Front Cover
 A queer valentine
 In the land of clouds
 My valentine
 The story of the field of the cloth...
 The Tinkham brothers' tide-mil...
 The brownies' ride
 Priscilla Prue's umbrella
 Stories of art and artists - Eleventh...
 Pussy willow
 Doris Lee's feather fan
 The albatross
 The tale of the supposing...
 The story of Viteau
 The mission of Mabel's valenti...
 The little missionary
 Puck's Pranks; or, Good for...
 Work and play for young folk:...
 For very little folk: Yap, Puss...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00125
 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: VID00125
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
    A queer valentine
        Page 243
        Page 244
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
    In the land of clouds
        Page 248
        Page 249
        Page 250
        Page 251
    My valentine
        Page 252
    The story of the field of the cloth of gold
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
    The Tinkham brothers' tide-mill
        Page 257
        Page 258
        Page 259
        Page 260
        Page 261
        Page 262
    The brownies' ride
        Page 263
        Page 264
        Page 265
    Priscilla Prue's umbrella
        Page 266
        Page 267
    Stories of art and artists - Eleventh paper
        Page 268
        Page 269
        Page 270
        Page 271
        Page 272
        Page 273
        Page 274
    Pussy willow
        Page 275 (MULTIPLE)
    Doris Lee's feather fan
        Page 276
        Page 277
        Page 278
    The albatross
        Page 279
    The tale of the supposing family
        Page 280
        Page 281
        Page 282
        Page 283
    The story of Viteau
        Page 284
        Page 285
        Page 286
        Page 287
        Page 288
        Page 289
        Page 290
        Page 291
        Page 292
    The mission of Mabel's valentine
        Page 293
        Page 294
        Page 295
    The little missionary
        Page 296
    Puck's Pranks; or, Good for evil
        Page 297
        Page 298
        Page 299
        Page 300
        Page 301
        Page 302
        Page 303
    Work and play for young folk: II
        Page 304
        Page 305
        Page 306
        Page 307
        Page 308
        Page 309
        Page 310
        Page 311
    For very little folk: Yap, Puss and the slipper
        Page 312
        Page 313
        Page 314
        Page 315
    The letter-box
        Page 316
        Page 317
        Page 318
    The riddle-box
        Page 319
        Page 320
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


NZ :
A 4k o

[See "The Story of the Field of the Cloth of Gold."-Page 255.]



[Copyright, 1883, by THE CENTURY CO.]



IT did n't seem as if anybody in the world would
be less likely to receive a valentine than Mrs. Brid-
get O'Flanigan. It was no wonder that she laughed
when 'Nezer asked her if she expected to have orne
-laughed until her chair threatened to give way
under her, and her stand shook so that the apples
and oranges began to roll off, and the pea-nuts and
chestnuts hopped almost out of their baskets; for
Mrs. Bridget O'Flanigan's.laughter had the effect
of a small earthquake.
Is it til the likes av me that anybody would be
after sindin' a foine bit av paper, wid flowers on it
and small little b'ys widout a stitch til their backs
barrin' wings ? Sure, is it a swateheart ye think I
have, an' me a dacent widdy tin years agin May?
Go 'long wid ye now, ye spalpeen "
And the widdy" was *again overcome by
mirth at the-thought, and 'Nezer had to go to work
again at picking up the apples and oranges., 'Nezer
was sitting at what Ben Mudgett called the "lee-
ward side" of Mrs. O'Flanigan's apple-stand, eat-
ing a turnover and drinking a cup of hot coffee.
A thrifty and hard-working woman was Mrs.
O'Flanigan, with a trading-bump equal to any
Yankee's; but for all that she tolerated some
unprofitable customers. If it was n't for the soft-
hairtedness in her 'she'd be rowllin' in gowld be
this time," her neighbors said.
It was in vain for her to try to harden her heart
against a cold and hungry child, who looked wist-
fully at her tempting stores; and it was very often
indeed that an orange or a stick of striped candy
found its way into a penniless little pocket.

But she had to restrain her generous impulses
to a considerable extent, or her stand would have
become so popular, not only among the children who
had no pennies, but among those who wanted to
try the extraordinary and delightful experiment of
getting their candy and keeping their pennies, that
the customers who filled the money-box would have
been crowded off. Now she had learned from long
experience to attend to her unprofitable customers
slyly, exacting from them promises of secrecy.
'Nezer was one of the unprofitable customers.
He was thin and hungry-looking, and Mrs. O'Flan-
igan had invited him to breakfast at her stand
whenever he was in town.
In the autumn he came into the city from
.Scrambleton about once a week, with Ben Mudgett.
Ben worked on a large farm, and brought wagon-
loads of vegetables and poultry and butter and
eggs to market. 'Nezer was an orphan from the
poor-house. He had been "bound out" to the
Widow Scrimpings, who did n't live on a farm,
but who raised poultry and sent it, with a few eggs
and some very small pats of butter, to market.
She tried to raise the poultry on the same prin-
ciples by which she was raising 'Nezer-yery short
commons and very hard work; but the chickens
and geese and turkeys were all so lean and tough
that 'Nezer could get for them only about half as
much as Ben Mudgett got for his nice plump ones,
and they would n't lay half as many eggs as Ben's
did. And the Widow Scrimpings thought 'Nezer
was to blame. In fact, she thought 'Nezer was to
blame for almost everything.


No. 4.


She blamed him because he had a very good
-appetite, and because he grew fast. And he
always had to go hungry, and his legs were almost
a quarter of a yard longer than his trousers, and his
sleeves came only a little ways below his elbows,
and he had to wear the Widow Scrimpings's uncle
Plunkett's old hats, and Uncle Plunkett was the
biggest man in Scrambleton, and 'Nezer had hard
work to keep the hats from completely extinguish-
ing his head. The rest of him grew and grew,
but it did seem to 'Nezer as if his head would
never grow to fit Uncle Plunkett's hats.
Almost the only good times 'Nezer had were when
he went to market with Ben Mudgett, and those
good times came very seldom now that it was
winter. Ben had saved a few barrels of apples and
squashes, to sell when prices were higher than
they were in autumn, and he had a few fat chickens
and turkeys that had survived the Thanksgiving
and Christmas feasting, and the Widow Scrimpings
was glad of an opportunity to send 'Nezer along
with a few meager fowls that looked as if they.
must have died of starvation, some eggs that she
had saved with care until prices were as high as
they were ever likely to be, and some cranberries
half spoiled by being kept too long.
It was very cold weather, now, and he had been
obliged to set off at four o'clock in the morning,
without any breakfast, but there were snug and
warm places in Ben's big wagon in which to stow
one's self away, and Ben could spin yarns and sing
songs that would make you forget all about being
cold or hungry or sleepy. Such a big voice as Ben
had! He waked all the sleepy farm-houses as they
went along. Ben always had his breakfast before
-he started, and he did n't know that 'Nezer did n't
have his; he would have been sure to have brought
a lunch with him if he had; but 'Nezer was not the
kind of boy to complain. So it happened that
'Nezer, being very faint with hunger, had cast.
wistful glances at Mrs. O'Flanigan's apple-stand,
and that worthy woman, after trying in vain to
harden her heart according to the advice of her
friends and neighbors, raised her fat and somewhat
grimy forefinger and slyly beckoned to him. And
every time he came to town after that, 'Nezer found
awaiting him a snug seat behind the stand, in the
shelter of Mrs. O'Flanigan's capacious person, a
doughnut or a turnover, and a cup of hot coffee.
Mrs. O'Flanigan and 'Nezer had become great
friends. He had been so little used to kindness in
his life that a little seemed a great deal to him, and
he thought Mrs. O'Flanigan was like an angel.
He was always trying to devise a plan for making
some return'for her kindness, but beyond doing
an errand for her occasionally there seemed to be
no way. Now he had been looking admiringly at

the valentines with which the shop windows were
filled, and he wanted dreadfully to send her a valen-
tine. He had fifteen cents which a man had given
him for holding his horse, and he meditated the
bold plan of buying a valentine for Mrs. O'Flani-
gan with it, instead of giving it to the Widow
Scrimpings. But when he delicately sounded
Mrs. O'Flanigan on the subject of valentines, he
received the discouraging response recorded at the
beginning of this story. Mrs. O'Flanigan laughed
to scorn the idea of her receiving a valentine.
"Sure it 's the purty .young girls that has
valentines, an' not the likes av me, ye gossoon "
said she. An' is it Micky O'Rourke, the pea-nut
man around the corner-and a chatin' would rash-
kil he is, bad cesss til him !- is it him that ye think
would be after sindin' me a valentine ? Or is it
me first cousin, Barty Macfarland, the would widdy
man that comes very wake askin' the loan av a
quarter? Och, an' it's the foine swatehearts I
has! It's foolicht enough they are, but not that
foolicht to be sindin' bit pictures til the likes av
me If it was a foine, fat young goose for me din-
ner-pot, now, or a good shawl wid rid stripes intil
it, thim would be valentines that ud suit me, jist!"
'Nezer heaved a deep sigh. That kind of a
valentine was altogether beyond his reach.
If she only would have liked one of those at
which he 'had been looking, which could be
bought for fifteen cents. There was one that had
a red-and-gold heart upon it, two doves and two
clasped hands, and some verses, beginning:

Your eyes are bright, your heart is light;
You are my darling dear! "

'Nezer thought it was beautiful, and he could not
see why it was not very appropriate indeed for Mrs.
O'Flanigan. But it was evident that it would not
suit her taste at all. He must try to think of
something else. You 'd orter have the very nicest
valentine in the world!" he said, gazing at her affec-
tionately, with his mouth full of mince turnover.
"Listen til the blarneyin' tongue av him! Be
aff wid ye, now, ye rashkil, and pit thim in your
pocket agin ye be hongry go'n' home "
And Mrs. O'Flanigan thrust two doughnuts into
his pocket, and. sent him off with a playful push.
'Nezer was silent and sad all the way home.
It was queer, but the fact was that he was sad
for the first half of the way because he could n't
think of anything to send Mrs."O'Flanigan for a
valentine, and he was sad the last half because he
had thought of something !
It was what she said about a "foine fat goose
for her dinner-pot" that made him think of it.
There are very few people so poor that they
have n't some one possession that is very precious



to them. 'Nezer, although he was bound out to the
Widow Scrimpings, had one, and it was a goose !
Not a fine, fat young goose," but a lean, old,
lame goose, but still, for a dinner-pot, better than
no goose at all, and for a valentine-well, 'Nezer
had a vague idea that if he should send the most
precious thing he had that would be just what a
valentine ought to be. It would show his real
feeling for Mrs. O'Flanigan.
But he had another feeling that complicated
matters, and made him very unhappy. He was so
fond of Peg-leg that he could n't bear the thought
of her being put into a dinner-pot.
You may think it strange that anybody should
be fond of a goose, but 'Nezer was a very affec-
tionate boy, and he had never had much in his
life to be fond of. Nobody had ever petted him,
and he had never had anything to pet. And so,
though Peg-leg was n't, even for a goose, very
amiable or interesting, 'Nezer had set his affec-
tions upon her.
In appearance she was a most unprepossessing
goose. She was not only so lame that she could
scarcely waddle, but her neck and. head were
almost bare of feathers, and she had but one good
eye. And she had a queer little drooping and
ragged bunch of tail-feathers, that gave her a
dejected look. But without the misfortunes that
had given her her ungainly appearance she would
never have been 'Nezer's goose.
At a very tender age she had fallen into the
clutches of a big dog, and been so badly treated
that the Widow Scrimpings gave her up as dead,
and ordered 'Nezer to give her to the cat. But
'Nezer discovered that the breath of life was still in
her, and by careful and tender nursing he had
brought her up to comparatively vigorous goose-
hood. But he had built a little house for her on
Ben's farm, and took care to keep her there, and
the Widow Scrimpings never knew that her cat
had not made a meal off her.
At first, 'Nezer had fed her with food saved from
his own scanty meals, and with corn and meal that
Ben gave him occasionally, but for a long time
now she had supported herself by laying eggs.
I am sorry to say that she had never seemed to
return 'Nezer's affection.
She was a very cross goose; she ran her long
neck out, and hissed fiercely at everybody; and she
hissed only a little less fiercely at 'Nezer than at
other people. She always came when he called
her, but Ben insisted that it was because he almost
always gave her something to eat. 'Nezer thought,
however, that it was a proof of affection for him.
Ben did n't appreciate her. It was he who had
named her Peg-leg.
'Nezer did n't mention to Ben his intention of

sending Peg-leg as a valentine to Mrs. O'Flanigan.
Ben would be sure to approve of it heartily, and
urge him to do it, and he was not quite ready to
decide upon the matter yet.
But as St. Valentine's Day drew near, and no
stroke of good fortune had come to him to enable
him to buy "a shawl wid rid stripes," which was
the only other valentine that Mrs. O'Flanigan
regarded as desirable, 'Nezer came to the decision
that Peg-leg must be sacrificed.
He made only one concession to his feelings -he
would not mention the dinner-pot, and it was just
possible that Mrs. O'Flanigan might think Peg-leg
too attractive to be boiled and eaten. There was
also a chance that she might think her too lean
and scraggy, as she was fond of good eating.
Moreover, she might guess from whom the val-
entine came, as he had told her about Peg-leg, and
refrain from boiling her for the sake of the giver.
So it was not without some hope of again
beholding Peg-leg in life that 'Nezer boxed her up
and sent her, by express, to Mrs. O'Flanigan; the
expressman, who was a friend of Ben's, charging
but half price, and promising to take the best
possible care of her.
In the box with Peg-leg 'Nezer put a card, upon
which he had written the verse which he had seen
upon the valentine that he especially admired:
SYour eyes are bright, your heart is light;
You are my darling dear!"

He was afraid she might not understand that
Peg-leg was a valentine if there were no verse.
On the outside of the box he wrote: "Take
care it bites."
That made it seem very unlike a valentine, but
it was absolutely necessary for Mrs. O'Flanigan's
protection, for Peg-leg's disposition would not be
improved by six hours' confinement in a box.
It was a little past noon on the 14th of Febru-
ary when the expressman set down before Mrs.
O'Flanigan's astonished eyes the box with its warn-
ing sign, Take care it bites."
Take care 'Dade, thin, an' I will. Ye can
take it back wid ye, whatever it do be !" she
screamed after the expressman, who was already a
long ways down the street, and did not manifest
the slightest intention of turning back.
"What murtherin' rashkil is after sindin' me a
crathur that bites? An' mesilf a dacint, paceable
widdy woman, that nivir did no harum till anny-
body Sure an' it do be a livin' crathur, for I
hears him a-movin' an' a-rustlin' like !" And Mrs.
O'Flanigan stood at a respectful distance, and
gazed with fascinated curiosity at the box.
There were small holes at each side of the box,-
'Nezer had taken care that Peg-leg should be able


to breathe,-and Mrs. O'Flanigan felt a keen
desire to peep through these, but she dared not.
"'Sure, it might be a crocydile, or a shnake wid
rattles til him, ef it don't be anything worse "
And as a very queer noise proceeded from the box,
Mrs. O'Flanigan stood still farther off, and crossed
herself devoutly.
The likes av it! It might be the would Imp
himself! said she. But just at that moment a
loud and angry squawk came from the box.
A look of relief, and gradually a broad grin, over-
spread the face of Mrs. O'Flanigan.
"Ayther that do be the v'ice av a goose, or it's
dramin' I am, intoirely! she exclaimed. And
in a twinkling she pulled off a portion of the top
of the box. Peg-leg's long neck was thrust out
with a frightful hissing and snapping.
"Och, the oogly crathur, wid but a handful av
feathers til her Sure, it's not a right goose she
is at all, at all !"
By this time a crowd had collected around Mrs.
O'Flanigan's stand. Trade had been dull to-day;
the children had spent all their pennies for valen-
tines, and the stand had been almost deserted.
But Peg-leg was more attractive than even valen-
tines. The crowd increased until it threatened to
blockade the street.
Mrs. O'Flanigan was very much annoyed. She
prided herself upon keeping her bit place qui't
and respectable." She stood waving her apron
wildly, and "shooing" the people off, as if they
were so many chickens. "Kape off, will yees,
now, or the murtherin' baste will bite yees Sure,
an' has n't a dacint widdy woman a right to kape
a goose if she plazes ? -bad cesss til the rashkil
that sint him til me But, sure, it's not long I '11
be wringin' the oogly neck av him, if ye kape off
an' give me the chance !"
The crowd cheered Mrs. O'Flanigan's speech,
but showed no signs of dispersing.
Peg-leg kept people at a respectful distance by
hissing fiercely and snapping her bill, and now and
then uttering a loud and angry squawk; but Mrs.
O'Flanigan, with the courage of despair, was about
to seize her and wring her neck, when she caught
sight of the card. She took it out and looked at it,
upside down and all around.
But Mrs. O'Flanigan's education had been neg-
lected. She could not read writing, and the card
threw no light upon the goose. She beckoned from
the crowd a small boy, who was one of her regular
customers, and could be trusted, and requested
him to tell her what was written on the card.
As he read the word valentine," and the tender
lines that followed, light burst upon Mrs. O'Flani-
gan's mind. "It's that b'y 'Nezer! An'sure it's
a kind hairt he has, though-the saints be good

til me !-it 's the quarest valentine iver I seen!
And now, whatever will I do wid it at all, at all, for
he towld me how fond he was av it, an' the hairt av
him wud be broke intoirely if I kilt it! An' me
not havin' the last accommydashins for a goose!"
A man -with a good-natured face, looking like a
sailor, stood near and listened to Mrs. O'Flanigan's
lamentation. If you want to get rid of it, I '11 take
care of it for you," said he. "I have just bought
me a little place, five miles from the city, and I am
going to keep poultry."
Sure, it's an angel ye are to mintion it, but it 's
a b'y that thinks the wurruld av it is after sindin'
it til me, an' I'm not loikin' to pairt wid it, though
sure I 'm not seeing' how I can kape it, be the same
token! "
"Where is the boy ? asked the sailor.
Sure, it 's away off to Scrambleton he lives, wid
a lone widdy, that stingy that she picks the bones
av him. A sight to bring tears to your eyes, he is,
wid the hatchet face av him, and his legs doon
beyant his trousis like two sticks, jist "
"Scrambleton?" said the man. "I used to
have a sister, who lived in Scrambleton. But I 've
been away for years, sailing all around the world,
and she is dead, like everybody else that belonged
to me -she and her husband, and the child, I
suppose, for I can't hear anything of it. You don't
happen to know this boy's name, do you ? "
I don't, sir. It 's 'Nezer he says they calls
him, but sure that 's no name for a Christian "
"Ebenezer, perhaps," said the man. "That's
my name. Perhaps I '11 go out to Scrambleton-
I might hear something about my sister there.
And I '11 go to see this boy, and tell him what 's
become of his goose-that is, if you let me take it."
Sein' it 's only kapin' it ye '11 be, in a friendly
way, perhaps I 'd better lave it go," said Mrs.
O'Flanigan. "For it 's kilt wid it I '11 be, if I
kapes it, sure. But if ye see 'Nezer ye '11 be after
tellin' him that I thinks the wurruld av me valen-
tine, but be rayson av havin' no accommydashins
I 'm after lindin' it for a bit, its dispersition not
Sbein' that raysonable it wud be continued in a box!"
The man nailed the cover of the box once more
over Peg-leg and her hissing, and carried her off.
Mrs. O'Flanigan heaved a sigh of relief as she saw
her valentine disappearing in the distance and the
crowd dispersing.
But as the days went by and no tidings came
of either man or goose, Mrs. O'Flanigan began to
feel a pang at the sight of a hungry-looking boy,
fearing he might prove to be 'Nezer, and dreading
to tell 'Nezer what had become of the goose.
But when, about two weeks after St.. Valentine's
Day, 'Nezer did appear, she had to take two or
three good long looks at him before she recognized



him. For his legs were no longer "down bey~nt
his trousis." He had on a brand-new suit from
top to toe, and his cheeks were almost fat He
held his head up, and his eyes were bright, and he
did not look like the same boy. And the man who
had carried off the goose was with him 1
He is my nephew, my only sister's son," said
the man to Mrs. O'Flanigan. "And if I had n't
stopped to see the goose, and you had n't told me
his name was 'Nezer, and he lived in Scrambleton,
I should, perhaps, never have found him, for I
thought he was dead. And I've got him away
from the Widow Scrimpings, and as I have a snug
bit of property, and nobody but him belonging to
me, we're pretty comfortable together."
'Nezer's face fully confirmed his uncle's story.
And I'm hoping to make some return to you for
your kindness to my nephew," said 'Nezer's uncle.
And 'Nezer could with great difficulty refrain

from telling her of the plans they had formed for
supplying her next summer with the finest fruits
from their garden.
But Mrs. O'Flanigan protested that the "bit and
the sup" she had given him would make her
" niver a bit the poorer ; and he was that da-
cint and perlite that it more than paid her, to say
nothing of the finee valentine he had sent her.
"Peg-leg has lots -more feathers growing out on
her !" said 'Nezer, proudly.
It 's a foine fowl she do be, annyhow said
Mrs. O'Flanigan, politely.
"And I think her temper is improving," said
'Nezer's uncle.
She have but the last bit in life av a timper,"
said Mrs. O'Flanigan; and sure what would anny
av us be widout it ? By which you will see that
Mrs. O'Flanigan understood fashionable manners,
if she was only an apple-woman.






MOUNT HOOD stands about sixty miles from
the great Pacific, as the crow flies, and about two
hundred miles up the Columbia River, as it is navi-
gated. The Columbia is tranquil here-mild and
calm and dreamy as Lake Como. But twenty
miles higher, past the awful overhanging snow-
peak that looks as if it might blow over on us as
we sail up under it, the grand old river is all tor-
rent and foam and fearful cataract.
Mount Hood stands utterly alone. And yet he
is not at all alone. He is only a brother, a bigger
and taller brother, of a well-raised family of seven
At any season of the year, you can stand on al-
most any little eminence within two hundred miles
of Mount Hood and count seven snow-cones, clad
in eternal winter, piercing the clouds. There is no
scene so sublime as this in all the world.
The mountains of Europe are only hills in com-
parison. "Although some of them are quite as high
as those of Oregon and Washington Territory, yet
they lie far inland, and are so set on the top of
other hills that they lose much of their majesty.
Those of Oregon start up sudden and solitary, and
almost out of the sea, as it were. So that while
they are really not much higher than the mountain
peaks of the Alps, they seem to be about twice as

high. And being all in the form of pyramids or
cones, they are much more imposing and beautiful
than those of either Asia or Europe.
But that which adds most of all to the beauty
and sublimity of the mountain scenery of Mount
Hood and his environs is the marvelous cloud
effects that encompass him.
In the first place, you must understand that all
this region here is one dense black mass of match-
less and magnificent forests. From the water's edge
up to the snow-line clamber and cling the dark
green fir, pine, cedar, tamarack, yew, and juniper.
Some of the pines are heavy with great cones as
long as your arms; some of the yew trees are scar-
let with berries; and now and then you see a burly
juniper bending under a load of blue and bitter
fruit. And nearly all of these trees are mantled
in garments of moss. This moss trails and swings
lazily in the wind, and sometimes droops to the
length of a hundred feet.
In these great dark forests is a dense undergrowth
of vine-maple, hazel, mountain ash, marsh ash, wil-
low, and brier bushes. Tangled in with all this is
the rank and ever-present and imperishable fern.
This fern, which is the terror of the Oregon farmer,
stands so rank and so thick on the ground in the
forests that oftentimes you can not see two yards



before you, and your feet can hardly touch t]
ground. Through this jungle, with the great da
trees towering hundreds of feet above, prowl tl
black bear, the panther, the catamount, and t
California lion.
Up and through and over all this darkness
forests, drift and drag and lazily creep the mc
weird and wonderful clouds in all this world. Th
move in great caravans. They seem literally
be alive. They rise with the morning sun, li
the countless millions of snow-white geese, swar
and other water-fowl that frequent the rivers of Or
gon, and slowly ascend the mountain sides, dra
going themselves through and over the tops of tI
trees, heading straight for the sea, or hover-
ing about the mountain peaks, as if they
were mighty white-winged birds, weary of
flight and wanting to rest.
They are white as snow, these clouds of
Oregon, fleecy, and rarely, if ever, still;
constantly moving in contrast with the black
forests, these clouds are strangely, sadly
sympathetic to one who worships nature.
Of course, in the rainy season, which is
nearly half the year here, these cloud effects
are absent. At such times the whole land
is one vast rain-cloud, dark-and dreary and
full of thunder.
To see a snow-peak in all its sublimity,
you must see it above the clouds. It is not
necessary that you should climb the peak
to do this, but ascend some neighboring
hill and have the white clouds creep up or
down the valley, through and over the
black forest, between you and the snowy
summit that pricks the blue home of stars.
What color! Movement! Miraculous life!
A few months ago, I met a party of
English travelers who were completing the
circuit of the world by way of San Fran-
cisco. I was on my way to Oregon, and
this party decided to sail up the coast with
me, and, if possible, ascend Mount Hood.
The party consisted of a gentleman and
his wife, his wife's sister and brother, be-
sides their little child of about ten years, a
pale little cripple on crutches. The journey
around the world had been undertaken, 'I
was told, in the hope of restoring her to
health. So she was humored in every way,
and everything possible done to please and
amuse her.

unbroken lines, or hovering wearily around some
snowy summit; and the English travelers counted
it all strangely beautiful.
Not a sail in sight all these two days. And the
waters of this, the vastest of all seas, as still and as
blue as the blue skies above us.
Whales kept spouting about us, and dolphins
tumbled like circus men before us; and the pale
little cripple, sitting on the deck on a soft chair
made of shreds of cane or rattan by the cunning
Chinamen, seemed very happy. She had a lap-
dog, of which she was amazingly fond. The dog,
however, did not seem so fond of her. He was a
very active fellow, full of battle, and much pre-


[SEE PAGE 251.]

We sailed pleasantly up the barren, rocky, and ferred to lying in her lap the more active amuse-
mountainous coast of Oregon for two days, and ment of running and barking at the sailors and
all the way we watched the long, moving lines of passengers.
white clouds clinging about the mountain tops, After some ugly bumps on the sand-bars at the
creeping through the mountain passes in long, mouth of the Columbia,-a place strewn with

-E i-




skeletons of ships,-we at length entered this noble
river. It is nearly ten miles wide here, and many
little islands, covered with tangled woods from
water's edge to summit, dot the wide and tran-
quil harbor.
Half a day's hard steaming up the river, with
here and there a little village nestling in the
dense wood on the water's edge at the base of
the mighty mountains on either side, and we were
in Portland and preparing to ascend Mount Hood.
It seems incredible, but, unlike all other mount-
ains of importance, this one has no regular guides.
We had to hunt up and make an entire outfit of
our own.
Of course the little cripple was left behind, with
her nurse and dog, when we five gayly mounted
and rode down to the ferry to cross the Willamette
River, which lies at the edge of the town and
between our hotel and Mount Hood.
As the boat pushed off, the little cripple's
frolicsome dog, Vixey, leaped in with us from the
shore, barking and bounding with delight, to think
he was to escape being nursed and was to make
one of the expedition.
We rode hard through the tangled woods, with
rank ferns and brier bushes and thimbleberry
bushes in our faces. We climbed up almost
entirely- unfrequented roads and trails for half a
day. Then we dismounted by a dark, treach-
erous, sandy stream, and lunched.
Mounting again, we pushed on in single file,
following our guides as fast as we could up steep
banks, over stones and fallen logs, and through
almost impenetrable tangles of fern and vine-
maple. There were three guides. One, an Indian,
kept far ahead on foot, blazing out the way with
a tomahawk, and shouting back and yelling to the
other guides till he made the solemn forest ring.
The two ladies kept the saddle and clung to the
horses' manes. But the men often dismounted and
led their tired horses by the bridle.
The yelping dog had gone astray a dozen times,
chasing squirrels, deer, and even birds, and I
heartily hoped he would get lost entirely, for I
abhor poodles. But the parents of the little crip-
ple, when he would get lost, would not go on with-
out him. So this kept us back, and we did not
reach the snow-line till dusk.
The guides had shot a deer, two grouse, and
many gray squirrels; so that, when we had made a
roaring fire of pine-knots, and had fed and rubbed
down our worn-out horses, we sat there in the
light of our great fire by the snow border, and
feasted famously. For oh, we were hungry!
Then we laid down. But it seemed to me we
were hardly well asleep before the guides were
again boiling coffee, and shouting to each other

about the work of the new day. How tired we all
were still! All but that dog. That noisy and
nervous little poodle seemed to be as eager as the
guides to get us up and on before the sun had
softened the snow.
In the gray dawn, after a solid breakfast, each
with a pike in hand and hob-nailed shoes on the
feet, we were in line, lifting our faces in the sharp,
frosty air for the summit of Mount Hood.
The snow was full of holes. Now and then
a man would sink to his waist. We strangers
would laugh at this. But observing that the
guides took such mishaps seriously, we inquired
the reason. When they told us that some of these
holes were bottomless, we too became serious, and
took hold of the long rope which they carried, and
never let go. The ladies brought up the rear, and,
like all English ladies, endured the fatigue wonder-
fully. That tireless little dog yelped and bounded,
now in the face of this man, now in the face of that,
and seemed by his omnipresence to belong to flank
and rear and van.
Before noon we came to a great crack, or chasm,
or cleft, in the mountain side, for which the guides
could give no reason. Their only idea of it ap-
peared to be one of terror-their only object to
escape it. They all fastened the rope to their belts,
so that, in the event of one falling in, the others
could draw him back.
As we advanced we found the mountain precipi-
tous, but in no wise perilous, if we except these
treacherous cracks and holes referred to.
Now and then we would lean on our pikes and
turn our heads to the world below. Beautiful!
Beautiful! Rivers of silver! Cities, like birds'
nests, dotted down in the wilderness beneath. But
no one spoke, when speaking could be avoided.
The air was so rare that we were all the time out
of breath.
As we neared the summit, one of the guides fell
down, bleeding at the mouth and senseless. One
of the gentlemen forced some brandy down his
throat, when he sat up and feebly beckoned us to
go on.
Ten minutes more of hard climbing, and five
Saxons stuck their pikes in the summit and stood
there together, five or six feet higher than the
highest mountain in all that mountainous region
of North America.
The wind blew hard, and the little woolly dog lay
down and curled up in a knot, for fear lest he
should he blown away. He did not bark or take
any kind of delight now. The fact is, he did not
like it at all, and was pretty badly frightened. It
is safe to say that he was quietly making up his
mind that, if he ever got back to that little basket
with its blue ribbons about the borders and the





cozy little bed inside, he would be willing to take a
nap and stay with the lonesome little cripple.
The ladies' lips and noses were blue with the
cold, and their hair was making all kinds of ban-
ners and streamers in the biting wind. The
guides seemed dull and indifferent to everything.
They lay flat down a few feet from the summit,
pointing out the highest place to us, and took no
interest in anything further, not even in their com-
panion, whom we could see doubled up a little
way below on the steep side of the snow.
We men moved on down over the summit on
the Columbia side a few yards, in the hope of get-
ting a glimpse of the great river which we knew
rolled almost under us. But the whole world
seemed to be one mass of clouds on that side; and
we hastened back to the ladies, resolved to now
descend as soon as possible.
One of the ladies, meantime, had gone down to
the guides and got a little bundle, consisting of a
British and an American flag and a Bible, with all
oir names in it. And the two were now trying to
fasten the flags on a small iron pipe. But the
wind, which had been getting stronger every min-
ute since we came, was now so furious that we felt
it was perilous to keep the ladies longer on the
summit. So one of our party started with them
down the mountain, while we other two took
charge of the tokens of our achievement, which we
hoped to leave here to tell others who might come
that we had been before them.
Flutter! flutter! flap! snap! phew! Away
went the British and American flags together.
And before we knew it, the Bible, now lying on
the snow, blew open and started after them. The
gallant Briton at my side threw out his long leg
and tried to stop its flight with his foot. But
it bounded over the snow like a rabbit, and was
The little dog lying there on his breast was ter-
ribly tempted to start after it, and if he had, there
would have been no further interest in this sketch.
But he seemed to have lots of sense, and lay per-
fectly still till the last. one of us started down the
mountain. Then he bounded up and on down
after us, and his joy seemed without limit.
As we hastily descended, we found the stricken
guide already on his feet and ready to lead in the
descent. The ladies, too, had thawed out a little,
and did not look so blue.
We began to.talk too, now, and to congratulate
ourselves and each other on the success of our
enterprise. We were in splendid spirits, and the
matchless scenery before us filled" us with exulta-
The guides, however, cautioned us at every
step as we neared the holes, and all held stoutly on

to the rope. The little dog leaped ahead over the
hard snow, and seemed the happiest of all the
happy party. He advanced down the mountain
backward. That is, he would somehow leap down-
ward tail first, looking all the time in our faces-
looking up with his red mouth open, and his white,
fat little body bounding like a rubber ball over the
snow. Suddenly the head guide cried out in terror.
The dog had disappeared!
We all looked at each other, horror on every
face. We were on the edge of a fissure, and the
dog had been swallowed up. Whose turn next?
The wind did not blow here, for we had de-
scended very fast and were now not far from the
timber line. We had all driven our pikes hard
in the snow and fallen on our knees, so as to be
more certain of our hold, and were silent as the
dead. Hark!
Away down, deep in the chasm, almost under us
somewhere, we heard the poor dog calling for help.
After a while, one of the guides answered him.
The dog called back, so far off, so pitiful! This
was repeated two or three times. But as the little
brute seemed swallowed up forever, and as we lay
there shivering on the brink and could not help
him out, we obeyed the first law of nature, and
cautiously crept back and around the ugly gorge.
Soon we were once more safe with our horses, and
drinking coffee by the warm fire as before.
We reached the city without further accident.
But the very first thing the little cripple did on our
return was to lift her pale face from her crutch and
eagerly inquire for her dog. No one could answer.
The parents exchanged glances. Then, for the first
time, as the child still entreated for her pet, they
seemed to realize their loss. They refused to tell
her what had become of the dog at first. But,
little by little, as we sat at dinner together, she got
the whole truth. Then she left the table, crying
as though her heart would break.
There was no dinner that day for any of us, after
that. The father had strong, fresh horses brought,
and on the next day we men, with the guides, set
out to find the dog. At the last moment, as we
mounted and were riding away, the child brought
her little dog's basket, with its blue ribbons and its
soft bed. For, as we assured her the dog would
be found, she said he would be cold and sleepy, and
so we should take his bed along.
On the first day we came to the chasm in the
snow from the lower side. But had the dog not
been drowned? Had he not perished from cold
and hunger? We had brought a sort of trap-in
fact, it was a large kind of rat-trap. This we
baited with a piece of roasted meat on the trigger.
Would not the hungry little fellow enter the trap,
tug at the bait, throw the trap, get caught, and


so be drawn up to the light, if still alive? We all
heartily hoped so, at least.
Some of the shelving snow broke off and fell as
we let the rope slide down with the trap. Then
for the first time we heard the little rascal yelp.
I never saw a man so delighted as was that usu-
ally stolid and impassive Englishman. He could
not stand still, but, handing the rope to his friend,
he danced about, and shouted, and whistled, and
sang to the dog away down there in his dark, ugly
The dog answered back feebly. It was evident
he was not in the best of spirits. Perhaps he was
too feeble to even enter the trap. Anyway, he did
not enter it.
We drew it up time and again, but no sign of the
dog. The stout Englishman prepared himself to
descend the pit. But when the guide explained
the danger of the whole side shelving off, and
imperiling the lives of others, as well as his own
life, that last hope was abandoned.
The father of the little cripple, after all was
packed up and ready for the return, picked up the
basket with the blue ribbons and soft bed inside.
He looked at it sadly. Tears were in his eyes.
Should he take the basket back ? The sight of it
would only make the little cripple more sad. I
could read all this in his face as he stood there
irresolute, with the basket in his hand and tears
streaming down his face. He at length made a
motion as if to throw the little basket, with its blue

ribbons and soft bed inside, down into the pit with
the dog.
No, we will let him have his little bed to die
in in good shape. Here; fasten this on a- rope,
and lower it down there where you last heard him
cry," said the kind-hearted Englishman.
In a few moments one of the guides had un-
loosened a rope which he had packed up to take
back; and the basket was soon being lowered into
the dark pit, over the hanging wall of snow.
The dog began to whimper, to whine, then to
bark as he had not barked that day.
As the basket struck the bottom it was caught as
a fish-line is caught, and the rope almost jerked
out of the hands of the guide.
The father of the little cripple clutched the rope
from the guide, and drew it up hand over hand as
fast as possible. Then the bright black eyes of the
dog danced and laughed at him as he jerked the
basket up over the treacherous wall of snow.
The poor shivering little fellow would not leave
the basket. There he lay all the time as we hur-
ried on down and mounted horse. The happy
Englishman carried it back to the city on his arm.
And he carried it carefully, too, as if it had been a
basket of eggs and he on his way to market.
And the little girl? Well, now, it was worth
all the work and bother we had to see her happy
face as she came hobbling out on her crutch to
take the little basket, with its blue border and the
dog curled up in his bed inside.


b i. _




HER eyes are just as blue a hue
As ever painter's palette knew;
Why, looks! She 's pretty as a picture-book!
Her hair,-oh yes, her hair, her hair,
Is gold as any anywhere;
Her lips eclipse the rose; I think
She's sweeter than a pink!

