow who knew
so much about horses should not know more about
harnessing them; but then, perhaps, that had al-
ways been done for him. At any rate, the job was
now complete and they were ready to start.
Which way did your father go ? asked Dick,
as they got in the wagon.
"Oh, father went up to Lyman," said Tom.
"We sha'n't meet him anywhere. Which road
shall we take ? "
"Let's keep down your road," returned Dick.
"That will take us to the Ferry Beach, then we
can drive along the beach to Marlborough."
"You forget about the quicksands," objected
Tom. Dick threw back his head and laughed.
"Of all ridiculous tales," he declared, "that
quicksand story is about the worst I ever heard!
Why, I drove over there the other day, and it was
like a floor the whole way."
A horse and wagon were swallowed up there
once," observed Tom, soberly.
Dick's lip curled. Oh, pshaw! he said, "I
don't believe a word of it. I 'm not afraid."
By this time they were fairly on their way. The
horse as yet had not shown the slightest symptom
of balking, which, though it certainly made the
drive more agreeable, left Tom without the excuse
which he had been making to himself for taking
the horse out.
It's always the way," he said, gloomily. If
nobody wanted him to balk, he would be sure to
do it."
"Who wants him to balk?" said Dick, flecking
a fly off of Prince's flank with the whip. I 'm sure
I don't; perhaps he '11 gratify you coming back."
This possibility had not struck Tom before.
Suppose he should ? he exclaimed.
Dick laughed. For the first time it struck Tom
what a cold, disagreeable laugh Dick's was.
"Well, you 'd have to get along the best way
you could," he said, indifferently.
"And wont you tell me your trick? "
Dick smiled, and made no response.
There was a few minutes' silence while the wagon
rolled swiftly along the road. However much




Dick might be enjoying it, the ride was already
becoming to Tom a very unpleasant experience.
The sense of his disobedience and of his father's
displeasure, his fear lest the horse might balk when
he should be alone, and his dread of the Marlbor-
ough Sands combined to make his situation ex-
tremely uncomfortable.
"Fine, is n't it? remarked Dick at length.
Tom mumbled something which might have
been either yes or no.
It'll be finer, though," Dick continued, "when
we get down to the beach."
This time Tom did not say a word, and they
drove along without speaking until another turn
brought them in sight of the Bay View House.
In a moment more they had passed the house and
crossed the railroad track and gained the hard sur-
face of the sand beyond.
"Glorious! Dick cried. "Reminds me of
Nantasket! exclaimed Tom, indignantly;
"there isn't another beach like the Marlborough
in the world."
It seemed, indeed, as if Tom must be right. Far
away in the direction which they were taking
curved the hard, level sand-so far, indeed, that
the eye could not discern the end; and though it
was high tide, there were yet a hundred feet be-
tween them and the rippling waves. They were
leaving the Ferry Beach, as it was called, behind
them, and were approaching the little river which
marked the boundary of Marlborough Beach
and concealed, as Tom had said, the dreaded
quicksands. Already they had crossed one or
two little rivulets when Tom, who had been keep-
ing a sharp watch, saw the glitter of a wider stream
not far ahead.
"Now look out for the sands," he cried.
"They 're right along here where one of these
inlets sets in from the sea."
Dick hit the horse with the whip.
"Oh, bother take the sands! he exclaimed.
"I don't believe there are any."
"Here it is!" cried Tom, excitedly, "right
ahead-Dick, you shall stop and leaning over
he grasped both reins and pulled up the horse on
the brink of a stream about fifty feet wide, the
appearance of which certainly gave no cause for
alarm, One could hardly imagine that under-
neath the rushing water lurked the terrible power
to seize and drag down those who might venture to
cross it.
Let go!" shouted Dick, angrily, tearing the
reins away from Tom's hold. What a fool you
are! Don't you know that 's the worst thing in
the world to do ? I 'i going through here, quick-
sands or no quicksands. There 's a wagon ahead

that has been through, and where one man has
gone another can go, I guess."
There was a wagon ahead,-that was a fact,-
and, as the tracks showed, it had been through the
stream. The marks of the wheels going down one
bank were quite plain, and they were equally plain
going up the other. Seeing that, Tom felt some-
what reassured and withal a little ashamed of his
own haste.
"Well," he said, "perhaps it may be further
on, but this looks just like the place."
Of course it is further on," said Dick, mock-
ingly, "if it 's anywhere. I don't believe it's
anywhere. Get up! he cried, striking Prince
again with the whip.
The horse, still obedient, started forward and
walked cautiously into the river. Then, as he felt
the water rising about his fetlocks, he raised his
feet nervously and showed a disposition to stop.
Get up !" said Dick again, with a snap.
But Prince did not get up. On the contrary, he
stood still. They were by this time a dozen feet
past the water's edge; the water was rushing vio-
lently under the body of the wagon, and Tom
noticed, to his dismay, not only that the body
was nearer the surface of the water than it had
been a moment before, but that the wagon
tracks on the opposite side, at which they had
aimed, were several feet up stream.
"It is the Marlborough Sands he cried; and
oh, Dick we are going down "
At the same moment, the man in the wagon
ahead happened to turn around and discovered
their perilous position.
Whip your horse Tom could hear him cry;
"for heaven's sake, whip your horse "
Dick had already been whipping the horse, but
whether the wagon was too heavy to be pulled out
of the shifting sand, or the animal himself was con-
trary, they did not move an inch, except as the swift
current carried them down the river, and the sand
threatened to swallow them up. Already the
wagon had sunk to the hubs of the wheels.
"Jump! "cried the man, driving back to the
bank; "jump now It's your only chance! "
Dick threw down the whip and flung the reins
over the dashboard. I was a fool to trust myself
to a balky horse! he said. You'd better jump,
Tom, while you've got a chance, and leave the
brute to take care of himself. I'm going now."
With these words he clambered into the back of
the wagon, coolly removed the second seat, tossed
it into the river, and then jumped in after it. The
seat served as a buoy to keep him above the dan-
gerous sands, and with a few rapid strokes he
gained the shore which they had left. Without
waiting to see how Tom came out of the scrape, he




made his way up the stream to where it might be
crossed, and thence as quickly as he could go to
the hotel.
Tom, meanwhile, sat hopeless and dazed. Rather
than go back to his father without the horse he
would go down with the wagon. It would n't be
long, if he sat there, before he would be drowned.
How terribly he was paying for his disobedience,
and how ill prepared he was to die The cries of
the man urging him to jump fell on deaf ears. He
could not jump and leave Prince to drown.
But need he leave Prince? A sudden thought
roused him from his stupor. Leaning over the
dashboard he cut the traces with two strokes of
his sharp knife. Another stroke severed the strap
that connects the saddle with the breeching; then,
gathering the reins in his hands and stepping care-
fully on the shaft, he mounted Prince's back and
hit him sharply with the reins. The horse, alive to
the situation, plunged forward. Tom's feet pushed
the tugs away from the shafts, and with another
plunge the shafts dropped into the river. The
horse stood free. Another plunge-the reins
were not needed now to urge him-and his feet
were extricated from the shifting bottom. Another,
and Prince, quivering like a leaf, was scrambling
up the farther shore. The whole operation had
taken but a moment, but when Tom had leaped
from the horse's back and looked around for the
wagon, he discovered with a thrill of horror that it
had disappeared from sight.
Well! exclaimed the man, who had watched
the proceeding with eager interest, "that was a
smart thing to do, but let me tell you, young fel-
low, you had a pretty narrow escape."
Tom's face had not yet regained its natural
color, nor his voice its usual steadiness.
Yes," he said, soberly, I suppose I did."
Horse balk ? inquired the other.
Tom nodded.
Wont do it again," said the man, no more'n
you'11 cross the Marlb'ro' Sands again with a heavy
wagon at a high tide."
I guess I wont," said Tom. "I did n't want to
do it to day."
The other fellow led you into it, did he ? Well,
you wont be led so easy the next time. Going up
Sconsett way ?"
Yes," said Tom; I'm Deacon Kidder's son."
The man whistled. "Deacon Kidder your pa !"
he exclaimed. Land's sake wont you get it when
you get home Guess I 'd better stop in and
tell them how cute you saved the horse. You
can ride up with me, if you like."
Thank you," said Tom, "I'll be glad to ride
up with you, but I'11 tell father myself about--
The fact is, I took the horse and wagon without

leave, and I shan't feel quite easy until I 've made it
"You'll get a thrashing," said the man, who
seemed to be intimately acquainted with the
deacon's peculiarities.
All right! said Tom cheerfully. I'd rather
be thrashed than feel mean."
"Well," said the man, as he whipped up his
own horse and the two started off, leading Prince
behind, so would I; but I '11 tell you what I 'd do
-I 'd take it out of that other fellow the next time
I met him."
Tom laughed.
Oh he said,"' I don't want to take it out of
anybody. I 'm too glad to have got out of that
place alive to feel mad."
Well, you had a mighty narrow escape," said
the man again, as though that, after all, was the
chief impression which the affair had left upon his

Did Tom get a thrashing? Well, I am obliged
to admit that he did. He brought back the horse,
to be sure, but then he had had no business to
take the horse out; beside which he had lost the
wagon. He bore the chastisement, however, very
philosophically, knowing that he deserved it, and
after it was all over told his father that Mr. Chase
-John Chase, of Lyman, which Tom had discov-
ered to be the man's name-had said that the horse
would never balk again. The deacon was very
incredulous, but as it turned out Mr. Chase was
right. Prince never did balk again--except once
when the deacon tried to drive him through the
Marlborough Sands at low tide. Then he rebelled;
and not all Mr. Kidder's persuasions could induce
him to take one step until he had been turned
around, when he went willingly enough in the
opposite direction.
The credit for the horse's cure Dick Jones hast-
ened to take to himself.
"Yes," he would say, in answer to people's in-
quiries, I drove him out one day, and he has n't
balked since."
Unfortunately, however, he repeated this tale in
the hotel office one evening when Tom's friend, Mr.
Chase, whom Dick did not recognize, happened to
be present.
"Was that the day," Mr. Chase asked, quietly,
"when you drove the horse into Marlborough
Sands and then jumped out of the wagon, leaving
Tom Kidder and the horse to drown ?"
Dick flushed scarlet.
Tom need n't have staid," he stammered.
Tom staid to look after the horse; and if you
had been any kind of a man you 'd have done it,
too. It was Tom Kidder who got the horse out,




-and if anybody cured his balking it was Tom Kid-
der who did that. Don't tell your story around
here any more, Dick Jones. People might not
believe it, you know."
Dick took the advice, leaving the next day for
Boston and never re-appearing in the place. Tom
was not sorry when he heard Dick had gone.

"Well, I 'm glad of it," he said. When he
jumped out of that wagon it seemed as though a
ray of light lit him all up and showed what a mean
little soul he had. People get experiences," he
added, meditatively, "in very queer ways. I am
sure I never got so much in all my life as in
that one moment on the Marlborough Sands."





BY M. J.

LAUGHING LILL lives on the hill,
Where runs the water to the mill,
And be the day or fair or gray,
She sings her merry roundelay:
" Come weal or woe, come good or ill,
The stream goes dancing to the mill;
The robin sings, whatever the sky,
And so do I!"

The rain may fall, the loud winds call,
And stormy clouds be over all.
But laughing Lill she carols still,
While sweeter grows her merry trill:
" Come weal or woe, come good or ill,
The stream goes rippling by the mill;
The robin sings, though dark the sky,
And so will I!"



-' ".

4- 2

I Jr

'. /




PUT away the bauble and the bib,
Smooth out the pillows in the crib.
Softly on the down
Lay the baby's crown,
Warm around its feet
Tuck the little sheet,-
Snug as a pea in a pod!
With a yawn and a gap,
And a dreamy little nap,
We will go, we will go,
To the Landy-andy-pandy
Of Noddy-oddy-poddy,
To the Landy-andy-pand
Of Noddy-pod.

There in the Shadow-maker's tent,
After the twilight's soft descent,
We '11 lie down to dreams
Of milk in flowing streams;
And the Shadow-maker's baby
Will lie down with us, may be,
On tie soft, mossy pillow of the sod.

In a drowse and a doze,
All asleep from head to toes,
We will lie, we will lie,
In the Landy-andy-pandy
Of Noddy-oddy-poddy,
In the Landy-andy-pand
Of Noddy-pod.

Then when the morning breaks,
Then when the lark awakes,
We will leave the drowsy dreams,
And the twinkling starry gleams;
We will leave the little tent,
And the wonders in it pent,
To return to our own native sod.
With a hop and a skip,
And a jump and a flip,
We will come, we will come,
From the Landy-andy-pandy
Of Noddy-oddy-poddy,
From the Landy-andy-pand
Of Noddy-pod.



._._ .. -



.". I .'' V .

-- ". -- "- "'-- "--

S, 4 .
p 2'"'-'+......+ ~
bI 4 7- -+ -u .- .
+-7-_ '. "",,SC .),_ ,. 'p. -'- -

"i ++ + .... .' I-'


f + ,,+- : -+-,,' ---. ',' ''

."k'-...*'-=: # ... ,', + .

St ''I
"- 2
.... i,+++-: --

": r'-
yk ..... "
,!, ,.+_ri~! 111
!]. ;'- ,+' ,+- -:;-"
ie:+ ,< o '-r+ ,. ," '
+! iJ+ /, vusrrllu;

9*, ,_t.., t ", i:), ," V I,
,- .- -7 -,.j .,, i .i ';
.. n ,, 'ffl \'.





MANY years ago, in a little village among the
hills, lived some children whose names you would
know very well if you saw them here; but it would
not do to make them public, for, to tell the truth,
some of them have not grown any older yet in
heart, although their merry faces are wrinkled
with the smiles of age, and the tops of their heads
resemble snow-drifts. As they lived long before
the iron horse had dug through the mountain bar-
riers, only one of them had ever seen a city. He
had made a trip to Boston on the stage, starting
before daylight, and riding all the next day and
night over the route now traveled by the express
train in a few hours. The hero of this remark-
able expedition was named Joseph, and, like the
"dunces who have been to Rome," he seldom failed
to allude in every possible manner to his advent-
ures abroad. So, when the children met to dis-
cuss the project of giving a theatrical performance
in order to raise money enough to buy a Thanks-
giving turkey for a poor widow, Joseph was, of
course, chosen manager, because he had seen a
real play at the Museum.
"My friends," said the oracle, in his opening
speech, "you will need a curtain, and a place in
which to hang it."
My father will let us use the mill-chamber,"
said blue-eyed Katy, the miller's daughter; "for
the stream is so low that he will not work there for
a month, and there are lots of boards which we can
use if we do not spoil them."
"Very well," said Joseph; to-morrow will be
Saturday, and we will meet at the mill to build the
stage and cast our plays; so let us all bring any
pieces of cloth we can borrow, and as many play-
books as possible."
So that bright afternoon sun, as it shone cheerily
through the chinks and cracks of the mill-garret,
lit up the bright faces of the children who were
preparing for the opening of their theater. The
boys first brought up the boards and carefully
piled them at the western end of the room, until
they had formed a platform three feet high across
one end of the chamber, while-the girls sewed into
three curtains the motley strips of cloth which they
had borrowed from their mothers' rag-bags-the
odd combinations of materials and shades thus
obtained producing an effect very much like some
of the grotesque draperies which the modern
art-lovers profess to admire. The most showy
VOL. IX.-56.

