Front Cover
 How the doctor was paid
 Fairy wishes, nowadays
 January and June
 The story of the field of the cloth...
 Hetty's letter
 Elizabeth Butler
 The Tinkham brothers' tide-mil...
 A Chinese new year's day in Santa...
 The Christmas moon
 The jingling rhyme of the bold...
 The story of Viteau
 Work and play for young folk: Silk-culture...
 A ballad of bravery
 Karsing and the tiger - A prize...
 The sled that won the golden...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00124
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
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: VID00124
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: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    How the doctor was paid
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
    Fairy wishes, nowadays
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
    January and June
        Page 172
    The story of the field of the cloth of gold
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
    Hetty's letter
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
    Elizabeth Butler
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
    The Tinkham brothers' tide-mill
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
    A Chinese new year's day in Santa Barbara
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
    The Christmas moon
        Page 206 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 207
    The jingling rhyme of the bold rower
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
    The story of Viteau
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
        Page 222
        Page 223
        Page 224
    Work and play for young folk: Silk-culture for boys and girls
        Page 225
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
    A ballad of bravery
        Page 229
    Karsing and the tiger - A prize composition
        Page 230
        Page 231
    The sled that won the golden arrow
        Page 232
        Page 233
        Page 234
        Page 235
    The letter-box
        Page 236
        Page 237
        Page 238
    The riddle-box
        Page 239
        Page 240
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



JANUARY, 1883.

[Copyright, 1882, by THK CENTURY CO.]



"Two dollars a visit!" cried Dot in dismay,
forgetting entirely that she had come to look for a
spool of No. 40 in Mamma's drawer, and opening
her brown eyes wider and wider as she read
the heading of an old bill of Dr. Cogswell's.
"Two dollars a visit!" she repeated. "Oh,
why does n't Donnie get well? And where is all
the money to come from? she asked herself,
sadly. "We will get very poor," continued Dot,
shaking her little brown head slowly over the bill.
After thinking awhile, she slipped the paper in
her pocket and went down-stairs.
Mamma and Sister Margie were sewing. Dot
went quietly to Mrs. Ledyard and whispered:
"We '11 feel very poor afterward, wont we,
Mamma ? "
Mamma smiled. A sad smile, Dot thought, as.
she replied: You 're better at guessing than we
supposed. Now, why don't you take your trim-
ming, little daughter, and go into the library?
There 's a nice fire on the hearth, and you can
work away like a bee. We '11 need it soon, you
know," added Mamma, for Dot was rather inclined
to dream when she was alone.
"We '11 need it soon," repeated Dot, as she
climbed up in the big library chair. We '11 need
it soon. Oh, why did n't they tell me Why did
they leave me to find it out for myself? I might
have worked yards and yards by this time, and
sold them for ever so much, but I supposed it was
just to give me something to do, and I 've some-
times not done more than one scallop in a whole

afternoon," confessed Dot, as she made her little
ivory needle fly in and out of her work, as if any
one could ever make up for time wasted.
"And to think I never once thought that
Mamma and Sister Margie were making those
things to sell, nor how much't was costing to have
the doctor coming every day, and sometimes twice
a day. Poor Donnie Perhaps he 's worse than
they tell me. Perhaps," and there was a great
lump in her throat, "he 's going to die, and they
are leaving me to find that out." Two great tears
rolled slowly down the pretty, round cheeks.
"But why, then, do they keep a-tellin' me he 's
better? The tears had dropped on the crochet
trimming, and two more were following in their
Tom went into the barn to clean his gun. Dot
saw him.
"I '11 ask him," she decided, as she put her
work hurriedly in a little silk handkerchief, and
started with it for the barn. He wont tease me
when he knows how badly I feel."
It was a very sad little face that peered in at
the barn-door.
"Halloo! was Tom's greeting. "Been crying ?"
"Yes," admitted Dot, in a voice that could
leave no doubt of it in any one's mind.
"What's up? continued Tom, as he rubbed
away at his gun. "Want any help ? "
"Oh, yes, Tom; that's just what I've come
for. Wont you talk real sober with me ? "
"Nary a smile from me," said Tom. Then,



No. 3.


glancing sidelong at the little face in the door-
way, he added, "Come in and state your case.
Here 's a seat on the hay," as he lifted her gently
upon a pile he had just brought down for the
horses. "There! are you cold ?"
"Not a bit," said Dot, smiling thankfully. "I
have brought my cloak."
"All right, then; go ahead," said Tom, cheer-
"Well, you know, Tom," began Dot, in her
sweet, timid voice; "there's a secret in there,"
pointing toward the house, "and I never found
it out till this morning."
So you found it out, did you? Well, I told
'em you would."
"I would n't, but for the bill."
"You would n't what ? asked Tom, who was
rubbing away again.
I'll tell you about that afterward. When I
went into the sitting-room, Mamma and Margie
were sewing."
That certainly did n't surprise you laughed
"0 Tom! how can you make fun of it all?
Mamma looked just ready to cry, and-oh, oh, oh,
what can we ever do about it! as she threw herself
face downward on the hay, and sobbed as though
her little heart would break, while Tom stood by
in speechless astonishment, wondering why the
words "Two dollars a visit seemed mingled with
her sobs.
"Does she know, after all ?" he asked himself
"I must n't forget my promise to Mother, but I
must give the child some comfort," he thought, as
he went over toward the little blue cloak on the
Come, Dot," said he, tenderly. Don't cry.
You have n't told me yet what the matter is.
Now we '11 sit right up here, while you tell Tom
all about it."
After a while, Dot managed to say:
Does n't Dr. Cogswell charge people who are
ill two dollars every time he goes to see them ?"
"Something like that, I believe," answered
Tom, wonderingly.
"It's exactly that," said Dot, feeling for the
bill. 0 Tom, we must owe him hundreds of
dollars! "
There was a queer look in Tom's eyes.
I suppose we do," he said.
"But have we got the money to pay him?"
questioned Dot, the brown eyes swimming again.
No, I don't believe we have."
"Then, what are we going to do?" said Dot,
with another sob.
"There, Dot," said Tom, soothingly. "Don't
be so foolish as to cry. It 's all coming out

right. I can't tell you now just how, but take my
word for it."
"Tom," called Mrs. Ledyard, "they 're all
waiting for you."
"The boys have come, Dot," said Tom, giving
her a hasty kiss. "Now, remember not to worry.
It 's coming out all right."
Dot sat a long time on the hay.
Tom always thinks everything's going to come
out all right," she said, determined to be miserable.
" He does n't know anything about money. Mar-
gie says so, and I know myself he does n't, 'cause
I once owed him five cents for weeks, and, when I
went to pay him, he 'd forgotten all about it, and
said I must have dreamed it. He 's gone off now
to sleigh-ride and does n't care how hard we 're all
working, and the little needle flew faster than ever.
"I just know he thinks Dr. Cogswell is n't going to
charge, but he is, for here 's one bill and he 's
probably got another all ready.
He could just as well not charge," she went
on, "for Edith Olcott told me he was ever 'n' ever
so rich, and that he 's got a house in the city even
prettier than this. But how could one be?" she
wondered. How could any room be lovelier than
the one Mrs. Crane took Edith and me into the
other day? the little one with the window look-
ing on the lake, and the little bed with curtains
and everything blue, carpet and all. Dr. Cogs-
well calls it his little sister's room, and she 's com-
ing in the spring."
The little fingers never did better work than that
day, for Mamma would n't have told me they
needed it if they did n't," Dot kept assuring
herself. "Tom just wanted to comfort me. He
does n't know how hard. they 're working' and
That night, Dot added to her prayer the words,
"0 God, please don't let it be more than we
can pay."
Let what?" asked Mamma, as she tucked her
in bed.
"The doctor's bill," whispered Dot, her arms
very tight about Mrs. Ledyard's neck.
Mrs. Ledyard smiled. She thought Dot was
half-asleep, so she tiptoed quietly down-stairs to the
library, and there found Tom telling Margie about
Dot's trouble.
The young doctor must have been there, too, or
heard of it in some way, for he happened in the
next morning right after breakfast, and the first
thing he said was:
-: I 'm going to have my bill settled to-day,
little Miss Dot," as with quite a grave face he
took out his memoranda.
Let me see," he mused, I began coming in
May. Two visits a day, till-why it 's nearly



Christmas, is n't it? Now, how much should you
think it would come to ? "
Hundreds said poor little Dot, faintly.
"We want to be business-like," said Dr. Cogs-
well; "suppose you get your slate and figure it."
Dot ran. "He is n't going to let us off a
penny," she moaned.
"Now, let 's do a little sum in arithmetic," said
the doctor. What does M. stand for? "
"One thousand," said staggered little Dot,
pushing the crochet-work way down in her pocket.
"Very good," said the doctor. "Now, what
does C. stand for ? "
"One hundred," said Dot, trying to be brave.
And altogether ? was the next question.
"Eleven hundred," said Dot, tearfully.
"H'm," coughed Dr. Cogswell. "Now, can
you think of anything else they might stand for?"
"No, sir," said Dot.
"Why yes, you can, Dot," cried Donald, who
had just been wheeled into the room. M. C. "
clapping his hands. Why, Merry Christmas,
don't you see ?"

Dot smiled.
Then there is n't any bill? she asked Tom.
Nary a bill," said Tom; but can't you think
of anything else the letters might stand for? "
No," said happy, stupid little Dot.
"I can," cried Don, catching sight of some
glances being exchanged, and Margie's pretty
cheeks aglow. Margie Cogswell! "
Then they all laughed, and the doctor caught
Dot up and set her on his shoulder, and pranced
with her into the cozy sitting-room. Pretty soon
Don was wheeled into the sunny bay-window, and
there they all sat the rest of the morning.
Dot had to submit to a good deal of teasing, but
she was very happy notwithstanding, and wrote in
her diary that night, in such big letters that she
went right over two or three of the following days:

The doctor was n't coming to see Donnie, after
all, and there was n't any bill. I am going to be
bridesmaid and wear white. There is n't any little
sister but me, and I 'm going to have the little blue-
room, whenever I want to go there to visit."


- -




c<. 7
~ _A W


TINKEY lay under a wide-spreading apple tree,
upon a bed of half-dried grass, that was not yet
hay, but sending out the most delicious perfume
of clover blossoms. Overhead, a clear blue sky,
with soft white clouds dotting it here and there,
and a blazing July sun, were only half visible
through the thick leaves of the apple tree that
made a cool shade where Tinkey was lying.
It was holiday time, and all the long, hot days
were free from Latin grammar or arithmetic; free
to make fishing-parties, to play cricket, to toss hay,
or to do as Tinkey was doing-lie about out-doors
and find pleasure in pure idleness. It is not to
be denied that Tinkey was lazy. He dearly loved
a morning nap after the getting-up bell had
sounded; he liked to drop into soft chairs or upon
the sofa, and dream of wonderful things he was
going to do. All the activity and energy of great
deeds lay in the future for Tinkey, who fully in-
tended to become in some way famous when a man.
In the meantime, he liked to lie under the apple
tree, thinking. First, he counted all the green
apples in sight, and wondered how soon they would
be ripe; then he watched the clouds and leaves wav-
ing softly in the gentlest of summer breezes, and
then he speculated as to whether Mrs. Davidson

would have ice-cream at the party to which Tinkey
and his brothers and sisters were invited that after-
noon. It was to be a gathering of all the boys
and girls for miles around--a sort of picnic on the
beautiful grounds that surrounded Mrs. Davidson's
large house, and a garden tea-party.
"It must be lovely to be as rich as Mrs. David-
son," thought Tinkey, lazily, and I might have
had as much money once, if I had only wished for
it. If I had another such a chance- "
"Well, what would you do with it if you had ?"
Tinkey sat bolt upright and stared. That sharp,
clear voice was certainly one he had heard before,
and right in front of him, daintily balanced upon
the tiniest of hay-cocks, was the little old-woman
fairy, in her red cloak and pointed cap, who came
in a butterfly-drawn car through the air. Tinkey
did not see the car, but he was sure it was not far
"Good-morning, ma'am," he stammered, when
he could find voice enough to speak. I hope you
are well?"
Now," said the fairy, "did you ever hear of a
sick fairy? Of course I am well, and never had
a pain in my life. It is great, clumsy people like
you who are ill half the time. But I can't stand




chattering here. I 've an engagement in Japan in
half an hour, but as I was passing I heard you
sighing for another chance to make a goose of
yourself-- y
It was a calf," corrected Tinkey, and I do
not want to make a goose of myself. Oh !" and
his eyes grew so round, and stuck out so far, it was
really wonderful that they did not drop out. "Oh 1
Are you going to let me have another wish ?"
H'm !" said the fairy, rubbing her sharp little
nose with a handkerchief that looked like the leaf
of a tiny jessamine, "you don't seem to make
much out of one wish. Suppose I give you a dozen
or twenty."
"Oh!" cried Tinkey.
"Yes," said the little old woman. "I am
going to see to-day how much you are to be trusted
with having your own way. So, between now and
sunset, I am going to let you have everything you
wish for. Only, remember this: you can have
but one wish for one thing. No 'takings back,'
you understand. So if you wish yourself a goose,
a goose you will have to remain."
Everything I wish for cried Tinkey. "I do
not believe fairy-land holds all I want "
"You can try. But you had better think over
the matter before you begin Good-bye."
Then the fairy-car floated down
from the apple tree, and a moment
later Tinkey saw it float up again,
higher and higher, till it was quite
lost in a soft, fleecy cloud.
Lazily wondering if that was an
air-line to Japan, Tinkey tried to
decide upon the treasures he should
collect between that hour and sunset.
Wealth, a fine house, a pony, a thou-
sand boyish desires floated through
his brain, but he resolved to do noth-
ing hastily. Still it was a tempta-
tion to test his power, and he said,
with an air of command:
"I wish for a plate of ice-cream."
There it was, right in his hand, ..
cold, white, delicious, and, to Tin-
key's amazement, no matter how fast
he ate, the white heap upon the plate -
did not grow any smaller. He might
sit all day and eat ice-cream, if he
wished; but when he had had enough, and put

down the plate on the hay, it melted in a second--
spoon, plate, and cream vanishing like a dew-drop
in the sun.
Tinkey wondered if all fairy dishes were "cleared
up" in this way, and laughed to think what a saving
of house-work it would be if dishes dropped down
upon the table filled with food, and quietly melted

away when the meals were over. But, while he
was still thinking of that, the dinner-horn sounded
faint and far away.
"Oh dear sighed lazy Tinkey. "I wish I
was at the table."
The wish was scarcely formed before he felt him-
self lifted up and shot across the meadow, in at the
kitchen door, and plump into his chair, with a
whizzing rapidity that took his breath away, and
raised a serious doubt in his mind whether walking
was not preferable to this sort of fairy locomotion.
There was a great confusion of voices all through
dinner, the children hurrying through the meal to
dress for Mrs. Davidson's, and fidgeting until the
dishes were cleared away and their mother took
the younger ones to the nursery.
"Your clothes are all on your bed, Tinkey,"
she said, as she went upstairs, "and remember
your new suit must be your best one all summer."
Excited by the prospect of meeting all his young
friends and school-fellows, Tinkey rushed to his
room, entirely forgetting the fairy and her promise.
He had quite resolved to make no more foolish
wishes, but to steal a quiet hour before sunset and
wish for the very best fortune that could come to a
The new suit, a pretty light gray, lay upon the

2 P -,__ I



bed, with the clean shirt, collar, and cuffs, a blue
silk neck-tie and a snowy pocket-handkerchief,
while on a chair were new shoes, shining like a
Scrubbed to the perfection of cleanliness, clean
linen nicely adjusted, Tinkey took up the pretty
gray pants, and turned them around admiringly.
It was the very first city-made suit he had ever


possessed, his usual dress being the outgrown
clothing of his older brother. But this one suit
was all his own, made for him, fitting him, and he
handled it carefully. It was still buttoned up, as
it had come home, and, taking his seat upon the
side of the bed, Tinkey unbuttoned one button, a
second, but the third seemed to be too large for
the button-hole, and would not come through.

new blue suspenders dangling provokingly out of
Tinkey was ready to cry, but, instead, said:
"I wish for another pair of trousers."
But the wish was unheard or unheeded in fairy-
land, and he sadly remembered that he could not
have two wishes for any one thing. Why can't
I remember to think before I speak ?" thought Tin-
key, ruefully tak-
ing up his every-
day trousers, cast
aside with such
contempt. They
seemed to have
grown shabbier in
liA the few moments


He twisted it and pushed it, coaxed it and jerked
it, pushed it to the right, pulled it to the left, till
he got red in the face, lost his temper, and cried
Bother the old trousers I wish they were in
One jerk freed them from Tinkey's hold, and
they soared into the air, as if with wings, escaping
his outstretched hands, and flying through the
open window like some huge, awkward bird, the


shoe is not the very best thing to try to put on in
a hurry, and so he found it. Voices from down-
stairs were impatiently shouting: Tinkey Tin-
key," as he tugged violently, but without avail, at
the shoe his mother had thought had better be
" one size larger."
Oh, come on !" said Tinkey. "I wish the
shoes were twice as big! "
On slipped the shoe as easily as if it had been
greased, Tinkey's foot lost in its suddenly in-

they had been on
the floor. The
knees had never
looked so white and
thin, the edges so
frayed, the spots
so big.
"Perhaps they
wont show much
with a new coat
and vest," thought
Tinkey; but they
were drawn on very
slowly, and it re-
quired all the boy's
manliness to keep
back the tears.
A call from down-
stairs hurried him.
"We're all ready,
Tinkey! Come!"
Already! There
was no time then
to lose, for if his
father had the car-
ryall harnessed up,
he would not like
to wait. Tinkey
caught up his new
shoes and thrust in
one foot. A new


~ekzT. -v



creased size. Twice as big! To the round eyes
gazing at them they looked as big as the barn, and
if any little reader doubts it, let him measure
twice the length and breadth of his boot, and put
his foot upon the measure.
Tears could no longer be kept back. Tinkey
kicked the shoe into the corner of the room with a
passionate sob.
"I wont go he cried. I wont wear my old
trousers and shoes with a great patch on them "
Are you never coming? shouted Bob
from down-stairs.
"I '11 walk over! Don't wait for
me Tinkey answered, and could
hear them all laugh as Fannie said:
Tinkey 's prinking Wont he
be fine "
Should he go? Mrs. Davidson's
annual party was not to be lightly
set aside, and was one of the great
pleasures in Tinkey's quiet country
life. Perhaps among so many his
dress would not be noticed, and he
had not seen some of the boys since

_____ I

school broke up. Very listlessly he took
up the blacking-brush, and polished his


old shoes to such perfection that, after all,
the patches were scarcely seen, and once on,
and neatly laced, they looked so well that,
with a lighter heart, Tinkey sprang to his
feet to complete his dressing. The mirror
by the aid of which he arranged his collar
and neck-tie did not reflect his pants, and the
pretty silk tie was very becoming. Actually,



Tinkey was whistling when'he took up the comb
to part his hair.
Now, Tinkey's hair was what old nurses call
"stubborn," and its decided inclination was to
stick straight out from his head. It could be
coaxed to remain in good order about one hour,
but after that was apt to rebel and fly off in every
direction; and to look neat, even for an hour,
required coaxing, delicate little touches here and
there, nice brushing of feathery plumes on the
crown, and careful arrangement in front of locks
that inclined to fall forward. Certainly it was not
hair to appear at its best in a hurried arrange-
ment, and the more Tinkey brushed, the more
persistently it stuck out. He parted it on the
left; he tried a parting on the right; he made a
lovely white line down the middle; he "banged "
it over his forehead, and each way looked worse
than the last.
"Oh, I wish I had n't any hair!" cried impa-
tient Tinkey.
Was there a rain of feathers? What was that
flying into his eyes, up his nostrils, tickling his
ears, down his throat, through a mouth opened
wide in amazement? Hair! hair! hair The whole
room seemed to be full of it, flying here and there,
as if every hair was a fairy laughing at Tinkey's
dismay. And when at last it had all swept itself
with one grand rush out at the open window,
Tinkey's head was as bald as a china door-knob.
He gave one despairing glance at the mirror,
caught up his old coat, crammed his polo cap
tightly over his bald pate, and rushed out of the
house. Nobody noticed him as he ran, not to
Mrs. Davidson's, but into the woods, into the
deepest shadow he could find under the tall trees,
where he threw himself down and cried like a baby.
No wonder the fairy called him a goose! No
boy in his senses was ever so foolish! It was bad
enough to waste one fairy wish in being shot
through the air like a cannon-ball, but to miss
the party by such stupid folly was dreadful.
"No wonder Father says, 'Think first, speak
afterward,'" sobbed Tinkey. "A pretty looking
object I have made of myself, and I can not
imagine what Mother will say about my shoes and
pants. And they must be having such a nice time
now, playing all sorts of games. I 've half a mind
to wish it would pour rain. No, I wont! I am
not quite such a beast as that, anyhow! Oh
dear, how hot it is! I wish-no! no! I don't
wish anything. Dear me! I was just going to
wish I was in a snow-bank! Now, I wont make
another foolish wish; not one And as I can't
go to the party such a guy, I '11 just think, ,gs
hard as ever I can, of real sensible things. What
a lot of things I can have between now and sunset!

I '11 begin with a bicycle. I always wanted one.
I wish for the best bicycle in the world !" he cried
aloud, adding, in another moment, "Oh i oh! the
beauty! the perfect beauty! Oh, it looks like
And it did. The wheels were a net-work of
glistening bars like silver threads, the seat shone
like a mirror, the handle and delicate wood-work
were picked out in golden ornaments. Tinkey
forgot the party, forgot his bald head, his big
shoes, and vanished pants in the delight of this
new treasure. He was sure he could ride it, for
he had watched others, and knew exactly how it was
done. Hop! hop! hop! and up! One leg thrown
over the seat, and down came Tinkey, bicycle and
all, with a crash that made him sure every bone
in his body was broken. Vigorous rubbing con-
vinced him that he was only bruised, and the
bicycle was found to be uninjured. Up again!
Alas! down again, as well! But a boy will work
to conquer a bicycle as he never would to solve a
problem in algebra, and at last Tinkey was actually
up, balanced, and moved forward about ten inches.
Then a new 'difficulty arose, and he proved that
a thick grove of trees is the worst of all places in
which to ride a bicycle. Every other turn of the
wheels he upset; he banged his head on the tree-
trunks; he skinned his legs against the rough bark,
until, weary of the fun, he pushed his treasure to
one side, to be dragged home at leisure. But time
had not waited for Tinkey's movements, and he
suddenly discovered by the lengthening shadows
that sunset was not far away.
Sunset! He would lose his fairy gift when the
sun was gone.
"Oh, what shall I wish for first?" he thought,
sitting down upon a fallen tree-trunk. "I wonder
if it is n't best to wish for a million dollars, and
then I can buy everything I want. I don't believe
I would get it. I wish for a dollar he dried
aloud, and felt in the palm of his hand a pressure
of something round. There it lay, a bright silver
dollar, shining as if it had just left the mint.
"I do believe I can have them!" thought
Tinkey, who had been rather scared at the magni-
tude of his proposed wish, "but I must hurry.up;
the sun is certainly going down." He stood up'
and waved his arm aloft like an officer leading his.
I. wish for a million dollars!" he'cried. In a
second the great silver dollars rained down ip":.n
him, as if every leaf in the trees above his lihad
had been turned into coin. They flew' into his
face, striking him with their sharp, metallic edges,
bruising his cheeks, his nose, his eyes; they piled
up around him, each one hitting a blow as it fell.
His feet were prisoned fast, his legs, his knees; he



was being banked up in a silver prison, and yet
the air was full of this novel hail-storm.
Oh, I shall be smothered, buried alive! cried
poor, frightened Tinkey, trying vainly to run away,
and thrashing out his arms in every direction, as



he tried to beat back the stinging, bruising pieces
of coin, that were threatening to cover him entirely.
"Oh, what shall I do? Stop! I wish you to
stop I shall be killed "
Then he heard a mocking little laugh, and on
one silver dollar that balanced itself in the air, just
before his eyes, he saw the fairy herself, laughing
at his dismay.
Stop !" she cried, moving her crutch, and the
dollars settled down upon the trees, the bushes,
the grass; on Tinkey's shoulders, on his cap, and
on the pile in which he already stood waist-deep.
"So you don't want a million dollars?" she
said. "I can't find out what you do want! I give
you everything you wish for and still you are not
satisfied !"
She sat down on the dollar that rocked gently in
the air.
"There is nothing like a million dollars here
yet," she said, "but you can have what is wanting
to complete that sum in one minute."
"No! no !" cried Tinkey, seeing the crutch
lifted. What is the use of a million dollars if you
are buried alive in them? I wish you would go
away, and let me alone!" he burst out, in an
angry sob. The fairy leaned forward and gave
him one smart blow with her crutch, right on the
tip of the nose. It was such a dreadful blow-for
she was very angry-that Tinkey, for a moment,
lost all consciousness.
When he recovered his senses he was lying
under the apple tree, but the sun was hidden be-
hind thick clouds, the wind was blowing a gale,
scattering the half-ripe apples upon the ground,
and threatening rain so decidedly that even lazy
Tinkey was roused to running quickly until he
was safely in-doors again.

,j *'~7 ~.

-._ _--

OO -





SAID January to June:
-' Pray, let us walk together.
The birds are all in tune,
And sunny is the weather.

And look you: I will show,
Before the long day closes,
A pretty sight I know,
Worth all your summer

Then, as they went, the air
Grew thick with snow-flakes
But all the roses fair
Hung down their heads,

9 Cried June, in sorrow: "Nay,
We may not walk together.
You 've turned my skies to
l,. And spoiled my golden

" Go now, I pray you, go,
Before my last bud closes.
Take you your cold white snow,
And give me back my roses!"








BY high noon all were disembarked, and for
the four days following Calais blazed with all
the semi-splendors of a dress rehearsal. Every
available foot of ground around the old city was
taken up for lodgings. Tents and huts and tem-
porary booths encircled the walls until, as Rauf
said, it might almost be the time of great King
Edward over again."
And how ?" queried Margery.
"Why, so Master Bolton tells me," explained
Rauf, when good King Edward besieged Calais,
now nigh two hundred years ago, he built all
around its walls, much as we have done, houses
and dwelling-places, and encompassed it round
about with a new town, in the which he vowed to
live until Calais should be starved out."
"Our Lady grant that we may not be starved
out, though," protested Margery, whom the breezes
of the Surrey hills had blessed with a healthy
"Nay, before we shall starve," said valorous
Rauf, "I will, as did King Edward, single out six
notable burghers of this town, and hold them as
hostages for your tortured appetite."
"And I," said gay young Margery, "like the
good Queen Philippa, will down on my knees before
my lord and beg him to spare the honest burghers'
Which I will gladly do," retorted Rauf, "pro-
vided my lady will ask their lives of me, as also
did the good Queen Philippa, for the sake of the
Son of the Blessed Mary and for your love of me "
and then they both looked a little sheepish and
quickly turned to watch the brilliant passing of
Sir Henry Marney and the King's guard.
A rare and gallant sight, are they not, Mar-
gery ? said enthusiastic Rauf.
And a rare and gallant sight, in truth, were
these archers of the King's guard: "two hundred
of the tallest and most elect persons, with doublets,
hosen, and caps," as the old record states, their
red coats rich with goldsmiths' work and the
King's cognizance," the Tudor rose in broidered
gold shining on breast and back, their long-bows
of finest English yew slung at the shoulder, and
their velvet quivers filled with cloth-yard shafts
tipped with brightest feathers.