And though she only stares and wears
The most aristocratic airs,
I guess it's owing to her style of dress!
For I am but a Jickey-Jack,
With tons of trouble on my back,
And she, ah me! is grand and tall!
She 's Alice's best doll!








AND as 1 thrust the press among,
By froward chance mine hoode was gone,
Yet for aile that I stayde not long
Till to the Kynge's lysts I was come,"-

trolled out Sommers, the King's jester, adapting
one of Master Lydgate's ballads to suit the case,
as, with Rauf and Roger, the archer, he pressed
through the crowd of guards, retainers, and sight-
seers on a visit to the field set apart for the tourna-
ment. Great preparation had been made for this
occasion. The lists were pitched on English
ground, on a fairly level ridge midway between the
two camps. Rauf had already received some
schooling in jousting, and had even "run at the
tilt" in a mild way with Parker, the armorer at
Verney Hall. He found, therefore, much to
interest him in the progress of the work which was
to make this trial of strength,- almost the last of
the tourneys,-the magnificent pageant that so
well became the lavish and chivalric princes under
whose orders it was arranged.
"Forasmuch as God has given the cherished
treasure of peace to France and England,"--so
ran the Ordonnance de Tourney,"-" to prevent
idleness and sedition, sixteen gentlemen of name
and blood--eight French and eight English-for
the honor of God and the love of their ladies,
intend to maintain these articles"-and then follow
the elaborate rules of the combat.
"Why this fosse, Master Sommers?" asked
Rauf, as the three crossed a drawbridge and passed
within the field. Surely none here would force
the lists."
"Why, then, except to keep back those who
most desire to see," replied the jester. Are you
so young in state-craft, good page, that you have
not yet learned that whoso wishes the loaf gets the
crust, and that he who works the hardest and
waits the most patiently to see a triumph, can only
view it across a ditch or through a rampart of
halberds ? "
Nine hundred feet in length and three hundred
and twenty feet across, on ground well and prop-
erly prepared, stretched the great lists. The field
was an open space, after the English fashion, and
not a counter or double list, as were many French

tilts. Around the inclosure ranged high galleries,
hung with choicest tapestries, for the privileged
spectators, and to the right, in the place of honor,
were glazed chambers, bright with colored hang-
ings and cloth of gold, for the two Queens. At the
foot of the lists Rauf stopped in wonder before a
mass of gold and color, grouped under a great
triumphal arch of velvet and damask and cloth of
What can this be ? he asked in amazement.
"This," said the jester, learned in all heraldic
matters, "is the forest of fallacy, the vegetation
of rank--and rank enough has it oft proved,
when planted by unkingly kings, or fostered by
unknightly knights. This, young Master Inexpe-
rience, is the knightly 'perron '- the tree of
nobility.' "
Oh, yes, yes-I know it now," broke in Rauf.
'Tis the tree on which will hang the shields of
challengers and answerers."
"Softly, softly, Sir Page," said the jester;
"crowd not so rudely on this tree of name and
blood. See, here twine the royal branches, high
above those of baser birth; here is the hawthorn
of our King's highness of England, there the rasp-
berry of him of France."
And a curious combination indeed was this tree
of nobility," covering a space of near one hundred
and thirty feet-its trunk.a mass of cloth of gold,
its foliage of green silk, its flowers and fruit of
silver and Venetian gold, while the mock earth in
which it was imbedded was a great mound of green
Late on that Saturday afternoon came the rival
trumpet peals, and there streamed into the lists
the royal challengers, and their attendant trains of
heralds and pursuivants and guards, to attach the
kingly shields to the hawthorn and the raspberry
in challenge to the field. With much excess of
courteous language, but with much dispute never-
theless as to which shield should have the higher
position, now France's herald and now England's
argued and contested. "But finally," says the
chronicle, "the King of England caused the
French King's arms to be placed on the right, and
his own on the left equally high," and so the
momentous question was settled.
On the next morning, a fair Sunday of the early
June, as Rauf and Margery knelt at mass in the
gorgeous chapel attached to the English palace,
were they at all different from our boys and girls



of this more practical age if their thoughts left'the
stately service, and wandered, awed and wondering,
in accompaniment to their eyes around that mar-
velously magnificent apartment? For this royal
chapel was the great Cardinal's peculiar pride. To
fitly decorate it he had sent over sea "the best
hangings, travers, jewels, images, altars, cloths,
etc., that the King has." Thirty-five priests, in
robes of cloth of gold, powdered with rich red roses
and strewn with gold and jewels, assisted by many
singing boys and acolytes, conducted the services,
while everywhere the glitter of gold and jewels, the
flash of costliest hangings and rarest decorations
more than regally adorned this royal chapel of a
And now Margery's share in the festivities be-
gan, for there came that fair Sunday afternoon,
" gloriously appareled" and brilliantly attended,
the courtly King Francis to dine with the Queen
of England.
"And oh, Rauf," reported the excited little
dame, "he knelt beautifully on the ground, bon-
net in hand, and saluted the Queen and her ladies.
Yes!-- and he even kissed poor little me, and
called me a 'fayre damoyselle,' sir, and praised my
bloom and color, and wished he could transplant
so sweet an English flower to the gardens of good
Queen Claude !"
"All of which you believed, I suppose. Oh, Mar-
gery, Margery take the advisement of one who has
mingled much with kings, and--"
Have done, have done, Master Impudence,"
cried Margery, "and tell us what you saw at
And then our young- sight-seers tried to outvie
each other in tales of what they had seen, for Rauf
had attended King Henry on his visit to the French
Queen at Arde. He told of Queen Claude's dia-
mond-sprinkled robes; of the great golden dinner
services, of the feast, and of the wonderful side-
dishes, which were leopards, and salamanders, and
other beasts bearing the French arms; of the en-
trance of Mountjoy, the French herald, with his
great golden goblet, and his cry of "Largess to
the most high, mighty, and excellent Henry, King
of England; largess, largess and of the room
where they went after the feast, "adorned with
tapestry of cloth of gold, and carpeted with crim-
son velvet." All of which Margery capped with
equally wonderful tales of English ceremony and
French courtliness. And so they supped full of
The next morning Rauf was up betimes, eager
and anxious-for the hour to arrive that should open
the tournament.
"Give you good day, Master Rauf," said a
cheery voice, and looking over against the great

statue of the English archer which, with bended
bow, fronted the castled entrance, Rauf saw his old
friend Roger, the archer of the guard. "A fair
and rare day for the tilts, if but this wind will
And will it not die off, think you, Roger?"
asked Rauf, anxiously.
The archer eyed the flying scud of clouds rather
"Blaw the wind never so fast,
It will lower at last,"

he said, repeating an old English couplet, which
is about all the comfort I can give you, Master
Rauf; so we must e'en make the best of it. But
they say the King's highnesses will both run at
the tilt to-day. Heard you aught of this, Master
Rauf ?"
"Ay," said Rauf, proud to be able to disclose
state secrets, "'t is even so; as challengers both,
they hold the lists against all comers. And whom,
think you, will run the course most valiantly, good
Roger ?"
The archer pointed to the significant legend that
streamed from the more gigantic archer above
him-" He whom I back, wins." "Could I make
that legend sure," he said, I know full well who
would come off victor; but

'Where all are well mounted and matched,
None knoweth whose pate will be patched.' "

'T will be a rare sight though, will it not?"
said Rauf.
Ay, and a brave one, too," said the archer,
though I may not see all the sport. Twelve fel-
lows of our guard, with twelve of the French King's
archers, guard the entrance to the lists."
Dinner over, Raufs and Margery's restless long-
ings changed to active realization, as, with banners
fluttering and music "sounding most melodious-
ly," on chargers gorgeously trapped, in litters or
in chariots covered with cloths of gold and silver,
and emblazoned with the royal arms, the King and
Queen of England passed, with a' gallant company,
out of the palace gates and on to the waiting lists.
Soon after came the French retinue, equally
glorious "; the galleries quickly filled with a great
company of richly dressed lords and ladies from
both the camps, while all the hills around were
black with the crowds that had flocked from all
quarters to the great spectacle. Rauf and Mar-
gery both sat in Queen Katherine's gallery, ab-
sorbed in watching the glittering trains of knights
passing and repassing in the lists beneath them, or
in picking out from the throng the great person-
ages with whose faces they were familiar.
"That is the Constable of Bourbon, Margery-


greatest in France next the King," said Rauf. "And
who is that with him ? 'T is one of our English
knights, but his face is turned away from us."
Actor pretiosa factt,* read Margery, spelling
out the legend that was blazoned on the shield of
the unknown.
"Why sure, then, 't is the Duke of Bucking-
ham," said Rauf, learned in the knight's embla-
zonments; and see, now, as he turns his face this
way, it is the Duke indeed." And then they both
looked with admiration at these two knights as they
passed: both princes of the blood, both young,
chivalrous, haughty, and brave; both destined
soon to be adjudged traitors to the kings in whose
trains they now glittered; both soon to die-the
one by the headsman's ax on Tower Hill, by the
command of Henry of England; the other, while
gallantly scaling the walls of Rome in open revolt
against Francis of France.
"And that, Margery, is madame, the Queen
Mother of France," said Rauf, pointing to a royal
lady who, in a diamond-circled robe of black vel-
vet, leaned over the gallery-front to return the
courteous salutations of the lords of Buckingham
and Bourbon. Margery looked with awe at this
great lady, Louise of Savoy; whose wish was law
to her son, the King of France; the royal lady to
whom, years after, the captive King was to send
that famous message from the bloody fight of
Pavia--the field of his defeat: "Madam, there
is nothing in this world left to me but my honor
and my life."
Many other notable persons did the children
study, in youthful criticism or admiration. Queen
Katherine's plain but not unlovely Spanish face,
not handsome, but very beautiful in complexion,"
as wrote the cautious Venetian embassador, lighted
up with something of a smile as she talked with
the young Queen Claude of France, the daughter
of the stately house of Valois. Near the Queens,
too, stood the gay-faced and sprightly maid of six-
teen, the Lady Anne Boleyn, before many years to
be raised to the dangerous and, to her, fatal emi-
nence of Queen of England.
And while in broken French, or through inter-
preters, the ladies in the galleries courteously
talked together, down in the lists was the bustle
and excitement of preparation. Soon the trump-
ets sounded, and the heralds proclaimed the tour-
nament opened. With volt and demivolt, with
charge and thrust, with clash of swords and splin-
tering of lances, the royai challengers, Henry of
England and Francis of France, with their sup-
porters, held the lists in friendly combat against
the bravest knights of England and of France. For
twelve days, save when the wind, as Roger the
archer feared, blew too boisterously for the lances

to be couched, the jousts continued, intermingled
with other sports, and feats of strength or skill.
In all such contests as they bore a part the Kings of
France and England, so says the royal chronicler,
"did marvels; breaking spears eagerly, and well
acting their challenge of jousts." Between the
times of tourney came other frolics, lavish in dis-
play and royal in profusion. Wrestling matches
and archery contests, dancing, and music, and
song, "maskalynes and mummeries,"f at either
camp, helped on these joy-filled days. How greatly
Rauf and Margery delighted in all this pleasure
and pageantry, let any boy or girl of to-day who
passes two blissful hours at some great show, some
"gigantic aggregation of wonders," determine;
let them consider how much enjoyment is crowded
into their two hours of spectacle, and then think,
calmly if they can, of two weeks of such excitement
and display !
Into the lists one bright afternoon thronged the
"venans or "comers," to run a tilt with the
"tenans" or "holders." Riding down the field
to the "tree of nobility," each knight rang his
lance upon the black-and-gray shield, thus signi-
fying his,readiness to joust with the challengers.
One English knight, more aspiring than the rest,
-Sir Richard Jerningham, knight of the King's
chamber,-reaching to the top of the "perron,"
struck with his lance's tip the white-and-silver
shield of the King of France. Then "holders"
and "comers" rode the one general course of
lance to lance, and, this shock over, they fell
back while the single champions rode before the
For whom fight you, Sir Richard Jerningham,
good knight and true?" demanded Mont St.
.Michel, the herald of France.
For the honor of God, the glory of England,
and the love of the little lady, Mistress Anne
Boleyn-our rose of England blooming at the
court of France,". and the gallant Sir Richard
bent to his saddle-bow in salute to the fair young
maiden whom he thus championed.
"And for whom fight you, Francis, King of
France ?" demanded the English herald, garter
And the kingly knight, not to be outdone in
courtesy to the bright young girlhood of England,
glanced toward Queen Katherine's gallery, and
made instant answer:
For the -honor of God, the glory of France,
and the love of the sweet little Mistress Margery
Carew- the tenderest blossom in the train of our
sister of England."
Margery's beaming face, which had been
stretched eagerly forward in the excitement of
seeing and listening, flushed furiously as she drew

t Much the same as the masquerades and theatricals of to-day.

* "The giver makes the gift more precious."


back in sudden confusion, while the "Oh!" of
surprise broke from her parted lips. Then she
looked quickly to the lists again, as the shouts of
the heralds:
"St. George for England! "
"St. Denis for France "
rang out and the trumpets sounded the charge.
With visors closed, and lances fully couched
the.knights spurred across the field, but, just as
they approached the shock, Sir Richard's horse
stumbled slightly and threw his rider's lance out
of aim.. With knightly courtesy King Francis broke
his own couch, raised his. lance upright, and
then, with friendly salutations, both knights
passed each other without closing. .Turning in
the course once more, they galloped across the
lists, and with equal speed and with steady aim,
" full tilt" they spurred to the shock. Tang,
tang the lances struck and splintered fairly. Sir
Richard's stroke met the guard of King Francis's
silver shield, while the lance of the King rang
full against Sir Richard's pass-guard or shoulder-
front. But, though Sir Richard struck "like a
sturdy and skillful cavalier," the shock of his
antagonist was even more effective. For, as the
record states, "the French King on his part ran
valiantly." Sir Richard's horse fell back with the
shock, his rider reeled in the saddle, and, so says
the chronicle, Jerningham was nearly unhorsed."
The broken lance-shafts were dropped from the
hands of the knights, and the heralds declared
Francis, King of France, victor in the tilt.

An hour later, Sir Richard came .to Queen
Katherine's gallery, King Francis accompanying
him. Then, in accordance with the rules of the
tourney, Sir Richard, as the knight "who was
worsted in the combat," with due courtesy and
a deep salute, presented to the blushing Margery
a beautiful chain of gold, large and glittering, as
"the token to the lady in whose service the
victor fights," and King Francis, smiling, said:
And I, too, must claim my guerdon from this
lady mine. Will the fair Margery be our guest at
Arde to-night ?"
Margery looked to Lady Gray, who said:
With pleasure, if so it please your Highness."
"And here shall be your trusty squire, our old
friend,-and yours, too, I '11 wager,- Master Rauf
Bulney," and the King placed his hand pleasantly
on the boy's shoulder.
So to the French camp at Arde went Rauf and
Margery, and there they were feasted right royal-
ly"; and that night, too, as they were preparing for a
"maskalyne," there came up a fierce gale of wind,
and the great central pole of the royal pavilion
swayed and shivered, bent and broke before the
blast; and the mass of painted canvas and cloth
of gold, of gilded .ornaments and quaint devices,
together with the great statue of St. Michael, came
down to the ground in a mighty and utter wreck.
And the King rejoiced greatly over the safety of all
his train, but mostly over his little English guests,
who, with the Lady Anne Boleyn, had luckily
escaped all harm.

(To be continued.)



WHAT, little Mabel! reading old romance?
Come here, and leave that dusty chimney-nook,
And do put by that antiquated book,-
I '11 show you all you 've read at one swift glance.
The sunlight gilds earth's carpet of soft snow,
Behold without The Field of Cloth of Gold!
The trees are knights so valiant, tall, and bold,
Steel-clad in icicle-mail from top to toe;
And see the evergreens upon the lawn--
Fair ladies who will never lose their charms;
Soon will the wind sound loud the battle-horn-
There '11 be a tournament with clash of arms !







RUSH and his bean-pole had startled the Argo-
nauts into paying very respectful attention to what
the oldest brother had to say.
We 're peaceable folks here," said Mart, or
at least we try to be. It's Sunday, and we don't
want a row. But, my
friend," addressing Buz-
row, "if you must be
swinging that piece of
iron, I 'd rather you would
n't swing it in the direc-- -
tion of our dam."
Buzrow held the bar,
looking rather foolishly
from the array of Tink-
ham boys to his own com-
panions, while Mart pro-
"Whoever fancies we
are going to stand quietly
by and see our property
destroyed has very erro-
neous ideas of human nat-
ure. It may as well be u!id.: r...-i
first as last that we can't h, .: h al."
As Buzrow had desisted 'r,:,.r. i..: .-
action, he seemed to think t a, ,:i,, i.:.
make some defiant remark ir., .- id.
The dam is a nuisance, ai.1 ,r i t ..., .:. :.. "
"It is n't a nuisance to ui- !.:pi.i.i .. .
"W e bought the mill in g.:.....i I.,,,. ,rh.li:.
knowing that anybody had e- .:t'.-:.|.:.:: i., thi:
dam. Now we are willing to consider objec- Hms
tions in a liberal spirit; and we ask you, on "'D
your part, to consider our position, our honest
intentions in coming here, and our wish to do the
fair and square thing by everybody."
It 's easy to talk," replied Buzrow, who had,
however, laid down his bar. "Dushee could do
that. But we've had enough of it. All is, our
boats must n't be hindered by this dam."
The flash-boards are out. You have a free pas-
sage. And we '11 take 'em out for you anytime when
they happen to be in. What more do you want?
Whatever your rights may be," Mart continued,
"you're not going just the right way to work to se-
cure them. When you come up here in your boat,

and find an opening in the dam ten feet wide to let
you through, and, instead of taking advantage of
it, turn out of your course and stop to batter down
the dam, any man with half a teacupful of
brains could tell you that you're laying yourself
liable to a prosecution."
"You can prosecute," muttered Buzrow. The
law aint all on your side, you'll find out. Other
folks have taken counsel on this subject."

rl. -- !.r I -... ,, i -.-.. L ti.,- t I i ll,-
BOAT way up the river, but now returned to
THE w"AY the scene of the encounter. Come
along, boys! Don't do anything more."
I don't intend to do anything more to-day,"
said Buzrow, glad of an excuse to withdraw from
an undertaking which was becoming formida-
ble. I've done all I set out to. But," he
added, shaking his fist at the dam,-a fist, by
the way, which looked as if it might be a good
copy of the one that had knocked down a cow,-
"before another Sunday, that will all be ripped
out Jest you remember that "
Mart gave no heed to this menace, but said
calmly, addressing the young man in the first
boat, who appeared to be a person of influence:

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




VOL. X.-I7.


"You will always find the flash-boards up on
Sunday-a day on which I should think any
disturbance of this kind might be avoided by
decent people."
"I don't belong to the decent sort, I suppose,"
said Buzrow, in a coarse, jeering way.
"For the rest," Mart went on, still addressing
the young man and ignoring Buzrow, come to us
on a week day, as one man should go to another
when there's a conflict of interest between them,
and we '11 meet you more than half-way in making
any necessary arrangements to accommodate both
That's fair," said the young man, who seemed
to have entered unwillingly into the controversy,
and to find it very disagreeable. He had good
manners and a fine face, from which no conduct
that was not handsome and honorable could well
be expected. "I 'm as sorry as you can be
that there's any trouble about the dam; but I 'm
afraid it has gone so far now that the law will
have to settle it."
"Very well; the law let it be," said Mart.
" It's a miserable weapon for people of sense and
right intentions to resort to; but it's better than
crow-bars and bean-poles."
"I am sorry our fellows have disturbed you
to-day," said the young man, appearing himself
very much disturbed.
I am sure you are," said Mart, cordially.
" Whether you could have prevented them in the
first place, I wont inquire."
"Perhaps I might," the young man admitted,
"but I did n't. The truth is, we all feel that we
have a natural right to go up and down the river
in our boats, whether the law allows you to dam it
or not. We were greatly annoyed by Dushee's
shabby treatment of us last year, and you must
n't be surprised at any violence of feeling in oppo-
sition to the dam." ,
"I see how the matter stands," replied Mart.
"You may be sure that, if we had had any
suspicion of it before we came here, we never
should have come. But now that we are here,
does n't it seem as if well-meaning fellows, such
as you seem to be, and as my brothers and I
certainly are,- does n't it seem as if we might settle
our differences without lawyers or crow-bars? "
"It does seem so," the young man replied.
"Our club meets to-morrow evening, and I shall
then lay the subject before them and report what
you propose."
"I hope you will not only report it," said
Mart, but advocate it, as I am sure you can. A
word in season from the right person may save a
world of trouble, to your side as well as ours."
"That's a fact," said the young man, his brow

clearing of its cloud. "I '11 do my best, but I
can't promise that will be much."
His boat then led the way up the river, followed
by the two others, Buzrow still muttering ven-
geance against the dam as his boat passed through.
"Who is that young fellow in the farther boat--
the one I talked with ?" Mart then inquired of
Dick Dushee, who had come down to the Demp-
ford side of the river to see the fun.
"That," said Dick, who was evidently disap-
pointed that the two parties had separated without
affording him more sport,-" that's Lew Bartland.
He 's commodore of the club."
I like him said Mart, turning to his brothers.
"If we 've got the Commodore on our side-and
I believe we have-we are all right."



AGAIN, the next morning, the Tinkham boys
went about their business as if there had been no
cloud of trouble in their sky. The two oldest set
to work on the dolls' carriages, for which the
spring weather was sure to bring a brisk demand.
The two youngest were happy with their new gar-
den tools and a quart of peas Mart had given them
to plant. Rush had also a pleasant task, well suited
to his hands. To him was assigned the making of
the rocket-sticks and pin-wheels for Cole & Com-
pany's fire-works. The stuff had been brought by
express, and enough got ready so that he could set
the jig-saw running early in the forenoon.
Soon after, two young girls drove into the yard,
in a handsome top-buggy, and looked about
them with lively curiosity, as the sleek and well-
groomed horse fell into a slow walk along the grav-
eled path.
I wonder if I had better leave it at the door,"
said one, who held the slack reins.
"My, Syl Bartland! said the other; what
do you want to leave it there for? Only women
folks are in the house, and I want to see some of
the boys."
There are two at work over there in the corner
of the garden," said Syl. "We might call one of
them,,and give it to him. Would you, Mollie ?"
"Those little fellows No, indeed cried Mol-
lie. "I want to see the big ones the boys told
about. There are six or eight of them in all, they
say, and it must have been splendid when one of
them was going to knock Milt Buzrow on the head
with a bean-pole "
I'almost wish he had," said Syl. "I hate that
great, coarse Buzrow."
So do I. But they've no business to keep a



dam here for all that. Do you remember? Kate
Medway and I came up in our boat last summer,
and when we were going back we could n't pass the
dam, and that miserable old Dushee kept us an
hour before he would come and pull up his flash-
boards. It was awfully mean "
Mollie lowered her voice as she spoke the last
words, for the horse had turned up to the mill and
They are in there at work," Syl Bartland
whispered, with a mischievous laugh. Now, if
you really want to see them, you can take it in to
"What are you talking about?" giggled the
other. I am not going into that old mill, where
there are half a dozen young men I never saw be-
fore !"
But you said you wanted to see them. I never
saw such a girl as you are, Mollie Kent Well, hold
the horse, and I '11 beard the lions in their den."
The weather was warm, and Rush, in his shirt-
sleeves, with a paper cap on his head, looking very
workman-like, was running his jig-saw, when a
rustling of the shavings on the floor caused him to
glance around.
He was surprised to see a young girl coming to-
ward him; her rosy face in a cavalier hat, and a
billet in the gloved hand which she held out to
"Are you the Tinkham Brothers?" she asked,
archly, the rosebud of a mouth looking very much
as if it wanted to blossom into a smile.
I am one of them," he answered, awkwardly
conscious of his paper cap and shirt-sleeves.
"Here is a note from my brother. He asked
me to bring it over, so that he might be sure you
received it before evening."
He took the billet, and was thanking her with a
blush, which well became his fresh and pleasant
face, when she interrupted him with, Oh,
there 's no occasion for that tripped out of the
shop, stepped lightly into the buggy on the bank,
and, taking the reins from her companion's hand,
drove away.
As soon as they were out of hearing, her sup-
pressed laughter broke forth.
"It was just fun," she said. They are the
tamest lions ever you saw! I gave it to the one
that shook the bean-pole over Milt's cranium; I
know it was he, from Lew's description."
What did he look like? Mollie inquired,
"Handsome as a picture Clear red-and-white !
And didn't he blush beautifully, in his paper cap,"
giggled Syl, "when I gave him the letter "
"Why did n't you make him come out and
help you into the buggy, so I could see him? "

Mollie demanded. Syl Bartland, you 're as
mean as you can be! "
Rush, meanwhile, having seen the surprising
little vision disappear, opened the unsealed note
and glanced his eye over it as he carried it to his
It 's from the Commodore," he said, handing
it to Mart-" Lewis Bartland."
"The C-c-commodore! said Lute. "Who
was that g-g-girl? "
"His sister, I suppose."
By G-g-george, she's a p-p-pretty one! Why
did n't she hand the note to me ? "
"Because you are not good-looking enough,"
laughed Rush. "What is it all about, Mart? "
"Now, this is what I call doing the handsome
thing," said Mart, with a smile of satisfaction.
" I knew there was a gentleman in the Commo-
dore's suit of clothes, and this proves it."
Let 's have the p-p-proof! said Lute.
He writes that a number of boats will be going
up the river this evening to the new club-house,
where the members are to meet; and he suggests
that it will have a good effect if we give them free
Certainly," cried Rush; though he need n't
have taken the trouble to ask it. They will be
going up with the tide, and returning later in the
evening, when the flash-boards will be up."
But it 's kind in him to make the suggestion,"
said Lute, reading over the letter in his turn. "It
shows his g-g-good-will."
If the Argonauts were all like him," said
Mart, "there would be nobody for us to have any
row with. I 'd accommodate their boats, if I had
to stand at the dam whenever one appeared, and
carry it over on my shoulders. Though the law is
with us, they 've got a side, and I respect it."
So do I, when they respect our side," replied
Rush. "But I can't hold my hands in my
pockets and see them battering the dam with a
crow-bar, as long as any of Dushee's old bean-
poles are lying about."
I 'm glad you did n't strike the fellow," ob-
served Mart.
So am I," added Lute. As Father used to
say, an ounce of p-p-persuasion is worth a p-p-pound
of opposition."
The reception of the Commodore's courteous
note was a cheering incident to the boys in their
present state of suspense. And it was evident that
they thought no worse of him for the glimpse they
had had of his sister.
With the flood-tide that evening, the boats of
the Dempford Argonauts passed the mill on their
way to the new club-house on the lake. The
Tinkham boys kept out of sight, but they were




nevertheless near at hand, and on the watch for
any demonstration against the dam.
There was loud talk in one of the boats, and the
Buzrow voice was heard repeating the threat of
yesterday, that it (the dam, of course) was a
nuisance," and had "got to go." But no crow-bar
was used, and no harm done.
Then the Tinkhams awaited with some anxiety
the return of the boats.
The Argonauts, meanwhile, from down the
river and about the lake, as well as from more in-
land parts of the two towns, assembled at the new
club-room. This comprised the upper story of the
" odd-looking summer-house," the lower story
being designed for boats-the lighter ones, like
the canoes and wherries, to be placed on racks
and brackets, the heavier ones to be floated under
the floor and made fast to rods and rings.
At one end of the room, young Commodore
Lewis Bartland sat at a table with the secretary of
the club, while the other members, to the number
of about thirty, occupied chairs and benches or
stood leaning against the wall.
At the end of the building, beyond the table, was
a balcony overhanging the starlit lake; and there,
outside, at the open door and window, were also
two small groups of Argonauts, enjoying their
cigars and the night air, and, when they chose,
listening to the debates.
Other business having been first transacted, the
Commodore rose, rapped for silence, and addressed
the club. He looked very handsome, with the
light from the lamp on the table before him shin-
ing full upon his white forehead and finely cut
features; and his speech was calm and persuasive.
He gave a concise history of the mill-dam troubles,
stating the side of the Argonauts quite to their
satisfaction. But," he went on, after the applause
which greeted that portion of his remarks had
ceased,"we must n't forget that there is another
side to this controversy. The new mill-owners have
a side, and we are bound to respect it."
Dead silence followed this announcement. The
youthful commodore felt at once that the club was
no longer with him, and that the position he had
determined to take would be unpopular.
But he stood up to it manfully.



"WE have no longer the party to deal with
that we had last year. They did not put the dam
there; and if they had known anything of its
history, they would never have bought the mill.
So they say, and I believe them."

There was a murmur of assent.
"Dushee deceived and imposed upon them,"
the speaker continued, "as he so often deceived
and imposed upon us. So, I say, instead of
regarding them as enemies, we should look upon
them as fellow-victims, and do what we can for
them in their difficulty."
"That 's so!" cried somebody in a far-off
corner. There was also a vigorous hand-clapping
in the same direction, but it was limited to one
or two persons, and was not taken up by the club.
Lew Bartland went on, warming more and more.
"They have come here for the water-power
which the dam gives them, and have probably
paid a good deal more for the place than it would
be worth to anybody if the water-power was
taken away. As I understand, they are sons
of a poor widow-mere boys, like the most of
us here. That ought to enlist our sympathies
in their behalf. They are struggling to get a
living for her and for themselves, in a perfectly
honest, upright, legitimate way. Is n't that some-
thing for us to consider ? "
That was Dushee's claim. We did n't con-
sider that," .said a voice at the window, where
several heads were looking in from the balcony.
"But we would-or, at least, we should-have
considered it," said the Commodore, "if Dushee
had treated us fairly, as I believe these young
men are ready to do. He never kept his word
with us-promising one thing and then doing
another that suited his convenience better. We
lost patience with h'im, and I was as ready as any
of you .to sweep the dam away and then let the
law settle the matter."
"That's what we've got to do now," said the
voice at the window.
Possibly," replied the Commodore, turning in
that direction and showing his fine profile to the
benches. "But what I insist upon is, that we
ought first to talk with these young men, see
what they propose to do, and give them such
a chance as we should wish anybody to give us, if
we were in their place."
As he sat down, a little fellow from one of the
benches jumped up. I say little fellow, because in
stature he was hardly more than five feet. But he
was one of the oldest members of the club, and he
carried himself as if he had been fully seven feet
Mr. Webster Foote," said the Commodore,
recognizing him.
Tremendous applause. Mr. Webster Foote, of
Dempford,-or Web Foote, as the boys called
him, because he was so fond of the water,-was
evidently popular, and very well aware of the pleas-
ing fact. He had been a rival candidate for the




office of commodore at the time of Lew Bartland's
election, and had been defeated by only three votes.
He was not, personally, so well liked as Lew, but he
had been all along one of the most active and out-
spoken enemies of the dam, and had gained favor
by encouraging the prejudice against it.
It was generally thought that he still aspired to
Lew's place. Certain it was that, whenever any
plan of the Commodore's could be opposed with
any show of reason or hope of success, he was sure
to lead an opposition. And now the good-natured
Bartland had laid himself open to attack.
Mr. Webster Foote tossed off the black hair from
his forehead, and stood waiting for the applause to
subside, looking about him with a smile of lofty
"Straight as a cob!" whispered a Tammoset
boy in the far-off corner.
"So straight he leans over backward," re-
marked another Tammoset boy in reply.
"He's little, but oh, jimminy !" said a third,
with an ironical chuckle.
Some of the Tammoset Argonauts, it may be
said, were lukewarm on the subject of the dam,
which they rarely had occasion to pass, and they
were inclined to make fun of Mr. Web Foote, of
Our worthy Commodore," the speaker began
in high-keyed, oratorical tones of voice, "has
made a novel suggestion. He has enlightened us
on one point. I thank him for it."
This complimentary form of phrase would have
surprised his followers but for the sarcastic
emphasis with which the short, sharp sentences
were uttered.
I am sure," he went on, his oratory increasing
in shrillness and vehemence, "it never would
have occurred to one of us humble members of
the club that we owe sympathy and friendship to
the owners of the dam, instead of opposition.
We have no right to go up and down the river
in our boats; or, if we have, we ought to give it
away to these honest, upright, dearly beloved
There was a laugh of approval, while a cloud
of impatience darkened the Commodore's face.
"They have come here to carry on a business
of vast importance. I hear they make dolls'
carriages, for one thing. The world can't do with-
out dolls' carriages. The world is suffering for the
want of dolls' carriages. Europe stretches out
its arms to America,"-Mr. Web Foote tossed
back his hair and extended his own sniall
members to illustrate the attitude of Europe in
that dramatic particular,-"and beseeches us for
dolls' carriages. And, of course, only the Tink-
ham Brothers' dolls' carriages will do."

