Front Cover
 How the robin came
 Almion, Auria, and Mona
 The rhyme for twelfth
 A lullaby
 Tales of two continents
 The prince of Naples and his...
 The birds at Monkstown castle
 A duel in the desert
 "A miss is as good as a mile"
 Sophie's secret - A Christmas...
 Our skating brigade
 How Sir Athol came to his...
 Edouard Frere and his child...
 The little stone boy
 The well-read hunter
 A submarine fire-eater
 Christmas carol
 Prince Hassak's march
 The two pussies
 Fare in a street-car
 The flower-angel
 The land of fire
 The three somber young gentlemen...
 Childrens Christmas club
 Wee Mother Hubbard
 Work and play for young folk....
 To our readers
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00137
 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: VID00137
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    How the robin came
        Page 81
        Page 82
    Almion, Auria, and Mona
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
    The rhyme for twelfth
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
    A lullaby
        Page 95
        Page 96
    Tales of two continents
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
    The prince of Naples and his palace
        Page 103
        Page 104
    The birds at Monkstown castle
        Page 105
    A duel in the desert
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
    "A miss is as good as a mile"
        Page 113
    Sophie's secret - A Christmas story
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
    Our skating brigade
        Page 119
    How Sir Athol came to his kingdom
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
    Edouard Frere and his child pictures
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
    The little stone boy
        Page 134
        Page 135
    The well-read hunter
        Page 136
        Page 137
    A submarine fire-eater
        Page 138
        Page 139
    Christmas carol
        Page 140
    Prince Hassak's march
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
    The two pussies
        Page 151
    Fare in a street-car
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
    The flower-angel
        Page 158
        Page 159
    The land of fire
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
    The three somber young gentlemen and the three pretty girls
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
    Childrens Christmas club
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
    Wee Mother Hubbard
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
    Work and play for young folk. XI
        Page 182
        Page 183
    To our readers
        Page 184
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

," ~ .-




VOL. XI. DECEMBER. 1883. No. 2.

(Copyright, 1883, by THE CENTURY CO.]



HAPPY young friends, sit by me,
Under May's blown apple-tree;
Hear a story, strange and old,
By the wild red Indians told,
How the robin came to be:

Once a great chief left his son,-
Well-beloved, his only one,-
When the boy was well-nigh grown,
In the trial-lodge alone.
Left for tortures long and slow
Youths like him must undergo,
Who their pride of manhood test,
Lacking water, food, and rest.
Seven days the fast he kept,
Seven nights he never slept.
Then the poor boy, wrung with pain,
Weak from nature's overstrain,
Faltering, moaned a low complaint:
"Spare me, Father, for I faint!"
But the chieftain, haughty-eyed,
Hid his pity in his pride.
You shall be a hunter good,
Knowing never lack of food;
You shall be a warrior great,
Wise as fox and strong as bear;
Many scalps your belt shall wear,
If with patient heart you wait
One day more! the father said.
When, next morn, the lodge he sought,
VOL. XI.-6.


And boiled samp and moose-meat brought
For the boy, he found him dead.

As with grief his grave they made,
And his bow beside him laid,
Pipe, and knife, and wampum-braid-
On the lodge-top overhead,
Preening smooth its breast of red
And the brown coat that it wore,
Sat a bird, unknown before.
And as if with human tongue,
" Mourn me not," it said, or sung;
" I, a bird, am still your son,
Happier than if hunter fleet,
Or a brave, before your feet
Laying scalps in battle won.
Friend of man, my song shall cheer
Lodge and corn-land; hovering near,
To each wigwam I shall bring
Tidings .of the coming spring;
Every child my voice shall know
In the moon of melting snow,
When the maple's red bud swells,
And the wind-flower lifts its bells.
As their fond companion
Men shall henceforth own your son,
And my song shall testify
That of human kin am I."

Thus the Indian legend saith
How, at first, the robin came
With a sweeter life from death,
Bird for boy, and still the same.
If my young friends doubt that this
Is the robin's genesis,
Not in vain is still the myth
If a truth be found therewith:
Unto gentleness belong
Gifts unknown to pride and wrong;
Happier far than hate is praise-
He who sings than he who slays.



LITTLE boy, named Almion, trav-
eling from a distant land, came at
evening to the borders of a new
country. He was very weary, and,
before going farther, he looked
about for a place in which to rest himself. He
soon found a bank of soft moss beneath the face
of a rock, which was still warm from the sun-
shine that had been on it all the afternoon. So
he laid himself down on the moss, with his back
against- the warm rock, and began to wonder
what adventures awaited him in the country over
yonder. The duskiness of twilight had by this
time so overspread the earth that Almion could
see little. He fancied there was a glimmer of
many lights somewhere in the distance in front
of him, and a murmur as of many voices: but
while he was straining his eyes and ears, trying
to make out what the lights were and what the
voices said, his weariness overcame him, and he
fell asleep.
He had a strange dream during his sleep. He
dreamt that it was early morning, just before
sunrise, and that he was walking toward the East,
when he saw, advancing to meet him, a beautiful
little girl. She was dressed in a wonderful gar-
ment, soft as the touch of the south wind in June,
and changing with rainbow hues as she moved.
Her hair flowed down on her shoulders like a deli-
cate mist of amber; her eyes sparkled like blue
stars, and her voice was like the music of birds
singing for joy-only birds can not speak in words,
as this little maiden did.
Almion, is that you?" she said.
"I am Almion," he said, gazing at her;' "but
I have never seen you before. Who are you?"

"I am a princess," she replied, "and I am sent
to be your companion."
Almion thought it would be pleasant to have
such a lovely little companion. So he stretched
forth his hand to take hers, and said, Come,
then, let us go together "
"That can not be, Almion," answered the prin-
cess, "until you have become rich and beautiful,
and wear a garment like this of mine."
"How shall I become rich and beautiful, and
where shall I find such a garment?" asked the
"That you may learn in yonder country," said
the little princess, pointing toward the West.
"There is work to be done there which will give
you both riches and beauty and the power to
weave a rainbow garment. And then, dear Al-
mion, we will be happy together."
As she said these words, the princess smiled
and waved her hand to him, as if she were about
to go away. But Almion exclaimed: "Shall I
never see you while my work is going on? Must
I be all alone? "
The princess was silent for a moment, and Al-
mion fancied he saw tears in her eyes. At last she
said :
You will not be alone, Almion, unless you
wish to be. But your princess can not show her-
self to you unless you seek for her. And some-
times, perhaps, when you think she is nearest
you, she will be farthest away. But if you find
the right gold, and know the true beauty, all will
be well. Otherwise, even though I stood beside
you, you would not know me."
"Oh, I shall always know. you !" exclaimed
Almion. The princess smiled again, though the


tears were still in her eyes, and again waved her
hand. And at that moment the great sun rose
above the earth, directly behind her, and in its
strong brightness her rainbow figure seemed to
be absorbed and to vanish; so that when the sun
had risen a little higher, the place where she had
just stood was empty. Almion turned around and
looked behind him,,but saw only his long shadow
stretching over the borderland of the new country.
With that he awoke and rubbed his eyes, and
found that it was a dream; but the night had
passed over him while he slept, and the sun had
indeed arisen, and was shining over the new coun-
try. The princess was nowhere to be seen; but
over the meadow there was a wreath of golden
mist that reminded Almion of her hair, and from
the grove came a music of birds that was like the
tones of her voice, and the grass was sprinkled
with .dew that sparkled like the tears in her eyes
when she had smiled through them. So, al-
though he had only dreamt of her, he felt sure
that she was a real princess, and that they would
meet again.
Almion's sleep had rested him, but he felt quite
hungry;- so, having washed his face in a brook
that flowed across the road, he set forward briskly
in the hopes of meeting with some one who would
give him a breakfast. The new country, seen
by daylight, looked very pleasant. Before him
stretched a wide plain, which, beyond, seemed to
descend into a deep valley, with rocky clefts here
and there, and shaggy clumps of pine-trees and
tangled bushes. On the farther side of this valley
a great mountain rose high aloft, with a misty
height of snowy pinnacles, and its dark sides,
above the forest-belt, seamed with the ancient
furrows made by glaciers and avalanches. The
valley and the mountain seemed wild and perilous;
but the plain was fertile, with cultivated fields and
waving crops, and shady roads winding through
the midst. Upon the verge of the plain, just
where it overhung the deep valley, stood a pretty
village with many little white houses ranged in
rows, each house with a red brick chimney, and
standing in the midst of a small square yard sur-
rounded by a wall. The road along which Almion
was walking led directly to this village, and as
he came nearer, he saw numbers of little people
hastening to and fro in the streets. At first, he
thought they were children, for few of them were
any taller than himself; but when he reached the
entrance of the village, he saw that their faces
were old, like those of grown-up people. They all
appeared very busy, for they hurried along, with
their eyes on the ground or looking straight be-
fore them; and they paid no attention to one

Will you tell me where I can get some break-
fast?" asked Almion of one of them who was
passing him.
The little man, without stopping or even look-
ing around, pointed with his thumb over his shoul-
der, and hurried on.
Almion went in the direction indicated, which
was toward the center of the village. On his way
thither, he passed and was passed by many per-
sons, and often he repeated to them his question,
"Where can I get my breakfast? Some of them
turned their heads aside, and crossed the road as
if to get out of his way; others stared at him and
frowned; others smiled oddly; and others again
pointed with their thumbs in the same way that
the first had done. At last the hungry traveler
came to a large open square, in the midst of which
was a large table heaped up with pies and cake
and other good things to eat; and sitting in a
chair beside the table was a little old woman-
the very first woman that Almion had seen in the
whole village.
"Good-morning," said Almion, walking up to
the table. "Is this breakfast for me ?"
The old woman had two boxes, one on each side
of her, both containing a quantity of coarse yellow
dust that glowed in the sunlight with a dull,
tawny luster, and which Almion thought looked
too dirty to handle. Nevertheless, the old woman
kept dipping her fingers into the box on the right,
clutching up handfuls of the yellow dust, and put-
ting it into the box on the left; and every time
she did this, she would mutter to herself the fol-
lowing rhyme:
"Double must, pretty dust,
Hearts of men and iron rust."

On hearing Almion's question, she glanced up
at him for a moment, and then said, while she
went on with her occupation: "Yes, if you have
gold enough."
"What sort of gold?" asked Almion, remem-
bering what the princess had told him.
"The right sort, to be sure," answered the old
woman--"the sort I have here; and she fished
up another handful of the tawny dust.
"If that is gold," said Almion, "I have none,
and don't want any."
"Then you don't want any breakfast," replied
the old woman.
Now Almion did want his breakfast very much,
and the sight of the cakes and pies had made him
hungrier than ever. So he said, "Where can I
find the gold, then?"
"Where other honest folks do, I suppose," re-
turned she.
And where is that? "



"In the pit!" was her answer; and nothing
more could he induce her to say, except to mutter
the old doggerel:
Double must, pretty dust,
Hearts of men and iron rust."

Almion turned away, feelingrather down-hearted;
but he told himself that such yellow dirt as the old
woman wanted must be common enough, and that
if he could but find his way to the pit, all would
soon be well. Besides," added he, brightening
up a little, gold is what the princess told me
to get; and if the old woman told the truth about
this being the right gold, then I shall not only
be earning my breakfast, but my princess, too!"
This idea so encouraged him that he stepped out
briskly, and, overtaking a little man who was
hurrying along with a spade in one hand and a
bucket in the other, he inquired his way to the
The little man gave his head a jerk in the direc-
tion in which they both were going, as much as to
say that the pit lay before them; so, without more
words (for Almion had by this time begun to find
out that very little talking was done in this coun-
try), they jogged along together side by side, and
the road by which they went led toward the deep
valley beyond the verge of the plain.
When they got there, Almion looked down and
saw an immense hole, big enough to have held a
good-sized hill; and multitudes of the little people
were scattered all about in its depths, working as
if.their lives depended upon it. Each man had a
spade and a bucket, and they would first loosen
the earth with their spades, and then sit down and
sift it carefully through their fingers; and all the
yellow grains that were sifted out they would put
into the buckets. It was a very tiresome and
dirty business, but otherwise there seemed to be
no particular difficulty about it, and Almion
thought he would soon be able to get all the gold
he needed. So he set about clambering down into
the pit. But, before doing so, he looked out across
the valley and toward the mountain. The valley
was a vast chasm of wild and awful beauty; the
sunshine never seemed to find its way into the
lower depths, where the black rocks and swarthy
pines made a sort of midnight even at noon. Far
beyond, on the farther side, uprose the mighty
mountain, towering toward the sky, steep and
sublime, with the pure gleam of snow upon its
pinnacled summit. It seemed a pity to go down
into the dirty pit, out of sight of all this grandeur.
But how else was Almion to earn his breakfast?
Down he went, therefore, and on his way he asked
his companion whether any-one ever had crossed
the valley and climbed the mountain. The little

man seemed perplexed at this question. He put
on a pair of horn spectacles and stared in the
direction Almion pointed; but soon he shook his
head and smiled oddly, as much as to say that
there were no such things as a valley and a mount-
ain, and that Almion must be out of his wits to
talk about such things. It is evident, however,
that one might as well shut one's eyes as attempt
to see through a pair of horn spectacles.
All day long, Almion dug and sifted in the pit,
and by evening he had quite a large heap of yel-
low dust in his bucket; but he was all begrimed
with dirt, and very tired. As he climbed out of
the hole, on his way back to the village, he saw
that a mist had gathered over the valley, making
it look like a cloudy ocean; but around the crest
of the mountain was a wreath of vapor, which the
setting sun had turned into celestial gold. As
Almion gazed at it, a fear came over him that this
might be the right sort of gold after all, and that
the stuff he had in his bucket was nothing but the
dirt that it appeared to be. The thought almost
made him cry; but just at that moment some one
touched his shoulder, and looking around, whom
should he see but the little old woman, with a
basket full of pies and cakes on her arm.
Come, my dear," she said, speaking in a much
pleasanter-tone than in the morning. You have
dug well to-day, and that is a fine lot of gold you
have sifted out. Come home with me, and since
you had no breakfast this morning, you shall now
have breakfast, dinner, and supper all in one.
Come along, my dear; you will be as rich and
handsome as any of them before long."
The sight of the good things to eat, and the
pleasant manner of the old woman, encouraged
Almion greatly, and made him forget all about
the golden wreath on the mountain. So he let
the old woman take him to her house, which was
a little square white building like the others, with,
a brick chimney, and a wall surrounding the yard.
There Almion ate until he was satisfied; and then,
feeling very heavy and stupid, he fell asleep. But
he had no such dream as had visited him the night
He was awakened in the morning by hearing
the voice of the old woman in the kitchen, where
she was scolding somebody very hard. Almion
looked in, and saw her standing over a little creat-
ure in a black gown, who was on ler knees scrub-
bing the kitchen floor.
"Who is that you are scolding?" Almion
She is our servant, my dear," the old woman
answered; "and a more lazy, good-for-nothing,
vicious little wretch does not live in this village.
And the more I scold her the worse she gets."