For four days Rauf and Margery enjoyed the
restless life at Calais, frequently meeting as the
Queen's household and the King's retinue mingled
in the work of preparation; and then, on Monday,
the 4th of June, all being ready for the cere-
mony of the interview, the whole court moved to
the appointed ground before the Castle of Guisnes.
A long train of moving color, the royal cdrtege
wound across the low, flat plain known as the
marches of Calais the border-land between Eng-
lish and French territory. Everywhere brilliant
costumes and gorgeous trappings met the eye:
the glitter of gold, the flash of silver or of bur-
nished steel, the dazzle of jewels, and the wave of
countless plumes. With lords and ladies superbly
mounted; with high officials and their trains, gay
in suits of velvet and gold ; with priests and prelates
richly gowned; with grooms and yeomen, guards
and litter-men, henchmen and footmen in liveries
of scarlet and russet velvet, white and yellow satin,
Milan bonnets, and cloth of gold; with Flemish
horses, adorned with velvet liveries; with coursers
and palfreys gayly caparisoned; with hooded fal-
cons and hounds in leash, the flower of England's
nobility, following their King and Queen, swept on
toward the grand lodgings that had been prepared
for them on the barren fields of Guisnes.
Prepare yourself for a wondrous sight, Rauf,"
said his uncle, riding up to the boy as he cantered
by the side of the litter in which rode Lady Gray
and Margery. Lord Dorset tells me that so
mighty a work has been done by the artificers and
pioneers, that there is nothing in Rome or Venice
to equal the sight."
Just then they gained the crest of an unwooded
ridge, and an exclamation of delighted surprise
sprang to the lips of young and old as they looked
upon the scene spread out before them. To their
right lay the once shabby little town of Guisnes,
now royally resplendent with banners and pennons,
colored hangings and cloth of gold, its castle so
repaired and refitted as to make it almost habit-
able, and certainly picturesque. But, most mar-
velous of all, there rose, upon the castle green,
the triumph of the architect and the decorator, the
wonder of an age which brought to the decorative
art the enthusiasm of religion and the luxuriance
of an uncurbed fancy.
Imagine a grand palace of stone and brick and
wood, its outer walls covered with gayly painted
cloth-a palace larger than the New York Post-


office, more nearly the size, perhaps, of Memorial
Hall, in Fairmount Park, Philadelphia-its roof
bright with gilding, painted in antique pattern.
On every side projected oriel (or bay) windows
and curious glazed towers, called cleresteries, their
posts and mullions thickly overlaid with gold.
Great castled gates guarded the entrance, their
niches filled with gilded statues of warriors and
heroes, and, flanking these, rose an embattled
tower, pierced with loop-holes and flying the royal
arms. From this warlike entrance there rose, in
gradual ascent to the embowered portals of the
palace, a wide walk, or "hall-pace," lined with
"images of sore and terrible countenances,"
gleaming in silvered armor. Over all streamed
the royal flags-the red dragon of Cadwallon, the
collared greyhound, the white swan, and the
crimson cross of St. George mingling with the
golden blazonings of the Tudor badge of the rose,
"large and stately," in every conceivable device.
Grouped around and beyond this royal lodging
the sun gleamed on the white canvas of near two
thousand eight hundred tents, gay with the flags,
the decorations, arms, and cognizance of their
lordly occupants. On the palace lawn a great gilt
fountain, running three ceaseless streams of claret,
spiced wine, and. water, freely quenched the thirst
of all comers, while, facing it, four golden lions
upheld, on a pillar wreathed with gold, a blind
Cupid armed with bow and arrows.
The royal cdrtege swept down the grassy slope,
the embattled gates swung open wide, and, amid
the blare of trumpets and the boom of welcoming
artillery, Henry the Eighth and his court entered
into fairy-land.
And fairy-land indeed did Rauf and Margery
find it as, day after day, they wandered through
the marvelous structure, finding ever some new
magnificence of decoration, some gilded mystery
of rebus or device. They strolled through pas-
sages ceiled with white silk and hung with silks
and tapestries and braided cloths, which showed
like billions of fine burnished gold"; they lingered
in chambers and state apartments decorated with
panels rich in gold and carving, their ceilings
studded with roses frescoed on a field of fine gold;
they tested the luxuriance of the chairs and divans
of rare Turkish work covered with golden tissue
and rich embroidery, and looked with admiring
eyes upon the hangings of silken tapestries and cloth
of gold, of great and marvelous splendor." The
children's eyes, indeed, often wearied of the display,
and they were not sorry to rest, now and then,
from all this magnificence, in the dim corridors of
the "winding alley covered with verdure" that
connected the palace with the old Castle of Guisnes.
"It is more wondrous even than the golden

palaces of Morgan le Fay and Queen Cinderella,
of which my nurse tells," said Margery, during one
of these resting spells. .
Never was fairy-palace grander. Never was
such magnificence," replied the sight-tired Rauf.
"Why, even the poorest quarter of it is a habita-
tion fit for a prince."
On the afternoon of their first day at Guisnes,
they stood, as part of a courtly company, while
through the embattled gate-way passed, surrounded
by a gallant retinue of guards and gentlemen su-
perbly dressed, the one man who was the origina-
tor and the director of all this magnificence -
Thomas Wolsey the Cardinal, Lord Chancellor
of England and Legate of the Pope. Mounted
upon a barbed mule, whose trappings were of crim-
son velvet, whose headstall and studs, buckles and
stirrups, were of pure gold, rode the Lord Cardinal
-a heavily built man, now nearly fifty years of
age, impressive in appearance, handsome in face,
eloquent in speech, whose years of power had
brought with them an imperious and autocratic
manner that displeased his equals, but held the
people in awe. He was magnificently dressed in
a robe of crimson velvet heavily figured, over
which was drawn a loose vest or rochet" of the
finest lace, and on his head he wore the red cap
of a cardinal, with large hanging tassels. As his
brilliant retinue, in their rich costumes of scarlet
or crimson velvet and cloth of gold, passed down
between the fluttering tents, escorting the Cardinal
to the French camp to announce the arrival of
England's royalty, Rauf, gazing in admiration at
the splendid and imposing scene, said to Margery:
It looks like a great field of gold, does it not,
Margery ? "
Say rather of cloth of gold," said delighted
Margery, as, with her girlish love of finery and
perception of detail, she watched the glittering
The quick ear of the King caught the comments
of the children.
Well said, well said, little ones," he broke in,
enthusiastically. "What say you, my lords," he
continued, turning to his retinue, "shall we not
take advisement from the words of these young-
lings? Let us know this ground hereafter as the
Field of the Cloth of Gold !"
And the "Field of the Cloth of Gold it has
remained in history to this day.
Well, what about the French camp, Roger?"
asked Rauf that evening, as he met Roger Adam-
son, formerly falconer at Verney Hall, but now an
archer of the King's guard.
Roger put down the silver cup of spiced wine
with which he was refreshing himself at the golden


Ah," he said, "a rare sight it was, Master
Rauf; though, truth to say, I was feasted so plen-
teously that I fear I shall never know an appetite
again. Two bow-shots from the French camp,
which stands across a beggarly little stream, there
met us a gallant company of lords and gentlemen
and men-at-arms, bravely arrayed. We marched
through their files until, after the Lord Cardinal
had passed, they too joined their ranks to ours,
and so on to the French camp."
"Are the French lodged as royally as we,
Roger? asked Rauf.
Ay, fully so, though in different guise. Their
camp takes in both the town and castle of Arde,
royally fitted, and between the castle and the
little stream I spoke of there are nigh five hun-
dred tents, very rich, and covered with bright
stuffs, and flags, and devices, and cloth of gold."
"And the King's house ?"
The French King's mightiness is lodged both
in the castle and in a great pavilion, which is one
central tent with three lesser ones joined to it.
They are hung with cloth of gold from crown to
base, and on the peak of the center pavilion is a
statue of St. Michael, of great height and magnifi-
cence, and all of gold, saving a rich blue mantle
powdered with golden fleur-de-lis. In his right
hand the image holds a dart, and in his left a
mighty shield bearing the arms of France, and all
so glistering with gold that one may scarcely look
on it."
"Well-go on, go on !" said impatient Rauf,
as the archer paused a moment.
Give me breath, give me breath, Master
Rauf," pleaded the good-natured archer. Well,
when we reached the gates of the King's lodging,
we passed through long files of princes and gentle-
men, archers and Swiss halberdiers, all brave in
splendid liveries, and then, lo, there comes out to
us the French King, bonnet in hand, to greet my
Lord Cardinal."
Bonnet in hand ?" queried Rauf, incredulously.
Ay, bonnet in hand, said I," protested the
archer; "bonnet in hand comes the French King
to welcome our King's Chancellor. And the
trumpets and the hautboys and the clarions
sounded out melodiously, while the artillery
boomed such a welcome you could scarce hear
aught else. Then, when my Lord Cardinal's
Grace had dismounted, the French King embraced
him joyfully, and they went with the lords and
princes into the King's pavilion, while, as for me
-well, Master Rauf, I was laid hold upon one
side by a French archer, and on the other by a
Swiss halberd-man, and though we could fathom
naught of each other's lingo, why, we could feast
together, and that we did so well and royally

that here am I back again in camp, with but little
stomach, I can tell you, for salted meat and strong
beer again."
"And I am to go with the King's train, in two
days' space, so I too can make test of this hospi-
tality," said Rauf, with glowing anticipations.
The next day witnessed the return visit of the
"harbingers," or envoys of the French King,
many lords and princes "'dressed in cloth of gold
and well accoutered." Among them rode the Arch-
bishop of Sens, Bonnivet, Admiral of France, and
the Lord Chamberlain, the Sieur Tremouille.
They were received with great display, with music
and artillery and feasting, and then, on Thursday,
the 7th of June, came the great event so long
looked forward to- the formal meeting between
the Kings.
Oh, if I could but go sighed Margery, as she
watched the elaborate preparations for the interview.
"Would that you might go, Margery," said
Rauf, pondering. "If, now, I could but strangle
one of my brother pages and put you in his
place! There 's young Sir Hubert Darrell, for
instance. He 's an uncomfortable little comrade,
and, if I could only buy him off with a meal of
pippins and wine as big as his appetite, and
smuggle you into his suit of silver brocade and
crimson velvet-why, off we would go together to
the interview. You would look charming in crim-
son and silver."
St. Frideswide forbid exclaimed the scan-
dalized Margery. When I go to a maskalyne,
Master Rauf Bulney, I will go honestly and not in
boy's apparel. Suppose they should surprise me in
Sir Hubert's brocade and velvet! Then would I
be burned like that La Pucelle or Joan of Arc
they tell us of, who essayed the same. My faith,
I have no liking for so hot a fire No, no, Rauf,
my day will come when the Queen's Ladyship
meets the French Queen."
Yes, I suppose it is not to be thought of," said
the boy, ruefully, loath to give up his brilliant plan.
"But what a pity you are not a boy, Margery-
why, no, it's not, though," he changed suddenly.
"I 'd far rather have you as you are what old
Ralegh, our minstrel, sings:

'A mayden fayre,
With sonnie hair,
All garmented with light';

and never mind-I shall tell you all about it when
I return, and that will be just as jolly."
Later in the afternoon, some two hours before
the time of vespers, a gallant train awaited before
the palace gates the signal for the interview.
Boom! went the English culverin from the
Castle of Guisnes.


Boom responded the great French falcon* from
the Castle of Arde; and before the echoes died
away from the intervening hills, Rauf had taken
his place in the royal train, and, the English foot-
men, step for step, solidly leading the way, the
glittering company moved on toward the pavilion
in the Val Dor6. Preceded by his archers of the
guard, in doublets of crimson and scarlet cloaks
blazoned with the Tudor rose, with nobles and
prelates, knights and gentlemen, pages and guards,
in richest attire of velvets and damasks and cloth
of gold, rode King Henry of England, imposing
in appearance and royal in mien. He was dressed
in a magnificent suit of silver damask, thickly
ribbed with cloth of gold, his bonnet studded with
jewels and topped with waving plumes. The trap-
pings of his horse were of velvet and cloth of gold,
thickly overlaid with fine gold and mosaic work.
Before him rode the old Marquis of Dorset, bear-
ing the sword of state, and behind him came nine
henchmen in cloth of tissue, their horses bright
with gold-scaled harness. On the crest of a small
hill, overlooking the valley where stood the pa-
vilion, the English retinue halted and saluted, with
the blare of trumpets and the dip of banners, the
French resting on the opposite hill.
Tarra-tarra-tarra-ta! sounded the trumpet-blast,
and down the hills on either side swept the French
and English provost-marshals to clear the ground,
crowding the great masses of people back upon
the surrounding hills. Rauf, close in attendance
on the King, saw the looks of anxiety and distrust
on the faces of some of the English lords as they
noted the superior numbers of the French retinue.
"Sire," hastily broke in the impetuous Lord
Abergavenny, pressing close to the King, "you be
my king and sovereign, wherefore, above all, I am
bound to show you the truth and to stay for no
one. Look ye to the French party! I know them
--I have been among them. They are more in
number-ay, double so many as be your Grace's
"Sire," counseled'the more discerning Earl of
Shrewsbury, whatever my lord of Abergavenny
sayeth, I myself have been there too, and, mark
me, the Frenchmen be more in fear of you and
your subjects than your subjects be of them.
Wherefore, if I were worthy to give counsel, your
tGrace should march forward."
"So we intend, my lord," said the intrepid
Henry. "Trumpeter,. sound the advance! and
following the trumpet-call came the old-time "For-
ward, march the On afore, my masters!" from
the officers of arms, while, in close array, the
whole company passed on to the position assigned
them, midway down the slope.
There was a brief silence-the stillness of ex-

pectation -while two nations, long divided,
watched and waited. From the pavilion in the
valley below, gleaming with its rich covering of
cloth of gold, streamed the companion flags of
France and England. There was a stir, a parting
of ranks, and forth from the array of dazzling color,
of waving plumes and banners, of scarlet and cloth
of gold, down either hill-slope, amid the shouts of
spectators and the burst of martial music, so
that there never was such joy," rode the English
Henry and the French Francis. Suddenly each
monarch gave his horse the spur and galloped
toward the other, "like two combatants about
to engage, but instead of putting their hands to
their swords, each put his hand to his bonnet."
With uncovered heads and courteous salutations,
still on horseback, they closed in an embrace of
welcome; dismounting, they embraced again, and
threw their jeweled bridles to their masters of the
horse. Then, arm in arm, the two sovereigns
entered the gilded pavilion; the people cheered,
"the trumpets and other instruments sounded on
each side, so that it seemed a paradise," the Lord
Cardinal and Bonnivet, Admiral of France, fol-
lowed their lieges through the portals of the
pavilion; with hearty and repeated salutations of
"Bons amys, Francoys et Angloys! "f the two
companies intermingled, and the great event, so
long anticipated, was an accomplished fact.
Our friend Rauf, enthusiastic in his delight
at being really a part of all this grand and
gracious display, walked gayly among the mingled
ranks and aired his broken French with an
impartial and reckless sincerity.
"And what think you they talk of in the
pavilion, Uncle ?" he asked, as with boyish curi-
osity he glanced toward the curtained -entrance
of the tent, now closely guarded by archers and
"Of more than you can fathom, my boy,"
answered Sir Rauf. Of treaties and alliances,
of possible wars and possible marriages; for
there is some talk afloat-of a betrothal between
our little Princess Mary and the Dauphin of
"A marriage?" echoed incredulous Rauf.
"Why, Uncle "-thinking tenderly of Margery-
they are but children; the Princess Mary is but
a baby, and the Dauphin surely not much older."
The bethrothal of two nations, my boy, is, as
you will learn in time, of more moment than the
ages of two children. But trust our King's high-
ness," continued his uncle. He whom the King
of the Romans seeks and the King of France sues,
will not pledge faith and friendship without careful
And Sir Rauf was right. For after nigh twenty

* Falcon-an ancient form of cannon. t Good friends, French and English."






days of comradeship, of feasting and of pageantry,
the King of France knew no more of the real
intentions of Henry of England than he did before
the meeting of the Kings in the pavilion of the
golden valley.

As, a half-hour later, Rauf waited in ready
attendance upon King Henry, his sturdy boyhood
seemed to have taken the fancy of the French King,
for, turning to his brother prince, Francis said,
with that easy grace and pleasant manner that

This picture is copied by permission from the stained-glass window designed by M. Oudinot, of Paris, for the house of
Mr. W. K. Vanderbilt, in New York City.
VOL. X.--2.


won so many to him: "My dear brother and
cousin, lend me, I pray you, yon courtly young
squire, that I may show our demoiselles of France
a worthy sample of your English lads. I will
return him, well and suitably accompanied, before
noon to-morrow."
Why, take him thus, fair cousin," responded


Henry, heartily, "and may his manners prove
more to your liking than can his halting French.
Comport yourself as though you were hostage for
England's youth, Sir Page," he said to Rauf,
"and shame not the teaching of your English
tutor, nor your English home."
So Rauf went to the Castle of Arde in the train
of the French King, and, on the following day,
after his return from his. visit, he regaled Margery
with the story of what he had seen, and piqued her

curiosity with certain sly references to the beauty
and graciousness of the French maidens.
But what manner of man is the great King of
France, Rauf? she asked.
Oh, a right royal prince," responded the boy,
enthusiastically. As page of honor, I rode close
to his stirrup on the way to Arde, and he oft
questioned me about my home, and my duties, and
my pets, and- 0 Margery, he told me how to
snare a rabbit after the French fashion, and how to
hood a lanard, wild to fly! "
"Well, never mind that, Rauf-how did he
look, what did he do, what did he wear? asked
Margery, more interested in fashions than fal-
Oh, I studied him"well, believe me, for I knew
you would question me. He is tall and well-built,
but not so stout as our gracious King; broad in
the shoulders and large in the feet, with a brown
face and short, dark beard, long nose and bright
blue eyes; haughty, but pleasant; gay and gra-
cious, and, withal, a smile and a voice that make
you feel as if you must do as he desires, willy-nilly.
And then-O Margery--his dress "
"Finer than our King's, Rauf ? asked the
"Well," said cautious Rauf, halting between
loyalty and admiration, not less glorious, be-
lieve me. Over a cassock of gold frieze he wore a
splendid mantle of cloth of gold, wonderfully fine
in texture and sprinkled with jewels. The front


and sleeves were studded with diamonds, rubies,
emeralds, and large hanging pearls, while his
velvet bonnet was set with precious. stones and
capped with gallant plumes. Before him marched

* Another stained-glass window, designed by M. Oudinot for the house of Mr. W. K. Vanderbilt, is made up of the four decorations
copied in the drawings on these two pages.


the Constable of Bourbon, bearing a naked sword,
and, also, his master of the horse with the state
sword of France, powdered with gold fleur-de-lis;



and at rear and van marched a great company of
princes and lords and gentlemen, with archers and
men-at-arms, more grandly dressed than I can say."
"And what did you at the camp, Rauf ?"
"Oh, I was most graciously received and
royally lodged. The great pavilion of the King is
more goodly to see than I can describe.. It is as
high as a tower, of wonderful breadth; outside,
all cloth of gold, and, inside, cloth of gold frieze.
The hangings, too, and the furnishings are most
marvelous, and the. ceiling is like to the blue sky,
fill of golden stars and all the signs and devices
of the heavens."
"Well-what more?" as Rauf paused for
"Oh, but give me time to think, Margery.
Well, after the feast came a wonderful maskalyne,
with the French lords in all manner of curious
and mirthful costumes, and the dames and demoi-
selles-the last in especial- beautiful beyond
"Oh, Rauf! "
"Ah-ah! for French maidens, I mean.
There was not one, of course, in all the French
camp to go before the fair maid of Surrey-

sweeter than the sweet whitethorn blossom on her
banks of Thames," said the gallant Rauf.
"The blessed St. Valentine spare us," cried
Margery, lifting her pretty arms in mock protest.
" If this comes of your French visiting, Master
Page, the more you stay at home the better
for quiet English maids."
"But she seemed to like it, nevertheless,"
thought Rauf; for compliments have been just


as sweet to hear, and maids have betn just as
protestingly pleased to listen, through all the six
thousand years of this gray old world's pilgrimage.

(To be continued.)




MIss THANKFUL WHITE'S keeping-room was
as prim and proper as herself. Hetty Williams
glanced about her, as she knitted briskly. Long
practice had made this easy to her. The chairs
stood stiff and straight against the wall in rows.
The ancient sofa held itself severely erect, while
its long lines of shining nail-heads made her arms
ache to look at them. She had polished their bright
brass every day of her life, as long back as she
could remember. The square-figured carpet was
speckless, -even the feathery asparagus that filled
the fire-place never dropped a grain. The great
pink-lined shells on the high chimney-shelf, and.
the scraggy coral branch, had stood in the same
places always, and the tall bunch of peacock's
feathers, with their gorgeous colors and round eyes,
nodding over the whole, were worst of all-" They
stare so," she said softly under her breath. The
dismal green curtains were down, to keep the sun
from fading the carpet, but the summer wind
fanned them in and out, and brought to Hetty
bright flashes of golden-rod along the road-side,
and the sweet scent of the buckwheat and the
drone of the bees above its white blossoms. The
door to the kitchen was closed. Miss Thankful
had a visitor, and was enjoying a good gossip.
"Take your knittin', Hetty, and run into the
keepin'-room, and shut the door after you," were
Miss Thankful's instructions, when Widow Basset

had seated herself comfortably in the flag-bottomed
rocker. The session was longer than usual, and
Hetty grew desperate.
"Miss Thankful," said she, clicking the latch,
and putting her small head into the kitchen, "may
I take my knittin' out under the big tree in the
orchard ? "
I 'd jest as lief 's not," was the answer, if
only you don't get to within' and forget your work.
The mittens must be done afore Sat'day night, you
For a while the needles flashed in and out, the
mitten grew longer, and the work went on steadily
and quietly, as if Hetty had been one of the newly
patented knitting-machines. The sunshine made
shadow pictures on the grass, the leaves over her
head rustled pleasantly, and the leaves at her feet
waved silently in a tangle of light and shade. The
bees went humming by, and the butterflies brushed
her face, but still the little maid worked faithfully
at her task. The last mitten was nearly finished.
Presently the sudden sound of chattering voices
and merry laughing caused her to look up in sur-
prise. Three little girls were coming toward her,
and one of them said, quite politely:
We saw you here, and thought it looked such
a nice shady place for our dolls' picnic. Should you
mind if we staid with you to play ? "
I should be very glad, indeed," answered Hetty,





heartily; but she scarcely looked at her little vis-
itors-her eyes were fixed on the dolls which two
of them carried. Hetty had a rag-doll of her own
make, hidden away in a box under her bed, and it
was one of her most precious possessions. She
had seen prettier ones at the store, and had long
dreamed of saving pennies to buy one-but these
dolls! these were so unlike anything she had ever
seen or imagined, that they "took away her breath,"
she said. They had dainty waxen faces, with cheeks
like rose-leaves, and great blue eyes with dark,
silky lashes, and real golden hair, wavy and long.
"They must be meant for dolls' angels," she
thought, but said not a word. Hetty was not given
to speaking her mind, Miss Thankful White's motto
being: Little girls must be seen, but not heard."
While she stood lost in admiring wonder, the lit-
tle strangers, with a busy chatter, set about prepar-
ing their picnic. Before long, Hetty knew that they
lived in Boston, and that they, with their mamma,

Presently Hetty said, thoughtfully: I guess lit-
tle girls are heard in Boston."
They looked at her a minute in surprise, and then
one answered:
Why, yes, of course; are n't they in Patchook ?"
"Miss Thankful says they should only be seen,"
was the reply.
"Who is Miss Thankful?"
"Why, she 's Miss Thankful White ; and I live
with her."
Is she your aunt? "
No; she's the one who took me to bring up,
when Mother died-to help 'round, and save her
steps, and do the house chores." Hetty made this
long speech quite rapidly, as if she had heard it,
or said it, so often that she knew it by heart, and
then she fell to knitting busily.
Her little playmates looked at her and at one
another, but did not answer. This was a kind of
life they knew nothing about. They could not

were boarding at the Maplewood Farm, near by, imagine a little girl without a papa and mamma,
for the summer; that two of them were sisters, and auntie and cousins, plenty of toys and playtime,
one a cousin. All this, and much more, was told and lots of laughing and talking.
to their new neighbor. Soon one of them, with a bright thought, said


quickly: Would you like to hold my dolly, while
I help set the table ? "
This was delightful. Hetty dropped her mitten,
and taking the dainty creature gently in her arms,


she lightly smoothed the long, soft dress of finest
frills and laces. What a wonder of beauty! Hetty
sat silent and happy, stroking the golden hair and
touching the little hands and pretty kid shoes.
"Where did it come from ?" she asked at
Uncle Charley bought it for me at one of the
Boston shops," answered the little owner,
carelessly. A wax doll was nothing strange
to her.
Then Hetty took up the other doll and
compared them-" a brown-eyed beauty and
a blue-eyed angel," she thought.
Suddenly she heard Miss Thankful's voice
calling: "Hetty, Hetty Williams! Can'tyou
see it 's near sundown ? How are the cows
to get home if you don't spry up and start
after 'em ?"
Sure enough, the day was nearly done,
and when the little strangers started for
Maplewood Farm, long, spindling shadows,
with long, spindling dolls in their arms, ran
alongside of them. Hetty saw this, as she
stopped to look back after them on her way
to the house.
Then off she trudged after Sukey and
Jenny, but she passed by the flaming golden-
rod, the purple asters, and the creamy buck-
wheat without ever once seeing them. It was
like walking in her sleep. Her eyes were
open, but she saw nothing except the pretty
doll-faces she was dreaming about.
After the cows were home, and the milk in the
bright pans, she finished the last mitten and bound

it off in the fading light. Before she slipped into
her little bed, she took her dear old rag doll from
the box for one look.
It was dreadful. She shut her eyes tight and
put it back quickly out of sight. Those
lovely doll angels! She could not quite
keep them out of her prayers, even. It
took a long, long time for Hetty to go
to sleep that night. Her restless head
tossed from side to side. When, at last,
S it lay quite still, and she was fast asleep,
.-''", it was still full of rosy dreams. Blue-
S eyed dollies, with pink faces and wavy
S hair, crowded about her pillow.
The first beams of the morning sun-
shine found Hetty standing in the mid-
dle of the floor, with a brand-new idea
caught tight and fast in her tangle of
hair. Miss Thankful had not called her.
She was not even stirring yet, and Hetty
spoke aloud:
"Miss Thankful will take the mittens
to the store to-day--that makes six pair
-and Mr. Dob-
bins will send them
to Boston. That
is where the doll
came from."
In a minute more
Hetty had found a

pencil and some scraps of paper, and was seated
by the low window, busily writing. It was clearly
something very important. She wrote one note and



tore it up; and then another and did the same; the
third time it seemed to suit her. Next, she folded
it very small and flat; then she took the new mit-
tens from the drawer, and tucked the folded paper
close up into the tip of the right hand.

Good morning Miss Thankful," said Mr.
Dobbins; want to trade fur mittens agin, do ye ?
Well, that little girl o' yourn makes 'em 'mazin'
spruce. None o' the knittin'-machines beat Hetty
much. We kin get rid o' all ye kin fetch. A
Boston man was in here yist'day and spoke fur
a dozen pair. So help yerself, Miss Thankful;
got some extra fine cotton cloth, very cheap, and
some hansum caliker as ever you see."
Hetty was at the south door as the old chaise
drove up, and took the parcels from Miss Thank-
ful. She saw the mittens had not come back.
"Gone to Boston," she whispered joyfully, as she
turned into the house again.
So they had-started that very day. They did
not stay long in Boston, however. The city was
full of western merchants, buying for the fall
and winter. Among the rest, stacks of woolen
gloves and mittens went off over the iron tracks, up
into the great, cold north-west-
ern country, where Jack Frost
has jolly times playing his Rus-
sian pranks, and nipping noses,
ears, and fingers.

Time went by, and winter came
in dead earnest. Jack Frost en-
joyed his rough jokes and found
his way through all kinds of
gloves. The clerks of a great
store up in Minnesota were tired
of saying to customers, We are
out of woolen mittens, sir-all
gone long ago-not a woolen
glove left in the house, sir."
"Hello, Mike, what is this?"
said a pleasant-faced young fel-
low to one of the porters, as he
drew out a packing-box from -'-
a dark corner in the cellar.
"Shure an' I dun' no, sir. "HETTY SAT LIKE
I 'm thinking' it 's sumthin' that's
hid itself away, unbeknownst likee"
We 'II find out quickly," said the young man.
Mike's hatchet went splintering and cracking
through the dry wood till the cover flew off.
"Wullun gloves Misther Tom, and it 's the
lucky foind, sir. Shure the paaple 'll be twice
gladder to have thim now, sir,' than in the
warrum wayther whin' they cum, sir."
Tom laughed at Mike's sharp way of- dodging

the blame, and ordered them brought upstairs
to be put on the counter at once. As he turned
away, he took up the top pair. "First come,
first served," he said; these are my share. My
old ones leak the cold everywhere." Sitting
down by the glowing stove, he examined his prize
at his leisure. Good, thick, warm wool," said
he. No thin places; honest work, first quality."
By this time, two or three others had gathered
around him, each with a pair of the new find."
When Tom tried the fit of his new gloves, his
fingers touched something in the very tip of the
right hand. Turning it wrong-side out, he found a
carefully folded paper, like a note. Smoothing
it out on his knee, he read it aloud:

"My name is Hetty Williams. I am eight
years old. I live in Patchook, Mass. I knit
these mittens for Mr. Dobbins's store. I wish the
gentleman who buys them would send me a wax
doll. I have only a rag doll, and I want one with
a wax face and blue eyes, and pink cheeks and
real hair. I want her very much indeed."

Hurrah for little Hetty! said Mr. Tom; "she


shall have her wax baby for Christmas-day." And
then he fell into a brown study. The fact was,
Tom had been born "away down East," and he
had worked a while in a country store there. He
knew in a minute just what Mr. Dobbins's store
was like. He fairly smelt the soap, and fish,
and coffee, and could see the calicoes, and dishes,
and woolen socks, and gray mittens. It did not
take long to think all this, and then he cried:


Who wants to help get a stunning doll for little
Hetty? I 'm glad Mr. Dobbins sent her gloves
along this way."
The boys who did not get notes in their mittens
tried to think that Hetty had knitted them all
the same, and when Tom passed around his hat,
the halves and quarters rattled in, then a trade-
dollar thumped down, and a greenback or two
fluttered in silently. Tom took the proceeds and
went to the gayest toy-shop in town, and found
a famous wax dolly. It was as big and as plump
as a live baby, and much prettier, he thought. It
had a long white frock, and shut its eyes properly
when Tom laid it down to count out the money to
pay for it. It did not take long to pack it snugly
in a smooth box. Then Tom pasted Hetty's open
letter on the cover. He went down himself with it
to the express, and told the boys it must go free,
and that every one might send a Merry Christmas
to little Hetty till the lid was full of good wishes.
I doubt if there ever was so much writing outside
of one box. Every man who handled it seemed
to think at once of some little sister or daughter
or niece, and for her sake sent a greeting to the
little girl in Patchook.