piece was chosen for the central curtain, upon the
edge of which brass rings were sewed. The boys
next stretched a wire across the room at just the
same distance from the stage as the height of
the curtain, on which the girls had strung the
rings before it was fastened in place. A post
was then put up at each side of the curtain,
and securely nailed to the stage and to the top
beams of the room, and the two other pieces
of cloth tacked, one on each side, to the post
and to the sides of the room. Two other cur-
tains were made, large enough to fill the spaces
from the posts to the back of the room, thus
forming a dressing-room on each side of the
stage, the entrances to which were made by
pushing away the curtains at the front and rear
corners, as required. The only change of scene
from interior to exterior was made by pine-trees
fastened into wooden blocks, which could be
placed in various positions. The setting sun
lighted up the completed stage, and the busy
children grouped themselves in restful attitudes
upon it, to select and cast the play. Dramatic
works had, at that time, little place among the
libraries of the simple farm-folk, who were content
with "Pilgrim's Progress,""Fox'sMartyrs,"andthe
weekly visits of The Ploughman. But the lawyer's
daughter, Annie, had brought a volume of Shake-
speare's plays, and golden-haired Mabel had her
" Mother Goose," the best and only play-book she
had ever known.
Shakespeare," said Joseph, is a good writer,
for I saw one of his plays myself. Hamlet' was
the name of it, and I will be Hamlet, for I know
how to act."
The children, of course, agreed, and each accepted
the part which the manager assigned to him or
her. Maggie was to be the Queen, because she was
so tall, and Dick was unanimously chosen for the
Ghost, because he was so thin. Bill Jones was
offered the part of Polonius, because he liked to
use big words; and sweet Mabel Drake took
Ophelia, because she had lovely long hair and a
brand-new white dress. Laertes was given to Sam
Williams, because he was a good fighter-for they
decided to have the combat with fists, as swords
were very dangerous, even if they could get any,
which they could not. The only sword in the
village was somewhat damaged through long use
as a poker by old Squire Hawks, who was mad



when he was not chosen captain of the militia.
The minor parts of the play were given out by lot,
and thus some of the children had two or three
each, as there were so many, and all were told to
come again on Wednesday, ready for rehearsal.
But, when Wednesday afternoon came, they did
not know their parts, for the words were so long
and hard they could not remember them, and it
seemed impossible even to the energetic Joseph
to have Hamlet" ready by Saturday afternoon,
the day announced for the opening of the show.
So Shakespeare was given up, and little Maud
ventured to say that he was not half so good as
Mother Goose. Struck with this idea, the chil-
dren gave up their search for the unknown, and
wisely resolved to content themselves with some-
thing less ambitious. Mabel Drake, in full cos-
tume copied from the picture, read the rhymes
as they were acted with spirit by those who
knew and loved them. Joseph resigned the part
of Hamlet for that of Bobby Shaftoe, and sweet Effie
Jones brought tears to the eyes of all as she knelt
at the flax-wheel in grief for the drowned sailor,
who returned triumphant in the next scene, in a
neat sailor-suit, which seemed to have passed
through the shipwreck uninjured. Maggie looked
and acted the tall daughter to perfection, and little
Maud was lovely as the bride, in poke-bonnet, as
she rode proudly in the wheelbarrow, the chosen
bride of little Eddie, who preferred her to the
short, the greedy, or the progressive girl of the
period. The hall was filled by the delighted par-
ents of the children on that memorable Saturday,
and the entrance fee of ten cents each gave the
Widow Simpkins such a Thanksgiving dinner as
she had never had before. But this was not all
that the children earned for charity; for,.when
wne of them grew up, he wished to write for the
ST. NICHOLAS something that would interest the
hosts of children who read the magazine, and he
wrote for them a full account of the pantomime
of "The Rats and the Mice," and the operetta of
" Bobby Shaftoe," which fave since been acted in
hundreds of parlors, to the delight of old and
And even this was not the end. A few years
later he was asked to assist in raising a very large
sum of money for charity; and remembering the
funny old mill theater, he caused lovely airs to be
composed for these pieces, and, in connection with
many other scenes, had them presented in large
opera-houses by young ladies and children, to
audiences of their friends, who gathered in such
numbers that as much as one thousand dollars has
been realized in a single evening from the simple
and natural representation of these Mother Goose
plays. In every city of note from Montreal to St.

Louis, with three exceptions, these Gems of Nursery
Lore have earned money for charitable purposes,
and in many of the representations the costumes
and appointments have been very costly and ele-
gant; but none of them have given more pleasure
to actors and spectators than was enjoyed by the
simple country people who witnessed the original
performance in the old mill on the hillside, in
which all these greater and more elaborate exhi-
bitions originated. This little tribute of respect
to the dear old Dame, to whose early inspiration
so many poets and wise men owe their best efforts,
will not be considered out of place ; but there are
those who feel that Mother Goose has had her day,
and that her old rhymes have become a little hack-
neyed by oft-repeated representation. To such as
these, ST. NICHOLAS has offered many panto-
mimes and operettas on wholly new themes, and
these may be readily used by young folk to earn
money for charity.
The children of to-day are constantly asking:
"How can we also make money to help carry on
our Sunday mission schools and to help the poor?"
Letters of inquiry come often from distant cities and
towns in the Far West. In reply to these queries
we would recommend the Children's Carnival as
the simplest and newest method. To encourage
the little ones in this endeavor, a true story may
not be out of place. In one of the chief cities of
Western New York the largest church in town con-
templated an entertainment for charity and became
discouraged, when two young school-girls took up
the abandoned idea and carried it out with im-
mense success, using the operetta and pantomime
from this magazine.
To get up a Children's Carnival, first give notice
of your plan in the schools, asking those inter-
ested to meet for the choice of manager, treasurer,
and committees for the alcoves, refreshments, and
amusements, which may consist of three or more
girls and boys for each. The first committee has
the duty of arranging a stage at the end of the hall,
unless one is already built, as is the case in many
town-halls, and also the choice of twenty-five per-
formers and the selection of the pantomime, oper-
etta and tableau from their magazines. The
manager is responsible for all performances on this
stage, which should occupy an hour after the supper,
and before the sales in the alcoves. The refresh-
ment committee prepare tables across the end of
the hall opposite the stage, and attend to the sup-
per, which is solicited from the homes of all inter-
ested. They also choose four waiters for each
table, who bring .the refreshments from a side room
and collect the money for them. The treasurer has
charge of all receipts and pays all expenses, and
appoints door-keepers, ushers, and ticket-sellers.



The committee on alcoves prepare three on each
side of the hall, draped with cambric or any hangings
suitable for the periods represented. They also
choose attendants for each, in appropriate costumes,
as for instance: the Curiosity Shop, with "Little
Nell" and "Grandfather," who show or sell antique
furniture and bric-h-brac in the upper alcove on the
left side of the hall. In the next, three Turkish girls
sell coffee, and in the third, two Japanese sell tea
and fans. Across the hall, "Simple Simon" sells
pies and cakes, and Dame Trot" fancy-goods and

toys; and in the last alcove, on the right side of the
hall, three little fairies sell candy. Flower-girls
flit around the hall with bouquets, and music is fur-
nished from a piano or orchestra, in case of a dance
or promenade at the end of the evening. The
performance on the stage is of course the principal
attraction, and may be very effectively used in any
parlor or hall, with or without the carnival; but the
latter, when the work is divided, is not as laborious
as yoa might suppose, and can not fail to please
as well as to earn money for charity.














BALDER, the god of the summer, was Odin's son,
and he was the brightest and best of all the Asa-
folk. Wherever he went, there were gladness and
mirth, and blooming flowers, and singing birds,
and murmuring water-falls. Balder, too, was a
hero, but not a hero like Siegfried. For he slew
no giants, he killed no dragons; he was not even
a warrior; he never went into battle, and he never
tried to make for himself a great name. There
still are some such heroes, but they make little
noise in the world; and, beyond their own neigh-
borhood, they often are unnoticed and unknown.
Hoder, the blind king of the winter months, was
Balder's brother, and as unlike him as darkness
is unlike daylight. While one rejoiced and was
merry and cheerful, the other was low-spirited and
sad. While one scattered sunshine and blessings
everywhere, the other carried with him a sense of
cheerlessness and gloom. Yet the brothers loved
each other dearly.
One night Balder dreamed a strange dream, and
when he awoke he could not forget it. All day
long he was thoughtful and sad, and he was not
his own bright, happy self. His mother, the Asa-
queen, saw that something troubled him, and she
"Whence comes that cloud upon your brow?
Will you suffer it to chase away all your sunshine,
and will you become, like your brother Hoder, all
frowns, and sighs, and tears? "
Then Balder told her what he had dreamed,
and she, too, was sorely troubled; for it was a
frightful dream and foreboded dire distress.
Then both she and Balder went to Odin, and to
him they told the cause of their uneasiness. And
he was dismayed at what he heard; for he knew
that such dreams dreamed by Asa-folk were the
forewarnings of evil. So he saddled his eight-
footed horse Sleipner, and, without telling any one
where he was going, he rode with the speed of the
winds down into the Valley of Death. The dog
that guards the gate-way to that dark and doleful
land came out to meet him. Blood was on the
fierce beast's jaws and breast, and he barked loudly
and angrily at the Asa-king and his wondrous
horse. But Odin sang sweet magic songs as he
drew near, and the dog was charmed with the
sound, and Sleipner and his rider went onward in
safety. They passed the dark halls of the pale-

faced queen, and came to the eastern gate of the
valley. There stood the low hut of the witch who
lived in darkness and spun the thread of fate for
gods and men. Odin stood before the hut, and
sang a wondrous song of witchery and enchant-
ment, and he laid a spell upon the weird woman,
and forced her to come out of her dark dwelling
and answer his questions.
"Who is this stranger?" asked the witch.
"Who is this unknown who calls me from my
narrow home and sets an irksome task for me ?
Long have I been left alone in my quiet hut, and
little recked I that the snow sometimes covered
with its cold, white mantle both me and my resting-
place, or that the pattering rain and the gently
falling dew often moistened the roof of my house.
Long have I rested quietly, and I do not wish now
to be aroused."
"I am Valtam's son," said Odin, "and I come
to learn of thee. Tell me, I pray, for whom are
the soft and beautiful couches prepared that I saw
in the broad halls of Death? For whom are the
jewels and rings and rich clothing, and the
shining shield ?"
And she answered:
All are for Balder, Odin's son; and the mead
which has been brewed for him is hidden under
the shining shield."
Then Odin asked who would be the slayer of
Balder, and she answered that Hoder was the one
who would send the shining Asa to the halls of
Death. And she added: "But go thou hence,
now, Odin; for I know thou art not Valtam's son.
Go home, and none shall again awaken me nor dis-
turb me at my task until Balder shall rule over
the new earth in its purity, and there shall be no
Then Odin rode sorrowfully homeward; but he
told no one of his journey to the dark valley, nor
of what the witch had said to him.
Balder's mother, the Asa-queen, could not rest
because of the ill-omened dream that her son had
had; and, in her distress, she called together all
the Asa-folk to consider what should be done.
But they were speechless with alarm and sorrow,
and none could offer advice nor set her mind at
ease. Then she sought out every living creature
and every lifeless thing upon the earth, and asked
each one to swear that it would not on any account
hurt Balder, nor touch him to do him harm. And
this oath was willingly made by fire and water,



earth and air; by all beasts and creeping things
and birds and fishes; by the rocks; by the trees
and all metals. For everything loved Balder the
Then the Asa-folk thought that great honor was
shown to Balder each time an object refused to
hurt him; and, to show their love for him, as well
as to amuse themselves, they often hewed at him
with their battle-axes, or struck at him with their
sharp swords, or hurled toward him their heavy
lances. For every weapon turned aside in its
course, and would neither mark nor bruise the
shining target at which it was aimed; and Balder's
princely beauty shone as bright and pure as ever.
When Loki, the mischief-maker, saw how all
things loved and honored Balder, his heart was
filled with jealousy, and he sought all over the
earth for some beast, or bird, or tree, or lifeless
thing that had not taken the oath. But he could
not find one. Then, disguised as a fair maiden, he
went to Fensal Hall, where dwelt Balder's mother.
The Asa-queen was busy with her golden spindle,
and her maid-servant, Fulla-of-the-flowing-hair, sat
on a stool beside her. When the queen saw Loki,
she asked:
Whence come you, fair stranger, and what
favor would you ask of Odin's wife ?"
I come," answered the disguised mischief-
maker, "from the plains of Ida, where the gods
meet for pleasant pastime, as well as to talk of the
weighty matters of their kingdom."
"And' how do they while away their time to-
day? "' asked the queen.
"They have a pleasant game which they call
Balder's Honor. The shining hero stands before
them as a target, and each one tries his skill at
hurling some weapon toward him. First, Odin
throws at him the spear Gungner, but it passes
harmlessly over his head. Then Thor takes up a
huge rock and hurls it full at Balder's breast, but
it turns in its course and will not strike the sun-
bright target. Then Hoenir seizes a battle-ax,
and strikes at Balder as though he would hew him
down; but the keen edge refuses to touch him.
And in this way the Asa-folk show honor to the
best of their number."
The Asa-queen smiled in the glad pride of her
mother-heart, and said: "Yes, everything shows
honor to the best of Odin's sons; for neither metal,
nor wood, nor stone, nor fire, nor water will touch
Balder to do him harm."
"Is it true, then," asked Loki, "that everything
has made an oath to you, and promised not to hurt
your son ?"
And the queen, not thinking what harm an un-
guarded word might do, answered: "Everything
has promised, save a little, feeble sprig that men

call the mistletoe. So small and weak it is that I
know it could never harm any one; and so I passed
it by and did not ask it to take the oath."
Then Loki went out of Fensal Hall and left the
Asa-queen at h-r -ipi rirr. g And he walked briskly
away, and paused not until he came to the eastern
side of Valhalla, where, on the branches of an old
oak-tree, the mistletoe grew. Rudely he tore the
plant from its supporting branch and hid it under
his cloak. Then he walked leisurely back to
the place where the Asa-folk were wont to meet in
The next day the Asas went out, as usual, to en-
gage again in pleasant pastimes. When they had
tired of leaping, and tilting, and foot-racing, they
placed Balder before them as a target again; and,
as each threw his weapon toward the shining
mark, they laughed to see the missile turn aside
from its course and refuse to strike the honored
one. But blind Hoder stood sorrowfully away
from the others and did not join in any of their
sports. Loki, seeing this, went to Hoder, and said:
Brother of the gloomy brow, why do you not
take part with us in our games? "
"I am blind," answered Hoder, "and I can
neither leap, nor run, nor throw the lance.,"
But you can shoot arrows from your bow,"
said Loki.
"Alas !" said Hoder, "that I can do only as
some one shall direct my aim. For I can see no
"Do you hear that laughter?" asked Loki.
Thor has hurled the straight trunk of a pine-tree
at your brother, and, rather than touch such a
glorious target, it has turned aside and been
shivered to pieces upon the rocks over there. It
is thus that the Asa-folk, and all things living and
lifeless, honor the sun-bright Balder. Hoder is
the only one who hangs his head and fears to do
his part. Come, now, let me fit this little arrow in
your bow, and then, as I point it, do you shoot.
When you hear the gods laugh, you will know that
your arrow has shown honor to the hero by refusing
to hit him."
And Hoder, thinking no harm, did as Loki
wished, and allowed him to fit the mistletoe to his
bow. And the deadly arrow sped from the bow
and pierced the heart of shining Balder, and he
sank lifeless to the ground. Then the Asa-folk who
saw it were struck speechless with sorrow and
astonishment; and, had it not been that the Ida
plains whereon they were standing were sacred to
peace, they would have seized upon Loki and put
him to death. Forthwith the world was draped in
mourning for Balder the Good; the birds stopped
singing and flew with drooping wings toward the
far Southland; the beasts sought to hide them-




selves in their lairs and in the holes of the ground;
the trees shivered and sighed until their leaves fell
withered to the earth; the flowers closed their
eyes and died; the rivers ceased to flow, and dark
and threatening billows veiled the sea; even the
sun shrouded his face and withdrew silently toward
the south.
When Balder's good mother heard the sad news,
she left her golden spindle in Fensal Hall, and

beach, and bewailed the untimely death of their
hero. First came Odin with his grief-stricken
queen, and then his troop of handmaidens the
Valkyrien, and his ravens Hugin and Munin. Then
came Thor in his goat-drawn car, and Heimdal on
his horse Gold-top. Then Frey in his wagon,
behind the boar Gullinbruste of the golden bristles;
then Freyja, in her chariot drawn by cats, came,
weeping tears of gold. Lastly, poor blind Hoder,

''~~ '~ '~
'''' -




L .i",,


with her maidens hastened to the Ida plains, where
the body of her son was lying. Nanna, the faith-
ful wife of Balder, was already there, and wild was
her grief at sight of the lifeless loved one. And
all the Asa-folk, save guilty Loki, who had fled for
his life, stood about them in dumb amazement;
but Odin was the most sorrowful of all, for he knew
that, with Balder, the earth had lost its gladsome
They lifted the body and carried it down to the
sea,where the great ship Ring-horn," which Balder
himself had built, lay ready to be launched. And
a great company followed, and stood upon the

overcome with grief, was carried thither on the
back of one of the Frost giants. And old IEgir,
the Ocean-king, raised his dripping head above the
water and gazed with dewy eyes upon the scene;
and the waves, as if affrighted, left off their playing
and were still.
High on the deck they built the funeral-pile;
and they placed the body upon it, and covered it
with costly garments and woods of the finest scent;
and the noble horse which had been Balder's they
-slew and placed beside him, that he might not
have to walk to the halls of Death; and Odin took
from his finger the ring Draupner, the earth's




enricher, and laid it on the pile. Then Nanna, the
faithful wife, was overcome with grief, and her gen-
tle heart was broken, and she fell lifeless at the
feet of the Asa-queen. And they carried her upon
the ship and laid her by her husband's side.
When all was in readiness, to set fire to the pile,
the gods tried to launch the ship; but it was so
heavy that they could not move it. So they sent,
in haste, to Jotunheim for the stout giantess,
Hyrroken; and she came with the speed of a
whirlwind, riding on a wolf which she guided
with a bridle of writhing snakes.
"What will you have me do?" she asked, as-
she looked around upon them.
"We would have you launch the great ship
'Ring-horn,' answered Odin.
"That I will do," roared the grim giantess;
and giving the vessel a single push, she sent it
sliding with speed into the deep waters of the bay.
Then she gave the word to her grisly steed, and
she flew onward and away, no one knew whither.
The "Ring-horn" floated nobly upon the water, a
worthy bier for the body that it bore. The fire
was set to the funeral pile, and the red flames shot
upward to the sky; but their light was but a flick-
ering beam when matched with the sun-bright
beauty of Balder, whose body they consumed.
Then the sorrowing folk turned and went back
toward their homes; a cheerless gloom rested
heavily where light gladness had ruled before.
And when they reached the high halls of Asgard,
the Asa-queen spoke and said:
"Who now, for the love of Balder and his
stricken mother, will undertake an errand? Who
will go down into the Valley of Death and seek for
Balder, and ransom him and bring him back to
Asgard? "
Then Hermod the Nimble, the brother of
Balder, answered :
"I will go. I will find him, and, with Death's
leave, will bring him back."
And he mounted Sleipner, the eight-footed
steed, and galloped swiftly away. Nine days and
nine nights he rode through strange valleys and
deep mountain gorges where the sun's light had
never been, and through gloomy darkness and
fearful silence, until he came to the black river
and the glittering golden bridge which crosses it."
Over the bridge his strong horse carried him,
although it shook and swayed and threatened to
throw him into the raging black waters below. On
the other side a maiden keeps the gate, and
Hermod stopped to pay the toll.
"What is thy name ?" asked she.
"My name is Hermod, and I am called the'
Nimble," he answered.
What is thy father's name ?"