Shouts of laughter greeted this part of the
speech, but no smile broke through the cloud on
Lew Bartland's face.
We have been laboring under a great mistake,
gentlemen of the club. The river was n't made
for us common folks. It is not a natural highway.
No boat has any right upon it; but the fresh
water comes down, and the tides ebb and flow,
solely for the benefit of the mill and its precious
Cries of Good good with a noisy stamping
of feet on the new floor.
Of course, there 's no other place in the world
where they can get a living. But if we want to
boat up and down a river, why don't we go to some
other river ? There are plenty of rivers in the
world What are we dallying around here for ? "
Amidst the general laughter, even the Commo-
dore had to smile, Web's mock argument was so
amusingly absurd.
"There are five or six boys of them, I hear,
and a widow. Think of that! A widow! There
are only about forty members of this club; and
what are forty miserable Argonauts, with their
sisters and sweethearts, who sometimes go boating
with them-what are we, with our paltry in-
terests and pleasures, compared with those five
or six makers of dolls' carriages and a widow
thrown in? Of course, we are of no importance.
We may as well give up our boats. And, perhaps,
it would be a handsome thing to offer this boat-
house, which would then be of no more use to
us, to the Tinkham Brothers, as a store-house for
dolls' carriages. How would you like that?"

Web Foote tossed back his hair and sat down,
amidst an uproar of merriment. That having
subsided a little, all eyes turned upon the Com-
modore, who was expected to reply.
He rose slowly to his feet, and said with simple
dignity :
The remarks we have just listened to would
be highly diverting if this did not happen to be a
serious subject. I am not aware that I have pro-
posed anything so very unreasonable. Can't we
imagine ourselves in the place of those young men,
and then ask soberly how we would wish to be
treated? Would we like to have gentlemen to
deal with, or a mob? I don't propose to abandon
our right to the river, by any means, and the last
speaker knows as well as anybody that I do not.
Is the mere question of a compromise so very
absurd? "
"Yes, sir!" bellowed the voice at the window
from which had come the interruptions to the
Commodore's opening speech. Yes, sir and
I '11 tell you why "
Thereupon, in through the window, from the


balcony, came the shoulders and one leg,-his head
was in already,-and finally the whole burly form
of the speaker, who proved to be no other than
our valiant acquaintance, Milt Buzrow, of the
crow-bar-the Buzrow whose father had knocked
down a cow with his unarmed fist.
"There can't be no compromise!" He was a
little careless with his negatives in times of excite-
ment. I don't care what the mill-owners 'll be
willing to do, they can't do but one thing to suit
us. As long as the dam, or any part of the dam,
remains, it 's in our way, and it 's got to go "
This was uttered with a gesture of the clenched
fist,-which, as we have before intimated, appeared
to be a very creditable copy of the cow-smiter's,-
and was loudly cheered.
"Was the river made for everybody, or for only
one or two, I 'd like to know ?" Buzrow went on,
advancing toward the middle of the floor. "If
it's only for the mill-owners, why then we '11
throw up our hand, as Web Foote says. But if
the public has rights there, the public has got to
stand up for its rights, and I go in for standing up
for 'em with a good, stiff iron bar."
This allusion to yesterday's adventure produced
a lively sensation.
"I broke the dam, and I '11 break it again "
Buzrow cried in a big voice, with a braggart
Look out for bean-poles said one of the
"I don't care for their bean-poles. Lawyer
Snow says we 've jest as much right to tear away
that dam as we would have to break a gate put
across the highway. I s'pose you know that."
As the speaker appealed to the Commodore, the
Commodore quietly replied:
"I 've heard of his saying so; but I've .no
doubt there are better lawyers than Snow, who
would tell the other side exactly the contrary."
Then, law or no law," cried Buzrow, "the dam
has got to go. S'pose they do take up their flash-
boards for us, or make other arrangements for
letting our boats through, what a trouble it 's
going to be, every time we get to the dam, to wait
till some gate is opened, which very likely we
should have to open ourselves; and then we all
know how it is when water is low. Last summer
Dushee shut his flash-boards after I had got
through, going down, and kept back the water so
my boat got aground and could n't be got off till
I went and smashed 'em."
That's so that's so cried several voices at
What I claim is," Buzrow said in conclusion,
"we've got a right to the whole width of the
river at all times. If the mill-owners will agree to

that, all right. It's the only compromise I will
make, as long as I own a crow-bar."
Two or three violent speeches followed on the
same side. Then the secretary rose. This was
Charley Kent, brother of Mollie, whom we have
seen. I don't think the Commodore's position is
fully understood," he said, in a modest, concilia-
tory way, leaning with one hand on the table.
"He does n't propose to give up everything to
the mill-owners, as some of the speakers assume.
But the question is, shall we treat them in a
gentlemanly way or in a ruffianly way? Are we
a club or a mob ?"
"This is the second time I 've heard that word
mob!" cried Web Foote, springing to his dimin-
utive legs, and wildly flinging back the hair from
his brow. He threw his chest forward and his
head back, much in the style of a fighting cockerel.
"When such epithets come from officers of the
club,"-his voice rose to a shriek,-"applied to
members of the club,"-he sprang forward about
three feet, as if he had been going to strike his
spurs into somebody,-"I, for one, hurl them
back with contempt!"
He illustrated the hurling with his right arm
thrust straight out-that is to say, diagonally
upward-at the said officers, with little fist
clenched, in comical contrast with that of the
cow-smiter's burly son. At the same time, his
left arm, also with little fist clenched, was thrust
down diagonally behind, as if to balance his
person-which, by the way, was now fully eight
feet tall, in his own estimation, if it was an inch.
"We feel the gentleman's contempt, and are
withered by it," said the Commodore, once more
on his feet, and looking calmly over Web Foote's
head at the back benches, until Web subsided
into his seat. "Nevertheless, I stand to what I
have said. Shall we appoint a committee to con-
fer with the mill-owners, and reserve further action
on the subject until our next meeting ? That seems
to me the only fair and honorable thing to do."
"And leave the dam there meanwhile? No,
sir! roared Milt Buzrow.
"I want a vote of the club," the Commodore
insisted. "If, as a club, we are not prepared -to
act honorably in this and every other matter, I
wish to know it, in order that I may take care of
my own personal character in time."
His bearing was so manly, and his quietly earnest
words carried such weight, that he now had a large
majority of the Argonauts with him, as was shown
by the subsequent vote. Even Web Foote, seeing
how the current of popular opinion was turning,
stood and was counted in favor of a committee.
Then Milt Buzrow said, "I move that Web
Foote be appointed a member of that committee."




That was not what the Commodore wanted, by
any means. But the motion being seconded, he
put it to the vote, and it was carried.
Then the secretary moved that Commodore Lew
Bartland be also appointed a member.
Gentlemen of the club," said the Commodore,
hardly trying to conceal his dissatisfaction, I see
no use at all in my serving on this committee with
the member already chosen."

But as his friends insisted on voting for him, he
yielded, and was chosen without a dissenting voice.
In order that both towns might be represented,
a Tammoset member was then selected, and the
committee was full.
After some further business was transacted, the
meeting broke up harmoniously; and the cause of
peace and good order seemed, for the time being,
to have prevailed.

(To be continued.)



ONE night a cunning brownie band
Was roaming through a farmer's land,
And while the rogues went prying round,
The farmer's mare at rest they found;

And peeping through the stable-door,
They saw the harness that she wore:
The whip was hanging on the wall,
Old Mag was grinding in the stall;



The sight was tempting to the eye,
For there the cart was standing nigh
That Mag around the meadows hauled,
Or to the town, as business called.

"That mare," said one, "deserves her feed-
Believe me, she's no common breed;

Her grit is good : I've seen her dash
Up yonder slope without the lash,
Until her load-a ton of hay-
Went bouncing in beside the bay.
That cart," said he, would hold the crowd--
We 're neither stuck-up, vain, nor proud.
In that concern, old Farmer Gill'
Takes all his corn and wheat to mill;
It must be strong, though rude and rough;
It runs on wheels, and that's enough."

Now, brownies seldom idle stand
When there's a chance for fun on hand.

So plans were laid without delay:
The mare was dragged from oats and hay,
The harness from the peg they drew,
And every one to action flew.
It was a sight one should behold
To see them working, young and old;
Two wrinkled elves, like leather browned,

Whose beards descended near the ground,
Along with youngsters did their best,
With all the ardor of the rest.

While some prepared a rein or trace,
Another slid the bit in place;
More buckled bands with all their might,,
Or drew the crupper good and tight.
When every strap a buckle found,
And every part was safe and sound,
Then round the cart the brownies flew--
The hardest task was yet to do.
It often puzzles bearded men,
Though o'er and o'er performed again.



Some held the shafts to steer them straight,
More did their best to balance weight,
While others showed both strength and art
In backing Mag into the cart.
At length the heavy job was done,
And horse and cart moved off as one.

Now down the road the gentle steed
Was forced to trot at greatest speed.
A merrier crowd than journey there
Was never seen at Dublin Fair.
Some found a seat, while others stood;
Or hung behind as best they could;
While many, strung along, astride,
Upon the mare enjoyed the ride.

The night was dark, the lucky elves
Had all the turnpike to themselves.
No surly keeper barred the way,
For use of road demanding pay,
Nor were they startled by the cry
Of robbers shouting, "Stand or die!"

Across the flat and up the hill
And through the woods to Warren's mill,-
A lengthy ride, ten miles at least,-
Without a rest they drove the beast,
And then were loath enough to rein
Old Mag around for home again.

Nor was the speed, returning, slow:
The mare was more inclined to go,
Because the feed of oats and hay
Unfinished in her manger lay.
So through the yard she wheeled her load,
As briskly as she took the road.
No time remained to then undo
The many straps so tight they drew,

For in the east the reddening sky
Gave warning that the sun was nigh.
The halter rope was quickly wound
About the nearest post they found,
Then off they scampered, left and right,
And disappeared at once from sight.-



When Farmer Gill that morning fair
Came out and viewed his jaded mare,
I may not here in verse repeat
His exclamations all complete.
He gnashed his teeth, and glared around,
And struck his fists, and stamped the ground,
And kicked the dog across the farm,
Because it failed to give alarm.
" I 'd give a stack of hay," he cried,
" To catch the rogue who stole the ride!

I have some neighbors, kind and true,
Who may be trusted through and through,
But as an offset there are some
Whose conscience is both deaf and dumb.
In all the lot who can it be
That had the nerve to make so free ?"
Then mentally he called the roll
To pick the culprit from the whole,
But still awry suspicion flew-
Who stole the ride he never knew.



IT was brand new, that umbrella, and a present
at that. Its cover was of brown silk, and its
handle of ivory, ornamented with an owl's head;
and you might naturally have expected, just as
Priscilla did, that it would be a very well-behaved
and genteel object.
Who gave it is a secret. It was a secret even
from Priscilla and Mrs. Prue; for it came by
express, in a neat case of leather, inscribed in
beautiful gilt letters two inches long with the name
of the little girl for whom it was intended. So there
could be no mistake about the matter.
But who ever heard of an umbrella in a leather
case ? It was very remarkable, but not the most
remarkable thing about it, as you will see.
Priscilla had just politely refused to go to the
bakery when the expressman arrived. I say po-
litely, because this little girl was very proper: she
never screamed ugly words in a loud tone; she
never said "aint" for "is n't," nor "ketch." for
" catch," as do some pretty big little girls I know
of; her answer to her mother had been-nothing
whatever. And after she had'said it, she walked
quickly away, not caring to prolong a conversation
in which she might forget her good manners if she
said more. Then the express arrived. About
fifteen minutes later she walked into her mother's
presence, arrayed in a clean white dress and her
best blue sash, pulling on her gloves. Mrs. Prue
never knew that a half-hour ago Priscilla had no
idea of going on her errand. She was a very
absent-minded, good-natured lady, and never dis-
turbed as long as her daughter was quite attentive
to her behavior and showed no temper.
You-and I know there is no use in having
a fine, new umbrella, nor anything else fine
and new, if other people can't see and admire it

too; and Priscilla, like a well-bred and generous
little girl, took her present in hand, and started
off to gratify all her friends and acquaintances by
the sight of it. She stepped daintily along the
main street of the town, holding it above her head
as a sunshade; her little breast was throbbing with
pleasure at the glances of evident surprise and
admiration she saw every passer give her (but of
which, between you and me, she was more con;
scious than any one else), when a hoarse, mocking
voice cried out over her head: Ha, ha, ha! Oh,
my what a fine miss "
This insult was too much for any one to bear
without a flush of anger, but what followed was
worse, and not to be borne without an indignant
and haughty look darted straight at the offender.
"Does it rain to-day, my dear? Does it, does
it, DOES IT? 'Ho, ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha! What
a sell! "
Pris, in spite of herself, did hastily what was
natural to do, as. I said above; the glance, dread-
ful as it was, fell harmlessly on bricked walls and
bowed window-blinds. But that umbrella had its
own affairs, not quite so harmless, to attend to at
just that moment. The neat little japanned end,
so suddenly lowered and righted, nimbly lifted, and
carried with it the hat of a stout, elderly gentleman
who was puffing by in great haste. With a be-
wildered and terrified countenance, he clapped his
hands to his head and stopped, staring wildly.
Down the street, at this very moment, came
jauntily a frolicksome high wind, and as Priscilla's
grasp, in her consternation and dismay, was un-
certain, it just picked up, as it went by, the um-
brella and the elderly gentleman's hat together,
and on they went in company, rollicking, rolling,
jumping, in the best humor imaginable. For a




moment the elderly gentleman stood holding his
head, persuaded, no doubt, that that would go
next; then, with great determination, he gave
chase. He made sudden darts into the street,
stooped cautiously to pick up what was no longer
under his hand, but, by this time, careering madly
in the gutter, with little hops and skips, as if it had
legs, too, and pretty nimble ones at that. Now he
tried another tactic. By hard running, the elderly
gentleman got before the hat, the umbrella, and
the wind, and laid in ambush at the corner. He
looked so very wise and triumphant, this dear old
fellow, who had not given one unkind glance to
Pris, as he set his feet firmly apart, bent a little,
and held his arms out, ready for a plunge and a
I dare say he would have caught it had it not
been for that wicked umbrella. It took the
opportunity, just as the hat came along, bowling
smoothly on its rim, to fly above the elderly
gentleman's head, settle on it, and shut up. It
is true you could see nothing but his legs, now
that this big extinguisher topped him, but those
were very mad legs, as they quivered convulsively
together, and the hat serenely bowled away on
the other side.
And all this time what was poor little Pris
doing? She could not join in the roar of laughter
that went up from the street. It was her umbrella
which had done all the mischief. She had been
running wildly in pursuit, but how dare she claim
it now? She was afraid the elderly'gentleman
would hand her over to M. P. No. 3,-who had
brought him out of the brown silk flaps with
a prompt and efficient hand,-and M. P. No. 3
would consign her to jail forthwith. She stood
trembling and eying her possession, afraid to go
away, afraid to stand still, when this blue-coated
official turned about, with the umbrella in his
"Is this yours, little girl?" he asked. And
Priscilla was astonished to hear such a terrible
person use such ordinary words with such a kind
voice. Indeed, when he gave it to her, he patted
her on the head with the very hand that he used
for collaring thieves and pickpockets, and she
walked away in such a hurry and tremor that she
forgot to stop and see whether the elderly gentle-
man got his hat, or whether he went on chasing it
to the end of time and the edge of the world.
Now, such a trial as this could not befall
Priscilla Prue without raising some searching
questions and shamefaced answers in her breast.
She was suddenly conscious that, as she had
walked along the broad street a while ago, she had
indulged in many comparisons between herself
and other little girls: how much prettier she was

than Jennie Flatface; how much better behaved
than Tillie Tomboy; how much more polite than
Molly Stuckup; how much better dressed than
Theresa Nopurse. She had passed over in her
mind little gossiping stories about them all,
thinking, with great satisfaction, no one could say
such things of her-as if every one in this wide
world of ours is not at the mercy of the kind or
unkind judgment of his slightest acquaintance !
What humbling, mortifying thoughts crowded
now on Miss Priscilla's mind I shall not take upon
myself to state, but one of these, that rose straight
from out the others, must be written down to
complete this tale. This mysterious gift which
she held in her hand had brought her nothing but
sorrow and shame; such great misfortunes had
never happened to her in her life before; and she
believed -yes, she believed, as the wise old owl's
eyes stared at her with a dull grin-as long as it
staid by her these misfortunes would never cease.
At least, it would remind her forever of this day's
shame and bitter thoughts.
She turned off into a narrow street that by and
by became a lane, and wandered down to the
river, which babbled loudly here, but ran slowly
and silently beyond by the factories.
"You need n't stare with your awful round eyes
at me," whispered Pris angrily to the owl's head,
though she trembled when she said it, lest it
should open its cross-looking beak and reply,
"Nothing is going to save you, no, nothing "
And saying this, and seeing no one around, she
threw the umbrella far out on the stream. I am
sorry to say her little feet, unsteadied by her violent
action, slipped on the treacherous bank where she
stood, and slipped and slipped, faster and faster, as
she clutched at the yielding grass and weeds on her
way. The cold water was at hand, and a sobbing,
frightened cry had gone from out her lips, when a
great arm-it seemed the length of the factory
chimney to Pris-came out of the tanglewood,
clutched her shoulder, and drew her up to dry
land and safety.
Why did n't you holler? asked her preserver,
a long-limbed youth, whose fishing-rod and basket
on the ground told plainly what he was about by
the river. I 'd have stopped you sooner. I just
turned my head about a second, after you gave
that plucky fling, and I did n't know what you
were up to when your hat went sliding out of
He might have added that he had considered
her entire conduct as altogether erratic and mystify-
ing, for there was a jolly twinkle in his eye, but he
listened, instead, with great gravity to Priscilla's
proper if agitated thanks.
Why, you need n't thank me," he returned.


" I could n't see you drown, you know. Hello !
you are not running away?" for Priscilla was be-
ginning to edge off with her head down. There is
the umbrella yet; don't you see it sticking in the
bushes across stream ? Just wait a second-there
is a ford a couple of yards above. I '11 go over and
rescue your gallant companion."
So, very kindly-for he was a great, big young
man of eighteen-encouraging the little girl, who
he saw was struggling to keep back her tears, he
sprang through the bushes. Priscilla peered across
the water: oh, that horrid owl! She was sure, as it
stuck its pert head between the green leaves, it
ogled her with a worse stare than ever. Take
that dreadful thing back again? Pris turned at the
thought and fled, and, I dare say, was half-way
home before the astonished and good-natured
fellow had made his way back to where he had
left her.
Priscilla did not feel very comfortable when she
saw her mother, but, however vain and foolish she
might be, she was never untruthful, and told her
story from beginning to end very faithfully.
"You naughty, naughty child!" said Mrs.
Prue, pathetically aghast. Of all things, to throw
that elegant present away.! You are so queer,
Priscilla. If I thought there was the least use, I 'd

send you back. But you will never have such an-
I hope not! said Pris. I hate owls, and it
was a particelyer awful owl, as wise as Somolon,
and kept saying 'Vanity of vanities,' like the text,
in my head. Did I have a fairy godmother, Mam-
ma? she continued, reflectively.
"Did you have a fairy godmother cried Mrs.
Prue, and then she laughed. Well, well, per-
haps you did, you funny child."
Then," said Pris to herself, I believe that
was an enchanted umbrella."
And she, therefore, was properly afraid of it.
The next morning, as, with a heart much light-
ened, Priscilla came down the stairs, that un-
impressible expressman solemnly handed in a
package at Mrs. Prue's front door. He said not a
word, but immediately departed.
Another umbrella! cried Pris with a tremble,
but it was n't. It was n't another-it was the
same one. And who but the fairy godmother could
have sent it back, or what mysterious change had
taken place in its nature so that Miss Pris had
never a vainglorious thought peeping into her
mind while that sheltered her head but it suddenly
shut up and quenched it, is more than Mrs. Prue,
or Priscilla, or I could ever make out.




AFTER the Italian painters, the Flemish artists
were next in importance. Perhaps they might as
well have been called Belgian artists,- for Flan-
ders was a part of Belgium,- but as the chief
schools of the early Belgian painters were in the
Flemish provinces of Belgium, the terms Flemish
art" and "Flemish painters were adopted, and
the last was applied to Belgian artists even when
they were not natives of Flanders.
The chief interest connected with the beginning
of the Flemish school is in the fact that one of its
earliest masters introduced the use of oil colors. On
account of this great advance in the mechanical
part of painting, there went out from this school an
influence the benefits of which can not be overesti-
mated. This influence affected the schools of the
world, and though painting had reached a high
point in Italy before the first steps in it were taken

in Flanders, yet this discovery of the benefit of oil
colors laid the broadest foundation for the fame
and greatness of the Venetian and other Italian
painters who profited by it.


THIS artist was the eldest of a family of painters.
He was born in the small market town of Maaseyck
about 1366, after which time his family removed to
Ghent. He was not made a member of the Guild
of Painters in Ghent until 1412, and we can give
no satisfactory account of his life previous to that
event, which occurred when he was forty-six years

From general facts which have been brought to-
gether from one source and another, it is believed
that he attended to the education of his brother
Jan, his sister Margaret, and his younger brother




Lambert, all of whom were painters. He devoted
his best care to Jan, who was twenty years younger
than himself. The elder brother instructed the
younger in drawing, painting, and chemistry, for in
the early days of painting this last study was thought
to be necessary for an artist who used colors.
There has been much learned discussion as to
which of the Van Eycks really introduced the use

But three works still exist which are attributed
to Hubert van Eyck. The most important of these,
and that upon which his fame rests, is a large altar-
piece, which consisted of twelve separate panels.
This great work was done for Judocus Vydt, and
the portraits of himself and his wife make a part of
the altar-piece. As it was originally arranged, it
had a center-piece and double folding-doors on


of colors mixed with oil. The most reasonable
conclusion is that Hubert used these colors, and
gave his thought and study to the subject of find-
ing better tints than had been used before; but
it naturally remained for Jan to carry his brother's
work to greater perfection, and he thus came to
be generally known as the inventor or discoverer of
the improved method.

each side of it; and when it was open, all the
twelve panels could be seen.
This great collection of pictures, which was in-
tended for the Cathedral of St. Bavon, at Ghent, was
not finished when Hubert died, in 1426, and was
completed by Jan, in 1432. It was so much valued
that it was shown only on festival days, but after
a time it was divided, and but two central panels




now remain in St. Bavon; other portions of it are
in the museums of Brussels and Berlin.
Philip II., of Spain, was anxious to buy this
altar-piece, and when that could not be done, he
had a copy made by Michael Coxcien. That
painter devoted two years to the task, and was
paid four thousand florins for his work. This copy
is also in separate galleries, three large figures
being in the Pinakothek at Munich.
It seems very strange that so few pictures can be
said to have been painted by Hubert van Eyck, for
he lived to old age and must have finished many
works; but such troublous times came to Belgium,
and so many towns were sacked, that vast numbers
of art treasures were lost and destroyed, and no
doubt the pictures of Hubert van Eyck perished in
this way.
No work of its time was better than the Ghent
altar-piece: its composition and color were of the
best then known; the figures were painted in a
broad, grand style; the landscapes were admirable,
and the whole was finished with the careful delicacy
of a master in painting.


THIS artist brought the discoveries of his brother
to greater perfection, and became a very famous
man. It appears that the use of oils had been known
to painters for a long time, in one way and another,
and a dark, resinous varnish had been in use. But
the Van Eycks found a way to purify the varnish and
make it clear and colorless; they also mixed their
colors with oil, instead of the gums and other sub-
stances which had been employed. By these
means they made their pictures much richer and
clearer in color than those of other painters.
Antonello da Messina, an Italian painter, hap-
pened to see a picture by Jan van Eyck, which
had been sent to Naples. He immediately deter-
mined to go to Flanders to try to learn the secret
of the color used in this painting. He became the
pupil of Jan van Eyck, and remained near him
as long as he lived. On his master's death, Anto-
nello went to Messina, but shortly after settled in
Venice, where he became very popular as a por-
trait-painter. The nobility flocked to him for their
portraits, and everywhere his beautiful color was
praised. At first, his whole manner showed the
effect of his association with Jan van Eyck; but
soon his Italian nature wrought a change in his
style of painting, though his color remained the
It is said that Antonello told his secret to no one
except Domenico Veneziano, his favorite pupil,
who went to Florence to live, and thus made the

fame of the new mode of color known in that city.
It is also said that Giovanni Bellini went to An-
tonello in disguise and sat for his portrait, and thus
had the opportunity to watch his process and learn
how he prepared his paints. But a far more
reasonable story is told by the art-writer Lanzi,
who says that the rulers of Venice gave Antonello
a pension, in consideration of which he made his
process known to all artists.
Thus you see that I had good reason for saying
that the Van Eycks laid a broad foundation.for the
great fame of those Italians who excelled in color.
These early Flemish masters first used the oil
colors. Antonello learned their use from Jan
van Eyck; then going to Venice, Antonello influ-
enced the Bellini, and from them the next step
brought out the perfect coloring of Giorgione and
Titian, for the latter was a young man at the
time of Antonello's death. It is curiously interest-
ing thus to trace the effect of the study of Hubert
van Eyck upon an art of which he knew almost
nothing, and which differed so much from his
Let us now return to Jan van Eyck. He had
a more prosperous life than his brother Hubert, for
he became the favorite of royal patrons, and was
rapidly advanced in fame and riches. He was not
only a court artist, but an embassador; on several
occasions he executed secret missions to the satis-
faction of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, in
whose service he was thus employed. In 1428, his
patron sent him to Portugal to paint the portrait
of the Princess Isabella, whom the Duke proposed
to marry for his third wife. After the portrait was
completed, the painter made a pleasure trip
through Portugal and a part of Spain; he visited
the Alhambra, and received flattering attentions
wherever he paused in his journey.
SMeantime, the portrait had been sent to Bruges
for the inspection of the Duke; the messengers
returned with an assent to the marriage, which
took place by proxy, in July, and was followed by
gayeties and feastings until September, when the
bride, with her brothers, embarked for Belgium.
A fearful storm tossed the fourteen vessels of the
fleet here and there, and finally the Princess was
landed in England, and did not reach Bruges until
Christmas Day. Then the marriage was cele-
brated with great pomp, and Jan van Eyck was
paid a handsome sum for his services in bringing
about this happy result.
Duke Philip was fond of Jan van Eyck, and
was in the habit of visiting his studio and treating
him as an equal; he was also very liberal in his
gifts to the painter.
The works of Jan van Eyck are to be seen in the
museums of Europe. His portraits are admirable,




and his fondness for this kind of painting caused
him, almost unconsciously, to give the figures in
his subject-pictures the appearance of portraits.
He painted well draperies and all sorts of stuffs;
he loved to introduce landscapes as the background
of historical pictures, and he is known to have
painted one landscape with no other subject intro-
duced. One picture by Jan van Eyck, which is in
the National Gallery, London, is said to have been
bought by the Princess Mary, sister of Charles V.,
and Governess of the Netherlands. She gave to
the barber who had owned it, as the price of this
work, a position worth one hundred gulden a year.
However, I must tell you that, important as
these early Flemish pictures are in the history of
Art, I do not think that they would please your
taste as well as the works of the Italian masters
of whom I have already written in this series of
papers. The Flemish artists were far more realistic
than the early Italian painters; they tried to paint
objects just as they saw them, without throwing
the grace of beautiful imaginations about their
subjects; they lacked ideality, which is a necessity
to an artist, as it is to a poet, and for this reason
there was a stiffness and hardness in their pictures
which we do not find in the works of Raphael or


IN time the Flemish painters grew more individ-
ual, and there was a greater variety in their works.
Some of them traveled in foreign countries, and
thus learned to modify their manner in a measure,
though their nationality was always shown in their
pictures. At length a powerful artist appeared in
Quintin Massys, or Matsys, who may be called the
founder of the Antwerp school of painters; he
was the greatest Belgian master of his time.
Quintin was born at Antwerp about 1460, and
was descended from a family of painters. How-
ever, in youth he chose the trade of a blacksmith,
and works in wrought-iron are shown, in Antwerp
and Louvain, which are said to have been made
by him. When about twenty years old, he fell in
love with the young daughter of an artist. He
asked her father's permission to marry her, but
was refused on account of his trade, the father
declaring that the daughter should marry no one
but a painter.
Quintin forthwith forsook the anvil, and devoted
himself to the palette and brush. We can not trace
all his course, nor tell exactly by what method he
proceeded; but it is certain that he became a great
painter. He died, in 1529, in the Carthusian Con-
vent at Antwerp, and was buried in the convent
cemetery. A century later, Cornelius van der Gust

removed his remains, and reburied them in front
of the Cathedral. One part of the inscription
which commemorates his life and work declares
that "Love converted the Smith into an Apelles."
Massy's greatest work was an altar-piece in three
parts, which is now in the Museum of Antwerp.
His manner of representing sacred subjects shows
a tender earnestness which recalls the deep religious
feeling of earlier painters. In his representations
of the common occurrences of life he was very
happy: lovers, frightful old women, misers, and
money-changers grew under his brush with great
truthfulness. His own portrait and that of his
second wife are in the Uffizi Gallery at Florence.
One of his most celebrated pictures is The
Miser," at Windsor Castle. The works of Massys
are seen in all the principal galleries of Europe,
and those that are well worthy of notice number
about seventy.
This painter may be said to have been the last
artist of the period which preceded him and the
first of that which followed; for from his time the
Antwerp school rapidly grew in importance. Mas-
sys was followed by the Breughels, who painted
scenes from every-day life with startling reality;
by the Pourbuses, whose portraits, after the lapse
of three centuries, are still famous; by Paul Bril
and his charming landscapes; by many other im-
portant painters, whose pictures are among the
art treasures of the world, and, at last, by


THIS man, who was a learned scholar and an ac-
complished diplomat, as well as a great painter,
was born at Siegen in 1577. His father was one
of the two principal magistrates of the city of Ant-
werp, and his mother, whose name was Mary Py-
peling, belonged to a distinguished family. When
the artist was born, his family had been forced to
leave Antwerp on account of a civil war which was
then raging; his birthday, the 29th of June, was
the feast of Saints Peter and Paul, and from this
circumstance he was christened with the names of
the two great Apostles.
Rubens was a scholar from his early days, and
his talent for drawing soon decided him to be a
painter. He studied his art first in the school of
Adam van Noort, where he was thoroughly trained
in the first rudiments of painting; later he was
four years in the studio of Otho Vaenius, whose cul-
tivated mind and taste were of great advantage to
the young man.
After the death of his father, Rubens's mother
returned to Antwerp, and in 1598 he was admitted
a member of the Guild of Painters of that city. In

* About forty dollars.