The day before Christmas, Miss Thankful
White's old chaise stopped at Mr. Dobbins's store
and post-office, and that lady, with Hetty to carry
the parcels, came usto the counter.
"Good morning Miss Thankful-wish ye
Merry Christmas-fine frosty weather, this. -Le'
me see: I think there's a letter for your little gal,
Hetty there-came this morning Get it out,
Hetty's eyes opened wider than ever before in
her life. A letter for her! What could it mean?
Mr. Dobbins must have made a mistake. But no,
the red-haired boy, Dan, read the address, and
handed it straight to her.
"Miss Hetty Williams, Patchook, Mass."
Her first letter! She never thought of opening
it-she was too much astonished and too well
Sakes alive! Hetty Williams, what' be you
standing' there for, like as if you was struck dumb ?
Why don't ye hev sense enough left to open that
letter and find out su'thin' about it?"
But as Hetty did not stir, Miss Thankful took it
from her hand, removed her glasses, wiped
them and put them on again, then carefully
opened it and slowly read aloud:

"There is a box for Hetty Williams, in the
express office at Fitchtown. Will be kept till

called for. This express does not deliver in

"Wall, to be sure Who kin it be from? how
kin we git it ?" queried that lady, helplessly.
"Why, bless ye, Miss Thankful, that's as easy
as rollin' off a log. My boy Dan is jest hitchin'
up to go to Fitchtown express for some store
goods. He '11 bring Hetty's box along with him,
and glad tew."
Just after early nightfall that day, Mr. Dob-
bins's wagon rattled up to the south door. Miss
Thankful and Hetty both rushed out to meet
Dan, and it would be hard to say which was the
spryer of the two.
Miss Thankful took the box from Dan with
many thanks, and carried it into the house,
It's rather big and hefty for you, Hetty; and
then the good woman carefully pried off the cover
with a claw-hammer-and stove-lifter.. The Christ-
mas softness had, somehow, found its way to her
heart, and so she quietly moved away to put up
the "tools," and left Hetty to unfold the wrap-
pings by herself and first see the sight, whatever
it might be.
Hetty, when Miss Thankful came back, sat as
still as a statue, with folded hands, looking only
at her treasure. Miss Thankful settled her spec-
tacles, took one good look, and then exclaimed:
"Wall, I never! This does beat all natur'.
Where upon airth did it ever rain down from ?"
Just then, her "specs" grew dim, and the old
lady took them off and wiped them well; then she
continued: "Deary me, deary me! Well, I am
right down glad that the Lord's put it into some-
un's heart to clap to and send that child a doll
baby. I 'm sure I never should 'a' thought o' such
a thing, if I'd lived a thousand year, and yet
how powerful happy the little creetur is over it,
to be sure! She looks like a picture kneelin'
there by the box, with her eyes shinin' so bright
and so still, just as if the doll baby was an angel,
come down in its long white frock."
I only wish Tom could have seen Hetty then,
or afterward, when she sat by the bright wood-
fire, looking with childish delight into the soft blue
eyes of her waxen darling. Or if he could have
taken one look at the two heads on the pillow of
the little attic bed, that night-both pair of eyes
fast shut, and Hetty's small arm hugging her
treasure tight and fast in her soundest sleep -he
would then have known to a certainty that little
Hetty Williams was to have at least one happy





[Many of the older boys and girls among our readers, who have seen in the print-shops beautiful engravings
known as The Roll-call," Quatre Bras," Balaclava," etc., and have heard of the fame of Elizabeth Thompson,
the brilliant English girl who painted the original pictures, will be glad to read the following interesting sketch,
written by her sister, Mrs. Meynell. For several of the illustrations to this article (the drawings on pages 190,
191, 192, and 193, showing single-figure studies from some of the prominent English regiments) we are indebted
to the artist herself, who drew them expressly for ST. NICHOLAS.]

-- as I have been, to record the hap-
__ ______ py and successful early career of
T i __ a another, she will be ready, for the
r--_ sake of a task so pleasant, to set
St h s- -- aside the feelings of family diffi-
Sdence, which might make her as
modest in respect of her sister's
fame as if it were her own.
Short biographies of Mrs. Butler
have been plentiful enough, and
-.- have vied with one another in in-
correctness. Elizabeth Thompson
(Mrs. Butler) was positively un-
Sknown to the great public when
her" Roll-call" took the world by
*v storm, and it was scarcely to be
wondered at that the surprise at
her success, joined to the common
love of wonders, gave rise to many
mistakes in regard to her past.
One delusion it is well to put an
t end to at the outset-the opinion
., that her sudden success was not
preceded by long and careful
.' study. In fact, Mrs. Butler has.
a been a worker at art from the age
--_f. of five.
S-- Her father's system of instruc-
"- "tion consisted of reading aloud the
things which he wished to instill
into her mind, while she practiced
.'- drawing and sketching. He be-
lieved that this kind of occupation
d--,. ..-... on her part was no hinderance to
mental attention, but that, on the
.contrary, the after-sight of the
drawing produced during the read-
ing of some passage of history
would recall the events to which
the little artist was listening while
her pencil was at work. A little
IT is not altogether unusual for an artist's or an questioning at the end of each lesson was, of
author's work to be the subject of a brother's com- course, necessary to test whether the pursuit of
ment in criticism or biography. Sons have written art had or had not been too absorbing. Un-
of their fathers; many a wife has chronicled the doubtedly the success of this plan was mainly due
labors of her husband; and, if ofie sister is asked, to his own gentleness and patience. Upon the


whole, the system was found to work well, and it
was no doubt persevered in because it enabled her
father to give his two children more advanced in-
struction than would have been possible without
the constant comment and explanation which a
reader is able to supply, better than any other
teacher, to his hearers. He undertook the whole
.education of his daughters, giving up his time,
and of course denying himself much that other-
wise his cultivated nature would have enjoyed, for
the sake of conscientiously fulfilling his self-im-
posed task. A few words in commemoration may
be permitted in this unavoidably personal little
record, especially now that he is no longer here to
forbid the acknowledgment of all that his cele-
brated daughter owes to him.
Born in 1811, in the West Indies, Elizabeth
Thompson's father was early left an orphan, and
was brought up in the care of his grandfather; he
was educated under private tuition and at Trinity
College, Cambridge, which his delicate health, how-
,ever, caused him to leave before he had taken his
degree. He married, for the first time, very early;
lost his young wife after the birth of a son and
-daughter, and adopted a life of travel and of liter-
ary and artistic interests, collecting pictures, study-
ing by way of pleasure, and enjoying the society
of which the late Lord Lytton, Charles Dickens,
and D'Orsay were the principal stars. During this
period he made a trip to America--rather an un-
common thing in those days; and it was a source
of keen pleasure to him, not only at the time, but
in the memories of his later life.
Of my father's friendship with Charles Dickens
little need be recorded here, except that it was
close and unusually affectionate; that he joined
some of the amateur theatricals which the novel-
ist so enthusiastically loved, and that it was Charles
Dickens who introduced him to the lady who be-
-came his second wife and the mother of the battle-
painter. Meeting, in Liverpool, a young girl who
inspired him with an admiration attested by some
of the most enthusiastic letters he ever wrote,
Charles Dickens could not help coveting the prize
-on behalf of his friend. What he hoped for hap-
pened, in effect, more quickly than he had antici-
pated. He was the confidant of the engagement,
'the life of the wedding, and, with Mrs. Dickens,
the companion of the closing month of a long
wedding journey. His note of congratulation on
the birth of the eldest daughter, Elizabeth, which
event took place at Lausanne immediately after
he had left the young couple in Switzerland, has
'been published in the third volume of Dickens's
Collected Letters."
About seven or eight years later he met my par-
,ents again; this time they were living, with their

two little girls, within sight of the snow-capped
peaks of the Appenines, in an old palace, the Villa
de Franchi, immediately overlooking the Mediterra-
nean, with olive-clad hills at the back; on the left,
the great promontory of Porto Fino; on the right,
the Bay of Genoa, some twelve miles away, and
the long line of the Apennines sloping down into
the sea. The palace garden descended, terrace
by terrace, to the rocks, being, indeed, less a
garden than what is called a villa in the Liguria,
and a podere in Tuscany--a fascinating mixture
of vine, olive, maize, flowers, and corn. A fount-
ain in marble, lined with maiden-hair, played at
the junction of each terraced flight of steps. A
great billiard-room on the first floor, hung with
Chinese designs, was Elizabeth Thompson's first
school-room; and there Charles Dickens, upon one
of his Italian visits, burst in upon a lesson in multi-
plication. It was the first and almost the only time
I ever saw him. In dim remembrance, he abides as
a noisy, very rosy, very energetic, and emphatically
English personality, though his person itself is quite
forgotten; and the fact that nine times nine are
eighty-one has remained in the girls' minds as one
of the most unmistakable items of arithmetic,
accompanied by the clap of hands and the cordial
shout with which he proclaimed it.
The two children never went to school, and
had no other teacher than their father-except
their mother for music, and the usual professors
fo- accomplishments in later years. And
whether living happily in their beautiful Genoese
home, or farther north among the picturesque
Italian lakes, or in Switzerland, or among the
Kentish hop-gardens and the parks of Surrey (the
family having a more than Bedaween fondness for
liberty of movement), Elizabeth's one central
occupation of drawing was never abandoned
-literally not for a day. With it went a pecul-
iar faculty of observation which her father
fostered continually. On the family vetturino
journeys to Florence, to Switzerland, and else-
where the small artist's head was always out of
the window, watching with a perfectly inexhaust-
ible interest the changing of horses and the ever-
varying humors of the road-side. In England, the
subjects of study-and of very profitable study
undoubtedly- were the action of the cricket-field
and the labors of cart-horses in the hay-harvest.
Assuredly the child was never idle, for her eyes
were hard at work. The promise of her sketches
had declared itself very early to eyes able to dis-
criminate between what is significant and living in
such elementary attempts, and what is only the
common work of baby fingers. Both her parents
were, in fact, artists; her father having an alto-
gether exceptional, though" untaught, power in



drawing heads, and her mother being a landscape-
painter whose capacity Mr. Ruskin and the late
Mr. Tom Taylor, among other critics, recognized
with marked interest and admiration. Nor were
the child's wise guides alarmed at what might have
been considered as unfeminine in the subjects she
chose-stampedes of wild horses, battles, and
soldiers in various combinations. So strong a tend-
ency, it was felt, had a meaning; the love of
horses especially seemed to point to a following of
Rosa Bonheur; but happily Elizabeth Thompson,
when in her early teens, abandoned the intention
of being exclusively an animal painter.
When the child was fifteen, it was resolved (the
family being at that time in England) that the
routine of art-training might begin without inter-

After a winter of hard work came a three-
years' sojourn at Bonchurch, in the Isle of Wight,
where Elizabeth Thompson received instruction in
water-color and landscape from a Mr. Gray, con-
tinuing her own sketches from imagination and
nature with ceaseless pleasure. Bonchurch is a
pretty place, but Bonchurch life is hardly pictur-
esque; fortunately, horses are everywhere, and are
always good subjects, even though nothing rougher
or more characteristic be at hand than carriage-
horses, or the well-groomed mare of the family
After still another visit abroad came a prolonged
stay in London and another application, this time
under new circumstances, for the national art-
instruction at South Kensington. The head-master


fearing unduly with other studies; and my sister
joined the South Kensington School of Design,
but only for a session, the work proving too me-
chanical to profit her much. A teacher of art-
painting was therefore engaged, a Mr. Standish,
and the young aspirant handled the brush for the
first time.

there at the time was Mr. Richard Burchett, whose
discrimination as a teacher and whose enlightened
encouragement of the lady students (always under
a disadvantage in Government schools) were of
signal assistance to many a beginner. He knew
how to dispense with routine in a place of which
routine was, apparently, the very life; and to him

It is impossible to present within the limits of one page an adequate copy of The Roll-call," as the required
reduction would make the faces so small that their expression would be lost. We give a reduced outline of the
entire picture, and on pages 188 and 189 show copies of some of its most interesting groups.
All the reproductions here given from the picture of "The Roll-call" are made with the kind permission
of the Fine Art Society, 148 New Bond street, London, owners of the copyright. The painting belongs to Her
Majesty the Queen, and is now at Windsor Castle, but was in the possession of the Fine Art Society for some
time, and was seen by nearly a quarter of a million people. The steel-plate engraving (from which our
engravings are copied) was prepared by Mr. F. Stackpoole, A. R. A., at a cost of nearly 2000 ($10,ooo);
and after thirty-five hundred impressions had been taken off, the plate was destroyed, although in good con-
dition, in order that the value of the engravings might not be lessened by the issue of inferior impressions.


the new pupil's sketches were submitted, with the
bold request that, if he saw fit, he would allow
her to skip the room in which drawings of scroll-
work were to be copied for a certain number of
months, the room in which outlined flowers were
to be reproduced, the room in which an egg was
to be shaded, and that in which a chair was to be
studied in perspective, and all the other prelimi-
naries to the "antique" and the "life." The per-
mission was readily granted, and Elizabeth Thomp-
son became a pupil in figure-drawing. She never
considered, however, that her course of study at
South Kensington had done for her what it
ought to have done in the time which she spent
there, or ;hat the system in force was personal
or careful enough to develop individual power.
And it was between two long courses of study
there that she enjoyed the summer in Florence
and the winter in Rome to which she thought she
owed almost all the solid success of after years.


In 1868, she was painting in private at
Genoa, the city which had been her early

home, and in which her half-sister had married
and remained. The following spring saw the
family in a Florentine villa upon the road to
Fiesole, within walk- ing distance of the
heart of Florence. Elizabeth Thomp-
son at once entered the stu-
dio of Profes- sor Bellucci,

the most emi- nent historical
painter of his time' in Italy,
and made the utmost use of six
months of his ex- cellent instruction.
What she gath.; CouP FROM ered from him she
never lost, and she CALL." was wont to say
that his method of correcting a touch
or an outline, and then asking her whether she
had understood the motive of the correction, was
worth more than a lecture on painting. Every-
thing was personal, well-directed, and insistent
-the very antithesis, in fact, of class teaching,
where generalities are unavoidable. The stead-
fast young student used to rise betimes, to
breakfast alone before the rest of the family,
and to walk down with. a maid into the town,
to the old paved street of Santa Reparata,
where Signor Bellucci had his studio. On the
days when she did not work with him, she copied
passages from the frescoes in the cloisters of the
Annunziata, masterpieces of Andrea del Sarto and
Franciabigio, making a special study of the
drapery of the last-named painter. The sacris-
tans of the old church- the most popular church
in Florence-knew and welcomed the young
English girl, who sat for hours so intently at her
work in the cloister, unheeding the coming and
going of the long procession of congregations pass-
ing through the gates.
Her studies in the galleries were also full
of delight and profit, though she made no other
copies, and she was wont to say that of all
the influences of the Florentine school which
stood her in good stead in her after work, that
of Andrea del Sarto was the most valuable and




the most important. The intense heat of a mid-
summer which, day after day, showed a hundred
degrees Fahrenheit in the shade could not make
her relax work, and her master, Florentine as he
was, was obliged to beg her to spare him, at least
for a week, if she would not spare herself. It was
toward the end of October that artist and pupil
parted, his confidence in her future being as un-
bounded as her gratitude for his admirable skill
and minute carefulness. During the following
seven months, spent in Rome, no other teaching
was sought besides the silent instruction of the
great galleries. Under the influences of the city,
military subjects were put aside for the time, and

------ __-_-. -_

Elizabeth iThoi -. : :d thiC R. : .-
day. drc fr,.. i u u ..:I:. : -l I. .: j
religIOu: r ...ii.. it. r t .. .:,1 l T i ,-
Vir ri. d t. h lr,.: i "- h... :.,i ,. h.
m en ri.:.il i -i! ..i.: .: it J it i;h li i.:. :- r..d
by Id..r : ,,, r. : i. i .1no h .rl, d i- l.:,. i.r. -_ ...1 th.; -",. -
thu.sis .h ich -i. munk pr i, ..:.d, ud th:.l I'l.
the into the boyish mind, and the evident..,
the lrl!il i,:,,_i I:,,:,: ii.i. h i Dit:r,: i 1 .1i.,.l- r t i;-
th e pri.-: ; r d ,:li'h.Jr,: ,- ;-o ,--.:!..i .. rh,: -":.i|-'
g a t i,-, r ,-.,l I..:. 1 -;, 1 01 i. i ",-. i 1 i if, |!, r l,, ui,:' .: 1u[.:!-|.T;
or c 1.:, -.!.; i -i 1 ..- *l. o :r r i ,i i, r ,2, .: : i. '-p h .. ,- -. i *i-
sis w.it whiuli th>i iviiki prc~eyd tlica tliclogical
dogmas into the boyish mind, and the evident
good-will that inspired the little learners. Nor,
fortunately for our artist and the public, was there
any lack of other sketchable matter in Rome that
season, the Vatican Council having assembled in
December, and the churches and streets being

thronged with "types "-Oriental and Occidental,
Tartar and African and Mongolian; while lan-
guages, habits, and vestments were as various as
the faces. The Council was still in session when
the artist, with her family, went to London in the
early summer.
At this time Elizabeth Thompson, again a
student at South Kensington, became a regular
exhibitor at the Dudley Gallery and other water-
color exhibitions. Military subjects had resumed
their strong hold on her fancy; and her drawings
of cavalry in action, of recruits at drill, and kin-
dred scenes gained so much appreciation that a
leading critic adjudged her, to her own surprise, to
be, in her higher
t---.. ...,: har-
SI i11 to
I r E., r, Liur-
S_ h urn
_I Iri he
I, ,.1 pon
p. .. in

.I i ., I i. an-

i t -his
..t! ,on-

.. ..- l m a,, b, con-
sideicd dS dating from
the season of 1870. While,
however, her military work was meeting with what
promised to be a success, the Roman religious
picture of which mention has been made under-
went a more than usually rigorous fate at the
hands of the Royal Academy, being not only re-


jected, but displaying, when eventually recovered
from the cellars of that institution, a ragged hole
in the carefully painted evening sky large enough
to give a glimpse of the sky of London through
the canvas. The next picture, sent to the Acad-
emy from the Isle of Wight, was rejected also,
but came home withoui- a hole; the next year the
young artist tried again-this time with a subject
from the Franco-Prussian war, then of compara-
tively recent interest. "Missing" was the title,
and the picture commemorated one of those side-
incidents of a campaign in which she believed
that art might find a truer and more human
interest than in the masses and generalities of a
battle. Two French officers, old and young, both


wounded and with one wounded horse between
them, have lost their way after a disastrous defeat;
their names will appear in the sad roll as missing,
and the manner of their death will never be

known. The picture gained admittance to the
Academy, to the artist's great pleasure, but was
hung too high up, or, as it is technically termed,
"skyed." During the same year she received
her first commission, which came from one of the
wealthy art-patrons of the great metropolis, and
was accepted as a welcome encouragement and
proof of appreciation. The subject was to be
military; and the artist resolved upon "The Roll-
call." In sticking so resolutely to the painting of
soldiers she abandoned several other branches of
art in which she would probably have won dis-
tinction: sacred history, romantic history, :por-
trait, landscape, or, as has been said, animal-
painting, all lay well within her power, and had
been practiced by her; but she was aware not
only that her own taste pointed decisively in
another direction, but that there was a movement
in her time which it would be wise to join. Mili-
tary painting in France was, in this treatment of
individual soldiers and of incidents of the battle-
field rather than of battles and of masses of men,
a new art, followed by brilliant votaries; but in
England the beginning had not been made. All
artists in these days of numbers feel the great desir-
ableness of some fresh field-if only such should
be open to them. To Elizabeth Thompson this
freshest of fields was manifestly open; she was,
by her long preparation, ready for the time, and
the time was ready for her. The almost over-
whelming success of The Roll-call" owed some-
thing of its completeness to this fortunate com-
bination. A studio was taken in London for the
production of the picture, and there the a-tist
worked on several canvases in years to come.
In the spring of 1874, "The Roll-call" was duly
sent in to the Royal Academy, and was received
with a cheer by the committee. By degrees
tidings of its success were carried to the painter and
her family; there were unmistakable signs of a
sensation in the town; the clubs were full of
rumors of a great picture by a woman; scraps of
talk about it were overheard in railway trains. And
yet this preparation hardly broke the shock of sur-
prise when, on the morning after the Academy
banquet, the speeches of both the Prince of Wales
and the Duke of Cambridge were found to refer in
terms of generous praise to the work of the un-
known girl. Such a compliment had seldom or
never been paid to a new name, and it was the
prelude to a popular furore which can only be
described as unexampled. The Private View had
but one topic of talk, and the picture was pre-
served from destruction at the hands of a mob of
friendly sight-seers only by the efforts of a police-
man; not since the days of Wilkie's first great
success had such a guard been necessary. But




" The Roll-call officer had unquestionably a busy
time of it; from morning till night the throng never
loosened, or relaxed from its hard knot in front of

S6- A


the picture, except, indeed, on one occasion, when
a gap, as memorable as the crowd, occurred on
the day when the Queen, who did not visit the
Academy at that time, had the picture removed
to Buckingham Palace for a few hours, that she
might see a work of such special interest to a
sovereign who has always loved her army. The
Roll-call" was, as has been said, the result of a
commission; but, when Her Majesty expressed a
wish to possess it herself, the owner loyally ceded
his claim, on condition that the next year's picture
should be his. The copyright was purchased for
fifteen times the amount of the original commission,
and during the ensuing four years was either in
the hands of the engraver (Mr. Stackpoole, who
produced an admirable plate) or on view in the
provincial towns, where it became even a greater
lion than it had been in London. And if the
picture was a lion, the painter was the heroine of
the season, and so pursued with her celebrity that
the preservation of serenity of mind was no slight
achievement. The whisper of her name drew

crowds about her in ball-rooms, at exhibitions, in
the public ways; but she never relaxed work for a
day. The next year's picture was her constant
preoccupation, and neither
the pleasure of celebrity
nor the distraction of noto-
riety ever discomposed her.
"Quatre Bras" was exhib-
ited in 1875, and drew a
crowd equal to that which
thronged round its prede-
cessor; it had also the hon-
or of Mr. Ruskin's praise.
"I never approached a pict-
ure," he wrote, "with more
iniquitous prejudice against
it than I did Miss Thomp-
1son's-partlybecause I have
always said that no woman
1 could paint; and secondly,
because I thought what the
S public made such a fuss
'-- about must be good for
nothing. But it is Ama-
zon's work, this, no doubt
| _1c of it, and the first fine pre-
raphaelite picture of battle
--" we have had, profoundly in-
teresting, and showing all
manner of illustrative and
realistic faculty. The sky is
most tenderly painted, and
with the truest outline of
ELIZABETH PUTLER FOR cloud of all in the exhibi-
tion; and the terrific piece
of gallant wrath and ruin on the extreme left,
where the cuirassier is catching round the neck
of his horse as he falls, and the convulsed fallen
horse, seen through the smoke below, is wrought
through all the truth of its frantic passion with
gradations of color and shade which I have not
seen the like of since Turner's death." "The
Return from Balaclava" followed in 1876, and
"Inkerman"--a return of infantry in this case
-in 1877.
This was the year of Elizabeth Thompson's
marriage with Major (now Colonel) Butler, C. B.
(who as the author of "The Great Lone Land"
needs no introduction), an alliance which has
strengthened her love of military art by inspiring
her with a personal interest in the army, and which
has also given her a new country- Ireland-hence-
forth to be in its landscapes and its people the
subject of her enthusiastic study. The deep
coloring of the climate, its strong effects of light
and cloud, have delighted her eye and her im-
agination. Whereas her former recreation con-



form and strengthen her
dramatic imagination. Of
her two pictures exhibited
in 1879, one (" 'Listed
for the Connaught Ran-
gers") dealt with Irish
life, and the other (" The
,.' Remnant of an Army")
with one of the most
tragic events in the In-
dian history of England-
the solitary arrival of Dr.
Brydon under the walls
-. of Jellalabad in 1842, after
the destruction of General
SElphinstone's force of
16,ooo by the Afghans.
A commission from the
Queen produced "The
Defense of Rorke's Drift,"
an incident of the Zulu
s war, exhibited at the

to the familiar Mediterranean or 3
sister generally of a trip to Italy, .-. .
and in the same year was

to the Tuscan vineyards in time

of vintage, it now usually takes ---
the form of a stay in some Irish _
glen; but wherever Mrs. Butler
travels it is with the enjoyment
of one to whom all things are
always new, whose sketch-book -Bt. ...-
is constantly in her hand, who -*,,,;A '
has that artist's gift felicitously -
called by some one "collodion
on the retina," and whose intelli-
gent appreciation of the realities
world has done so much to in- ST. NICHOLAS.]
worl ha doe somuc toin-ST. NICHOLAS.]


completed the picture called "Scotland For-
ever"! which, in the opinion of many critics,
showed an increased development of power in
movement, in the expression of energy, and
in the drawing of the horse.
Mrs. Butler in her studio is surrounded by
the signs of work rather than by those signs
of play which make many an artist's atelier
an apartment for the display of luxury. No
bric-t-brac and no bits of subtle drapery are
there, no stuffed peacocks and no orange-trees
in flower: her art deals with other matters.
The walls are hung with old uniforms-the
tall shako, the little coatee, and the stiff stock
-which the visitor's imagination may stuff out
with the form of the British soldier as he fought
in the days of Waterloo. These are objects of
use, not ornament; so are the relics from the
fields of France in 1871, and the assegais and
spears and little sharp wooden maces from
Zulu-land. These accessories of her art are
peculiarly dear to Mrs. Butler. And, in-
deed, uniforms and arms have a meaning, a
spirit and significance, which no other kind
of garment possesses. Her models are not th
usual professionals-pretty women in elaborate
historical costumes, or men who have achieved
triumph in the development of muscle. Mrs
Butler draws directly from her subjects--the sol
dier and the horse; and as Wordsworth's pro
verbial servant-girl, on being asked to show he
master's study, said that his library was in th
house but that he studied in the fields, so it ma
be said that Mrs. Butler studies in the fields, ii
the streets, making notes from horses as the
rest at pasture or labor at draught. The wall


Sof her studio are hung with sketches as well as
t with "properties "-Genoese studies and-Floren-
tine studies, drawings of Tuscan oxen in the vine-
- yards, impressions of landscape, light, and color.
- That she spends her time in learning is a fact
- which should exist in the life of any artist; and
e that the altered conditions and duties entailed
y upon her by matrimony have not interfered with
i her old industry should encourage those young
r women who fear marriage as an obstacle to success
s in art.


VOL. X.-13.



_d _A.rI
--- I *'

-. -9 F
~L~I4 -:

&:i' V m;.. ___

L k ---~ N






RUPE and Rod ran on merrily down the bank,
while Letty waited alone on the bridge, in the
pleasant evening light, until Rush came out of
Mr. Rumney's yard and joined her.
The innocent girl was thinking gratefully of the
happy days which awaited them in that charming
spot, with the lake so near and the river run-
ning by their door, delighting their eyes while it
turned the mill, when a glance at Rush's per-
turbed face startled her from that bright dream.
"Rupe he cried, go and find the boys, and
tell them I want to see 'em. About something
very particular."
Then, after the youngsters were gone: "I '11
tell you all about it now," he said in answer
to an eager inquiry from his sister. "I did n't
want the boys to know, for we must keep it from
He was in a fever of excitement. He took off
his hat, to cool his brow in the dewy evening air,

and continued, while she listened with breathless
interest, leaning by the rail of the bridge :
"There 's a good reason why I did n't like the
looks of that new building over on the pond! It's
the boat-house of a newly formed club--the Ar-
"We knew it was a boat-house," said Letty.
"But I don't see why it should trouble you."
"No, you don't take in the meaning of it,"
replied Rush. "But I did, as soon as I found out
that Dick Dushee had thought it necessary to
make up a fib about it. There 's a rage for boat-
ing, just now, here in Tammoset and Dempford."
"All the better," said Letty. "It will make
things lively. We are to have a boat, too, you said
yourself; and Lute has promised to make one."
"It would all be very well, but for one thing,"
said Rush. "Many of the boats will be kept in
the new boat-house, and about the pond. Some
belong down the river. And all will want to be
passing up and down."
S"I should think so," replied Letty, still failing to
see the evil which cast so dark a shadow. "Why

* Copyright, 1882, by J. T. Trowbridge. All rights reserved.



"There 's our mill-dam! said Rush, in a low,
intense whisper; and, as they walked on, he told
her all he had heard. "This was what made
Dushee so rabid to sell."
"Oh, I see exclaimed Letty. "But the dam
has a right to be there ? "
"So Uncle Dave's lawyer told us; he looked
into that matter when he examined the title to the
He ought to know."
Of course he knows. But he merely went to
his law-books for his knowledge, probably. It 's
a pity he did n't talk with the Dempford and Tam-
moset Argonauts "
"Did n't any of you talk with anybody else ?"
poor, distressed Letty inquired.
Why, yes; the boys, when they came up here
with Uncle Dave, went and talked with Mr. Rum-
ney. He owns the land on the other side of the
mill and up above here. He told them that
keeping back the water did more good than harm
to the land-owners, and he had never heard a
complaint against it from one of'em, during the
dozen years and more the dam has been there.
But he never said a word about the boats. Neither
did Dushee."
Oh dear What can you do ?"
I have n't talked with Lute and Mart," replied
Rush. "But since the law is on our side, and
the dam has a right to be there, and it is neces-
sary to our business,-why, it would ruin us to
take it away,--I know just what they will think."
They will stand up for their rights," said
Letty, pride in her strong, resolute brothers rising
above her fears. "They are not cowards. Neither
are you, Rush "
I should hope not," said Rush, with a nervous
laugh. We have Mother to think of, you know.
We have got all her money in this property, and
we are bound to protect it, for her sake even more
than our own."
Can't you see some of the Argonauts,-if
that 's what you call them,-and come to some
agreement with them ? I do so dread the thought
of any trouble exclaimed Letty.
"So do I; and, of course, we shall get along
peaceably with them if we can. But, by their
driving Dushee to sell out,' I judge that they 're
pretty rough fellows. It wont do for them to be
rough with us !" Rush added, with another excited
laugh.- There come the boys."
Near the house they met the two oldest, saunter-
ing along the walk. They had had a good day in
the shop, notwithstanding the fish-officer's visit;
and they were hopefully, and tranquilly talking
over their plans in their mother's room, when
they received Rush's message.