His name is Odin; mayhap thou hast heard
of him."
"Why ridest thou with such thunderous speed?
Five kingdoms of dead men passed over this
bridge yesterday, and it shook not with their
weight as it did with thee and thy strange steed.
Thou art not of the pale multitude that are wont
to pass this gate. What is thy errand, and why
ridest thou to the domains of the dead ?"
I go," answered Hermod, to find my brother
Balder. It is but a short time since he unwillingly
came down into these shades."
"Three days ago," said the maiden, "Balder
passed this way, and by his side rode the faithful
Nanna. So bright was his presence, even here,
that the whole valley was lighted up as it had
never before been lighted; the black river glit-
tered like a gem; the frowning mountains smiled
for once, and Death herself slunk far away into
her most distant halls. But Balder went on his
way, and even now he sups with Nanna in the
dark castle over yonder."
Then Hermod rode forward till he came to the
castle-walls; and they were built of black marble,
and the iron gate was barred and bolted, and none
who went in had ever yet come out. Hermod
called loudly to the porter to open the gate and let
him in; but no one seemed to hear or heed him,
for the words of the living are unknown in that
place. Then he drew the saddle-girths more
tightly around the horse Sleipner, and urged him
forward. High up the great horse leaped, and
sprang clear over the gates, and landed at the
open door of the great hall. Leaving Sleipner,
Hermod went boldly in; and there he found his
brother Balder and the faithful Nanna seated at
the festal board, and honored as the most worthy
of all the guests. With Balder Hermod staid until
the night had passed; and many were the pleas-
ant words they spoke. When morning came,
Hermod went into the presence of Death, and
"0 mighty queen, I come to ask a boon of
thee. Balder the Good, whom both gods and
men love, has been sent to dwell with thee in
thy darksome house. And all the world weeps
for him, and has donned the garb of mourning,
and will not be consoled until his bright light shall
shine upon them again. And the gods have sent
me, his brother, to ask thee to let Balder ride back
with me to Asgard, to his noble mother, the Asa-
queen. For then will hope live again in the hearts
of men, and happiness will return to the earth."
Death was silent for a moment; and then she
said, in a sad voice:
Hardly can I believe that any being is so
greatly loved by things living and lifeless; for





surely Balder is not more the friend of earth than
I am. And yet men love me not. But go you
back to Asgard, and if everything shall weep for
Balder, then I will send him to you; but if any-
thing shall refuse to mourn, then I will keep him
in my halls."
So Hermod made ready to return home, and
Balder gave him the ring Draupner to carry to his
father as a keepsake, and Nanna sent to the
queen-mother a rich carpet of the purest green.
Then the nimble messenger mounted his horse
and rode swiftly back over the dark river and
through the frowning .I.. and at last reached
Odin's halls.
When the Asa-folk found upon what terms they
might have Balder again with them, they sent
heralds all over the world to beseech everything to
mourn for him. And men and beasts, and birds
and fishes, and trees and stones,-all things living
and lifeless,-joined in weeping for the lost Balder.
But, on their road back to Asgard, they met a
giantess named Thok, whom they asked to join
in the universal grief. And she answered:

"What good deed did Balder ever do for Thok?
What gladness did he ever bring her? If she
should weep for him, it would be with dry tears.
Let Death keep him in her halls."

Here Dame Gudrun paused, and little Ingeborg
How cruel of Death to keep the sun-bright
Balder forever in her halls, when no one but the
ugly giantess failed to weep for him !"
She did not keep him there," answered Gud-
run. For some say that every year Balder
comes back with Nanna to his halls in Breidablik,
where he stays through the summer season; and
then the earth throws off its mourning, and gods
and men feast at his table and bask in his smiles,
until the time comes for their return to the Valley
of Death. And during their half-year of absence,
the earth is not altogether sad, for all know that
Balder and his faithful bride will come back with
the spring, and in the joy of anticipation the
months glide swiftly by."

- ; ....

S- _-





-- --






IT was all so sudden," explained Dorothy to
Charity Danby, a few weeks afterward, in talking
over her brother's departure, "that I feel as if I
were dreaming and that Don must soon come and
wake me up."
Strange that he should 'a' been allowed to go
all the way to Europe, alone so-and he barely
fifteen yet," remarked Mrs. Danby, who was iron-
ing Jamie's Sunday frock at the time.
Donald is nearly sixteen," said Dorry with
dignity, and he went on important business for
Uncle. Did n't Ben go West when he was much
younger than that ? "
Oh, yes, my dear, but then Ben is-different,
you know. He's looked out for himself ever since
he was a baby. Now, Ellen Eliza," suddenly chang-
ing her tone as the tender-hearted one came in
sight, where in the world are you going with
that face and hands ? You 've been playing' in the
mud, I do believe. Go straight in and wash'em,
and change your feet, too, they 're all wet-and
don't lay your wet apron down on your sister's
poetry like that, you forlorn, distres-sed looking
child. She 's been writing' like wild this morning ,
Mandy has, but I aint took time to read it. It's
a cryin' shame, Dorothy, her writing's is n't all
printed in a book by this time. It would sell like
hot-cakes, I do believe,-and sell quicker, too, if
folks knew she was n't going to have much more
time for writing She 's going to be a teacher,
Mandy is; young Mr. Ricketts got her a situation
in academy down to Trenton, where she 's to study
and teach and make herself useful till she perfects
herself. 'T is n't every girl gets a chance to be
perfected so easy, either. Oh, Charity-there 's so
much on my mind--I forgot to tell you that Ben
found your 'rithmetic in the grass, 'way down past
the melon-patch, where baby Jamie must have left
it. There, put up your sewing, Charity, and you
and Dorothy take a run; you look jaded-like.
Why, mercy on us continued the good woman,
looking up at this moment and gently waving her
fresh iron in the air to cool it off a little, "you
look flushed, Dorothy. You aint gone and got
malaria, have you ? "
Oh, no," said Dorry, laughing in spite of her

sadness. "It is not malaria that troubles me: it's
living for three whole weeks without seeing
"Dear, dear exclaimed Mrs. Danby. I
don't wonder if it is, you poor child- only one
brother so, and him a twin."
Dorry laughed pleasantly again, and then, with
a cheerful good-bye," walked slowly homeward.
The next morning, when she awoke, she felt so
weary and sleepy that she sent a good-morning
message to her uncle and told Lydia she would not
get up till after breakfast-time. "Be sure," she
said to Liddy, to tell Uncle that I am not really
ill,-only lazy and sleepy,-and by-and-bye you
may let Kassy bring me a cup of very weak coffee."
Lydia, secretly distressed, but outwardly cheer-
ful, begged her dear young lady to take a nice,
long nap. Then lighting the fire, for the morning
was raw and chilly, though it was May, she bustled
about the room till Dorry was very wide awake
indeed. Next, Uncle George came up to bid her
good-morning, and make special inquiries, and
when he went down re-assured, Kassy came in
with her breakfast. By this time Dorothy had
given up all thought of sleep for the present.
"Why, Kassy!" she exclaimed in plaintive
surprise, you've brought enough to feed a regi-
ment. I can't eat all that bread, if I am ill-- "
Oh, but I'm to make toast for you, here in
your room, Miss," explained Kassy, who seemed
to have something on her mind. "Lydia,-I
mean Mr. Reed said so."
How nice exclaimed Dorry, listlessly.
Kassy took her place by the open fire, and be-
gan to toast the bread, while Dorry lay looking at
her, feeling neither ill nor well, and half inclined
to cry from sheer loneliness. This was to be the
twenty-third day without Donald.
I wonder what the important business can be,"
she thought; "but, most likely, Uncle will tell me
all about it before long."
Meanwhile, Kassy continued to toast bread. Two
or three brown slices already lay on the plate, and
she was attending to the fourth, in absent-minded
fashion, much to Dorry's quiet amusement, when
the long toasting-fork dropped aimlessly from her
hand, and Kassy began fumbling in her pocket;
then, in a hesitating way, she handed her young
lady a letter.
I- I should have given it to you before," she

* Copyright, i88r, by Mary Mapes Dodge. All rights reserved.






faltered, but kept it because I thought- that-
perhaps -I -- "
But Dorry already had torn open the envelop
and was reading the contents.
Kassy, watching her, was frightened at seeir
the poor girl's face flush painfully, then turn dead
Not bad news, is it, Miss ? Oh, Miss Dorry,
feel I've done wrong in handing it to you, but
gentleman gave me half a dollar, day be-
fore yesterday, Miss, to put it secretly into
your hands, and he said it was something
you 'd rejoice to know about."
Dorry, now sitting up on the bed, hardly
heard her. With trembling hands, she held
the open letter, and motioned toward the door.
Go, call Uncle! No, no- stay here -
Oh, what shall I do ? What ought I to do ?"
she thought to herself, and then added aloud,
with decision: "Yes, go ask Uncle to come
up. You need not return."
Hastily springing to the floor, Dorry thrust
her feet into a pair of slippers, put on a long
white woolen wrapper that made her look like
a grox n woman, and stood with the letter in
her hand as her uncle entered.
She remained motionless as a statue while
he hastily read it, her white face in strange
contrast to the angry flush that rose to Mr.
Reed's countenance.
Horrible!" he exclaimed, as he reached
the last word. Where did this letter come
from? How did you get it ?"
Kassy brought it. A man gave her half
a dollar -she thought it had good news in
it. Oh, Uncle!" (seeing the wrath in Mr.
Reed's face), she ought not to have taken
it, of course, but she does n't know any better
-and I did n't notice either, when I opened
it, that it had no post-mark."
Did you read it all? "
Dorothy nodded.
Well, I must go. I'll attend to this letter.
The scoundrel! You are not going to faint,
my child?" putting his arm quickly around h,
"Oh, no, Uncle," she said, looking up at h:
with an effort. But what does it mean? W
is this man?"
I'11 tell you later, Dorry. I must go now--
Uncle, you are so angry Wait one momel
Let me go with you. "
Her frightened look brought Mr. Reed to i
senses. In a calmer voice he begged her to g:
herself no uneasiness, but to lie down again a
rest. He would send Lydia up soon. He was ji
going to open the door, when Josie Manning
pleasant voice was heard at the foot of the stair:

Is any one at home? May I come up ?"
"Oh, no," shuddered Dorothy.
"Oh, yes," urged Mr. Reed. "Let your friend
see you, my girl. Her cheerfulness will help you
to forget this rascally, cruel letter. There, good-
bye for the present," and, kissing her, Mr. Reed
left the room.
Josie's bright face soon appeared at the door.
"Well, I declare!" she exclaimed. "Are you



rehearsing for a charade, Miss Reed? And who
are you in your long white train -Lady Angelica,
or Donna Isabella, or who? "
"I don't know who I am!" sobbed Dorothy,
throwing herself upon the bed and hiding her face
in the pillow.
Why, what is the matter? Are you ill? Have
you heard bad news? Oh, 0 forget," continued
Josie, as Dorry made no reply; what a goose I
must be Of course you are miserable without
Don, you darling But I've come to bring good
news, my lady--to me, at least-so cheer up.
Do you know something? Mamma and Papa are




going to start for San Francisco on Wednesday.
They gave me my choice-to go with them or
to stay with you, and I decided to stay. So they
and your uncle settled it last night that I am to be
here with you till they come back-two whole
months, Dot Is n't that nice? "
Ever so nice said Dorry, without i;;..: her
head. I am really glad, Jo; but my head aches
and I feel dreadfully this morning."
"Have you had any breakfast ? asked the prac-
tical Josie, much puzzled.
N-no," sobbed Dorry.
Well, no wonder you feel badly. Look at this
cold coffee, and that mountain of toast, and not
a thing touched. I declare, if I don't go right
down and tell Liddy. We '11 get you up a good
hot breakfast, and you can doze quietly till we
Dorry felt a gentle arm round her for an instant,
and a warm cheek pressed to hers, and then she was
alone-alone with her thoughts of that dreadful
It was from Eben Slade, and it contained all that
he had told Donald on that day at Vanbogen's,
and a great deal more. He had kept quiet long
enough, he added, and now he wished her to un-
derstand that, as her uncle, he had some claim
upon her; that her real name was Delia Robertson
-she was no more Dorothy Reed than he was,
and that she must not tell a living soul a word
about this letter or it would make trouble. If she
had any spirit or any sense of justice, he urged,
she would manage for him to see her some day
when Mr. Reed was out. Of course-the letter
went on to say--Mr. Reed would object if he
knew, for it was to his interest to claim her; but
truth was truth, and George Reed was no relation
to her whatever. The person she had been taught
to call Aunt Kate, it insisted, was really her moth-
er, and it was her mother's own brother, Eben,
who was writing this letter. All he asked for was
an interview. He had a great deal to say to her,
and Mr. Reed was a tyrant who would keep her a
prisoner if he could, so that her own uncle Eben
could not even see her. He had been unfortunate
and lost all his money. If he was rich he would
see that he and his dear niece Delia had their
rights in spite of the tyrant who held her in bond-
age. She must manage somehow to see him,-so
ran the letter,--and she could put a letter for him,
that night, under the large stone by the walnut
tree behind the summer-house. He would come
and see her at any time she mentioned. No girl
of spirit would be held in such bondage a day.
The writer concluded by calling her again his dear
Delia, and signing himself her affectionate uncle,
Eben Slade.