1600, he went to Italy, and after studying the mas-
terpieces of Titian, and other Venetian painters, he
proceeded to Mantua; here he was appointed
'Gentleman of the Bed-chamber by the Duke Vin-
cenzio Gonzaga, to whom the Archduke Albert,
the Governor of the Netherlands, had given him
letters of recommendation.
Rubens remained two years at the court of
Mantua. He then visited Venice a second time,
and.after his return to Mantua executed some pict-
ures which so pleased the Duke that he sent him
to Rome, to make copies of some of the most
famous works in the Eternal City.
In 1605, the Duke of Mantua recalled Rubens
from Rome, and soon sent him to Spain on an im-
portant political mission. Here the young artist
-showed himself worthy of the trust reposed in him,
and proved himself a skillful diplomatist; his unus-
ual personal charms predisposed all whom he met
in his favor.
After his return from Spain, Rubens went again
to Rome, where he had a commission to decorate
the tribune of the Church of Santa Maria, in Vali-
'cella. From Rome he proceeded to Genoa, and
there found more occupation, for his fame had
already reached that city. It seems a wonder that
a Flemish artist should have been thus honored in
Italy, and even in Rome, where so many grand and
matchless works of art existed.
When Rubens had been absent from Antwerp
*seven years, he heard of the illness of his mother and
hastened home, but too late to find her living. Soon
after, in 1609, he married Isabella Brant, and built
himself a house and studio; it was here that he
made a-large andvaluable collection of objects of art
of various kinds; a portion of it only was sold after
his death, at private sale, for more than 20o,ooo
sterling ($1oo,ooo). His wife lived but seventeen
years, and during this period Rubens executed a
large part of the masterpieces which have made his
fame world-wide, and. which now hold honorable
places in the finest galleries of Europe.
During the years spoken of above, Rubens had
many pupils, and his studio was a hive of industry;
in.order to keep up his mental training, and not
allow his constant occupation to lessen his intel-
lectual vigor, he was accustomed to have some one
read aloud to him while he painted. Books of
poetry and history were the most pleasing to his
-taste, and as he could read and speak seven lan-
guages, he.was acquainted with both ancient and
modern authors. Doubtless these readings, and
the knowledge of the affairs of the world which he
gained from them, had much to do with making
Rubens the accomplished embassador which he
came to be.
In 1620, Marie de Medicis sent for Rubens to

come to her in Paris; she there commissioned him
to represent the history of her life in a series of
twenty-one pictures. The pictures which, with the
aid of his pupils, he made for the Queen of Henry
IV. are now in the gallery of the Louvre. They
may be described as mythological portraiture, since
many of the faces in them are portraits, while the
subjects represented are mythological.
In 1628, Rubens was sent to Spain on a second
political mission, and while there he executed many
important works. Upon his return to Flanders he
was made special embassador to England, with
the object of effecting a peace between that coun-
try and his own. This he was successful in ac-
complishing, and became the friend of Charles I.,
*who knighted him, as did also the King of Spain.
In 1630, Rubens was married to his second wife,
Helen Fourment, a niece of his first wife, who had
died four years before. Helen was but sixteen
years old at the time of her marriage, and the .art-
ist was fifty-three; she bore him five children, and
after his death was again married. Rubens made
so many portraits of both his wives, and so often
introduced them into his religious and historical
pictures, that their forms and faces are familiar to
all the world.
After his successful mission to England, Rubens
was treated with great consideration in Flanders,
Indeed, his position had been all that he could
desire for many years; his society was courted by
scholars, nobles, and sovereigns, even by beauti-
ful women and brave men. He lived in luxury,
and constantly added to his collection of art objects,
of which we have spoken. He now suffered much
from gout, and was obliged to confine his labors to
easel pictures.
Rubens died in 1640, and was buried in his pri-
vate chapel in the Church of St. James. This
chapel.contains one of his most famous pictures,
in which he is represented as St.. George, his wives
being Saints Martha and Magdalen; on one side
is his niece, and. in the midst his father, as St.
Jerome, while the figure representing Time is a
portrait of his grandfather. Rubens painted this
picture especially for the family chapel. .Above
the altar there is a statue of the Virgin Mary,
which the painter himself brought from Italy.
As a painter there seems to be but one adjective
descriptive of Rubens: magnificent alone expresses
the effect of his color. His system of leveling his
subject to his style was unapproachable, though it
mustbe confessed that he sometimes condescended
to be gross or vulgar. In painting, his genius was
certainly universal. The works ascribed to him
number about eighteen hundred, and include his-
torical, scriptural, and mythological subjects, por-
traits, animals, landscapes, and every-day life. Of




<*,1;'S--'"' *.jd
'1 fil?

, -1-.:. .-
.~C J
-~" c ,



VOL. X.-I8.



course, in the execution of such a number of pict-
ures he must have been aided by his pupils, but
there is something characteristic of himself in all
of them.
In his style he is a strange and delightful com-
bination of northern and southern art. His man-
ner of painting and his arrangement of his subject
are Italian; his figures, even when they repre-
sent Christ and the most holy men, are in reality
German peasants, __ __.
Spanish kings, or 5
somebody else r t
whom he has seen.
He mingles in odd
combination earth- 111 ..
ly princes, antique | :
mythical person- | iiii .. 1 "'11
ages, ancient gods, .;.;; '
and the members '
of the family of ''.
Marie de Medicis, '
and dresses them ,
all in the latest ,
fashion of his time, I
and in the most
becoming colors! v 'l\
And is not this very I'
mixture magnifi-
cently strange ?
However, if one i "
would enjoy to the
utmost many of the
works of Rubens,
he should forget
thenamesby which
they are called, and
regard each figure
as a separate por-
trait. Then his
power is felt. Above
all, in the picture
which hangs above
his tomb, forget
that it represents
any subject and ---
look only for the THE BOY RUBEN
portraits of his two
wives. How charming they are the one so brill-
iant and energetic, the other so shy and thought-
ful -each magnificent in her own way. But if you
regard it as an "Adoration of the Virgin," as it is
called, it will seem as if the spirits of Fra Angelica
and other holy painters stood around you, helping
you to.remember.how the brush that is guided by
faith and prayer can depict spiritual and holy
subjects, and aiding you to distinguish between
the work of Rubens and that of a purer type.

When one begins to.speak of this artist, there is
much that may be said, but I have suggested his
chief characteristics and have space for no more.
His "Descent from the Cross," in the Antwerp
Cathedral, is considered as his greatest work. The
Company of Archers gave the order for this picture
in 16 1, and it was completed and put in its place
three years later. The masterly composition and
the elevated expression of the heads, joined to its
.breadth of execu-
tion and excellence
of finish, make it
a wonderful work.
Perhaps his most
charming pictures
S I are his representa-
li tions of children;
Sit must be that he
painted them be-
S cause he loved to
Sdo it. Many peo-
S 1 ple regard his por-
traits as his best
works; certainly
t hey are beyond
praise, and very
numerous. A por-
S trait of Helen Four-
Sment walking with
Ii a page,-the fa-
SI mous "Chapeau
mi de Paille,"- the
.. two sons of Ru-
bens, and the so-
Scalled "Four Phi-
losophers," in the
Pitti Gallery, are
among the most
His landscapes
were fine, even
when intended only
for backgrounds,
and his representa-
tions of animals
S AT HIS WORK. Were by no means
less excellent than
those of many fine artists who devoted all their tal-
ent and study to those subjects alone. Thus it will
be seen that it is not too much to say that his genius
in painting was universal, and when we remember
his other attainments and accomplishments, we
can but admire this great Flemish artist, and feel
that of him, as of Goldsmith's famous School-
master, it might be said:
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew
That one small head could carry all he knew."


JERRY. 275





,..~ R



" BUY a paper, plaze! She is frozen, a'most.
Here 's Commercial and News, and Mail,
And here 's the Express and the Avening Post!
And very one has a terrible tale,-
A shipwrick,-a murther,-a fire-alarm,-
Whichiver ye loike;-have a paper, marm?
Thin buy it, plaze, av this bit av a gurrul-
She's new in the business and all av a whirrul;
We must lind her a hand," said little Jerry:
There's a plinty av trade at the Fulton Ferry.

"She's wakely for nade av the tay and the toast -
The price uv a paper-plaze, sir, buy a Post?
Thrue as me name it is Jeremiah,
There 's a foine report av a dridful fire,-

And a child that 's lost,-and a smash av a
Indade, sir, the paper 's just groanin' wid pain!
Spake up, little gurrul, and don't be afraid!
I 'm schraichin' for two till I start yez in trade.
While I yell, you can sell," said little Jerry,
Screeching for two at Fulton Ferry.

The night was bleak, and the wind was high,
And a hurrying crowd went shivering by;
And some bought papers, and some bought none,
But the boy's shrill voice rang cheerily on:
" Buy a Post, or a News, or a Mail, as you choose,
For my arm just aches wid the weight av the

I-IH, you pussy willow Pretty little thing,
comingg with the sunshine of the early spring!
r.ll me, tell me, pussy, for I want to know,
'.'-here it is you come from, how it is you grow?

Now, my little girlie, if you 'll look at me
And my little sisters, I am sure you '11 see
Tiny, tiny houses, out of which we peep
V, hen we first are waking from our winter's
This is where we come from. How it is we
i will try, my girlie, now to let you know:
A; the days grow milder, out we put our heads,
Sind we lightly move us in our little beds -
Fand the world so lovely, as we look about,
That we each day move a little farther out;
And when warmer breezes of the spring-time
Then we little pussies all to catkins grow.



[ -- -


Express? Not a single one left for to-night,-
But buy one av this little gurrul, sir,-all right.
She 's a regular seller here at the ferry,
And I rickomind her high," said Jerry.

In the whirl of the throng there paused a man.
" The bell is ringing-I can not wait;
Here, girl, a Commercial as quick as you can!
The boat is starting-don't make me late!,"
And on through the hurrying crowd he ran,
The wee girl following close behind,
After the penny he could not find;
While, with a spring through the closing gate,
After her money bounded Jerry,
Ragged and panting, at Fulton Ferry.

" One cent from the man in the big fur coat!
Give me the change, or I 'll stop the boat."
Up from the deck a laugh and a cheer.
It changed to a shuddering cry of fear
As he bent his head for the fearful spring,
And then,-like a wild bird on the wing,-
Over the whirling waters swung,
Touched the boat with his hands, and clung,
Gasping and white, to the rail, and cried:
" Where is that mean old man, who tried
To steal one cent from a girl at the ferry-
A poor little girl, with no friend but Jerry?"

Over the side went a hundred hands,
From a hundred mouths rang forth commands:
" Pull him in!" "Stop the boat!" "Take his
stock!" "Let us buy
All the papers he has !" "Send him home to
get dry "
No, indade," said the boy-" that 's not w'at
I meant;
I doaht want yer money: I want that one cent
From the man in the warr'm fur coat an' hat,
Who could shteel a cent from a gurrul like that!

Af iver he thries that game agin,
He 'd better take me, and not Margery Flynn! "
Then cheer on cheer for little Jerry
Rang across the Fulton Ferry.

Long ago, my youthful readers,
Happened this that I have told;
Long ago that- sturdy newsboy
All his daily papers sold.
And the pluck that dared a ducking
To set right a weak one's wrong,
Served him well in every struggle;
And his life, both kind and strong,

Is a blessing and a comfort
To a world of needy boys
Who, like him, must work in play-time
With boot-brushes for their toys.
But around the Fulton Ferry,
Still the newsboys talk of Jerry.



"AND what shall I bring you home, Dorry? "said
Ned Blair, who, with Clarence Jackson, his ship-
mate that was to be, was making a good-bye call
on Doris Lee, their mutual girl-friend and school-
"Just what I was going to ask," eagerly put in
Clarence, though, to tell the truth, Ned's question
had but that moment suggested his own. There

had always been the least suspicion of rivalry
between the two boys, and I think each secretly
desired the uppermost place in pretty Doris's
friendship. Both boys were to sail on the follow-
ing morning, for their initial voyage, in the ship
"City of New York," Blokstrop, master; hence the
farewell call, and the mutual inward disgust of
each at finding the other present.




Now, Doris, who was a bit imaginative, had been
reading, for the first time, Coleridge's "Ancient
Mariner "; and it suddenly occurred to her that a
fan made of albatross feathers would be too sweet
for anything, and charmingly appropriate for the
hot days, when she might swing in her hammock
under the veranda, with Ye Rime of ye Ancient
Mariner for light reading.
I need hardly say that, as she thus expressed
herself, both boys simultaneously declared their
intention of doing their utmost that her wish might
be gratified.
"I shall surely bring you an albatross's wing,
Doris," Ned had said at parting.
"I'll bring you a pair of albatrosses in a cage,"
enthusiastically exclaimed Clarence, who was not
quite familiar with natural history. And then Doris
had said good-bye, with a kindly wish for each.
Well, at the time when my story really begins,
the ship was in the latitude of Cape Horn.
Neither boy had said "albatross" to the other
since the voyage began; yet each had kept a sharp
lookout astern, as day after day the good ship
went speeding southward. Gonies there were,
dusky "mole-mokes," Mother Cary's chickens,
cape hens, and cape pigeons-most beautiful of
sea-birds-in screaming abundance; but, as yet,
the lone albatross for which they so anxiously
watched was nowhere visible.
Ned and Clarence, as is customary in the better
class of American ships, occupied the "boys'
room "- a little, closet-like den in the after-end of
the forward house.
It was the afternoon dog-watch, and Clarence
lay in his berth, listlessly watching through the
open doorhow the western sky was torn into strange
shreddings of wonderful greens and golds, the
whole tinged with a dull red glow from the setting
sun. '
Suddenly, Ned entered rather abruptly. Throw-
ing back his chest-lid, he began tossing his sea-
clothes aside, in evident search of some missing
"Have you seen anything of my fishing-line,
Clarence ? he asked eagerly, after a second hasty
overhauling-and Clarence knew in a moment
that fishing-line signified albatross.
"I have n't got it," he answered hastily, and at
the same time springing from his berth, Clarence
made a dive into his own sea-chest, and, fishing-
line in hand, rushed to the galley for a bit of salt
pork to use as bait for the beautiful bird which a
hurried glance showed him was following in the
ship's wake.
Further search on Ned's part proved'vain. He
had seen the line in his chest only the day before,
and felt a vague suspicion that Clarence could, if

he chose, tell something about its sudden dis-
appearance. But of this, of course, he had no
proof, and, rather moodily, Ned returned on deck.
Clarence, in a high state of excitement, was lean-
ing over the lee side, at the break of the quarter.
"I 've got him!" he shouted. "Lend me a
hand, some of you fellows !" But the sailors-
with whom Clarence was not a favorite--seemed
to have no hands to lend, just then. Ned thrust
his deep in his trousers' pockets, and turned away.
Two or three others looked grimly on, but offered
no aid, even when it seemed a little uncertain
which was pulling the harder -Clarence or his
captive. But, by catching a turn around a pin as
he shortened in the line, fathom by fathom,
Clarence succeeded in drawing the bird nearer
and nearer. Vainly it struggled and shrieked,
and beat the water with its powerful white wings;
its capture seemed certain.
It was at this moment that Captain Blokstrop,
having finished his supper, came on deck. One
comprehensive glance, which took in the ship's
course, the set of her sails, and the cloud-streaked
horizon, also took in the uncomfortable situation
of the albatross.
Now, Captain Blokstrop, who was one of the old-
time ship-masters, had a tinge of the sailor super-
stition which looks upon the wanton destruction
of a Mother Cary's chicken or an albatross as a
portent of evil. Furthermore, Clarence was no
favorite with him, by reason of what the captain
called his shif'less, so'gering ways," for Clarence
Jackson had not come to sea with the idea of
becoming a sailor, but only to "have a good time
and see life generally," as he expressed it.
"A fowl at one end and a fool at the other,"
muttered Captain Blokstrop, in unconscious para-
phrase. Walking softly to the lee rail as he
spoke, he reached quietly over, and with opened
knife cut the tautened line just as Clarence was
bracing himself for a desperate pull! Well, the
natural consequence ensued. The bird went one
way, Clarence another! His head struck the
deck with a thump, while the soles of his sea-
boots were turned upward toward the darkening
sky. The sailors laughed under their breath, Ned
could not repress a smile, and something like a
subdued chuckle was heard by the man at the
wheel to issue from Captain Blokstrop's throat, as
he went below to look at the barometer.
That night, in the middle watch, it began to
blow. And when it sets out to do anything of the
kind around Cape Horn, it goes at it in good ear-
nest. But though a gale, it was directly astern,
and the "City of New York" was new, her sails
and rigging strong. So, after the good ship had
been put under proper canvas for "scudding,"



Captain Blokstrop, in a bright red Havre shirt,
eruptive with large pearl buttons, stood hanging
to the weather mizzen-shrouds, nodding his ap-
proval of the way his ship and things generally
were going, while the organ peal of the gale thun-
dered and shrieked through the straining rigging,
and a lone albatross, with a few yards of line hang-
ing from his beak, followed on in the ship's wake.
Now, when the wind is doing its best to make sixty
miles an hour, and the sea to run fifty odd feet
high, there are more comfortable places than the
main deck of a long, sharp-nosed, narrow-beam
ship, particularly when she is logging something
like thirteen knots.
The "City of New York" was scooping in tons
upon tons of water, first over one rail, then the
other, as she swept on over the tempest-tossed sea,
the surges of which were dirimly visible by the glim-
mer of a waning moon through the drifting scud
overhead. The forecastle was afloat, the boys'
room knee-deep in water, while the after-cabin was
being "bailed out" by Wan Lung, the Chinese
steward, who staggered to and fro with a mop and
bucket, muttering to himself in broken Chinese.
Four bells rang out through the din of the storm,
conveying to Ned the cheerful prospect of a two
hours' lookout in the slings of the fore-yard, for no
one could live on the top-gallant forecastle. Both
boys were clinging to the weather pin-rail, and, at
the summons, Ned attempted to swing himself by
Clarence, who had not spoken to him since his
downfall. How it really happened Ned is not
sure, but, as the ship gave a roll to the leeward,
Clarence was thrown heavily against him, and a
great sea, boarding the vessel just under the main-
yard, swept poor Ned far out, over the rail, into the
seething water. Providentially, he had, shortly
before, thrown aside his drenched oil-clothes and
water-soaked sea-boots as uncomfortable superflu-
ities. He got his head' above water, dimly conscious
of seeing the ship disappear in a cloud of dark-
ness, and felt himself flung like a cork to the sum-
mits of great waves. He had no time to think,-
fear swallowed up every other sensation,- for lo,
as he struck out mechanically, something swooped
down at him like a great white sea wraith! And
let me tell you that a bird whose wings measure
ten feet from tip to tip, whose bill is about six
inches long, and whose red-rimmed eyes give it
the appearance of an intoxicated demon of the
marine species, is not a cheerful sight under the
unpleasant circumstances in which Ned was placed.
The albatross struck at the swimming boy with
clashing beak. Ned involuntarily ducked his head,
and then, with perhaps a suggestion of the instinct
leading drowning men to clutch at a straw, grasped
wildly at the great bird's leg at the same moment.

Ned has since told me that he thinks he was a
little crazed from the blows dealt him by the great
pinions of the struggling bird. He dimly remem-
bers grappling with it, after that, with a vague
fancy that somehow he was Christian struggling
with Apollyon, which changed to a sudden remem-
brance of a tussle that he once had in extreme
youth with a vicious old turkey-gobbler !
But he clung to the albatross, and when, half an
hour later, the City of New York's" life-boat,
steered by the second mate, reached him, boy and
bird were pulled on board together, for Ned's arm
was not only thrown over and about the alba-
tross's neck, but his fingers were fairly stiffened
about its windpipe. He knew nothing of the
awful pull back to the ship, which lay hove to,
burning a blue light, a mile to the windward-not
he. Poor Ned lay face down in the boat's bottom,
insensible, the salt water running from his mouth
in a small stream.. However, the, albatross, which
had undoubtedly saved his life, was more than
insensible-it was dead; and when Ned staggered
rather feebly on deck next morning, if you will
believe me, Clarence was in the act of cutting off
one of the wings for his very own !
"My line is in his mouth yet,". remarked the
ingenuous youth, with an agreeable smile, "and
so you see, old fellow, that gives me a sort of claim
to him, like a ship's iron does to a whale !"
Your line, eh?" replied Ned, quietly; and, to
Clarence's manifest confusion, Ned composedly
pointed out to his room-mate a fine white thread
running through its strands. They had both been
bought from the same lot, and Ned had said at the
time that this was the only difference between them.
It is not unnatural to presume that Clarence had
abstracted Ned's from his chest and placed it in
his own, and in his hurry taken the wrong one.
Indeed, he afterward hinted that it was done only
"in fun."
But Ned was not magnanimous enough to share
the wings with him-and I am not sure that I
blame him either, under all the circumstances.
And as they took no other albatross, Miss Doris is
indebted to Ned for the feather fan which he had
made from the wings, and which he sent to her
from Melbourne, together with an account of his
adventure, cut from the Melbourne Herald. And
so, when I see her with it, I wonder if its cooling
breath has not in it, not only suggestions of the
salt sea, but also of the modern as well as the
ancient mariner; for her boy friend is advancing
rapidly in his chosen profession, and will no doubt
some day be master of as fine a ship as the "City
of New York."
But Clarence has left the sea in disgust. It
does n't agree with him," he says.






HE spreads his wings like banners to the breeze,
He cleaves the air, afloat on pinions wide;
Leagues upon leagues, across the lonely seas,
He sweeps above the vast, uneasy tide.

For days together through the trackless skies,
Steadfast, without a quiver of his plumes,
Without a moment's pause for rest, he flies
Through dazzling sunshine and through cloudy

Down the green gulfs he glides, or skims the
Searching for booty with an eager eye,
Hovering aloft where the long breakers comb
O'er wrecks forlorn, that topple helplessly.

He loves the tempest; he is glad to see
The roaring gale to heaven the billows toss,
For strong to battle with the storm is he,
The mystic bird, the wandering albatross

This fine bird is possessed of wondrous powers of wing, sailing along for days together without requiring rest, hardly ever flapping
its wings, merely swaying itself leisurely from side to side with extended pinions."-W ood's Natural History.
"How they propel themselves in the air is difficult to understand; for they scarcely ever flap their wings, but sail gracefully along, sway-
ing from side to side, sometimes skimming the water so closely that the point of one wing dips into it, then rising up like a boomerang into
the air, then descending again and flying with the wind or against it with equal facility."-Rambles of a Naturalist. (Cutilert Collingwood.)




I AM half a Dutch boy. Grandfather is all Dutch,
for he was born away' over the sea in Hamburg;
and so, though my name is Thomas Jefferson
Adams, after Papa, I am considerably Dutch, for I
look just like Grandfather Kayser. He lives with
us, and I can't bear to think of his ever moving
back to Hamburg. He makes me all sorts of
things, tells me stories, and takes my part when the
rest of the folks are down on me.
One rainy Saturday, Mamma said I must stay in
the house, because my throat was sore, and as I do
not take to any quiet work, and she does not like
noise, I had a lonely time. In the afternoon my
throat grew worse, and I got bluer and bluer, till
I suppose I looked very doleful.
What is the matter? said Grandfather, as he
came in.
I was thinking," said I, that if I 'm not well
by Monday, I shall get behind the rest of the boys,

and'that, if my throat gets much worse, I may
die," and then I looked very serious.
"You have an inflooinza." (Grandfather meant
influenza, but you see he is Dutch.) By to-mor-
row you will be much better," he added; "but it
seems to me, my boy, you are threatened by a
much worse disease."
What, Grandfather? said. I, so. scared I was
still, and then I saw the look in his eyes that is
always in them when he is down on me, and I was
He did not answer, but folded up his newspaper
and invited me to go up to his room, which is a
perfectly splendid place, full of books and pictures
he brought from Hamburg. There is a big carved
chest, in which he keeps his clothes, that is very
curious, and a little sofa, as hard as a brick, on
which he loves to lie. As soon as we got upstairs
he took down a large, red book, with silver clasps,


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~t a *pa-n of'doo) v^ner ,g-^
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\4 =_CoLt US brvqT coultnt f ,i"



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lat 1iS buyp5 coulb be toL6 fP-a
Yet be abae-tte worlb 5taPr
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iytbe \wolerfult wvit there wa

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*:"Y~ Yri.


which is full of writing. I do believe Grandfather
made up everything in it out of his own head-he
is 'cute enough to do anything. And after he had
fixed me on that little sofa, he read to me the fol-
lowing story. Afterward, he let me copy it, word
for word, out of the red book, because I never
could have remembered it all as nice and smooth
as it was written, and because-well, you will find
out the second reason later.

Once upon a time, in the land of Somewhere,
in a great castle, there lived a family by the name of
Supposing. There was Sir Timothy Supposing, and
his wife, Lady Supposing, and their only son, Tobias
Eliakim Supposing.
The day after Sir Timothy was twenty-one,-his
birthday was also his wedding-day,-he went to bed,
and refused ever to get up. I have contemplated
this step a long time," he said. The floors in
the castle are draughty, and if I go out-of-doors
I may be caught in the rain or get my feet wet;
so that, wherever I may be, I am in constant
danger of catching cold. Then, too, if I go out
in. the carriage, the horses may run away, or an
axle may break, and if I go on Jeremiah's back,
he may plunge or rear or kick, or lie down and
roll over. I don't care if he is fifteen years old:
an old horse is up to all sorts of tricks a colt does
not think of. Life is uncertain enough in bed.
With oleomargerine in the butter, and glucose in
the sugar, and willow leaves and copperas in the
tea, and bad ventilation, and gas from the furnace,
I am in great danger even here."
His big bed was provided with all sorts of foot-
warmers, and campers to hold the clothes down,
and every day his valet, January, rubbed Sir
Timothy with his soft, fat hands, to stimulate his
circulation and keep his liver from growing torpid.
As Sir Timothy was very much afraid of being
poisoned by bad air, and also of catching cold,
men with all sorts of patent ventilators and fur-
naces to sell came to the castle every day, the pro-
cession often reaching as far as the eye could see,
and Sir Timothy had every one tried, so anxious
was he to secure one to his mind.
Lady Supposing was naturally of a happy dis-
position. Sometimes, when there had been an
unusual number of patent things to try, she felt
low-spirited, and thought what if Sir Timothy
should not find the right sort of heating apparatus
after .all, and what if, with all the pains and care
we take, he should, die right there in his bed, and
what if something should befall Tobias Eliakim?
But a nap dispelled these forebodings, and then
Lady Supposing would go about the castle singing
-" as if," said her husband, she never thought
that anything might happen."

Tobias Eliakim was a fine-looking boy, with
blue eyes and waving brown hair like his mamma.
He had two tutors, an old one named Socrates
Quidquodibus, who taught him Latin, Greek,
mathematics, and every sort of ology, and a young
one, named Apollo Bangs, who taught him music
and painting. But Tobias Eliakim was always say-
ing to himself while he studied: "What if-oh!
what if I get to be just like Professor Quidquodibus,
and instead of having to put spectacles over my
poor, tired eyes, as he does, what if I become stone-
blind from studying so many books? And what if
a hump grows on my back, as there has upon his?
January once told me of a man who died of con-
sumption brought on by excessive reading. What
if I should have consumption? The only way
the good professor could make him study enough
to learn anything was by asking him the still more
terrible question: "What if you grow up a dunce,
Tobias Eliakim? and you certainly will if you do
not study."
Professor Bangs, in giving him some finger
exercises, unluckily told him that the composer
Schumann broke one of his third fingers in his
effort to make it do his will. Tobias Eliakim was
off the stool in a minute. "I '11 never touch the
piano again!" he cried. "I should not be sur-
prised if my fingers were injured now. They fre-
quently feel as if they were coming off." And no
amount of coaxing or scolding could make him
change his mind.
One day while he was painting, the professor,
who was inclined to be a philosopher, began giving
him a lecture on the pigments he was using.
" Everything in the world, my dear boy, has some
beneficent qualities. Arsenic, now, which is such
a virulent poison that it causes the most intense
suffering if taken into the stomach, furnishes us
this brilliant green with which I shall touch up
those beech trees in the foreground of your picture,"
and as he spoke he squeezed some of the color on
his. pallet and set to work. But this ended Tobias
Eliakim's painting. I will not handle poisons,"
he said; "what if I should accidentally swallow
a tube of that paint ?" And thereafter he would
study nothing but drawing.
Besides his tutors he had a dancing-master, and
a fencing-master, who had also to teach him to
shoot at a mark, to manage a horse, to swim, to
skate, and to slide down-hill.
He did very well with the dancing, but when he
attempted to fence, he was so afraid that the but-
tons would come off from the tips of the foils that
the lessons had to be continued as best they could
be with wooden swords. The first time he fired a
gun, the recoil of the weapon nearly knocked him
down. What if that gun had shot off backward,-



who knows that it will always shoot off frontward,-
and if I lose my head, how am I to get another? "
he said. No, Master Middlebury, I shall not use
that gun again." Sir Timothy regretted his son's
decision-" Because," he said, "a gentleman's
education is not complete without a knowledge of
fire-arms "; but Lady Supposing, who had opposed
these lessons from the first, was delighted.
When Tobias Eliakim saw his teacher swim into
the clear waters of the lake that lay at one side of
the castle, he was eager to follow him, and ran as
fast as he could to don his bathing-suit; but when
Master Middlebury had led him a few steps into
the water he halted. What if I should drown? "
said he. "You can't with me," laughed his teacher.
"You might lose hold of me." But I wont lose
hold of you," cried vexed Master Middlebury.
" But you might have the cramp, or an attack of
heart disease, or paralysis, or something," persisted
Tobias Eliakim, now thoroughly determined not
to swim. "Take me back to the shore directly,
and I will sit down and watch you."
Sir Timothy was anxious that his son should be
a good swimmer. What if, when he grows up,
the King should make him an admiral, and what
if, in a storm or a naval engagement, something
should happen to the flag-ship ? What would
Tobias Eliakim do then, if he could not swim ?"
he said to Master Middlebury, when giving him
instructions as to what he wanted him to do.
The poor teacher knew that Sir Timothy would
blame him, and, completely out of patience, he
went splashing into the lake and dived down to
the bottom of it to cool his anger. He staid so
long that Tobias Eliakim thought he was drowned,
and ran off to the castle to get some one to rescue
Master Middlebury.
The cook took a wash-boiler, the chamber-maid
took the clothes-line, and the men-servants drag-
ged along one of the brass cannon that stood by
the front steps. We '11 shoot it off," said they,
"and that will fetch him to the surface in a few
minutes, when we can scoop him in shore by means
of the wash-boiler and the rope."
When they reached the lake, they found that the
cannon was not only empty, but spiked. I re-
member now," said one, Sir Timothy would
never allow them to be loaded for fear they might
burst, and after Tobias Eliakim was old enough to
walk, he happened to think one day that the child
might find a cannon-ball and some powder some-
where, and might load a cannon, and undertake
to fire it off, so he ordered that they should be
Being kind-hearted men, they ran back to the
castle in the hope of finding a cannon they could
use, while the cook and the chamber-maid tied the

clothes-line to the wash-boiler, so as to be all ready.
But they found the cannon were all spiked, and
were sadly returning to the lake, when who should
they see but Master Middlebury, dressed in plaid
clothes and wearing a long, red neck-tie, cantering
up the drive-way on old Jeremiah.
Sir Timothy was desirous that Tobias Eliakim
should be an expert horseman. If there should
be a war when he grows up," he said, "the King
would undoubtedly want him to command an army,
and there would be times when he would have to
ride; but as there is no telling what a horse may
do, in giving my son lessons, I want you to always
ride the horse with him, and hold the reins, so as
to be near in case of accident."
Tobias Eliakim at first rode in front of Master
Middlebury, but one day Jeremiah stumbled.
"What if this horse- should take a notion to kick
his hind legs straight up ? said Tobias. I should,
no doubt, pitch over his head and break my
neck." After that he rode behind, till one day,
when they were going up a small ],ll, he noticed
that under some circumstances he could slide off
over the horse's tail only too easily, and then he
would not ride at all.
[Note by me, T. J. A. I think Tobias Eliakim
was a perfect baby. I have been on our horse, Black
Hawk, bare-back, and he rares around like a wild-
cat, sometimes."]
In the winter, the lake in which Master Middle-
bury tried to teach Tobias Eliakim to swim was
covered with firm, blue ice, which made first-rate
skating, and at the back of the castle was a long
hill, just the place to slide.
Tobias Eliakim had a handsome sled, the gift
of his maternal grandfather, and one New Year's
day, when the hill was white with snow, on which
glittered a hard crust, Master Middlebury thought
he would give his pupil a lesson in coasting.
Tobias Eliakim put on his fur-lined coat, his
fur-lined boots, his fur cap with ear-lappits, his fur
mittens, and his red muffler, which went six times
about his neck. As for trousers-well, he had on
three pairs. "Really, Master Middlebury, I'm going
to catch cold," he said, when they had reached the
hill. I feel very creepy in my back."
Nonsense cried his teacher. Hop on that
sled, and I will have you warm in two minutes."
Tobias Eliakim obeyed, and Master Middlebury
had stretched out one of his long legs to steer,
when Tobias Eliakim cried, "What if- But
the sled was already darting down the hill, swift as
an arrow flashing through the air.
"Never," he gasped when they stopped,-"never
will I get on that dreadful thing again I might
have been dashed in pieces if you had failed to



steer straight, or if we had struck something."
Then he did not know how to get up the hill, as
he did not dare to walk up, nor to sit on the sled
and let his teacher drag him up, and he was quite
sure he would freeze to death if Master Middle-
bury left him to obtain help. So there was no
alternative for Master Middlebury but to take the
big fellow on his back and carry him up the hill
as best he could.
The skating lessons failed, for when Tobias
Eliakim felt his feet flying out from under him, he
almost fainted in his teacher's arms. But, as he
liked to see his teacher skate, his mamma had a
small glass house built by the lake, and in it,
wrapped in furs, with his feet on the stove-hearth,
he watched Master Middlebury skate by the hour.
[Note by me, T. J. A. "This is the worst thing
I ever heard of any boy. It does seem too tough
to believe."]
Once the teachers complained to Lady Suppos-
ing. They said they felt that their efforts were
almost thrown away, their pupil progressed so
slowly. Lady Supposing was very much dis-
tressed, and sent for the family doctor.
As soon as he received the message, the doctor
packed his saddle-bags full of his biggest pills
and powders, which he kept prepared for his
titled customers, put up his blisters and lancets,
clambered into his chaise, and drove off to the
castle without delay.
He examined Tobias Eliakim thoroughly, and
asked him and his mother and teachers questions
for two hours, and then gravely shook his head.
"My dear madam," he said, "your son is suffer-
ing from one of the gravest maladies known to
science, and one quite beyond the reach of medi-
cine.. All I can tell you about it is that it is
known to the profession as 'Congenital Whatif'; "
and putting up his medicines and blisters and
lancets, the doctor drove away.
"And what is this dreadful and incurable dis-
ease?" cried poor Lady Supposing; but though
Professor Quidquodibus looked in all of his diction-
aries, and studied at it with all his might, even he
could not tell her. "I guess, madam," he said,
moved by her distress and chagrined at his failure,
-"I guess it is an affection of the mind."
Life in the castle went on very much as I have
described, till Tobias Eliakim was sixteen years
,old. Sir Timothy continued to try all sorts of
patent ventilators and furnaces, and at last a man
.came all the way from the shore of the straits of

Sunday, and showed him a model which he thought
so perfect that he ordered a furnace and ventilator
like it to be put in the castle as soon as possible.
The first night it was used, the north wind was
blowing at a fearful rate, and the fire in the new
furnace burned so fiercely that all the great heat-
pipes grew so hot, that they set on fire the wood-
work of the partitions they traversed. The hall into
which the family rooms opened connected with
the castle by one small door, Sir Timothy having
ordered the rest of the doors to be walled up.
And this small door was always closed at night,
and locked by six patent locks, lest the servants,
or somebody, or something, should attack the
family in the night. All the windows and doors
in the family rooms were, for the same reason,
fastened by patent locks, so, though the servants
tried hard to save them, the poor Supposing family
perished miserably in the flames.