"How little they suspect whispered Letty.
"What 's up, Rocket?" Mart inquired, care-
lessly, resting one hand on his hip.
"Send back the boys," said Rush, in a low
voice; for the two. youngest.were following. I
don't know, though; I suppose they may as well
be told; but the whole thing must be kept from
Mother. Go in, Letty, and if she asks any.ques-
tions, just say I wanted to talk about boats. She
knows we. think of building one."
"What have you f-f-found out?" said Lute.
"Anything more about f-f-fish-officers ?"
Worse than that! Rush replied. And there,
on the high bank above the river, in the fading
twilight, with his four brothers grouped about him
for an audience, he told briefly his story.
After a few of their eager questions had been
answered, Lute turned to the oldest and said:
It looks as if Dushee had let the knife into us
middling d-d-deep. Do you remember how the
d-d-deed reads ? "
I 'm afraid there 's not over-much comfort for
us in that," Mart replied. "It guarantees the
title to the real estate, but merely assigns to us the
right he bought of Rumney to maintain a dam
against his shore for ninety-nine years."
That is, the right to maintain it if we c-c-can,"
said Lute.
"And we can," exclaimed Rush, "with the
law on our side. And we will "
The law is a good thing to have on a man's
side," Mart said. "But with a boat-club against
us, made up of fellows from two towns, maintaining
our right is n't going to be the smoothest job."
Rush had expected to see his brothers take a
more determined attitude at the start; and this sort
of talk disheartened him.
Dushee is a villain 1 he exclaimed, with burn-
ing resentment.
"Why don't you go right over and punch his
head for him?" cried Rupert. I would! I'll
take that Dick; and you see if I don't give him the
worst pounding ever the mean son of a mean man
Don't talk nonsense," said Lute.'" P-p-punch-
ing and p-p-pounding wont do any good."
No," said Mart. "And remember, you boys:
We've the right on our side, to begin with, and'we
've got to move carefully, so as not to put ourselves
in the wrong. So, just let Dick Dushee alone, and
take care what you say to other people."
"That's the p-p-point," said Lute. We are
going to stand up for our rights, even if we have to
fight for 'em. But we don't want to f-f-fight,
unless we 're f-f-forced to. Is n't that the ground,
Mart? "
"Precisely," said Mart. "We 've everything


at stake here, and we 're not to be scared. If the
principal Argonauts are reasonable, right-minded
fellows, it 's likely we can make some amicable
arrangement with them. If not "
I'd fight 'em!" said Rupe. I think there 'd
be fun in it."
"There might be, if it was n't for Mother," said
Mart. She must n't be troubled about this affair
at all. Come, Lute."
Where are you going?" Rush asked.
To have a quiet and agreeable little chat with
"Yes, let's w-wash our hands of him the f-f-first
thing," Lute assented.
They started off, the younger boys following,
intent on witnessing the sport.
See here !" said Mart. We 're not going to
battle. We don't need an army. Go back! But
Rush can come along as far as Rumney's, where
we shall stop to have a little talk first."



THE elder Dushee was not pleasantly surprised
when, that evening, there came a decided ring at
the door of his new house on the Dempford side of
the river; and, on opening it, lamp in hand, he
looked out on the serious faces of the big Tinkham
It was hard to manufacture, at once, and on the
spot, smile enough to cover that enormous blank
countenance of his; but he struggled manfully at
it, and invited them to step in."
They stepped in accordingly, and remained
quietly standing, while he placed the lamp on a
table and offered them chairs.
"Re'l spring-like weather, now," he observed,
hospitably. "Any news?"
Y-y-yes, r-r-rather," said Lute, with gleaming
spectacles. "Seems to be p-p-pretty good weather
for news."
"You told our brother Rush this evening," said
Mart, "that there were some little things about
the mill we should have to find out for ourselves."
"Yes, certainly."
There was hardly smile enough to go around
among the Dushee features; but the mouth made
the most of its share, and grinned persistently.
"And we 're f-finding 'em out," said Lute.
"But we thought," Mart added, in his driest
manner, "that it might simplify matters if you
would be a little more liberal with your informa-
Truth is a p-p-precious thing, we know,"
struck in the other's rapid stammer. "But a man

should n't be too s-s-saving of it. And if you '11
waste a little on us, now that it can't hurt your
trade, we 'll be ob-b-liged to you."
If there was any humor in their way of introduc-
ing the business that brought them, not the least
consciousness of it was betrayed by either of the
boys; and surely Mr. Dushee was in no mood to
appreciate it. There was a rather grim earnest-
ness in their manner which to him foreboded
unpleasant things.
"Better set down," he said, as they remained
standing. "Truth about what?"
"About the trouble you 've had with the boat-
club, and the probable amount in pickle for us,"
said Mart. "You 've played a sharp game on us,
Mr. Dushee; but we have n't come to make any
unnecessary comments on that. The important
thing now is, to know what we 're to expect from
the Argonauts."
"Wall, I d'n' know. Better set down," said
Dushee, with a stammer that rivaled Lute's. I
guess you '11 get along with 'em. You 're new
men. There wont be the prejudice agin' you
there has been agin' me."
"Mr. Rumney says you 've had your flash-
boards broken and parts of the dam torn out more
than once. How is it? Mart inquired.
He told you that? said Dushee, quickly.
"Yes; but not till after you had made. your
trade. He was careful about that. Now fork out
the facts," Mart added, with his most deliberate
drawl, "and oblige."
I have had a little trouble with some of 'em,"
Dushee admitted, after urging his visitors again to
set down." There was skurce a boat on the
river, 'cept now and then one going' up into the
pond, fishing not for years. I could always 'com-
modate 'em, and nobody never questioned my
right to have a dam there."
"N-n-nobody? said Lute.
"Nobody Dushee repeated, with emphasis.
-" Better set down-Not for a dozen years at

least. Then a passel of boys, that was in baby-
frocks when I built it, they 'd growed up to feel
smart and think they owned all creation. They
must have their boats; and, if I was n't on hand to
pull up my flash-boards for 'em, they had no
more sense than to go to smashin' things. Come!
wont ye set down ? "
"Guess not," said Mart. "We're like the boy
that went visiting with his mother, and when she
kept asking him at the table: 'Can't ye eat a little
more, sonny? can't ye eat a little more ?' Mabby
I could,' says he, 'if I stood up.' We can take in
your facts best standing. And as we don't mean
to intrude on your hospitality again, we want a full
meal this time."



This was said with such solemn deliberation that,
when Mr. Dushee tried to receive it as a joke, his
forced laugh sounded strangely out of place.
Why did n't you tell us this when we first asked
about the d-d-dam ? Lute inquired.
"I d'n' know; I wa'n't bound to. Every man in
business has his enemies and his little troubles,

I .-

I ~-~--- --. -~- ~-~
I*~Q41~9~ ,rt +
I -- H I
___ -2--


and you don't s'pose he 's goin' to make out a list
of 'em when he comes to sell out, do ye ?"
"Little troubles is g-g-good," said Lute.
"Of course," said Dushee. "This boatin' fever '11
die down about as sudden as it come up; storm '11
blow over in a little while, and you'll be all right."
"Did n't you have to keep your flash-boards
open half the time last summer ? Mart demanded.
"Wall, I did keep 'em open a little more'n I
wanted to, I allow."
And did n't you keep your dam from being
destroyed at last by promising, if the Argonauts
would leave it for you to use after the boating sea-

son was over, you would make some different ar-
rangements before spring ? "
Wall, I have made different arrangements,"
said Dushee.
Yes, you 've sold the property to us," Mart
replied, with his usual drawl, but with a dangerous
light in his eyes. Without incimbrance, you said,
but I call a fight like this
with two towns the big-
gest sort of an incum-
"We 've got about as
much satisfaction as I
expected," said Lute.
"When a man deliber-
ately swindles a widow
and her boys in this way,
it's like exp-p-postulating
with a hyena to call him
to an account for it. But
there's another thing we
came to say."
"Yes," Mart added.
th I told you to-day that
we would take the horse
S and wagons and things at
your price. But now, we
think differently."
SYou back down?"
cried Dushee.
"We b-b-back down,"
said Lute. "A man may
overreach us once. But
we 're fools if we let him
overreach us tw-twice."
-"But he 's a good,
.- sound horse!" Dushee
"He may be," Lute
S- answered. "But it will
take more than your word
to convince us there is n't
some inc-c-cumbrance on

We don't want anything more to do with you,
or any more of your property," said Mart. "Come
and take it away."
"And another thing," Lute added, as theyr were
about to go. Come and get your property, as
my b-b-brother says. But after that, if I catch
you on our place again, I'll p-p-pick you up and
throw you into the w-w-water."
As Dushee was about twice as big as the boy of
nineteen who made this threat, it would have
sounded laughable enough, if 'anybody there pres-
ent had been in a laughing humor.
As for Dushee, he was in a blustering rage by



= r
-- --


this time. He threatened, at first, to sue the widow
for the price of the horse and wagons; then he
taunted the boys with their smartness in putting
into the market dolls' carriages that crowded his
"You 're welcome to make 'em now, at any
price," he roared after them as they walked out of
the door. But you 've somebody else besides me
to compete with. You 've got the Argynots to
compete with! Compete with them! "
They kept their temper pretty well, considering
the circumstances, and went slowly away, without
deigning any further reply.
It had been, on the whole, an unfortunate visit,
and they had the poor satisfaction of feeling that
they had -gained nothing by it but an enemy,
against the day when they were to have enemies
enough and to spare.
They had gained two enemies, in fact; young
Dick Dushee, who had stood in the background
during the interview, counting henceforth for one.



THE next morning the boys went quietly about
their work, wisely resolved not to borrow trouble,
'but to await developments, and make the best of
They started up the mill, and the rush of the
water-wheel, the clank and whir of the machinery,
and the noise of the jig-saw and lathe, made the
music their hearts loved.
Early in the forenoon, Mr. Dushee came over
with Dick, hitched the horse to the wagon, loaded
up the extra pieces of harness, the blankets and
robes, with other articles, and took the buggy in
tow. They said nothing to anybody; but Dick
glared insolently at Rupe and Rod, who were dig-
ging in the garden, and snatched from their hands
the rake and fork they were using, these being
among the effects which the Tinkhams had finally
declined to purchase.
"Don't say a word to him !" Rupe charged his
brother, who was inclined to resent this rudeness.
"They 're welcome to their old traps; we don't
want 'em."
This was said loud enough for the Dushees to
hear, while Rupe bestowed on Dick a look of de-
fiant scorn.
The Dushees drove away with their miscella-
neous possessions, and a few minutes later Rupe
and Rod were on their way to the village, with
money Mart had given them to buy the garden
tools they needed.
The next day was Sunday; and in the afternoon

Mrs. Tinkham made her first visit to the seats in
the willow tree over the river.
Mart carried her across the plank in his strong
and tender arms, and placed her where the best
views were to be had, while Letty followed with a
shawl to wrap around the delicate shoulders. The
sun was shining, but there was a chill in the air.
There was room on the benches for the whole
family, though Mart remained leaning against one
of the great branches, and Rod chose to perch
himself on a limb.
Lute had a newspaper, and Letty had brought a
book from which to read aloud to her mother. But
book and newspaper were forgotten in the charm
of the situation and the. pleasant communion which
united the hearts of mother and children.
"Mr. Dushee must be a man of some taste,"
said the widow, looking delightedly around, or
he never would have put these seats here in this
old tree."
"I fancy he has about as much taste as his old
roan horse has," replied Mart. "He used to have
a partner in the business, who lived in the house
here with him; and it's to him and his. young wife
that we owe these and some other pleasant things."
"Speaking of the horse," said his mother, "I
can't understand why you concluded so suddenly
not to buy him, after I had given my consent."
"We have n't much c-c-confidence in Dushee,"
remarked Lute, who had pulled off his spectacles
to read his newspaper, but now put them on again
to look about him. "He would never let on, if the
horse's legs were c-c-covered with spavins and
"Besides, we shall probably want to use all our
spare cash in establishing ourselves here," said
Mart, thinking of their rights to be maintained and
perhaps fought for. Then there will be a satisfac-
tion in buying a better horse, and new wagons and
things, when we can afford them."
"A wise conclusion, I've no doubt," said his
mother. "Rocket, I do think it was a happy in-
spiration that made you hunt up this place and
insist on our buying it Does n't it seem, chil-
dren, as if it had been made and kept for us, just
as Rocket said ?"
The older boys did not respond to this senti-
ment so promptly as might have been expected,
the consciousness of an important secret kept
from her, and of troubles in store of which she
did not dream, tying their tongues.
But Rush spoke up earnestly: I hope you will
always think so, Mother." And Letty, to the re-
lief of her brothers, began to expatiate on the
beauties of the place, in her extravagant, girlish
I was sorry to take you children out of school,"



the widow said. But I am told the schools here
are as good as those in town, and you, Letty, shall
begin to go at the commencement of the next
term, along with Rupe and Rod."
I want to stay at home and work in the gar-
den," said Rod. "We are going to raise flowers,
and corn, and potatoes, and peas, and beans, and
strawberries, and everything."
You shall have work enough in the garden,"
said Mart; "all you hanker for, I '11 warrant."
"What a blessed day of rest this is said the
mother, after the turmoil of moving and getting
settled It seems as if there was nothing now to
mar our perfect enjoyment."
"N-n-nothing! stammered Lute, taking off
his glasses again to look at the newspaper, but
thinking all the while of the menaced dam.
I'm only afraid you'll work too hard, boys,"
she went on. "You've been looking rather care-
worn for a day or two; and I don't like to see it."
We've had a good many things to think of,"
drawled Mart, glancing from under his contracted
brows at some object down the river.
"Too many !" exclaimed the mother. I think
some are unnecessary. The boat, for instance,
which you talk of making. Don't think of that at
"We shall want a boat," said Lute, carelessly.
"There 's a new boat-club here in town, and we
may wish to j-j-join it."
"Why, yes," returned the mother; "it will be
pleasant to be on good social terms with the young
"V-v-very," said Lute. "We hope to be."
"There comes a boat, now cried Letty, her
eye having followed Mart's down the river. Two
of them! "
"Three !" called Rod from his perch on the
limb, as a third boat hove in sight around the bend
below the mill.
"How charming they look exclaimed the
"L-l-lovely said Lute, peering anxiously
through his glasses.
"They are the first of the season," said Rush.
They are coming up with the tide."
The flash-boards were up, yielding a free pas-
sage to the boats, the foremost of which, impelled
by sturdy oars,'caime gliding through.
"If it was a week-day, and the mill was going,
I don't see how they would pass the dam," Mrs.
Tinkham observed, looking down on the boatmen,
who, in their turn, looked up at the group in the tree.
Sunday is the time for them," said Mart. And
they '11 naturally come at flood-tide, when the flash-
boards are always open, whatever the day."
Then, without giving her time to reflect that the

boats would probably be returning with the ebb,
and that on working days they would find the pas-
sage in the dam closed, he added:
I 'm afraid it's a little cool for you, Mother.
I don't want you to take cold the first time; for I
expect you will pass whole days here when the
weather is warm and the trees are in foliage."
"But you are not going to take me in so soon!"
she said, entreatingly, as if she had been the child
and he the parent.
"I think I'd better." And he put his arms
about her.
Oh, yes; we '11 all go," said Letty, at a hint
from Rush.
There was something in the appearance of one
of the boats which the boys did not like; and if
their mother was to be spared all knowledge of the
threatened troubles, it was high time that she
should be got out of the way.



THE first boat, having passed the dam, staid
its oars. The second likewise slackened speed,
and drifted with the current abreast of the mill,
while the third boat came up.
In the bow of this boat was a burly fellow, whom
we may as well introduce to the reader.
He was a Dempford boy, named Buzrow-son
of a Buzrow whom nobody we can hear of ever
knew, but who was popularly supposed to have
possessed prodigious strength. Tradition declared
him to have been double-jointed, or "double-
j'inted," as the boys had it; and there was a story
that he had once knocked down a cow with his fist.
Milton Buzrow-for that was the son's name;
though why a.Buzrow who could knock down cows
with his fist should honor a poet by calling a child
after him, admits of some speculation- Milton, I
say (commonly called Milt), was hardly yet twenty
years old; but, in addition to the honor of being
the son of the cow-smiter, he also enjoyed a repu-
tation for tremendous physical prowess. He made
no claim to being, like the mythical Buzrow, double-
j'inted, but his style of conversation clearly showed
that he regarded the knocking down of cows as an
act of heroic manhood to which he, too, might, in
due time, aspire.
Such a Buzrow was naturally a leader among a
certain class of boys; and that he did not often
lead them into ways of peace and quietness need
hardly be said. He was one of the Dempford
Argonauts, and, we must add, not one of the mild-
est-mannered and most modest of those young
gentlemen, by any means.



It was Milt Buzrow who had made a braggart
vow, at a meeting of the club in November, that
if Dushee's mill-dam remained to obstruct their
navigation of the river until after he had got his
boat into the water in the spring, he, for one,
would proceed, in open daylight, to do it some
dreadful damage.
Spring was now here, and here was the mill-
dam. Here also, this Sunday afternoon, when he
might have been better employed, was Milt Buzrow
in his boat. Would he dare to execute his threat?
That became an exciting question to his mates,
seeing that he had no longer a timid and crafty
Dushee to deal with, but three stalwart-looking
lads watching him from the tree.
He had committed himself, however, to an act
of aggression, and it would never do to have it
said that a Buzrow had backed out of anything
because he was afraid.
The dam was a simple structure: strong stakes
driven into the river-bed, with closely fitting hori-
zontal planks nailed to them, over a mud-sill across
the bottom of the river.
Buzrow had two of his trusty followers with him,
and as they kept the boat in place with their oars,
he.hauled up a crow-bar from the bow, where he
braced himself, and began to strike the point of it
against the planks.
He was striking and wrenching, and a plank was
beginning to splinter, when somebody in the other
boat whispered: "Look out! there comes one of
'em "and Buzrow, glancing up from his work, saw
At the first movement of the iron bar, the sec-
ond son had slipped from the tree down the bank,
and sprung to the platform over the Tammoset end
of the dam.
"See here, young man! he called out, "you
are a stranger to me, and I am not aware that I
ever d-d-did you any harm."
His manner was not at all menacing, and Buzrow
inferred that he could treat his stammer, and his
spectacles, and his wise-looking old-young face
with contempt-all the more safely because he
himself was on the opposite side of the flash-board
opening, about ten feet off.
"No, you n-n-never have," the son of the cow-
smiter replied, with a mock stutter which greatly
delighted his associates. But this dam has, and I
promised Dushee that if it staid here till spring
it would get smashed."
But Dushee has nothing more to do with it,"

struck in another voice; and there were two Tink-
hams on the platform.
The second was Rush, who had stopped to snatch
up a bean-pole, and now stood grasping it, while
he joined his remonstrance to Lute's.
As there was nothing at all comical about his
determined manner and blazing eyes, Buzrow
deemed it worth while to treat him with rather
more respect, especially as the pole was a dozen
feet long.
I don't know anything about that," he deigned
to respond; then with a whisper to his oarsmen,
"Get a little further out of his reach."
But you ought to know about it, before you go
to destroying our property! said Rush. We did
n't suppose this dam injured any one, when we
bought it. We have come here to get an honest
living, in peace with our neighbors, if we can."
That you can't, as long as you keep a dam
here," said a man in one of the other boats. "We
have no quarrel with you, and don't want to have.
But if you think you are going to step into
Dushee's place and do what he found to his cost
that he could n't, you're mightily mistaken."
All we want to do," said Lute, is to carry on
our lawful b-b-business; and that we've a p-p-per-
fect right to do."
We don't want to interfere with your business,
or injure you in any way," said Buzrow. But you
have no more right to keep a dam here than you
have to put a gate across the highway. That's all
there is about that."
Having got well beyond sweep of the bean-pole,
he gave startling emphasis to these words by
striking another blow with his bar.
"Break that dam," cried Rush, lifting the pole,
and standing ready to leap from the platform into
the river, "and I '11 break your head "
By that time there was a third Tinkham.on the
spot, namely, Mart, with two more younger ones
hastening to bring clubs and brick-bats from the
Give me room, boys," said Mart. No, Rocket,
I don't want your pole. Don't fling any of those
missiles, boys "
He stepped to the end of the platform, and stood
there weaponless, his right hand clenched and rest-
ing on his hip, in a favorite attitude, the other
hanging loosely by his side; rather thin of face
and lank of form, but of goodly height, long-
limbed and athletic, and with an eye like a hawk's
as he looked over at Buzrow and his iron bar.

(To be confHined.)





BY H. H.

"l-' : .
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4.:.'^ / ", ;-.. 1' :.
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P- r
4'rFJ~ s~~~


THE Chinese New Year's day in 1882 fell on the
seventeenth of February. They have a week of hol-
idays at their New Year, just as we do between the
twenty-fifth of December and the first of January.
On Thursday, the sixteenth, the Chinese
laundry-men and shop-keepers in Santa Barbara
printed in the newspapers of the town an invita-
ti6n to all their friends and patrons to call and see
them the next day. This invitation said that
there would be fire-works in the morning, from
half-past twelve o'clock to one, and from eight
to ten, and from nine to ten in the evening.

In the cities they make a fine display of fire-
works, but none of the Chinese people in Santa
Barbara are rich, so there were no fire-works,
except crackers; but there were barrels and
barrels full of these, and the Chinese boys do not
fire off crackers on their New Year's day as
American boys do, a cracker at a time, or one
package at a time: they bring out a large box
full, or a barrel full, and fire them off, package
after package, as fast as they can, till the air is.
as full of smoke as if there were a fire, and the
ground is covered with red, half-burned ends.


Long before we reached the part of the town
where most of the Chinese live, we heard the
noise of the crackers going off; and when we
came to the street where the Joss-house is I
was almost afraid to drive in, there was such
a racket and such a smell of smoke. The
Chinese did not seem to mind it at all. They
were hopping about in the smoke, pouring the
crackers out on the ground, box after box, barrel
after barrel. You could not see their faces clearly
for the smoke. Groups of American boys stood
as near as they dared, looking on. Now and then
one would dart in and snatch up one cracker, or a
string of them, which had not gone off.
I thought the American boys had almost as
much fun out of it as the Chinese.
This firing of crackers did not last-long, luckily.
If it had, the air would have been so bad that
nobody could have breathed. After the fire-works
stopped, we went into the houses. Every Chinese
family keeps open house on New Year's day, all
day long. They set up a picture or an image of
their god in some prominent place, and on a table
in front of this they put a little feast of good things
to eat. Some are for an offering to the god, and
some are for their friends who call. Every one is
expected to take something; and they are so
courteous that they always provide one dish of
sweetmeats for Americans, who may not like the
Chinese cooking.
There was no family so poor that it did not have
something set out, and some sort of a shrine
made for its idol; in some houses it was only a
coarse wooden box turned up on one end like
a cupboard, with two or three little tea-cups full
of rice or tea, and one poor candle burning before
a cheap paper picture of the god pasted or tacked
at the back of the box.
In some of the best stores were groups of
Chinese men playing cards and smoking; each
man had, sitting on the table before him, a tiny
little tea-cup, no bigger than a doll's tea-cup;
it would not hold more than one small mouth-
ful. As fast as these were emptied, they were
filled again from a pretty china tea-pot, which
stood inside a round bamboo basket on' the
table--the last place you would have looked for
the tea-pot if you had been asked to find it;
but this is the way the Chinese keep their tea
hot. The baskets are lined with many thicknesses
of wadding, covered with soft satin or silk, and
are very much prettier than the cozies which
English people make out of quilted silk, in the
s.iape of helmets, to be shut down over the tea-
ot tb 'keep it warm.
'irni-one' of the stores two men were playing a
game' which has been played, under different

names, all over the world. It consists simply in
one man holding out his hand, with part of the
fingers closed and part open, and his antagonist
calling out, instantly, how many of his fingers are
open. One would think nothing could be easier
than this. But when the movements are made
rapidly it is next to impossible to call out the
number quickly without making a mistake. For
every mistake a fine of some sort, according to the
agreement of the players, is to be paid. These
Chinese men played it with such vehemence that
the perspiration stood on their foreheads, and their
shrill crying out of the numbers sounded like un-
broken sentences; there did not seem a breath
between them. They rested their elbows on the
table, and, with every opening and closing of the
fingers, thrust the fore-arm forward to its full
length, so there was violent exercise in it.
The Italian peasants whom I used to see playing
it in Rome took it in an easier fashion. They
rested their wrists on a table, or the door-sill, or
the ground, wherever they happened to be play-
ing, and simply opened and closed their fingers.
In the Etruscan Museum in Rome, on one of the
vases which were buried in tombs many hundred
years before Christ's day, there is a picture of two
men playing this very game. So it seems prob-
able that it is as old as the human race itself.
It was amusing to watch the American boys
darting about from shop to shop and house to
house, coming out with their hands full of queer
Chinese things to eat, showing them to each
other, and comparing notes.
Oh, let me taste that!" one boy would ex-
claim, on seeing some new thing; and, Where
did you get it? Which house gives that ?" Then
the whole party would race off to make a descent
on that house, and get some more. I thought it
wonderfully hospitable oh the part of the Chinese
people to let all these American boys run in and
out of their houses in that way, and help them-
selves from the New Year's feast.
Some of the boys were very rude and ill-man-
nered-little better than street beggars; but the
Chinese were polite and generous to them all.
The Joss-house, where they had their re-
ligious services, was a chamber in one of their
best houses. A door from an upper balcony
opened into it. This balcony was hung with
lanterns and decorated with mottoes printed in
large letters on bright red paper. The door at the
foot of the stairs which led up to this room stood
open all day, and any one who wished could go
up and say his prayers in the Chinese fashion,
which is a curious fashion indeed. They have
slender reeds, with tight rolls of brown paper fast-
ened at one end. In front of the image or picture



of their god they set a box or vase of ashes, on
which a little sandal-wood is kept burning. When
they wish to make a prayer, they stick one of the

reeds down in these ashes, and set the paper on
fire. They think the smoke of the burning paper
will carry the prayer up to heaven.
There was no image of their god in this little


Joss-house-they were too poor to have one; they
had only a gay colored picture of it put up on the
wall. In front of this was a frame-work of wood,
decorated with
gay colored
papers,_ tinsel,
artificial flov-
ers, and pea-
cock feathers.
I Narrow tables
w r i of different
I heights, like
S/ shelves, were
arranged in
front of this,
s e p -t and on them
were placed a
strange collection of articles. Vases filled with
paper roses and gold and silver leaves; lighted
candles; and great bowls filled with pebbles and
water, in which were growing beautiful plants of
the fragrant Chinese lily (a flower like our white
narcissus, and with an odor so sweet that it can
scarcely be endured in a room).
Three boxes of ashes had sandal-wood burning
in them, and dozens of the prayer-sticks slowly smol-
dering away. The smell of the burning sandal-wood
and the prayers and the sweet lilies made the air
of the room almost sickening.
The lowest table of all was covered with a beau-
tiful scarlet cloth, embroidered in bright silks. On
this was spread the feast for the Joss himself. First,
five tiny tea-cups filled with tea; next, five still
tinier tea-cups, filled with wine (these were not
much larger than a thimble); next, five little bowls
filled with boiled rice--on the top of each of these
bowls one date pressed down in the rice. In front
of these were five larger bowls, filled with all sorts
of queer twisted-up fried things, made out of
potato and dough, or macaroni. One of them, a
macaroni made from rice, was very pretty: the
threads were fine and silvery, and curled and
twisted into all sorts of fantastic shapes.
An intelligent Chinese man, who could speak a
little English, was in charge of this room. I asked
him why they put these tea-cups of wine and tea
and rice before their god; if they believed that the
god would eat and drink.
Oh, no," he said. That not what for. What
you like self, you give God. He see. He like
I asked him if I might have a photograph taken
of the Joss shrine and house, to be printed in a
magazine, to show American boys and girls how
the Chinese boys and girls kept New Year's day.
At first he hesitated; but finally he said yes, if I
would come very early in the morning, before the


Chinese people wanted to come in. So, very early
the next morning, I went with a photographer,
and he took the picture. As soon as the Chinese
people in the street saw us coming, they began to
gather in a crowd to look on, But Ah Linn would
not let one of them come into the room till the
picture was done. Then we took a picture of the

They will never let them have their pictures
taken," said the photographer. It is the hardest
thing in the world to get the Chinese to sit for their
pictures. They have a superstition that, if a man
has his picture taken, he will fall ill and die before
the year is out.* I expect that is what they are
telling these children now."


outside of the house. There were gay lanterns
and bright red and yellow mottoes on each side
of the door, which I thought would show in the
picture, but they did not. The light was not
strong enough to bring them out.
As we were arranging the instrument, I caught
sight of three Chinese children in the door of
one of the houses, the youngest not more than
two years old, and the oldest not over six. They
were dressed exactly like the grown-up ones, and
looked so droll, toddling along in their baggy
trousers and big-sleeved shirts, that I wanted to
have them in the picture. Their father said they
might go with me, and be taken; they looked a
little afraid, but I coaxed them along, and was
just placing them in good positions by the posts
of the piazza, when, from the crowd of Chinese
men and boys who were looking on, there suddenly
went up shouts, [exclamations, and outcries,-
angry voices calling to the children.