Almion thought that, in that case, it might be
better not to scold her at all. But just at that
moment the old woman began to lay the table for
breakfast, and the sight of it put the thought of
the little servant out of his head. He ate very
heartily, the old woman all the while pressing him
to eat more; and when he had finished, she said:
"And now, my dear, you can go back to the

day. As he went out of the house, he heard the
old woman scolding Mona, the little servant, in
the kitchen, and he even thought she was beating
her. He could not help feeling sorry for the poor
creature, who seemed to him more feeble and un-
happy than vicious. But he told himself that the
old woman must know more about that than he;
so he drove the subject out of his mind, and went


pit and get some more of the pretty dust. And
while you are away, I will begin to weave your
Garment for you."'
My rainbow garment?" cried Almion, bright-
ening up.
"To be sure, my dear; only it will be much
Prettier than a rainbow, for it will be all made of
gold and precious stones. And the more dust you
get the prettier it will be, and the sooner it will be
"And then shall I find my princess ?" inquired
"To be sure you will, my dear," replied the
other, nodding knowingly. "You will find her
sooner than you expect, and a very pretty prin-
cess she will be, though I say it."
Almion looked at the old woman, and it seemed
to him that she was neither so old -nor. so ugly as
the day before, and her voice was quite soft and
agreeable. He hardly knew what to make of it;
but he resolved to get a great deal of dust that

down to the pit. As he .descended, he glanced
over at the valley and the mountain; but a heavy
gray mist still lay over the former, and the latter
seemed so remote and dim as almost to be invisi-
ble. But the pit was full of little men, all'of them
working as hard as if their lives depended upon it,
and chanting this rhyme:
Pretty pelf, pretty pelf,
Every man for himself;
Lay it up on the shelf,
Pretty pelf, pretty pelf."
At .first, it struck Almion as being mere mean-
ingless doggerel; but after awhile, as the chant
went on, he found himself joining in with the rest,
and the chanting of the words seemed really to
make the digging, and sifting easier to him. So
he dug and sifted and chanted all day long, and
by evening.he had filled his bucket up to the brim
with yellow dust. At the pit's mouth he met the
old woman,, as before.; but it was surprising to see
how much she had improved in appearance. She



seemed scarcely more than middle-aged, and her
face was almost handsome. Almion gazed at her,
and hardly knew what to make of it.
"There you are, my dear! she exclaimed,
smiling at him; and a very good day's work you
have done, sure enough. Come home with me at
once ; there is a delicious supper waiting, if that
lazy girl, Mona, has not spoiled it while I was
away. But I'11 give her what she deserves "
Why don't you send her away, since she is
good for nothing ? asked Almion.
Ah! that is just what she would like; but I 'm
not going to please her. No, indeed; she shall
stay and work her fingers to the bone, if I have to
scold her from morning till night. But don't you
trouble yourself about her, my dear. I have be-
gun to weave your garment, and it will be finished
by the end of the week, if you work as well as you
have done."
When they reached the house, the mistress
bustled about to get the supper on the table,
rating Mona soundly all the while. Almion peeped
into the kitchen, and there was the little servant
on' her knees on the floor, scrubbing away with
soap and sand, and looking dingier and raggeder
than ever. She kept her face turned away from
Almion, but he could imagine how homely and
haggard it must look. She certainly is a wretched
little creature," he said to himself; I wish we
could get rid of her altogether." By this time
supper was ready, and it tasted even better than
the evening before, and Almion ate till he was
as full as his own bucket, his companion heaping
more good things on his plate. At last he fairly
fell asleep in his chair, and slept heavily until the
next morning.
At breakfast the old woman appeared, looking
so fresh and young and agreeable that it was
plainly impossible to think of her as an old woman
any longer. She was youthful, rosy, comely, with
the softest of voices and the sweetest of smiles,
Her eyes were bright blue, like bits of blue china,
and instead of the old hood which had, till now,
covered her head, she wore a great coil of yellow
hair, very much the same color as the gold dust
that Almion had been so busy gathering. Alto-
gether, if Almion had not had an idea that he had
heard her scolding and beating that wretched little

Mona just before he was fully awake, he would
have taken her to be a charming young lady, as
good-tempered as she was good-looking. But it
was a curious fact, which Almion hardly knew what
to make of, that whenever she spoke to Mona, her
voice had the same harsh and cracked tone that
he had noticed when he first talked with her in
the market-place, as she sat scooping the dust out
of one box into the other. As for Mona, it did
not seem likely that she would last much longer.
She tottered about as if she were going to fall
down from weakness, and her old black gown
hung about her in tatters. She had apparently
got all the age and infirmity that her mistress had
"Good-morning, Almion dear," said the young
lady, smiling at him with her blue eyes and her
red lips. How well and handsome you look after
your night's sleep And you will soon be so rich
that nothing short of a princess will be good
enough for you. But see what a beautiful garment
I am weaving for you-all gold thread and pre-
cious stones "
"Yes, it is very fine," said Almion, looking at
the half-finished garment, which was rich, heavy,
and glittering. "But it does not look much like a
"There is always a difference, Almion dear,"
replied she, in a soft voice, "between what one
imagines in a dream and what one sees in reality.
A garment made of a rainbow would not last you
ten minutes; it is nothing but a silly fancy; but
this that I am making for you is all gems and
precious metal, and will last all your life."
"But I saw the princess in my dream," said
Almion. "Was she a silly fancy, too? "
"A real princess is better than a dream one,"
answered the other, nodding with a knowing look.
"But, dear me!" she added, turning away,
"there is that lazy wretch, Mona, at her tricks
again And she ran into the kitchen.
So this it is to be rich and handsome "'said
Almion to himself, with a sigh, as he ate his break-
fast. But the real princess who can she be ? "
In truth, Almion had begun to have an idea that
the real princess was not far off; but for the
present he thought it as well to keep his ideas to

(To be concluded.)

2-...r ---e-





1 Ti "
,.._.__eiwas I youth wh, _d


'. L rn

7 7.: ..a living, he r:
-- ..lw -ir

S ..i was t who
**Rt'h, ,.. .I.. fr n y s

.. [01!- -h who had

c a'1 im l r trade, and not knowing
S" .. ....r a living, lhe resolved to
S, .,.' _-'-- ', -i hung. a sign over his
"' '( ... ^---,!: /1' it down in front .of his cot-
S .' patrons. But the people

1\t,, I.S h' 1! -.- ,'- :.'i -i-. nd for many days no one
h^ came near him.. At last, however, the King drove
by and saw. his sign. Now, the .King was a very
stupid person, who knew little enough about any-
thing; yet he had been -sufficiently cunning to make his subjects believe he knew. everything, and
the way he managed it was this: He always took with him, wherever he went, an exceedingly clever
young man, and when he needed any information, he would question him as a teacher catechises a
pupil who is reciting his lesson. The name of this young man was Kordhl, and he was also called

When the King noticed the poet's sign, he wanted to know its meaning, so he said to the Catechised:
"Attention, Koruhl! What do you see over yonder door?"
"A sign-board bearing the word 'Poet,' sire," answered the Catechised, promptly.
"Very good," said the King, approvingly; "and what does the word 'poet' signify, Koruhl?"
"One who writes poetry sire."
"Right, Koruhl; right. And now tell me-what do we understand by the term poetry?"


"Poetry, sire, is metrical composition," returned Perhaps, sire, you are going to bid me send
the Catechised, and the King became silent until, for the Court Poet, and order him to make some
noticing that the Catechised seemed to be ponder- verses for you ? "
ing deeply, he exclaimed: "Exactly, Koruhl," answered the King, much
"Koruhl, what do you suppose I am thinking pleased; "let it be done."
about ? The Court Poet being summoned and the King's
Sire," answered the Catechised, slowly, "you wishes made known, he bowed low and said:
have already a Court Orator, a Court Historian, On what subject will Your Majesty have me
a Court Story-teller, a Court Riddle- write?"
maker, and a Court Jester; perhaps *TIe "Koruhl,"demandedtheKing,"on
you want to add a Court Poet." what subject do poets usually write ? "
You have guessed my thoughts, Covjvrt hsician "On a variety of subjects, sire,'
Koruhl," returned the King, much de- answered the Catechised; "though in
lighted. "Let it be done." WaS a this case you will doubt-
So the poet was taken to the palace, jerd man -. less ask for a poem to be
and made Court Poet. Hie was given read on the twelfth
a fine apartment, where he might sit bi,.d,, of
and meditate all day long, and every- t p s r, iss,
body who saw him admired him, for he 1 .' I 'ill
had a pale face, long, fair hair, and '-. r_!Cxt
large, mournful eyes. i ."
"How handsome and.interesting he T'.'.... "r King
is!" they all said. "He looks as if he j '- ided
could write beautiful poetry." Yet no -I'ily
one ever knew of his writing a single -- '
word. -
Every morning, the King sat in his -
audience chamber, after the fashion of to the
the country, and. heard the complaints Court Poet.
and settled the disputes that his subjects "Such is my
brought before him; that is to say, this. will; let it be
business was attended to with the help ) done."
of the Catechised, who was always the "Your Maj-
real judge. One day, after an unusual esty is doubt-
number of decisions had been rendered, less aware,"
the King said, with a great yawn: "' -' said the Court
Poet, that po-
etry is a work
-. of time, and to be
--4 really good must be-
-- written in solitude."
Certainly," re-
-- turned the King, who
would have been
ashamed to appear
ignorant in the mat-
--- .. ter; "you may go
back to your apart-
ment until the poem
is done."
S-cov not think ofC y M~-7e So the Court Poet
went to his room
for l L't and, taking pen and
paper, he thought
"Koruhl, I am tired, really fatigued, with so intently until bed-time; but he wrote nothing what-
much hard thinking; do you happen to know ever. The next day, it was the same; he did not.
what I am going to do for recreation ?" write because he could not think of anything to say.


"If I could only make a beginning," he ex- through. I must find a suitable rhyme for twelfth
claimed over and over again; but he could not before going any farther." He leaned his head
make a beginning, so at length he threw down his on his hands, and his long hair fell down until it

A eft the pj ace
&ndc \x'era to


pen and went to the Court Physician for help.
The Court Physician was a learned man, and when
the Court Poet asked him how he should begin his
poem, he answered immediately:
"Oh, that is very simple; your first two lines
should be something like this:
Beautiful little princess, on your birthday-'t is the twelfth--
Permit your loving subjects to inquire about your health."
The Court Poet thanked him and went back to
his work, but as he repeated the lines to himself,
he noticed that health was not a rhyme for twelfth
at all.
"This will not do," he said; "unless I begin
my poem aright, I-shall never be able to carry it

.-- --- -

._. ;- -

__ ,

.: r-, ..,i t, [ .:i i I U iIii IL,: ._. L I, L r1 1i. ., !" n1

I T !.- : i.: : t :." l.- 1.l -l: : L' iii i L did

.a ltyrlc fr I; u!- ,L but Lt.. blrd i r n-i: .k Pel-
about twelft or its rhymes, and so he was disap-

pointed. By and by, a bright idea came to him.
"I will ask every one I meet," he said; surely
some one must know a rhyme for Itwelth."

The first person who chanced to pass that way
was the Court Historian, who walked with hands
clasped behind him and eyes fixed on the ground.
INo," said he, grandly, in answer to the ques-
tion of the Court Poet, "history never uses rhymes;

they are undignified," and he went his way.
SNext- came the Court Orator, who. held his head
very high and waved his hands in air majestically
as he rehearsed a speechymes, and so he was to give that even-
ing at a grand by, dinner. He would hardly listen tom.

the Court Poet at all.
"I will ask every one I meet," he said ; "unworthy a
some one must know a rhyme for twelfth."

great mind," he declared, who hand also passwent his way
Then came the Court HistoRiddle-maker, in a great
clasped behind him. and eyes fixed on the ground.
"No," said he, grandly, in answer to the ques-

hurry.tion of the Court Poet, "history never uses rhymes;
they am chasing an idea," and he wentsaid; do not stopway.
Next came the Court Orator, who held his head

me. I have something else to do beside findingcally
rhymes for other people; have already to give too muheven-
ing at a grand dinner. He would hardly listen to
the Court Poet at all.
Rhyming is a silly amusement, unworthy a
great mind," he declared, and also went his way.
Then came the Court Riddle-maker, in a great
I am chasing an idea," he said; "do not stop
me. I have something else to do beside finding
rhymes for other people ; I have already too much



trouble with my own duties," and he, too, disap-
As the Court Poet cast his eyes about, he saw,
sitting on a stone bench under a tree, a man who
was weeping bitterly; and when he went toward
him he saw he was no other than the Court Jester.
"1What is the matter?" he inquired, bending
over him.
"Nothing," answered the Court Jester.
"Why do you weep, then ? persisted the Court
"Because the King has given me a holiday.
After I have earned my bread so many years by
making jokes and being merry, why may I not
now enjoy a few tears undisturbed? "
Certainly, you may; only tell me first, do you

In the lower left-hand corner of the Kingdom
of Kandalabara, in a stone house."
The Court Poet thanked the Court Jester (who
immediately resumed his weeping just where he
had left it off) and set out for the house of the saf-
fron-faced Carrotufti, where he arrived in about
five days. This house was very large, for although
.only the Carrotufti lived in it, he had so many
words, letters, figures, and other useful and curi-
ous things, that a great deal of room was necessary
to hold them. The Carrotufti was a very old per-
son with bright yellow skin and a long white beard,
and he wore a green gown, a pair of immense
round-eyed spectacles, and a pointed cap. He
was exceedingly busy when the Court Poet entered
his house, for there were,: waiting to be served, phi-

know any rhyme for twelfth ? "
No," replied the Court Jester, shortly.
"Alas! what shall I do? Can no one
give me the information I need?"
Have you been to the saffron-faced Car-
rotufti ?" asked the Court Jester, taking a
little pity on him.