Grandfather's story ends here, but when he
.read it to me, I asked him if that was all of the
family. Oh, no," said he. "It is a large family,
having kinsfolk in all parts of the world. A
second cousin succeeded to Sir Timothy's estate
and rebuilt the castle."
"Is the story true, Grandfather?" said I, very
"Yes, my boy," said Grandfather, in a queer,
solemn tone.
I lay on that hard sofa a few minutes thinking,
for you see I had my own notion of the way
Grandfather used that word true, and why he
thought a story about a boy that had the "what-
if" would be good for me to hear. And after a

little I said, Grandfather, if I '11 be very very
good till my next birthday, and not catch any
incurable disease, will you let me copy that
story into my diary ? "
Grandfather dreads to have me take any of his
things where I use ink-I am so apt to spill it;
but he said, "yes," like the dear old Grandfather
that he is.
I will not say how good I was, but my birthday
has passed and here is the story, and if you pub-
lish it, as I hope you will, maybe you 'd better
leave out that note about Black Hawk, which is
confidential to you. You see I had been forbidden
to enter the stable, and if he knew I had tried
to ride that vicious beast, Grandfather would be
down on me the worst way. Besides, I did it a
good while ago. I am thirteen-going on fourteen
since my last birthday.






A FEW days after tlfe arrival of Louis and Jasto
at the castle of Barran, the Countess found it nec-
essary to send to Viteau for some clothing and other
things which were needed by herself and her ladies,
'for they had brought very little with them in their
hasty flight from the chateau.
A trusty squire-not Bernard, for he would not
leave his mistress for so long a time as a day and
night-was sent, with a small, but well-armed body
of men, to convey to the castle the property desired
by the Countess, and to give some orders to the
seneschal in charge. When the party reached the
chateau, early in the evening, the squire was greatly
surprised to find that he could not enter. The gates
were. all closed and barred securely, and no answer
came to his calls and shouts to the inmates.

At length, a small window in the principal gate
was opened, and a man's head, wearing a helmet
with the visor down, appeared in the square aper-
Which of the varlets that we left here are you ?"
cried the angry squire. "And what are you doing
with the armor of the Countess on your rascally
head ? Did you not know me when I called to you,
and when are you going to open this gate for us?"
I am not any man's varlet," said the person in
the helmet, and you did not leave me here. I
wear this helmet because I thought that some of
your impatient men might thrust at me with a spear,
or shoot an arrow at me when I should show my
head. I did not know you when you called, for I
never heard your voice before, and I am not going to
open the gate for you at all."
The squire sat upon his horse, utterly astounded

* Copyright, 1882, by F. R. Stockton.



at this speech, while his men gathered around him,
wondering what strange thing they next would
Who, then, are you?" cried the squire, when
he had found his voice, and what are you doing
here? "
I have no objection," said the other, "to make
the acquaintance of any man who wants to know
me, and to tell him what I do, if it be, in any way,
his business. I am Michol, the captain of the
good and true band of cotereaux who for some
time past have lived in this forest, near by; and
what I am doing here is this: I am dwelling in this
goodly chateau, in peace and comfort, with my
The squire turned and looked at his followers.
"What think you," he said, "does all this
mean ?. Is this a man gone crazed ?"
Not so," said the man with the helmet; "not
so, my good fellow. I may have done crazy deeds
in by-gone days, but this is the most -sane thing I
ever did in all my life. If you should care to hear
the whole story, straight and true,--and I should like
much to tell it to you, that you may take it to your
mistress,- come closer and listen."
The squire, anxious enough to hear, rode close
to the gate; the men crowded near him, and Michol,
for it was really the captain of the cotereaux, told
his story.
"I am going to make this tale a short one," he
said, "so that you can remember it, and tell it
clearly, all of you. When the boy, son of the
Countess of Viteau, was stolen from us "
Stolen !" ejaculated the squire.
Yes," said the other, that is the word. We
captured the youngster fairly on the road, and held
him for fitting and suitable ransom; and before we
had opportunity to acquaint his friends with his
whereabouts, and with the sum demanded for him,
he was basely stolen by a traitor of our company,
and carried away from us, thus cheating us of what
was our fair and just reward."
"Reward!" exclaimed the squire. "Reward
for what ? "
For treating him well and not killing him,"
said Michol, coolly. When I found out the base
deed that had been done to us," he continued, I
gathered all my men, together with another band
of brave fellows, who gladly joined us, and I came
boldly here to demand the ransom for the boy, and
the body of the wretched villain who stole him away.
And when I found no boy, and no traitor, and no
Countess, and no one in the whole chateau but an
old man and some stupid varlets, I blessed my hap-
py stars, and took possession of the whole domain.

And this I shall hold, occupy, and defend, un-
til the Countess, its former mistress, shall send to
me one hundred silver marks, together with the
person of the traitor Jasto. When these shall have
been fairly delivered to me, I shall surrender the
chateau, and honorably depart, with all my men."
You need expect nothing of that kind," cried
the squire. "Count de Barran and the good
knights with him, when they hear this story, will
come down upon you and drive you out with all
your men; and never a piece of money, gold. or
silver, will you gain by this deed--unless, indeed,
it shall be such as you shall find here."
I shall have my money," replied Michol; "but
until I hear that my just demands are denied, I
shall break no bars or locks to look for it. My men
and I will live merrily on the good stores of the
Countess; but while we hold this place as warranty
for her son's ransom, we shall not sack or pillage.
But if your lord and his knights should come to
drive me out, they.would find more good soldiers
here than they can bring, for in times of peace we
are strong, and the lords of the land are weak, un-
less, indeed, they keep retainers and men-at-arms
for mere show and ostentation. My men are well
armed, too, for the Count of Viteau kept his armory
well furnished, as became a valiant knight and a
leader of fighting men. So, therefore, if Barran
shall come to give us foul blows, instead of fair
words and just deeds, he will get blow for blow,
and harder blows, methinks, than he can strike;
and if it should be, by strange fortune, that he drive
us out, he would drive us only from the blazing
ruins of this chateau.* All this I tell you, my good
squire, that you may tell it to Barran and the
Countess. Think you you will remember it ? "
Indeed will I," said the squire. "Such words
can not easily be forgotten. But then I truly
think- "
No more of that interrupted Michol. I
do not care what you think. Hear, remember, and
tell. That is enough for you in this matter. And,
now, what brought you here ? You did not come to
bring word, good or bad, to me ?"
Indeed I did not," said the other, "for I knew
not yoi were here. I came, at the command of
the Countess of Viteau, to get for her certain gar-
ments and needful goods belonging to herself and
ladies, which she could not, with convenience, take
with her to the castle, but which, I suppose, if
your tale be true, I shall go back without."
"Not so," said Michol. "I war not on fair
ladies, until they themselves declare the war. You
shall come in, and take away what your lady needs.
That is, if you fear not to enter alone."

* Such was the lawlessness of the times, when people had to rely on themselves for protection and defense, that a deed like the taking
of this chateau would probably meet with no immediate punishment, unless it were inflicted by the injured owner or his friends.


These words made the squire turn pale. He was
afraid to trust himself, alone, inside the walls of
the chateau court-yard, but he was ashamed to own
it- ashamed that his own men should see his fear,
or that Michol should see it. And so, out of very
cowardice and fear of mockery, he did a thing
which was exceedingly brave, and entered by the
wicket in the gate, which Michol opened for him.
Inside the court and in the chateau, the squire
saw, as Michol was very glad to have him see, hun-
dreds of cotereaux, well armed, and in a good
state of discipline, and he felt sure, at last, that the
tale he had been told was true.
The articles he had been sent for were all deliv-
ered to him, and properly packed by Michol's
men for conveyance on the baggage-horses that
had been brought for the purpose. Then the goods
were carried out, and the squire was allowed to
depart, without hurt or hinderance.
Provisions were sent outside the gates for the
squire and his men and horses, and that night
they bivouacked by the roadside.
The next morning they rode back to Barran's
castle, and the squire delivered to the Countess
the property he had been sent for, and told the
wonderful tale that the captain of the cotereaux
had instructed him to tell.


THE news of the occupation of Viteau by a band
of robbers occasioned, as well might be supposed,
the greatest astonishment at the castle of Barran.
At first, every one, from the lord of the castle to
the lowest varlet, was loud in favor of an imme-
diate march upon the scoundrels, with all the
force that could be gathered together on the
domain. But after Barran had held a consultation
with the Countess, Hugo de Lannes, and the very
sensible, and prudent Bernard, he determined
not to be too hasty in this important matter.
If the story of the squire who had been sent to
Viteau was true,-and there was no reason to
doubt it,-it would require every fighting man
on the estates of the Count de Barran to make
up a force sufficiently strong to compel the
cotereaux to leave the chateau; and if this force
should not be large enough to completely
surround and invest the place, the captain of the
robbers might make good his threat of burning
the chateau and retreating to the forest, which
he could probably reach in safety, if the retreat
should be made in the night.
But, even if the Count had been able to raise
men enough to make a successful attack upon the
cotereaux at Viteau, he did not wish, at this time,

to strip his castle of all its defenders. If it should
be concluded that the Countess should endeavor
to escape to England, a tolerably strong party
might be necessary to conduct her to the coast;
and if the officers of the Inquisition should appear
at his gates, he would like to be there with enough
men to compel at least parley and delay.
It would, also, be difficult to hold the chateau,
after it should be taken, during this serious
quarrel with the cotereaux. If the lady of Viteau
had been at home, she might have summoned
many of her vassals to her aid, but it was not
to be supposed that these people would willingly
risk their lives, and expose their families to the
vengeance of the robbers, to defend a dwelling
which its owner had deserted.
It was, therefore, determined not to attempt,
at present, to disturb the cotereaux at'Viteau,
who, as long as their demand for a ransom for
young Louis -was not positively denied, would
probably refrain from doing any serious injury
to the property. When the Countess should
be in safety, a force could be raised from some
of the estates, and from villages in the surrounding
country, to thoroughly defeat the cotereaux and
to break up their band. Suitable arrangements
then could be made to hold and defend the
chateau until the Countess or her heirs should
come back to take possession.
What was to be done for the unfortunate
mother of Raymond and Louis, now became again
the great question. Flight to England, which,
though a Catholic country, was not under the
power of the Inquisition, as were France and
some of the neighboring countries, would have
been immediately determined upon, had it not
been for the great unwillingness of the Countess
to consent to separate herself from her sons.
If she should leave France and take her children
with her, her property would probably be taken
possession of by the Church or the Crown; whereas,
if her sons, under a proper guardian, should
remain in France, the estate would be considered
to belong to them, for they had done nothing
to make them forfeit it; and everything could
go on as usual, until the friends of the Countess
should have opportunity to represent the matter
to some of the high authorities of the Church.
Then, if she could be released from the prose-
cution by the Inquisition, she could return in
peace to her home.
On the day after the squire's return from Viteau,
and after it had been decided to leave the coter-
caux in possession for the present, Raymond and
Louis, with Agnes, were sitting together at a win-
dow in one of the great towers of the castle,
talking of the proposed journey of the Countess;




Louis had been told the reason of her flight from
Viteau, and, of course, Agnes knew all about it.
If I were the Count de Barran," said Louis, very
much in earnest, I should never make a lady,
like our mother, run away to England, nor to any
other savage country, to get rid of her enemies. I
should fill this castle with soldiers and knights, and
I 'd defend her against everybody, to the last drop
of my blood. Was n't Barran the brother-in-arms
of our father? And is n't he bound, by all his
vows, to protect our mother, when her husband is
n't here on earth to do it himself? "
"You don't look at things in the right way,
Louis," said Raymond. Of course, the Count
would defend our mother against all enemies, for
he is a brave and true knight; but we can not say
that the priests and officers of the Church are our
enemies. Now, if Barran fights the people of the
Inquisition, he is fighting the Church, and no
Christian knight wants to do that."
I 'd like to know what an enemy is," said Louis,
"if he is n't a person who wants to do you an
injury; and that, it seems to me, is exactly what
these Inquisition people are trying to do to our
mother. I should n't care whether they belonged
to the Church or not."
"Oh, yes, you would," said Raymond, "if
you had taken the vows of a Christian knight. The
Count will do everything he can to save our mother
from these people, but he will not want to fight and
slay Church officers, and his men-at-arms would not
help him,- I heard Count de Lannes say that,- for
whoever should do such a thing would.be excom-
municated by the Pope of Rome, and would be
cast out from all Christian fellowship and all hope
of salvation. Our mother would not let any one
fight for her, when she should know that such things
would happen to him."
Bernard would fight for her," said Louis;
" and so would I."
"And so would I, as well you know," said his
brother, and so would the Count and many an-
other knight, if things came to the worst. They
would not stop to think what would happen after-
ward. But it would be a sad thing to do. It would
be much better for our mother to go away, than to
put her friends in such jeopardy of their souls. I
have heard all this talked about, and I know how
hard a thing it is for the Count to send our mother
away. But one thing is certain: when she goes, I
go with her. I care not for the domain."
And I go, too! cried Louis. Let the rob-
bers and the priests divide Viteau between them.
I will not let my mother go among the barbarians
without me."
"The English are not barbarians," said Ray-
mond. There are plenty of good knights and

noble ladies at the court of King Henry, and all
over the land, too, as I have read."
I thought they must be savages," said Louis,
"because they have no Inquisition. Surely, if
England were a Christian land like France, there
would be an Inquisition there."
Up to this time Agnes had been silent, eagerly
listening to the conversation of the boys. But now
she spoke:
"Louis and Raymond!" she cried. "I think
it will be an awful, dreadful thing for your poor
mother to go to England; I don't care what sort
of a country it is, or who goes with her. Is n't
there somebody who can make these people stop
their wicked doings without fighting them? Can't
the King do it ?"
"Of course he can," cried Louis. "The King
can do anything."
"Perhaps he can," said Raymond. "I spoke
to my mother about that this morning, and asked
her why Count de Barran did not go to the King
and beseech him to inquire into this matter, and
to see why one of his subjects-as good a Chris-
tiad as any in the land-should be so persecuted.
She said I spoke too highly of her-- "
"Which you did not," cried Louis.
"Indeed, I did not," continued Raymond.
"And then she told me that the mother of our
King, Queen Blanche, who has more to do with
the affairs of France than her son himself, does
not like Barran, who, with our father, opposed
her long with voice and sword, in the disputes
between Burgundy and the Crown. So it is that
he could not go to ask a favor of her son, for fear
that it would do us more harm than good."
"But is he the only person in the world?"
cried Agnes. Why can't somebody else go?
Why don't you go, Raymond, with Louis-and
with me? Let us all three go We can tell the
King what has happened, as well as any one, and
the Queen-Mother can -not bear a grudge against
any of us. Let us go! My father will not say me
Louis agreed instantly to this glorious plan,
and Raymond, after a moment's thought, gave it
a hearty assent.
"We '11 start by the dawn of day to-morrow,"
cried Agnes; and away she ran to ask her father
if she might mount a horse, and go with Louis and
Raymond to Paris, to see the King.
Strange as it may seem, this wild plan of the
children was received with favor by their elders.
Something must be done immediately, and the
Countess must either leave France, or some power-
ful aid must be asked for. Measures had been
taken to put the matter before some of the high
officials of the Church, but it was believed that


they would first send for Brother An-
selmo and the priests, and would hear
their story, before& interfering for the
Countess; and, therefore, whatever help
might be expected in this direction,
would probably be much delay.l an d
come too late.
But if the King should desire it. il.: '
matter would be instantly inves.;a,-d, ''.
and that was all that the Count.:- .'nd ..;
her friends intended to ask. T.-. ft .
sure that if some one, more corip:c.rat -
and less prejudiced than the two:. t' ibr!. "
monks who had been incensed 1by their I'."~. '
failure to answer her arguments, h,':.uld
examine the charges against her, it 1. o.u I'
be found that she believed nothing, -L 'i
what was taught by the fathers -,f I '
Church, and believed in by all goc.d I,' .- -
pie who had read what the auth.,rI h-id
written. .
And who could go with better gr .i:e
to ask the help of the King--hm-.ell .
young-than these three young .plk : '
two boys who would speak in bcialf-':,f
their mother, and the young girl, their
friend, who might be able to talk uaha i
the Queen-Mother, if there should b:-
need of it ?
Count. Hugo de Lannes readily agrid (
to take charge of the young embas Ad,:r;,
if his daughter should be one of
them. He was well known in .
Paris, and could give them
proper introduction, and guar-
antee their statements. Thus his -.
assistance would be very great.
It was agreed that by dawn
the next morning, just as Agnes
had said, the party should start Al
for Paris, and that, until its re-
turn, the Countess should post-
pone her flight from France. -
And many earnest prayers were
said that night, that nothing evil
might happen to the Count- -
ess while her two boys .
should be absent from -
THE cavalcade,
which started from
the castle early the
a gay and lively one, for everybody seemed to At the head rode Count de Lannes, and, at his
think that it would soon return, with happy news. side, Sir Charles de Villars, a younger knight, vis-




iting at the castle, who had volunteered his serv-
ices to help defend the party, should it be
attacked on the way.
Next came the three young people, each mount-
ed on a small Arabian horse, from the castle stables.
After them came two women, in attendance on
Agnes; and then followed quite a long line of
squires, pages, and men-at-arms, with servants
carrying the heavy armor of the two knights, all
mounted and armed.
It was calculated that the journey to Paris would
take about four days, if they pressed on as fast as
the strength of the horses and that of the young
riders would permit; and as it was desirable to be
back as soon as possible, they rode away at a good
Some distance in advance of the whole party
were two men-at-arms, whose .duty it was, when
passing through forests, or among rocks and hills,
where an enemy might be concealed, to give timely
notice of any signs of danger. The Count de
Lannes did not expect any attack from robbers,
for he felt quite sure that the cotereaux who had
been in the neighborhood were all engaged in the
occupation of Viteau.
But he did not know as much about the robber
bands of Burgundy as he thought. A short time
before, there had come into the country, between
Barran's castle and Viteau, a company of braban-
;ois-freebooters of somewhat higher order than
the cotereaux, who generally preferred to be sol-
diers rather than thieves, but who, in times of
peace, when no one would hire them as soldiers,
banded together, stopped travelers on the highway,
and robbed and stole whenever they had a chance.
They were generally better armed and disciplined,
and therefore more formidable, than the cotereaux,
or the routiers, who were robbers of a lower order
than either of the other two.
These braban;ois, when Michol was making up
his force with which to seize and hold the chateau
of Viteau, offered to join him, but he declined their
proposition, believing that he had men enough for
his purpose, and not wishing, in any case, to bring
into the chateau a body of fellows who might, at
any time, refuse to obey his rule, and endeavor to
take matters into their own hands.
The captain of the band of brabanlois, when he
found that he would not be allowed to take part in
the ransom speculation at Viteau, moved up nearer
the castle of Barran, and sent one of his men,
dressed like a common varlet or servant, to take
service with the Count, as an assistant in the
stables and among the horses. In this occupation
he would learn of the intended departure of any
party from the castle, and could give his leader
such information as he could manage to pick up
VOL. X.--9.

about the road to be taken, and the strength and
richness of the company.
So it was that, on the night of the day on which
the expedition to Paris was determined upon, and
after orders had been given to have the necessary
horses ready early the next morning, this fellow
got away from the castle, and told his captain all
he knew about the party -who were to go and
which way they were going.
It was not likely that the company under the
charge of Count de Lannes would carry much
money, or valuable baggage of any sort, and,
therefore, the enterprise of waylaying these people
on the road did not appear very attractive to the
leader of the robbers, until he heard that Louis,
and Jasto, who was to go with the boy as servant,
were to be of the party. Then he took a great
interest in the matter. If he could capture Louis,
he could interfere with Michol in getting the
ransom he demanded, and so force himself, in this
way, into partnership with the prudent captain of
the cotereaux ; and if he could take Jasto, of whose
exploits he had heard, he felt sure that Michol
would pay a moderate ransom to get possession of
that traitor to his cause and his companions.
Therefore, principally to capture, if possible,
these two important and perhaps profitable per-
sonages, the band of robbers set out before day-
light, and took a good position for their purpose
on the road to Paris.
It was nearly noon when the cavalcade of our
friends entered,a wide and lonely forest, where the
road was thickly overgrown, on each side, with
bushes and clambering vines. It was an excellent
place for an ambuscade, and here the brabanfois
were ambuscaded.
Count Hugo de Lannes was a prudent man, and
he proceeded slowly, on entering the forest, giving
orders to his scouts to be very careful in looking
out for signs of concealed marauders.
He also called up the men who carried the
heavy armor, and he and Sir Charles proceeded to
put on their helmets and their coats of mail, so as
to be ready for anything which might happen dur-
ing their passage through the forest.
They were prepared none too soon, for the
scouts came riding back, just as Count Hugo had
exchanged his comfortable cap, or bonnet, for his
iron head-covering, with the news that men were
certainly concealed in the woods some hundred
yards ahead.
Quickly the two knights, with the assistance of
their squires, finished putting on their armor, and
each hung his battle-ax at his saddle-bow. Their
long swords they wore at all times when riding.
Then Count Hugo, turning, gave rapid orders for
the disposition of his force.



Part of the men-at-arms, all ready for battle,
drew up before the young travelers, and part took
their place in their rear. On either side of each of
the boys, and of Agnes and her women, rode a
soldier in mail, holding his shield partly over the
head of his charge. Thus each of these non-com-
batants was protected by two shields, and by the
bodies of two mail-clad men, from the arrows which
might be showered upon them should a fight take
All these arrangements were rapidly made, for
the men of the party were well-trained soldiers,
and then Count Hugo and Sir Charles rode for-
ward to see what they could see.
They saw a good deal more than they expected.
As they went around a slight bend in the road,
they perceived, a short distance ahead, three
mounted men in armor, drawn up across the road.
Behind them were a number of other men, with
spears and pikes. And in the woods, on either
side, were a number of archers, who, though they
could not be seen, made their presence known by
a flight of arrows, which rattled briskly on the
armor of our two horsemen, and then fell harm-
lessly to the ground.
If this volley and this brave show of force were
intended to intimidate the travelers, and to cause
them to fall back in confusion, it did not have the
desired effect.
Turning to their squires, who followed close be-
hind them, the two knights called for their lances,
and when, almost at the same instant, these trusty
weapons were put into their hands, they set them
in rest, and, without a moment's hesitation,
charged down upon the three horsemen.
Count Hugo was an old soldier, and had been in
many a battle, where, fighting on the side of the
Crown, he had met in combat some of the bravest
soldiers of France and many of the finest knights
of England, whom King Henry III. had sent over
to aid the provinces which were resisting Queen
Blanche; and Sir Charles, although a younger
man, had met and conquered many a stout knight
in battle and in tournament.
Therefore, although the brabanfois horsemen
were good, strong soldiers, and well armed, and
although all three of them put themselves in
readiness to receive the charge of the knights, they
could not withstand or turn aside the well-directed
lances of these veteran warriors, and two of them
went down at the first shock, unhorsed and helpless.
The other man, reining back his horse a little
way, charged furiously on Count Hugo, who was
nearest him; but the latter caught the end of his
lance on his shield, and then, dropping his own
lance, he seized his battle-ax, rose in his stirrups,
and brought the ponderous weapon down upon

the iron-clad head of his assailant with such a
tremendous whang that he rolled him off his horse
at the first crack.
Upon this, both knights were attacked at once
by the spearsmen and other men on foot, but so
completely and strongly were the Count and Sir
Charles clad in their steel mail that their oppo-
nents found no crevice or unguarded spot through
which their rapidly wielded weapons could pene-
But the knights gave them little time to try the
strength of their armor, for whirling their battle-
axes over their heads, and followed by their
squires, they charged through the whole body
of the foot-soldiers, and then, turning, charged
back again, driving the brabanfois right and left
into the woods.
Meantime, all had not been quiet in the rear.
The captain of the robbers, as soon as he had
seen the knights engaged with his picked men,
had come out of the woods, with a strong force
of his followers on foot, and had made a vigorous
attack on our young travelers and their attend-
Here the fighting was general and very lively.
Arrows flew; swords, spears, and shields rattled
and banged against each other; horses reared
and plunged; the women screamed, the men
shouted, and Raymond and Louis drew the small
swords they wore, and struggled hard to throw
themselves into the middle of the fight.
But this was of no use. Their mailed and
mounted guardians pressed them closely on either
side, and protected them from every blow and
Little Agnes was as pale as marble. Every
arrow, as it struck against the shields and armor
about her, made her wink and start, but she sat
her horse like a brave girl, and made no outcry,
though her women filled the air with their
There were so many of the brabanfois, and they
directed their attacks with such energy on the one
point, that it seemed for a time as if they certainly
must get possession of one or all of the children.
Three men had pulled aside the horse of Louis's
protector on the left, and others were forcing
themselves between the soldier and the boy, with
the evident intention of dragging the latter from
his horse.
But the fight at the head of the line was over
sooner than the captain of the robbers expected it
would be. His men had scarcely reached Louis's
side when Count Hugo and Sir Charles came
charging back.
Straight down each side of the road they came.
Their own men, seeing them come, drew up in a




close column along the middle of the road, and
before the brabanoois knew what was going to hap-
pen, the two knights were upon them. Standing
up in their stirrups, and dealing tremendous blows
with their battle-axes as they dashed along, they
rode into the robbers on each side of the road,
cutting them down, or making them wildly scatter
into the woods. As the knights passed, some of
the men-at-arms left their line and, rushing into the
woods, drove their enemies completely off the
At least, they supposed that this was the case;
but, when Count Hugo and Sir Charles had turned
and had ridden back to the young people and the
women, and were anxiously inquiring if any of them
had been injured during the affray, a cry from
Louis directed everybody's attention to a new fight,
which was going on at the rear of the line.
"Jasto!" cried Louis. "They are taking
Jasto "
The boy had happened to look back, and saw his
friend of the robber-camp, whose horse had been

"Help him!" cried Louis. "Don't let them
take Jasto away! "
Count Hugo turned, as he heard the boy's cry,
but little Agnes was close by his side, trying to
get her arms around his iron neck, and several
horsemen were crowded up near him, so that he
could not clearly see what was going on in the
rear. A few of the men-at-arms saw the affair, and
rode toward the scene of the unequal contest, but
Jasto would certainly have been dragged into the
thicket before they could have reached him.
Sir Charles, however, was sitting on his horse,
on the outside of the group around the children,
and when he heard the alarm and saw the
struggle, he immediately galloped to the rear.
He did not know who Jasto was, but he saw that
one man was contending with four others, whom
he perceived, by their appearance and arms, to
be members of the robber band. As he rode,
he put his hand on his long sword to draw it,
but he instantly saw that, if he struck at any
one in that twisting and writhing knot of men,


killed, struggling on foot with four men, one of
whom was the captain of the brabanrois. They
were, apparently, endeavoring to drag him into the
bushes; Jasto, who was a very stout fellow, was
holding back manfully, but the others were too
strong for him, and were forcing him along. No
one of the Count's party was near, except a few
men who had charge of the baggage horses, and
these were too busy with their frightened animals
to take any notice of the re-appearance of some of
the robbers.

he would be as likely to kill the Count's follower
as one of the robbers; and so he dashed up,
and seized Jasto by the collar with his mailed
hand. Then, reining in his horse vigorously,
he suddenly backed. The jerk he gave in this
way was so powerful that it almost pulled Jasto
out of the hands of his captors. He was so far
released, indeed, that, had the right hand of Sir
Charles been free, he would have been able to
cut doqn the robbers.
But as he still held Jasto in his iron grasp, and


prepared to back again, the robber captain, see-
ing that, in a moment, his captive would be torn
from him, and infuriated by the idea that he would
lose everything, even the chance of some ransom
money from the captain of the cotereaur, drew
from his belt a great, heavy knife, almost as long
as a sword and very broad, and with this terrible
weapon aimed ablow at Jasto's head.
Traitor! he cried. "If I can't take you,
you can take that "
But Jasto did not take anything of the kind;
for, at the instant that the robber made the blow,
two arrows from the archers, who were coming up,
and who saw that the only chance of saving Jasto
was a quick shot, struck the robber captain in the
side of the head, and the knife dropped harm-
lessly by Jasto's side, while the robber fell back
dead. Instantly the other brabanfois took to
their heels, and Sir Charles released the red and
panting Jasto.
"Heigho!" cried the knight. Surely I can not
mistake, that round face and those stout legs !
This must be Jasto, my old follower and man of
learning! Why, good letter-writer, I knew not
what had become of you, and I have often missed
you sorely."
Jasto recognized his old master, and, indeed, he
had recognized him as soon as he had seen him in
Barran's castle, but he had not wished to make
himself known, fearing that Sir Charles might
interfere in some way with his plan of demanding
a reward for the return of Louis. Now, he would
have spoken, but he was too much exhausted and
out of breath to say a word. He merely panted
and bobbed his head, and tried to look grateful
for his deliverance.
"No need of speaking now," said the knight,
laughing. "When the breath comes back into
your body, I will see you again, and hear your
story. And, I doubt not, I shall soon have need
to call on you to use your pen and ink for me. If
we stay long in Paris, I surely shall so need you."
SBut now orders were given to form into line and
move onward, and Sir Charles galloped up to his
place by Count Hugo. The order of marching
was taken up as before, and the party, leaving the
dead and wounded brabanfois to be cared for by
their companions, who were doubtless hiding in
the forest near by, rode cautiously on until they
cleared the woods, and then they proceeded on
their way as rapidly and comfortably as possible.
But few of the men-at-arms had been wounded,
and none seriously.
The two boys and Agnes were in high good
spirits as they galloped along. Agnes was proud
of her father's bravery and warlike deeds, and Ray-

mond and his brother were as excited and exultant
as if they had won a victory themselves. Louis
would have ridden back to see if his friend Jasto
had been injured, but this was not allowed. He
was told that the man was safe and sound, and had
to be satisfied with that assurance.
As for Jasto himself, he rode silently among the
baggage men, having been given a horse captured
from the brabanfois.
For once in his life, he was thoroughly ashamed
of himself, and two things weighed upon his mind.
In the midst of his struggle with the robbers, and
when he had felt certain that they would over-
power him and take him back to Michol, by whom
he would be cruelly punished and perhaps slain,
he had heard that shrill young voice calling for
help for Jasto.
And yet," he said to himself, I am following ,
that boy about, and keeping in his company, solely
that I may, some day, have the chance of claiming
pay for freeing him from the cotereaux, to which
bad company I should have gone back this day
if it had not been for him. For had he not called
for help, none would have come to me. I owe
him my freedom now, and as he is worth surely
twice as much as I am, I will charge his friends
but half the sum I had intended. And I shall
think about the other half. But a poor man must
not let his gratitude hinder his fortune. I shall
think of that too.
But as for Sir Charles, who has saved my life
to-day, and who was ever of old a good master
to me, I shall never deceive him more. I shall
either tell him boldly that I can not write a letter
any more than he can himself, or I shall learn to
read and write. And that last is what I shall surely
do, ifI can find monk or clerk to teach me and he
ask not morepay than I have money."
With these comforting resolutions Jasto's face
brightened up, and raising his head, as if he felt
like a man again, he left the company of the bag-
gage, and rode forward among the men-at-arms.
That night our travelers rested in a village, and
the next day they came to the river Yonne, along
the banks of which their road lay for a great part
of the rest of their journey.
They passed through Sens, a large town, in
which there lived a bishop, to whom their errand
might have been made known, had not there been
reason to fear that such an application might
injure the cause of the Countess more than it
would benefit it, and then they crossed the Seine
and passed through Melun and several small towns
and villages; and, late in the afternoon of the
fourth day, they rode into Paris, with dusty clothes
and tired horses, but with hearts full of hope.

(To be continued.)







MRS. DE CASTRO said Placide was "sure to make
a rise in the world." Placide was tall for a boy of
twelve, and all arms and legs. His eyes looked large
in his thin, sallow face, and his thatch of light hair
stood out all around like a door-mat.
The whole school made fun of the poor boy; but
he took it all with a pitiful kind of smile. Nobody
knew how cruelly it hurt him, nor how he longed
to be friendly with his school-mates.
On entering the school-room he invariably
saluted Miss Rose, the teacher, with an elaborate
bow, in which he turned out his right foot, drew the
other far back, and made a very deep inclination.
Though scarcely able to repress a smile while
she rapped fiercely to quell the sensation this per-
formance always excited, such a very unusual show
of respect gained him rather a warm place in Miss
Rose's heart, and resulted in a good deal of com-
pensation for his social failures. Placide's father
had been a little, broken-down French dancing-
master, and the bow was about all he bequeathed
his son, excepting a fine sense of honor and a
sensitive social nature.
There was nothing French about Mrs. De Castro,

the mother of Placide. She was
American born, but of the most
S commonplace type. She read every
word in her weekly story-paper, and
religiously believed in the possibility,
at least, of all the wonderful occur-
rences therein detailed.
The dancing-master's name was
not De Castro at all. He had as-
S/. sumed that title upon the suggestion
of his wife; it pleased her, and had
a good effect in the circulars to pa-
trons. The real De Castro was a
hero of noble birth, who, according
to her weekly story-paper, had been
--immured in a Spanish dungeon.
PAGE 295.1 The dancing-master was a sorrow-
ful little man when she married him; but she took
great care of him, and earned his deepest gratitude
by making comfortable his declining years.
In her own fancy she made him out to have been
of ancient lineage, and used to prophesy darkly
over her ironing-board that there would be a
"denooment some of these days.
"The king was coming to his own again," she
said, nowadays, in allusion to Placide's expected
"rise in the world." And when it really came, it
chanced that the lad owed his elevation to St.
The shop-windows were gay with reminders of
the approach of the great February holiday. The
hideous caricatures styled comic valentines were
considered very funny by the children ; Mabel Law-
rence and some of her school-mates were examining
an assortment of them one morning in the book-
store. Every trade, occupation, or accomplishment,
and every defect of body or mind was illustrated by
uncouth figures and doggerel verse. There was
something to hurt almost anybody's feelings.
"Oh, look!" cried one of the girls-"here 's
Plaster Caster "


Plaster Caster was the popular nickname for
Placide De Castro. And there was something
suggestive of Placide in the ungainly figure, while
the accompanying rhyme was to the effect that it
would appear more becoming in him to assist his
mother, instead of being ashamed of her, at her
wash-tub earning money to pay for his fine clothes.
How the girls laughed We must send it "
they said. Mabel was the only one who had a penny,
so she paid it and took the valentine. Jt was handed
around slyly in school, and caused great merri-
ment; the boys and girls thought it the best joke
they had ever heard of.
Mabel was carried along at first by the fun of
the thing, but gradually she grew more and more
doubtful as to such a'proceeding being quite up to
the Lawrence standard. In the -p.llig'.class, she
noted the variety of fabrics represented in Placide's
" fine clothes "; and on her way home, she saw him
bravely putting out a line-full of clothes, apparently
unmindful of the boys throwing snow-balls and
inquiring the price of soap and bluing.
Mabel walked on slowly, and when she reached
home, threw the cruel valentine into the kitchen
She had no idea of the agony she spared Placide.
The boys and girls said it was real mean of
her to spoil the fun. But Mabel was very lofty,
and there threatened to be a quarrel.
Mabel had been looking wise ever since valen-
tines began to be mentioned; she was planning a
surprise. On the table in her room was a pile of
them, very small but very pretty, in fancy envel-
opes, addressed to all her boy and girl friends and
associates. It had occupied all her leisure time
for a week to write, in a very slow and painstaking
manner, on the blank pages: Miss Mabel Law-
rence presents her compliments, and will be pleased
to have you spend the evening of February I4th
at her home." Upon consultation with her mother,
she now added another pretty valentine to the pile.
It was addressed to Master Placide De Castro.
They were all sent out on the 13th. The boys
judged it to be some kind of a "sell," but the girls
were soon in possession of the facts, and it became
generally understood that it was to be a fine affair,
with scalloped oysters, frosted cakes, and many
other enjoyable features.
But it was nearly a week after the party when
the postmaster hailed Placide, as he was passing
by, and handed him his invitation. It seemed a
pity on the face of it, but no valentine ever im-
parted a greater degree of pure felicity than this
belated one. It was a beautiful thing to happen
to the sensitive, slighted, ridiculed boy, to be so
remembered. He went singing and whistling
about his work, the weight lifted off his heart, the

sorrowful look gone from his face, his eyes bright
with hope and pleasure.
Besides, had it not been for the delay, the "rise
in the world might never have been effected.
Mrs. De Castro accounted herself strong in the
usages of polite society. "Now, Placide," she
said, "you must acknowledge this complimunt by
actin' according' to ettiquetty."
"Yes, ma'am," said Placide, more than willing.