I do not know whether this was the case or not;
but at any rate they frightened the children away,
and I could not coax them back. The oldest one
dragged the other two away with him as fast as he
could, and when I overtook them on the threshold
of their house, and began to ask their father if he
would not come with them, and make them stand
still, he shut the door hastily in my face, saying
in Chinese something which sounded as if it might
be very unpleasant indeed.
Afterward I tried to get one of the big boys
from the Chinese Mission, a boy who called himself
a "Christian Chinese boy," to stand in the door-
way and be photographed; but even he was
afraid to do it.
It is no use," said the photographer. "You
have n't the least idea how afraid they are of it.
They 've got to be pretty thoroughly enlightened
before they will have their photographs taken;
and even then they wont let their queue be seen

* The same curious belief exists among the Mic Mac Indians living along the St. Lawrence River, in New Brunswick.


in the picture. If it shows the least bit, they '11
make me print it out. I used to have great fun
with some of them who had a laundry near my
rooms. They 'd be out, hanging their clothes on
the line, right under our windows; and all I had
to do was to open the window and point a stereo-
scope at them, and they 'd drop everything, clothes
and all, right on the ground, and run into their
house, and never show their heads till we had
gone away from the window."
I wondered very much that the Chinese boy
from the Mission was afraid to have his picture
taken. Perhaps if he had been by himself he
would not have refused; it would certainly have
taken some courage to do it under the eyes
of twenty or thirty of his countrymen, all believing
that he was doing something very like committing
suicide. Afterward, he translated for me some
of the mottoes which were on the bright papers
hung up at the sides of the door of the Joss-
The first one on the right hand, he said, was:
"M an no tell lie,
Tell everything true;
Be good-hearted to everything;
Not cheat."

The second one was:
"The good-hearted are
Good-hearted all round;
Round like sun and moon."

On the left side was this:
"Good people believe in good,
Mind what is good;
He don't care what other people had,
He try to make good."

Just below this was a picture of the Joss,
fastened to the wall of the house; in front of it a
small table decorated with peacocks' feathers and
gilt ornaments, and holding rows of tea-cups

of wine and tea and food, like those in the inner
room. Above it was a great red banner, with
large letters printed on it, which the interpreter
said meant:
"God in Heaven,
We pray to thee;
Come down from Heaven to teach us."

In front of this was a box of smoking, fragrant
sandal-wood ashes, stuck full of the little prayer-
On my way home, I stopped at the Chinese
Mission. This was a small room in a low adobe
building, and here the Christian Chinese were
keeping their New Year's day, with open house
to all their friends, just as the Joss worshipers
were doing in the other street. But, instead
of the incense and prayer-sticks and heathen
pictures, they had only bouquets of beautiful
flowers, and bowls of Chinese lilies, and plates
of cake and candies on a table. On the wall
they had hymns in English and Chinese, printed
on large cards. There was a small organ in
the room, and, whenever any lady came in who
could play the organ, the Chinese teacher asked
her to play a tune for the boys to sing one of these
hymns; they sang very well, and I sat for half an
hour listening to them. Later in the afternoon, as
I was driving in a carriage past the building,
I heard their voices again, rising full and clear
above all the noise of the street. They were
singing "The Sweet By and By ";.and I thought
that those words must mean a great deal to poor
Chinese boys, who only a few years ago were
burning paper prayers and bowing down before a
painted idol. Now they are held by their country-
men in scorn and detestation, because they have
adopted the Christian way of worshiping God,
but in the good "by and by" will come a day
when they will all worship together.

TO-DAY my doll is one year old,
And she shall have a purse of gold
If she will speak, and tell me where
I 'm sure to find a gift so rare.



BY S. H. S.

I THINK that the silver moon must know
That 't is holy Christmas night,
When first she looks from the twilight sky
On the earth so cold and white;
She smiles, as if musing on blessed things,
And touches the snow-drifts like sleeping wings.

She 's old, you know-so old that she shone
When our Baby King was born,
'Mid the far-off hills of Bethlehem,
In a manger rude and lorn,
And beamed in his beautiful blue eyes
When they oped to those soft Eastern skies.

And he smiled at her, too, it may be,
In his wondering baby way,
And stretched out his fair little hands

To catch at some fleeting ray;
And watched her, softly, till sleep's still showers
Folded his eyelids like fringed flowers.

Oh, I know she remembers his look,
As he lay in that lonely place,
And the angels that hovered near
His mother's radiant face,
The new star that throbbed in the solitude
And the lifted eyes of the shepherds rude!

And if we could hear, she would tell
Stories more strange and sweet
Than even the bells and the choirs.
In passionate tones repeat;
And that one blessed star we should know,
Which led to His cradle ages ago.



ONE of the chief pleasures
in china-painting is to be able
to produce something specially
appropriate in design to the article decorated. A
spray of leaves and blossoms of the tea on a tea-
cup, or coffee berries and leaves on coffee-cups
(which was done on the famous set painted for
the White House, except that in this set the stem
of the plant was made the actual handle of the
cup), are good examples.
The idea of decorating ice-cream dishes with
the pattern of snow-crystals having seemed to me
a pleasantly appropriate one, I send the method,

which by experiment I have
proved practicable, to the
readers of ST. NICHOLAS.
Should you have or be able to procure a book
published by Appleton in 1865, Cloud Crystals:
A Snow-flake Album," you will have a sufficient
variety of patterns to answer all practical purposes.
ST. NICHOLAS has also given a number of repro-
ductions in the issue for March, 1882.* The crys-
tals themselves can best be obtained by letting
them fall upon a cloth of black velvet, during
a light snow-storm. These need a magnifying
glass to reveal their beauty and enable you to

* We here republish a few of these designs.




enlarge the details correctly. The crystals shown This part of the work can be learned from a teacher
on the preceding page may be used on plates of in a few minutes. When the plate is dry, you will
the size of the pattern given, not need to draw the figure upon it.
They can be varied on each It mars the tinting and is un-
plate. Four smaller ones, necessary. Take a square
of one kind, alternating of paper, just the size to
with four a little embrace the hexagon-
larger, of the same al figure,-as they
size as the cen- are all formed on
ter one, form ? the six-sided
a pretty plan, one

tion. If un-
able to tint the "
china, they look
well if done merely
in sepia on the plain
white; but those who can
tint will find upon trial that
white crystals on a blue ground
are most effective. They may easily be
prepared in the following manner: Select china
as perfect as possible, that no flaw may appear in
the delicate blue. Tint the plate with Indian-
blue. The process of tinting is simple and readily
acquired. Mix the Indian-blue thoroughly, by
using the palette-knife, with a
few drops of oil of lavender,
thinned with a little turpentine.
Cover the plate quickly with
sweeping lines from a broad
brush, and beat the surface with _
even strokes (a buffer, made by a
bunch of cotton covered with smooth old linen, is
preferable) until it is of an even shade throughout.

paper an-
S: "" swers for all
of one size, -
and make six
points upon it,
where the outer end
of each line is to be,
as shown in the diagram
Lay this upon the plate (it is well to do
the center one first) and with a sharp pencil make
a point upon the china to correspond with each
point on the paper. You can then go from point
to point with a sharp needle or pen-knife, etching
by aid of the eye only. After the six lines are
etched, the details of each separate figure can
be made in the same way. A little practice will
make it entirely easy. The etching must be
thoroughly done, so as clearly to expose the
white china in distinct narrow lines.
The plates are then ready to be sent to the firer,
and may have an ornamental gilt edge given
Them at the trifling additional cost of ten cents
per plate.


By Emily S. Oakey.

There was a Dog, and he barked and barked and barked
so loud, they say,
That he frightened all the rats and mice a hundred miles
-_ .


There was a Cat so sleek and fat, and she had naught
to do
But eat her cream and sew her seam, and sit and look
at you.



... _-- I -_ ---
_. - ... = ,, t_ J ;,

There was an Eagle, and he flew and flew out in the

VOL. X.-14.
I------ '- --

--- _




There was a Boy, and he built a raft, and his other
name was Sam,
And on his raft he rowed and rowed and rowed to

The Bells did ring as he came in, and the rain it
rained that day,

And he saw the Dog that barked and barked and
soared the rats away.

And he saw the Cat that always sat upon her cushion
And she ate her cream and sewed her seam, and sat
and looked at him.


I '


I' I ..iiI I I


III -.i -i

.J .-I: . J -

"- !,i 2, .L L. '.: [

rowed to Rotterdam.
And it broke in two and he fell through, and his

other name was Sam.


II _c

-- -- -r







FOR some days after the departure of Louis for
his mother's chateau, none of his friends had the
least idea of his unfortunate situation. At the
castle it was supposed that he was overstaying his
time with his family, and at Viteau no one knew
that he had left the castle. At last, Barran, some-
what provoked that the boy should so deliberately
disobey his orders,-for he had told him to return
promptly,-and knowing that his mother could
always furnish him an escort, sent messengers to
Viteau, demanding that Louis should immediately
come back with them.
This, of course, caused great consternation at
the chateau, and the messengers went hurriedly
home, accompanied by Raymond, to tell the news
that Louis had not yet been seen at his mother's
The Countess wished Bernard to go with the
messengers, but this he refused to do, urging that
*Copyright, 1882, by F. R. Stockton.

his place could be nowhere else than at Viteau,
and that Raymond could confer as well as any one
else with Barran, regarding the immediate steps
which should be taken to find out what had become
of Louis, and to rescue him from any danger
he might have fallen into.
The Countess spent the time, during Raymond's
absence, in tears and prayers. When he returned,
there came with him a small troop of well-armed
men, which Barran had sent to press on, as rapidly
as possible, to the estates of the knight from the
South, for it had been thought very likely that
this knight had been prevented in some way from
stopping at Viteau, and that he had taken Louis
on with him, intending to send him back at some
convenient opportunity. That the boy should
have been lost, in any way, from the company of
the southern knight, Barran did not consider pos-
This belief of a man so sensible as Barran par-
tially comforted the Countess; but when the troop
t This story was begun in the November number.





returned, and told how Louis had left the knight's
company to ride on by himself, as none could
doubt, to his mother's house, the poor lady was
completely overwhelmed with grief, and thus she
remained until Barran arrived at Viteau, for which
place he started as soon as he heard the news.
Vigorous measures were now taken for a search
after Louis. It was generally agreed that he must
have been captured by robbers, for there was no
other danger which was likely to befall him on the
road; but what robbers had taken him, and to what
place they had conveyed him, were questions not
easy to answer. That a band of cotereaux might
then be in the forest, within ten or fifteen miles of
Viteau, was not at all improbable; but to find out
their hiding-place, and, also, to find them in it,
would certainly be difficult tasks. The forests of
that time spread over such a vast extent of country,
and were so dense, and in many places so appar-
ently pathless, that to find anything so carefully
hidden as a robber's camp would be a matter
almost as much of chance as of skill and design.
Barran privately declared that, if it were not for
the Countess, who seemed almost overcome with
grief, he would quietly wait a few days before
attempting to penetrate the forest with any force;
for he was sure that, if the boy had been captured
by cotereaux, their only object was to get a ransom
for him, and that they would soon be heard from.
Under the circumstances, however, Count De Bar-
ran saw that it would be necessary to take immedi-
ate action, and Bernard was very active in pushing
forward the most warlike preparations.
Some of these appeared almost ridiculous to the
"How now, Squire ?" he said. "One might think
that we expected the rascals to attack this chateau,
and carry off the other boy. By the plans you lay,
there will be more cross-bows and lances left at
Viteau than we shall carry with us into the forest."
"I should not leave the Countess defenseless,
good Sir Count," replied the squire.
"I know you are a good man and a brave
soldier, Bernard," said Barran, "and as much to
be trusted, in peace or war, as many a knight of
good renown; but this is something too prudent.
In these times the cotereaux do not come out of
their holes to our chateaux and castles to carry us
Bernard hesitated before making answer to this
speech. He had intended informing Barran of
his recent discoveries in regard to the visits of the
Dominican monk, but he had not thought it well
to speak of the matters now, when the minds of
every one were so occupied with the present
great trouble. However, he knew that it would be
necessary to give the reasons for the peculiar

measures he advocated, and so he said, in a low
but impressive tone:
"No, good Sir Count, the cotereaux do not come
to our houses to carry us away, but the officers of
the Holy Inquisition do."
"What means that?" cried Barran, turning
pale; and then, on a warning signal from the
squire, he lowered his voice and continued: "Has
the Countess brought upon herself the censure of
the priests, by her strange ideas about the saints ?
I have heard of them. Tell me quickly, is that
what you mean?"
The squire bowed his head.
This is, indeed, grievous," said Barran; bt,
surely, we need have no great fears. Tell me,
quickly, what has happened ?"
Then Bernard told all that he feared and all
that he had heard.
Barran was not easily frightened. Indeed, he
was too apt to sneer at things which other people
considered dangerous; but this was such a very
serious matter that it caused him great anxiety
and even fear, when he heard of the peril to which
the wife of his dear old friend was likely to be
"This must not be allowed," he said. "We
can not suffer that gentle lady to be taken from us
by the Inquisition. Even if she should be found
entirely innocent, which is not likely, the trial itself
is something I can not think of for a moment. And
yet what is to be done? We can not fight the
No, Sir Count," said Bernard, "but I shall be
here, with all the force of men and arms that I can
bring together, to defend my lady, and if the
Church fights me, I shall do my best battle."
"And you shall not do battle alone, my good
Bernard," said Barran; "but it may be that we
shall find some better way to avert the evil than
by force of arms, which, indeed, would amount to
very little, I fear me, in the end. But now we
must give our hearts and hands to the finding
of this poor, foolish boy."
Bernard was perfectly willing to give his heart
to the finding of Louis, but he would not give his
hand. Nothing could induce him--to leave the
chateau, where he insisted upon being left with a
moderate force of well-armed men.
Barran, with several knights from his castle, for
whom he had sent when he found that there
would, probably, be more work to be done than he
had at first anticipated, set out as soon as possible,
at the head of a large body of followers, some of
whom were expert in all kinds of wood-craft, and
as capable as any men could be of finding out the
paths of beasts or human beings in the depths of
the woods.


The party quickly made its way along the road
down which Louis must have ridden; and, a few
miles below the place where the road forked,
turned into the woods, to the west, and made care-
ful search for paths, or any traces of the passage
of men, through the undergrowth. Several well-
marked paths were soon discovered, and along the
most promising of these Barran and his men
pushed their way, sometimes separating, in various
directions, and then coming together again, until
they had penetrated far into the forest.
Unfortunately for the success of their search, the
camp of the cotereaux was in the woods to the
east of the road. To be sure, the forest, in every
direction, would be searched in time, but if the
Count's party should keep on in the way it was
going, it would be long before it could find the
huts of Captain Michol.
Raymond stayed at the dhateau with his mother.
He much wished to join the Count's party in the'
search for his brother, but Barran told him that it
was his duty to try to comfort and console the
Countess until Louis should be brought back,
and, therefore, Raymond reluctantly remained at
Viteau. He loved his mother, and was always
willing to do anything that would please or benefit
her, but, in this case, he thought that she, being
safe at home, did not need him nearly so much
as his podr brother, who probably was suffering in
captivity, no one knew where.
On the evening of the second day after the
departure of the searching party, Raymond came
down into the grounds of the chAteau. His mother
was asleep, and he came out for a little exercise.
Not far from the house he met the squire.
Bernard," said Raymond, I think it is a fool-
ish thing for you and me and all these men to
be idling here. We might leave my mother with
her ladies, and a man or two, and go, the rest of
-us, to help scour the woods to find dear Louis."
Just at this moment, and before Bernard could
answer him, Raymond saw, coming up from the
lower part of the grounds, the Dominican monk,
Brother Anselmo.
"What does that man want, Bernard?" he
exclaimed. "There have been two priests here
to-day, to console my mother in her affliction, and
I do not think another one is needed now, espe-
cially not this man, who does not belong to our
monastery and who keeps himself a stranger to
me. My mother is asleep, and should not be
"If she is asleep," said the squire, "she shall
not be disturbed."
He then walked back to the house, closely fol-
lowed by Raymond, and stood in the entrance
door. In a few moments the monk appeared,

and with a slight motion of the head, but not a
word, stepped forward to pass in. But the squire
stood stoutly before him, and stopped him.
"My lady, the Countess," he said, "is weary
and sick at heart on account of the loss of her
young son. She is sleeping now and can not be
If she is sick at heart," said Brother Anselmo,
"that is the greater reason why I should see her."
"It can not be," said Bernard. "She needs
rest, and no one must disquiet her."
"What right have you, Squire Bernard," said
the monk, "to forbid my entrance? Are you the
master of this house ?"
"No," said Raymond, stepping forward, "but
I am, when my mother can not act as its mistress,
and I say that no one shall disturb her this night.
Two priests have been here to-day, and I know
she expects no others."
"Boy," said Brother Anselmo, "stand aside!
You should be chastised for such presumptuous
words; and as for you, Squire, I command you,
in the name of the Church, to let me pass."
"I honor the Church as much as any man,"
said Bernard, "but I do not believe that she
grants to her priests the right to ask what they
please, in her name. I might come to be asked
for my purse, in the name of the Church; and
that I would not give up, any more than I shall
give up my right to protect my mistress, the
Countess, in this, her first hour of sleep and rest
for many days."
Brother Anselmo was very angry. Shaking his
fist at the sturdy squire, he cried:
"Stupid blunderer! You shall see, and that
right soon, what power the Church gives me."
And then, without another word, he turned and
walked rapidly away.
"What does he mean?" asked Raymond. "I
greatly dislike that monk. He is always asking
my mother questions which trouble her much to
Bernard made no reply, but stood for a moment
in deep thought. Then he said to himself: An
hour to the monastery, and an hour back. There
is yet time, and the plan I think of will be the
better one. I can not trust the men to stand against
the priests. Raymond! Run now, and have your
horse saddled and bridled, and ride out of the
upper gate, and wait for me in the road."
Why so? cried Raymond, in surprise. It
is too late for exercises."
"I can not answer now," said Bernard, hurrying
away. "Be speedy and I will tell you on the
Raymond, much amazed, but feeling quite sure
that the squire had some good reason for this



strange proceeding, ran to get his horse, while
Bernard ordered the men-at-arms to hastily equip
themselves for an expedition, and to gather to-
gether, mounted, inside the north gate. Then he
went upstairs to the apartments of the Countess,
and asked to speak with one of her ladies. The
Countess, who was only lightly dozing on a couch,
heard the squire's voice, and, instantly rising, called
to him to know what news he brought.
Bernard advanced within the door-way, and in a
hurried voice told his lady that the news he brought
was of great import, but that he must tell it to her
alone. The Countess then desired the ladies who
were with her to retire to another room, and the
squire, in as few words as possible, but very
earnestly and forcibly, told her of her great dan-
ger, of the threats of the Dominican monk, and of
the fact that he had heard, that day, of the arrival
of a body of men, well-armed, at the neighboring
"In an hour or so," he said, "these men will
be here, I greatly fear me. Raymond is already
on the road, for I wished to spare him this wretched
story, and, if we do not start quickly for Barran's
castle, where you will find present safety, it may
happen that weeks and months may pass before
you will have news of Louis, even if he should be
found to-morrow."
You mean that I may not be here to meet the
news?" the lady said.
Bernard bowed his head. The Countess did not
hesitate, but came to a decision at once.
"I shall be ready," she said, "in a very short
time. Have horses prepared for myself and my
three ladies. We must hasten to Raymond, if he
be alone on the road."
She then called her ladies, and began to make
rapid preparations for the journey.
The horses were scarcely ready when the ladies
made their appearance in the court, and, in a few
minutes, accompanied by Bernard and the men-at-
arms, they rode out of the north gate. An elderly
man, who acted as seneschal, or keeper of the
establishment, was left, with the ordinary servants
and vassals, in charge of the chateau.
Raymond, riding slowly up and down the road,
was soon overtaken, and then the squire, without
entering into explanations, urged his party onward
as swiftly as possible.
"What is the meaning of all this?" cried Ray-
mond, in great perplexity, riding up to his mother.
It is stranger than any of the old tales the women
used to tell me."
The Countess was a lady of strong mind and
body, and although the unknown fate of her
younger son had overwhelmed her with grief,
this new peril to her whole family had thoroughly

aroused her, and she was riding steadily and
swiftly onward.
"It is a strange tale," she said-" stranger far
than any I thought would ever be told in this fair
land; but I can not tell it to you, my boy, until our
journey's end. Then you shall hear it all."
So Raymond, with the rest, rode on, and he,
with all the others, excepting the squire and his
mother, supposed that this long night-ride had
something to do with the rescue of Louis.


LouIs sat for a long time, in the bit of shade by the
tree, before Jasto returned; but, when that learned
man at last made his appearance, he merely re-
marked that the Captain had kept him longer than
he had supposed he would, and, after that, he had
to look for a quill, of which to make a pen.
It is not an easy thing to get the right kind of
quill for a pen, you must know," he said, as he took
his seat by Louis, and began to scrape the lower
end of a long quill with a broad, sharp knife which
he took from his belt. "A crow-quill will do very
well, or even a quill from a hawk; but I like along
one, like this, which came from a heron's wing,
nailed up in one of our houses. And he who
nailed it up never dreamed of the benefit that a
quill from that wing would bring to our good com-
What benefit ? asked Louis.
"The benefit that comes from the money your
mother will send us when she reads your letter."
Oh! said Louis.
"And while I make this pen," continued his
companion, "I shall tell you the story of my
"Yes, indeed," cried Louis; "I should rather
have that than the pen-at least, just now."
That is a bad choice, for the pen is to give you
liberty, and the story will not do that. However,
there is a lesson in the story, and you shall have it.
It was just before one of the battles between Queen
Blanche and the Duke of Burgundy. I was a sol-
dier then, in the service of a good knight; and
although I was not his squire, but a simple man-at-
arms, ready to fight on horse or on foot, or not to
fight at all, just as the case might be, still I was a
better man than the squire-for he could not write,
any more than his master could. So, just before
the battle, the knight sent for me, and, said he,
'Jasto, I have heard that you are a wise fellow and
can write, and I want you to write me a letter.' He
knew I could write, because I had told him so, and
had told all my companions so, for this I found I
must do, otherwise they would never be aware of
it; for, not knowing how to write themselves, how





could they comprehend that I knew? 'I want to
send a messenger back to my castle,' said my good
knight, and I want him to carry a straight and
fair message, which he can not do if I send it by
word of mouth. So you must write what I wishto
say in a letter to my seneschal, and the messenger
shall carry it.' With that, he showed me a little
piece of parchment that he had with him, and a
phial of ink and a pen, and he bade me sit down
and write what he told me.to say. I liked not this
haste, which gave me no time for study and prep-

casque which he expected from the armorer, and a
long-sword which hung up in the great hall, and
divers other things, of which I wot not now.
When I came to write down all this, I found my-
self sorely troubled, for you must know that to
write a letter requires a knowledge of many things.
One must know what letters are needed for a word,
what order to put them in, and how to make them.
"Some words need a good many letters, and
if the letters in a word are not the right letters,
and are not set in a befitting order, it will be


aration, and I told him, with due respect, that I
could not write unless I had a table on which to
lay my parchment. Whereupon he made a man
with a cuirass get down on all-fours before me, so
that on this man's steel back I could write as on a
table. My master then told me to write how that,
knowing the enemy would soon reach the spot
where we then lay, and feeling the want of a
stronger force, he desired his seneschal to send him
five more men, and five horses, with arms and all
Things needful, and also to send therewith a new

of no use for any man, even the most learned
scholar, to try to tell what that word is. So I soon
found that for many of the words I could not
remember the letters, and of those letters I did
remember there were some that I could not make,
for I had forgotten their shape. But I would not
tell my master that, for it would have been a
sorrowful thing to have fallen from my high
place as the most learned person in our company,
not to speak of the punishment I might have
expected. So I wrote on, making the best words





I could devise with the letters at my command,
and urging my master to repeat every sentence,
so that I should be sure to get it straight and
fair; and in that way I learned the whole letter by
heart, and read it to him, when I had finished it,
so that he was greatly gratified. 'Let me see
the letter, my good Jasto,' said he; and when
he looked at it, he said, 'The words seem very
much like each other'-which was the truth,
indeed, for most of them had the same letters
in them, measured out in very much the same
measurement. 'But it all looks simple enough,'
he went on to say, 'and I greatly desire that
I could read it, but that is beyond my powers.'
And then he made his mark, which his seneschal
well knew, and the letter was done.
Thereupon he called for a messenger to take it
in all haste to his castle, but I told him that he
could have no better messenger than I should
be, because, having writ the letter, I could read it
to the person to whom it was sent, if it should
so be that he could not read it himself. 'But
old Hubert can read, else I would not send him a
letter,' said my lord. But I answered that, if he
had never seen my writing, it might be so strange
to him that it would take much time for him
to understand the proper slope and indication
of the letters, and so the reinforcements might be
sorely hindered in their coming. Therefore it
was that I was sent, and I so saved my life;
for, shortly after, the battle came off, and,
if I had been there, I know I should have been
killed, as most of my knight's men were. But
I was safe in the castle, and when I went back
with the men and the horses and the armor, I
met my lord coming to his castle, and right glad
was he to see me with my company, for he was
in such sore plight that he was even afraid of
thieves, although there were but few of them to be
met with then, being mostly in the wars. And
therefore, I, being fresh and unwounded, took
the lead among the men-at-arms, and felt high
in my lord's favor, and this was far better than
being able to scratch off a poor letter that could be
But what said the seneschal to your letter? "
asked Louis.
Oh, nought at all," answered Jasto. "I read
it to him out of my head, and showed him his
master's mark."
"But did you not feel, all the time, that you
were a great trickster and cheat? said the free-
spoken Louis.
No more than I do now," answered Jasto,
"coming here to help you with your letter to
your mother, and telling you a story with a moral
to it, showing how arduous a thing it is to write

a letter, so that you may be ready for your diffi-
culties when they come upon you. And now this
pen is done, and it ought to be, for I have put
a score of nibs to it, and there is not enough quill
left for another one. It may be blunt, but it will
make a mark."
And what am I to write on?" asked Louis.
"I '11 find that and the ink this afternoon,"
said Jasto, "but now I smell dinner."
In the afternoon, Jasto mixed up a black com-
pound with some water, so as to make an ink,-
rather thick and gritty, to be sure, but good
enough for its purpose,-and he produced a piece
of parchment, completely written over on one
side. This writing he proceeded to obliterate, as
far as possible, by rubbing it with a piece of
Louis was impatient, and suggested that he
might mark out the words on one side and go on
writing on the other; but Jasto would not hear to
this, for it would argue too great poverty on the
part of the cotereaux to send a letter on the back
of another, and so he rubbed and rubbed, and
talked, and came and went,, until it was nearly
dark, and so the letter was postponed until the
next day.
On the morrow, however, Jasto refused to pro-
duce the writing materials, because there was to
be a grand expedition of the band, which would
require nearly all the men; and Michol had said
that Louis must be taken along, as he did not
wish to leave him behind, guarded only by the
few men who would stay at the camp.
That 's a pretty way to do exclaimed Louis.
"Suppose I should be killed in this expedition,
what will your captain say to my mother then?
I am not afraid to go, but I do not want to be
taken for a robber, and be shot with an arrow, or
have my head cut off."
"Be not afraid," said Jasto, laughing. "The
enemy will not hurt you, if you keep out of the
way. You are to be under my special keeping,
and I will warrant that the foe shall not kill you."
Early in the morning, nearly the whole of
Captain Michol's force, some armed with lances,
some with bows and arrows, and others with long
knives, or swords of various descriptions, set out,
on foot, for a march through the forests. Louis
went with them, closely accompanied by Jasto,
who never lost sight of him.
On the way, the good-humored robber, who
seemed to be of a better class than most of his
companions, using more correct language, and
behaving himself better in every way, informed
Louis of the object of the expedition. About eight
or ten miles to the east of the camp of the
cotereazux there was a chateau, almost as strongly


fortified as a castle, the owner of which possessed
a great number of hogs. These animals, until
within a few days previous, had been confined
within close bounds, for fear that they should be
stolen. But as no evil-disposed persons had been
seen for a long time in the neighborhood, the
whole herd had been let out into the adjacent
woods, where they would thrive much better,
during the hot weather, than in their former
quarters. Michol had been informed that these
hogs were ranging through the woods, under the
charge of two or three men, and he was now going
to try to capture as many of them as possible.
He took his large 'force, not because he expected
any opposition from the keepers of the hogs, but
because a great many men would be needed to
surround and capture the animals, many of which
would be lost if the herd should be allowed to
scatter itself through the forest.
As they walked along, Louis thought that it
was a great pity that the first foray he ever set
out upon should be an expedition, in time of
peace, to steal pigs; but he considered it wise
not to say what was in his mind, for it was the
business of these men to steal pigs, or anything
else they could lay their hands on,-even boys
and borrowed jennets,'-and they might not fancy
his finding fault with them. He was not afraid
of Jasto, with whom he had become very friendly
and communicative, but many of the other men
looked like fellows whom it would not be at all
pleasant to offend. So he went along with the
company, and made no objections until he had
walked five or six miles through the forest, when
he informed Jasto that he was getting very tired,
and that he hoped they would soon come to the
end of their journey, so that he could sit down and
"As for that," said Jasto, "the end of your
journey will soon come, if the signs ahead of us
mean anything. Some of our foremost fellows
have come back, and I think they are telling
the Captain that the herd is not far ahead of us.
And if that be so, it will make our work easier,
for the herdsmen will be far from home and
can not call for help. You and I will not go up to
the field of battle, but will be posted outside, with
here and there another brave fellow, to arrest
any-of the enemy who may take to flight in our
direction. So keep up a brave pair of legs for
a little while longer, and then you shall have your
Sure enough, in less than a quarter of an hour
Jasto received orders to wait with Louis, at the
end of a small path through the underbrush,
while the rest of the force spread themselves out
widely through the forest. Before long a great

noise of squealing and shouting was heard in the
We have come upon them," said Jasto, "and
many a good meal of pork shall we have this
"I hope the poor herdsmen are not getting
killed," said Louis.
Have no fear for them," replied Jasto; they
will run away the moment they see one of us.
And as they can not bring help, there will be
no Christian blood shed. Look out there! Stand
close behind me! Hear you that?"
Louis plainly heard something rushing through
the bushes, and in a moment a pig, about half-
grown, dashed along the path toward them.
When he saw Jasto, he stopped for an instant,
and then made a rush, endeavoring to pass him.
But the robber was too quick to allow that, and
he stooped and seized the scampering porker by
the hind leg. In an instant, Jasto was jerked
upon his back, still, however, holding fast to the
struggling pig.
Louis shouted in laughter, and he enjoyed the
fun so much that it was some moments before he
considered that the shouting and wriggling Jasto
probably wanted his assistance. He then ran up,
and, taking hold of the other hind leg of the
prisoner, enabled Jasto to get up, and to tie the
pig's legs together with a strong cord which he had
in his pocket.
"There, now," cried Jasto, with a very red face,
"the rest of the pork will be ready to cook or salt
down, but this fellow I shall take home to fatten.
He is too lean and lively for good eating now."
In less than half an hour the rest of the company
appeared, walking in a long line, some of the men
bearing each a slaughtered pig, while here and
there two fellows carried a larger animal between
them. Jasto threw his prize across his shoulders,
and, although there was a good deal of struggling
on the part of the pig, his captor held him firmly,
and carried him thus throughout the whole long
tramp back.to the camp.
When he reached the huts, Jasto immediately
set to work to make a rude pen of stakes and poles,
in which he shut up his pig, which was to be
thoroughly fattened before sharing the fate of his
brethren who had been slain in the forest.
Louis was a very tired boy when he found him-
self again in the camp, and he slept until a late
hour the next morning; but, as soon as he had had
his breakfast and felt fully awake, he went to hunt
up Jasto, so that he could begin his letter.
But he found that individual, his well-mended
and red-lined clothes exchanged for an indescribably
wretched suit, busily engaged, with a large portion
of his comrades, in cutting up and curing, in




various ways, the pork which had been brought in
the day before. The band had so much hog-flesh
on hand that they hardly knew what to do with all
of it, and they were so busy for several days that
Jasto had no time to give to Louis and his literary
But, as soon as the pork business was finished
and Jasto was at liberty, Louis set to work in
earnest to write his letter to his mother.
Jasto prepared the parchment, nearly obliterat-
ing the writing on one side of it, and, the ink and
pen being ready, the work began, and a very im-
portant work it seemed to be. Louis, of course,
was anxious that his first letter to his mother
should be a good one, well spelled and well
expressed; Jasto continually suggested forcible
and high-sounding sentences, containing words
which neither Louis nor he could spell; the Cap-
tain came several times to the place where the
writing was going on, to insist on certain terms of
ransom being clearly stated; and nearly all the
men in the band straggled up, one or two at a
time, to know how the letter was coming on, and
to hear Louis read what he had already written.
It was a document of great interest to every one of
the robbers, for, if it should succeed in its purpose,
it would bring a large sum of money to the band.
At last,
-. after much
-i- __. .a 1