THAT morning, after Josie had gone home to
assist her mother in preparations for the trip to
California, Dorothy, exhausted by the morning's
emotions, fell into a heavy sleep, from which she did
not waken till late in the afternoon. By the bed
stood a little table, on which were two fine oranges,
each on a Venetian glass plate, and surmounted by
a card. On one was written: Miss Dorothy
Reed, with the high, respectful consideration of her
sympathizing friend, Edward Tyler, who hopes she
will soon be well"; and the other bore a limping
verse in Josie's familiar handwriting:
To this fair maid no quarter show,
Good Orange, sweet and yellow,
But let her eat you-in a certain way
That Dorothy and I both know-
That 's a good fellow! "

It must be confessed that Dot most implicitly
followed the hint in Josie's verse, and that she
felt much refreshed thereby. That evening, after
they had had a long talk together, she kissed Uncle
George for good-night, and, though there were
tears in her bright eyes, she looked a spirited little
maiden, who did not intend to give herself up to
doubting and grieving so long as there was more
than hope that she was Dorothy.
Half an hour later, the young girl stole softly
down to the deserted sitting-room, lit only by the
glowing remains of a wood-fire, and taking an un-
lighted student's lamp from the center-table, made
her rapid way back to her pretty bedroom upstairs.
Here, after putting on the soft, Lady-Angelica
wrapper, as Josie had called it, she sat for a long
time in a low easy-chair, with little red-slippered
feet in a rug, before the fire, thinking of all that
the eventful day had brought to her.
"There is more than hope," she mused, while
her eyes were full of tears; "those were Uncle's very
words more than hope, that I am Dorothy Reed.
But what if it really is not so, what if I am no rela-
tion to my--to the Reed family at all--no relation
to Uncle George nor to Donald! From weeping
afresh at this thought, and feeling utterly lonely
and wretched, she began to wonder how it would
feel to be Delia. In that case, Aunt Kate would
have been her mother. For an instant this was
some consolation, but she soon realized that, while
Aunt Kate was very dear to her fancy, she could
not think of her as her mother; and then there
was Uncle Robertson--no, she never could think
of him as her father; and that dreadful, cruel Eben
Slade, her uncle? Horrible! At this thought her
soul turned with a great longing toward the un-




known mother and father, who, to her childish
mind, had appeared merely as stately personages,
full of good qualities- Mr. and Mrs. Wolcott Reed,
honored by all who knew them, but very unreal
and shadowy to her. Now, as she sat half-dream-
ing, half-thinking, their images grew distinct and
loving; they seemed to reach out their arms ten-
derly to her, and the many good words about them
that from time to time had fallen tamely upon her
ears now gained life and force. She felt braver
and better clinging in imagination to them, and
begging them to forgive her, their own girl Doro-
thy, for not truly knowing them before.
Meantime, the night outside had been growing
colder and there were signs of a storm. A shutter
in some other part of the house blew open violently,
and the wind moaned through the pine-trees at the
corner of the house. Then the sweet, warm
visions that had comforted her faded from her
mind and a dreadful loneliness came over her. A
great longing for Donald filled her heart. She
tried to pray,-
"No thought confessed, no wish expressed,
Only a sense of supplication."

Then her thoughts took shape, and she prayed
for him, her brother, alone in a foreign land, and
for Uncle, troubled and waiting, at home, and for
herself, that she might be patient and good, and
have strength to do what was right-even to go
with Eben Slade to his distant home, if she were
really his sister's child.
The storm became so dismal that she started
up, poked the fire into a blaze, and lighted the
student's lamp on the table behind the arm-chair.
Then she took a photograph from the mantel and
a large hand-glass from her dressing-table, and,
looking hurriedly about her to be doubly sure that
she was alone, she sat down resolutely, as if saying
to herself:
"Now, we '11 see!"
Poor Dot! The photograph showed Donald,
a handsome, manly boy of whom any loving sister
might be proud; but the firm, boyish face, with its
square brows, roundish features, and shining black
hair, certainly did not seem to be in the least
like the picture that looked anxiously at her out
of the hand-glass-a sweet face, with its oval out-
line, soft, dark eyes and long lashes, its low,
arched eyebrows, finely modeled nose and chin,
expressive mouth, and sunny, dark brown tresses.
Feature by feature, she scanned the two faces
carefully, unconsciously pouting her lips and draw-
ing in her warm-tinted cheeks in her desire to
resemble the photograph, but it was of no use.
The two faces would not be alike -and yet, as she
looked again, was there not something similar

about the foreheads and the lower line of the faces ?
Hastily pushing back her hair with one hand, she
saw with joy that, excepting the eyebrows, there
really was a likeness: the line where the hair began
was certainly almost the same in both faces.
"Dear, dear old Donald! Why, we are just
alike there! I '11 show Uncle to-morrow. It's
Dorry laughed a happy little laugh, all by her-
Besides," she thought, as she laid the mirror
away, "we are alike in our natures and in our
ways and in loving each other, and I don't care
a bit what anybody says to the contrary."
Thus braced up, she drew her chair closer to the
table and began a letter to Donald. A vague con-
sciousness that by this time every one in the house
must be in bed and asleep deepened her sense
of being alone with Donald as she wrote. It seemed
that he read every word as soon as it fell upon the
paper, and that in the stillness of the room she
almost could heai him breathe.
It was a long letter. At any other time, Dorry's
hand would have wearied with the mere exercise of
writing so many pages, but there was so much to tell
that she took no thought of fatigue. It was enough
that she was pouring out her heart to Donald.
"I know now," the letter went on to say, "why
you have gone to Europe, and why I was not told
the errand. Dear, dear Donald and you knew it
all before you went away, and that is why you some-
times seemed silent and troubled, and why you were
so patient and good and gentle with me, even
when I teased you and made sport of you. Uncle
told me this afternoon all that he has to tell, and I
have assured him that I am Dorry, and nobody else,
and that he need not be bothered about it any
more (though you know, Don, I can not help feel-
ing awfully about it). It 's so dreadful to think of
us all being so mixed up. The idea of my not
being Dorry makes me miserable. Yet, if I were
anybody else, would I not be the first to know it?
Yes, Donald, whether you find proof or not, you
dear, good, noble old fellow, I am your sister-I
feel it in my very bones- and you are my brother.
Nobody on earth can make me believe you are
not. That dreadful man said in his letter that
it was to George Reed's interest that I should be
known as Dorothy Reed. Oh, Don, as if it were
not to my interest, too, and yours. But if it is not
so, if it really is true that I am not Dorothy, but
Delia, why I must be Delia in earnest, and do my
duty to my-her mother's brother. He says his
wife is sick, and that he is miserable, with no com-
forts at home and no one to care whether he is
good or bad. So, you see, I must go and leave you
and Uncle, if I am Delia. And, Don, there's




another thing, though it 's the least part of it: if I
am Delia, I am poor, and it is right that I should
earn my living, though you and Uncle should both
oppose it, for I am no relation to any one, I mean
any one here,-and it would not be honorable for
me to stay here in luxury.
I can see your eyes flash at this, dear brother,
or perhaps you will say I am foolish to think of
such things yet awhile. So I am, may be, but I
must talk to you of all that is in my thoughts. It
is very lonely here to-night. The rain is pouring
against the windows, and it seems like November;
and, do you know, I dread to-morrow, for I am
afraid I may show in some way to dear Uncle
George that I am not absolutely certain he is any
relation to me. I feel so strange! Even Jack and
Liddy do not know who I really am. Would n't
Josie and Ed be surprised if they knew about
things? I wish they did. I wish every one did,
for secrecy is odious.
"Donald dear, this is an imbecile way of talking.
I dare say I shall tear up my letter in the morn-
ing. No, I shall not. It belongs to you, for it is
just what your loving old Dorry is thinking.
Good-night, my brother. In my letter, sent
last Saturday, I told you how delighted Uncle and
I were with your descriptions of London and
I show Uncle your letters to me, but he does not
return the compliment-that is, he has read to me
only parts of those you have written to him. May
be he will let me read them through now, since I
know 'the important business.' Keep up a good
heart, Don, and do not mind my whining a little
in this letter. Now that I am going to sign my
name, I feel as if every doubt I have expressed is
almostwicked. So, good-night again, dear Donald,
and ever so much love from your own faithful sister,
"P. S.- Uncle said this afternoon, when I begged
him to start with me right away to join you in
Europe, that if it were not for some matters need-
ing his presence here we might go, but that he
can not possibly leave at present. Dear Uncle! I '11
be glad when morning comes, so that I may put
my arms around his neck and be his own cheerful
Dorry again. Liddydoes not know yet that I have
heard anything. I forgot to say that Mr. and
Mrs. Manning are going to California and that
Josie is to spend two months with me. Wont that
be a comfort ? How strange it will seem to have a
secret from her But Uncle says I must wait.
"P.S. again.-Be sure to answer this in Eng-
lish. I know we agreed to correspond in French
for the sake of the practice, but I have no heart for
it now. It is too hard work. Good-night, once
more. The storm is over. Your loving Dorry."



DORRY'S long letter reached Donald two weeks
later, as he sat in his room at a hotel in Aix-la-
Chapelle. He had been feeling lonely and rather
discouraged, notwithstanding the many sights that
had interested him during the day; and from
repeated disappointments and necessary delays in
the prosecution of the business that had taken him
across the sea, he had begun to feel that, perhaps,
it would be just as well to sail for home and let
things go on as before. Dorry, he thought, need
never know of the doubts and anxieties that had
troubled Uncle George and himself, and for his
part he would rest in his belief that he and she
were Wolcott Reed's own children, joint heirs to
the estate, and, as Liddy called them," the happiest
pair of twins in the world."
But Dot's letter changed everything. Now that
she knew all, he would not rest a day even, till her
identity was proved beyond a possibility of doubt.
But how to do it? No matter. Do it he would, if it
were in the power of man. (Donald in these days
felt at least twenty years old.) Dorry's words had
fired his courage anew. He felt like a crusader, as
he looked over the roof-peaks, out upon the starry
night, and Dorothy's happiness was his Holy-land
to be rescued from all invaders. The spirit of
grand old Charlemagne, whose bones were in the
Cathedral close by, was not more resolute than
Donald's was now.
All this he told her in the letter written that
night, and more, too, but the "more" did not
include the experiences of the past twelve hours of
daylight. He did not tell her how he had that
day, after some difficulty, found the Prussian physi-
cian who had attended his father,Wolcott Reed, in
his last illness, and how impossible it had been at
first to make the old man even remember the fam-
ily, and how little information he finally had been
able to obtain.
Vifteen year vas a long dime, eh ?" the doctor
had intimated in his broken English, and as for
" dose dwin bapies," he could recall nothing
aboud dat at all."
But Don's letter suited Dorothy admirably, and
in its sturdy helpfulness and cheer, and its off-hand,
picturesque account of his adventures, it quite
consoled her for the disappointment of not reading
the letter that she was positively sure came to Mr.
Reed by the same steamer.
The full story of Donald's journey, with all its
varied incidents up to this period, would be too
long to tell here. But the main points must be




Immediately upon landing at Liverpool, Donald
had begun his search for the missing Ellen Lee,
who, if she could be found, surely would be able to
help him, he thought. From all that Mr. Reed
had been able to learn previously, she undoubtedly
had been Mrs. Wolcott Reed's maid, and had
taken charge of the twins on board of the fated
vessel. She had been traced fifteen years before, to
Liverpool, as the reader knows, and had disap-
peared at that time, before Mr. Reed's clerk,
John Wakely, had seen her. Donald found the
house in Liverpool where she had been, but
could gain there no information whatever. The
house had changed owners, and its former occu-
pants had scattered, no one could say whither. But,
by a persistent search among the neighboring
houses he did find a bright, motherly woman, who,
more than fifteen years before, had come to an
opposite house, a bride, and who remembered a
tall, dark-complexioned young woman sitting one
night on the steps of the shabby boarding-house
over the way. Some one had told her that this
young woman had just been saved from a ship-
wreck, and had lost everything but the clothes she
wore, and from sheer sympathy she, the young
wife, had gone across the street to speak to her, and
had found her at first sullen and uncommunicative.
"The girl was a foreigner" (said the long-ago
bride, now a blooming matron with four children).
" Leastwise, though she understood me and gave me
short answers in English, it struck me she was
French-born. Her black stuff gown was dreadful
torn and ruined by the sea-water, sir, and so, as I
was about her height, I made bold to offer her one
of mine in its place. I had a plenty then, and me
and my young man was accounted comfortable
from the start. She shook her head and muttered
something about not bein' a beggar,' but do you
know, sir, that the next day she come over to me,
as I was knitting at my little window, and says she,
'I go on to London,' she says, 'and I 'll take that
now, if you be pleased,' or something that way,
I don't remember her words, and so I showed
her into my back room and put the fresh print
gown on her. I can see her now a-takin' the
things out of her own gown and pinning them so
careful into the new pocket, because it was n't so
deep and safe as the one in her old gown was;
and then, tearin' off loose tatters of the black skirt
and throwing them down careless-like, she rolled
it up tight, and went off with it, a-noddin' her head
and a-maircying me in French, as pretty as could
be. I can't bring to mind a feature of her, except-
in' the thick, black hair and her bein' about my
own size. I was slender then, young master; fifteen
years makes-- "
"And those bits of the old gown," interrupted

Donald, eagerly, "where are they? Did you save
Laws, no, young gentleman, not I. They
went into my rag-bag like as not, and are all thrown
away and lost, sir, many a day agone, for that
I am sorry," said Donald. "Even a scrap of
her gown might possibly be of value to me."
Was she belonging to your family? asked the
woman, doubtfully.
Donald partly explained why he wished to find
Ellen Lee; and asked if the girl had said anything
to her of the wreck, or of two babies.
"Not a word, sir, not a word, though I tried to
draw her into talking It's very little she said at
best, she was a-grumpy like."
"What about that rag-bag?" asked Donald,
returning to his former train of thought. "Have
you the same one yet ?"
"That I have," she answered, laughing; "and
likely to have it for many a year to come. My good
mother made it for me when I was married, and so
I 've kept it and patched it till it 's like Joseph's
coat; and useful enough it's been, too--holding
many a bit that 's done service to me and my little
romps. 'Keep a thing seven year,' my mother
used to say, keep it seven year an' turn it, an'
seven year again, an' it '11 come into play at last.' "
"Why may you not have saved that tatter of
the old gown twice seven years, then?" persisted
Why, bless you, young sir, there's no known'
as to that. But you could n't find it, if I had. For
why? the black pieces, good, bad, and indifferent,
are all in one roll together, and you nor I could
n't tell which it was."
Likely enough," said Donald, in a disappointed
tone; "and yet, could you--that is-really, if
you would n't mind, I'd thank you very much if
we could look through that rag-bag together."
Mercy on us exclaimed the woman, seized
with a sudden dread that her young visitor might
not be in his right senses.
If I could find those pieces of black stuff," he
urged, desperately, "it would be worth a golden
guinea to me."
Sure, now, that he was a downright lunatic, she
moved back from him with a frightened gesture;
but glancing again at his bright, boyish face, she
said in a different tone:
"And it would be worth a golden guinea to me,
young master, just to have the joy of finding them
for you. Step right into this room, sir, and you,
Nancy (to a shy little girl who had been sitting,
unobserved, on the lowest step of the clean, bare
stair-way), "you run up and bring Mother down the
old piece-bag. You shall have your way, young





gentleman-though it's the oddest tr.;, ever
happened to me."
Alas To the boyish mind a bundle made of
scores of different sorts of black pieces rolled
together is anything but expressive. On first
opening it, Don looked hopelessly at the motley
heap, but the kind woman helped him somewhat
by rapidly throwing piece after piece aside, with,
" That can't be it- that's like little Johnny's trous-
ers," Nor that,-that's what I wore for poor
mother;" Nor that-that's to mend my John's
Sunday coat," and so on, till there were not more
than a dozen scraps left. Of these, three showed
that they had been cut with a pair of scissors, but
the others were torn pieces and of different kinds
of black goods. Don felt these, held them up to
the light, and, in despair, was just going to beg her
to let him have them all, for future investigation,
when his face suddenly brightened.
He put an end of one of them into his mouth,
shook his head with rather a disgusted expression,
as though the flavor were anything but agreeable,
then tried another and another (the woman mean-
time regarding him with speechless amazement), till
at last, holding out a strip and smacking his lips,
he exclaimed:
I have it! This is it! It 's as salt as brine! "
"Good land!" she cried; "salt who ever
heard of such a thing, and in my rag-bag? How
could that be ? "
Don paid no attention to her. Tasting another
piece, that proved on a closer examination to be
of the same material, he found it to be equally
His face displayed a comical mixture of nausea
and delight as he sprang to his feet, crying out:
Oh! ma'am, I can never thank you enough.
These are the pieces of Ellen Lee's gown, I am
confident-unless they have been salted in some
way since you 've had them."
"Not they, sir; I can warrant that. But who
under the canopy ever thought of the taste of a
shipwrecked gown before "
Smell these," he said, holding the pieces
toward her. Don't you notice a sort of salt sea
odor in them? "
Indeed, I fancy so," she answered, sniffing
cautiously as she continued: "Fifteen years ago !
How salt does cling to things The poor woman
must have been pulled out of the very sea! "
"That does n't follow," remarked Donald;
"her skirt might have been splashed by the waves
after she was let down into the small boat."
Donald talked awhile longer with his new
acquaintance, but finally bade her good-day, first,
however, writing down the number of her house,
and giving her his address, and begging her to let
VOL. IX.-57.