I -* -

*i-. 1 /-

I -,

II -

,I -




"No, I have not," returned the C
brightening. "Who is he ?"
"Do you not know ?" asked the Cou
surprise. He is the wisest man in the
he deals in language. He has a collect
thousand words, from which he sells to
want to buy. If there are any rhymes
he will surely have them."
Can you tell me where he lives ?"


losophers, astron-
un mrs, priests, law-makers,
Y '_ ot orators, book-writers, and many
Orator- others who had use for words. There
were also dishonest persons, eager to get
words with which to tell falsehoods and deceive
whom they might; but the Carrotufti was too
t shrewd for them, and, guessing their evil designs,
refused to have anything to do with them, so they
were forced to get along with what words they
ourt Poet, could beg or steal from the others.
As each one made known his needs, the Carro-
rt Jester, in tufti went to something that looked like a large
world and book set up on end, and, turning one or another
on of many of its huge leaves, selected from among the little
those who cases or drawers with which it was filled the letters,
for t-we/ft/ words, or figures required, laid them on the coun-
ter, and took payment according to their value.
By and by, when it was the Court Poet's turn to

I' I


be waited upon, the Carrotufti nodded for him to
make known his wants.
"Sir," said the Court Poet, "I have come a
long distance to learn whether you. have: any
rhymes for twelfth."
The Carrotufti shook his head. "There is but
one rhyme for twelfth in the whole world, and that
I sold a hundred years ago, to be used at the coro-
nation of our good king, Sharlos Twelfth. Perhaps
the rhyme.is:still in the royal treasury, and the
young queen who .is now reigning n:, i.... .il.i...
to let you have it. You might go to the' palace
and.see her."
SThe Court Poet thanked the saffron-faced Car-
rotufti for his information, and, halving taken his
leave, set out for the royalal ace, which :he
reached in something less than two days. The
Queen, who was young and very beautiful, received
him graciously, and directed that he should be
lodged in a.splendid guest-chamber and presented
with a fine new suit of clothes, for his own were
worn and travel-stained. After he had rested and
refreshed himself he came into the Queen's pres-

her for several hours. When he asked her about
the rhyme for twelfth, and told her why he wanted
it, she hesitated before answering, for she thought
to herself:
S"Although I have the rhyme among my treas-
ures, I must not give it to him at once, lest, when
he has it in his hands, he may leave me and return
to his own country, which must not be, for one
does not every day encounter a young man so
beautiful to behold, so agreeable to converse with,
and also a poef." So she presently said to him
carelessly: I think the rhyme you seek is some-
where about the palace, though I don't know
exactly where. It has long been out of style, and
is so cumbrous .I have made no use of it whatever;
therefore, I fear.it has not been well taken care of,
and the letters may be scattered from one end of
the house to the other. I.will order a search, and
if it can be found you, shall have it. Meanwhile,
tarry with us, arid I will take care that time shall
pass pleasantly with you."
The. Court Poet was very glad to stay and be
entertained by the Queen; who, on the first day,

-V ..- _...

e&av hke xN'ia no oiAier

Court J terp) ordered a great dinner to be prepared, and
invited a brilliant company, who treated the
ence, looking so noble and handsome in his elegant Court Poet as if he had been a prince. At night,
apparel that she fell in love with him straightway, after this feasting had been brought to an end, the
and made him sit down at her side and talk with Lord Chamberlain came before the Queen and the



Court Poet to make his report. He informed
them that a strict search had been made through
one wing of the palace, and the last letter of the
rhyme for twelfth had been
found in an old book of songs
on a stone table in one of
the tower chambers. Hethen '-
presented the letter to the
Queen, who gave it to the
Court Poet, who, for safe
keeping, strung it on a silken
cord which he put about his
On the morrow, the Queen
again called together a great
many illustrious people and
made a grand chase,to which
the Court Poet rode at her
side, mounted on a cream-
yellow horse, and armed with
a costly hunting-knife having
three large diamonds in the
hilt. When they returned.to
the palace, the Lord Cham-
berlain appeared as before,
to say that the servants had
hunted carefully though an-
other part of the palace, and
had found the next to the
last letter of the rhyme for
twelfth in a cookery book
hanging on the wall near the
great fire-place in the kitch-
en. This letter he also laid
before the Queen, who hand-
ed it to the Court Poet, who
put it on the silken, cord with
the other.
The next day, there was
a grand tournament,. and the
next a series:of games such
as were peculiar to that coun-
try. Then the Queen gave
a splendid ball, at which she
would dance only with the
Court Poet, although many
nobles, and even princes,
sought her as a partner.
And so each day was spent
in some kind of festivity, and
each night the Lord Cham-
berlain brought another let-
ter of the rhyme for twe7ftk, until all but one had
been given into the hands of the Court Poet and
strung on the cord about his neck. This, the first
and most important, the Lord Chamberlain de-
clared, could not be found; whereupon the Queen

pretended to be vexed, and ordered a continual
search to be made, not only in and about the pal-
ace, but throughout the kingdom, until the missing

o wn country.
But, although much gratified by the attentions
shown him, he could not forget that his poem
was unfinished and the birthday of the little prin-
cess was approaching; so, when the Lord Cham-
berlain had announced for the tenth time that



nothing had been found during the, day, he ad- was very deep and very clear, she took from her
dressed the Queen thus: pocket the missing first letter of the rhyme for
"Your Majesty, since your servants are unable to twelfth and secretly dropped it into the water,
where it immediately sank until it
S- rested on the bottom, far below.
-r Then she leaned over the side of the
T'he -Lod C rnIe' A crl boat and gazed at it in silence for a
before tke ( u.cer s arnd Ike Court o 'oet long time,: until the Court Poet,
Observing her,: finally asked why she
S.' did so.
'';"''"'Iil' i I I think,": answered the Queen,
I slowly, that the first letter of the
il 'i rhymer fnr 17',,7f, ha- fallen into the

H li,, : : .' -, i" i '. ,
"!~ -

_. __ .._SS~ *; r I -
: I'tf^ /* i `1 -,,

._ ..L -_
^-- -- _-2 "-_

-: t._ ---

-_ _-_ = -
-I -


find the letter needed to
complete the rhyme for twelfth, I
am of the opinion that it must certainly,
have been stolen and carried out of Your Majesty's
dominions. Therefore, I pray you, permit me to
express my devout gratitude for all Your Majesty's
gracious kindnesses,-and now to go away into
the world in quest of the missing letter."
At hearing these words, the Queen was very sad,
for she could- think of no excuse for denying his
request, and she perceived he was unwilling to be
detained any longer; nevertheless, she besought
him to remain one more day, promising that, if the
letter were not then found, she would suffer him to
So he staid, and she tried to think of a plan
whereby she might forever prevent him from leav-
ing her domains. By and by, she decided how to
act, and when the sun began to go down in the
western sky, she invited him to take a sail with
her on a beautiful lake lying in front of the palace.
When they were in the middle of this lake, which

true, and as he looked down into the. water, she
seized a pair of scissors which she had concealed
and quickly cut the silken cord on which all the
other letters were hanging, so that they also fell
into the lake and sank to the bottom.
At this accident- for such he thought .it-the
Court Poet was much dismayed, and wrung his
hands with grief.
What shall I do! he exclaimed. "Now all
are lost. I never can finish my poem without the
rhyme for lwel/th, which an unhappy mischance
has now made it impossible for me ever to obtain,
and I shall not dare go back to the King, who
will be very angry with me, and will doubtless
order me to be put to death at once. What shall
I do to escape my fate "
Then the Queen looked at him kindly, and
said, in her most gracious tones:
Do not lament; why need you go back at all?
Is not my country as beautiful as yours? Is not
my palace as splendid as your King's ? Is not my
kingdom as grand and large as his ? My people




have asked me to choose a husband, but I have
never until now cared to make a choice, for I have
sworn I will wed none but a poet. But you are a
great poet; can you not stay with me and share
my possessions? "
It is not every one to whom is made an offer so
fine as this. The Court Poet did not hesitate long
before accepting it.
"Madam," he returned, "the honor and the
happiness are beyond my deserts; but to me your
wishes are commands, and obedience to you is
always a pleasure."'

So they were married, and the Court Poet be-
came King. He never again tried to write any
poetry; the ill success of his first attempt had
completely discouraged him, and, besides, he had
not time for rhyming, with the affairs of a great
kingdom to look after.
As for the birthday of the little princess, it came
and went without any poem whatever; for the
rhyme for twelfth lay out of reach hundreds and
hundreds of feet below the surface of the lovely
lake, where, if this story be true, it doubtless lies
to this day.




.A, *111~.t~_

IIt, e

~, /,~ <$$7 t4

v-/ .t/a ,

Ft~ ~i:~,,/ ,e

i *~~'

- I(,



: .. ''
0" 1 .,,, . -

"IT'S criss-cross high, and it's criss-cross flat;
Then four straight lines for the pussy cat;
Then criss-cross under; ah, now there '11 be
A nice deep cradle, dear Grandpa! See!

"Now change again, and it 's flat once more-
A lattice-window! But where 's the door?
Why, change once more, and, holding it so,
We can have a very good door, you know.

" Now over, now under, now pull it tight;
See-saw, Grandpa!-exactly right!"
So prattled the little one, Grandfather's pet,
As deftly she wrought. "See, now it's a net!

"But where did ydu learn cat's-cradle so well?"
She suddenly asked; and he could not tell.
He could not tell, for his heart was sore,
As he gravely said, "I have played it before."

What could the sweet little maiden know
Of beautiful summers long ago ?
Of the merry sports, and the games he played,
When "Mamma," herself, was a little maid?

What could she know of the thoughts that ran
Through the weary brain of the world-worn man ?
But she knew, when she kissed him, dear
Grandpa smiled,
And that was enough for the happy child.


: ~II


=~" '- -






MAGNIE was consumed with the hunting- fever.
He had been away to school since he was ten
years old, and had never had the chance of doing
anything remarkable. While his brother, Olaf,
who was a midshipman in the navy, roamed about
the world, and had delightful adventures with
Turks and Arabs, and all sorts of outlandish peo-
ples, Magnie had to scan Virgil and Horace and
torment his soul with algebraic problems. It was
not at all the kind of life he had sketched out for
himself, and if it had not been his father who
had imposed it upon him, he would have broken
away from all restraints and gone to Turkey or
China, or some place where exciting things hap-
pened. In the meanwhile, as he lacked money
for such an enterprise, he would content himself
with whatever excitement therewas in hunting,
and as his brothers, Olaf and little Edwin (who
was fourteen years old), were also at home for the
vacation, there-was a prospect of many delightful
expeditions by sea and by land. Moreover, their
old friend, Grim Hering-Luck, who was their
father's right-hand man, had promised to.be at
their disposal- and put them on the track of excit-
ing experiences. They had got each a gun, and
had practiced shooting at a mark daily since their
return from the city. Magnie, or Magnus Birk as
his real name was, had once (though Olaf stoutly
maintained that it was mere chance) hit the-bull's-
eye at a hundred yards, and he was now.eager to
show his skill on something more valuable than
a painted target. It was, therefore, decided that
Grim and the boys should go reindeer hunting.
They were to be accompanied by the professional
hunter, Bjarne Sheepskin.
It was a glorious morning. The rays of the sun
shot from the glacier peaks in long radiant shafts
down into the valley. The calm mirror of the fiord
glittered in the light and fairly dazzled the eye, and
the sea-birds drifted in noisy companies about the
jutting crags, plunged headlong into the sea, and
scattered the spray high into the air. The blue
smoke rose perpendicularly from the chimneys
of the fishermen's cottages 'along the beach, and
the, housewives, still drowsy with sleep, came out,
rubbed their eyes and looked toward the sun to
judge of the hour. One boat after another was
pushed out upon the water, and the ripples in their
wakes spread in long diverging lines toward either
shore. The fish leaped in the sun, heedless of the

gulls which sailed in wide circles under the sky,
keeping a sharp lookout for the movements of the
finny tribe. The three boys could only stand and
gaze in dumb astonishment upon the splendid
sights which the combined heavens, earth, and sea
afforded. Their father, who was much pleased
with their determination and enterprise, had
readily given his consent to the reindeer hunt, on
condition that Grim should take command and be
responsible for their safety. They were now mounted
upon three sturdy -ponies, while -their provisions,
guns, and other commodities were packed upon
a fourth beast-a shaggy little monster named
Bruno, who looked more like a hornless goat than
a horse. Bjarne Sheepskin, a long, round-shoul-
dered fellow, with a-pair of small, lively eyes, was
leading .this heavily laden Bruno by the bridle,
and the little caravan, being-once set in motion,
climbed the steep slopes: toward the mountains
with much persistence.and dexterity. The ponies,
which had been especially trained for mountain
climbing, planted their hoofs upon the slippery rocks
with a precision which was wonderful to behold,
jumped from stone to stone, slipped, scrambled
up and down, but never fell. As they entered the
pine forest, where the, huge trunks grew in long,
dark colonnades, letting in here and there stray
patches of .sunshine,: partridges and ptarmigan
often started under the very noses of the horses,
and Magnie clamored loudly for his gun, and grew
quite angry with Bjarne, who would allow "no
fooling with tomtits and chipmunks, when they
were in search of big game." Even hares were per-
mitted to go unmolested; and it was not until a fine
caper-cailzie* cock tumbled out of the underbrush
close to the path, that Bjarne flung his gun to his
cheek and fired. The- caper-cailzie made a som-
ersault in the air, and 'the feathers flew about it
as it fell. Bjarne picked it up quietly, tied its legs
together, and hung it on the pommel of Edwin's
saddle. "That will make a dinner for gentlefolks,"
he said, "if the dairy-maids up on the saeters
should happen to have nothing in the larder."
Gradually, as they mounted higher, the trees
became more stunted in their growth, and the
whole character of the vegetation changed. The
low dwarf-birch stretched its long, twisted branches
along the earth, the silvery-white reindeer-moss
clothed in patches the barren. ground, and a few
shivering alpine plants lifted their pale, pink

VOL. XI.-7.