P ir u
,,z, a Lit- I L 1I

,, ,all.- d outr

c 1 I I1


meal- which that day consisted principally of
fresh pork-was ready.
Louis laid his letter, the last words of which
were scarcely dry, upon the ground, putting a
stone upon it to keep it from blowing away, and
ran to get his supper. While he and the rest of
the company were busily eating, Jasto's pig broke
out of the pen, and, seeing the parchment letter
under the tree, devoured it without the slightest


WHEN Barran had searched the forest on the
western side of the highway for nearly three
days, and had found no traces of the cote-
reaux, he was obliged to return to Viteau, before
entering the woods to the east, to obtain a fresh
supply of provisions. He was utterly astounded,
of course, when he heard of the flight of the
Countess, with nearly all her household; but he
was still more surprised, and very much alarmed,
when the seneschal told him that, in an hour or
so after the departure of the Countess and her
party, the chateau had been visited by a large body
of armed men, accompanied by several priests,
among whom was Brother Anselmo. These men
were admitted because the presence of the priests
was a token that they were friends, but they
:,.-i! .:. .:.l ..', -rr r'-._! after they entered. One
..! Il i.:I., i.,m i .ii ti, see the Countess, and
.h .:,r t! ( .:.I:l, rlh- lie had gone away to look
f,.c i.:r i-.-i... .: _.i. n.i:schal supposed she had
*-.,-'1... ic .:.r.r.:r:,j h. other men to search the
,:hi_-t. ,i Irl.:.i. i.:.g. t .': t:ttom, evidently believing
ri. .* .-.id iil. i : i. :i ihim .
L',t -ir.: r ,:.: r.....,i -id every part of the house
i.d ,.I.. rni..; -,i. L-:. i .insacked, and when it was
l'..,-.:l Iir i-ih. C.:..iatl.: s was really not in the
.:1 h i.:- .. Inil thii h- i ladies, and almost all her
;ateiii:,i-. I: ,''ill i the horses in her stables,
had gone away, the
search was given up,
and, after a great deal
Sof talking amongthem-
/ selves, and a great deal
of severe questioning
SI' of the seneschal and
the other servants of
Sthe house who had
been left behind, the
unpleasant visitors de-
What they wanted,
i"'1 and why they came,
the seneschal did not
G. know, any more than


he knew why the Countess had left. But Barran
was not long in divining the truth. He felt certain
that the men with the priests were officers of the
Inquisition, and that the Countess had heard of
their intended visit, and had escaped from the
chateau. Whether or not she was then really out
of their power, he did not know; but, as he hoped
that her destination was his own castle, the Count
determined to hasten home as fast as he could.
After a brief halt for rest and food, Barran,
with all his men, hastened back to his castle,
where, to his great delight, he found the Countess
safe from her pursuers.
But the relief and satisfaction of the poor lady
at her present security was entirely overbalanced
by the news that her son had not been found.
She was in such grief that Barran had not the
heart to tell her of the visit of the Inquisitors.
He assured her that he would immediately begin
the search of the forests on the other side of the
road; but, before he started the next day, he held
an earnest consultation with Bernard and with
Count De Lanne, who was taken into confidence
in this most important matter, in regard to the
measures to be adopted should the officers of the
Inquisition follow the Countess to the castle.
Nothing was agreed upon, excepting that Ber-
nard declared that she should never be given up,
so long as life -remained in his body; but Barran
considered it necessary that he himself should be
at home, in case the Inquisitors should come to
the castle; and so, after conducting his men to the
forest, and instructing them as to the manner in
which they should proceed, he returned to the
castle, where he remained quietly, without inform-
ing the Countess of his presence.
He would have been glad to assist in the search
for Louis, for whose safety he was very anxious,
but he regarded the mother's position as one
which required his personal attention much more
than did that of the son. He would have told her
everything, and have urged her to leave France,
if possible; but he knew she could not be induced
to take a step of the kind until she had seen her
son, or had had definite news of him, and so
he deemed it unwise to say anything about the
Inquisitors as long as he felt sure that she would
go no farther to escape from them. She asked no
questions, for her mind seemed entirely occupied
by the loss of her boy.
She would not allow Raymond to go with the
searching party, for fear she should in some way
lose him also;. and this troubled her eldest son
greatly until she told him, as she had promised,
of the danger with which she was threatened, and
which had caused her to leave her home.
This information had a powerful effect upon Ray-

mond. It seemed to make him several years older.
At first he scarcely could believe that there were
people in the world who could wish to punish his
dear mother for believing what she thought right
about religious matters; but when he heard how
so many persons had been cruelly tried and pun-
ished by the Inquisition for saying and thinking
no more than his mother had said and thought,
he saw what peril she was in; and he determined,
like Bernard, that he would never leave her until
she should be safe from all her dangers.


WHEN Captain Michol heard of the fate of the
letter,-and there could be no doubt as to what that
fate was, for the pig was found rooting around the
spot where the parchment had been left, evidently
searching for something else good to eat,-he was
very angry. He knew that there was no more
parchment in the camp, nor anything else on
which a proper letter could be written, and he did
not know when or where he could procure any
material of the kind. He had made all his arrange-
ments to send the letter, which had now been too
long delayed, to Viteau the next day; and this
disappointment enraged him very much. He
ordered Jasto's pig to be instantly slaughtered, and
he told Louis that he would cut off one of his ears
and send that to his mother, and then, if a hand-
some ransom did not soon arrive, he would cut off
the other one and send it also.
Whether or not the Captain was in earnest in
making this threat is not to be known; but it
frightened Louis greatly, and he determined that
the morning should not find him in the power of a
man who would do such terrible things, and he
made up his mind to escape that night, no matter
what might afterward happen to him.
Accordingly, when Jasto was fast asleep, poor
little Louis slipped quietly past him and made his
way into the forest. He pushed blindly through
the thickets and undergrowth, not knowing in
what direction he was going-only anxious to get
away as far as possible from the cruel Captain.
It was very dark, and he frequently came violently
against a tree, or stumbled over tangled vines and
bushes, scratching his hands and face and bruising
his body; but he still pressed on, wherever he could
push himself through the bushes. When daylight
should appear he hoped to be able 'to make his
way to the high-road, and, once there, he felt sure
he could walk to Viteau.
But, after hours of toilsome and painful strug-
gling through the pathless underbrush, he found
that, even -by the increasing light, he could not




discover, although bae searched diligently, any sign after noon when he was awakened by some one
or indication of a passage through the thicket. He laughing very close to him.
even climbed a tree, but could see nothing except Louis opened his eyes with a start, and there
was Jasto, who at that
0 momentlaughed again.
The boy sprang up with
a cry, and was about to
plunge into the bushes,
but the robber seized
him by the arm.
S "No, no, my good
Sir Page," said Jasto.
"Don't lead me over
any more such wretched
ways as you have led
me this morning. I've
had enough of them."
ILi Oh, Jasto cried
Louis, you are not go-
... ing to take me back ?"
S i -. .- : I don't know," said
--- the robber, "what I
S- shall do with you, but
I certainly shall nottake
11i AII 7 you back the way you
-I came. Whereyoucrept
1' under the bushes, I had
to break through them.
Ii tI never saw such a fel-
low for hiding. How
do you suppose I found
you ?"
I don't know," said
.ll.l 'Louis.
.- ..: ." I found you," said
Jasto, "by not looking
for you. The rest of
our men- and nearly
41li all of them turned out
"ill to search for you, when
'I I we found you had run
S, 'away-scatteredthem-
selves about in all di-
-A reactions to see if they
S- V,. could catch a glimpse
'I I of you. I did nothing
-,, - ,, 'of that kind. I knew
that if a boy like you
were to crouch under
not see him. So I
trees and bushes- the latter extending, in what looked for little bits of blue silk from a pair of
seemed like impenetrable masses, in every direc- trunk hose, and little shreds of purple cloth from
tion. a tunic that I knew of. I saw a bit of the silk on
Almost tired to death, he sat down at the foot some briers when I started out, and I knew I
of the tree he had climbed, and in a few minutes should find more. I lost your track many times,
was fast asleep. He slept for hours, and it was but every now and then a bit of rag on a thorn



would encourage me; and so, at last, I came up to
the gallant young page who was marking his way
with pieces of silk and costly cloth. It made me
laugh to think how truly these rags had led me to
"I am glad, Jasto," said Louis, "that you
found me, and not one of the other men. I don't
believe you will make me go back to the Captain
to have one of my ears cut off. You will show me
the way to go home, and I promise you, if you will
do that, that my mother will send you a good sum
of money, quite as much as she would have sent to
the Captain if she had got my letter and had
ransomed me."
"I am not sure about that," said Jasto, "but I
have been thinking over the matter, and it may be
that I shall not take you back to our camp. I
have a kindly feeling for you, Sir Page. First,
because I think you are a lad of spirit, as I used to
be; and second, because my pig ate your letter,
and so brought your trouble on you. Therefore,
I feel bounden to help you out of it. But, if I
send you to your mother, she may forget my
sole share in your rescue and return, and may
send the ransom-money to our company, when it
will be so divided and shared, and measured into
parts, that I shall get very little of it. So I thihk
I shall take you to your mother, and then I shall
get all the ransom myself, and not be obliged to
share it with any one. And I am sure the good
lady, your mother, will give more to him who
brings you back than to him who has merely car-
ried you away."
Indeed would she! cried Louis, more than
delighted at the prospect of being taken directly
to his home.
"Well, then," said Jasto, "take you this piece
of bread, which I put in my pocket before I set
out this morning, and when you have eaten it,
you will be strong enough, mayhap, to go on
to your mother's chateau, though it is still a good
distance from here; and I promise you that I shall
not lead you through such rough ways as you led
me. But we must be careful, for, if we meet
any of my good comrades, there will be an end
of our plan."
When Louis had finished eating,-and, coarse
and hard as the bread was, he devoured every
morsel, for it was his breakfast and his dinner,-
the two started off for Viteau. Louis supposed that
they would try to reach the main road as soon as
possible; but Jasto assured him that he had no
idea of doing that, for the woods would be
occupied, at various points along the road, by the
cotereaux, who would expect the fugitive boy to
take the highway as soon as he could find it.
Instead of that, Jasto intended to slyly make his

way, through the woods, to the nearest point to
Viteau, and then to strike across the country to
the chateau.
Jasto was an expert and experienced woods-
man, and he found paths where Louis would
never have imagined they could exist; and with
great care and caution, and frequent halts for
outlook and listening, he led the boy through the
devious mazes of the forest, without meeting one
of his comrades. About dark they reached the edge
of the forest, and then they cautiously made their
way to the chateau, where they arrived late in the
It would be hard to express the consternation of
Louis-and that of Jasto was almost as great-at
finding that the Countess had gone away; that
Barran had been there that day, returning from
a search for his lost page, but had almost immedi-
ately set out for his castle, and that a body of
strange men, accompanied by priests, had been
searching the house for his mother only the night
Poor Louis, who could not imagine what all
this meant, and who was bewildered and astounded
at seeing the happy home he had always known
deserted by every one excepting the seneschal and
a few servants, desired nothing so much as to go
immediately to his mother. But this Jasto would
not have allowed, had it been possible, for the
boy was nearly exhausted by fatigue and want
of food. After some supper had been prepared
for the two travelers, and Louis had eaten as
much as Jasto thought good for him, the robber
accompanied his young companion to the room he
had been used to occupy with his brother Ray-
mond, and, after seeing him safely in bed, lay
down on the floor across the door-way, and went
to sleep himself. It was evident that he intended
to take good care that Louis should not leave him
this time until he had conducted him into his
mother's presence.
The seneschal was rather surprised at the
actions of this man, who announced himself as
a friend to the boy, and one who had saved him
from the robbers who had captured him; but,
as he and Louis seemed on very friendly terms,
the old man made no objection to anything that
Jasto said or did.
In the morning, Louis insisted upon an early
start for Barran's castle; but, although Jasto was
now perfectly willing to go, he was afraid to do so,
for there was no other road but the one which led
through the woods, and on that he certainly
would be seen by some of the cotereaux, who
would keep the road under constant watch. To
make his way with the boy through the woods on
the west of the road would be almost impossible,





for he was not familiar with that part of the forest,
and did not know the paths; and Louis would of
a certainty be tired out long before he could reach
the castle, which was distant almost a day's jour-
ney for a horse.
But fortune favored him, for, after he had spent
most of the day in endeavoring to impress these
things on the mind of the impatient Louis, and in
making efforts to find some one who would be
willing to go to the castle and inform the Countess
of her son's arrival at Viteau, there came to the
chateau a party of horsemen who had been sent
by Barran to see if anything had been heard from
the boy at his home, the party in the eastern woods
having, so far, met no traces of his captors.
The course was now easy enough, and the next
day Barran's men set out for the castle, taking
with them the happy Louis and Jasto, who felt no
fear of capture by his former comrades now that
he was escorted by a body of well-armed men.
The scene at the castle, when Louis arrived, was
a joyous one. The Countess forgot all her
troubles and fears about herself, in her great
happiness for the return of her son; and even
Raymond ceased to think, for a time, of his
mother's danger; so glad was he to see his dear
brother again. Every one at the castle, indeed,
was in a state of great delight, for Louis was a
general favorite, and few persons had expected to
see him again.
Among the most joyful of his welcomers was
Agnes. She listened to his story with the great-
est eagerness, and, when he began to lament that
he had lost her horse, she exclaimed:
We don't think much about horses, my father
and I, when we are afraid that we have lost boys.
It is easy enough to get another jennet, and, before
many years, this one would have been too small
for me. Do you think he is in a comfortable
I don't know," answered Louis. "I did not
see where they took him."
"At any rate," said the girl, promptly, "the
thieves can not ride him in the forest, and so he
will not be worn out ':-m'b-ld work. But we wont
talk about him any more. And your brother's
new falcon is gone, too, I suppose."
"Oh, yes," said Louis, ruefully. "But he will
not grieve about that, for he did not know he was
going to have one. I thought of that a good many
times, when I was among the robbers. If he had
been expecting it, things would have been a great
deal worse than they are now."
Of course he did not expect the bird," said the
girl, "but he knows you have lost it, for every-
body was told that it was to carry him a new falcon
that you left the castle. But he never will scold you

for not bringing it, and so we need not say anything
more about it. But he must wonder that you
were bringing him a falcon; for how could you
know he had none, when you left your mother's
house before anything was said about his bird hav-
ing been lost? He must suspect you had some-
thing to do with it."
"Of course he does," said poor Louis. "I
intended to tell him all about it when I should give
him the new falcon; but it will be harder to do
it now."
Don't you say a word about it," said Agnes,
who was really a kind-hearted girl, although she
liked to talk about everything that was on her
mind. "I'll tell him myself. It will be easy
enough for me to do it, and I can tell him better
than you can, anyway."
She did tell Raymond all about it, dwelling
with much earnestness on Louis's sorrow for his
fault, and his great desire to make amends for it;
but she found that Raymond cared very little about
falcons. His mind was occupied with weightier
"Louis is a good fellow, and a true one," he
said, "although he often plays wild pranks, and
the only reason I am sorry that he lost my bird
is that it caused him such danger, and all of us
such grief."
"I like Louis better than Raymond," said
Agnes to herself. "Raymond talks so much like
a man, and he is n't half so glad as he ought to
be, now that his brother is saved from those
dreadful robbers. If I were in his place, I 'd be
singing and dancing all the time."
The Countess sent for Jasto, and thanked him
warmly andearnestly for bringing her son to her,
instead of taking him back to the cotereaux.
If I could do it now," she said, "I should
reward you handsomely for what you have done
for me; but, as I left my chateau for this place
very suddenly, I have no money with me. How-
ever, as soon as I shall have opportunity to send
for some, I shall more than pay you for the trouble
you have taken. Meantime, as your conduct
shows that you wish to leave your companions
and give up your evil ways, you can remain here,
and I shall see that you receive fair treatment and
are well employed." And then, with a few more
gracious words, she dismissed him.
This was all very pleasant, for the Countess
spoke so sweetly and looked so good that it greatly
gratified Jasto to have her talk to him so kindly,
and thank him for what he had done; but still he
was not satisfied. He had expected to make a
regular bargain about a ransom, and hoped that
Louis would have told his mother how much
Michol was going to charge for his return; but he



found the boy had never mentioned the matter,
and he did not feel bold enough, in his first inter-
view with the Countess, to do it himself. He
knew that he would be rewarded, but he felt sure
that a lady would have no idea of the proper sum
to pay for a page's ransom. If the pig had not
eaten the letter her son had written, she would
have been astonished indeed. He would wait,
and, when the proper time came, he would let it
be known that he expected ransom-money just as
much as if he had kept the boy in some secret
spot, and had made his mother send the sum re-
quired before her son was restored to her. Mean-
while, he was perfectly willing to remain in the
service of the good Countess, and the first thing he
asked for was a suit of clothes not composed of
patches sewn together with bright red silk. And
that he received without delay.

Now that Louis was safe at the castle, the minds
of the Countess and her friends were occupied
with the great question of her safety. It was not
to be expected that the officers of the Inquisition
would give up their attempts to arrest the lady;
and although Barran's castle and Barran's forces
might be strong enough to hold her securely and
to drive back her persecutors, a contest of this kind
with the Church was something not to be desired
by the Count nor by his friends. Barran and Lanne
were both of opinion that the safest refuge for the
Countess would be England; but a secret journey
there would be full of hardships, and might compel
her to give up all her property, and to be separated
from her sons.
It was hard to decide what to do, and at any
day the officers of the Inquisition might appear
at the gates of the castle.

(To be continued.)

_s- -.---_t N-7_-A-- r- _-

! There once was a. olU Uster -nam ed Dtck
/vWho at -rawhnq was clever and quLcK -
/He ase d pape-r so fast that he ran out at Last
So he cL-ew on a pae, of St. NLck




UNDER this general heading we propose to give, from month to month, some articles of especial interest to boys and girls, introducing
them to various useful employment or ways of self-improvement, and also to novel sports, games, and entertainments. The papers for
this department have been obtained from different sources: some of them are written by well-known writers, some by experts in special
fields, and some by wise boys and girls who, in solving their own difficulties or devising new pleasures for themselves, have hit upon
expedients and diversions that are of value to young folk everywhere.
We begin, this month, with a paper that will be welcome in many quarters, and upon a subject concerning which we have received
many inquiries, viz.: Silk-culture." The achievements of Miss Nellie Rossiter in this home employment have gained honorable mention in
the newspaper press, and have familiarized many of our readers with the fact that silk-culture offers a simple and easy method for boys and
girls to make money. A great many young folk have had their curiosity aroused on this subject, but have had no means of learning how
to begin and to conduct the work. This information, therefore, the accompanying article aims to supply, and we believe that it gives all
the directions needed by earnest, active boys and girls for successful work in the line of silk-culture.
We shall have more to say upon the subject in other numbers, having already in stock an account of the Boys' Silk-culture Club,"
of Philadelphia, and the results achieved by a girls' organization in the same city. And if the industry prove a popular one with our readers,
we may organize a ST. NICHOLAS Silk-culture Club. We are prepared to make free distribution (under suitable guaranties) of as many
as 200,000 silk-worm eggs among boys and girls who are subscribers to ST. NICHOLAS, and who are ready to undertake silk-culture in
good faith, and to render us reports in due time of the progress of .their work. The present paper, which is written by an experienced
silk-culturist, will show how much can be done by young folk in this new field.
As indicated by the title, the new department shall vary work with play. So, next month, it will contain an illustrated article by Prof.
H. H. Boyesen, on "A New Winter Sport for Boys"-a stirring paper, introducing American lads to the use of the Norwegian skees."



THERE is nothing remarkable in the appearance
of this moth or butterfly, as you might call it. It
is no larger than the white or yellow butterfly that
flits over the mud in a country road, and not nearly
so pretty, being of a grayish white, with small,
black, bead-like eyes.
It lives only twelve or fifteen days, eats nothing,
can not fly or protect itself from enemies, and you
may wonder what such a moth is good for; but if
you lived in China, Japan, Italy, or France, you
would find it for the first three days of its life
guarded with zealous care. In fact, in some coun-
tries it is called the golden moth, for it is the means
of putting gold into the pocket.
It is said that, two thousand six hundred years
before our Christian era, Si-ling-Shi, the wife of
the Emperor Hoang-ti, finding that the skins of
animals, with which the people clothed themselves,
were growing scarce, looked about for some mate-
rial to take their place. Her search was unsuc-
VOL. X.-I5.

cessful until one morning, while taking her walk in
the palace garden, she discovered some large worms
spinning spider-like webs on the mulberry trees.
She immediately conceived the idea of weaving
these webs into a fabric. The wise men of the
Orient were consulted, and finally a fabric was pro-
duced which has since been called "silk."-
From that day, the wives and children of the
poor and middle classes of many nations have
derived a livelihood from the product of this little
gray silk-moth, which hatches the worm that spins
the silk.
The rapid changes these silk-worms go through
in six weeks are as amusing and wonderful as the
tricks of a sleight-of-hand man, and if you want to
get some fun and money out of your next summer
holidays, you have only to obtain some silk-worm
eggs and let them hatch.
You must keep these eggs in a cool place till
hatching time, or they will spoil. A cellar where
the temperature does not rise above 40 degrees is a
good place.
The hatching season commences when the leaves
come out on the mulberry and osage-orange trees,
for you must know that the leaves of these are the
proper food of the silk-worms. If your studies
will not allow you to hatch the eggs at that time,
put them in a perforated tin box, and ask the
butcher to hang them in his refrigerator. They
will keep in this way for quite a time. You can
freeze them without harm, provided they are



brought very gradually to higher temperatures for
No, you do not put the eggs to hatch on the
mulberry trees. You bring them into a room in the
house, or into a shed or stable where it is clean and
well ventilated, and spread them out on a news-
paper, or on the bottom of a wooden tray made for
the purpose. This wooden tray is much like the
bottom of a square bird-cage, and you can easily
make one.
After you have placed the eggs as directed, heat
the room to a temperature of 70 degrees, and in a
few hours you will see a change taking place. The
eggs grow gray, then blue, then white, with the
exception of a small, moon-shaped black spot.
Now look at this spot with your magnifying-glass,
and you will see it is the head of a worm.
In a few minutes some of these worms will sur-
prise you by the rapidity with which they make
their exit from the shell. And when they are out,
you will observe, if your magnifying-glass is strong
enough, that they are covered with short hairs like
a caterpillar, and that they are fastening a little
silky web to every object within their reach.
The second day after you put your eggs to hatch,
you will find the paper or tray swarming with little,
black, wriggling worms. You may judge how small
they are when I tell you that the egg is not much
larger than a mustard-seed.
They are hungry now, and should be fed, but
before doing so, make a frame, similar to a slate-
frame with a strip through the middle, to fit into
the tray. This frame should be covered with
mosquito-netting, and placed over the worms.
Now gather a few mulberry or osage-orange leaves,
chop them fine, like smoking-tobacco, and sprinkle
them over the netting.
The worms will quickly crawl through the
meshes to eat the leaves.
Being so small they will eat very little, but they
should be given fresh leaves as soon as the old
leaves become hard or dry. When giving them
fresh leaves, put over the old frame another frame
covered with netting. When the worms have crawled
through, remove the first frame with the dried
leaves. In this way you can easily change them
from old to fresh food. They should be given four
meals a day during the first age."
The trays must be changed and cleaned at least
once a day.
In three days all the strong worms will have
hatched; those born after this are apt to be weakly,
and had better be thrown away.
Each day those hatched should be removed and
placed by themselves, with the date of their birth
marked on the tray that contains them. Those
first hatched should be placed in the coolest part

of the room, and those latest hatched in the
warmest. This will tend to equalize their growth
and prevent the worms being of different sizes when
their molting period comes, which occurs four
Five or six days after the worms have hatched,
they will prepare to shed their skins.
This is called a molt.




You will know when this period comes by their
loss of appetite. They will become torpid, and
look like small bits of rusty iron wire. If now you
observe the worms carefully with a glass, you will
see a black spot coming in front of the first joint.
This is the growth of a new head, and the com-
mencement of the shedding, which process is com-
pleted so gradually that a whole discarded skin is
rarely found.
In twelve hours this period is over. The worms
have passed their "first age," and enter with re-
newed appetites into their second age."
This differs but little from the "first age." In
it, however, they eat more and grow much larger.


LJ3> .y



Before they enter the "third age," the netting
must be removed from the frames and replaced
with perforated paper. Each perforation should be
large enough to admit a lead-pencil.
You need not chop the leaves any more now,
as the worms are able to eat them whole.




During the fourth age" they consume an
enormous quantity of food, and when their fourth
and last molt comes they suffer acutely. Their
sickness sometimes resembles death, and many of
the soft, fat worms actually do die.
They require at this time much care as to venti-
lation and cleanliness. It is very important that the
trays be changed daily, and the worms not handled
with the fingers. If there is occasion, for lack of



room or any other cause, to remove some of them
to other trays, lift them with small, flat camel's-hair
brushes or large leaves.
When the molt of this "fourth age is past, the
critical period of the silk-worm's existence is over.