him know if, at any time, she and her husband
should move from that neighborhood.
Should what, sir? "
Should move-go to live in another place."
"Not we," she replied, proudly. We live
here, we do, sir, John and myself, and the four
children. His work's near by, and here we '11 be
for many 's the day yet, the Lord willing No,
no, please never think of such a thing as that," she
continued, as Donald diffidently thrust his hand
into his pocket. Take the cloth with you, sir,
and welcome-but my children shall never have it
to say that their mother took pay for three old
pieces of cloth-no, nor for showing kindness
either" (as Don politely put in a word), "above all
things, not for kindness. God bless you, young
master, an' help you in finding' her-that's all I
can say, and a good-day to you."
"That nurse probably went home again to
France," thought Donald, after gratefully taking
leave of the good woman and her rag-bag.
" Mother must have found her in Prussia, as we
were born in Aix-la-Chapelle."
Before going to that interesting old city, how-
ever, he decided to proceed to London and see what
could be ascertained there. In London, though he
obtained the aid of one James Wogg, a detective,
he could find no trace of the missing Ellen Lee.
But the detective's quick sense drew enough from
Donald's story of the buxom matron and the two
gowns to warrant his going to Liverpool, "if the
young gent so ordered, to work up the search."
Had the young gent thought to ask for a bit
like the new gown that was put onto Ellen Lee?
No ? Well, that always was the way with unpro-
fessionals-not to say the young gent had n't been
uncommon sharp as it was."
Donald, pocketing his share of the compliment,
heartily accepted the detective's services, first
making a careful agreement as to the scale of
expenses, and giving, by the aid of his guide-book,
the name of the hotel in Aix-la-Chapelle where a
letter from the detective would reach him. He also
prepared an advertisement on a new principle,"
as he explained to the detective, very much to that
worthy's admiration. Ellen Lee has been adver-
tised for again and again," he said, "and promised
to be told 'something to her advantage;' but,
if still alive, she evidently has some reason for
hiding. It is possible that it might have been she
who threw the two babies from the sinking ship
into the little boat, and as news of the rescue of all
in that boat may not have reached her, she might
have felt that she would be blamed or made to suf-
fer in some way for what she had done. I mean
to advertise," continued Donald to the detective,
" that information is wanted of a Frenchwoman,



Ellen Lee, by the two babies whose lives she saved at
sea, and who, by addressing so-and-so, can learn
of something to her advantage, and we '11 see what
will come of it."
Not so," suggested Mr. Wogg. It's a good
dodge, but say, rather, by two young persons whose
lives she saved when they were babies. There 's
more force to it that way; and leave out at sea'
--it gives too much to the other party. Best have
'em address Mr. James Wogg, Old Bailey, N. Lon-
don." But Donald would not agree to this.
Consequently, after much consulting and pains-
taking, the following advertisement appeared in
the London and Liverpool papers:

send her address to D. R., in care of Dubigk's Hotel, Aix-la-
Chapelle, Prussia, she shall receive the grateful thanks of two young
persons whose lives she saved when they were infants, and hear of
something greatly to her advantage.

Again, Ellen Lees, evidently not French, came
into view, lured by the vague terms of the adver-
tisement, but as quickly disappeared under the de-
tective's searching inspection; and again it seemed
as if that particular Ellen Lee, as Mr. Reed had
expressed it, had vanished from the earth. But
Mr. Wogg assured his client that it took time for
an advertisement to make its way into the rural
districts of England, and he must be patient.
Donald, therefore, proceeded at once to Dover,
on the English coast, thence sailed over to Ostend,
in Belgium, and from there went by railway to his
birthplace, Aix-la-Chapelle. As his parents had
settled there three months before his mother started
for home, he felt that, in every respect, this was
the most promising place for his search. He had
called upon George Robertson's few family con-
nections in London, but these knew very little
about that gentleman, excepting that he had been
reckless and unfortunate in business, and that his
wife in her poverty had received help from some-
body traveling in Prussia, and that the couple had
been sent for to meet these people at Havre, when
his little girl was not two months old, and all had
sailed for America together. Donald knew as
much as this already. If, fifteen years before, they
could give Mr. Reed no description of the baby,
they certainly could give Donald no satisfaction
now. So far from gathering from them any new
facts of importance, in regard to their lost kins-
man and his wife and child, they had all this time,
as Donald wrote to Mr. Reed, been very active in
forgetting him and his affairs. Still Donald suc-
ceeded in reviving their old promise that, if any-
thing should turn up that would throw any light on
the history of poor Robertson's" family, they
would lose no time in communicating the fact-
this time to the nephew-Donald. No word had

been heard from them up to the evening that
Dorothy's letter arrived at Aix-la-Chapelle. No
satisfactory response, either, to the Ellen Lee adver-
tisement, and Donald, who had had, as we know, a
disappointing interview with his father's physician,
was weary and almost discouraged. Moreover,
every effort to find the store at which the gold
chain was purchased had been in vain. But now
that Dorothy's letter had come, bringing him new
energy and courage, the outlook was brighter.
There were still many plans to try. Surely some
of them must succeed. In the first place, he would
translate his Ellen Lee advertisement into French,
and insert it in Paris and Aix-la-Chapelle news-
papers. Strange that no one had thought of doing
this before. Then he would-no, he would n't-
but, on the other hand, why not send-- And at
this misty point of his meditations he fell asleep, to
dream, not, as one would suppose, of Dorothy-
but of the grand Cathedral standing in place of the
chapel from which this .special Aix obtained its
name; of the wonderful hot springs in the public
street; of the baths, the music, and the general
stir and brightness of this fascinating old Prussian


The new French advertisement and a companion
to it, printed in German, were duly issued, but,
alas! nothing came from them. However, Don-
ald carefully preserved the black pieces he had
obtained in Liverpool, trusting that, in some way,
they yet might be of service to him. He now
visited the shops, examined old hotel registers, and
hunted up persons whose address he had obtained
from his uncle, or from the owners of the Cum-
berland." The few of these that were to be found
could, after all, but repeat what they could recall
of the report which they had given to Mr. Reed
and John Wakely many years before.
He found in an old book of one of the hotels the
names of Mr. and Mrs. Wolcott Reed on the list of
arrivals;-no mention of a maid, nor of a child.
Then in the books of another hotel whither they had
moved, he found a settlement for board of Wol-
cott Reed, wife, and maid. At the same hotel a
later entry recorded that Mrs. Wolcott Reed
(widow), nurse, and two infants had left for France,
and letters for her were to be forwarded to Havre.
There were several entries concerning settlements
for board and other expenses, but these told Don-
ald nothing new. Finally, he resolved to follow as
nearly as he could the course his mother was known
to have taken from Aix-la-Chapelle to Havre, where
she was joined by Mr. and Mrs. Robertson and




their baby daughter, a few days before the party
set sail from that French port for New York.
Yes, at Havre he would be sure to gain some
information. If need be, he could settle there for
a while, and patiently follow every possible clue
that presented itself. Perhaps the chain had been
purchased there. What more likely, he thought,
than that, just before sailing, his mother had bought
the pretty little trinket as a parting souvenir? The
question was, had she got it for her own little twin-
daughter, or for Aunt Kate's baby? That point re-
mained to be settled. Taking his usual precaution
of leaving behind him an address, to which all com-
ing messages or letters could be forwarded, Donald
bade farewell to Aix-la-Chapelle, and, disregarding
every temptation to stop along the way, hurried on,
past famous old cities, that, under other circum-
stances, would have been of great interest to him.
"We, all three, can come here together, some
time, and see the sights," he thought to himself;
"now I can attend to but one matter."
At Havre he visited the leading shops where
jewelry and fancy goods were sold or manufactured.
These were not numerous, and some of them had
not been in existence fifteen years before, at the
time when the sad-hearted widow and her party
were there. There was no distinctive maker's
mark on the necklace, and no one knew anything
about it, nor cared to give it any attention, unless
the young gentleman wished to sell it. Then they)
might give a trifle. It was not a rare antique,
they said, valuable from its age; jewelry that was
simply out of date was worth only its weight, and
a little chain like this was a mere nothing. As
Donald was returning to his hotel, weary and in-
clined to be dispirited, he roused himself to look
for Rue de Corderie, numero 47, or, as we Ameri-
cans would say, Number 47 Corderie Street.
As this house is famous as the birthplace of
Bernardin de St. Pierre, author of "Paul and
Virginia," Donald wished to see it for himself and
also to be able to describe it to Dorothy. He did
not visit it on that day, however, for on his way
thither his attention was arrested by a very small
shop which he had not noticed before, and which,
in the new-looking city of Havre, appeared to be
fully a century old. Entering, he was struck with
the oddity of its interior. The place was small,
not larger than the smallest room at Lakewood,
and though its front window displayed only watches,
and a notice in French and English that Monsieur
Bajeau repaired jewelry at short notice, it was so
crowded with rare furniture and bric-h-brac that
Donald, for a moment, thought he had entered the
wrong shop. But, no! There hung the watches, in
full sight, and a bright-faced old man in a black
skull-cap was industriously repairing a bracelet.

May I see the proprietor of this store, please ?"
asked Donald, politely.
Oui, monsieur," replied the old man, with
equal courtesy, rising and stepping forward. "Je
suis-I am ze propridtaire, je ne comprend fas.
I no speak ze Ingleesh. Parlcs-vous Francais-
Oh, yes," said Donald, too full of his errand
to be conscious that he was not speaking French, as
he carefully took a little red velvet case from an
inside pocket, "I wished to show you this neck-
lace -to ask if you "
The old man listened with rather an aggrieved
air. Ah Eh I sail re-paire it, you say ? then
adding wistfully, You no speak ze French ?"
Oui, oui, zmonsieur,-fardonnez3," said Donald,
thus reminded. From that moment he and the
nowradiant Monsieur Bajeau got on finely together,
for Donald's French was much better than mon-
sieur's English; and, in truth, the young man was
very willing to practice speaking it in the retirement
of this quaint little shop. Their conversation shall
be translated here, however.
"Have you ever seen this before, sir?" asked
Donald, taking the precious necklace from the box
and handing it to him over the little counter.
No," answered the shop-keeper, shaking his
head as he took the trinket. Ah that is very
pretty. No, not a very old chain. It is modern,
but very odd-very fine-unique, we say. Here
are letters," as he turned the clasp and examined its
under side. What are they ? They are so small.
Your young eyes are sharp. Eh ? Here mon-
sieur bent his head and looked inquiringly at
Donald from over his spectacles.
"D. R.," said Don.
"Ah, yes! D. R. ; now I see," as he turned
them to the light. D. R., that is strange. Now,
I think I have seen those same letters before. Why,
my young friend, as I look at this little chain, some-
thing carries the years away and I am a younger
man. It brings very much to mind-Hold!- -No,
it is all gone now. I must have made a mistake."
Donald's heart beat faster.
Did you make the chain ? he asked, eagerly.
"No, no, never. I never made a chain like
it -but I have seen that chain before. The clasp is
very-very-You know how it opens ? "
It is rusty inside," explained Donald, leaning
forward anxiously, lest it should be injured. We
need not open it." Then controlling his excitement,
he added as quietly as he could:
You have seen it before, monsieur ? "
I have seen it. Where is the key ? "
The key, monsieur ? What do you mean ? "
"The key that opens the clasp," returned the
Frenchman with sudden impatience. This Amer-



ican boy began to appear rather stupid in Mon-
sieur's eyes. Donald looked at him in amazement.
Does it lock? "
"Does it lock?" echoed monsieur. "Why, see
here; and with these words he tried to press the
upper part of the clasp aside. It stuck at first, but,
finally yielded, sliding around from the main
part on an invisible little pivot, and disclosing a
very small key-hole.
Donald stared at it in helpless bewilderment.
Evidently his uncle had failed to find this keyhole,
so deftly concealed?
The old man eyed his visitor shrewdly. Having
been for some time a dealer in rare bric-h-brac, he
prided himself on being up to the tricks of persons
who had second-hand treasures to sell.
"Is this chain yours? he asked, coldly. "Do
you bring it to sell to me ? All this is very strange.
I wish I could remember --"
Oh, no, indeed. Not to sell. Yes, the chain is
mine, my sister's-my uncle's, I mean-in America."'
Monsieur drew back with added distrust, but he
was re-assured by Donald's earnest tone. Oh,
monsieur, pray recall all you can about this matter.
I can not tell you how important it is to me-how
anxious I am to hear! "
Young man, your face is flushed, you are in
trouble. Come in and sit down," leading the way
into a small room behind the shop. As for this
necklace, there is something-but I cannot think-
it is something in the past years that will not come
back-Ah! I hear a customer-I must go. Pardon
me, I will return presently."
So saying, Monsieur left him, bending slightly
and taking short, quick steps, as he hurried into the
shop. Donald thought the old man was gone for an
hour, though it really was only five minutes. But
it had given him an opportunity to collect his
thoughts, and when Monsieur returned, Donald
was ready with a question :
"Perhaps a lady-a widow-brought the chain
to you long ago, sir ? "
"A widow!" exclaimed Monsieur, brightening.
Sa widow dressed in mourning yes, it comes back
to me--a day, ten, twenty years ago I see it all!
A lady two ladies no, one was a servant, a gen-
teel nurse; both wore black and there was a little
baby-two little babies-very little; I see them
"Two !" exclaimed Donald, half wild with eager-
Yes, two pink little fellows."
"Pink! In a flash, Donald remembered the
tiny pink sacque, now in his valise at the hotel.
"Yes, pink little faces, with lace all around--
very droll--the littlest babies I ever saw taken into
the street. Well, the pretty lady in black carried

one, and the nurse-she was a tall woman--car-
ried the other."
"Yes, yes, please," urged Donald. He longed
to help Monsieur on with the account, but it would
be better, he knew, to let him take his own way.
It all came out in time, little by little -but com-
plete at last. The widow lady had gone to the old
man's shop, with two infants and a tall nurse.
With a tiny gold key she had unlocked a necklace
from one of the babies' necks, and had requested
Monsieur Bajeau to engrave a name on the under
side of its small square clasp.
A name? asked Donald, thinking of the two
Yes, a name--a girl's name," continued the
old man, rubbing his chin and speaking slowly, as
if trying to recollect. Well, no matter. Intend-
ing to engrave the name later in the afternoon, I
wrote it down in my order-book, and asked the
lady for her address, so that I might send the
chain to her the next day. But, no; she would
not leave it. She must have the name engraved
at once, right away, and must put the necklace
herself on her little daughter. She would wait.
Well, I wished to obey the lady, and set to work.
But I saw immediately there was not space enough
for the whole name. She was very sorry, poor
lady, and then she said I should put on the two
letters D. R. There they are, you see, my own
work-you see that ? And she paid me, and locked
the chain on the baby's neck again-ah me it is so
strange! -and she went away. That is all I know."
He had spoken the last few sentences rapidly,
after Donald had asked, excitedly, What name,
monsieur. What was the name, please ? "
Now the old man, hardly pausing, deliberately
went back to Don's question.
The name ? the name ?-I can not quite say."
"Was it-Delia?" suggested Donald, faintly.
Yes, Delia. I think that was the name."
If Donald had been struck, he could scarcely
have been more stunned.
"Wait!" exclaimed Monsieur; "We shall see.
I will search the old books. Do you know the year?
1850 ?-60 ? what ? "
"1859,. November," said Donald, wearily, his
joy all turned to misgiving.
"Ha! Now we can be sure Come into the
shop. Your young limbs can mount these steps.
If you please, hand down the book for 1859; you
see it on the back. Ah, how dusty I have kept
them so long. Now "-taking the volume from
Donald's trembling hands-" we shall see."
Don leaned over him, as the old man, mumbling
softly to himself, examined page after page.
"July, August, September-ah, I was a very
busy man in those days-plenty to do with my




hands, but not making money as I have been since
-different line of business for the most part-Octo-
ber-November-here it is-"
Donald leaned closer. He gave a sudden cry.
Yes, there it was-a hasty memorandum; part of
it was unintelligible to him, but the main word
stood clear and distinct.

sure to write just what the lady told me." An
antique-looking clock behind them struck two."
"Ah, it is time for me to eat something. Will
you stay and take coffee with me, my friend. We
are not strangers now."
Strangers, indeed! Donald fairly loved the
man. He did not accept the invitation, but thank-
ing him again and again, agreed to return in the

_:, _. _ ..... -7_ ---


: ,.
II : jj

,."-i .
t! -- -- :_ _

-- -- -"_- i ..-
--: :-- ---a ..