* A species of grouse.


flowers out of the general desolation. As they
reached the ridge of the lower mountain range, the
boys saw before them a scene the magnificence of
which nearly took their breath away. Before them
lay a wide mountain plain, in the bottom of which
two connected lakes lay coldly glittering. Round
about, the plain was settled with rude little log-
houses, the so-called saeters, or mountain dairies,
where the Norse peasants spend their brief sum-
mers, pasturing their cattle.
They started at a lively trot down the slope to'
ward this highland plain, intending to reach the
Hasselrud saeter, where they expected to spend the
night; for it was already several hours past noon,
and there could be no thought of hunting reindeer
so late in the day. Judging by appearances, the
boys concluded that :fifteen or twenty minutes
would bring them to the saeter) but they rode on
for nearly two hours, and always the cottages
seemed to recede, and the distance showed no signs
of diminishing. They did not know how deceptive
all distances are in this wondrously clear mount-
ain air, whose bright transparency is undimmed
by the dust and exhalations of the lower regions
of the earth. They would scarcely have believed
that those huge glacier peaks, which seemed to
be looming up above their very heads, were some
eight to twelve miles away, and that the eagle
which soared above their heads was far beyond
the range of their rifles.
It was about five o'clock when they rode in upon
the .saeter green, where the dairy-maids were al-
ternately blowing their horns and yodeling. Their
long flaxen braids hung down their backs, and their
tight-fitting scarlet bodices and white sleeves gave
them a picturesque appearance. The cattle were
lowing against the sky, answering the call of the
horn.' The bells of cows, goats, and sheep were
jangled in harmonious confusion; and the noise
of the bellowing bulls, the bleating sheep, and the
neighing horses was heard from all sides over
the wide plain.
The three brothers were received with great cor-
diality by the maids, and they spent the evening,
after the supper was finished, in listening to mar-
velous stories about the ogres who inhabited the
mountains, and the hunting adventures with which
Bjarne Sheepskin's life had been crowded, and
which he related with a sportsman's usual exag-
geration. The beds in one of the saeter c.:.tii.:
were given up to the boys, and they slept peacefully
until about four o'clock in the morning, when Grim
aroused them and told them that everything was
ready for their departure. They swallowed their
breakfast hastily and started in excited silence
across the plateau: Edwin and the horses they
left behind in charge of the dairy-maids, but took

with them a shepherd dog who had some good
blood in him, and had a finer scent than his sedate
behavior and the shape of his nose would have led
one to suppose.
Light clouds hovered under the sky; the mist
lay like a white sheet over the mountain, and
drifted in patches across the plain. Bjarne and
Grim were carrying the guns, while Olaf led the
dog, and Magnus trotted briskly along, stooping
every now and then to examine every unfamiliar
object that came in his way. The wind blew to-
ward them, so that there was no chance that their
scent could betray them, in case there were herds
of deer toward the north at the base of the glaciers.
They had not walked very far, when Bjarne put
his hand to his lips and stooped down to examine
t'r,: I:'ii',':l. The dog lifted his nose and began
to snuff the air, wag his tail, and whine impatiently.
"Hush, YutuI," whispered Bjarne; "down!
down, and keep still! "
The dog crouched down obediently and held his
"Here is a fresh track," the hunter went on,
pointing to a hardly perceptible depression in the
moss. "There has been a large herd here -one
buck and at least a dozen cows. Look, here is a
stalk that has just been bitten off, and the juice is
not dry yet."
"How long do you think it will be before we
shall meet them?" asked Magnus, breathlessly.
The hunting-fever was throbbing in his veins, and
he crawled cautiously among the bowlders with his
rifle cocked.
"Could n't tell; may be an hour, may be three.
Hand-me your field-glass, Lieutenant, and I will
see if I-can catch sight of 'em. A gray beast is n't
easily seen agin'the gray stone. It was fer the
same reason l-wanted ye to wear gray clothes;
we -don't-want to give the game any advantage,
fer the sentinels be allers oh the lookout fer the
herd,-and at the least bit of unfamiliar color, they
give their warning' snort, and off starts the flock,
scudding away like a drift of mist before the wind."
Crouching down among the lichen-clad rocks,
all listened in eager expectation.
"Down!" commanded Bjarne,- "'and cock
rifles A pair of antlers agin the snow! That 's
all. Don't anybody rise so as to show agin the sky.
Hallo! it is as I thought-a big -herd. One,
two, three five seven ten fourteen One
stunning' buck, worth his forty dollars, at least.
Now follow me slowly. Look out for your guns !
You, Grim, keep the dog muzzled."
The boys strained their eyes above the edge of
the stones, but could see nothing. Their hearts
hammered against- their sides, and the blood
throbbed in their temples. As far as their eyes



could reach, they saw only the gray waste of bowl-
ders, interrupted here and there by patches of snow
or a white glacier-stream, which plunged wildly
over a precipice, while a hovering smoke indicated


its further progress through the plain. Neverthe-
less, trusting the experience of their leader, they
made no remark, but crept after him, choosing,
like him, every available stone for cover. After
half an hour of this laborious exercise, Bjarne sud-

denly stretched himself flat upon the ground, and
.the others, though seeing no occasion for such
a maneuver, promptly followed his example. But
the next moment enlightened them. Looming up
against the white snow, some sixty or a
Hundred feet from them, they saw a mag-
nificent pair of antlers, and presently the
whole body of a proud animal was distinctly
visible against the glacier. In the ravinebe-
low, a dozen or more cows with their calves
were nibbling the moss between the stones,
but with great deliberateness, lifting their
heads every minute and snuffing the air
suspiciously; they presently climbed up on
the hard snow and began a frolic, the like
of which the boys had never seen before.
The great buck raised himself on his hind-
legs, shook his head, and made a leap,
kicking the snow about him with great
vehemence. Several of the cows took this
as an invitation for a general jollification,
and they began to frisk about, kicking their
heels against the sky and shaking their
S heads, not with the wanton grace of their
S chief, but with half-pathetic attempts at
imitation. This, Magnus thought, was evi-
dently a reindeer ball; and very sensible
they were to have it early in the morning,
when they felt gay and frisky, rather than
in the night, when they ought to be asleep.
What troubled him, however, was that
Bjarne did not shoot; he himself did not
venture to send a bullet into the big buck,
although it seemed to him he had an ex-
cellent aim. The slightest turn in the wind
would inevitably betray them, and then they
would have had all their toil for nothing.
He would have liked to suggest this to
Bjarne; but in order to do this, he would
have to overtake him, and Bjarne was still
wriggling himself cautiously forward among
the stones, pushing himself on with his
elbows, as a seal does with his flippers. In
his eagerness to impart his counsel to Bjarne,
Magnus began to move more rapidly; rais-
ing himself on his knees, he quite inadver-
tently showed his curly head above a bowl-
'. der. The buck lifted his superb head with
a,snort, and with incredible speed the whole
herd galloped away; but in the same mo-
IIS- ment two bullets whistled after them, and
the buck fell flat upon the snow. The cow
which had stood nearest to him reared on her
hind-legs, made a great leap, and plunged head-
long down among the stones. With a wild war-
whoop, the boys jumped up, and Magnus, who
had come near ruining the whole sport, seized, in

order to make up for his mishap, a long hunting- thing was being done by his companions for his
knife and rushed forward to give the buck thecozeA. rescue. But he could see nothing except a great
de grace,* in accordance with the rules of the chase, expanse of gray and white lines, which ran into


It 5-..


S '


Bounding forward with reckless disregard of all ob-
stacles, he was the first down on0 the snow. In one
instant he was astride of the animal, and had just
raised his knife, when up leaped the buck and tore
away along the edge of the snow like a gust of
wind: The long-range shot, hitting him in the head,
had only stunned him, but had not penetrated the
skull.. And,:what.was worse, in his bewilderment
at the unexpected maneuver, Magnus dropped his
knife; seizing instinctively the horns of the rein-
deer to keep from falling. Away they went with a
terrific, dizzying speed. The frightened boy clung
convulsively to the great antlers; if he should fall
off, his head would be crushed against the bowl-
ders. The cold glacier-wind whistled in his ears,
and stung his face like a multitude of tiny needles.
He had to turn his head in order to catch his
breath; and he strained his eyes to see if any-

each other and climbed and undulated toward him
and sloped away, but seemed associated with no
tangible object. He thought, for a moment, that
he saw Grim Hering-Luck aiming his gun, but he
seemed to be up in the sky, and to be growing huger
and huger until he looked more like a fantastic
cloud than a man. .The thought suddenly struck
him that he might be fainting, and it sent a thrill
of horror through him. With a vehement effort
he mastered his fear and resolved that, whatever
happened, he would not give way to weakness. If
he was to lose his life, he would, at all events, make
a hard fight for it; it was, on the whole, quite a
-valuable life, he concluded, anid he did not mean
to sell it cheaply.
Troubling himself little about the direction his
steed was taking, he shut his eyes, and began to
meditate upon his chances of escape; and after

* The finishing stroke.

. __-

I O0



I .


some minutes, he was forced to admit that they
seemed very slim. When the buck should have
exhausted his strength, as in the course of time
he must, he would leave his rider somewhere in
this vast trackless wilderness, where the biting
wind swept down from the eternal peaks of ice,
where wolves roamed about in great hungry com-
panies, and where, beside them, the reindeer and
the ptarmigan were the only living things amid
the universal desolation. When he opened his
eyes again, Magnus discovered that the buck had
overtaken the fleeing herd, which, however, were
tearing away madly at his approach, being evi-
dently frightened at the sight.and the scent of the
unfamiliar rider. The animal was still galloping
on, though with a less dizzying rapidity, and Mag-
nus could distinguish the general outline of the
objects which seemed to be rushing against him,
as if running a-race in the opposite direction.
The herd were evidently seeking safety
in the upper glacier region, where no .
foot less light and swift than their own
could find safety among the terrible
ravines and crevasses.
Fully an hour had passed, possibly
two, and it seemed vain to attempt to
measure the distance which he had
passed overin this time. At all events,
the region did not present one famil-, '..
iar object, and of Olaf and his com-
panions Magnie saw no trace. The .
only question was, what chance had
they of finding him, if they undertook
to search for him as, of course, they I
would. If he could only leave some
sign or mark. by which they might
know the direction he had taken, their
search might perhaps be rewarded
with success. He put one hand in his
pocket, but could find nothing that
he could spare except a red silk hand-
kerchief. That had the advantage of
being bright, and would be sure to
attract attention. The dog would be
likely to detect it or to catch the scent -
of it. But he must have something
heavy to tie up in the handkerchief,
or it might blow "all over creation." 1.
The only thing he could find was a
silver match-box which he had ob- --
tained by a trade with Olaf, and which "HE CLIMBE
bore the latter's initials. He carefully
emptied it, and put the matches (which he fore-
saw might prove useful) in his vest pocket; then
tied up the box securely and dropped it, with the
handkerchief, upon a conspicuous rock, where its
bright color might appear striking and unnatural.

He was just on the ridge of what proved to be a
second and higher mountain plateau, the wild
grandeur of which far transcended that of the first.
Before him lay a large sheet of water of a cool
green tint, and so clear that the bottom was visible
as far as the eye could reach: A river had made
its way from the end of this lake and plunged, in
a series of short cataracts, down the slope to the
lower plain.
It made Magnus shiver with dread to look at
this coldly glittering surface, and what was his
horror when suddenly his reindeer, in his pursuit
of the herd, which were already in the water,
rushed in, and began with loud snorts to. swim
across to the further shore This was an unfore-
seen stratagem which, extinguished his last hope
of rescue; for how could Bjarne track him through
the water, and what means would he find of cross-
ing, in case he should guess that the herd had

^ .