In the fifth and last age, how much they will eat!
If you have many worms they will keep you pretty
busy getting food for them, for
not only leaves, but whole mul-

them all, for they are then so tender that one
pinch or bite will prove fatal.
Now that your worms are ready to spin, you
must get ready the spinning-branches. These are
bundles of dry twigs from which the leaves have
been taken, or bunches of straw. The bunches
should be as thick as your wrist, and about a foot
long. Stand these bunches all about the trays,
and bend their tops together in the shape of an
The worms, as soon as they see the branches,
will know what they are intended for, and will lose
no time in mounting them. There may be found
some who are too lazy to mount. Place some
branches in the way of these, and when they have
taken hold, stand the branch up.
After the worm has mounted the branch, he
commences throwing little silky
webs from branch to branch.

berry boughs must be given This is a sort of hammock in
them now. They are as greedy I which he means to hang his
as pigs, and seem to live for cocoon. By and by he really
nothing but to eat, eat, eat! begins work, moving his head
At this age you can even quickly from side to side, and
hear their jaws munching the throwing the silken thread in
leaves. But you must not mind the shape of the figure 8.
this, for they are converting \ .'i, If you could properly dissect
the leaves into a precious fluid, '''a silk-worm, you would find
that soon will be poured from '" "f\''ill in it a reservoir which contains
their mouths to make the beau- the silk matter. From this res-
tiful silken cocoon, and the .' ervoir proceed two glands that
more they are fed, the firmer 'I L '' unite in the mouth. From
and finer will be their cocoons them a fluid is poured forth
and the more abundant the silk. which, hardening as it reaches
In about eight days after the the air, becomes a tiny silken
beginning of the "fifth age" I. thread, to be conducted and
the worms, which never before '' I directed by the worm to the
showed the least desire to wan- l points it has selected.
der from their trays, become The worm moves its head
exceedingly restless, and wan- more than sixty times a min-
der aimlessly about, moving ute, or three hundred thousand
their heads in all directions. times in making its cocoon.
They are now looking for a ,' For some time after it has
convenient place to spin their been spinning and has wound
cocoons, and if a place is not SPNNING-BRANCHES. itself in the threads that have
arranged for them, so that they may disgorge this taken the shape of a cocoon, you can see it, dou-
silk fluid, they will die. bled up like a horseshoe, hard at work on the inside.
The worm is now as large as your fin- .
ger, and of an ashy gray color. '
I have not yet told you that black ants t '" '.
are the silk-worms' mortal enemies, and ;e; --' -'" e i i .
that you will be sure to find them. in -* ,> -a
your cocoonery. I think they are first '
brought in on the leaves, and you must
keep a sharp lookout for them. They pinch and Finally the threads grow so thick that the worm is
bite, the worms until they kill them. If they get to shut out from your view forever, and I am sure by
the worms during the "first age," they may kill this time you will feel a little tinge of sadness in


saying good-bye, for it has been with you so much,
and has been so intelligent, that it seems almost
In four days it, has expended all its silk fluid,
and the cocoon is done. It will contain a thread of
silk from six hundred to eight hundred yards long.
You must let these cocoons remain on the spin-
ning-branches for about eight days. At the end


of that time, take them down and carefully strip
them of their loose floss. Select the largest and
finest, and string them on a thread about a yard
long. This is done by passing the needle lightly
through the outside of the cocoon floss that still
remains on it. Never pass the needle through the
cocoon, as it would pierce the chrysalis and kill it.
Then hang these threads in a cool, dark room,
away from rats or mice.
In about seven days more, you will awake some
morning to find holes in your cocoons and a
number of butterflies or moths, like those I first
told you about, clinging to the walls and cocoons.
Some of these will be males and some females.
The males are smaller than the females and keep
beating their wings.
After about six hours, place the females on
A cell is a little piece of muslin three by three
inches, with a string run through the top. A
number of these should be prepared beforehand,
and then stretched across the room.
As fast as you separate the moths, place a
female on each cell, darken the room and let them
alone. In a few hours they will commence to lay.
Each moth carefully deposits the eggs (which are
covered with a sticky fluid that causes them to
adhere to the cloth) side by side, and so on for
about three days. The usual number of eggs each
moth lays is four hundred, but they often lay as
many as seven hundred.
It will be well to occasionally pin a moth in the
corner of a cell, so that, the buyer of eggs can
reduce it to powder and examine it for disease.
Silk-worms have so far been subject to no disease
in this country, but occasionally the precaution
should be taken of examining a moth. The break-

ing out of a disease among the silk-worms is a
great affliction on the other side of the ocean.
If you have had one thousand eggs to begin with,
and these have produced five hundred females
that have laid the average amount of eggs, you
will find yourself the possessor of five ounces
of eggs, worth at the lowest wholesale price two
dollars per ounce, or twenty-five cents a thousand
at retail, and about four pounds of pierced cocoons,
which, sold as waste, will bring fifty to eighty cents
a pound.
If you should want your cocoons for reeling,
instead of reproduction, you should take them
from the spinning-branches a few days after they
are spun, and stifle them.
Stifling is killing the chrysalis inside, so that
it can not pierce the cocoon. The pierced cocoon
can be carded, but not reeled.
There are many ways of stifling, but solar rays,
charcoal fumes, hot air, or steam are the most used.
To stifle them by solar rays, they must be put in
glass-covered boxes in the sun for several days,
care being taken to stir them often.
To stifle them by charcoal, they must be put in
a bag, hung in a tight
box from which the
bottom has been re-
1 moved, and then placed
'over a pot of burning
charcoal. Bank earth
E about the box, and in
~C twelve hours the work
will have been accom-
M To stifle by hot air,
Syou place them in an
oven for half an hour.
This is 'dangerous, for
S" the cocoons are likely
to scorch.
STo stifle by steam, you
put them in a common
-_ steamer and steam as
S you would potatoes or
Sa pudding. Thirty min-
utes is long enough for
A.' them to remain in the
i. f-i steamer.
This last mode is said
A STRING OF COCOONS. to be the best of all,
as the steaming softens the gum and improves the
luster of the silk.
In all cases, after the cocoons have been stifled,
they must be placed on a clean cloth, in a cool,
airy room, and allowed to dry for at least ten days.
They will mold and discolor if you do not dry





You should never ship them in a green state,
before or after stifling, unless you are specially re-
quested to do so, for they lose in weight for more

"----. ,r -.

trihn tn
i^ '- -

'h Jr.*. M A'd

S n.:,t ,. gh th n .

till they are perfectly dry. ELL, t-E GGS.
Four pounds or less can be sent in paper boxes
by mail. Larger quantities should be sent by ex-
press or freight. Pack them lightly in thin pine
boxes, so that they will not be mashed or dented,
for this prevents their reeling properly.
If the cocoons are pierced, you may pack them
as tight as you please.
It will not be profitable for you to reel your

cocoons yourself, for no matter how nice and smooth
it looks to you, the manufacturer would find it very
uneven. But you may want to do it for your own
amusement, and so I will tell you how it is done.
Of course, you must provide yourself with a reel,
or invent one. I heard of a boy who put a
wide band of leather over the upper wheel of
a sewing-machine, which worked well. I believe
this would do, for there you have the revolving
wheel, and all you need is a flat, broad surface on
the wheel to catch and wind the silk as it unwinds
from the cocoons.
Before reeling, you must throw the cocoons into
hot water. Then take a portion of a whisk-broom
and stir the cocoons, drawing the broom out of the
water occasionally. The hot water softens the gum
by which the thread adheres to the shell of the
cocoon, and the rough broom catches the ends as
they loosen. Then turn the wheel slowly, and with
the thumb and forefinger start the ends around
the wheel. If the threads break, twist them
together and start them around again. When all
the silk is unwound from the cocoons, slip it off the
wheel and give it a twist and a knot, like a skein of
sewing-silk. Should the silk snarl as it unwinds,
you may know the water is too hot.
This ends all that you can do with the reeling.
As the pierced cocoons can be carded and spun
in the same manner as cotton and wool, your grand-
mothers, or other old people in your vicinity, can tell
you.how to do it, and even how to weave it into silk.
Next year I hope to learn that many specimens
of cocoons, reeled and spun silk have been on ex-
hibition at the State and county fairs all over the
United States-the work of the girls and boys
who have read this article.



To spread his fame, I '11 sing about
A little lad of ten,
Who, with no weapon, put to rout
An army of brave men!
The glittering troops attacked one day
A quiet, sleepy town,
And filled the people with dismay
As swiftly they came down.
They all prepared to hide or run,
With faces ashen pale.
All, did I say? No, all save one-
The hero of my tale.

" Cowards he cried, with flashing eye,
They pillage and destroy,
And yet you men stand idly by!
I 'I lead you, though a boy!"
He charged alone; the troops stood still;
He bravely knocked them down!
And thus, by his heroic will,
He saved the little town.
Lest this you think be hardly true,
It should be understood
That, though the boy was real like you,
The rest were. made of wood!


BY HOLLIS C. CLARK (Aged Fifteen).

THE tiger is called the scourge of India. With
many other wild animals, including deer, fowl,
cattle, and wolves, he frequents the immense jun-
gles of that country. Commonly, the tiger is shy
and will run at sight of a man, but once in a
while, having tasted human blood, he becomes
doo loo shadwee, as the natives say, when nothing
but human flesh will satisfy him.
When a tiger is known to be a man-eater, the
natives in his neighborhood are in constant dread
and terror. They either retire into their bamboo
huts at sundown, and crouch trembling until day-
break, or they light great bonfires and keep up a
continual commotion during the night; for when
a tiger captures a person, he generally stays in the
same vicinity until killed or entrapped, becoming
bolder and bolder every day. A tiger has even
been known to bound into a village in daylight,
and, like a flash, dash away with his doomed prey.
The news of a man-eater, however, is not an
every-day occurrence, as the brute is supposed to
obtain his first taste of human blood accidentally.
The task of killing these blood-thirsty beasts is
sometimes performed by Europeans, for the mere
sake of the hunt and the subsequent glory of
exhibiting the furry hide; more often, however,
by the shekarrys, or professional tiger-killers.

The modes of operation of the latter are often
very strange. Sometimes a stout bamboo cage,
containing the tiger-killer (who will kill a doo-loo-
shadwee tiger for thirty dollars) is placed in one
of the well-trodden paths of the animal. The
statue-like figure of the hunter sits motionless
until the tiger, having scented him, springs on the
cage and is dispatched by the spears of his antag-
onist. A brave native has also been known to let
a tiger spring at him, and then, lightly bounding
aside, dash a knife into his tawny body.
The indolent natives, however, seldom hunt, ex-
cept for a livelihood, or when accompanying Eng-
lishmen, of whom there are large numbers in India.
A few years ago, an English missionary, a friend
of mine, was stationed at a small village in the
midst of an almost impassable jungle, extending
for leagues inward. With one or two neighboring
towns the village was connected by foot-paths, and
from it a narrow road led to the railway station,
distant three miles or more.
One hot evening, as my friend was sitting before
his two-story bamboo cottage (which was a source





of admiration and wonder to the simple natives),
enjoying some letters from home, which he had
just received from a native guide and mail-carrier,
he was startled by cries of fear, and a crowd of
Hindus from a neighboring village rushed up and
threw themselves at his feet, bewailing loudly and
alternately imploring his aid and that of their
heathen gods. Moreover, his own villagers
became very much alarmed, and added to the
tumult, while the guide, though excited, remained
outwardly calm.
As soon as Mr. Dawson could make himself
heard, he inquired the cause of their trouble, to
which the guide replied that a tiger had carried
off a child from the new-comers' village, adding
also, that as the town was now entirely deserted
by the terrified inhabitants, part of whom were
before him, some other village might now expect
the tiger's attentions.
Mr. Dawson was alarmed. This was the first
time during his residence there that the peace of
the little town had been disturbed. To add to
this, his was the nearest village to the one recently
attacked, and there was more than an even chance
that it would be the next to suffer. It was with a
feeling of dread, therefore, that he went to bed
that night. He could not sleep, and was momen-
tarily expecting the advent of the tiger. But noth-
ing happened to break the night's stillness.
In the morning, feeling somewhat relieved, he
said to the guide (who was off duty for a week),
Well, Karsing, I guess the man-eater has missed
us." This was said with an attempt to smile, but
Karsing shook his head, and said shortly, He
may come yet." And come he did.
In the evening, when one of the less timorous
natives had gone a little distance from the huts to
obtain some water, all were paralyzed by shriek
upon shriek from the unfortunate man, upon
whom the tiger had sprung. His pitiful cries grew
fainter and fainter, as the blood-thirsty animal
bounded away with him. Pursuit was useless,
and another gloomy night was sleeplessly passed.
The next morning the missionary sent one of
the villagers to the station to send for a certain
skekarry, who lived about twenty miles away, and
who replied by telegraph that he would come and
hunt for the tiger that afternoon.
Meanwhile, Karsing (who was quite intimate
with Mr. Dawson), to occupy his time, began
overhauling some of that gentleman's traps,"
which he brought with him from England, and
had stored away. While rummaging in this
manner, he came across an old, rusty musket.
This he seized upon, and after cleaning and oiling
it, took some powder and balls, and about noon
went into the jungle, telling the servants about the

house--as Mr. Dawson, at that time, was absent
-that he would try to shoot something for dinner.
They laughed at him, for he had never used either
gun or pistol, and told him that the man-eater
would catch him.
But Karsing was confident, for he had often seen
others shoot, and as to being afraid of the tiger,
he said that such beasts usually slept at that hour.
When dinner-time came, the "hunter," as the
natives derisively called him, did not appear. Mr.
Dawson, who well knew that the guide was fully
able to take care of himself, was in nowise alarmed,
but was somewhat vexed because Karsing had not
asked permission to use the gun. However, in
the consideration of other matters he forgot about
the affair altogether until later in the day.
At two o'clock, the shekarry, with a companion,
arrived, armed with rifle and knife.
They immediately set out on the tiger's trail,
starting from the point where the animal's latest
victim had been seized the night before. As the
tracks became plainer, they hurried on cautiously
and quietly, when, all of a sudden, the loud report
of a gun startled them. It could not have come
from a point more than a quarter of a mile away,
and in the deathly stillness of the tangled jungle
it seemed still nearer. Immediately after it, a loud
roar awoke the echoes, and the shekarrys, advanc-
ing a few rods and parting the bushes, came upon
the tiger, then in his death-struggles. He was
roaring and lashing the ground with his tail, while
in his open, frothy mouth the hideous teeth
gleamed; finally, with a huge bound, he leaped
into the air and fell dead.
The tiger-killers were exceedingly surprised.
Why had they been sent for to kill the tiger if it
was probable that another would do it ?
They approached the body and came face to
face with Karsing, who appeared from the opposite
side. The shekarry, very naturally, felt vexed and
angry, and sullenly demanded, Did you kill that
tiger?" "Yes," replied the guide.
"With that gun?" continued the questioner,
espying the old musket. "Yes," replied Karsing.
The two tiger-killers turned away with disgust
and went back to the village, where they told the
story to the wondering missionary and natives.
Mr. Dawson paid them their expenses, and they
went home.
As for Karsing, he skinned the tiger and brought
the hide home, where, after curing it for a month
or more, he presented it to Mr.. Dawson, who re-
turned the favor by buying him a fine rifle.
The missionary afterward found out that the
sly fellow had set out that morning with the ex-
press purpose of killing the tiger, which he had
accomplished by a lucky chance shot.



ONE cold day, a la-dy looked from a win-dow down to the side-walk,
and she saw there a lit-tle girl and a lit-tle boy. The girl had a brok-
en sled, and on the sled there was a board that fell off if any-bod-y
touched it and would n't stay on un-less it was held.
./ I Well, the lit-tle girl held the board just right,
and made a quick jump and got on it, so that the
Board staid in place; then she got off, and told the
boy to jump on.
He jumped. The board tipped, and the lit-tle
boy fell on the side-walk. But the lit-tle girl picked
him up, and brushed off the snow. Then the la-dy
at the win-dow slid up the sash, and this is what
Sshe heard the. girl say:
"Try a-gain, Jo! That was too bad. Sis-ter is
S // sor-ry. She will hold the board this time." So the
board was a-gain put on the brok-en sled, and held
un-til Jo was safe-ly on it.
"Now, sit still, Jo, and I '11 give you a nice slide-
ride," said the lit-tle girl. And then she picked up
the rope and pulled. Up flew Jo's feet and he fell
o-ver back-ward; but he was not hurt much, and, af-
-ter an-oth-er brush-ing, the girl said, Now, sit with
your feet to the back: you can't tum-ble off that way.
But he did. On-ly that time he fell on his face.
Next he sat side-wise, with his feet hang-ing o-ver
part of a run-ner.
JT '.-In this way he
went safe-ly as
Sfar as a-cross a
k4* A lit-tle room, but
S. then board and
boy once more
The good sis-
ter tried a doz-en times to give Jo a ride, but ev-ery time the old, brok-
en sled threw him off. Still the lit-tle girl was pa-tient and kind, and spoke
gent-ly, and took good care of her lit-tle broth-er. And that was bet-ter.for



both of them that day than a fine sled-ride would have been. For when
they went a-way the la-dy o-pened the win-dow wide, and sent a big boy to
fol-low them, and told him to come back and tell her the house they lived in.
And then, that same day, she went out and bought a strong and pret-ty
sled. Its name was Gold-en Ar-row."
Then, she went her-self to the house where the lit-tle girl lived, and
asked for the lit-tie girl who had been try-ing to give her lit-tle broth-er
a sleigh-ride that morn-ing.
Julia! Julia called her moth-er. Here is a la-dy, ask-ing for you."
Julia ran to the gate.
"You were try-ing to draw a lit-tle boy on the side-walk in front
of my house this morn-ing"-be-gan the la-dy, but she could not say an-
oth-erword then, for Julia was fright-ened and said: "Oh, ma'am, I did n't,
I did n't mean to do any-thing naugh-ty." Then she be-gan to cry ver-y
hard, and ran a-way.
"What is it, ma'am, that my child has been do-ing ?" asked Julia's
"She is a dood sis-ter," said lit-tle Jo.
The la-dy smiled. I watched her this morn-ing," she said, and she

was so sweet and pa-tient that I wished to make her a pres-ent. And at
my house there is a new sled for her, if she will come and get it."
Pret-ty soon, Julia was at the la-dy's house, with Jo and three oth-er
lit-tle broth-ers, and the "Gold-en Ar-row" made five chil-dren hap-py
man-y days--for these chil-dren were real chil-dren, and it all hap-pened
just like this sto-ry.


: -

I t y- ,' .:

4 '' .' -I I


ANOTHER Year! Welcome it, my people, and
treat it as handsomely as you can. In twelve
months it will slip aside, to take its place in the
long line of years that have passed away," as we
say. But it will not pass away. It will stand there
in line with the rest that you have known, and will
greet you familiarly whenever you look back upon
it-whether with smiles or frowns, or with too
much of one and too little of the other, depends
very much upon yourselves.
Well, here we are, good 1883 Glad to see you,
and ready to do our best. Your bright, fresh face
is full of promise, and, in the name of big folk,
little "folk, snow-time, bloom-time, and harvest,
JACK thanks you for coming !


DEAR JACK: I am puzzled, and perhaps you, or some of those re-
markably bright young people known as your "chicks," can help
me. I was sitting on the fence of the school-house yard, one morn-
ing last week, watching the children as they passed in, when I
heard the following scraps of conversation. Said one little boy to
another: "It's the splendidest book; the sailors were becalmed in
the Doldrums for three weeks, and when they got out of them their
water ran short." Well, I lost the rest of it; but doldrums" was
a new word to me, bt. T ih. ..-, rlr : I listened I would hear it
again soon; and, if ill i..:.l:' .e, I really did hear it again
from the very next who passed. It was two large girls, this time,
who are in the high-class. Said one of them: We had the dole-
fulest evening; that poky old professor kept talking all the time, so
that we could n't have a bit of fun, and we young folks were down
in the doldrums all the evening."
Now, dear Jack, I do not repeat these scraps of conversation to
suggest that some adjectives are compared by more and most,
though you might think so, but to inquire respectfully, Is there;
really, such a place as the Doldrums, and did those speakers mean
the same thing in using the expression ?
Your ever faithful friend, SNOW BUNTING.

Here is your answer, dear Snow Bunting. The
Little School-ma'am says: 'The Doldrums' is a
name given by sailors to places in the ocean near
the equator, in which calms, storms, and contrary

winds abound. The boy used the expression in
its literal sense; the girl, figuratively."

THE children of the Red School-house had
propped up the thing, as a great curiosity, on a
mound, by my pulpit. Yes, there it was, as plain as
day, a beautiful twig or spray, with the dear Little
School-ma'am's label upon it-but I could n't do
anything with my birds. They insisted that the
things that I called flowers would soon shake their
pretty wings and fly away. Yes, they were sure of
it. In vain I protested, and even hit my pulpit.
hard with an imaginary fist.
"Did you never hear of an orchid ? said I.
What kind of a kid ?" said they.
"An orchid ?" I re- peated.
"Not we," said ,'. they; "but
we know ., bees when '' we see them,
andifthis plant does n't hear bees
i,.rr.:,..l ,,f *'), n,:,.. ..;r:. .. ,, '!! .;i '.: u p."


"That.'s just what I want," said I. "When
folk who are mistaken give up, the battle is ended."
And off they flew, quite sure that old Jack-in-the-
Pulpit had made a mistake for once.



Bless their bright little eyes and quick voices !
What should I do without them ?
You see, the little darlings have no dear Little
School-ma'am to go to, as I have; and good Mother
Nature is so fond of playing funny tricks !
Now, would n't it be very queer if some of my
little human chicks should look at the picture and
see only bees? Ah, but then they can find out
about orchids! Very likely they '11 be writing to
me about them before January has time to roll our
moon once around the earth.

My DEAR MR. JACK: I thought I would write you a letter
about the Emu, as it is a native of Australia, where I live. The
Emu is a large bird, stands about five feet high, and is of a brown
color; its feathers are small and double,- that is, two feathers grow

from the same place. It runs like the ostrich, and, when frightened,
makes off at a great pace. It takes a very fast dog to run it
down, as the Emu can keep up for a very long time: the dog gen-
erally gets tired and slinks away. It is a very inquisitive bird, and
even in awild state, if a man were to hide behind a bush and tie a
piece of rag to a stick, and hold it out, the Emu would come run-
ning up to see what it was. Emus are generally seen here on the plains,
walking in pairs, followed by their young family. The mother-bird
does not make a proper nest, but just makes a hole in the ground,
and lays fourteen or fifteen eggs, on which the birds, male and
female, sit in turn. The eggs are large, -not so large as those of an
ostrich,- and of a dark green color. Like the ostrich, the Emu has
a hardy stomach, and will swallow nails, buttons, and all sorts of
queer things, without hurting itself, though in its wild state it
lives chiefly on berries. They are easily tamed, as soon as they get
acquainted. We are now living on the Darling Downs, Queensland,
but in Riverina,-part of New South Wales,-where my papa used to
have a sheep station, he says there are a great many more Emu
than here in Queensland. Papa says the Emu are very injurious
to young lambs. They want to play with them; they chase them,
jump over them, knock them down, and roll them about. This
rough play often kills the poor little things.
Your constant reader, WYNNIE PRUDENCE BRODRIBB.


IN announcing our choice of a composition out of all that have been sent in response to our offer on page 982 of the October
ST. NICHOLAS, we are happy to acknowledge the surprising cordiality with which our plan to assist the young "compositioners has been
met. Parents and teachers everywhere have approved highly of the plan of offering ST. NICHOLAS subjects; whole schools have been
represented in the present competition; and the letters accompanying the MSS. sufficiently attest its popularity with the boys and girls
themselves. One friendly correspondent writes: "You have found a very interesting way of making difficult lessons seem like play" ; a
candid young author says: I hope you will give four subjects each month, for composition work is a very dull and horrid task to me, and
I am very glad of anything to make it easier" ; and very many of the young writers insist that, whether their Tiger compositions be printed
or not, the work has been its own reward. Indeed, the Committee rely upon the very general expression of this sentiment to aid them in
making their report. It can be no easy task for any committee to decide easily and promptly upon the one very best out of hundreds of
clever stories by clever young folk. In the case of these Tiger stories, it was quite impossible to choose one that was preeminent in all
good qualities, for, however excellent in some points one of them might be, there were others quite as good-if not better-in other
respects. But, on the whole, and after due deliberation, the Committee united in according the highest place to the composition by Hollis
C. Clark, aged fifteen, as best fitting the picture and combining information concerning the tiger with a vivid story of a hunt. This compo-
sition, therefore, appears on page 230 of the present number, in company with the original picture; and a check in payment, at the rates
promised, has been forwarded to the young author. In his letter accompanying the manuscript he says: I interpret the picture as I do,
for the reason that the tiger is not in the attitude for pouncing upon the hunters, nor are the hunters in position for shooting the tiger."
It must be remembered, as before stated, that among the compositions were others quite as good in many respects as the one we have
chosen to print. At least twenty of the compositions crowded closely upon us in making a selection, and many others are so admirable,
considering the ages of their authors, that we gladly extend the Roll of Honor to take them in.
Heartily thanking our young friends, one and all, for their interest and enthusiasm, we submit the above report to their attention, and
offer four subjects for this month.
As stated in the December number, we do not ask to see the compositions hereafter, excepting when we offer a picture in connection with
a subject; but we shall be glad if, in writing compositions, all who choose the ST. NICHOLAS subjects will kindly let us know of the fact.


Dollie Darrach--Mamie A. Collins- Mattie W. Baxter--Chas. Lee Faries--Evy Robinson--Margt. W. Lighton-Isa E.
Owens-Dora Young-Carrie F. Lyman-Maude Linda Gilbert-Edie M. Arnold-Neddie Freeman-C. Herbert Swan, Jr.-Wyatt
W. Randall-M. Josephine Collins-Kate H. Gillicuddy-S. Bessie Saunders-Mary E. Armstrong-- C. Mather- Ursula Norman-
George Weildon-Mary Paxson Rogers-Harry Milnes- Sarah T. Dalsheimer-Hilda E. Ingalls-Albert T. Ryan-Otto R. Barnett
-Alice May Schoff-Charles Waddle-Carrie C. Coe-Blanche Walsh-Rannie C. Scott-David G. Wilson -Wm. R. McIver-
Madge L. Wendell- Florence Bradshaw-W. T. Stevenson Katie Lloyd- Ralph Browning Fiske-Sallie E. Buck-" Sand-piper"-
Marcellus L. Holt-Daisy O'Brien-Fannie G. Davenport-John Peck, Jr.-Mamie H. Wilcox- Mary May Winsor- MaryT -...--L; I.:.
Shannon-Jessie Garfield-Frank D. Thomson-Harry Robertson-Lulu Thomson-C. M. Frazer-Helen L. Towne-- H:l.-. r,
Brown-Sallie H. Williamson-E. Georgina Jackson-Charles Ellis-Maria W. Edgerton-Susie I. Harwood-Katie Jacobs -Emma
Cole-J. H. Gorrell-Karl H. Machold-Jessie McGregor--Maye C. Boorman-Fannie Bogert-Annie W. Johnson-Wm. J. Dante
-Sam Blythe, Jr.-W. H. Laurence-Walter E. Borden-Claude N. Comstock-Susie D. Huntington-Carl K. Friedman-Hattie
P. Perkins-Louie F. Pitts-Mary K. Goodwin-Eva W. Eastman-Israel Joseph-Jessie Goodrich--Alice Robertson-H. E.
Northup-Fannie Fauntleroy-Wm. Vance Martin-May Winston-Pace Winston-Alice C. Hegan-Hattie Venable-Emma
Martin -Josephine Meeker- Hugo Diemer-Winnie Marsh-Etty Reeks-Olivia Kurtz-Lillian W. Hart-David W. Brant-Olive
H. Causey- Gracie E. Southivorth-Mary Hutton-"Honor Bright"-Eliza M. Grace-W. C. Burkhalder-Chas. B. Gulick-Gracie
Avery- James F. Berry-J. Buchanan-Powell Evans-Albert L. Taylor -Caryl D. Haskins-Fred. T. Sewall--Carleton W. Ginn
- Daisy Carville Harry Leonard Evarts R. Greene Lizzie Dye Frank T. Brown Isabel A. Beaumont K. L. Terry H.
Kenner-B. W.-Edward B. Reed-Frank Munroe-Frances H. Catlin-E. L. Hunt-Susie Clark-Mame L. Wheeler-N. H.-
CarrieA. McCreary-Grace Gallaher-Lulu Cumbach- Lulu M. Hutchins-Anna L. Roe-John Fred. Kennedy--Charlotte W.
Hare-Stuart M. Beard-Mabel Guion-Aurelia Key-Mary Thompson-Sallie D. Rogers--Harriette R. Horsfall-Harry B.
Sparks-Clara Burr-"Phyllis"- Gertrude M. Doughty-Asa B. Priest -Mary M. Ehlers-Horace Wylie-Lessie MacGregor-
Elsie M. Kittredge-Rowland G. Treat-Dudley Ganst-Kitty Williamson-Jos. H. Sutton-James R. Danforth, Jr.-Robt. I.
Brown-Anna May Bristol-Anna B. Cordo-E. W. Mumford-Maggie L. Bawgan-Julia Abbey-Gertrude Hascall-Jeannette
. Gilespie- Katie R. Elliott-Gracie L. Thayer-Lillian Byrne-B. C. P.-Helen Stapleton-A. Klouber.

See ST. NICHOLAS for October, page 982, and for December, page 156.




IT is pleasant to know that, up to the present date, nearly five
hundred dollars have been contributed through this magazine to
the Children's Garfield Fund for the benefit of the poor and sick
children of New York. The amounts received since our report in
ST. 9ICHOLAS for June, 1882, aggregate $63.77. $16.28 of this
sum was sent by a club of young girls,-" a little society of six
members,"- with the following letter:

"DANSVILLE, N. Y., Nov. xi, 1882.
"DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have had a little society of six
members, and have worked for six months for the 'Garfield Home.'
November loth we had a little fair; sold the things we had made,
and ice-cream and cake. We invited our friends, and made the sum
of $16.28, which we inclose.
"Please acknowledge the receipt of it, either through the ST.
NICHOLAS or in any way convenient.
Members : Dora Voorhees, Alice Grant, Carrie Pratt."

Now, girls and boys, who will start another club to raise the
twenty dollars and twenty-one cents that are needed to swell the
Children's Garfield Fund to $500 ?
For full particulars, see ST. NICHOLAS for November, 1881, and
July, 1882.

READERS of this number who also have read "The Story of
Tinkey," printed in ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1882, will find an in-
creased pleasure in the capital tale "Fairy Wishes Nowadays," on
page 166, as the same "Tinkey" is the hero of the two stories,
although each is complete in itself.