Seein' you could n't attend, nor send your re-
grets, you must make a party call. Your best trou-
sers are pretty good," she continued, "but I don't
know about your going in that jacket. Let's see,
Placide, your pa was a small man. I should n't
wonder if you 'd most growed into his swaller-tail
coat by this time. This was your pa's dress-coat
that he always wore when he went into society,"
she said, as she laid it out on the bed and unpinned
the sheet in which it was folded.
Now, slip in your arms and let's see how it will
do." (The tails came within six inches of the floor.)
"'Taint so dreadful long if it is a little loose,"
she said. Coats is worn long now-gentlemen's




overcoats come clear down to their heels. It's an
awful nice piece of broadcloth, Placide, and you
must n't let anything happen to it! "
The white vest did pretty well by pinning up a
broad plait in the back, his mother's black kid-gloves
did n't wrinkle very much, and the shine on his shoes
could n't have been improved. After being thor-
oughly instructed on various points, he set out to
make his party call," thinking his costume just
about the thing. Fortunately, darkness protected
him. Smiles strove for the mastery in Dolly's face
as she ushered him into the sitting-room, an-
nouncing, This young gentleman wants to see
Miss Mabel." They were all ladies and gentlemen
at Dr. Lawrence's, however. Mabel reddened, as
he entered, but she arose as grave as a judge, and
offered him a chair.
"This is Placide De Castro, Papa," she said to
the Doctor, who eyed him through his glasses in
some amazement.
Placide executed his bow with great elegance
and precision, saluting in turn the Doctor, Mrs.
Lawrence, and Mabel, ending up with a compre-
hensive salim for the rest of the family.
"Please accept my respectful thanks, Miss Law-
rence, for the kind invitation to your party," was
his opening remark.
I am sorry you did n't come; we had a very
nice time," answered Mabel, politely.
This opened the way for his second speech.
I should, doubtless, have enjoyed the occasion
extremely, but my attendance was prevented by
circumstances over which I had no control." (This
sentence he had memorized from a Complete
Would n't your mother let you come? asked
Not being exactly prepared for this, he answered
naturally enough. Oh, yes, ma'am! The reason
is, that I did not get the valentine till to-day."
"That was too bad said Mabel.
Otherwise, I should have been present or sent
my regrets," recited Placide, seeing his opportu-
nity. When the Doctor asked him, "Are you at-
tending school this winter?" he replied, Yes, sir,
I am pursuing my studies under the direction of
Miss Rose Mayfield," and he was prepared with
several other elegant replies to possible queries;
but after this the conversation ran in channels
unfavorable to their introduction. He particularly
regretted the omission of one he had learned about
rude Boreas, but no allusion whatever was made to
the weather.
The Doctor was regularly captivated; the
quaintness of the whole proceeding took his
fancy. Politeness in "young America" was a
phenomenon worth studying. Once clear of the

points of etiquettey," he found the boy quite
simple and child-like, while the thoughtfulness and
intelligence of his replies pleased his questioner
very much.
Not to outstay the proper limits of a call,
Placide presently arose to make his adieux.
"Permit me," he said, "to apologize for tres-
passing upon your kind attention, and allow me to
bid you good-evening."
Come again, my boy, come again said the
Doctor, heartily.
"Next time Mabel and the boys will teach you
some of their games," said Mrs. Lawrence. Pla-
cide's eyes sparkled.
I should like to come very much indeed!"
he said. He was to say, I shall be happy to do
myself the honor on some future occasion," but
forgot all about it in the pleasure of being actually
invited; however, he recovered himself in time to
bow twice in his very best manner.
There would have been a' good deal of teasing
about Mabel's beau from the boys, and the
Doctor, too, if she had not run and hid her face in
his arms. Then he shook his head at them.
Really, I think it was pretty well done," said
Mrs. Lawrence, joining in the general merriment.
"That must have been poor De Castro's pro-
fessional coat," said the Doctor. "There is cer-
tainly something in that costume which gives an
air of gentility to the wearer."
Why-didn't you think he looked ridiculous,
Papa? asked Mabel.
"Not exactly, my dear; it looked as though he
might be masquerading. There are some unus-
ual elements of character in that boy," he went
on. I like his nerve. I doubt if another boy in
the place could be induced to perform that little act
of courtesy."
Is that the style you would like Hal and me to
go in for, Father ?" asked Archy, demurely.
"The manifestation is a little peculiar," an-
swered the Doctor, smiling, "but I would like to
see the spirit of it in every boy in America."
One day, while his interest was still fresh, Rose
Mayfield praised Placide, in his hearing, as her
most ambitious pupil. It is a pity," she said,
"that he must leave school when spring opens:
they are so poor it is necessary for him to earn
The Doctor determined to be of service to him.
He really needed an office-boy,-an errand-boy,-
a generally useful boy. Placide, he felt confident,
was exactly the kind of boy he wanted, and
so the lad was presently lifted to the topmost pin-
nacle of human bliss by the offer of the situation,
with the privilege of pursuing his studies under
direction of the tutor employed to prepare Hal



and Archie for college. And that was the "rise in
the world."
Some of his boy-persecutors now took to calling
him Castor Oil," but he could look down upon
them from the heights of prosperity in calm dis-
dain. His perfect faithfulness made him a treasure
to his employer from the day he entered his serv-
ice. He soon began to share the Doctor's profes-
sional zeal, and became skillful in practical surgery
for the benefit of all the unfortunate cats and dogs
of the neighborhood.
Already his mother predicted that he would be-

come the foremost physician of the country. Nor
was her prophetic fancy very wide of the mark.
Certainly no one else foresaw so clearly the de-
nooment" of the coming years-the denooment"
that really happened, when she herself grew to live
in ease and comfort, with plenty of time to read
three story-papers instead of one, and Placide,
grown graceful and grave and handsome, became
the trusted associate of Doctor Lawrence, who had
been a kind helper to him through all the years of
faithful study and hard work which lay between his
friendless boyhood and his well-earned reward.





.--3- A air4.,~
.rS li

I HAVE met her many mornings
With her basket on her arm,
And a certain subtle charm,
Coming not from her adornings,
But the modest light that lies
Deep within her shaded eyes%

And she carries naught but blessing,
As she journeys up and down
Through the never-heeding town,
With her looks the ground caressing:
Yet I know her steps are bent
On some task of good intent.

Maiden, though you do not ask it,
And your modest eyes may wink,
I will tell you what I think:
Queens might gladly bear your basket,
If they could appear as true
And as good and sweet as you.

- --`-~





(A Juvenile Drami in One Act.)

Author of "The Concordance to Shakespeare," "The Girlhood of Shakespeare's Heroines," etc., etc.


OBERON, King of Fairyland ( as a poor man).
TITANIA, Queen of Fairyland (disguised as poor woman).
MAT, the miller.
JOAN, his wife.
PEGGY, their little girl.
WATTY, their baby (a very large doll, wit/ real curly
PUCK, or ROBIN GOODFELLOW, a mischievous sprite
(afterward disguised as HOB, a loutish lad).
The scene is at MAT'S cottage, in a wood near his mill.
SCENE.-The inside of MAT'S cottage. On one side is a
bed, in a recess, with coarse, checked curtains drawn
before it. On the other side, the door of entrance.
At the back of the stage is a lattice window strongly
made. Near the window is a range of shelves, with
pewter platters placed in rows along them. A wooden
dresser under the shelves; on the dresser is a loaf
of bread, a brown earthenware pan, a few drink-
ing vessels, wooden spoons, and one or two wooden
bowls, in one of which there is milk; beneath the
dresser are various saucepans, a frying-pan, a gridiron,
a kettle, etc., all very neat and bright. A fire-place
toward the front of the stage, on one side, with a wood-
basket, full of wood, standing near the hearth. In the
center, a table with stools; and, in the corner nearest
the audience, a child's arm-chair.
MAT, JOAN, PEGGY, and WATTY are seen in the room
when the curtain rises.

JOAN (seated on one of the stools, with WATTY on
her lap). Well, it's the truth, and it is the truth.
I '11 repeat it. There never was such a beautiful
baby as mine He 's the finest boy, of his age,
that ever was seen !
MAT (laughing). Of course he is! When was
there ever a mother who did n't think her baby
the finest ever born ?
JOAN. Nonsense, Mat! But this one really is,
you know.
MAT. Ah so you said when Peggy was born;
and now you 've got another babby, he's the finest.
JOAN. Well, he is; he 's much finer and fatter
than she was. Why, he's twice as big as she ever
was; that you must allow.
MAT. Yes, yes, he 's bigger; but as to being
rosier, or more bright-eyed, or more curly-pated, or
more golden-haired, than my little Peggy here (he
pats PEGGY'S head- se is leaning against his knee
as he sits), that I can't allow.

JOAN. You never allow the plain truth in any-
thing that 's reasonable. I seldom talk reason,
goodness, knows; but, when I do, I think you
might allow it to be true. Come, Mat, be a rea-
sonable man, and confess that our Watty is as big a
beauty as ever you set eyes on.
MAT. Well, yes, certainly; as big a beauty--I
own he 's that! He 's a bonny, bouncing boy, as
I 've good reason to know, when I toss him in my
arms. He is a weight, I can tell you. Here,
mother, hand him over to me, that I may give him
a good toss before I go to the mill, and see that
everything there is safely fastened up afore night-
JOAN. Nay, Mat, he does n't want a toss now-
he 's going off to sleep soon, I think; so I '11 put
him down on our bed for an evening nap, while I
just go and see to the milk-pans and the churn in
the dairy, before I come in and undress him ready
for last thing at night.
MAT. Ay, do, wife. How comes it you had such
bad luck with the churn yesterday ? No butter at
all, had you?
JOAN. No; I can't think how 't was. For a good
hour and more I churned away, but something
surely ailed the cream-it would n't yield a scrap
o' butter.
MAT. Well, better luck this evening, I hope,
Joan. I 'm off to the mill. [He goes out.

JOAN (rocking her baby in her arms, and
lulling him off to sleep). Hush-a-by, baby!
Mother's own darling! Hush-a-by, Watty!
Sleep, my beauty! I do think now he 's fast as a
church. (She places him on the bed, and draws-to
the checked curtains.) Now, Peggy, Mother's other
darling, behave like a lady, and sit in your little
arm-chair like a queen upon her throne, and don't
stir or get into harm while Mother's away (she
kisses Peggy, and places her in the child's-chair,
giving her a toy-horse to play with) --I '1 soon be
back again.

[JOAN goes out, shutting the cottage door after her. In
a few moments the lattice-casement opens, and dis-
covers PUCK perched on the window-sill. He is
clothed in a close-fitting suit of dark brown merino,
decked with moss, fern, and ivy-leaves; he has pointed,
stick-up ears, and dusky, bat-like wings. He pops his
head in, and looks about.



PUCK. What have we here? No on
At happy moment have I co
The cottage empty? No on
I look, and peep, and slyly
But not a soul I see-that'

Ah, yes! that child-a little
She 's playing with a horse,
No matter; she 's a tiny pus
Wont notice Puck, or make
Whate'er he do: so, in I ju
[He leaps down from the sill
The child sits there, a silen
'T is all the better. Here I
I laugh my merry Ho! ho!
The laugh of Robin Goodfe
[He snatches the pewter plates from th
flings them about among the bowls and
on the dresser, while he says the follow
Down, down I dash the pewter
Hark, how the metal clinks an
The horn against the pewter bi
And splits itself to rents and ta
The crockery against 'em shatt
The bowl of milk upsets and s
If spilt, the better-naught it
I love the mess; the more it sc
The more my mirth: for turmo
Are joy to PUCK; they make
Like grinning ape, that moes a
See, see the white milk-dov
PEGGY (watching PUCK). Ugly
PUCK (seizing the utensils front
dresser, and strewing them about the
much noise as possible).
Now pots and kettles, pans, lo
I' m going to put you to the
Pots, pans, and kettles, fly abc
As you clang, I 'II loudly shou
I love to hear the merry dash,
STo see the litter and the splas
The smutty vessels tumble, da
Together in a heap, and crash
Oho! the housewife needs mu
The things that Puck has soil
And Robin Goodfellow enjoys
Whatever lazy wife annoys:
For frolic, mischief, fun, and s
Are Robin's very life of life.
PEGGY (watching PUCK). Ugly
boy! Bad boy!
PUCK (going to the wood-basket,
the wood, log by log, and hurling t,
the floor near the,hearth).

ae at home ? And now to scatter all the wood -
me. They '11 have to make it neat and good!
e here? A clean-swept hearth I dearly love;
peer; And peasants should n't be above
s clear! Their work of keeping tidy all
[Sees PEGGY. Around them, be it large or small.
lass! A sloven I can not abide:
or ass I like to see things set aside,
And put in place, and order kept;
a fuss, The well-scrubbed floor all neatly swept,
mp, The boards as white as snowy sheet,
Fit for a fairy's dainty feet.
into the room. Therefore I strew the floor with clumps,
t lump: That goody Joan may stir her stumps
Sgo! And pile the logs all up again,
ho! And strive with all her might and main
allow. To tidy up the twigs and sticks
.e shelves, and Here strewn about by Robin's tricks.
I other articles Oh, ho ho, ho he laughs outright
ing: To see this goodly, merry sight-
platters! To know the vexed and wondering plight
d clatters! These good folks will be in to-night!
matters, PEGGY. Bad boy Bad boy! Go away!
Letters PUCK (snatching the toy-horse away from PEG-
ers, GY, and darting off with it to the opposite side of
patters the stage, he holds it out to her, imitating the
matters: neigh of a horse).
matters, Like filly foal I shrilly neigh;
il, din, Come hither Fetch your horse, I say!
him grin Come if you 're for a game of play,
nd chatters. It is not Puck will say you nay.
rn it patters!
n it patters! [PEGGY shakes her head.
boy Bad
SB You wont? then you 're a silly gaby.

beneath te It is n't often that a baby
z beneath the
f rH, as chance of such a playfellow
floor, wzith as
As mad-cap Robin Goodfellow.
[She still shakes her head, rising from her chair.
ok out !
r out! But if you wont, you wont: your nag
out! 'T is true, is hardly worth the fag
at! Of fetching. Let it go! I '11 chuck
It in the wood-basket, for Puck
h, Avers 't is good for naught: a steed?
sh Why, 't is n't even worth its feed.
Here goes A good-for-nothing block,
st clean Fit only to increase the stock
ed, I ween; Of logs for burning! In it goes!
SLook out, my lassy, mind your toes!
[He flings the toy-horse into the basket.
;trife PEGGY. Oh, my horse! Bad boy go away, go
away [She cries.
boy! Noisy PUCK. Oho! oho! you wish me gone?
[He beckons her back to her little arm-chair.
emptying out Come hither; sit upon your throne,
he sticks about My pretty little red-cheeked maid;
Forget the gamesome pranks I've played-




Come, sit ye down, and be at ease.
You 're like a cluster of sweet peas-
Those perking butterflies of flowers,
That lift their wings amid the bowers;
Or speedwell, with its eyes of blue
So shyly gazing, just like you;
Or opening rose, that floral queen-
Pink flush, with pinker flush between;
So fresh and fair you are, I 've seen
No sweeter blossom than yourself-
You might, for beauty, be an elf. "
Come, sit ye down, my winsome maid;
Be seated, pray; be not afraid.
[She approaches; and, as she is about to sit down, he
draws back the small chair suddenly.

PEGGY (saving herself from falling). Bad
boy nearly had me down go away go away !
PUCK (tripping on tiptoe toward the bed).
Between these curtains I will peep.
[He peers in.
What 's here? an infant fast asleep !
Bright golden curls, a cherry cheek,
Long, fringed lashes--all bespeak
A loveliness complete What if
I make him source of elfin tiff
'Twixt King and Queen of Fairy-land,
And bring contention 'mid our band?
'T would be good sport; dull peace I hate;
They 've been good friends too much of
As long ago the Indian boy
Was Queen Titania's favorite toy,
Till ta'en from her by Oberon,
Who set his kingly heart thereon--
His little henchman page to be
And tend upon him faithfully,-
So now this buxom baby-boy
Shall be my royal lady's joy,
Unless again she be beguiled
And forced to yield her changeling child.
At any rate, I '11 steal the lad-
'T will drive his foolish parents mad.
Oh, Puck loves mischief, frolic, fun !
One trick 's no sooner deftly done,
Than he another has begun;
And Robin Goodfellow's delight
Is working mortal louts despite.
Come, Master Baby: by your leave,
Out of your bed I '11 you upheave !
[He lifts WATTY up.
These humans are a goodly weight;
And this is heavy, sure as fate!
But here comes some one -off I go!
And laugh my mocking Ho! ho! ho!
[Exit, bearing WATTY away with him.

PEGGY. He's gone Bad boy 's gone Taken
Watty away!
[After a pause-- Reenter JOAN.

JOAN (looking around her). Why, here 's a
pretty mess! What in the name of wonder 's
come to the things? Platters knocked off the
shelves! Bowls upset! Brown pan cracked! Pots
and kettles topsy-turvey! Wood all strewed about !
Why, Peggy, what in the world has been doing
here? Is this the way you have behaved like a
queen, and sat still, and been as good as I told
PEGGY. Me did n't do it. Did sit still.
JOAN. Don't tell me; you must have done it.
And yet, no--you could n't do it; you're not
strong enough! Who did it? Tell Mother.
Who 's been here ?
PEGGY. Bad boy; bad, ugly boy !
JOAN. Boy what boy?
PEGGY. Bad boy; ugly boy; made noise; took
Watty away.
JOAN. What is the child saying? What are
you talking about, Peggy?
PEGGY. 'Bout bad boy. Ugly; noisy; took
away Watty.
JOAN. Bless the child! What can she mean?
(Runs to the bed; looks between the curtains, and
screams.) Watty Watty Oh, my beautiful baby!
Watty! Watty! Oh, where is he! He 's gone!
He 's gone !
PEGGY. Yes; bad boy took him.
JOAN. But, what boy?
PEGGY. Ugly boy; noisy boy; bad boy.
JOAN (flinging herself in the seat, throwing
her apron over her face, and crying bitterly). Oh,
my Watty, my Watty my baby, my baby, my
beautiful, my dear baby-boy !

[Reenter MAT; he is spattered with mud up to his

MAT. Why, Joan-woman, what 's the matter?
How come you to be taking on like that ? What's
gone wrong with you ? I thought it was only me
that had gone wrong, and that things had gone
wrong with. I've been lost in the fog, got in the
bog, and up to my knees in mire and muck.
See what a pickle I'm in, and what a dance I've
been led And all through' a sudden mist that
came on, and a wicked Will o' the Wisp that lured
me by his false light all across the marsh, instead
of the nighest way home. It's well I did n't stick
fast in the quagmire. But what's the matter with
you, my woman?
JOAN. Oh, Mat! Watty, our Watty! He's
gone! He'slost! He 's taken away!
MAT. Taken away! Who 's taken him away?


JOAN. I don't know! I- can't think Oh, he 's
gone he 's lost !
MAT. It must be some mistake, wife; who
should have taken him away ? Are you sure he's
JOAN. Too sure, too sure! He 's not in the
bed where I left him safe tucked up.
MAT. Are you quite sure? (He goes to the
bed, and fulls aside the curtain.) Why, what 's
this? (ie lifts up a little, imn-like child,* with
green horns on its head, and dusky wings on
its back.) Look here, Joan! What on earth's
this ?
JOAN (taking her apron from before her face,
and giving a scream as she looks). That! That
is a monster! An imp! A fright! Ugh! Oh,
how unlike my Watty! My beauty! my own
MAT. I '11 tell you what, Joan-woman; your
going on so about the beauty of our baby-boy
has put it into the fairies' heads to steal him away,
and send this changeling creature instead. I 've
heard of such things; and mayhap it 's chanced
to us.
JOAN. A fairy-changeling! Oh, take it away!
Put it out o' doors I can't bear the sight of it.
MAT. Turn it out o' doors! And night soon
a-coming on! No, wife, that I wont. Nor you
wont, neither, I know, once you come to think of
it. Here, take it in your arms, poor little object;
it looks a queer little oddity enough, but it does n't
look wicked, though. Look at it, mother; it 's
a-looking at.you, as if it wanted you to cuddle it.
JOAN. Is it, Mat ? .(She starts toward him ,
but turns away.) But oh, my Watty! (Sobs
and cries again.)
MAT. Well, if we've lost Watty, mother, we
sha n't get him back by crying; and we sha n't
get him back by being cruel to this one; and even
this thing's better than no baby to love. So,
come, Joan-woman, take it in your arms.
JOAN (shudders, but puts out her arms. MAT
puts the child into them, and she closes them around
it, as it clings, to her). Poor little fright! It
seems to like being cuddled, though it is so
MAT. Oh, you 'll get used to it, and then it
wont seem so hideous. Once women hug babies
to 'em, they 're sure to think 'em pretty.
PUCK (outside the cottage door, and giving a
heavy thump against it). Open the door!
MAT. What 's that? Who 's there? Who
PUCK (outside). It 's I-Hob.
MAT. Hob? Who's Hob?

PUCK (outside). I.
MAT. You? Why, you said that before. But it
does n't tell me who you are.
PUCK (thumps again). Come and see.
MAT openingg the door, Puck is seen standing
there, with a coarse jacket and trousers over his
own elfn dress, and a rough cap, with a shock oj
red hair, covering his impish head and stick-up
ears). Well, now I see you, you 're not anything
much to see, I must say.
PUCK. Aint I, though? I should n't wonder
a bit. I 'm only a poor lad; never been taught
MAT. What d'ye want here?
PUCK (coming in). I want a night's lodg'n',
and summut to eat and drink.
MAT. You do, do you? And what makes you
think you '11 get 'em here ?
PUCK. Don't know. Thought I 'd try.
MAT. What are you ?
PUCK. A ragamuffin.
MAT. So you seem. Are you a gypsy?
PUCK. P'rhaps. A tramp; a scamp. They
sometimes call me a scamp. I 'm starving.
MAT. Are you?
PUCK. Not a doubt about it. Give me summut
good to eat.
MAT. One 'd think you would n't be over-nice,
if you 're so hard up for feed as you say. What do
you like best ?
PUCK. Curds and cream; or a bowl o' milk '11
do, with some good wheaten bread in it.
MAT. You are n't particular, you are n't. Joan-
woman, have we, got anything to give this young
shaver? He can't be left to starve, you know.
JOAN. As for curds and cream," there is n't a
drop o' cream to be had. When I went into the
dairy, I found the milk-pans all skimmed clear-
nothing to put in the churn. As for curds, there
may be some of them, for I put some to set, and at
all rates there 's some skim-milk. I 've a good
mind to go and see; for this impsy here '11 be glad
o' some bread and milk, and there 's none left in
the bowl on the dresser. All upset!
MAT. No cream! All the milk skimmed! No
getting any butter from the churn yesterday!
Why, wife, we seem bewitched !
PUCK (aside). No witch, good people. Ho!
ho! ho 'T was merry Robin Goodfellow!
(Aloud.) No cream? Well, then, a bowl o'
curds, or a good mess o' bread and milk. I 'm
sharp-set; I 'm famished !
MAT. He sha n't starve, the wretched urchin.
I'11 go myself to the dairy, and see for a bowl o'
curds and some milk. [Exit.

*This is to be personated by the same big baby-doll that represents Watty--its curly hair covered over by a close skull-cap of light
brown merino, having green horns on it, and its body clothed in a close-fitting dress of the same merino stuff





PUCK (aside). Sweet curds and whey! Sweet
milk The food that most to merry Puck seems
good. (Aloud.) Got any nut-brown ale in the
house? I should n't mind a horn-full. Or cow-
slip wine ? A cup o' cowslip wine 's not bad, when
one 's got a spark in one's throat.
JOAN. Ill-mannered brat! Who taught you
such off-hand ways ?
PUCK. Never was taught at all.
JOAN. Why, who was your father and mother?
PUCK. Never had any.
JOAN. Who 's taken care of you?
PUCK. Never was taken care of. Tim Tinker
took me about with him; but he never took care o'
me. He licked me well-nigh all day.
JOAN. Licked you?
PUCK. Ay, beat me black and blue; starved me
within an inch o' my life; so at last I ran away,
with the inch I had left. And here I am !
JOAN. Oh, you 're here, are you?
PUCK. Yes, I 'm here.
[Reenter MAT, with a pan of curds and a bowl of milk.
MAT. I 've brought you the milk and curds,
wife.; but a new misfortune 's happened. I found
all the beer I set to work gone wrong! No barm to
be seen on it yet, though it's a good bit since I set
it a-work. We're sure bewitched, Joan !
PUCK (aside). No witch, good people. Ho! ho!
ho! 'T was merry Robin Goodfellow. (Aloud.)
Give us hold o' the bowl, master.
MAT. Wait a bit; the little 'un must be served
first. Give it some bread and milk, mother; sop
some curds in for it. I '11 hand you over some
bread. [He gets some from the dresser.
JOAN ( ..' .. some bread in a smaller bowl,
into which MAT pours some of the milk, and she,
with signs of mingled sorrow and disgust, feeds
tke elfin baby on her lap). How the poppet enjoys
it Look at the little creature, Mat! How it
eats !
MAT. Ay, I'll warrant it! (Turning to PUCK.)
Now for you, youngster. Here's the remainder o'
the bowl o' milk, and a good slice o' bread to
munch; and after that you can finish off with some
o' the curds.
PUCK (taking the milk, and supping it up nois-
ily). Ah! it's good, though! (He reaches over
to the pan of curds, into which he dashes the wooden
spoon that MAT has given him to feed
with.) Now for some o' the curds !
MAT. I say, young chap That's rather a rough
way of helping yourself, that is Where did you
learn manners ?
PUCK. Never learnt any. Nobody never taught
me noth'n'. (He continues to dash the spoon into
the curds, and gulp down spoonful after spoonful.)

MAT. You 're splashing over as much as you
eat. Be still, you young urchin, and wait till I
help you.
PUCK. Be quick, then; make haste! (As MAT
helps him to the curds, PUCK jogs his elbow, and
makes him spill half.)
MAT. I say! Mind what you 're about, you
blundering chap !
JOAN. Give me some o' the curds, Mat, for lit-
tle impsy here. He'd p'raps like some as well as
the bread and milk; he seems still hungry.
MAT (giving her some of the curds). I war-
rant him! Here, mother.
JOAN (continuing to feed the child). It sucks it
in as if it thought it rare and nice (While she is
watching the child, PUCK gets off his seat, and,
passing round her, nudges her arm so that she bobs
the spoon, with which she is feeding the child,
against its lips.) Drat the boy! What an awk-
ward, rough lout it is !
MAT. Clumsy urchin! What did you do that
PUCK. I didn't go for to do it. She stuck out
her elbow, and I knocked against it.
JOAN. P'raps he did n't mean it, Mat. He
seems not to know how to do anything decently.
PUCK. No; nobody never taught me noth'n'. I
told you so.
MAT. Can you do any work? What did you do
to get your bread?
PUCK. Noth'n'.
JOAN. No? Poor wretch! He says the traveling
tinker that took him about with him beat him and
starved him, but never took any care of him, or
taught him anything. Well, impsy here seems
getting sleepy. I '11 just lay him down on the
bed and tuck him up snug. (She futs the child
on the bed, and draws the curtains.)
PUCK (going to the window, and looking out,
he-or some concealed person in his stead--imi-
tates the grunting of a hog, the squeaking of figs,
and the barking of a dog). Hello! there 's the
pig-sty door open, and the swine all getting out,
and the dog barking after 'em like mad!
MAT. Who could have unfastened the pig-sty
door? [He runs out.
JOAN. Mat may well say we are bewitched! I
do think we are !
PUCK (aside). No witch, good woman. Ho!
ho! ho! 'T was merry Robin Goodfellow. (Aloud,
and looking from the window.) How Master Mat
is pelting away! He runs like a cockroach!
JOAN. Why don't you run after him and try to
help him?
PUCK. I help him! How am I to help? I was
never taught to help. (Still laughing.)


JOAN. Wretched cub! What do you stick there,
grinning, for? I 've no patience with you. And
yet I ought to, for you 've never been taught bet-
ter. Here! do try and learn to do something; you
may help me to put by some of these things. Come
here, and let's see if I can't teach you to be a little
handy and helpful. (She gives him the brown pan,
that has held the curds, to put away; but he pre-
tends to trip his foot, and lets the an fall smash on
thefloor.) Oh, you clumsy lad! You're fit for
nothing! You're good for nothing!
PUCK. To be sure I aint.
JOAN. You 're enough to tire the patience of
Grizzel herself! (She is going to sit down on one
of the stools, when PUCK draws it back suddenly,
and she falls down.) Mercy me! I've nearly broke
my back!
PUCK. Oh, ho! ho! ho! See how she stumbles!
The stool pulled back, and down she tumbles !
By sun and stars, an awkward slip!
'Tis ten to one she hurts her hip !
And what care I if so it be?
To plague mankind is Robin's glee.
PEGGY. Talks sing-song! Like bad boy.
PUCK. 'T is now high time I skip away-
I 've had my fill of pranks and play.
And so I'm off, with Ho! ho! ho!
Good-bye, says Robin Goodfellow!
[He jumps through the window and exit. Renter

MAT. No hog! no pigs! no dog! nothing to
be seen! The pig-sty shut, the kennel quiet!
What can it all mean?
JOAN (getting u from the ground). I 've had
such a fall! That clumsy vagabond of a Hob-
(Looking around, and not seeing him.) Why,
where is he?
PEGGY. Flew out o' the window.
MAT. Oh, it 's too sure; we 're bewitched!-
that 's what it is.
[A knock is heard at the cottage door.
JOAN. Who 's there? Pull the latch and come
[Enter OBERON and TITANIA, in patched and ragged
clothes, worn over their fairy dresses.
OBERON. Can you give a poor couple leave to
rest here ? We 're way-worn and foot-weary, and
my good wife can't hobble any farther.
JOAN (aside to her husband). Oh, Mat! per-
haps it's the witch, come to see the mischief she 's
MAT (aside to JOAN). No, no, wife; don't you
be timorsome or fanciful. It is only a poor, tired-
out couple; let's give 'em rest and food. (Aloud,
to them.) Come along, good folk; sit ye down, and

welcome. Make yourselves at home, and rest as
you like. (He sets stools for them.) And I 'll go
and get you a comfortable horn of beer, and some
bread and cheese; that '11 cheer you up, and help
you on your way, wont it?
OBERON. Ay, ay, master. Thank ye kindly,
thank ye kindly, more for my wife than myself-
she 's fairly tired out, poor soul!
JOAN. You find us all at sixes and sevens; noth-
ing neat and clean as it ought to be, to sit ye down
in, and make you welcome in. Our cottage has
been turned topsy-turvey, as you see; and, worst
of all, my pretty baby, Watty, has been stolen
away; and I have n't heart to do a hand's turn at
tidying up the place or anything. Oh, my Watty!
my Watty (Flings her afron over her head and
bursts out crying.)
MAT (going to her). Don't fret, don't fret,
Joan-woman! I can't bear to see thee fret.
Poor folk! their grief doth touch me to the
Let's comfort them, and act our oyal part
Of gentleness and mercy: let's restore
The changeling boy, and bid them grieve no
OBERON. Agreed: we fairies pride ourselves
on deeds
As fair and fragrant as the flowery meads.

[The tattered clothes fall from around the Fairy King
and Queen, showing them in dainty robes of white,
garlanded with ivy wreaths; chaplets of daisies on
their heads; and wands, each tipped with a star, in
their hands. MAT and JOAN turn and see them thus.

TITANIA. Good woman, see! Within the cur-
tained bed
Lies nestled safe the pretty curly head
Of your own baby, Watty. He 's restored-

[JOAN rushes to the bed and brings forth WATTY, as he
was at first; she covers him with kisses.

Since good for evil, of your own accord,
You have returned.
OBERON. Not all the mischief done
By Puck could move you, worthy folk, to one
Unkindness or forgetfulness of due
Forbearance. 'T is but fair, my friends, that
Should have your turn of goodness shown; we
Disdain to be outdone by gods themselves
In generosity. Take back your son !-
And now, our fairy interlude is done.
Remains but this, that Master Puck be made
To render back the Good for Evil paid.