"Ah! Dorothy." Echoed the other. "Yes,
that was it. I told you so."
"You said Delia," suggested Don.
The old man gave a satisfied nod. "Yes, Delia."
"But it's Dorothy," insisted Donald firmly, and
with a gladness in his tone that made the old man
smile in sympathy. "Dorothy, as plain as day."
To Monsieur Bajeau the precise name was of little
consequence, but he adjusted his glasses and
looked at the book again.
Yes-Dorothy. So it is. A pretty name. I
am glad, my friend, if you are pleased." Here
Monsieur shook Donald's hand warmly. The
name in my book is certainly correct. I would be

evening, for Monsieur wished to know more of the
strange story.
Donald walked back to the hotel lightly as
though treading the air. Everything looked bright
to him. Havre, he perceived, was one of the most
delightful cities in the world. He felt like sending
a cable message home about the chain, but on
second thought resolved to be cautious. It would
not do to raise hopes that might yet be disap-
pointed. It was just possible that after the visit
to Monsieur Bajeau, his mother, for some reason,
had transferred the necklace to baby Delia's neck.
He would wait. His work was not yet finished,
but he had made a splendid beginning.


~c~~:_:l~sd7~"~ ~




-W ROUND the house
i: l,,irds were flying,

-ai..- tI.r little children,

T l i .- ,. -, .. .. tired of trying,

L. I I I..
.l.." I,. dying,

L'-U o [' o'" -

When the summer day was dying,
Long ago,
Suddenly, their mothers spying,
Down the children came, swift-flying,
And in cozy beds
Hid their weary heads.
Ended then the children's flying,
Long ago.



More than one tourist hurrying through Havre
that day, bound for the steamer or for that pride
of the city, the hill of Ingouville, to enjoy the
superb view, noticed the young lad's joyous face
and buoyant step as he passed by.
Donald walked briskly into the hotel, intent
upon writing a cheery letter home; but, from
habit, he stopped at the desk to ask if there was
anything for him.
Mr. D. Reed?" asked the hotel clerk, point-
ing to a bulky envelope half covered with postage
That 's my name," returned the happy boy as
he hurriedly tore open one end of the envelope.
"Whew! Six!"

There were indeed six letters; and all had been
forwarded from Aix-la-Chapelle.
One was from Mr. Wogg, inclosing a bit of
printed calico and a soiled memorandum, stating
that he sent herewith a piece like the gown which
the party in Liverpool had given to the young
Frenchwoman fifteen years before. He had ob-
tained it, Mr. Wogg said, "from an old patch-work
quilt in the possession of the party, and had paid
said party one crown for the same." Two letters
were from Mr. Reed and Dorothy, and the rest,
three in number-addressed to D. R., in care of
Dubigk's Hotel, Aix-la-Chapelle --were from three
persons with very different hand-writings, but each
an Ellen Lee (Conclusion next month.)



A DANDELION in a meadow grew,
Among the waving grass and cowslips yellow;
Dining on sunshine, breakfasting on dew,
He was a right contented little fellow.

Each morn his golden head he lifted straight,
To catch the first sweet breath of coming day;
Each evening closed his sleepy eyes, to wait
Until the long, cool night had passed away.


One afternoon, in sad, unquiet mood,
I paused beside this tiny, bright-faced flower,
And begged that he would tell me, if he could,
The secret of his joy through stin and shower.

He looked at me with open eyes, and said:
"I know the sun is somewhere, shining clear,
And when I cannot see him overhead,
I try to be a little sun, right here!"


J. T.

ONCE there was a riv-er with too much wa-ter in it. It had been
rain-ing for a long time, and all the small streams which ran in-to this
riv-er were ver-y full, and they poured so much wa-ter in-to the large
riv-er that it rose a-bove its banks and spread far out o-ver the shore on

both sides.

This ris-ing of a riv-er is called a fresh-et, and it of-ten

hap-pens that hous-es on the banks of the riv-er are car-ried a-way by
the wa-ter, and that peo-ple and an-i-mals are drowned.
The wa-ter in this large riv-er rose so quick-ly that a great man-y
liv-ing creat-ures did not have time to get to dry land. Some men




were on horse-back, and made their hors-es swim a-shore; and some
peo-ple saved them-selves by climb-ing up on lit-tle isl-ands, or banks
of earth a-bove the wa-ter.
There was a big, fat hog, who was so la-zy that he did not run to-
ward the dry land as did the lit-tle pigs when the wa-ter reached the
place where they were feed-ing, and it was not long be-fore the wa-ter
was so deep a-round him that he could not run at all. Then he be-
gan to be a-fraid he would be drowned, for he had never tried to
swim, and he did not know wheth-er he could do so or not. Pres-ent-ly,
he saw a large wood-en trough, which had been made for the hors-es
to drink out of, come float-ing down quite near him.
"Hel-lo !" said the hog to him-self, "if here is n't a boat! I re-
mem-ber when it was a horse-trough; but it must be a boat now, for it
floats on the wa-ter. At a-ny rate, it is a good e-nough boat for me.
If I can, I '11 get in-to it and float a-shore."
So the hog wad-ed close up to the trough, and, af-ter a great deal
of trou-ble, he climbed in-to it. He was so big and clum-sy that he
came ver-y near up-set-ting it, and a good deal of wa-ter did get in-to
the trough, but the hog was so glad to get in hinm-self that he did not
mind stand-ing up to his knees in wa-ter. He now float-ed a-long ver-y
well, but he did not float to the shore. The wa-ter was run-ning down
the riv-er, and so, of course, his boat went that way too.
"If I on-ly had a sail, or a pair of oars," thought the hog, "I
could make the boat go straight to shore. I have often seen a man in
a boat, and when he had a sail or oars he could make the boat go just
where he pleased. But I don't know how to man-age a sail, and I am
not sure that I could hold oars with my fore feet; so, af-ter all, it may
be just as well that I have n't ei-ther of them. Per-haps I may float
a-shore be-fore long, and, at a-ny rate, this is a ver-y pleas-ant boat,
and the wa-ter in it keeps my legs nice and cool."
Just then he came near an old hen-house which had once stood on
dry land, but which was now far out in the wa-ter. On the roof of this
house stood three hens and a cock, who had flown up there to keep
"Cock-a-doo-dle-doo-oo-oo!" crowed the cock, as soon as the hog
came near. "Don't you want some pas-sen-gers ? "
"No," said the hog, "there 's only room e-nough here for me. My
boat is half-full of wa-ter a-ny-how, and you could n't stand in wa-ter, as
I can."
"But we could perch on one side," said one of the hens.



That would nev-er do at all," said the hog. "You would make that
side heav-y and up-set us all. Why don't you fly a-shore?"
It is too far," said an-oth-er of the hens; "we would flop in-to the
wa-ter and be drowned."
"It is a great pit-y you are not ducks," said the hog; "then you
could swim to the land."
"That's ver-y true," said the cock. "I nev-er be-fore wished to be
a duck; but I think now it would be very nice to be one, and to swim
a-shore. But, since we are not ducks and can not swim, I wish you would
let us come on your boat. We might all sit on the mid-die of your back,
and then we would not tip the boat at all."
"Ver-y well," said the hog, "if you can do that you can come a-board;
but do not fly down all at once, for that would rock my boat too much.
You must come one at a time."
The three hens now flew, one at a time, on the hog's back. The
cock was ver-y po-lite, and did not fly un-til the hens were all com-fort-a-bly
on board. By this time the trough had float-ed past the hen-house, and
the cock had to fly a good deal be-fore he reached the hog's back, but
he got there safe-ly, and did not rock the boat at all.
"Now, then," said the cock, "this is real-ly pleas-ant. I nev-er be-
fore made a trip on the wa-ter."
"I nev-er did either," said the hog. If we only had some-thing to
eat, we should do very well."
"As for me," said one of the hens, "I think it is per-fect-ly charm-
ing. And I am not a bit hun-gry."
"I am al-ways hun-gry," said the hog,
They float-ed, and they float-ed, and they float-ed un-til it was dark,
and then they all went to sleep. About the mid-die of the night the
boat ran a-shore, and the hog, who was ver-y tir-ed of be-ing in the
wa-ter, scram-bled out upon dry land. The fowls slipped off his back, and
flut-tered on shore.
"This would do ver-y well," said the hog, "if we on-ly had some-
thing to eat."
"We could n't see how to eat a-ny-thing if we had it," said one of
the hens.
If there was any food here I could eat it with-out see-ing it," said
the hog. "I be-lieve I smell corn now."
With that he hunt-ed about un-til he found a corn-stack which stood
near, and there he feast-ed un-til morn-ing. When it was day-light the
fowls came to the corn-stack.





"Oho!" said the hog, "I am sor-ry for you. You have had to stay
o-ver there in the dark, and I have been eat-ing corn all night."
We could n't see what we were eat-ing if we ate in the dark," said
one of the hens.
That makes no dif-fer-ence to me," said the hog.
But we are not hogs," po-lite-ly re-marked the cock.




i's IL,, ,~
I., *4i'


'TREAD lightly this time, my dears, and take your
places without saying a word. We are going to
lead off with something a little bird brought me in
a letter:
IT is said that in India a muslin is manufactured
which is so fine that it has received the poetic name
of Woven Wind." When laid upon the grass to
bleach, the dew hides it from sight. It used to be
spun only by native women who had been trained
to the task from infancy; and so nice was the sense
of touch required for the spinning of this yarn, that
they were constantly waited upon by a retinue of
servants, whose duty it was to relieve them of all
menial offices that might endanger the fine faculty
which long practice and seclusion had bestowed on
their delicate finger-tips.
This "woven wind" is certainly a wonder of
spinning, but your Jack happens to know of some
spinners that are capable of still finer workmanship.
The Deacon tells me that spiders have been seen
as small as a grain of sand, and these spin a thread
so fine that it takes many hundreds of them to
equal in size a single hair.

I 'M told that a certain fruit called the durion
is the most delicious fruit in the world. The eat-
able part is a sort of cream-colored pulp, and this
is enclosed in a hard shell covered with sharp
spikes. It is a native of Borneo and grows on a
tree like an elm. Has any one.ofmy hearers ever
tasted one ? If so, Jack begs him, her, or it to report.
Is it sweet, sour, high-flavored, or spicy? Does
it resemble any North American fruit, and can it
be raised in one of those glass buildings that prove
such a puzzle to my birds ? What of the durion ?
By the way, I 've just been informed that this

fruit, which must be pretty heavy, sometimes falls
on persons passing under the high trees and hurts
them seriously. It even has been known to kill
It does n't do to trust entirely to a thing being
absolutely good because it is delicious, I find.

MAPLEWOOD, N. J., July 24th.
DEAR JACK: We have a very strange plant, called sensitive plant,
and it dislikes to be touched. If you put your finger on it, the fine
little leaves shrink away from you, and for a moment look decidedly
wilted. But they soon brighten up if you let them alone. Having
seen this plant every day, I was very much interested when a girl
who belongs to the St. Nicholas Agassiz Association sent me a
printed account of a wonderful sensitive plant which grows in Aus-
tralia. She had cut the piece out of a newspaper. Will you please
show it to the boys and girls, and then if any of them have ever seen
just such a plant they will let you know. I do wonder if it is true.
It says the tree is a kind of acacia, and ours is one of that kind, too,
though it does not cut up so much.
This specimen, the account says, was grown from a seed brought
from Australia, and already it has grown to be a sapling eight feet
in height.
Regularly, every evening, when the chickens "go to roost," the
tree performs very much the same duty. The leaves fold together
and the ends of the tender twigs coil themselves up. After one of
the twigs has been stroked or handled, the leaves move uneasily and
are in a sort of mild commotion for a minute or more. Lately, the
tree being in a comparatively small pot, which it was fast outgrow-
ing, it was deemed best to give it one of much larger size, but, when
removed to its new quarters, it resented the operation to the best of
its ability. When it had been fairly transplantedit acted as if furiously
enraged. The leaves began to stand up in all directions, like the
hair on the tail of an angry cat, and soon the whole plant was in a
feverish quiver. This could have been endured, but at the same time
it gave out an odor most sickening and pungent-just such a smell
as is given off by rattlesnakes and many other kinds of venomous
serpents when disturbed. The odor filled the house. It was fully
an hour before the plant calmed down and folded its leaves in peace,
and it appeared that it had given up the battle only because the hour
for its peculiar manner of "retiring" had arrived. It is probably
needless to say that the children, and in fact the .i- 1...,.: c. .1 .
now stand in abject awe of the strange tree, as bei- 0, ., % .. dl;
more reptile than vegetable. Many similar experiences, and some
even more remarkable, have been had with the different forms of
highly sensitive plant-life. Yours truly,

ONCE there was a man who did n't know what to
do with himself. He had traveled twice around
the world, he said, and there was nothing more to
be seen. He was only twenty-eight years old.
And there was another man who said that life was
too short, even what is called a long life would be too
short for one to be able to thoroughly see a patch
of growing grass a foot square.
Each of these men was right according to his
way of thinking. But what a difference in the
ways !

Now you certainly must be mistaken, Jack,"
do I hear you say? "Why, in such a case the land
would nearly all be covered by water, and-well,
we never heard of such a thing, anyway."
But, my dears, this was long ago-ages and ages
ago,-and I have the word of an eminent English
astronomer for it. This learned man bases his
calculations on the fact that, through lunar action
on tides, the earth.reacts on the moon, and is con-
stantly driving it farther away. According to this
scientist, who reasons backward, at one time the
sun and the earth were so close together that the
days were but three hours long instead of twenty-



four. The earth then made one complete revolu-
tion every three hours. It was in these ages that,
as estimated, an ordinary tide would rise about
1296 feet.
But you don't understand all this, you say? And
you want to know how the earth, through its tides,
reacts on the moon? Well, this matter is not very
clear in your Jack's mind; and the dear Little
Schoolma'am is away, enjoying her "vacation."
My birds can not help me this time, either. If we
only had a wise old Dodo here, he might be able
to explain. But the Dodo is an extinct bird, I 'm
told. It would be a joke, now, if these remarkable
tides were before his time, even i
Anyway, if you consult an encyclopedia and read
what it says about tides, you will probably either
understand this business or not, more or less.


HERE is a true story from a friend of the dear
Little School-ma'am:
Kate and Robbie were on the bridge crossing a small creek near
their house; Kate was eight years old and Robbie ten. They were
watching the fish and the crabs and the shrimps, and whatever
might come along. The water was only about a foot deep, and the
bottom bright, clean sand, so that they could see with perfect clear-
ness everything that passed.
Presently along came a flat-fishswimming up the creek. Flat-fish
always swim close to the bottom, and when they stop swimming
they lie flat on the bottom. This one was coming slowly along and
stopping every few feet, and then going on again. He was about
eight inches long and was of a dark brown color, and of course, as
he contrasted with the bright sand, his dark color showed very
strongly. The children saw him coming and were watching him,
hoping that he would stop near them. He did so, making a halt
just as he reached the bridge. They were very quiet for fear that
they might frighten him, not e :.. -.: l i ni. ome movement or
other disturbed him, and he dis i., Robbie! Where
is the flat-fish?" "I am sure 1 can not tell, Kate. Did you see
him go?" "No, and I was looking straight at him all the time.
How could it be that he got away so quick ?"
And so they went on talking over the matter, and wondering
where the flat-fish was, while all the time he layjust where they had
seen him stop.
After a few minutes Robbie's sharp eyes detected two black spots
on the white sand. "Katie, don't you see those two specks? I
wonder what they can be. I don't believe they were there before
the flat-fish came." "Why, Robbie, they look to me like eyes. Do
you suppose he has gone away and left his eyes there ?" "I don't
know, Kate, but you just keep still a minute and I will punch the
place with a stick." He brought the stick, put it down carefully,
and was about to touch the black spots, when away darted the flat-
fish from the very spot under the stick, and as he swam off he
looked as dark brown as he was when he came.
Now, how was it that he disappeared? Where did he go? I will
tell you. He did not go; he lay still all the time, but he changed
his color on the instant, so that instead of being dark he was as
light as the sand, and thus the children were unable to see him,
and when Robbie started him with the stick he resumed his dark
color as suddenly. Is n't that strange? And yet it is absolutely
true. I have seen it done many and many a time. You have
probably read stories about the chameleon and its power of chang-
ig color. Probably all that you have ever read may be correct,
but you ought to understand that other animals can change their
color as well. I have seen chameleons often, and they change aston-
ishingly, but a number of our fishes, can do it more strikingly.
I have seen cuttle-fish, which are commonly called squids, change
from dark chocolate-brown to clear white, and then back to brown
again, and do it repeatedly, as rapidly as I could open and shut
my hand.