played this dangerous trick on him? He began
to dread also that the endurance of the buck would
be exhausted before he reached dry land again, and
that they might both perish miserably in the lake.
In this horrible distress, nothing occurred to him


except to whisper the Lord's Prayer; but as his
terror increased, his voice grew louder and louder,
until he fairly shouted the words, "And deliver
us from evil," and the echoes from the vast soli-
tudes repeated first clearly and loudly, then with
fainter and fainter accents: "And deliver us
from evil-and deliver us from evil." His despair-
ing voice rang strangely under the great empty
sky, and rumbled away among the glaciers, which
flung it back and forth until it died away in the
blue distance. It was as if the vast silent wilder-
ness, startled at the sound of a human voice, were
wonderingly repeating the strange and solemn
A vague sense of security stole over him when
he had finished his prayer. But the chill of the
icy water had nearly benumbed his limbs, and
he feared that the loss of heat would conquer
his will, and make him unconscious before the
buck should reach the shore. He felt distinctly
h ,strength ebbing away, and he knew of nothing
that he could do to save himself. Then suddenly
a daring thought flashed through his brain. With
slow and cautious movements he drew his legs out
of the water, and, standing for a moment erect on
the buck's back, he crawled along his neck and
climbed up on the great antlers, steadying him-
self carefully and clinging with all his might. His
only fear was that the animal would shake him off
and send him headlong into the icy bath from which
he was endeavoring to escape. But, after two futile
efforts, during which the boy had held on only by
desperate exertion, the buck would probably have
resigned himself to his-fate, if he had not been
in imminent danger of drowning. Magnus was,
therefore, much against his will, forced to dip his
limbs into the chilly water; and resume his for-
mer position. It was a strange spectacle, to see
all the horned heads round about sticking out
of the water, and Magnus, though he had always
had a thirst for adventures, had never expected to
find himself in such an incredible situation. Fort-
unately, they were now approaching the shore,
and whatever comfort there was in having terra
firm under his feet would not be wanting to him.
The last minutes were indeed terribly long, and
again and again the buck, overcome with fatigue,
dipped his nose under the water, only to raise it
again with a snort, and shake his head as if im-
patient to rid himself of his burden. But the boy,
with a spark of reviving hope, clung only the more
tenaciously to the antlers, and remained unmoved.
At last,- and it seetned a small eternity since

he had left his brother and companions,-Magnus
saw the herd scramble up on the stony beach,
and the buck he rode was soon among the fore-
most, and, having reached the land, shook his
great body and snorted violently.
Now's my chance," thought Magnus, "now I
can slide off into the snow before he takes to his
heels again."
But, odd as it may seem, he had a reluctance to
part company with the only living creature (except
the wolves) that inhabited this awful desert. There
was a vague chance of keeping from freezing to
death as long as he clung to the large, warm ani-
mal; while, seated alone upon this bleak shore,
with his clothes wringing wet, and the cold breath
of the glacier sweeping down upon him, he would
die slowly and miserably with hunger and cold.
He was just contemplating this prospect, seeing
himself in spirit lying dead upon the shore of the
lake, and picturing to himself the grief of his
brother and father, when suddenly his glance was
arrested by what seemed a faint column of smoke
rising from .among the bowlders. The herd of
reindeer had evidently made the same discovery,
for they paused, in a startled manner, and
wheeled about toward the easterly shore, past
which a branch of the glacier was pushing down-
ward into the lower fiord-valley.
Magnie, who had by this time made up his
mind not to give up his present place except for a
better one, strained his eye in the opposite direc-
tion, to make sure that he was not deceived; and
having satisfied himself that what he saw was
really smoke, he determined to leap from his seat
at the very first opportunity. But as yet the
speed of the buck- made such a venture unsafe.
With every step, however, the territory was be-
coming more irregular, and made the progress
even of a reindeer difficult.
Magnus drew up his feet, and was about to
slide off, having planned to drop with as slight
a shock as possible upon a flat moss-grown rock,
when, to his utter amazement, he saw a human
figure standing at the edge of the glacier, and
aiming a rifle, as it appeared, straight at his head.
He tried to scream, but terror choked his voice.
He could not bring forth a sound. And before
even the thought had taken shape in his bewildered
brain he saw a flash, and heard the report of a
shot which rumbled away with tremendous rever-
berations among the glaciers. There was a surg-
ing sound in his ears, and strange lights danced
before his eyes. He thought he must be dead.

(Concluded next monik.)








ALL boys and girls who have read recent Italian
history are familiar with the name of Victor Em-
manuel, who united the various states of Italy
into one kingdom. As the Italians had long been
hoping and praying for this union, they naturally
regarded Victor Emmanuel as the savior of their
country, and were much grieved when he died, in
1878. His son Humbert succeeded him on the
throne, and he in time will be followed by his only

son, the Prince of Naples, this title corresponding
in Italy to the title of Prince of Wales in England.
The little Prince bears his grandfather's name,
Victor Emmanuel, and was born November II,
1869, in Naples, probably the most beautiful city
of the whole world. Should the Prince marry
before he becomes king, he will live in the royal
palace of Naples, which is built overlooking the
lovely bay, and in full view of Vesuvius, with its



r~ .&



undying volcanic fires and streams of smoke. As
I walked through the large palace, passing suite
after suite of elegantly furnished rooms, I thought
of the boyish owner, and wondered if he feels very
haughty and proud as he gazes upon his posses-
sions. In the center of the superb dining-room
stands an ornamental cradle presented at his birth
by the city of Naples.
.-.d.iiii'-, one end of the palace is the theater
of -.:,n '. .., which has an interesting story.
When Charles III. was King of Naples, he issued
orders for the most magnificent theater of Europe
to be built in the shortest time possible. Angelo
Carasale, a Neapolitan architect, offered to com-
plete it in three months, and by great effort and
energy actually did so. On the opening night,
the King sent for the architect to come to the royal
balcony, and there'publicly commended his work,
adding that only one thing was lacking, and that
was a private door and stair-case leading from the
palace into the theater for the use of the royaj
family. The architect bowed low, and retired that
the play might begin. When the play was fin-
ished, the architect again ",i-.i.,.: :.3 before the
King, saying, "Your. Majesty's wish is accom-
plished," and preceded the astonished monarch to
a private entrance in one end of the theater. In
the three hours that the acting had ._-- .-..1 ii,..-
King's "i.-nrin.i, the untiring architect had col-
lected his workmen, and by almost superhuman
effort had completed his task. He had torn down.:
partitions and laid huge logs of -.,..,-I .:r a stair-
way; but elegant velvet carpets ;ld bI: -ir".fui. cuir-
tains concealed the rough floors and defaced walls,
while a skillful. arrangement of handsome mirrors
and chandeliers produced a magical effect, and
made the whole seem the work of fairy hands.
Afterward, the entrance was properly finished, and
last summer I walked from the palace through
this private door, and stood in the royal balcony
where the King had received the architect nearly
one hundred and fifty years before. I trust the
Prince of Naples will profit by this. monument of
energy and perseverance which he has continually
before him in his own palace.
The young Prince spends his winters in Rome,-

and may be often seen driving on the Corso, the
main street of the city. Were it not for the bright
scarlet livery of the coachmen, a stranger would
not notice particularly the neatly and quietly
dressed boy, driving with a middle-aged gentle-
man. But the Romans all know and. love the
boyish face, raising their hats politely as the car-
riage passes, while the principino (little prince), as
they call him, gracefully bows in acknowledgment
of their courtesy. He is a fine, manly little fellow,
and is being trained with the care and attention
that his rank deserves. He has the best masters
that it is.possible to procure, and they instruct him
in various branches of study.
At rare intervals he is seen driving with his
mother, the beautiful and beloved Queen Mar-
garet; buthe is usually accompanied by his private
*tutor, a cultured and educated man, whose chief
thought is to. interest his young charge and im-
prove his mind. They often drive by in earnest
conversation, the Prince evidently asking questions
- l.,.".i.t .:....-<.. [-.! he has seen in passing, and the
tutor giving him all the information in his power.
I am sure this gentleman is fully sensible of the
great responsibility, resting upon him, for upon
him. more than any other man depends the char-
acter of the next king of Italy, who will have grave
matters to decide and momentous questions to
: rrl.. Judging from his face, I feel equally sure
that the principino himself thinks seriously of the
importance of improving the present, in order that
he may know how to rule his people with judg-
ment and wisdom.
I give the following incident as it was related to
me by the personal friend of an English peeress
who was in the habit of attending the court re-
ceptions. She was at a private reception of the
Queen, when the principino came into the room
and gave her a kiss of greeting. His mother told
him it was rude not to ask permission to kiss a
lady. The boy replied archly, "Ah, Mother,*
English ladies like to be kissed."
I conclude this short sketch with two items that
may interest you. The Prince of Naples speaks
the English language very well, and is also a con-
stant reader of ST. NICHOLAS.





~ -~ -----, ---.~ -- -_ _
3 ,


.,W 'P
K. ~ ~ 7 tI ~J~4t~t' -It

Ft '.5 fN A

C_g .e: !-

7- -


I KNOW a ruin on a hill-
Like other ruins it may be,.
S It must be tired of standing still
And always looking at the sea.

So old that I am young by it,
It tells me tales of monk and knight-
Tales that no chronicler hath writ,
Just as my great-grandmother might.

It likes to talk of silken train,
Of jeweled sword and plumed head,
And quite forgets how low the rain
Has beaten down its courtly dead.

It told me, with a gracious'air,
About Elizabeth's best gown;
But when I spoke of her red hair
And painted nose, I saw it frown!

It has invited me to sit
Till after dark. But then it's clear-
Somehow-oh, I don't care a whit
For Things you can not see nor hear.

But, children, though this ruin might
Not be the place to sleep, you see,
At morning it's the prettiest sight
In all this pretty world to me.

For when, like one that 's slept too long,
The sudden sun before me springs,
Ivy and stone break into song
And hall and battlement take wings 1

The lords of earth lie still down there;
They have their night who had their day.
See, in their place the lords of air
Make merry with their honors gray;



From mullioned windows they peep out,
In families or in lover-pairs;
On the high walls they walk about
And chatter of their sweet affairs.

Sir Something, gone' from grave-yard fame,
God rest you under flower and dew!

The wind has blown away your name,
But, if my heart, I reverence you.

Oh, you were good to build (too good
For me to set your praise to words)
So brave a castle by the wood
To be the happy home of birds!


A LAZY magician, tired of work, left Damascus
and went into a sandy desert, seeking quiet and
solitude. Finding a lonely place, he filled his pipe,
and, after smoking it out, fell fast asleep.
An indolent wizard, looking for rest, came riding
across the desert upon a magic camel, which he
had made out of an old rug that morning, and,
not seeing the sleeping magician, ran over him.
Now, magical creations can not touch magicians
without vanishing. So the wizard's camel van-
ished, the wizard fell plump down on top. of the
magician, and the baggage which the camel car-
ried was scattered on the sand.
The wizard was the first to collect his senses, and
asked, in a fierce voice: "Where is my camel ?"
The magician replied, with some anger: "Don't
you think you 'd better ask some one ,who was
awake while your camel was getting away ? "
"You are the only man I have met in this
desert," replied the wizard.
"Perhaps," resumed the magician, "your camel
may have climbed one of the trees with which you
see the desert is covered; if you think I 've got
him, you can search me."

"I made that camel only this morning," said
the wizard, complainingly.
"You are then a magician?" asked the other.
"No; I 'm only a wizard," replied, the first.
"Well, I'm a magician, and I should think
you would know better than to drive your camel
up against me."
"It was careless, I admit," replied the wizard.
"But let that go; I can make another. I hope I
did n't hurt you ?"
"Oh! not at all; I was lying down there on
purpose; that is why I came to the desert, where
there are so many passing," remarked the magi-
cian, rubbing his side.
"I can not regret an accident which brings me
so agreeable a companion," replied the wizard,
with a low bow.
I 'm sorry to have lost my temper," said the
magician, more good naturedly; but, since I came
to this desert looking for quiet and solitude, *I was
not glad to see you."
I, also, was sorry to meet any one, even your-
self, for I. was equally anxious to be alone," re-
joined the wizard, frankly.




-----.s, _~~ 7
'" -~--.
-~ t---21



Well," said the magician, thoughtfully, "since
you are a wizard and I a magician, and each of us
wishes solitude, the matter is easily remedied.
Nothing is easier than to put twenty leagues be-
tween us. I have only to wish it."
"Allow me," asked the wizard, politely, to join
you in the wish."
Certainly," said the magician; we can save
our feelings by making the parting mutual. We
will wish together."
"Agreed," said the wizard, eagerly. "'Are you
ready ?"
"Quite! returned the magician, delighted.
So they raised their wands, shook hands, and
said together: "I wish myself twenty leagues
away "
They were powerful enchanters, and the wish
was at once accomplished. In an instant they
stood together in a place twenty leagues away.
"I am afraid," said the magician, after a mo-
ment's silence,-" I am afraid that this can not be
called a success. We have traveled some distance,
but solitude seems as far off as ever. Perhaps
we forgot to take it with us. We must wish again;
this time, each for himself!" The wizard agreed
that this was the best plan. So, saying, "Excuse
my back," he turned from the magician and wished
himself back again where he was at first. Instantly
he was there, among his pieces of baggage.
"Ah," said he, smiling, "it was not a bad
adventure, but I am glad to be alone again! "
"Ahem!" exclaimed a voice behind him. "I
beg pardon, I 'm sure; but I fear there has been
another mistake. I am sorry to see we both hap-
pened to find this spot so attractive !"
The wizard turned and saw the magician stand-
ing behind him, looking very foolish.
"So you 're there, are you? Well, it was a
natural mistake We must have no mistake this
time. I '11 give the word, and let us each wish our-
selves forty leagues away in opposite directions--
you to the east, I to the west."
The word was given, the wands waved, and,
presto -nothing at all! Each stood where he
was before, for each expected the other to wish
himself away.
It seems to me," said the wizard, after a slight
pause, "that it is hardly fair to expect me to leave
all my baggage lying around here on the sand! "
But I was here first," said the magician.
"Yes, to sleep. It strikes me as rather a
spacious bedroom! "
I like a large bedroom," replied the magician.
"But we wander from the subject. It is, of course,
useless for us to wish again. We have had our
three chances, and must now make the best of it.
Sit down and have a smoke."

In a moment they were puffing out blue clouds
of smoke, sitting cross-legged opposite each other.
May I ask," said the wizard, presently, how
long you have been practicing your profession ?"
"Only since Merlin's time-say about a thou-
sand years. I was a pupil of Merlin, and a very
good teacher he was."
Indeed !" said the wizard, with more respect;
"that is a long time. I can not claim more than
five centuries. I am but a beginner beside you."
By hard work you might have learned much
in that time."
"I fear I have been lazy," said the wizard,
"Perhaps being, as Shakespeare will soon say,
'an older soldier, not a better,' I might be able
to give you a useful hint or two. We have still
some daylight before us. Suppose we have a
lesson? "
I fear I will only bore you," said the wizard,
rather nettled by the patronage of the other.
I have nothing else to do, and should enjoy
teaching so promising a pupil," said the magician,
rather pompously.
This was a little too much, for the wizard had
graduated with the degree of F. W. (Full Wizard)
some three centuries before. He attempted to
make excuses, saying: I am really out of prac-
tice; my wand is dusty from disuse."
"Oh, bother your excuses! I can see your
true rank at once. Go ahead! said the magician.
Not seeing how to refuse without being rude,
the wizard, after a minute's hesitation, rose and,
walking a little apart, drew a circle in the sand.
Standing here, he waved his wand slowly in the air
and repeated a mystic incantation. The magician,
who had only received the degree of P. M. (Pass-
able Magician).when he graduated, looked on very
At the most impressive part of the charm, the
wizard suddenly and violently sneezed, in spite of
all he could do. Much ashamed, he turned to ex-
cuse himself.
Oh, that's nothing," said the magician, with a
condescending smile. It is a little awkwardness
natural to a beginner. No more than I expected!
Throwing your arms about creates a draft-makes
you chilly; you sneeze, naturally enough. Go on;
we wont count this time."
The wizard was much vexed, but kept his tem-
per and resumed the charm. Soon, a mist poured
from the tip of his wand, like the smoke from a
cigar, and formed a cloud above his head, which
slowly revolved and wound itself up into a ball
until, as the chant ended, an enormous figure
appeared. The wizard turned proudly to the ma-
gician, who said nothing. At length the wizard,


seeing no sign of movement in his rival, asked con-
fidently: "How's that? "
"Well," said the other, crossing his legs as he
filled his pipe, "it is n't bad-not very bad. It

h., -~~.--*




The magician smiled, and rising, took a handful
of dust and threw it over the wizard's head.
"When are you to begin ?" asked the wizard.
Look around," said the magician.