What ho Thou knavish sprite, thou roguish
Appear! Fly hither in a twink, I say.

[The casement opens, and PUCK is seen, dressed as at
first, just alighted on the sill.

Repair the foul disorder and ill luck
Thou hast occasioned here, thou villain Puck!
Make cleanly all the cottage homestead space,
Or dare not hope to have my future grace.
Be quick, and ply thy fairy besom well,
And shed upon the house a happy spell.


PUCK. 'T is fit my royal master be obeyed,
And Robin's part shall faithfully be played.
[He flits hither and thither, dusting and sweeping with a
brush of feathers in one hand, and in the other a
broom of green twigs that he snatches up from the
side scene.
A blessing rest upon this lowly roof,
For it has kindly been in elves' behoof.
Since Good for Evil best of virtues ranks,
[Comes forward.
'T is surely right, when shown to Robin's
[The curtain falls.]

A// ^^lannAO
* -^




I 11, ir \IV i", IT is a c
4 that so use
cle as the
skees has not been
erally introduced in t
States.' In some of th
States, notably in Wis
SMinnesota, where the Sc
population is large, the i
of Norse blood are beginning to teach
the use of their national snow-
shoes, and in Canada there
has been an attempt made
(with what success we do not
know) to make skee-running
popular. But the subject has
by no means received the
consideration which it de-
serves, and I am confident
that I shall earn the gratitude
of the great army of boys if I can teach
to enjoy this fascinating sport.
Let me first, then, describe a skee an
how to have it made. You take a piecc
straight-grained pine, from five to ten fee
cut it down until it is about the breadth
foot, or, at most, an inch broader. There
no knots in the wood, and the grain mu
tolerable regularity lengthwise from end
If you can not find a piece without a

urious fact toward each end. Cut the forward end into a
eful an arti- point,--not abruptly, but with a gradual curve, as
Norwegian shown in the drawings below. Pierce the middle
more gen- latitudinally with a hole, about half an inch in
he United height and an inch or (if required) more in width;
e Western then bend the forward pointed end by means of
consin and five sticks, placed as the drawing indicates, and let
andinavian the skee remain in this position for four or five days,
immigrants until its bend has become permanent, and it will
Americans no longer, on the removal of the sticks, resume the
straight line. Before doing
'this, however, it would be well
to plane the under side of the
skee carefully and then polish
and sand-paper it, until it is
as smooth as a mirror. It is,
of course, of prime impor-
tance to diminish as much as
possible the friction in run-
ning, and to -make the skee
them how glide easily over the surface of the snow, and the
Norwegians use for this purpose soft-soap, which
d tell you they rub upon the under side of the skee, and which,
e of tough, I am told, has also a tendency to make the wood
t long, and tougher. In fact, too much care can not be exer-
;h of your cised in this respect, as the excellence of the sees,
re must be when finished, depends primarily upon the con-
st run with bined toughness and lightness of the wood. Corn-
to end. mon pine will not do; for although,
knot, then when well dried, it is light enough,
Sn > __7


let the knot be as near the hind end as possible;
but such a skee is not perfect, as it is apt to break
if subjected to the strain of a "jump or a hol-
low" in a swift run. The thickness, of the skee
should be about an inch or an inch and one-half
in the middle, and it should gradually grow thinner

it is rarely strong enough to bear the required
strain. The tree known to Norwegians as the fir
(Sylvestris pinus), which has long, flexible needles,
hanging in tassels (not evenly distributed along
the branch, as in the spruce), is most commonly
used, as it is tough and pitchy, but becomes light



in weight, without losing its strength, when it is serve a similar purpose. Leather, or any other
well seasoned and dried. Any other strong and substance which is apt to stretch when getting
straight-grained wood might, perhaps, be used, wet, will not do for bands, although, undoubtedly,
i-- nrn omthin"- mini-t he cnrtri".:ld 'hichl might be
S ; ( i, 1. ,1 I.. ..l... .. ..i ...I., .:, crib in g
u 1 !C .. II.,_,' ._. u ._.1 ,'..L not as
'''"I,', A"- in In the

S.... -....... .. rler cap
I. '' r .l i i .. ,i ...r I i, e never
I t 1h ....I :. i ..n. .. ,r .-- ... opinion
A- il:b ut I ..:l .I.. ir .s ofthe

: .. .. ...:.r .= ,- i w would
'i ". ,.ld i 1. comake
S"' -:r .1 i r .. I:. : ,-,,.L prevent
\i .. .o," ,-i':. n r i, -,ilself of

-' i i-., .

See at a

N i_ n,.l l, _t's no-

but would, I think, be liable to the objection of
being too heavy.
When the skee has been prepared as above i
described, there only remains to put a double
band through the middle; the Norwegians make
it of twisted withes, and fit its size to the toe of
the boot. If the band is too wide, so as to .
reach up on the instep, it is impossible to steer
the skee, while, if it is too narrow, the foot is apt
to. slip out. Of these two withe-bands, one should
stand up and the. other lie down horizontally, so A SKEE-RACE. [SEE PAGE 30.]
as to steady the foot and prevent it from sliding. tice. The chief difficulty that the beginner has to
A little knob, just in fropt of the heel, might encounter is the tendency of the skees to "spread,"
VOL. X.-20.




and the only thing for him to do in such a case, toward the right, you press your staff down into
provided he is running too fast to trust to his abil- the snow on your right side, while a similar maneu-
ity to get them parallel again, is to jump out of ver on your left side will bend your course in
the bands and let the sees go. Let him take care that direction. If you wish to test your skees when
to throw himself backward, breaking his fall by they are finished, put your feet into the bands, and
means of the staff, and in the soft snow he will let some one take hold of the two front ends and
sustain no injury. Whenever an accident occurs slowly raise them while you are standing in the
in skee-running, it can usually be traced to undue bands. If they bear your weight, they are re-
tightness of the band, which may make it difficult garded as safe, and will not be likely to break in
to withdraw the feet instantly. A pair of sees kept
at the rooms of the American Geographical Society,
New York, are provided with a safeguard against
"spreading in the shape of a slight groove run-
ning longitudinally along the under side of each
skee. I have seen sees provided with two such
grooves, each about an inch from the edge and SIDE IEW, SHOWING FOOT I POSITION.
meeting near the forward point, critical moments. In conclusion, let me add that
There has, of course, to be one shee for each the length and thickness of the sees, as here
foot, and the second is an exact duplicate of the described, are not invariable, but must vary in
first. The upper sides of both are usually deco- accordance with the size of the boy who wishes to
rated, either in colors or with rude carvings; the use them. Five feet is regarded as the minimum
forward ends are usually painted for about a foot, length, and would suit a boy from twelve to four-
either in black or red. teen years old, while a grown-up man might safely
Now, the reader will ask: "What advantage make them twice that length.
does this kind of snow-shoes offer over the ordi- In Norway, where the woods are pathless in
nary Indian ones, which are in common use in winter, and where heavy snows continually fall
the Western and Northern States?" Having from the middle of October until the middle
tried both, I think I may confidently answer that of April, it is easily seen how essential, nay
the sees are superior, both in speed and conven- indispensable, the sees must be to hunters,
ience; and, moreover, they. fifr-r a. great saving of trappers, and lumber-men, who have to depend
strength. The force which, with the American upon the forests for their livelihood. Therefore,
snow-shoes, is expended in lifting the feet, is with one of the first accomplishments which the
the sees applied only as a propeller, for the Norwegian boy learns, as soon as he is old enough
skee glides, and is never lifted; and on level to find his way through the parish alone, is the
ground the resistance of the body in motion impels use of these national snow-shoes. If he wakes
the skee-runner with each forward up one fine winter morning and sees the huge
stride several feet beyond the length snow-banks blockading doors and windows, and
a white, glittering surface extending
--- for miles as far as his eye can reach,
STAFF WITH A WHEEL THAT ACTS AS A BRAKE. he gives a shout of delight, buttons his thick
of his step. If he is going down- woolen jacket up to his chin, pulls the fur borders
hill, his effort will naturally be to of his cap down over his ears, and then, having
diminish rather than to increase his speed, and he cleared a narrow path between the dwelling-house
carries for this purpose a strong but light staff about and the cow-stables, makes haste to jump into
six feet long, upon which he may lean more or less his sees. If it is cold (as it usu-
heavily, and thereby retard the rapidity of his prog- ally is) and the snow ac- cordingly
ress. The best skee-runners, however, take great
pride in dispensing with the staff, and one often
sees them in Norway rushing down the steepest
hill-sides with incredible speed, with a whirling eddy
of snow following in their track. Although this UNDER SIDE AND CROSS SECTION OF SKEE, SHOWING GROOVE.
may be a very fine and inspiriting sight, I should dry and crisp, he knows that it will be a splendid
not recommend beginners to be too hasty in day for skee-running. If, on the contrary, the
throwing away the staff, as it is only by means snow is wet and heavy, it is apt to stick in clots to
of it that they are able to guide their course the sees, and then the sport is attended with
down over the snowy slope, just as a ship is difficulties which are apt to spoil the amusement..
steered by its rudder. If you wish to steer We will take it for granted, however, that there


are no indications of a thaw, and we will accom-
pany the Norse boy on his excursions over the
snowy fields and through the dense pine-woods, in
which he and his father spend their days in toil,
not untempered with pleasure.
"Now, quick, Ola, my lad !" cries his father to
him; "fetch the ax from the wood-shed and
bring me my gun from the corner behind the
clock, and we will see what luck we had with the
fox-traps and the snares up in the birch-glen."
And Ola has no need of being asked twice to
attend to such duties. His mother, in the mean-
while, has put up a luncheon, consisting of
cold smoked ham and bread and butter, in a
gayly painted wooden box, which Ola slings
across his shoulder, while Nils, his father, sticks
the ax into his girdle, and with his gun in one
hand and his skee-staff in the other, emerges into
the bright winter morning. They then climb up
the steep snow-banks, place their skees upon the
level surface, and put their feet into the bands.
Nils gives a tremendous push with his staff and
away he flies down the steep hill-side, while
his little son, following close behind him, gives
an Indian war-whoop, and ::-. ig his staff about his
head to show how little he needs it. Whew, how
fast he goes! How the cold wind sings in his
ears; how the snow whirls about him, filling his
eyes and ears and silvering the loose locks about
his temples, until he looks like a hoary little
gnome who has just stepped out from the mount-
ain-side But he is well used to snow and cold,
and he does not mind it a bit.
In a few seconds father and son have reached the
bottom of the valley, and before them is a steep
incline, overgrown with leafless birch and elder
forests. It is there where they have their snares,
made of braided horse-hair; and, as bait, they use
the red berries of the mountain ash, of which ptar-
migan and thrushes are very fond. Now comes the
test of their strength; but the snow is too deep and
loose to wade through, and to climb a declivity on
skees is by no means as easy as it is to slide
down a smooth hill-side. They now have to plod
along slowly, ascending in long zig-zag lines, paus-
ing often to rest on their staves, and to wipe the
perspiration from their foreheads. Half an hour's
climb brings them to the trapping-grounds. But
there, indeed, their efforts are well rewarded.
Oh, look, look Father cries the boy, ecstat-
ically. Oh, what a lot we have caught! Why,
there are three dozen birds, as sure as there is one."
His father smiles contentedly, but says nothing.
He is too old a trapper to give way tq his delight.
"There is enough to buy you a new coat for
Christmas, lad," he says, chuckling; "and if we
make many more such hauls, we may get enough

to buy Mother a silver brooch, too, to wear at
church on Sundays."
"No, buy Mother's brooch first, Father," protests
the lad, a little hesitatingly (for it costs many boys
an effort to be generous) ;" my coat will come along
soon enough. Although, to be sure, my old one
is pretty shabby," he adds, with a regretful glance
at his patched sleeves.
Well, we will see, we will see," responds Nils,
pulling off his bear-skin mittens and gliding in
among the trees in which the traps are set. The
good Lord, who looks after the poor man as well
as the fich, may send us enough to attend to the
wants of us all."
He had opened his hunting-bag, and was loosen-
ing the snare from the neck of a poor strangled
ptarmigan, when all of a sudden he heard a great
flapping of wings, and, glancing down through the
long colonnade of frost-silvered trees, saw a bird
which had been caught by the leg, and was strug-
gling desperately to escape from the snare.
Poor silly thing! he said, half-pityingly; "it
is not worth a shot. Run down and dispatch it, Ola."
'' Oh, I don't like to kill things, Father," cried
the lad, who with a fascinated gaze was regarding
the struggling ptarmigan. "When they hang
themselves I don't mind it so much; but it seems
too wicked to wring the neck of that white, harm-
less bird. No, let me cut the snare with my
knife and let it go."
"All right; do as you like, lad," answered the
father, with gruff kindliness.
And with a delight which did his heart more
honor than his head, Ola slid away on his skees
toward the struggling bird, which, the moment he
touched it, hung perfectly still, with its tongue stuck
out, as if waiting for its death-blow.
"Kill me," it seemed to say. "I am quite
But, instead of killing it, Ola took it gently in his
hand, and stroked it caressingly while cutting the
snare and disentangling its feet. How wildly its
little heart-beat with fright! And the moment his
hold was relaxed, down it tumbled into the snow,
ran a few steps, then took to its wings, dashed
against a tree in sheer bewilderment, and shook
down a shower of fine snow on its deliverer's head.
Ola felt quite heroic when he saw the bird's
delight, and thought how, perhaps, next summer
(when it had changed its coat to brown) it would
tell its little ones nestling under its wings of its
hair-breadth escape from death, and of the kind-
hearted youngster who had set it free instead of
killing it.
While Ola was absorbed in these pleasant reflec-
tions, Nils, his father, had filled his hunting-bag
with game and was counting his spoils.


"Now, quick, laddie," he called out, cheerily.
" Stir your stumps and bring me your bag of bait.
Get the snares to rights and fix the berries, as you
have seen me doing."
Ola was very fond of this kind of work, and he

and, looking up, saw a fox making a great leap,
then. plunging headlong into the snow.
Hello, Mr. Reynard," remarked Nils, as he
slid over toward the dead animal. You over-
slept yourself this morning. You have stolen my

I .-
D, 001

j_ --%

-- --

. :- S7- U- --R-N- R- :


pushed himself with his staff from tree to tree, and
hung the tempting red berries in the little hoops
and arches which were attached to the bark of the
trees. He was in the midst of this labor, when
suddenly he heard the report of his father's gun,

game so long, now, that it was time I should get
even with you. And yet, if the wind had been the
other way, you would have caught the scent of me
sooner than I should have caught yours. Now, sir,
we are quits."




-- ~-
~-=-, -


What a great, big, sleek fellow ejaculated
Ola, stroking the fox's fur and opening his mouth
to examine his sharp, needle-pointed teeth.
"Yes," replied Nils; I have saved the rascal
the trouble of hunting until he has grown fat and
secure, and fond of his ease. I had a long score
to settle with that old miscreant, who has been
robbing my snares ever since last season. His
skin is worth about three dollars."
When the task of setting the snares in order
had been completed, father and son glided lightly
away under the. huge, snow-laden trees to visit
their traps, which were set further up the mountain.
The sun was just peeping above the mountain-
ridge, and the trees and the great snow-fields
flashed and shone, as if oversown with numberless
diamonds. Round about were the tracks of birds
and beasts; the record of their little lives was
traced there in the soft, downy snow, and could be
read by every one who had the eyes to read. Here
were the tracks telling of the quiet pottering of
the leman and the field-mouse, going in search of
their stored provisions for breakfast, but rising to
take a peep at the sun on the way. You could
trace their long, translucent tunnels under the snow-
crust, crossing each other in labyrinthine entangle-
ments. Here Mr. Reynard's graceful tail had lightly
brushed over the snow, as he leaped to catch young
Mrs. Partridge, who had just come out to scratch
up her breakfast of frozen huckleberries, and here
Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel (a very estimable couple)
had partaken of their frugal repast of pine-cone
seeds, the remains of which were still scattered on
the snow. But far prettier were the imprints of their
tiny feet, showing how they sat on their haunches,
chattering amicably about the high cost of living,
and of that grasping monopolist, Mr. Reynard, who
had it all his own way in the woods, and had no
more regard for life than a railroad president. This
and much more, which I have not the time to tell
you, did Ola and his father observe on their skee-
excursion through the woods. And when, late in
the afternoon, they turned their faces homeward,
they had, besides the ptarmigan and the fox, a big
caperciilzie (or grouse) cock and two hares. The
twilight was already falling, for in the Norway
winter it grows dark early in the afternoon.
Now, let us see, lad," said Ola's father, regard-
ing his son with a strange, dubious glance, "if
you have got Norse blood in your veins. We don't
want to go home the way we came, or we should
scarcely reach the house before midnight. But if
you dare risk your neck with your father, we will
take the western track down the bare mountain-
side. It takes brisk and stout legs to stand in that
track, my lad, and I wont urge you, if you are

I guess I can go where you can, Father," re-
torted the boy, proudly. "Anyway, my neck is n't
half so valuable as yours."
Spoken like a man !" said the father, in a voice
of deep satisfaction. Now for it, lad Make
yourself ready. Strap the hunting-bag close under
your girdle, or you will lose it. Test your staff to
make sure that it will hold, for if it breaks you are
gone. Be sure you don't take my track. You are
a fine chap and a brave one."
Ola followed his father's directions closely, and
stood with loudly palpitating heart ready for the
start. Before him lay the long, smooth slope of the
mountain, showing only here and there soft undu-
lations of surface, where a log or a fence lay
deeply buried under the snow. On both sides
the black pine-forest stood, tall and grave. If he
should miss his footing, or his skees be crossed or
run apart, very likely he might just as well order
his epitaph. If it had not been his father who had
challenged him, he would have much preferred
to take the circuitous route down into the valley.
But now he was in for it, and there was no time
for retreating.
Ready! shouted Nils, advancing toward the
edge of the slope: One, two, three "
And like an arrow he shot down over the steep
track, guiding his course steadily with his staff;
but it was scarcely five seconds before he was lost
to sight, looking more like a whirling snow-drift
than a man. With strained eyes and bated breath,
Ola stood looking after him. Then, nerving him-
self for the feat, he glanced at his sees to see that
they were parallel, and glided out over the terrible
declivity. His first feeling was that he had slid
right out into the air-that he was rushing with
seven-league boots over forests and mountain-tops.
For all that, he did not lose hold of his staff, which
he pressed with all his might into the snow behind
him, thus slightly retarding his furious speed. Now
the pine-trees seemed to be running past him in
a mad race up the mountain-side, and the snowy
slope seemed to be rising to meet him, or moving
in billowy lines under his feet. Gradually he
gathered confidence in himself, a sort of fierce
courage awoke within him, and a wild exultation
surged through his veins and swept him on. The
wind whistled about him and stung his face like
little sharp needles. Now he darted away over a
snowed-up fence or wood-pile, shooting out into
the air, but always coming down firmly on his feet,
and keeping his mind on his sees, so as to pre-
vent them from diverging or crossing. He had
a feeling of grandeur and triumphant achieve-
ment which he had never experienced before. The
world lay at his feet, and he seemed to be striding
over it in a march of conquest. It was glorious But




all such sensations are unhappily brief. Ola soon
knew by his slackening speed that he had reached
the level ground; yet so great was the impetus he

had received that he flew up the opposite slope
toward his father's farm, and only stopped some
fifty feet below the barn. He then rubbed his face
and pinched his nose, just to see whether it was
frozen. The muscles in his limbs ached, and the
arm which had held the staff was so stiff and
cramped that the slightest movement gave him
pain. Nevertheless, he could not make up his
mind to rest; he saw the light put in the north
window to guide him, and he caught a glimpse of
a pale, anxious face behind the window-pane, and
knew that it was his mother who was waiting for
him. And yet those last fifty feet seemed miles to
his tired and aching legs. When he reached the
front door, his dog Yutul jumped up on him in his
joy and knocked him flat down in the snow; and
oh, what an effort it took to rise But no sooner
had he regained his feet, than he felt a pair of

arms flung about his neck and he sank, half laugh-
ing, half crying, into his mother's embrace.
"Cheer up, laddie," he heard some one saying.
Ye are a fine chap and a brave
one "
He knew his father's voice;
but he did not look up; he was
yet child enough to feel happiest
in his mother's arms.
One of the most popular win-
ter sports in Norway is skee-rac-
ing. A steep hill is selected by
the committee which is to have
charge of the race, and all the
best skee-runners in the district
enter their names, eager to en-
gage in the contest. The track
is cleared of all accidental ob-
structions, but if there happens
to be a stone or wooden fence
crossing it, the snow is dug away
on the lower side of it and piled
up above it. The object is to
obtain what is called a "jump."
The skee-runner, of course, com-
ing at full speed down the slope
will slide out over this "jump,"
shooting right out into the air
a and coming down either on his
feet or any other convenient por-
tion of his anatomy, as the case
may be. To keep one's footing,
and particularly to prevent the
sees from becoming crossed while
in the air, are the most difficult
-- feats connected with skee-racing;
and it is no unusual thing to see
even an excellent skee-runner
plunging headlong into the snow,
while his skees pursue an independent race down
the track and tell the spectators of his failure.
Properly speaking, a. skee-race is not a race-not
a test of speed, but a test of skill; for two runners
rarely start simultaneously, as, in case one of them
should fall, the other could i..r i....,;.: stop, and
might not even have the time to change his
course. He would thus be in danger of running
into his competitor, and could hardly avoid maim-
ing him seriously. If there were several parallel
tracks, at a distance of twenty to thirty feet from
each other, there would, of course, be less risk in
having the runners start together. Usually, a
.number fall in the first run, and those who have
not fallen then continue the contest until one gains
the palm. If, as occasionally happens, the com-
petition is narrowed down to two, who are about
evenly matched, a proposal to run without staves




is apt to result in a decisive victory for one or the
It can hardly be conceived how exciting these
contests are, not only to the skee-runners them-
selves, but, also, to the spectators, male and
female, who gather in groups along the track and
cheer their friends as they pass, waving their hand-
kerchiefs, and greeting with derisive cries the mis-
haps which are inseparable from the sport. Prizes
are offered, such as rifles, watches, fine shooting
equipment, etc., and in almost every valley in the
interior of Norway there are skee-runners who, in
consequence of this constant competition, have
attained a skill which would seem almost incredi-
ble. As there are but two things essential to a

skee-race, viz,: a hill and snow, I can see no reason
why the sport should not in time become as popu-
lar in the United States as it is in Norway. We
have snow enough, certainly, in the New England
and Western States; neither are hills rare phenom-
ena. If I should succeed in interesting any large
number of boys in these States in skee-running, I
should feel that I had conferred a benefit upon them,
and added much to their enjoyment of winter. But
before taking leave of them, let me give them two
pieces of parting advice: I. Be sure your staff is
strong, and do not be hasty in throwing it away.
2. Never slide down a hill on a highway, or any
hard, icy surface. It is only in the open fields
and woods and in dry snow that sees are useful.



B" K ---.f

1'.' '" M I --i, pad,\' t l l ,
I-It\ I

; l' 'i '- 1.'N l o i~ -,i_-in "1 -- N- l lt ----!r N -L a v- I',a l

cor-ners of his eyes, won-dr.-i. \' hat .mi..i i
chief he could get in-to, and so wor-ry her in-to i.'y i-in r-i with him. I
Sud-den-ly he trot-ted off, his mind quite made up la- t:' '\ hat t.i *I'.. i:
Mol-ly Mol-ly!" called Mam-ma. d''
Mam-ma, don't call so loud," whis-pered M,o:l-!. l i lit-
tie doll ba-by is sleep-ing." 11' ;
"Mol-ly," called Mam-ma a-gain, "make h.tist. and se: i.,
what Yap is aft-er. I am sure he is in my room." ,
Oh what a bad dog-gie," sighed Mol-ly ,('.
with her face in a puck-er, but she put her .''
ba-by down, and went to see aft-er the dog. '
There he was on the stair-case, with Mam-

Mol-ly he dropped the slip-per, and ran past .
her, look-ing very much as if he was laugh-ing.
Mol-ly shook her fin-ger at him, and, laugh-
ing, too, picked up the slip-per, and car-ried it
to Mam-ma.
But Yap was too smart to be cheat-ed out .
of his fun in that way. So he ran in-to the yard
and be-gan to bark fu-ri-ous-ly at Puss. Mrs. '"lli i .-- '
Puss cared lit-tle for his bark-ing, and soon i 0i'" ..,
he stopped. Then Mol-ly looked out of -- ./
the win-dow and said: "Yap and Puss look a;
if they were talk-ing to each oth-er, Mam-ma." -
And so they were.
"Oh, you beau-ti-ful lit-tle dar-ling!" said M\I:l-l, .



tak-ing her ba-by a-gain, and hug-ging it tight; "come and let us take
a walk." Then she sat down to put on the doll's best clothes, and while
she was ver-y bus-y and al-most read-y for the walk, she thought she heard
a sound,. "tip, tip," on the stair-case, and ran to see what was the mat-ter.
Mam-ma," she screamed, "come here-oh, do come !" and Mam-ma hur-
ried out to see Pus-sie bring-ing the slip-per down to Yap, who was wait-ing
at the foot of the stairs.
How they laughed when Pus-sie dropped the slip-per un-der Yap's
nose, and he trot-ted off with it in a grand way !
Mol-ly ran aft-er him, and found him read-y to bur-y it with some oth-er
treas-ures at the end of the yard.
Mam-ma," said Mol-ly, when she re-turned to the house with the sec-
ond slip-per, do you think dogs and cats can talk ? I do."
And Mol-ly thinks so to this day.


OH, birds that fly in the sum-mer,
And birds that fly in the snow !
The chil-dren will nev-er for-get you,
But love you wher-ev-er you go.



Ho, my merry young folk, salute with all your
courtesy the stately Lady February, who now
steps into the year between two stalwart fellows,
January and March. The one casts a beautiful
white mantle around her and cheers her with
stories of happy firesides and glowing faces. The
other, tugging at the mantle, hints to her in odd,
blustering fashion of coming leaf and bird-song,
and of hidden flowers longing to spring up at her
feet. She likes well his martial tread and melting
glances, admires the other's frosty beard and
clanging mail, and calls them both her brothers.
But it is not at them she smiles. She is thinking
of the pretty festival she brings into the year, her
play-time, so to speak, when she may see

Merry Cupids, with tiny darts,
Aiming straight at the children's hearts.

Who among you, my learned chicks, can ex-
plain it to me? Why is bombast called bombast?
And if it must be called bombast, what in the
name of bombast has this valuable white material
to do with it ?
LOWELL, MASS., Dec. IT, 1882.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I am a little girl, and only fourteen
years old, but as I have been brought up in the West, it is not hard
for me to answer what kind of a rabbit that is. I have seen
many of them, and I have heard them called Jack-Rabbits or Jack-
ass-Rabbits, on account of their very long ears. This rabbit does
not live in the woods, but only in the prairies.
Mark Twain,-in his book entitled "Roughing It," gives a de-
scription of it. It is the largest, longest-eared rabbit in the world.
Mr. Twain says it goes like a streak of lightning. Still it is very
easy to kill it, because I am told that, when it has run for a few
hundred steps, it will stop, and sit up, just as in your picture,
and will allow any one to come very near, if you do not go
straight to it. All you have to do is to circle around it and pre-
tend you do not see it. But you must not stop a moment. If you
stop, off it goes. It lives in the sage-brush, and is often caught by
the prairie-wolves or coyotes. That's all I know about it.

Jack thanks you, Minnie, and all the boys and
girls who have answered the rabbit's question.

AN athlete who exhibited in New York not long
ago was considered a wonder, they say, because he
could stay under water long enough to walk about
a few steps on the bottom. But there are some
Indians in Northern California, I am told, who
think nothing of such a performance. They do it
every little while as a matter of convenience.
These Indians live among the mountains, where
heavy rains at their sources will sometimes make
boiling torrents out of streams that were narrow
rills an hour before. When these Indians find such
a stream across their road, and know that it is too
swift to be swum, each one gets a heavy stone,
places it upon the top of his head, and walks across
on the bottom, weighted down by the stone. They
can stay under water for two minutes in this way;
and, by choosing smooth and gravelly places, cross
streams several rods in width.


Welcome, welcome, then, good Lady February H. E. S. sends your Jack this true story, which
-thou and thy dainty Valentines is well worth the telling:


A BIRD that travels every winter to the Southern
States has told me about a plant which grows
there, and which, he insists, enriches the whole
civilized world. Its white, fluffy, bursting, beauti-
ful product furnishes one of the most. important
materials found in America to-day.
Now, it's very strange that such an excellent
thing as this should be connected in Deacon
Green's 'mind with an ugly quality known as
bombast. The Deacon has n't a bit of this quality
himself, but he is a dictionary hunter, always
searching for the inner meaning of words, and
from what I've heard him say I know he associ-
ates bombast with fluffy things, especially with this
beautiful plant of which my bird has told me.

You must know that Old Wildey was a wild duck that, four
years ago, came one fine day in December to the mill-pond, among
the other ducks, and swam with them until they got almost to the
place where Grandfather fed them; then it was afraid to come any
nearer, and would fly away again. Grandfather told us children
not to frighten it, and perhaps after a while it would come and be
fed with the others. And he told the workmen in the iron-mill not to
shoot at Old Wildey or frighten her, and thus it happened that every
night, when he called the tame ducks to the shore to feed them, Old
Wildey came a little nearer and a little nearer, till one night she came
to the grassy bank and looked at the other ducks eating up the
grains of Indian corn that Grandfather fed to them.
But as she was a wild duck, and did not know that Indian corn
was fit to eat, she just stood looking at them eating it. Well, one
night she walked up among the other ducks, and turned her head
to one side, and-looked at the grains of corn with one eye; then she
turned her head to the other side and looked at the corn with the
other eye; then she took a single grain up in her bill, and held it a
moment, and then swallowed it; then she carefully picked up two or
three more grains, and ate them and flew away. This delighted us
grandchildren very much. The next night she seemed to have
found out that corn was as good for wild ducks as it was for tame
ones, so she walked up among the other ducks, and when Grand-
father threw them down the corn she ate it up as fast as ever she



could. In the course of a few weeks, when Grandfather called the
ducks, she would fly out of the water, and would be the first one
that would come to be fed, and before spring came she would eat
out of his hand. So it went on until the early part of May,
when the leaves were out and the meadows were dotted over
with the golden dandelion, and blue in spots with tufts of violets.
Then we all noticed that Old Wildey would occasionally leave the
other flock and fly away out of sight, and after a while return
again, until one day, about the middle of May, she disappeared
and we saw her no more. However, about the first of Novem-
ber, a flock of seven wild ducks were seen on the lake, and when
the tame ducks came home to be fed, one of the wild ducks
left the flock and came up and ate corn with them. It was
Old Wildey! And so it has been every year since. About the
middle of May, when the ice begins to break up in the Northern
lakes, Old Wildey leaves her winter home to go north and make
her nest and raise her brood of young ones. As she is a black duck,
we suppose she must go up to the lakes in Canada, or perhaps to
Labrador; and every autumn, about the first of November, she
returns to her old home in Pennsylvania. Each year, Grandfather
and Grandmother and the aunts and grandchildren, when they come
to Laurel, as the old place is called, wonder if Old Wildey will come
back. This time, when Auntie Hannah came in and told Grand-
father that Old Wildey had come, he put aside his newspaper, and
went to the feed-room for some corn, and called out, Come along
home, my duckie," when Wildey just flew out of the water and
came up to him and ate the corn out of his hand. Although she
had been away for six months, she had not forgotten the voice
that called her, or the hand that had fed her during the winter.

and them what the Deacon said when he first read
your letter and saw the photograph : "They are
funny," said he, with a queer smile, "but I can't
understand what Bessie means by 'you would al-
most take them for men, they look so natural.'
Because, to my mind," he remarked, slowly, "men
never seem more unnatural than when fighting
duels. But," he continued, "the next thing she
says-that 'they look too ridiculous for anything'
-is as true of men duelists as of these frogs. Yes,
unnatural and ridiculous -those two words, in
my opinion, describe dueling to a T," concluded
the good Deacon, with a thump of his cane, as he
turned to consult the Little School-ma'am about
one of her dictionary conundrums that had been
too much for him.
I never saw a duel of any sort in my life, and
am no authority in such matters, but the Deacon

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: A friend of mine has on one of the
shelves of his cabinet a funny group of two stuffed frogs fighting
with swords. I send you a photograph of it, and hope you will
show it to your ST. NICHOLAS boys and girls. The figures are
made of real frogs' skins stuffed with cotton, stood up on their hind
legs, and fastened in the attitude of fencers. Each has a tiny iron
sword fixed to his right "hand" or fore-foot, but the smaller frog is
the best swordsman, as he has just succeeded in making a dangerous
thrust that pierces his adversary's breast. When you look at them,
you would almost take them for two little men fighting a duel, they
look so natural, but when you pick them up and see that they are
only frogs, they look too ridiculous for anything. They seem to be
fighting in dead earnest, and yet their big frog-mouths make them
look as if they were laughing. Even the fellow that is wounded
looks as if he were grinning. I am sure all your boy-and-girl friends,
dear Jack, would be amused if they could see this frog-duel, and I
hope you will show them a copy of the photograph I send you.
With much love to the Little School-ma'am and yourself,
Your friend, BESSIE' L. G.

The frog-duel shall be shown to the boys and
girls, with pleasure, Bessie. But I must tell you

is generally right, and was so emphatic with that
last sentence that I resolved to report it verbatim
-as the Little School-ma'am says-to my boy-
friends. If you find that the Deacon was in the
wrong, young cavaliers, just let me know.

GALENA, ILL., Dec. io, 1882.
DEAR JACK: I thought every one had read the "Jabberwocky."
I have read the book about one hundred times; "Through the
Looking-glass," it is called.
The poem is on page 21, and the explanation on page 126.
"English-speaking children can understand it as well as anybody
can, but.no one can understand it very well, though it sounds sensible
enough. It was written by a Mr. Lewis Carroll, and Mamma told
me that he was an English clergyman.
He wrote "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," too; but I think
that "Through the Looking-glass" is the nicer of the two. I am
sure that Rose Barrows would "chortle in her joy" to read it.
Your "frabjous" reader,



READERS of the interesting paper concerning Mrs. Butler in last
month's ST. NICHOLAS will remember that "A Roman Sunday-
school" was mentioned as the title of one of Elizabeth Thompson's
early paintings. An engraving of this picture was prepared for our
use, and was intended to accompany Mrs. Meynell's article; but at
the last moment it was unavoidably crowded out. We take pleas-
ure, therefore, in presenting it to our readers on page 3xT of the
present number.