FORT WORTH, TEXAS, Nov. 3, x882.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I think that the piece called "A Happy
Thought; or, Olive's Game," is a very good one. My sister and
I tried it, with success. Mamma wrote the names on some slips of
paper, and my sister and I think of playing it every day. I hope
all the readers of ST. NICHOLAS will try it.
Your interested reader, CARRIE STEWART.
Thanks, Carrie. The game is a good one, and we join in your
wish that it may become very popular with ST. NICHOLAS boys and

BY an oversight, the two jingles, "The Iron-clad Pie" (in the
August number) and Oh, What Are You at, Little Woman ?" (in
the October number) were credited solely to Mr. L. Hopkins, in
our Tables of Contents for those months, when in reality they were
drawn by Mr. Hopkins, at our request, from suggestions by Mr. A.
W. Harrington, who furnished the text of the verses and hints in
outline for the pictures. We gladly make this correction, in justice
to Mr. Harrington, and extend to him our apologies for the mistake.

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT'S "Cloudy-Saturday" question continues to
agitate several of our readers, as tle following interesting letter
shows. J. R. S., Jr., evidently intends to settle the matter beyond
a doubt-if he can. Well, we shall be glad to hear from him again,
and from all the others who are keeping a close eye on the Saturday
styles of weather. But hear what J. R. S., Jr., has to say already:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the Jack-in-the-Pulpit pages of your
magazine, I read some time ago a statement that there is but one
Saturday in the year on which the sun does not shine. Since reading,
I have carefully dotted all the Saturdays on the almanac, and have
been watching to see if you really meant what you printed for us.
I have been very much afraid lest you were joking with us, just

to see how many of us would watch for a year, and at the expira-
tion of that time give way to disappointment.
At first, I thought that, if such an event should transpire, the Sat-
urday would be the one on which I wished to do something that
particularly required clear sunshine all day. It seemed, at school,
that there never was a Saturday upon which it did not rain; but not
having heard that there was but one Saturday in the year on which
the sun does not shine, I took no special note of the sunshine.
Upon several Saturdays during the past summer, I have seen
only about five minutes' sunshine, and that just as the sun was setting.
But, at last, I have found the one Saturday. That one was the
2zstof October, 1882. Our faithful watchman failed that day to give
us a ray of sunlight in this city. I watched, particularly, all day,
and saw no ray whatever.
It is a good thing you did not offer a reward to the one first notic-
ing that fact, because others before me would have likewise been
noticing, and, in all probability, would have secured the prize. At
any rate, I feel amply repaid for my trouble in learning this one fact,
that the sun failed to shine on one Saturday in the year 1882, but
whether the maxim holds true or not remains to be proven; and as
there has been so little trouble thus far, I will continue to watch the
balance of the year, with the hope that I will find one more Satur-
daylike the one just passed. Let others of your readers do likewise.
Your constant reader, J. R. S., JR,


WE are glad to present to our readers this month the accompany-
ing excellent portrait of Mr. J. T. Trowbridge, author of many
popular books for boys, and of the fine story, "The -'nkham Broth-
ers' Tide-Mill," now appearing as a serial in this magazine. It is
the fourth continued story which Mr. Trowbridge has contributed
to ST. NICHOLAS, and we are sure it will prove quite as stirring and
entertaining as "Fast Friends," "TheYoung Surveyor," or "His
Own Master." We congratulate our readers, therefore, on the treat
that is in store for them during the year, and, also, on being made
familiar at the outset with the genial face of their old-time friend.





THE following letter, from two San Francisco girls, came to us
before the issue of the December number, which contained Mr.
Holder's article on "The Discovery of the Mammoth." Now that
they have seen Mr. Beard's interesting picture of The Mammoth
of St. Petersburg," which accompanied that article, perhaps Maud
and Ethel will tell us how nearly the big fellow in the drawing re-
sembles the mammoth of San Francisco. If, as they say, the latter
was found in the ice in the River Lena, Siberia, there ought to be a
family likeness between the two huge creatures, as the Shumarhoff
mammoth also was discovered in the ice near the same river.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We thought you would like to hear of a
mammoth elephant we have here under the Mercantile Library. It
is twenty-six feet high, and twelve feet from its tail to the end of its
tusks. It is said that it resembles a larger one in the British
Museum. It was found frozen in the ice in the River Lena, in
Siberia. There are other large animals there, under the Library, but
none so great as this one. The people of San Francisco are very
much interested m it. From your constant readers,
MAUD AND ETHEL (aged ten and twelve).


HERE is an excellent and timely suggestion from F. H. P., concern-
ing a good after-use for Christmas-cards. Used in the manner de-
scribed, these pretty cards would no doubt form a very decorative
screen, and would, at the same time, retain their value as souvenirs,
and be kept in sight through a great part of the year as reminders
of the joyous Christmas time, and of the friends from whom they

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As there probably are a great many boys
and girls who would like to put their Christmas-cards to a perma-

nent use, I give below a description of a fire-screen that I have
just completed, which is very pretty:


;' !

Width, 3 feet.






Take two sticks, 5 ft.x3 in.x% in.; three sticks, 3 ft.x3 in.xi in.;
make a frame like diagram, cover the frame with strong but light
canvas, paste the cards on the canvas, taking care to arrange them
in good taste, and your frame is complete. F. H. P.


THE latest number on our register is 4460, showing a gain of 300
during the month of October. To me, the most surprising and
gratifying thing about the growth of our "A. A."-for which, by
the way, its members are coming to feel a strong affection--is the
steadiness of its development. We should have anticipated that,
upon the first proposition for such a Society two years ago, hundreds
of letters would instantly have deluged our desk, and that there-
after few, if any, new drops would have fallen. Instead of that, the
number at first was very small-discouragingly small; but each
week continued to bring its quota of new recruits, and, during the
whole time, volunteers have sent in their names with such regu-
larity that our mail has rarely exceeded twenty letters per day, and
rarely fallen short of six. We can now predict, with some confi-
dence, that three new Chapters will be formed each week. The latest
pleasant "turn" is the growing interest taken in our Association by
teachers and superintendents of schools, who see in the "A. A." a
practical and practicable solution of the question, How can Natural
History be Introduced into the Public School?"
The prospects of the Society were never so favorable, and with
renewed thanks to the many friends who have given us valuable
assistance in answering the questions of our four thousand little
questioners, we hopefully begin 1883 with the addition of the follow-
ing new Chapters:
No. Name. Members. Secretary's Address.
366. Webster Groves, Mo. (A). 39.. Mary E. Reavis, Box 113.
367 Boston, Mass. (C)....... 6..Annie Darling, 47 Concord Sq.
368. Baltimore, Md. (D)...... 6. Fannie Wyatt, 223 Md. Ave.
369. St. Paul, Minn. (D)..... 6.. Fred. Spaulding, Box V.
370. Georgetown, D. C. (C).. 5..M. A. McPherson, 1623 28th
St., N. W.
371. Granville, O. (A) ....... 5..Mabel S. Owen.
372. Beverly, N. J. (A)....... 2..Alice T. Carpenter, Box 88.
373. Beverly, N. J. (B) ...... 5..Wmin. A. Ker.
374. Brooklyn, N. Y. (D) .... 6.. Frank E. Cocks, 176 7th St.
375. Little Rock, Ark. (B).... x6..R. H. Taylor, Room 6, Benj.
376. Little Rock, Ark. (C)... .40..Clara E. Davis, cor. 2oth and
Center Sts.
377. Washington, D. C. (F) .14..May Sypher, 1509 R. I. Ave.

No. Name. Members. Secretary's Address.
378. Ambler, Pa. (A .........26..Jessie P. Smith, Upper Dublin
379. Andover, Mass. (B) ..... 5. Albert J. Shaw.
380. Cedar Rapids, Ia. (C) ... .o..Eddie Boynton.
381. Anderson, Ind. (A)...... 6..Frank Sharp.
382. Brooklyn, N. Y. (F)..... 8..Jeannie Van Ingen, 122 Remsenr
383. Chicago, Ill. (L) ........ 6..Wm. B. Jansen, 1236 Wabash


We have five hundred specimens in our cabinet.
ANNIE B. BOARDMAN, Sec., Augusta, Maine-

Shells from the Azores, agates from Lake Superior, for shells,
cotton in the pod, or red coral.
ISABELLA KELLOGG, 36 Davenport St., Detroit, Mich.

I have collected this summer more than two hundred species of
insects, besides several salamanders, snakes, and frogs.

One evening, I accidentally looked through a pigeon's feather at
a gas-flame, and saw the prismatic colors reflected in several smaller
flames. In light colored or white feathers the flames were very
plainly seen, but in dark or black feathers they were very dim.
Magnetic iron, barytes, iron pyrites, buhr-stone, for crystals, talc,
tourmaline, fossils, calc-spar.
L. E. TUTTLE, 5 Kimberly Ave., New Haven, Conn.


A. If a moth, note: Ist. Thefour ofthe antenna, whether pecti-
nated or simply hairy or spindle-shaped. 2d. The form and size of
palpi and length of tongue. 3d. Wings: Ist pair, form, shape of
costal, apex, outer edge veins. 2d pair same. 4th. Markings on
wings.. 5th. Feet, spurs.
B. If a caterpillar, note: Ist. Form of head, wider or narrower
than segment next. 2d. Dorsal, subdorsal, and lateral stripes. 3d.
Position of tubercles, warts, or spines, and spots. 4th. Spiracular



line. 5th. Supra-anal plate; its form and markings. 6th. Number
of abdominal legs and form of last pair.
These are the kind of questions that should be answered.

[This kind note from Prof. Packard should be attentively con-
sidered by the entomologists of the "A. A." They will see that the
color and markings of moths are by no means the chief characteris-
tics to be noted.J
We have had two field-meetings: one of them on the shores of Lake
Monona. This was in charge of Prof. E. A. Birge, who found for
us fresh-water sponges. We found leeches, water-fleas, caterpillars,
minnows, snails, and frogs. Then we all went into the woods, and on
a stump he began to show us a water-flea and a little leech. We
could see its heart beating and its blood circulating.
Very respectfully, ANDREW ALLEN.

But the best of all, and that for which I want sincerely to thank the
"A. A." and its projector, is the result of the work in one particular
case. As teacher, you knowhow difficultit is to do just thebest thing
with a roguish, careless boy, smart, but caring little for study and
with little or no will to work. Geology last year and chemistry this,
prepared him for an elementary course in determinative mineralogy.
This he has undertaken, under the guise of association work, and to
this we largely attribute a most wonderful improvement in the boy.
Spare moments are spent in the laboratory instead of in mischief; he
has begged to return to Latin, which he had dropped, and bids fair
to stand at or near the head of his class in that and other studies.
Instead of lawless lounging at recess, he is quiet and gentlemanly.

GREENWICH, CONN., Nov. 8, x882.
One day, as I was taking a walk, I saw something traveling along,
and looking more closely 1 saw it was an ant carrying a heavy load,
which proved to be a worm. The worm was very large and the ant
very small, so that it could hardly drag the worm. Pretty soon it
dropped it and hurried away into a large hole. It came back pretty
soon, and following it was a body of ants in a square about an inch
wide and long. The first ant was yellow and the rest black. The
yellow ant took them to the worm, and they quickly tore it to pieces
and carried it to their hole. I am twelve years old.

One cabinet is full and we could fill another. We have 8 kinds of
coral, to kinds ofminerals, 141 kinds of shells, 7 nests, and an eagle's
foot, 9 sea-urchins, 2 Aristotle's lanterns, 2 starfish, 35 petrifactions,
5 kinds of crystal, mica, salt from Salt Lake, teeth of a cow and shark,
sea-beans, and a sand-dollar, and are soon to have a stuffed bittern on
top of our cabinet. SIDNEY FARWELL, Chap. 139.

We have had only one meeting in six weeks, and why ? Because
those who are not willing to do anything for the good of the Chapter
wont let us do anything. They talk and laugh boisterously, and
that, too, about things altogether out of place. Don't you think the
best thing to do is to break up the Chapter and then re-organize?

[It is not so easy to advise you from so great a distance, and having
heard but one side. If you can not induce members to preserve order
in your meetings by gentle means, you might try the effect of a fine
of five or ten cents. If this fails, try suspension; if that wont do,
resort to expulsion. If you who love order are in a minority, quietly
withdraw from the Chapter and organize another.]

WARREN, MAINE, Nov. 14, 1882.
We have taken up geology, and have had discussions on '' The
formation of the earth," "Rocks," Habits and uses of angle-
worms." There was a lively discussion on the theories of the
interior of the earth, whether it is solid or liquid. Will some one
tell us how to distinguish stratified from unstratified rock ?

We are all the time collecting and reading everything of interest.

BEAUCLERC, FLA., Nov., 1882.
I have collected some very fine specimens of Indian pottery. [The
"A. A." does not take note of other than natural objects.] I observed
a mosquito fighting its shadow. It would jump up, and bite at it,
and then rest awhile, and go at it again. [Please describe the
operation of "biting" more fully! ] In last ST. NICHOLAS, some one
says mistletoe grows chiefly on apple trees. That is wrong. For
here you can see it on any water oak, and often on the wild plum
and prickly ash. F. C. SAWYER.

CHICAGO, Oct. 29th.
We have made an excursion to a place called Stony Island, and
have brought back any quantity of iron pyrites, calcite, and a few
orthoceras; also a kind of fossil shell like the common "scallop,"
only not having that "hinge." Our president, Graham Davis, 3044
Lake Park Ave., will exchange iron pyrites, copper ore, calcite, and
fossils, for rare fossils.

North Brookfield, Mass. (Sec. H. A. Cooke), finds "a pool of
water one of the best places for exploration," and wishes to know:
i. What is a "hair- snake" ? and 2. What is a goby? Providence,
R. I. (Sec. Miss M. W. Packard), means to learn as much as
possible. Each member writes compositions on natural objects.
They have found the names of all their moths themselves, "without
Papa telling us"; and all were acquainted with Prof. Agassiz at
Penikese Island. [That is the kind of work the "A. A." delights in
--original observation ofnaturalobjects.

OXFORD, N. C., Sept. 24, 1882.
Can any of your young naturalists inform me what this strange,
worm-like animal is? The inclosed drawing is just the size of the
animal from which it was copied, though I have frequently seen
them as long as eight inches. It is bluish-green, with orange-

-s -', -. wf

colored head and tail. There are several jet black spots on its head
and a black spot on each segment of the body, with an underlying
white one. They fall from.the hickory trees in our yard, and I have
heard them strike the ground fifty yards away.
I corresponded with the Professor of Natural History in one of our
universities concerning it, but he insisted that I was trying to palm
offa snake story upon him, and would have nothing to do with it,
thinking I was tampering with his credulity. If it is a larva, I am
ignorant of the moth it forms. Very truly yours, J. W. HAYS, JR.

[The drawing reproduced above is a picture of the larva of the
regal emperor moth (Citieronia regalia), figured in Harris, p. 40r,
also in the first volume of the American Entomooagist. Dr. A. S.
Packard, who takes a very kindly interest in the "A. A.," and to
whom I referred this question, writes that this caterpillar is very rare
in New England, but that he found a small one in Maine this sum-
mer on the pitch-pine.1

Geneva, N. Y. (Sec. Miss N. A. Wilson), challenges the "A. A."
to show a larger hornet's nest than one which graces its cabinet.
Length, from crown to tip, twenty-six inches; circumference, forty-
one and one-half inches. "The children are very anxious to know if
there is a larger one." Mr. Fred. F. Richardson writes: "Please
tell Mr. Hammond, Sec. 224, that his caterpillar is one of the basket-
carriers or sack-bearers, described in Harris, pp. 413-18. Prof
Riley also tells of them in the first of his Missouri reports, and in
No. x38 of the Si fPlement to the ScientEic American, Mlr. W. H.
Gibson gives a very interesting account of these curious insects,
which he calls a 'fatherless and motherless race.'- The Sec. of
Denver, Col., is Mr. Ernest L. (not M.) Roberts. St. Louis (Sec.
C. F. Haanel, ig13 N. 20) wishes to exchange minerals, fossils, and
coral. One or two Chapters write of raffles, of which we totally
disapprove, and which are quite opposed to the spirit of a true natu-
ralist. Miss Jeannie Cowgill, Spearfish, Black Hills, Dakota Ty.,
will exchange ores, iron pyrites, velvet rock, and petrifactions, for
sea-shells, crabs, and sea-weed. Henry L. Mitchell, x5 W. Thir-
teenth, N. Y. City, will exchange minerals for eggs. Georgetown,
D. (F. ( P.' :. 1 1 :'. will exchange petrified wood for
insects. E. H. *I *. r-i-. n-J, "on the oak an insect, one-quarter-
inch long, slate, with rows of small black dots; some winged, some
not. The insects covered the branch for about a yard, and appeared
to be depositing eggs. The eggs are cylindrical, one-eighth inch
long, brown, shiny, and covered with a sticky substance. The
insect is a prey to a little gray worm, with head tapering to a point,
which it thrusts into the body of the insect and sucks it dry. Please
,give us any information." [The insects are probably Aptides, and
the "little gray worms" the larvm of certain flies -perhaps of the
genus Coccinella or Syrphzus. Any more definite information will be
welcome.] Flint, Mich., A. (Sec. Miss Hattie A. Lovell), is having
very interesting meetings. Even Harry, who is only eight, brings
in reports, and tells them like a sage. When I asked him where he
had learned so much about spiders, he said: 'Oh! Hatt, there
are lots of spiders' webs between the leaves, on the way to pasture.'"
[No copying unintelligible words from an encyclopedia for that
boy's reports ]




Right glad are we to hear again from Mr. Daniel E. Moran:
"I am just back from a trip to the North Woods-a wilderness
of spruce, hemlock, beech, and birch, with an occasional pine
towering up into the air. My trip was partly on business, but
as I carried my gun on my shoulderfor eightdays, tramping through
the woods, now following an old 'trail' by half-obliteted blazes,
now running solely by she needle, scrambling through the under-
brush, or following the deer trails, you can imagine I managed to
sandwich in a good deal of fun.
"I shot my first deer- the only one I saw; I heard a bear crashing
through the brush, and as for tracks and traces, they were every-
SBirds were scarce in the deep woods. A ruffed grouse now and
then thundered up ahead, making my fingers ache to fire. The
red-eyed vireo was, perhaps, the most common song-bird. I did
not see a single robin, but heard two: one, as we were floating for
deer, made such a racket in the woods that I do not doubt some
owl was committing a bloody deed of murder.
"1 shot a young pileated woodpecker (Hylotomus fileaals),
a bird new to me and found onlyin deep forests. Shot, also, an
olive-backed thrush; but there is just now such confusion and con-
tention about this and allied forms, that I feel very doubtful what it
is. I could not keep either skin, but kept the skull and bill of the
In closing this paper, I will make a suggestion with reference to
Reports from Chapters. Those Chapters please us best which do
not merely say, "We are during well-we have so many specimens.
We have gained three members. Yours truly"; nor yet those

others, happily few, which send us weary sheets, copied or remem-
bered from previous reading; but those which, after a concise state-
ment of their progress, proceed to tell something of interest which
their eyes have seen and their hands handled. They tell us what
methods of work they find most profitable. They ask intelligent
questions. You will find their reports in ST. NICHOLAS.
In sending reports, kindly write requests for exchange on a sepa-
rate slip of paper, marked Exchange," and in giving your address,
add always the number and letter of your Chapter. The geode ques-
tion has proved too difficult, and as Agassiz, whose name we bear,
used to find his highest delight in tracing in Nature the hand of a
Heavenly Father, 1 propose for our next subject, "Evidences of
Design in Nature."
Let each Chapter have competitive papers written on this subject.
From these, let each President and Secretary, as a committee, select
the one which, in theirjudgment, is best, and send it to me. A good
microscope in a case shall be sent to the Chapter which furnishes
the best paper, and the paper, with writer's name, shall be printed in
ST. NICHOLAS. This Chapter will then be considered the Banner
Chapter" of the "A. A." until the next competition. Every paper
must be strictly original, and not exceed six hundred words.
All communications regarding the A. A.," including all reports
heretofore sent to W. P. Ballard or M. J. Taylor, must be addressed
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.



ARABI BEv, the wily rebel,
Tried hard to win his fell designs;
But brave Sir Garnet stopped him shortly,
And thus the rebel fain resigns.

Come, bright young friends, I 've given a word
Sir Garnet Wolseley well might name;
If read first backward, then read forward,
It forms a motto none will blame. F.. J. t.


I AM composed of sixty-two letters, and am a quotation from
Shakespeare's play of Henry IV.
My .24-5x-5-32 is part of a sword. My 40-12-27-36-18-8 is a
bird similar to the thrush. My 46-59-25-62-4 is aroused. My 43
29-50-33 is an ornament for the lower pat of a wall. My 3-1-54-7
is to desire. My 17-55-37-3x-58-22 is a clergyman. My 34-6o-
26-x6 is part of the foot. My 56-6-19-23 is a fleet animal. My 35-
49-45-4 is to take the rind from. M. 4----4-- is to
examine closely. My 3-42-o0-61-48 is i..h i I, -21-57 is
suitable. My xx-39-15-30 is twisted toward one side. My 44-53-
52-9 is a float. CARRIE E. ANDREWS.


Do you visit myfirst to-night?
Then awhile at my second tarry;
That no thought may oppress
In regard to your dress,
And my hole please remember to carry.
M. C. D.


WHEN the following transpositions have been rightly made,
place the words one below another in the order here given, and
the diagonals (beginning at the first letter of the first word, and
ending with the first letter of the last word) will spell what every one
is pleased to receive. Each word contains four letters.
X. Transpose gone, and make a small lizard. 2. Transpose an
aquatic fowl, and make to lease. 3.. Transpose small tumors, and
make information. 4. Transpose a city in the State of New York, and
make one of the party which opposed the Whigs. 5. Transpose
part of a boat, and make a vegetable. 6. Transpose a tropical tree,

and make a contrivance for illuminating. 7. Transpose a very
small opening, and make a heavy cord. 8. Transpose prosecuted
by legal process, and make utilized. 9. Transpose epochs, and
make a learned man. io. Transpose bad, and make the third son
of Jacob and Leah. it. Transpose adapts, and make to separate
by a sieve. 12. Transpose labels, and make a hart. 13. Transpose
certain trees, and make to drench. s. F.


THE diagonals, beginning from the top, spell the name of a
famous writer.
CROSS-WORDS: i. Always. 2. Part of a prayer. 3 A vegetable
growth. 4. At hand. 5. Repose. 6. A military building. 7. A
refuge for songsters. HIGHWOOD.


TAKE two-fifths of the letters in one of the New England States;
one-ninth of a State in which a great river rises; two-elevenths of a
State bearing the same name as a river; one-sixth of a mountainous
New England State; one-ninth of a State bordering on Lake Supe-
rior; and one-seventh of a State that was admitted into the Union in
i819. The letters represented by these fractions, when rightly
selected and arranged, spell a name in which all the readers of
ST. NICHOLAS are interested. B. L. T.


My firsts are in just, but not in right;
My seconds in dark, but not in light;
My thirds are in Naples, but not in Rome;
My fourths are in country, but not in home;
My fifths are in rapid, but not in fleet;
My sixths are in corn, but not in wheat;
My sevenths in young, but not in old;
My wholes, they come when the air is cold;
For a month is my first; my second the boys
Enjoy with much merriment, frolic, and noise.




How many people are represented in this picture?


S RHOMBOID. ACROSS: i. A woman who is bereaved of a hus-
band. 2. One of a wandering tribe. 3. Having a tide. 4. The
higher of the two kinds of male voices. 5. Heavy vapor.
DowNWARD: I. In winter. 2. Two-thirds of a tavern. 3. A
very small spot. 4. To leave out. 5. Walks through water. 6. A
depression caused by a blow. 7. A kind of deer. 8. Two-thirds
of a troublesome rodent. 9. One thousand.
raged. 3. Having a tide. 4. A number. 5. In swords.
DOWNWARD: I. In debtor. 2. Three-fourths of a minute object.
3. Walks through water. 4. A cave. 5. Int debtor. H. H. D.


THE primals name a day of amusement; the finals, a gift.
CROSS-WORDS : I. A fibrous plant whose bark is used for cordage.
2. An eloquent public speaker. 3. A narrow way or passage. 4.
A bird highly venerated by the ancient Egyptians. 5. A sluggard.
6. A mechanic. 7. A sea-going vessel used only for pleasure trips.


5 2

4 3

I. FROM I to 3, to foment; from 2 to 4, is inanimate; from 3 to
5, to twist out of shape; from 4 to x, a dull color; from 5 to a, a
name by which the leopard is sometimes called; from i to 4, a min-
strel; from 2 to 5, a French word meaning cloth.
II. From I to 3, walked; from 2 to 4, rended; from 3 to 5, por-
trayed; from 4 to 1, tidy; from 5 to 2, something often seen on a
A. B. boy's hand. C. A. M.


Christmas: x. Olive. 2. Yellow. 3. Blue. 4. Gray. 5. Crimson.
6. Pink. 7. Cobalt. 8. Brown. 9. Orange. to. White. ii.
Green. 12. Purple. A Greeting: By taking the first letter of the
first line,' the first letter of the second line, the second letter of
the first line, the second letter of the second line, and so on to the
end, the following sentence is formed: "To all our young puzzlers
we extend a hearty Christmas greeting.
Your friend, ST. NICHOLAS."
EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA. Don't speak ill of the year till it is
GREEK CROSS: I. r. Grant. 2. Rigor. 3. Agone. 4. Nones.
5. Tress. II. x. Trent. 2. Ruder. 3. Educe. 4. Necks. 5.
Tress. III. i. Tress. 2. Ratio. 3. Ethel. 4. Siege. 5.
Solec(ism). IV. I. Solec. 2. Ovule. -3. Lucia. 4. Elias. 5.
Cease. V. i. Solec. 2. Opera. 3. Lemon. 4. Erode. 5. Canes.

DOUBLE CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Third line, Christmas time;
fourth line, Saint Nicholas. CROSS-WORDS: i. ToCSin. 2.
InHAle. 3. DeRIde. 4. SpiNet. 5. CaSTor. 6. CaTNip. 7.
ReMIss. 8. TrACed. 9. DiSHes. zo. BaTOns. n. CoILed.
12. DeMAnd. 13. CrESts.
DIAMOND: I. P. 2. RAg. 3. RoGue. 4. PagEant. 5.
GuArd. 6. ENd. 7. T.
HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Christmas Cross-words: a. TrenChers.
2. EtcHing. 3. HaRpy. 4. SIn. 5. S. 6. ATe. 7. LeMon.
8. BreAthe. 9. TranSform.
Two WORD SQUARES: I. I. Arabi. 2. Rates. 3. Atoll. 4.
Belle. 5. Islet. II. i. Pacha. 2. Atlas. 3. Clash. 4. Haste.
5. Ashen.
A Christmas frolic oft will cheer
A poor man's heart through half the year.

THE NAMES of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after which the puzzles appear. Answers should be
addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seve;rceenth street, New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER ;NUMBER were received, before November 2o, from R. T. Losee-Bertha L.
Townsend- Lizzie C. Fowler-John Pyne -G6nie J. Callmeyer-Harry W. Chandler, Jr., and Dexter S. Crosby, Jr.-Lizzie M.
Thacher- Helen F. Turner-"Lode Star"-Partners-C. Bruell Sellers-Jeanie Minot Rowell-Anna and Alice-Effie K. Talboys
- Wilbur V. Knapp- Mama and Bae- Vin and Henry-Harry L. Reed -Professor and Co.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER were received, before November 20, from John Flohr, i-"Caesar," 4-
Frank Knapp, --C. W. Dobler, 2-Will N. and Geo. F. Dudley, x- Etta M. Taylor, 3-Laura Lilienthal, 2-W. N. S. Hoffman, a
-Florence Pauline Jones, 2-Charley A. Walton, 4-A. M. Nicholas, i-Sallie Seaman, 2-S. M., -,. .rr... ki Lansing and Julia
Wallace, 7-Mamie E. Dyer, I-Dorothy Leigh, 2-B. C. R., 7- Sarah, 2-V. P. J. S. M. C., 6-- ', rr.:,, -Sidney Vankeuren,
2-Clara L. Northway, 6-John K. Miles, 7-L. M. W. P., x-Jennie M. McClain, r- Harry S. Noble, I-Eric Doolittle, --John
Cameron, i Marion Wing, 4--"Aspasia," 2-Carrie J. Work, x- Daisy Vail, 4- Lewis E. Carr, Jr., I- Mary McMath and Biddie
Bunkam, I Jack Lawrence, 2 Burt McConn, 3 Gracie and Fannie, 2 Minnie Ingelow Harrison, 5 Florie Baker, 4 -" The
Triplets," I-"Alcibiades," 7-M. W. T., 2-J. Webb Parker, 2-Edward F. Caldwell. I-George V. Curtin, 7-Sunflower, i-
Arabella Ward, 5 -Mamie Baker, i -Charlotte Breakey, I -"Woodpeckers," 4- Jos. A. Maggini, -" Aunt Hopkins," 4-" Jersey
Lilies," 3-William F. Haines, Jr., i-Edward Dana Sabine, 5-" North Star," 2 -Emilie and Rosa, 5-T. S. Palmer, 4-Kittie
Knowland, 5-Sydney, x-Alice Maud Kyte, 7-Edward Goodrich, 7-D. B. Shumway, 7-Clara and her Aunt, 7-Bertha M.
Trask, 4--Myrick Rheem, 5-R. P. C., 7- Philip Embury, Jr., 4-Julius W. Hansen, I--Grif, 2--Bessie W. Walcott, I--Maggie
Tolderlund, a-Mary W. Nall, 4-Amateur, 7-Maud Pretty, 3-Florence G. Lane, 3-Nicoll Ludlow, Jr., 7-Clara J. Child, 7-
Immo, 4-Nellie Caldwell, 6-Alice D. Close, 6-Ellie and Ella, 3-Minnie Woodbury, 4-C. A. Smallwood, 7-Mae B. Creighton, 5.



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