' ^-:- u^ o-:--7 \ -: --,

---,'- --- -- -

~ ~i.f -----" ...-"=-


is really faii work, of a certain kind. But it is n't
the way I was taught. However, I 'm afraid of
hurting your feelings."
"Not at all," said the wizard. I am delighted
to be criticised. Speak freely,-I beg.!"
The old magician, with a bland smile and half-
shut eyes, went on: "Well, it seems to me too
long-much too long. If you were in a hurry,-
suppose a rhinoceros was -stamping his feet on
your door-mat,-you would n't have time to do
all that. That cloud is no use-it only-spoils
the effect; it is out of style. And your spirit
looks rather stupid and under-bred-an ugly
wretch!" ,
A terrific howl was heard as the spirit dashed
down upon the magician, seeking to tear him to
pieces. The magician gently raised his wand, and
the spirit melted as snow does into the ocean,
and the magician went on quietly: That shows
you what a fool he is-no discretion and no
The wizard was rather cast down and said sul-
lenly: Perhaps you will show me how you would
do it?"

The wizard turned and saw a little winged figure,
looking like a fairy.
That is my spirit," said the magician.
It's too small to be of any use," remarked the
wizard, scornfully.
"I think you will find it quite large enough for
all practical purposes."
-'" Why, my spirit," said the wizard, could
roll yours up like a dry leaf and put it in his
- "Well," said the magician, good naturedly, I
have no objection to that; let him try."
The wizard pronounced the incantation and
summoned his spirit.
S"Ahab," cried the wizard, calling the spirit by
name, "fetch me that small imp !"
Master, I obey shouted the spirit in a voice
of thunder, and then suddenly dashed down upon
the little fairy.
If the fairy had remained still it might have been
hurt; but, just as Ahab came rushing down, the
fairy darted away like a humming-bird, too quick
for the eye to see the motion. Ahab made a clutch,
but caught nothing but sand. Again he tried, but





with no better success. A third and fourth trial
so exhausted the huge monster that he sat down
upon the sand completely tired out.
The wizard danced around in a perfect rage;
and when Ahab gave it up, raising his wand he
waved it thrice, and commanded the fairy to stand
still. The fairy bowed, and stood quiet.
Now, Ahab," said the wizard,
triumphantly, bring her to me --
Ahab arose, and walking heav-
ily to the fairy, took her by the
arm. The arm came off in his
grasp; but Ahab, not noticing
this,, brought it to the wizard.
''You dunce commenced the
wizard; but the absurdity of the
situation overcame him, and he
laughed, saying: "Well, bring me
the rest of her!"
On the next trip, Ahab brought
the head.
"'Very good," said the wizard;
" perseverance will bring her. Go

In a few more journeys the pieces
of the fairy lay at the wizard's feet.
"There!" said the wizard, in
triumph, "I think that ends your
spirit !"
Not at all,' said the magician,
pointing his wand at the heap of
arms, wings, body, and head. In
an instant the pieces flew together,
and the fairy stood before them as
well as ever.
Come now," said the wizard,
angrily, that's not fair "
'"You had to help your spirit,
why should n't I help mine ? "
I only kept your spirit still! "
"I only put mine together "
The wizard had. to admit the
justice of the magician's claim;
but, completely losing his temper,
he said angrily: "I don't believe-
you are any sort of a magician,
with all your airs You may have
a friend among the fairies, but I 'd -- _
like to see what you can do by your- ---
self; send your spirit away, and '- -
we '11 see who is the better man "
The spirits were dismissed, and
the magician, never losing his temper, said with a
smile: "I can't-afford to show my magic for
nothing If you will insist on seeing what I can
do in the way of real old Egyptian magic, I will
show you, on one condition."

What is that ? "
"That he who shows the best magic shall take
the wand and power of the other. Do you agree ? "
The wizard, although startled, was too angry to
be prudent, and replied boldly: I agree "
"Let us lose no time, then," said the magician,
with a crafty smile. "Are you ready? "

. 3.'.

- .-- -------- -

Quite ready," said the wizard.
"Find that, then!" and, as he spoke, the
magician threw his wand high into the air. An
immense bird, that was flying overhead, clutched
the wand, and flew off with lightning speed.


"A baby's trick!" said the wizard, laughing.
" I learned that with the alphabet. The idea of
playing magical hide-and-seek with me!" and
breaking his wand into nine short pieces, he stuck
them up in the sand, forming a circle around him.
Out from each suddenly sprang a wire and stretched
itself along above the .sand, like a serpeht, only a
thousand times faster; and down from this wire
fell poles and stuck up in the sand. In the middle
of the ring of sticks sat the wizard, with a tele-
graph instrument, ticking away for dear life. In a
moment he stopped and listened. An answering
tick was soon heard; and the wizard, smiling,
said: "We shall have a dispatch very soon!
Wonderful thing, the telegraph -wonderful!"
A speck was seen in the distance coming quickly
toward them. It soon resolved itself into a small
boy, running as fast as he could.
Well, my boy? said the wizard, rubbing his
hands, as the messenger arrived.
Please, sir, here 's a package and a letter for\
you, sir," replied the boy, puffing a little from his
run. Please sign my receipt."
Certainly, certainly," said the..wizard, scarcely
hearing what was said; and handing the package
to the magician, he opened his letter. It read as
follows: '
BORNEO, July Ith.
Your message received. Inclosed find wand as requested. Had
to shoot bird. Sorry. Will have it stuffed.
Yours, AHAB."

The magician opened the package, and there was
the wand.
"You are a little behind the age," said the
wizard. I should think you would know better
than to race with electricity "
You really did it very well, very well, indeed,"
said the magician, a little vexed; "but, as you say,
it was a baby's trick; I was foolish to try it."
"Well," said the wizard, "let us not waste any
more time. Do your very best this time, and let us
get through with it! "
"Please, sir," said the telegraph messenger,
"sign my receipt; I 'm in a hurry."
Get out! I can't bother with you now said
the wizard, impatiently. The idea," he went on,
to the magician, of stopping me now for such a
trifle as signing a receipt!"
The boy laughed softly to li :'.. if. but no one
noticed him, so he stood and '. .ichr.1-I what was
going on.
Meanwhile, the magician was thinking over his
very best tricks. At last lie said, solemnly: "This
time I '11 show you something worth seeing "
Then he wiped his wand in the skirt of his robe,
and pronounced a long incantation, while the
wizard pretended to be very tired of it. As the

incantation proceeded, a crystal, ball formed itself
out of the air and floated before them.
What 's that for?" asked the boy, apparently
much interested. "That's the biggest marble I
ever saw "
"That," said the magician with great impres-
siveness, not noticing who spbke, "is the magi-
cian-tester. Merlin invented it for the express
purpose of putting down conceited magicians. Such
is its peculiar construction that only the greatest
and most powerful magician can get inside of it."
Get into that marble said the boy. I don't
see what for."
"Probably not," said the magician, much
Now see here, Johnny," said the wizard, impa-
tiently, don't you think you'd better run home ?"
"I must have my receipt signed," said the
boy, positively; "besides, it's fun to see this game."
Never mind him," said the magician. Now,
what I propose is this: You and I stand about
twenty paces from the tester; then let the boy
count three (for, while you pay for his time, we
may as well use him). Whoever first appears in
the tester shall be the winner."
"Am I in this?" asked the boy, much de-
"Certainly," said the magician, smiling gra-
"Let 's see if I know-the game," said the boy,
eagerly. "You two fellows stand a little way off,
then I count three, and you two cut as fast as you
can for the marble; and then whoever of us three
.gets into it first wins ? "
The magician was much amused to see that the
boy included himself in the "game," and replied:
"Well, yes; that 's the game. There can be no
harm in your trying."
"What's the use of talking nonsense to the
boy ?" asked the wizard.
Oh, it amuses him and does n'thurtus," replied
the magician, good naturedly.
Get your places !" called the boy, who seemed
to enjoy the game very much.
They retired in opposite directions, while the
boy also went back some distance.
"All ready?" cried the magician.
Hold on," said the boy, suddenly; I 'm not
half so big as you two I ought to have a start "
The wizard was much provoked at the delay, but
the magician said, laughing: "All right, my boy;
take any start you like, but hurry."
The boy took a few steps, carefully compared
the distances, and took a step or two more. He
seemed very much excited.
"Is that about right? he asked.
"Yes, yes; do hurry up said the wizard.



"Are you ready?"
said the boy.
Yes they replied.
shouted the boy, and off
he went as fast as his
short legs could carry
him. The wizard and
magician, starting at the
same instant, ran with
very great speed, and
reached the tester on op-
posite sides at about the
same time. Both did t,
their best to get inside;
but it was no use. Each
turned away, thinking
himself defeated. In
turning from the tester,
they met.
"Hallo cried the -
magician, "I thought
you were inside the
tester" ,BO
"And I thought you
were !" said the wizard, equally surprised.
"Well, what means this?" asked the magician.
"I can't tell," replied the wizard; "I did n't
make the tester ; there
must have been some
"Oh, no; it 's all
right," said the magi-
cian ; "we must try
again. Where 's the
boy ?"
"Here I am!" said
the boy's voice.
"Where ?" they ask- -
ed, notable to see him.
"In the marble!"
said the boy. "I 've
won!" -


ing !" said the wizard, and catching up his wand
he rushed toward the tester.
But at that moment, a crack was heard. The

There was no mistake. -- -
They couldboth see him, -- -
coiled up in the tester
and grinning with de- --
This is too ridicu-
lous!" said the magi-
cian. Come out of
that, you little mon-
key!" ..
boy, clapping his hands
with glee. I 've won, and I 'm to have the prize !" tester broke like a bubble, and forth from it came
You sha'n't have anything but a good thrash- the majestic figure of the enchanter Merlin.



The wizard and magician fell upon their knees.
It is Merlin they cried.
"Yes," replied the enchanter, gravely, "it is
Merlin. When a wizard and magician spend their.
mighty powers in juggling tricks fit only to amuse
fools, those powers must be taken from them.
You have made the agreement and must abide by
it. Drop your wands !"
The wands fell upon the sand.

"Go home, and work "
They went home and worked, and neither of
them married a princess or lived happily ever
Merlin laughed softly to himself, and remarking,
"There's a couple of dunces !" changed himself
back into a messenger-boy, signed his receipt him-
self, and walked away over the desert. Soon he
disappeared over the horizon, and all was still.

I ;' 'I. ''
-112> !'

~T~ I -I
* __ -
j'* *i**i2.. -
I- --
I :;1 1~l f

i i'

THEY put me in the great spare bed, and there they bade me sleep:
I must not stir; I must not wake; I must not even peep!
Right opposite that lonely bed, my Christmas stocking hung;
While near it, waiting for the morn, my Sunday clothes were flung.

I counted softly, to myself, to ten, and ten times ten,
And went through all the alphabet, and then began again;
I repeated that Fifth Reader piece-a poem called "Repose,"
And tried a dozen other ways to fall into a doze-
When suddenly the room grew light. I heard a soft, strong bound-
'T was Santa Claus, I felt quite sure, but dared not look around.
'T was nice to know that he was there, and things were going rightly,
And so I took a little nap, and tried to smile politely.

"Ho Merry Christmas cried a voice; I felt the bed a-rocking;
'T.was. daylight Brother Bob was. up and oh, that splendid stocking!




1883.] "A MISS IS AS GOOD AS A MILE." 113

_* ., ' ', *, . : .,' ., ,,, ,.
..... M jjI1 1' "

",'/ // 1 -
,, ,, 4 ^ .-- ... -, -.* .:-- -


r -'r'" A.. : i .,
I, I
't -' -' / .... '- ', ',.,) !'

'' I'. I,-;! .II. 'II, ,-'
-- '',i '- -i '-

VOL. XI.-8.



(Begun on page 25 of the November number.)