DON'T be frightened I only want to say that
the above is a good question to ask yourselves
occasionally, and a careful consideration of it very
helpful now and then. And here is a brief docu-
ment in evidence of this fact:
DEAR JACK: My brother used to forget to arrange his clothes
neatly at night, when going to bed, and Mamma chose a very
novel way to cure him of his carelessness. Eddie was very much
afraid of our house taking fire, or of fire in our neighborhood; so
Mother said to him one night: Eddie, what would you do if there
was a fire in the night? You would not be able to find your clothes,
and would occasion a deal of trouble to us all. Now lay them over
a chair, in just the order in which you would wish to find them in
case of fire.
Eddie thoughtfully did just as Mother said, and though he had to
be reminded a few times after that, three years have now passed by,
and I heard him say lately: I never go to bed now without arrang-
ing my clothes neatly close at hand." D.
Talking of "what-ifs," moreover, I 'm informed
that historians say of Napoleon that, before be-
ginning a battle, he thought little of what he
should do in case of success, but a great deal
about what he would do if surprised or defeated.
And the mere fact that he won so many victories
is no proof, in your Jack's opinion, that his taking
defeat into consideration, and pondering awhile
over resorts and emergencies, was a waste of time.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Belle found such wonderful things
growing down in the ground, in one of her flower-beds, that I must
tell your children about them. I had never seen such growing,
either in flower-garden or woodland, and probably some of your
little folk can say the same.
One cold day last spring, while sweeping withered leaves into
heaps for burning, Belle heard a strange little noise, right under her
broom, as it seemed. "Queak, queak," it sounded, to the alarm of
the little maiden, who having great fear of snakes, thought it must
be one. The noise ceasing with her broom, she again commenced
sweeping, and "queak, queak," came from the pile of leaves.
She took a long stick, and stirring among the leaves found -what
do you suppose? Only a hole scooped out, and well lined with
soft gray fur, and in it what seemed to be a moving, wriggling ball
of gray fur. It was a rabbit's nest, containing three tiny rabbits not
larger than grown mice, but so much prettier! Their eyes were
closed; but such long, dainty ears and beautiful sleek coats! Each
had a straight line of white in each forehead, as though Mother
"Cotton-tail" had combed and parted each little head, like any
other mother who wishes her children to look very nice. After ex-
amining them, even taking one out of the nest, Belle replaced the
hair-blanket and leaf-coverlet just as she found them, and concluded
not to bur that heap of leaves.
The gray babies received many visits, but soon grew so large and
wide awake that one day, when Belle was taking a peep, out they
scampered and were never more seen in the garden. Perhaps they
came home to sleep every night, but they were not seen by Belle
again. Yours truly, ANN N. N.

THE queer things shown in this picture are not
alive, I 'm told, and yet they seem to have an
uncommonly lively look for what the Little School-
ma'am calls "inanimate objects." Who can tell
just what they are, and who can explain those
strange black marks upon them that look like slits
in their backs?







DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Almost all children like to hear stories about
animals. I would like to tell you one about a dog that is ownedby
a neighbor of ours. This neighbor has a good many handsome
chickens which he prizes very highly, also a young hunting-dog.
This dog takes it upon himself to watch over these chickens, and
he treats them pretty much as he pleases. In the morning, when the
door of the coop is opened, he is too busy with his own breakfast to
attend to them; but, as soon as that is finished, he starts for his
First, he chases them around the yard until they take refuge in the
shed or his kennel; then he will sit down before the door, and, from
the way in which he wags his tail and shows his teeth, I am sure he
laughs at the fright he has given the poor, innocent things.
By and by a very daring chicken .c t- -r. but the dog runs round
and round it, until he runs it into -I-: I-..1 This he keeps up all
day, if necessary, or as long as it seems to worry the poor chicks.
I sometimes see one of the children come out with food for the
dog or chickens. If the food is for him, he leaves the chickens im-
mediately; but when it is for them, he is very sad indeed, for the
child stays out there to see that he does not molest them while eat-
chickens, and he would chase them all away and eat it himself, wag-
ging his tail very contentedly.
After that he has his fun, for, as the children cannot stay out all
day and the chickens cannot defend themselves, he again can imprison
Not long ago Mr. Bergh came here and gave a lecture on the

prevention of cruelty to animals, and spoke of the organization of a
society for the prevention of cruelty to children, which they have now
in operation.
Now, as twelve chickens is a larger number than one dog, and as
most people think the happiness of the greater number should be
considered first, I think that Mr. Bergh should come here again and
organize a society for the prevention of cruelty to chickens by dogs.
Your faithful reader, AMY MOTHERSHEAD (age ii).

GEORGE W. BARNES, of Philadelphia, sends a letter saying that
he has been trying to make as many words as possible out of the
letters contained in the words "Saint Nicholas "-and he incloses a
list of seventy-two. Who will make more than this number?

KANSAS CITY, Mo., January 30.
The other day my sister found avery odd bug. It was green and
about two and a half inches long. The lower part of the body was
quite large, and then there was a long slim part about Y. inches
long. It had a three-cornered head. The eyes were on two comers,
and the mouth on the third. When approached it turned to look at
us. It had six legs, and when it wanted to pick its teeth [?] it put
its foreleg over the second, and brought the second up to its mouth.
Who recognizes the bug ? Who can tell what it really does when
it appears to pick its teeth?" Do 'bugs' have teeth?




THE following list, for which there was not room at the close of
the September installment of "Art and Artists," comprises the most
important existing works of the artists named therein :

BRUNELLESCHI: The Dome of the Cathedral, Florence; The
Pazzi Chapel in the Church of Santa Croce, Florence; The Pitti
GHIBERTI: The Bronze Gates of the Baptistery, Florence; Sar-
cophagus of St. Zenobius, Cathedral, Florence.
BENVENUTO CELLINI: Perseus, Loggia de' Lanzi, Florence;
Nymph in bronze, Renaissance Museum, Louvre, Paris; Golden
salt-cellar, Cabinet of Antiques,Vienna; Crucifix in black and white
marble, Escurial, Spain; A Reliquary, Royal Palace, Munich.
Three cups and a flask, Plate-room, Pitti Palace, Florence; Cup of
Lapis lazuli, Uffizi Gallery ; ust of Biodo Altoviti, Altoviti Palace,
DONATELLO: Dancing children, Uffizi Gallery, Florence; Statue
of David, Uffizi Gallery, Florence; St. George and Sts. Peter and
Mark, Or San Michele, Florence; Statue of Francesco Gatta-
Melata, Padua; Magdalene, Baptistery, Florence; Judith, Loggia
de' Lanzi, Florence.



THE question of a badge for our
Association has caused a great deal
of discussion and awakened a great
deal of interest. We have adopted
one suggested by Kenneth Brown,
which is here figured. It is a Swiss
cross. This is doubly appropriate
from the fact that Louis Agassiz
LENOX was born in Switzerland, and that
MASS Switzerland was also the birth-place
A of school scientific societies like our
own. The figure on the upper arm
of the cross represents the number which each Chapter has in the
general organization. The other letters explain themselves. We
consider ourselves peculiarly fortunate in having secured the services
and interest of Mr. W. A. Hayward, 22o Broadway, New York.
He has agreed to make badges for the members of the A. A. who
wish them, at the following prices:

i. Blue ribbon, printed in gold .......................o. $ .0
2. Solid silver, engraved ............................. 5
3. Solid silver, blue enameled letters.................... 0.oo
4. Solid gold, engraved .................. .......... 3.00
5. Solid gold, blue enameled letters.................... 4.00
Mr. Hayward may be considered the authorized badge-maker of
the A. A., and all orders should be sent directly to him. We can
not attend to them under any circumstances.

Bird-skins and eggs.-A. C. Bent, Sec. Chapter 219, Taunton,
Siempra vivas, for marine curiosities.-J. J. O'Connell, Jr., Fort
Stockton, Texas.
Will some one furnish the A. A. information regarding a genus
of flies Ofersia, I believe-which, instead of hatching : .- pro-
duces chrysalides ? -Fred. E. Keay, North Cambridge, -'1.
Answer to W. Lighton: Philip Meeker.
Leaves and pressed flowers.- W. Evans, Sec., West Town, N. Y.
Shells and stones.- Miss S. M. Coster, Flatbush, L. I.
A buffalo's horn and a piece of lava.-Jesse Burgster, Saratoga,
Dakota Ter. .
Petrified stag-horn, shells, and white coral, for a Kansas grass-
hopper and three good specimens of other insects.- Miss Mamie
Barker, 1i4 West Onondaga St., Syracuse, N. Y.
Scorpion from Palestine, lizard from South America, and minerals,
for fossils.- E. C. Mitchell, 115 West Thirteenth St., New York.

Mine is the painful task of -.t. ..;.. .. that W. B. Emory, the
Secretary of our Chapter, is ci. '.. .11 mourn him sincerely.

Had it not been for his enthusiasm, the Chapter would have dis-
banded long ago. We are a Chapter no longer.
Yours sorrowfully, F. E. COOMBS.
[The members of Chapter 208 have our most sincere sympathy
and that of the whole A. A. in their sorrow.]
I give what I have found out about one kind of pollen. I shall
not try to examine flowers in any order. I suppose my results and
those of others will be arranged together.
SComnmon ,name, Buttercup. Shape, globular, having three dis-

tinct lobes divided by chinks or depressions. (I infer this from the
outline of the grains in the field of the microscope. The majority
of the _-?.h- showed as at A, but many were like B.) Color, yel-
low. smooth. A. B. G.




[If each Chapter which owns a microscope would continue this
study of pollen, as here indicated, and send us the results for com-
parison, it would be worth while.]
I have been much troubled in conducting exchanges, particularly
eggs, as the identifications have seldom been sent. Let each col-
lector give, at least, the locality in which a nest was found, the date,
and number of eggs in nest. HARRY D. WHITE.
We have had the 1. ., r .ir.l.1,. .. hatchingofa butterfly's
egg into a tiny dark :I I. MAY H. PRENTICE.
A very little thought will show the error of "A. B. G.'s theory
(which was Agassiz's) that the hexagonal shape of bee-cells is
caused by the crowding together of cylindrical cells. Examine the
base of a cell, where a bee begins operations, and it will be found
to be a "triangular pyramid," whose three faces are rhombs, and
whose apex forms the center of the floor of the cell. I send you a
sample of the artificial comb foundation now almost universally used
by bee-keepers. To support the present theory, we must also
assume that the drone cells in a comb are built by the drone bees,
as their bodies alone are of the correct size to serve as a "model."
In view of the fact that drones have neither wax-glands nor the or-
gans necessary for cell-building, this is absurd. Finally, queen-uwass
invariably build hexagonal cells, unaided and alone.
Respectfully yours, JOHN D. WHITE.
I have lately received a fine skin of the puma or American lion
(Leoflardusconcolor). It measures six feet eleven and a half inches
from tip to tip. It has a dark line down the center of the back.
The general color is tawny, and it is very beautiful.
JOHN L. HANNA, Fort Wayne, Ind.

H. Hancock writes: I have been copying some of the snow-
crystals figured in March ST. NICHOLAS. I noticed that one had
twenty-four points, and several had twelve. I read the other day
that snow-crystals invariably had six points. How about that? "
[It has usually been said that snow-crystals have angles to the
number of some multiple of three- this would allow both twelve
and twenty-four; but, if the drawings which have been sent us are
correct, there seems to be no law in the matter, for we have them of
three, four, five, and six angles.]
We are pupils of the Waco Female College, Texas. About four
years ago our teacher began to teach us to love nature, and, to keep
our eyes and ears open, often took us to the woods. Oh, how we
enjoyed those rambles! Such rides to and from the woods! We
soon got a collection, and determined to form a Natural History
Society. We were deliberating on a name when, to our great joy,
your first article in ST. NICHOLAS was read to us. With a few
variations we forthwith adopted the name, constitution, and by-laws.
Since then we have varied with wind and weather, but have now
launched upon a smooth-sailing sea. We have twenty-six members.
Some of our prominent citizens have joined us. By carefully hoard-
ing our dues of admission, etc., we have been able to buy a fine
microscope, a number of shells, and a few books and pictures. We
have a book in which the librarian pastes articles and pictures
selected by some one member every week. We have another into
which the Secretary transcribes the papers read by the members be-




fore the Society, and also articles of interest which can not be cut
from valuable books. The President always appoints one member
to ask three questions to be answered at the next meeting. The
correct answers are copied into our manuscript scrap-book. We
often take questions from the ST. NICHOLAS. Oh! we have so
much to say to you, and to ask, I hardly know where to begin or
leave off. We have a specimen of the Texas centipede for exchange,
also a stinging lizard and a homed frog.
Miss JENNIE WISE, BOX 454, Waco, Texas.

Our Chapter has just held its first anniversary. We are about to
hold a field meeting. It will be at Lake Assawampsett, which is
about ten miles from Taunton, and the largest lake in Massachusetts.
Our meetings continue to be interesting. We have lessons in tax-
idermy, mounting botanical specimens, preserving marine objects,
etc. HARRY G. WHITE, Curator Chap. 93.

Our report is somewhat tardy, owing to an entertainment given
for our microscope fund. We realized $85, which, with the amount
on hand, gives us about $100 to invest in a good instrument. Our
Chapter has increased to twenty-four active and two honorary mem-
bers. Owing to the lateness of the season, we have collectively
made but one excursion, though individually we have not been idle.
CORA FREEMAN, Cor. Sec. B. Chapter A. A.


The Treasurer of Chapter 127, Beverly, Mass., reports finances
in good condition, which means no debts and a balance in hand.
Report from Secretary of Newburyport, Mass., gives account of
Agassiz's birthday celebration, which was interesting throughout and
enjoyed by all. The alligator, now named Dr. Tanner," still holds
his own, eating almost nothing.
It is readily seen that Chapter o19 is located at the National Cap-
tal, for they are up to all sorts of parliamentary rules in their weekly
meetings. Think of their going into a committee of the whole to
discuss the question of celebrating Agassiz's birthday. There are
many grown people who could learn how to conduct a public meet-
ing by reading the reports of this Chapter.
Master Frank Ramaley, Sec. St. Paul, Minn., Chapter, says
they are successful so far as filling their cabinet with specimens is
concerned, but fears they are not learning enough. [A most hope-
ful sign.]
Jennie Hughes, Sec. Minneapolis, Minn., Chapter, reports seven
new members, a picnic and woods meeting on the s7th of May. An
oriole and grossbeak decorate their cabinet.
Mamie L. Kimberly, Sec. Auburn, N. Y., Chapter, sends a very
encouraging report. Their cabinet contains specimens of ores from
nearly all the Territories; quicksilver from California; moss, ferns,
and leaves from Arizona; shells, fossils, silk-worm cocoons, and a
dainty humming-bird's nest. A regular course of reading in botany
and zoblogy occupies part of their time.
I would mention, for amphibious animals, the seal, walrus, climb-
ing perch, and beaver. In answer to your question regarding what
becomes of the tail of the tadpole, I would say it is gradually ab-
sorbed into the body. I send these questions for the A. A.: i. De-
scribe the kuda-ayer and its habits. 2. Why is the ounce so called?
3. What is a squid? FRANK R. GILBERT, Chap. 255.
I found a small green caterpillar on a raspberry bush, and kept him
under a tumbler. Pretty soon he began to act sick. I looked at
him closely, and he had little green things sticking on his sides.
Next morning he was yellow and the green .. as big as
his head almost, and you could see them ;II. .... his blood.
Pretty soon he turned black, and then they went offand died, and
it was good enough for them. Good-bye. IRENE PUTNAM.
Chapter 303 is in Vancouver, Washington Territory. The ad-
dress in the Hand-book is the result of an error in printing. By the
way, we must repeat that all orders for the Agassiz Hand-book, and
all correspondence concerning the A. A., should be addressed to
Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox,
Mass., and not to ST. NICHOLAS.
Other reports cover our table, but for lack of space can barely be
Miss Olive Cansey sends an excellent report from Scituate, Mass.,
containing the elaborate by-laws of Chapter 241.