WE stated last month that the sum of $63.77 had lately been
received by us for The Children's Garfield Fund"-in addition to
the $416.02 acknowledged last June; and we are glad to print here,
for the benefit of those who have generously aided in this latest sub-
scription, the following letter from the Secretary of the Children's
Aid Society, acknowledging the receipt of the money:

Children's Aid Society, xg East Fourth Street,
NEW YORK, Dec. 4, 1882.
To THE CHILDREN: The poor children who have had so happy a
time this summer in the Summer Home at Bath, Long Island, send
their grateful thanks to the readers of the ST. NICHOLAS who have
subscribed $63.77 to "The Garfield Memorial Fund," which will
give them many comforts and pleasures next summer.
C. L. BRACE, Secretary.

To this we add the following touching letter, also forwarded by
Mr. Brace. It was written by'a poor little humpbacked girl, and
shows how dearly she enjoyed her stay at the Summer Home:

NEW YORK, July 5, 1882.
DEAR MRS. FRY: I was very much pleased with your asking me
to write to you. I liked all the teachers very much. They treated
me very kindly. I liked the meals; the best dinner I thought was
when we had the pea-soup, meat, potatoes, bread, and pudding. I
always had enough to eat. I loved to go in bathing and play in
the water. The swings and pin-wheel I enjoyed too. I liked to sit
on the grass, or near the water, and read a story book or paper, and
I think it's very pleasant to sleep in the little bed, and ask our
Heavenly Father to keep us from harm during the day. I liked
everything that I saw. Little brother and sister were so happy, and
are always talking about going again. I thank you, Mrs. Fry, for
asking us to come again. I will stop now, because I am not very
big, so I must not write a very long letter.
Yours truly, LENA MOHRMAN.


IN accordance with our promise, we offer four composition sub-
jects for this month. (See ST. NICHOLAS for October and January.)

THE story of Doris Lee's Feather Fan" is not altogether a flight
of fancy, as is proved by the following item from the Sydney, Aus-
tralia, Telegrapl--on which Mr. Converse's interesting narrative is

A singular story has been related to us by the master of the bark
"Gladstone," which arrived from London last Saturday. On the 22d
of last month, while the vessel was in latitude 42 degrees south and
longitude go degrees east, a seaman fell overboard from the star-
board gangway. The bark was scudding along with a rough sea
and moderate wind, but on the alarm of "man overboard" being
given she was rounded to, and the starboard life-boat was lowered,
manned by the chief officer and four men. A search for the unfort-
unate man was made, but owing to the roughness of the sea he
could not be discovered; but the boat steered to the spot where he
was last seen. Here they found him floating, but exhausted, cling-
ing for bare life to the legs and wings of a huge albatross. The bird

had swooped down on the man while the latter was struggling with
the waves and attempted to peck him with its powerful beak. Twice
the bird attacked its prey unsuccessfully, being beaten off by the
desperate sailor, battling with two enemies,-the water and the
albatross,- both greedy and insatiable. For the third time the huge
white form of the bird hovered over the seaman, preparatory to a final
swoop. The bird, eager for its meal, fanned its victim with its
wide-spread wings. Suddenly a thought occurred to him that the
huge form so close to his face might become his involuntary rescuer.
Quick as thought he reached up and seized the bird, which he pro-
ceeded to strangle with all his might. The huge creature struggled
with wings and paddles to free itself. In the contest the sailor was
beaten black and blue, and cruelly lacerated, but he held his own,
and slowly the bird quivered and died. The carcass floated lightly
on the waves, its feathers forming a comfortable support for the
exhausted man, who had so narrowly escaped a lingering death. But
another danger awaited him. He was not much of a swimmer, and
the excitement of the extraordinary conflict began to tell upon him.
He was faint and grew giddy. But with one arm around the alba-
tross's body, under the ving, and one hand clutching the bird's
feet, the sailor awaited his chance of rescue. Presently he heard
his comrades shout from the boat, and in a few minutes more was
safe on board the bark, though a good deal shaken and exhausted.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I was walking down Broadway one day,.
and saw such a funny sign over the entrance to a little basement-
shop. It read, "Shoes Blacked Inside." Now, dear ST. NICHOLAS,
I for one can't imagine why anybody should wish to have the inside
of his shoes blacked. Can you? Yours truly, JOHN R. F.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never taken the ST. NICHOLAS by
the month until this month. I have always taken it at the end of the
year bound. I live in Washington, and go to play in the park every
afternoon. When I say the park, I mean Farragut Park, which is in.
front of our house. The people here are making a great fuss about
tho Garfield Fair; it is in the rotunda of the Capitol; but it is a
failure, because it is for his monument instead of a hospital, and who
could wish for a better or more beautiful monument than a hospital?
A friend of mine went to it and said it was very close, and my
mamma, who went with the President, said that the crowd was
immense, and advised me not to go; but now I must close, as I
think you must be tired of reading my long letter. Please print this,
as it is my first.
Your faithful reader, CAROLINE S. S.

ORCHARD FARM, Nov. 5, x885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The story of Tad Lincoln reminded me of
an anecdote of him, told me by a friend, whose father was intimate
with President Lincoln, and I think present at the scene. It was at
a Cabinet meeting, of rather exceptional gravity, even in those grave
times. The gentlemen were all standing around the table, Mr.
Lincoln with his back to the door, when it was suddenly burst open,
and with a whoop in dashed Tad; diving between his father's
long legs, he popped his grinning face over the edge of the table,
and looked gleefully around to see the result of his startling entry.
Needless to say, those grave gentlemen, one and all, burst into a
hearty laugh.
With many thanks for the great ... ..., ,,,i il .r 1..: rr. NICHO-
LAS affords to my children, and to t -.... (- .. .. I remain
your friend, A. E. S.

IN connection with the "Art and Artists" installment for this
month, we give a list of the most celebrated works of the artists
therein mentioned:

The following are the principal works of Hubert van Eyck still in
existence: In the church of St. Bavon at Ghent, two central panels
of the great altar-piece painted for Judocus Vydt; in the Brussels
Museum, "Adam and Eve"--two panels from same altar-piece;
in the Berlin Museum, six panels from same altar-piece.
The principal works of Jan van Eyck still in existence are: In
the Antwerp Museum, "St. Barbara," "The Virgin Mary," "The
Virgin," St. George," and "St. Donatus"; Academy of Bruges,
"Virgin and Child with Saints," and a portrait of his wife;
Brussels Museum, "The Adoration of the Magi"; Berlin
Museum, "A Head of Christ," another head, almost life-size,
and "The Virgin and Child, with Trees and a Fountain "; Dresden.



Gallery, triptych, "Madonna and Child with Saints"; Stadel
Gallery, Frankfort, "The Madonna'del Luca'"; Belvedere Gal-
lery, Vienna, two portraits; Museum at Madrid, "The Triumph
of Christianity"; Museum at Lille, "The Crucifixion"; Louvre,
Paris, "The Virgin and Donator"; National Gallery, London,
portraits of Arnolfini and his Wife, portrait of a Man in a Green
Hood, and portrait of a Man in a Red Head-dress; Hermitage,
St. Petersburg, "The Annunciation."
The chief works of Quintin Massys in European galleries are:
In the Museum at Antwerp, a triptych, "Entombment of Christ";
Museum at Berlin, "Madonna and Child," nearly life-size, and
a Cardinal reading; Dresden Gallery, "A Banker and Clients";
Pinakothek, Munich, "The Money Changers"; Louvre, Paris,
"Banker and his Wife "; National Gallery, London, The Money
Changers"; Hermitage, St. Petersburg, Madonna in Glory."
The chief works of Rubens in the galleries of Europe are: Pitti
Gallery, Florence, portraits of himself and his brother with Lipsius
and Grotius, called "The Four Philosophers"; Uffizi Gallery,
Florence, Battle of Ivry," "Entry of Henry IV. into Paris,"
portrait of his wife, and two mythological pictures; Palazzo Bri-
gnoli, Genoa, "Mars, Venus, and Cupid"; Brera, Milan, "The
Last Supper"; Capitol Gallery, Rome, "Finding of Romulus and
Remus"; Colonna Palace, Rome, "Assumption of the Virgin"-
six different works, two .of which are triptychs; Museum of Brus-
sels, four sacred subjects, several portraits, and a picture of Venus
and Vulcan"; Van der Hoop Museum at Amsterdam, portrait
of Helen Fourment, and one of Marie de Medici; Museum
at the Hague, portraits of his two wives, a Family Group,
and other portraits; Berlin Museum, six pictures; one is a
beautiful Group of Children with fruit; Gallery at Cassel, "Flight
into Egypt," and a "Holy Family"; Dresden Gallery, a fine col-
lection of twenty subjects; Stidel Gallery, Frankfort, "King
David and the Harp," and "Diogenes"; Pinakothek, Munich,
sixteen different pictures, among which are portraits of himself and
his two wives; Belvedere, Vienna, eighteen pictures; Lichtenstein
Gallery, Vienna, the famous picture of The Sons of Rubens," and
three others; Madrid Museum, twenty-one pictures, among which
is the famous "Brazen Serpent" and other fine works; Louvre,
Paris, thirty-four pictures, among which are those of the life
of Marie de Medici and several important portraits; Dulwich
Gallery, portrait of his mother, and "Venus, Mars, and Cupid ";
National Gallery, London, twelve pictures; Hermitage, St. Peters-
burg, thirty-five pictures.
[These are but a small portion of Rubens' works, but are those
most easily seen by travelers. ]

CHICAGO, ILL., Oct. 5, 1882.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We all like the ST. NICHOLAS very much.
It is almost fought for here. We all want to read it first. Several
years ago we used to take turns looking at the pictures, and then
I would read the stories aloud. We found that was the only way to
keep from fighting for it.
But sometimes, when I got to the most interesting places, I would
be so interested that I wouldforget to read aloud, and read on to
myself. My brothers did n't like thatvery much. Just the other day,
when the September number came, I was reading ST. NICHOLAS,
and Ma called me to supper, and I put the book on my chair, and
sat on it while I ate my supper. When my brother finished his
supper he (as he says) made a sneak" over to the window where
I had been sitting, and grabbed the ST. NICHOLAS he saw there.
I was "laughing in my sleeve," for I knew it was an old one.
Imagine his chagrin when he found it was one he had read !
We were much interested in "Donald and Dorothy," and sorry to
have it end. I always feel as if I had lost a friend when the story
ends. Yours respectfully, DAISY M. BROWN.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My brothers Mason and Charlie com-
menced to take ST. NICHOLAS eight years ago, when I was only one
year old. "If nothing happens" I expect we will take it a long
time, for I hae three little ers younger than myself, and a baby
brother just six months old. We have had five volumes bound, and
Father is going to have the other three bound. I am very sorry our
books are so abused, but there are so many little folks to handle
them. Mother cut out some of the pictures to frame. I think the
picture of Raphael is beautiful. Our father has given us a beautiful
little pony; we call her Gypsy.
I hope you will not think I have written too long a letter.
Your little friend, MARY MILLER MATHEWS.


Now the snows have gone, and the earth is warm again; the
birds are singing, and the violets are blossoming in the borders of the
wood. What is it? "Lost our reckoning," have we? "Two
months too early?" "Mercury below zero?" Ah-but, my
dear little friends in fur-lined dolmans and warm pea-jackets, you
forget that you live only on one edge of the A. A. We are
talking about the other-the Californian edge. Everything can't
be true everywhere, you know, at the same time. This month
we give you a few questions to answer, and, by the way, can't
you all sharpen your eyes a bit and find questions tucked in here
and there all through the little letters which make up our monthly
reports? A good many boys and girls write and ask us to give
more questions, just as if questions were n't questions unless
arranged in a column and labeled i You will find a large number
in the back numbers of the ST. NICHOLAS for the past six months,
not answered yet, either. And now, before we give you the list
of new Chapters, we wish to thank our many kind friends who have
helped us answer puzzling queries.
Professors in several of our leading colleges, Yale and Harvard,
Williams and Cornell; University of Michigan and Maine State
College; Amhcrst and Lafayette; Boston Institute of Technology,
and School of Natural History, besides many teachers of acade-
mies and high schools and several distinguished specialists, have
most generously volunteered their aid in the determination of min-
erals, the analysis of plants, and the classification of insects and other
animals. [Oh, yes; insects are animals-did n't you know that ?]
To all these gentlemen we return infinite thanks, and now we
want still more assistance. A great many shells are sent to us for
identification, and if some one who loves conchology, and has
books and labeled specimens and check-lists, and all that, would
kindly signify his willingness to help us out now and then with the
name of some refractory Unio or Lelirv; and if some one wise in
fossils would allow us to send him an occasional relic of the distant
past for identification, it would be a cause for still further gratitude.
The Association is working earnestly, growing steadily, and
the latest number on our register is 4550.

No. Name. M members. Secretary's Address.
384. Ann Arbor, Mich. (A)... 6..J. H. Browne, Box 1342.
385. Philadelphia, Pa. (L).... o.. Clinton R. Woodruff, 1723 N.
2oth St.
386. Pine City, Minn. (A).... 6..Miss Lillie M. Stephen.
387. Baltimore, Md. (E) ..... 6..Edward McDowell.
388. Galesburg, Iowa (A) .... 2..C. F. Getlemy.
389. Auburn, N. Y. (C)...... 7..H. N. Goodrich.
390. Chester, Mass. (A) ..... 24. .Edwin O. Hapgood.
39r. Meredith, N. H. (A) .... I..C. F. Robinson, North San-
bornton, N. H.
In September, my little brother Hoza caught a black cricket, and
pulled off one of its legs, when a hair-snake commenced to crawl
out of the cricket's body. Directly after, another crawled out also.
We put them into a bowl of water and kept them about two weeks,
when they had increased in size, and to double their former length.
Has any one else ever found them in crickets or other insects?
[Professor Agassiz, in his "Methods of Study," tells of finding
"hair-snakes" in the legs of grasshoppers. He says that they are
born in water, work their way thence into the legs of grasshoppers,
thence into their stomachs, where they grow until they burst the
insect, when they again seek the water. We must confess to an
elevation of the eyebrows on first reading this remarkable state-
ment in Prof. A's book-but this little girl's letter is a strong cor-
roboration. If a less distinguished authority had written the book,
we should still conjecture that the hair-snakes are born as parasites
in the body of the insect. If not, how can they work their way
into the legs of grasshoppers" ? We don't think much of a grass-
hopper that would patiently endure the working-in process.]
One of our members found, in a quarry in Maine, a very curious
kind of granite. The minerals which compose granite, instead of
being mixed as usual, were in layers -first feldspar, then quartz, and
mica on top. MATTIE PACKARD.
I think I can give Mr. Tucker, of Galveston, the name of the fish
he mentions. The Torpedo oculata, or Eyed Torpedo. It belongs


to the Ray family, and has wonderful electrical powers. It has a
regular series of galvanic batteries in its body, arranged like a num-
ber of voltaic piles. A full description isgiven in Rev. J. G. Wood's
"Natural History." W. C. PHILLIPS.
i. When did the comet of 1858 pass Arcturus?
2. In what part of the sky should we look for most meteors?
3. Can science conquer rust?
4. How are waves of light measured ?
5. Is there gold under Philadelphia?
6. Is there coal under London?
7. How areicebergs formed?
8. Can not other members send questions? [Yes, but these
should be written on a separate slip of paper from the main letter;
as also should requests for exchange.]
9. May persons send questions to the A. A., if they themselves
know the answers ? [Yes, and in that case the answers must accom-
pany the questions.]
Correspondence with view to exchanges.- Robt. G. Leavitt, Sec.,
Webster, Mass.
The Stroud, England, Chapter desire to thank their American
friends for many kind letters and offers of exchange. They are very
sorry that they can not, on account of the number, reply to them all.
Agatized and petrified wood from the Rocky Mountains,-H. L,
Wadsworth, Box 2772, Denver, Col.
We wish to know whether mackerel have scales.-A. A., Drifton,
Labeled insects, for butterflies.- C. C. Beale, Faulkner, Mass.
Please have the address of East Pittsburgh changed to "J. F.
McCune, Broad street, East Pittsburgh, Pa."

Would n't it be delightful to make a visiting tour among our
four hundred Chapters, shake hands with our five thousand earnest
workers, inspect the growing cabinets, and ask and answer the
many questions which start to the lip ? Well, suppose we start! and
here we are at Bryan,.Ohio. Miss Ethel Gillis, the Secretary of
Chapter 323, meets us and tells us that the. Chapter is prospering
finely, and shows us a new scrap-book, which it is proposed to fill
with choice clippings. She does n't say much about Bryan-not
as much as we would like to hear-but we shall have time for that
by and by. Her Chapter has been grappling with the geode ques-
tion, and concludes that "water deposited small particles of sand in
hollow cavities, which in time became hardened," but there was
a minority report from one who thinks that they were the homes of
some species of insect, and formed of mud, which has become
But Bryan is far behind us, and we are in State College, Pennsyl-
vania. By the way, how much geography we can learn by finding
on the map the home of each Chapter! We might take a map of
the United States and make a red dot on each town represented. The
map would look as if it had been sprinkled with red pepper. But to
return: Mr. George C. McKee thinks it is "bad news" that four
brave, persevering members are keeping up their interest in the
A. A., when "seven of twelve have resigned, and one gone away
on a long visit." By no means! Four zealous workers are better
than a hundred half-hearted ones. A Chapter never loses anything
by pruning.
What a leap! A sniff of salt air, a long ocean voyage in a second
of imagination, arid we stand in Yokohama, Japan. "I have read
with great interest," says H. Loomis, in regard to the A. A. I
have made a collection of butterflies. This is a wonderful country
for the study of nature. To visit the fish-market is like going to a
museum. I got here a fish of a very odd shape. It is about an inch
and a half long, and covered with a hard scaly or bony substance.
I should be glad to correspond with any who desire to obtain speci-
mens of wood, fishes, butterflies, etc."
Home again, and in Newport, R. I. F. J. Cotton kindly shows
us the fine cabinet of his Chapter. We notice especially the large
collection of insects, and the skulls of a sheep, a cat, a rat, and a
turtle. They have found that homeblende is in nearly every stone
wall in the vicinity, and have discovered poison ivy hanging its green
flowers as high as seven feet from the ground. We are much pleased
by a little salt-water aquarium, which seems to be prospering well,
and are quite astonished to see a yellow warbler's nest of four
stories. Every boy knows that when the mischievous cow-bunting
lays her cumbrous eggs among the dainty treasures of the yellow
warbler, that resolute bird sacrifices her own, and seals them and
the intruder in a common tomb by building a second nest right
on top of the old one. But who else ever found a case like this,
where the patient warbler had built her nest four times over ?
From Rhode Island to Kansas without a jar or a jolt! Willie
Plank says this is the town of Independence, and that the Chapter
is progressing. At every meeting essays are read, and he has col-
lected individually nearly one hundred plants.
While stopping at Independence, we get a letter from Boston,

Mass., in which Miss Edith Buffum tells us that Chapter 261 has
increased its membership to twenty-two, and that it is known among
its members.as the "Wood, Field, and Shore" Chapter.
Now for a pleasant little visit at Ottumwa, Iowa, where is one of
the most ancient and honorable of our Chapters, No. 15, nearly
two years old! The enthusiastic Secretary, Will R. Lighten,
says: "Our society is doing splendidly. Thirty-three active and
as many honorary members." "How about those geodes?"
we ask. "We have been debating that question. Some of us
think one way and some another. Some say, agates are formed
by water which holds silica, opal, and the coloring matter of the
different layers in solution. This water filters into cavities and
deposits its minerals there, and as opal does not crystallize, the
silica also is prevented from forming its crystals. Now, agate
geodes must be formed in the same way, the only difference
being that in the geode there is no opal, and consequently the
quartz crystals develop perfectly. What seems to be a proof of the
non-intervention of animal or vegetable life is the formation of
a cave. Mammoth Cave, for instance, is nothing but a monstrous
lime-stone geode. Another proof is that geodes are found in trap-
rocks, which were formed before life appeared on the earth."
While we are in Iowa, and thinking of geodes, we must step
over to Waverly without fail, and have a chat with Mr. L. L.
Goodwin, who has sent so many fine specimens to different mem-
bers of the A. A. My first acquaintance with geodes," he says,
"was about seven years, ago. Finding them closely associated
with other forms of animal life, 1 jumped to the conclusion that they
were of animal origin. Since the question was first asked in
ST. NICHOLAS, I have given the subject more careful attention, and
am fully convinced that my first impression was correct. I find
in their immediate vicinity, above, below, and around them, shells,
bivalve and univalve, fishes, and other sorts of animal remains.
The geodes are nearly all of the same general form, as much so as
any class of animals, and of all sizes from peas to pumpkins,
showing growth. The small ones vastly preponderate, as the
young always outnumber the old in all sorts of animals. I con-
clude, therefore, that when these limestone bluffs were'first formed
from soft mud, the sediment retained the animals whose remains
we now find in the rocks, and among others, doubtless some
animal of a fleshy or cartilaginous body, perhaps having a thin,
frail shell like a sea-urchin, of solidity sufficient to hdld the.sediment
in place until it hardened. Then the whole body: wasted away,
a concretionary shell having formed -around it, and during the
succeeding ages this shell became lined with beautiful crystals."
On our way home, we look in upon a Chapter very recently
organized in Galesburg, Ill., Charles F. Getlemy, Secretary.
Their cabinet already contains a number of insects. The boys are
making new cabinets, and preparing for a busy, delightful time in
the near future." They are also collecting cocoons, and intend
to watch the moths and butterflies "hatch out." Coming back
to Lenox, we are just in time to take from the post-office
the following condensed reports from Chapters assigned to
John F. Glosser, Berwyn, Pa.: The members of Chapter
126, East Philadelphia, now wear their new solid silver badges.-
Chapter o19 (C), Washington, D. C., has a new constitution
and by-laws. From the editor's book, which is read at each meet-
ing, we make the following extracts: "Sapphires include the
ruby, topaz, and amethyst." "The distinction between rocks and
minerals was.first noted by Cronstedt in 1758." "Silver can be
hammered into sheets i-oooooo of an inch thick." [One millionth
of an inch thin, we should say.] "The ash tree puts on its leaves
earlier and sheds them later than any other tree."

While, as will be readily judged from the foregoing reports, the
A. A. is highly prosperous, it, of course, has happened in regard to
a comparatively few Chapters that the reverse is true. The fol-
lowing have been discontinued: Nos. 3, 4, 61, 84, 88, 94, 112, 122,
136, 158, x62, 244, and 341. Various causes have been assigned;
removal from town, graduation from school, dying out of enthu-
siasm, internal dissension. The law of the "survival of the fittest"
holds good with our society, whether it does in nature or not.
The years are an excellent filter, and through them come
the boys and girls of real earnestness of purpose, and strength
of perseverance. It must needs happen that times of dullness
come to every Chapter. Then is the time for hardest work and
most faithful endeavor. Let the drones drop out, let the dis-
affected go their way, but let the workers stick to it,even if, as
in one or two cases we could name, only one member remains in
a Chapter. By and by, others will again catch his inspiration, and
the Chapter will grow larger and more prosperous than ever.
You may ask the Secretary of Albany "A if this is not so! By
the way, if any Chapter does feel that it can not longer hold together,
it will do us a great favor, and save the whole association confusion,
if it will kindly notify the President promptly of its own decease.
All communications are to be sent to
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.


1883.] THE RIDDLE-BOX. 319


nrLT f 'n. I INflutter. 2. Ametal. 3. A New York daily paper. 4. An
Th vt57x J w ancient musical instrument. 5. Muscular power and control. 6.
A diocese. 7. In flutter. w. H.


SHALF-SQUARE. Across: I. Venerated. 2. Eaten away. 3.
i*l \ Balloted. 4. A delightful region. 5. A color. 6. Two-thirds of a
color. 7. In diamond.
INCLUDED DIAMOND. i. In advertisement .A wand. 3.
Balloted. 4. A cave. 5. In advertisement. FRANK S.

T Z EACH of the words described contains five letters. When these
R are rightly guessed, and placed 6ne below another in the order here
S0 given, the second line of letters will spell the name of a celebrated
Commander, and the fifth line the name of a famous poet Both
.* were born in February.
CROSS-WORDS: I. To weave so as to produce diagonal lines or
ribs. 2. Work. 3. Employing. 4. Green cormorants. 5. Slight
Squirrels. 6. Wrath. 7. Nimble. 8. Quiet. 9, A mark in punc-
tuation. so. Eats away. GILBERT F.


SA THE diagonals, from left to right Ireading downward), name a
C0 country that is said to be oppressed by a country formed by the
Sr diagonals reading from right to left.
SCROSS-WORDS: x. Tiresome. 2. Supplicating earnestly. 3.
SVehicles on runners. 4. Ardent in behalf of an object. 5. Bellow-
sig as a calf 6. A moment. 7. To break up a military organiza-
II. .

\I. CROSS-WORDS: I. Angry; behead and leave proportion. 2.
SA truant; behead, and leave above. 3. Black; behead, and leave
Sgaunt. 4. To acquire knowledge: behead, and leave to merit by
n 'R labor. 5. Separated; behead, and leave a portion. 6. For this
Occasion; behead, and leave at one time. 7. A sleeping vision;
behead and leave twenty quires.
SA The beheaded letters name the country formed by the diagonals,
'. which read from left to right; and the four letters represented by
Sthe heavier dots, when rightly placed, spell a characteristic of that
C country.
S F II. CROSS-WORDS: T. A feather; curtail, and leave a raisin. 2.
S ____ A wading bird; curtail, and leave the principal personage of a
story. 3. Moved like a pendulum; curtail, and leave a graceful,
web-footed bird. 4. An elongated picture; curtail, and leave a plate
S of glass. 5. The animals of any given area; curtail, and leave one
of a class of mythological deities, similar to the satyrs. 6. An
enchantress; curtail, and leave a father. 7. Released from captivity;
curtail, and leave unfettered.
The curtailed letters name the country formed by the diagonals,
TRANSPOSE the letters on each plate in such a way as to form the which read from right to left; and, the eight letters represented by
name of the material out of which the plate is made. Find also, in the heavier dots, when rightly placed, spell a characteristic of that
the illustration, thirty-five words explaining the puzzle. G. F. country. L. W. D.



THE answer is a familiar proverb.

: I. THE capital city of a western State.' 2. A reward of merit.
3. A maxim. 4. The mother of Ishmael. 5. Active. '
II. I. A fissure. 2. Swiftness. 3. Pertaining to a kind of pop-
lar. 4. A horse. 5. Improves.
III. i. A sweet vegetable product. 2. Custom. 3. High winds.
4. A deputy. 5. Pauses. ALLIE B.
MY primals and finals, read in connection, form three words which
name an astronomical event.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A beginner in learning. .. A chain of rocks

near the surface of the water. 3. A subdivision of the Black Sea.
4. Absurdity. 5. A strong man. 6. A small river of Brazil. 7.
Part of an elephant. KATY-DID."

A LETTER far down in the alphabet, I
May be found in comply, but never in sigh.

Prefix but a letter and plainly you '11 see
That a ready assent is implied by me.

Now prefix another, through darkness I pierce,
In summer I fall on the earth hot and fierce.

If preceded by three, 't is really quite plain
That I mean to entreat e'en again and again.

To all of these letters now prefix one more,
I am dashed far aloft 'mid the breakers' dull roar.

TAKE one word from another. ,.i i.. i .: : n.'.:r-, rj Exam-
ple: Take a marsh from a ]-lI h ri. .'r ..JI I'. ..: a sport.
Answer: Gam-bog-e.
i. Take to utter from houses ':. : t. : .:....-.,,.i.., -. I .-I. i.. 1.:
recluses, and leave studies attei.r. I..- .Jc. .r-I I,-:nr.
flatterer, and leave more destitute of color. 3. Take to praise from
acclamations, and leave cavities. 4. Take always from a young
hare, and leave to allow. 5. Take a refuge for songsters from
uprightness, and leave a cry of the chase. 6. Take an aquatic fowl
from harshly, and leave cunning. 7. Take a small measure of
length from winced, and leave ran away. 8. Take to denominate
from denominated anew, and leave a color. g. Take level from a
number, and leave a kind of pen.
All of the syncopated words contain four letters, and their initials
form the answer to the following:
In Steve, not in Fred;
In Sam, not in Ed;
In Will, not in Nick;
In Joe, not in Dick;
In Nate, not in Bill;
In Tom, not in Will;
In Ike, not in Ed;
In Lon; not in Fred;
In James, not in Paul;
Whole, a missive prized by all. G. F.

a RIDDLE. I bar Arabi. CHARADE. Opera-glass. DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. jiiidir'-;- -Linr:.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.. If all the year were playing holidays, PICTORIAL PUZZLE. Two. The second person is seen by invert-
to sport would be as tedious as to work. ing the picture.
I. Went-newt. 2. Tern-rent 3. Wens-news. 4 Troy-Tory. 5. Keel- Widow. 2. Nomad. 3. Tided. 4. T-,:r i-a.
leek. 6. Palm-lamp. 7. Pore-rope. 8; Sued-used; 6. Ages-sage. DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Holi i; 'j;,,lj, f'r-.;cr Cross-
xo. Evil-levi. t.. Fits-sift. 12. Tags-stag. 13. Oaks-soak. words: i. HemP. 2. OratoR. 3. LanE. 4. IbiS. 5. DronE.
DIAGONALS. Emerson. CRoss-WORDS : i. Ever. 2. Amen. 3. 6. ArtisaN. 7. YachT.
"Tree. 4. Near. 5. Rest. 6. Foot. 7. Nest. STAR PUZZLE. I. From I to 3, brew; 2 to 4, dead; 3 to 5, warp;
FRACTIONS. Christmas. r. M-AI-ne. 2. Minneso-T-a. 3. Mis- 4 to T, drab; 5 to 2, pard. II. From i to 3, trod; 2 to 4, torn; 3 to 5,
si-SS-ippi. 4. New H-ampshi-R-e. 5. Wis-C-onsin. 6. Alaba-M-a. drew; 4 to i, neat; 5 to 2, wart.
THE nanl- ,:*. rl,.~ji 'h .: iei.. :.r:. .la t.., -ae printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be
addressed to Nu':-i:L Fi..j.::t.;. ,' ..r: if THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL: THE PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December 2o, from "Mama and Bae"-H. W.
Faulkner and L. V. Rirsson-Alice A. Poor-"Doctor and Co."-"Arabi Bey"-R. T. Losee-"Bub and Sis"-K. M. B.-"Mar-
mion "- C. Buell Sellers Eissel Sregor-" Paul and Virginia"- Sallie Viles- Minnie B. Murr,- fe eK Tall..:.,- T.vo High School
Girls-" Beyrl, Pearl, and Ruby"-" Partners"-" Queen Bess "- F. L. Atbush- Appleton E --D '\. .i-.I., i.. :.-,J H.W. Chandler,
Jr.-Charles J. Durbrow-John C. and Wm. V. Mo=e-" Twn Industrious Children"-- H. TI v. '.,,-. Ij i-cr.r-, Professor & Co.
-Helen E. Mahan-Alice D. Close---Papa, Ib.- 1 v.." Li11, C. Lippert-Lizzie Owen-C( li. i1 1.,: r .'ar. --' I a J. Child.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December 20; ... 1 i Ml,.- A-I, i.,iner, e-M. A.
Granger, I--Charles T. Ha.i- Tr., 2-"Caesar," x--C; W. Woodward, i--Little Minnie and Emma, 2--Charles B. Bartlett, 2-
Blanche W. Bantz, 2-P. a ,. Rensselaer, i- M. V. R., 2a-Mabel E. Southworth, 2 W. R. Amerman, 2--Walter H. Clark, 3-
Josie Hamilton, 6-Grace L.. t..u h... Theo. G. White, 3--Philip Embury, Jr., 7--G. P. Deacon, e-B. T. Hyrison, x--B.
Reen, x-Willie B. Chase, 3- F -.I Re.: .: 3--E. M. T. 2--Arthur Ford and Patchie Clark, Edith Brown, i Keyes Becker, 3-
Oliver Twist," 2-" Alcibiades," 7 Miriam Osler, 2 Walter W. and John T. Bush, 2 Olga G., I "Twilight," 4 -Percy Merrell
Nash, x-" Polly, Pegs, and Poppety," i- Frank B. Howard, 3-Edith Howland and L. Smith, 2 -Maud I. B., i -J. A. Nowland, i-
J. Stuart Bell, i--Waldo Merriam, I-J. B. Whitehead, i-" Kaytie and Mayrie," x-Effie Hadwen, 5- Don, 4- Florence G. Lane,
8-Annie, Mabel, and Florence Knight, 8-Florence Jones, 2- Christopher Noss, Eliza C. Bell, i M., and G. S. Brown, 3-
Hattie Weisel, 2-Eleanor B. Farley, 3-Warren G. Waterman, 2-Maggie P. White, i-" Epaminondas," 3-Walter Hancock, i
--May Irving Jones, 3- Alice C. N ir.J. 7 T..-,r.- K., 5--H. D. N. and R. S., -Frank Holland, 3- Raymond W. Carr, -
Edith K. Ross, I-D. B. A., 4- 1.i:.. r.. Ij ..:-.. 7-Augustus Fitzmortimer, 5-Margie K. S., i-"Amateur," 7-Carleton V.
Woodruff, 7--Nellie Caldwell, 7- lD i;- l..,-,, Fred S. Elliot, 2 -Louise Gilman, 7-E. Heller, I --Theodore and Maria, -
Immo, 8- Charles, 7-Estelle Rike, I N e.l -.I L -, 8--Geraldine, 7-Mother and Son, 6-Erasmus, i -Jack Selim, 3-" Phil. I.
Pine," 8- Elizabeth, 7-Chas. Belden, 2--Tom, Dick, and Harry, 2-Bessie Saunders, x--"Mamma and I," 6-G. Lansing and J.
Wallace, 5-".Pernie," 7-H. K. Reynolds, 3-Amy B. C., 3.




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