SH-: IF..KT 11III.
\nr ''"'.L,, snow was
Ii-, ,- fast.and the
S, wind whis-
A;' ~ l..I through the
.-.r., but it was
.' : ., and cozy in
.: luurious par-
-- I., here Di and
i ..I ..ere sitting
Sl JcI:r.Ag Christmas
.r.c nts, and plan-
r.!~ what they
,,:.i!-I ..:i! r ri.!l Fanny wasto
,..- ..., ,_h'!-r : ,. E .:.F
If I can get Mamma to buy me a
new dress I shall have something yel-
low. It is always becoming to bru-
S nettes, and I 'm so tired of red," said
Di, giving a last touch to the lace that
rI trimmed a blue satin sachet for Fanny.
"That will be lovely. I shall have
i pink, with roses of the same color. Un-
tc-- der muslin it is perfectly sweet." And
Dora eyed the sunflower she was
--. -' embroidering as if she already saw
.:- -.*. the new toilet before her.
"Fan always wears blue, so we
shall make a nice contrast. She is
coming over to show me about finish-
ing off my banner-screen, and I asked
l Sophie to come with her. I want to
S know what she is going to wear," said
Di, taking a little sniff at the violet-
Sl'l) scented bag.
"That old white cashmere. Just
think! I asked her why she did n't get
a new one, and she laughed and said she could n't
afford it. Fan told me Sophie's father sent her a
hundred dollars not long ago, yet she has n't got a
thing that we know of. I do think she 's mean."
She bought a great bundle of books. I was
there when the parcel came, and I peeped while she
was out of the room, because she put it away in a
great hurry. I 'm afraid she is mean, for she
never buys a bit of candy, and she wears shabby
boots and gloves, and she has made over her old
hat instead of having that lovely one with the
pheasant's breast in it."
She 's very queer; but I can't help liking her,

she's so pretty and bright and obliging. I'd give
anything if I could speak three languages and
play as she does."
"So would I. It seems so elegant to be able
to talk to foreigners. Papa had some Frenchmen
to dinner the other day, and they were so pleased
to find they need n't speak English to Sophie. I
could n't get on at all, and I was so mortified when
Papa said all the money he had spent on my lan-
guages was thrown away."
"I would n't mind. It's so much easier to
learn those things abroad, she would be a goose
if she did n't speak French better than we do.
There's Fan! she looks as if something had hap-
pened. I hope no one is ill and the party spoilt."
As Dora spoke, both girls looked out to see
Fanny shaking the snow from her seal-skin sack
on the doorstep; then Do hastened to meet her,
while Di hid the sachet and was hard at work
on an old-gold sofa cushion when the new-comer
"What's the matter? Where 's Sophie?" ex-
claimed the girls together as Fan threw off her
wraps and sat down with a tragic sigh.
"She will be along in a few minutes. I'm dis-
appointed in her! I would n't have believed it if
I had n't seen them. Promise not to breathe a
word to a living soul and I '11 tell you something
dreadful," began Fanny, in a tone that caused her
friends to drop their work and draw their chairs
nearer as they solemnly vowed eternal silence.
"I've seen Sophie's Christmas presents-all
but mine, and they are just nothing at all! She
has n't. bought a thing, not even ribbons, lace,
or silk to make up prettily as we do. Only a
painted shell for one, an acorn emery for another,
her ivory fan with a new tassel for a third, and I
suspect one of those nice handkerchiefs embroid-
ered by the nuns for me, or her silver filigree neck-
lace. I saw the box in the drawer with the other
things. She 's knit woolen cuffs and tippets for
the children, and got some eight-cent calico gowns
for the servants. I don't know how people do
things in Switzerland, but I do know that if I had
a hundred dollars in my pocket, I would be more
generous than that! "
As Fanny paused, out of breath, Di and Do
groaned in sympathy, for this was indeed a sad
state of things; because the girls had a code that
Christmas being the season for gifts, extravagance
would be forgiven then as at no other time.



I have a lovely smelling-bottle for her, but
I've a great mind not to give it now," cried Di,
feeling defrauded of the bracelet she had plainly
hinted she would like.
"I shall heap coals of fire on her head by giving
her that," and Dora displayed a very useless but
very pretty apron of muslin lace and carnation
"'it isn't the worth of the things; I don't care
for that so much as I do for being disappointed in
her, and I have been lately in more ways than
one," said Fanny, listlessly taking up the screen
she was to finish. She used to tell me every-
thing, and now she does n't. I'm sure she has
some sort of a secret, and I do think ought to
know it. I found her smiling over a letter one
day, and she whisked it into her pocket and never
said a word about it. I always stood by her and I
do feel hurt."
I should think you might! It's real naughty
of her, and I shall tell her so Perhaps she '11
confide in you then, and you can just give me a
hint; I always liked Sophie, and never thought of
not giving my present," said Dora, persuasively,
for both girls were now dying with curiosity to
know the secret.
"I'11 have it out of her, without any dodging
or bribing. I 'm not afraid of any one, and I shall
ask her straight out, no matter how much she
scowls at me," said dauntless Di, with a threaten-
ing nod.
"There she is! Let us see you do it now!"
cried Fanny, as the bell rang, and a clear voice
was heard a moment later asking if Mademoiselle
was in.
"You shall!" and Di looked ready for any
I 'll wager a box of candy that you don't find
out a thing," whispered Do.
"Done answered Di, and then turned to
meet Sophie, who came in looking as fresh as an
Alpine rose with the wintry wind.
You dear thing we were just talking of you.
Sit here and get warm, and let us show you our
gifts. We are almost done, but it seems as if it
got to be a harder job each Christmas. Don't you
find it so ?"
"But no; I think it the most charming work of
all the year," answered Sophie, greeting her friend,
and putting her well-worn boots toward the fire to
"Perhaps you don't make as much of Christmas
as we do, or give such expensive presents. That
would make a great difference, you know," said
Di, as she lifted a cloth from the table where her
own generous store of gifts was set forth.
"I had a piano last year, a set of jewels, and

many pretty trifles from all at home. Here is one; "
and pulling the fine gold chain hidden under her
frills, Sophie showed a locket set thick with pearls,
containing a picture of her mother.
It must be so nice to be rich, and able to make
such fine presents. I've got something for you,
but I shall be ashamed of it after I see your gift to
me, I'm afraid."
Fan and Dora were working as if their bread
depended on it, while Di, with a naughty twinkle
in her eye, affected to be re-arranging her pretty
table as she talked.
"Do not fear that; my gifts this year are very
simple ones. I did not know your custom, and
now it is too late. My comfort is, that you need
nothing, and, having so much, you will not care
for my--what you-call-coming short."
Was. it the fire that made Sophie's face look so
hot, and a cold that gave a husky sort of tone to
her usually clear voice ? A curious expression came
into her face as her eyes roved from the table to the
gay trifles in her friend's hands, and she opened
her lips as if to add something impulsively. But
nothing came, and for a moment she looked straight
out at the storm as if she had forgotten where she
"' Short-coming' is the proper way to speak it.
But never mind that, and tell me why you say 'too
late' ?" asked Di, bent on winning her wager.
"Christmas comes in three days, and I have no
time," began Sophie.
"But with money, one can buy plenty of lovely
things in one day," said Di.
"No, it is better to put a little love and hard
work into what we give to friends. I have done
that with my trifles, and another .year I shall be
more ready."
There was an uncomfortable pause, for Sophie
did not speak with her usual frankness, but looked
both proud and ashamed, and seemed anxious to
change the subject, as she began to admire Dora's
work, which had made very little progress during
the last fifteen minutes.
Fanny glanced at Di with a smile that made the
other toss her head and return to the charge with
renewed vigor.
Sophie, will you do ie a favor?"
With much pleasure."
"Fan has promised me a whole box of French
bonbons, and if you will answer three questions
you shall have it."
"Allons," said Sophie, smiling.
Have n't you a secret? asked Di, gravely.
Will you tell us ?"
Di paused before she asked her last question,


and Fan and Dora waited breathlessly, while Sophie
knit her brows and looked uneasy.
"Why not?"
"Because I do not wish to tell it."
"Will you tell if we guess?"
"You are engaged."
At this absurd suggestion Sophie laughed gayly,
and shook her curly head.
Do you think we are betrothed at sixteen in
my country ?"
I know that is an engagement-ring: you made

ing to hear love stories. What is his name?"
cried Dora.
Hermann," simpered Sophie, drooping still
more, while her lips trembled with suppressed
emotion of some sort.
"How lovely!" sighed Fanny, who was very
"Tell on, do Is he handsome ?"
To me the finest man in all the world," con-
fessed Sophie as she hid her face.
And you love him ?"
I adore him! and Sophie clasped her hands

....',,. '

t = .' ",


such a time about it when you lost it in the water,
and cried for joy when Tilly dived and found it."
Ah, yes, I was truly glad. Dear Tilly, never-
do I forget that kindness and Sophie kissed the
little pearl ring in her impulsive way, while her
eyes sparkled and the frown vanished.
"I know a sweetheart gave it," insisted Di, sure
now she had found a clew to the secret.
"He did," and Sophie hung her head in a
sentimental way that made the three girls crowd
nearer with faces full of interest.
"Do tell us all about it, dear. It 's so interest-

so dramatically that the girls were a little startled,
yet charmed at this discovery.
Have you his picture?" asked Di, feeling that
she had won her wager now.
Yes," and pulling out the locket again, Sophie
showed in the other side the face of a fine old
gentleman who looked very like herself.
"It's your father !" exclaimed Fanny, rolling
her blue eyes excitedly. "You are a humbug!"
cried Dora. Then you fibbed about the ring,"
said Di, crossly.
"Never It is Mamma's betrothal ring, but her




finger grew too plump, and when I left home she
gave the ring to me as a charm to keep me safe.
Ah, ha I have my little joke as well as you, and
the laugh is for me this time." And falling back
among the sofa cushions, Sophie enjoyed it as only
a gay girl could. Do and Fanny joined her, but
Di was much disgusted, and vowed she would dis-
cover the secret and keep all the bonbons to herself.
You are most welcome, but I will not tell until
I like, and then to Fanny first. She will not have
ridicule for what I do, but say it is well, and be
glad with me. Come now and work. I will plait
these ribbons, or paint a wild rose on this pretty
fan. It is too plain now. Will you that I do it,
dear Di? "
The kind tone and the prospect of such an
ornament to her gift appeased Di somewhat, but
the mirthful malice in Sophie's eyes made the
other more than ever determined to be even with
her by and by.
Christmas Eve came and found Di still in the
dark, which fact nettled her sadly, for Sophie tor-
mented her and amused the other girls by pre-
tended confidences and dark hints at the mystery
which might never, never be disclosed.
Fan. had determined to have an unusually jolly
party, so she invited only her chosen friends, and
opened the festivities with a Christmas-tree as the
prettiest way of exchanging gifts and providing
jokes for the. evening in the shape of delusive
bottles, animals full of candy, and every sort of
musical instrument to be used in an. impromptu
concert afterward. The presents to one another
were done up in secure parcels, so that they might
burst upon the public eye in all their freshness.
Di was very curious to know what Fan was going
to give lier, for Fanny was a generous creature and
loved to give. Di was a little jealous of her love
for Sophie, and could n't rest till she discovered
which was to get the finer gift.
So she went early and slipped into the room
where the tree stood, to peep and pick a bit as
well as to hang up a few trifles of her own. She
guessed several things by feeling the parcels; but
one excited her curiosity intensely, and she could
not resist turning it about and pulling up one
corner of the lid. It was a flat box, prettily orna-
mented with sea-weeds like red lace, and tied with
scarlet ribbons. A tantalizing glimpse of jeweler's
cotton, gold clasps, and something rose-colored
conquered Di's last scruples, and she was just
about to untie the ribbons when she heard Fanny's
voice, and had only time to replace the box, pick
up a paper that had fallen out of it, and fly up the
back-stairs to the dressing-room, where she found
Sophie and Dora surveying one another as girls
always do before they go down.

"You look like a daisy," cried Di, admiring
Dora with great interest because she felt ashamed
of her prying and the stolen note in her pocket.
"And you like a dandelion," returned Do, fall-
ing back a step to get a good view of Di's gold-
colored dress and black velvet bows.
Sophie is a lily of the valley, all in green and
white," added Fanny, coming in with her own blue
skirts waving in the breeze.
"It does me very well. Little girls do not need
grand toilets, and I am fine enough for a 'peas-
ant,'" laughed Sophie, as she settled the fresh
ribbons on her simple white cashmere and the
holly wreath in her brown hair, but secretly long-
ing for the fine dress she might have had.
Why did n't you wear your silver necklace ? It
would be lovely on your pretty neck," said Di,
longing to know if she had given the trinket away.
But Sophie was not to be caught, and said, with
a contented smile: "I do not care for ornaments,
unless some one I love gives me them. I had red
roses for my bouquet de corsage; but the poor
Madame Page was so triste, I left them on her
table to remember her of me. It seemed so heart-
less to go and dance while she had only pain, but
she wished it."
"Dear little Sophie, how good you are and
warm-hearted Fan kissed the blooming face that
needed no roses to make it sweet and gay.
Half an hour later, twenty girls and boys were
dancing round the brilliant tree. Then its boughs
were stripped. Every one seemed contented;
even Sophie's little gifts gave pleasure, because
with each went a merry or affectionate verse, which
made great fun on being read aloud. She was
quite loaded with pretty things, and had no words
to express her gratitude and pleasure.
"Ah, you are all so good to me and I have
nothing beautiful for you. I receive much and
give little, but I can not help it! Wait a little and
I will redeem myself," she said to Fanny, with
eyes full of tears and a lap heaped with gay and
useful things.
"Never mind that now, but look at this, for
here 's still another offering of friendship, and a
very charming one, to judge by the outside,"
answered Fan, bringing the white box with the
sea-weed ornaments.
Sophie opened it, and cries of admiration fol-
lowed, for lying on the soft cotton was a lovely set
of coral. Rosy pink branches, highly polished, and
fastened with gold clasps, formed necklace, brace-
lets, and a spray for the bosom. No note or card
appeared, and the girls crowded round to admire
and wonder who could have sent so valuable a gift.
"Can't you guess, Sophie ?" cried Dora, long-
ing to own the pretty things.