Miss Ruegg sends us some beautiful pressed flowers from Stroud,
England, among which the "wee modest crimson-tipped" daisies
and the "small celandine" particularly please us.
H. H. Bice promptly sends a correction to one of his former an-
swers, and mentions as amphibious the frog, newt, salamander, and
proteus. [Who will write us a paper on the 'proteus'?]
Miss Leila Mawer, of a London, Eng., Chapter, thinks "A. B. G."
is right about the bees. She says: "The outer cells of a honey-
comb are always more or less circular on their sides. Some bees,
too, form free cells, which are always roughly cylindrical." [See
Mr. White's letter in this report.]
The Hartford Chapter has been studying natural history under
P. T. Barnum, but did n't learn much about insects.
Jackson, Mich., celebrated the 28th of May with the following
programme: i. Life of A. 2. Notes about A. 3. Notes from A.'s
trip to Brazil. 4. A.'s wife as his helper. 5. Prayer of A 6. Trib-
ute to A. 7. Personal anecdotes. 8. Piano solo. 9. Recitation.
io. Recitation. Ix. "A good, great man." 12. An anecdote of
A. 13. A.'s museum. 14. A.'s fiftieth birthday. [Such an exer-
cise must have been extremely interesting and profitable.]
Philip C. Tucker (best), Fred. Clearwaters, and others answer
Will Lighton's question by saying that the chrysalis contains the
larvse of a hawk-moth; probably Sphinx Quinque-maculatus.
The appendage is its tongue-sheath. It must have been washed
into the river, as the chrysalides of sphingide are buried under-
Philadelphia (C) has noticed that when a snake swallowed a frog
the frog's head was outward, and wishes to know "whether snakes
are in the habit of swallowing their food hind part first."
Philip J. Tucker has two snake-skins, one of them three feet long.
Ernest Blehl, aged ten, has formed a wide-awake Chapter in
Philadelphia. His motto is, I will find a way, or make one."
Kansas City, Mo., has "already a good-sized cabinet, increasing
every day."
San Francisco writes: "We shall get, if we can, the leaves of
every tree and put them on cards."
Irene Putnam had a three-inch cocoon made of "hair." The
moth came out when we did not see it. It was very beautiful. It
had feelers that looked just-like big brown ostrich-feathers coming
out of its head, and it had red trimming on its wings."
West Town, N. Y., is thriving in the midst of Philistines. "A
good many people think and say that it wont last more than two or
three months, but we are going to show them."
[A true interest in nature, such as mostof our boys and girls have,
is not a mushroom growth. It will increase with the flying years,
and be a source of ever unfolding wonder and delight while life
shall last. Those who have never felt this loving interest in nature
can not understand it.]
Geneva, N. Y., now numbers twenty-eight. Meetings have
been held every two weeks since the organization in February.
Sponges, game-birds, perchers, birds of prey, and salt-water fishes
have been studied and discussed. The members are carefully
watching some newts' eggs as they change from small black specks.
They have received as a present a "Venus basket-sponge."
One of the questions debated by Chapter 191, under the efficient
guidance of President Mitchell, is, "Which is the most useful

No. Name of Chafter. Members. Address.
298. Pittsburgh, Pa. (D)......... o. E. H. Henderson, 23d and
Liberty Sts.
299. Watertown, N. Y. (A)..... 5.Nicoll Ludlow, Jr., care of
Hon. A. W. Clark.
300. Bryn Mawr, Pa. (A)...... 6..Miss Grace A. Smith, Rose-
montP. 0., Montgomery Co.
301. Topeka, Kan. (A)......... 5 .Chas. A. Dailey, 218 Polk St.
302. Cincinnati, Ohio (A). ..... 5..Gaylord Miles, 35y Sherman
303. Vancouver, Wash. Ter ... o..L. A. Nicholson.
304. Emporia, Kan. (A)........ 1o..L. Osmond Perley, Box xr86.
305. London, Eng. (B)......... 8..Miss Leila A. Mawer, so St.
Michael's, Woodgreen, Lon-
don N.
306. Belmont, Nev. (A)........ 30. .C. L. Deady.
307. Columbus, Ohio (A)........ 5.-E. G. Rice, 135 Park St.
308. ii... .K. Fan. (A) ..... 5.J. T. Nixon, Box 504.
309. I ..r:. I .l !i Y. (C)........ 5..George E. Briggs.
310. Belpre, Ohio (A)............ 5..Miss Fannie Rathbone.





MONOGRAM REBUS.-Arrange the nine large letters of the above
monogram so they will spell one word. Then read them in connec-
tion with the smaller letters which each large letter contains, using
i i ,- ,- the needed initials.
k* .. i i. -With two knives make one thousand. c. '.


ACROSS: i. A boy's name. -.. 3. Trifling
talk. 4. To pass off in vapor. 5. i. .r.. ish revo-
lutionist, born in 178o.
DOWNWARD: In S r.In September 2. A verb. 3. To fold. 4. Af-
fected manners. 5. A tablet for ',r;ti;Ln pon. 6. To make prog-
ress against. 7. Three-fourths I i,, piece of timber. 8 A
personal pronoun. 9. In September. BESSIE TAYLOR.


HA, oons no delfi dan lhil
Eth diwn lashl thislew lilch,
Nad trachpair wassowll alcl rithe folks hetrogte,
Ot lyf mofr storf nad wosn,
Dan kees rfo island here bowl,
Het arfire slosmobs fo a lambier thaweer.
EXAMPLE: Whole, I am a flat-bottomed boat; behead and add,
and I am a garment worn by monks; again behead and add, and I
am a species of night birds. ANSWER, scow, cowl, owls.
I. Whole, I am a rodent; behead and add, and I become surface;

again behead and add, and I become to raise; again, and I become
to merit by labor; again, and I become a famous river of Italy.
II. Whole, I am a long beam; behead and add, and I become to
cut off; again behead and add, and I become surface; again, and
I become a bundle of paper; again, and I become an old-fashioned
word meaning an uncle. c B. w.


THIS cross is formed of five diamonds, as indicated by the diagram,
the outer letters of the central diamond being used also in forming
the adjacent diamonds, which would be incomplete without them.
Each of the four points of the central diamond is used three times-
once as a point of its own block of stars, and once as a point of
each of the two neighboring diamonds. The words of each diamond
read the same across as up and down.
I. Upper Left-hand Diamond: i. In peach. 2. To undermine.
3. A gold coin. 4. To make regular trips. 5. In berry.
II. Upper Right-hand Diamond: i. In apple. 2. To fortify.
3. Mistake. 4. A pile of hay. 5. In cucumber.
III. Central Diamond: I. In orange. 2. A West Indian vegeta-
ble. 3. Impetuous. 4. Confronted. 5. In grape.
IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond: i. In melon. 2. Endeavor.
3. A species of sea-duck. 4. Individuals. 5. In pear.
V. Lower Right-hand Diamond: i. In apricot. 2. Uppermost.
3. A peculiar kind of candle. 4. The god of shepherds. 5. In
pine-apple. FIREFLVS.


I. ^... ..r .. ,i: pronoun. 2. A many-headed monster.
3. > i, I crawl. 5. A fabulous monster.
II. i. Pertaining to a king. 2. A letter of the Greek alphabet.
3. To long. 4. To concur. 5. Country by-ways. A. s. c. A.


3 4
READING ACROSS: I. A feminine name. 2. Empty. 3. A river
of Africa. 4. Slumber. 5. A rack for holding pictures.
nant. 2. A girl's name. 3. A .... I .,'* 4. A place de-
fended from the wind. 5. Aconsonant T. I; ,_ downward: x.
A consonant. 2. Three-fourths of a river I ". 3. Fumes.
4. Half of a small steel instrument. 5. A consonant.
DIAGONALS. From I to 4, a spirit; from 2 to 3, a corner.


THE initials and finals name the title of a versified Oriental
CROSS-WORDS: i. The morning star. 2. A brisk movement in
music. 3. A place of restraint. 4. A singing bird. 5. Any part
of a circle. DVCIE.






THIS differs from the ordinary hour-glass puzzle, in that the words
forming it are pictured instead of being described. The words are to
be placed in the order in which the small pictures are placed, and the
central letters, reading downward, are represented by the central
picture. s. A. R.
I AM composed of fifty-seven letters, and form a verse from the
book of Proverbs.
My 8-32-38-49 was one of the patriarchs. My --i -
57-29 is an island belonging to Portugal. My 1-4 --- -
the god of fine arts. My 2-53-17-20-46 was a great general. My


4-36-Io-Ix-6-43-56-I5-25-4I was a famous poet. My
30-34-16-14-54-42 are combats. My 19-21-39-44-51-55
is a language. My 13-23-5-20-47 is robbery. My 35-48-
15-9-24 is to deride. My 45-22-5-52 is the stalk of a
plant. My 26-56-39-28 is crooked. My 51-27-50-13 is
an action at law. LIONEL A. BURNS.

IN fox, but not in camel;
In camel, but not in cat;
In cat, but not in pigeon;
In pigeon, but not in bat.
My whole, it stands for power,
And waves o'er many seas;
My whole is, too, a flower,
Which grows on marshy leas;-
Is on the cities' crowded streets;
Now guess me, if you please.


IN the following puzzle each pair of definitions refers
to a word pronounced alike, but spelled differently, in
German and English. The German definition is printed
first, then the English.
x. An oval body; a personal pronoun. 2. An adver-
sary; to discover. 3. Recompense; solitary. 4. Want:
a sound. 5. A likeness; to construct. 6. A song; to
guide. 7. A farinaceous substance; armor. 8. A rustic;
an arbor. 9. Glory; an apartment. to. Wide; brilliant.


i. IN early. 2. A drinking vessel. 3 A tropical fruit. 4. A
lake in Switzerland. 5. A salt-water fish. 6. One of many. 7.
In late. ISOLA.
Mv whole consists of eight letters, and means acted.
My 1-2-3 is to open. My 1-2-3-4-5 is a musical entertainment.
My 2-3-4 is through. My 3-4-5 is fixed point of time. My 4-5-6
is an animal. My 4-5-6-7 s proportion. My 5-6 is a preposition.
My 5-6-7 is the goddess of revenge. My 6-7-8 is a boy's nick-
name. My 7-8 is a boy's nickname. ALCIBIADES.


ILLUSTRATED PUZZLES IN THHE EAD-PIECE. I. Double Acros- NUMERICAL ENIGMA. In maiden meditation, fancy free."
tic. Primals, scythe; finals, -r-,.er Cross-words: i. StrikinG. MidrztmmerNight'sDream. Act II. Sc. x.
2. CeceliA. 3. YearneR. 4. i ......". 5. HalberdinE. 6. Ear- DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Wizard of the North; finals, The
lieR. II. Easy Diamond. i. B. 2. TAg. 3. BaLes. 4. GEm. Lady of the Lake.
5. S. III. A Word. Musical. CROSS-WORDS: i. WiT. 2. IncH. 3. ZonE. 4. ArieL. 5. RosA.
WORD-SQUARE. I. August. 2. Urania. 3. Garret. 4. Unrest. 6. DividenD. 7. OrdinarY. 8. FideliO. 9. ThieF. io. HonesT.
5. Siesta. 6. Tattas. oz. EartH. 12. NilE. 13. OriginaL. 14. RomolA. 15. TurK.
A LATIN-GEOGRAPHICAL PUZZLE. Amor ac deliciae generis hu- 16. HeinE.
mani. i. A-zores. 2. M-alta. 3. O-rinoco. 4. R-otterdam. 5. GREEK CROSS. I. i. Shade. 2. Honor. 3. Andre. 4. Doric.
A-ral. 6. C-anton. 7. D-enmark. 8. E-cuador. 9. L-yons. 5. Erect. II. i. Smite. 2. Minor. 3. Inane. 4. Tonic. 5. Erect.
io. I-tasca. II. C-alcutta. 12 I-daho. 13. A-byssinia. 14. III. i. Erect. 2. Rollo. 3. Elbow. 4. Close. 5. Tower. IV.
E-gypt. 15. G-ranada. 16. E-rie.. 17. N-icaragua. x8. E-u- i. Tower. 2. Olive. 3. Widen. 4. Event. 5. Rents. V. i.
pirates. 19. R-ouen. 20. I-ndus. 2t. S-candinavia. 22. H-en- Tower. 2. Ozone. 3. Woven. 4. Eneid. 5. Rends.
open. 23. U-trecht. 24. M-ozambique. 25. A-thens. 26. N-eva. FOUR EASY DIAMONDS I. P. 2. SEa. 3. PeAch. 4. ACe.
27. I-rawaddy. 5. H. II. A. 2. APe. 3. ApPle. 4. ELf. 5. E. III. .
PICTORIAL CHARADE. Key-stone. L. 2. MEt. 3. LeMon. 4. TOn. 5. N. IV. i. B. 2. BOg
Here of my first is the key, plainly presented to you; 8. BoHea. "4. GEm. 5. A.
While on this foundation we see the second is open to view. SYNCOPATIONS AND TRANSPOSITIONS. i. Article. 2. Claret. 3.
Find the whole word on the arch. Trace. 4. Cart. 5. Rat. 6. At.
REVERSIBLE DIAMOND. (From left to right.) i. R. 2. NEp. SYNCOPATIONS. August. i. Co-A-t. 2. Sco-U-t. 3. Wa-G-s.
3. ReVel. 4. DelIver. 5. HaLes. 6. NEt. 7. D. 4. Co-U-ld. 5. Ho-S-e. 6. S-T-ave.
ANSWERS TO ALL OF THE PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July 20, from R. H. S., and F. L. Atbush.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July 2o, from Maud, i- Sadie L. Demarest and William M.
Richards, 3-"Rose," x-Fred. S. Elliot, 2-E. M., i-J. W. Yeary, 2-Julius Fay, i-C. R. W., i-Susie M. Conant, x-D. S.
Crosby, Jr., 4-Willie B. Chase, i- Pansy, 2--Fred. E. Stone, 3--Edith H. E. Parsons, --Paul England and Co., 4--Sallie
Hovey, 3 Nellie Mosher, i Harry Reed, i- Ada Reed, I Grace Reed, i -" Rosamond," Bessie Ammerman, 4 Alice Dupr6
Close, 3- Mary W. Nail, I Katie Hoffman, I Charles Orcutt, i Nannie McL. Duff, i -" Merry Wives of Windsor," 2- Everett
Lane Jones, i-Arabella Ward, 5-E. Hope Goddard, 7-"Two iEsthetic Maidens," 7-"Patience," 5-F. Lawrence Bosqu6, x-
Vera, 3 Effie K. Talboys, 9 Kittle B. Harris, I W. St. L., 5 Pewee," 3 Frankie Gardiner, 2 Leslie B. Douglass, 7-Cherry,
2--Cliff. M. Reifsnider, x-" Alcibiades," 6-Frank Nugent, 2-Warren, 4-V. P. J. S. M. C., 4-Genie J. Callmeyer, 6-Jessie
Hutchinson, 7 Jas. T. Howes, 7--H L. Pryn, -Arthur C. Hixon, "Machine," 5-V. M. Giffin, j Bertie and Maud, 6-
Azile, 3-Madge Tolderlund, 3-Harry Johnston, 7-J. H. Cuming, 2-Sallie Viles, zo-Fannie and Minnie, 6-Three Robins, 8-
Charles H. Parmly, 5-John G. Morse, 12--Sarah and Margaret, 2-Vin, Alex, and Henry, 5-Standish McCleary, 4-Mary E.
Baker, 4-Helen's Mamma, o--Fred. Thwaits, 9-Willie L. Brower, 3-Anna K. Dessalet, 2-Appleton H., 7-Mama and Bae, It
-Florence G. Lane, Clara J. Child, lo- Verna E. Barum, 3 Lulu Clarke and Nellie Caldwell, 3- Algernon Tassin, 4-John F.
Putnam, -Minnie and Florence Larwill, 3-Florence Leslie Kyte, io-Pan Z, 6-Potrero, 6- Pernie, -G. L. and J W., 2-Two
Friends, 5-Lyde McKinney, 6-Gardner L. Tucker, 7-Clara and her Aunt, 8-Edwin McNeilly, 5-J. C. Winne, A.



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