I should believe I knew, but it is too costly.
How came the parcel, Fan? I think you must
know all," and Sophie turned the box about,
searching vainly for a name.
"An expressman left it, and Jane took off the
wet paper and put it on my table with the other
things. Here's the wrapper -do you know that
writing ?" and Fan offered the brown paper which
she had kept.
No; and the label is all mud, so I can not see
the place. Ah, well, I shall discover some day,
but I should like to thank this generous friend at
once. See now, how fine I am I do myself the
honor to wear them at once."
Smiling with girlish delight at her pretty orna-
ments, Sophie clasped the bracelets on her round
arms, the necklace about'her white throat, and set
the rosy spray in the lace on her bosom. Then
she took a little dance down the room and found
herself before Di, who was looking at her with an
expression of naughty satisfaction on her face.
Don't you wish you knew who sent them ?"
Indeed, yes; and Sophie paused abruptly.
"Well, I know, and Z wont tell till I like. It's
my turn to have a secret, and I mean to keep it."
"But it is not right," began Sophie, indignantly.
"Tell me yours and I '11 tell mine," said Di,
I will not! You have no right to touch my
gifts, and I am sure you have done it, else how
know you who sends this fine cadeau?" cried
Sophie, with the flash Di liked to see.
Here Fanny interposed: If you have any note
or card belonging to Sophie, give it up at once.
She shall not be tormented. Out with it, Di. I
see your hand in your pocket, and I 'm sure you
have been in mischief."
"Take your old letter, then. I know what 's in
it, and if I can't keep my secret for fun, Sophie
shall not have hers. That Tilly sent the coral,
and Sophie spent her hundred dollars in books and
clothes for that queer girl, who 'd better stay among
her lobsters than try to be a lady," cried Di, bent
on telling all she knew, while Sophie was reading
her letter eagerly.
Is it true ? asked Dora, for the four girls were
in a corner together, and the rest of the company
busy pulling crackers.
"Just like her! I thought it/was that, but she
would n't tell. Tell us now, Sophie, forlthink it was
truly sweet and beautiful to help that poor girl, and
let us say hard things of you," cried Fanny, as
her friend looked up with a face and a heart too
full of happiness to help overflowing into words.
Yes; I will tell you now. It was foolish, per-
haps, but I did not want to be praised, and I loved

to help that good Tilly. You know she worked
all summer and made a little sum. So glad, so
proud she was, and planned to study that she
might go to school this winter. Well, in October,
the uncle fell very ill, and Tilly gave all her money
for the doctors. The.uncle had been kind to her,
she did not forget; she was glad to help, and told
no one but me. Then I said, 'What better can
I with my father's gift than give it to the dear
creature, and let her lose no time? I do it; she
will not at first, but I write and say, It must be,'
and she submits. She is made neat with some little
dresses, and she goes, at last,, to be so happy and
do so well that I am proud of her. Is not that
better than fine toilets and rich gifts to those who
need nothing? Truly, yes yet I confess it cost
me pain to give up my plans for Christmas, and to
seem selfish or ungrateful. Forgive me that,"
"Yes, indeed, you dear generous thing cried
Fan and Dora, touched by the truth.
"But how came Tilly to send you such a splen-
did present? "asked Di. ."Should n't think you'd
like her to spend your money in such things."
"She did not: a sea-captain, a friend of the
uncle, gave her these lovely ornaments, and she
sends them to me with a letter that is more precious
than all the coral in the sea. I can not read it, but
of all my gifts this is the dearest and the best "
Sophie had spoken eagerly, and her face, her
voice, her gestures made the little story eloquent;
but with the last words she clasped the letter to
her bosom as if it well repaid her for all the sacri-
fices she had made. They might seem small to
others, but she was sensitive and proud, anxious
to be loved in the strange country, and fond of
giving; so it cost her many tears to seem mean and
thoughtless, to go poorly dressed, and be thought
hardly of by those she wished to please. She
did not like to tell of her own generosity, because
it seemed like boasting, and she was not sure
that it had been wise to give so much. Therefore,
she waited to see if Tilly was worthy of the trust
reposed in her, and she now found a balm for
many wounds in the loving letter.that came with
the beautiful and unexpected gift.
Di listened with hot cheeks, and when Sophie
paused she whispered regretfully:
"Forgive me, I was wrong! I'll keep your
gift all my life to remember you by, for you are
the best and dearest girl I know."
Then, with a hasty kiss, she ran away, carrying
with great care the white shell on which Sophie
had painted a dainty little picture of the mermaids
waiting for the pretty boat that brought good fort-
une to poor Tilly, and this lesson to those who
were hereafter her faithful friends.



I.1 ~i

D,wh Qwould walklalon demure,
Or who would Tide in stal\e ?
Nof an Du,youmo l be sure;c
e eveT one can kafe! c





'T WAS brave Sir Athol of Balderstone
Who rode by the woodside all alone;
All alone, in his armor dight,
And he was a passing goodly knight.

It chanced as he rode, a harness clank
Of riders came from the river bank;
He said to himself as he saw the first,
"Now here be the Seven Wise Men of Hirst."

S I ,

"Right heavy the grudge they bear to me,
Though ever I greet them courteously;
But it shall not be said Sir Athol shrank
From seven old men on a river bank."

.- r .-1 i "' '. : -1 .h-h .. 0 1 1 .L .7. ;.

The first was palsied, the second lame,
And blind, deaf, halting, the others came;
On seven black mules in single rank
They rode along on the river bank.

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In shrewish voices the knight they cursed-
The wicked Seven Wise Men of Hirst;
With wag of head and with wave of arm,
They prophesied he would come to harm.

"Now fare ye well with your sorry cheer;
For what has a knight to do with fear?"
And brave Sir Athol, no whit dismayed,
Rode blithely down through the thicket's shade.

And in at the river's brink he rides,
To find him a way through its foaming tides.
But the furious stream's resistless force
Bears down with the current man and horse.

A drooping bough by an islet shore
The brave Sir Athol at last upbore;

But, weighted down with his armor, sank.
The good roan steed by the island bank.

And safely landed, the knight made moan:
"I sore regret thee,-my noble roan;-
And how shall I from this-islet's strand-
All heavy-armor'd -achieve the laid ?"

He scann'd the river both far and wide,
But nothing of hope or help espied;
Then down on the sand his armor laid,
And girt himself with his trusty blade.

Then plunging into the sweeping tide
He gained, exhausted, the other side;
And all that night with a hermit 'bode
In an ivied cell by the river road.

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And thirst and hunger endured he,
And many a flout and contumely;

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For many a day believed him none
That he was Athol of Balderstone.
That he was Athol of Balderstone.


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,It chanced one day by a meadow side
A field of tourney his eyes espied,

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Then rode Sir Athol of Balderis ...
A happier-man than he was n.....
He into the heat of battle flew.
And seventeen knights that day o'erthrew;

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'--" "-'' ~'( : -. T i,y w h ich I into m y kingdom cam e." '. ', ', ,'"''- -
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., An I. I read my story back .I -


SI wonder if o'er the self-same track, i: ,-^ ^L
S Like to n Athl, you and I l an

Will come to OUR kingdomstory by and by.
I wonder if o'er the self-same track,
A-v i.. WLike to King Athol, you and I" ,
Will come to OUR kingdoms b~y and by.

I', *




A TINY gem oh the beautiful belt of clustered
country-seats, abbeys, chateaux, parks, villas, and
charming suburban resorts that girdle Paris, there
nestles a queer little L ..- .:i i, ; with chil-
dren. They swarm in the court-yards, floating
wooden shoes for boats in the water-tafik. They
sit contentedly on door-steps, plastering their faces
with bread and jam. Their white .caps.make a
dash of light above the scarlet geraniums which
flame at the windows. They troop over the cobble-
stone pavements, with a clatter like that of a pass-
ing regiment. They buzz and hum in the school,
defying the efforts of even the good curate to
keep them in order. They skirmish over the fields
and meadows, gathering bouquets of poppies, or
raiding after fruit and birds' nests; and they are to
be seen in every glimpse which we catch of home
interiors. Sometimes a. sweet face is: outlined
against a great brass platter, like an angel.head
with its golden aureole, and again the sooty cavern
of the chimney furnishes to another a Rembrandt-
esque background.
Everywhere children; with their dolls and carts,
their little pet, animals, their treasures of flowers
and dainties, their pleasures of-play, .their little
griefs and troubles: .Arid such picturesque chil-
dren, in peasant suits of blue petticoats with white
sleeves and .odd little caps and kerchiefs,. and
clumsy wooden shoes. Pretty.enough for a pict-
ure!" would:be your exclamation, and rthe wisest
art-lover would agree with you; for since the time
of Raphael, the greatest child-painter, artists have
agreed that there is r.. ri ,i inmore lovely on this
beautiful earth than a sweet-faced-boy or girl;
And so you will inot be surpris6d:to learn that this
village of Ecouen has become the haunt of artists,
who go there not because of its fine scenery or
architecture, but because a great painter was first
attracted to the spot by these peasant babies, and.
made such charming pictures of them that the
world cried out for more.
When Edouard Frere first came to Ecouen the
world did not call him a great painter. He was
only a young art-student who had graduated at
the Academy of Fine Arts in Paris, had been four
years the pupjil of the celebrated artist, Paul Dela-
roche, and was gaining a slender livelihood as an
illustrator. If he had had the means he might
have gone to Rome to.study, and have lost all
originality in the mannerisms of the Italian school;
but he was poor and in love, and looking about,

among the many charming villages which cluster
around Paris, for some cozy:spot in which to build
his home-nest where living would not be so dear
as in the great city, he chanced upon this queer
little nook.
I have no doubt that his bride's relations pitied
poor Gabrielle, and thought of her as buried alive
in this obscure country place. But Gabrielle had
the keen insight and foresight of a.loving woman.
-She could see genius, in this gentle-mannered
youth, which as yet no one else could see, and to
her all the long years which lay between them and
recognition were as nothing for the love which she
For a time after their coming to Ecouen, Edou-
ard Frere continued his work as an illustrator. But
this did not satisfy him. He had a true artist's
love for color,:.and when-not busied with his black-
and-white -drawings he made-little paintings: of the
Ecouen babies and pinned them to the:walls of-his
studio.- ,The : children : learned to .love him; and
kept on with: their little games when he was near,
for they knew that Monsieur Frere was interested
in their.play, and liked.to snare birds and play at
soldier, aridwatch the little girls nurse their hide-
ous dolls, as much as if he were himself a child.
He had such a sympathetic, kindly manner, that
they were never afraid to trust their :secrets with
him, to show him the white rabbit's little-bunnies,
or to ask him.to set the leg of their tainecrow..
He knew each child by name, and sometimes on
his sketches names are to. be found noted under
the figures. As the villagers gathered around his
easel when he painted in the open air, or:now:and
then paid a reverent visit to his studio and scanned
the sketches on the wall, they would pick out their
friends and acquaintances from the pictured groups
with many an exclamation of delight.
".See! they would exclaim, before- a painting
representing boys coasting, "there is. Toupet
scratching up snow with his hands. Ernest Joly
has fallen, the awkward one!"
"And here are the three Arnoux, hugging
each other tight, and sliding down hill upon one
small sled. Ah! it is so.in life; if brothers are
rich and live in a wide house, then they can
quarrel politely, and stand aloof from one an-
other like gentlemen ; but when quarters are. nar-
row, then there is the more need foi- affectionate
Hold- Sainte Beuve and Yvon' have tumbled




together! That is good. If one must be down
in the world, it is more endurable if you have good
Look, there is Donat, the dandy; how proud
he is of his new hat! He must needs be painted
in it before the boys had spoiled the shape for
him, and now all the world .' i!I imagine that he
wears a hat like that every day of his life -the
pretender! :- .
And so the- villagers would rattle on, almost
without cessation.
Edouard Frgre did not try to invent pictures, but
took just such as he found, not fancying that any
one else would care greatly for them, but painting
them because they appealed to him. He soon
found that these young faces were not all joyous.;
some were pinched and pale -with hunger, or
drawn with pain, and often the eyes had the wist-
ful, patient look that belongs to the poor. The
parents were hard-worked, poorly paid men and
women, who toiled all day in the fields, and either
became brutalized and hard .of heart and life, or
faded away and died under their cruel.lot. Millet,
the great French painter, himself :a peasant, saw
all the pathos in these lives-of labor and endur-
ance, and a little later touchingly interpreted it
for the world. But no one at this time painted
peasants, and even Millet did not care. greatly for
the children.. idouard Frere.alone seemed to. rec-
ognize and appreciate the-beauty of their simple
pleasures, their little deeds of self-denial and
kindness, and the brave" .f
helpfulness, the !* a- -
ful content and .
love, with -
which little ;. -
child graces..
poverty. .t :
He was /..
years old
whenhiswife .
him that the
great world m,i ''r. 1
care for these '
picturesofchild- li rid '
induced him t.. rJ.-,hb!
seven tiny canvases at
the Salon. The Salon MOTHER COCOTTI. (SEE
PAGE 130.)
is the yearly exhibition
of pictures at Paris, many times larger than the
exhibition of our National Academy in New York,
and though thirty-four apartments open into each
other, and the pictures are hung so closely that
the frames touch from wainscot to ceiling, giving
space for from two to three thousand canvases, there

are yet so many painters in France and in other
countries who send to the Salon that thousands
of pictures are always rejected. A committee-of
artists view the paintings sent, and only the best
are accepted. It is always a great event in a
young artist's life when his first picture is hung at
the Salon. We can imagine that Edouard Frere
and his young wife were very anxious to hear the
decision of the committee in regard to the seven
little pictures. Many ,times the artist must have
regretted sending them it would be such a disap-
pointment and disgrace to be refused. Madame
Gabrielle must have been in' a fever of impa-
tience, for she, at least, had no doubt of their
And they were accepted, well hung, and com-
manded attention. Eminent critics paused, pencil
in hand, before them. Young mothers grasped
their husbands' arms to have them notice how like
little Annette, or Jean, or Francois, this child was.
And the committee of awards made a note of the
name of Edouard Frere as that of a new man of
surprising originality, whose career must be, fol-
lowed. French artists hitherto had not dared to
paint real country folk; their peasants were mas-
querade, shepherds and shepherdesses of the thea-
ter, dressed in pink-and-blue satin, with powdered
hair and ribboned crooks. But here was a young
man who had actually found sentiment and beauty
in the every-day life of the poor, in their worn
and. tattered clothing, with all its pitiful story of
privation and suffering, in the brave .cheerfulness
with. which the young faces uncomplainingly met
their tasks, and found pleasure in toil. He had
touched the commonplace with something of the
radiance which a carpenter's son shed upon it
when he dwelt, long ago, among the peasants of
. Four years later the Salon awarded him a medal,
-a wonderful success for a man hitherto entirely
unknown to the art world,-and at.the Exposition
of 1855 he was made Chevalier of the Legion of
Honor. Then. Monsieur Gambart, of Brussels, one
of the great picture dealers who tell the rich people
all over the world whose paintings are the only
proper ones to be bought, packed his portmanteau
and hurried to Ecouen to inquire where Edouard
Frere lived. Every child in the village street lifted
up his hand to point and his voice to shout: There
-there, over yonder, is our good little Papa Frere; "
and preceded by an advance guard and followed
by a retinue of young models, the capitalist entered
Monsieur Fr&re's studio, bringing the lady Fort-
une with him.
Success had come to him in early middle life,
while there were still long years before him in
which to enjoy all the good things of the world.



He could make his residence where he chose;
could study the masterpieces of Italy as he had
longed to do as a young man; could
S join his brother, who was painting the
S glowing skies and warm colors of the
Orient, then so much in vogue; could
be one of the centers of social life in
gayParis. But he had grown attached



,." I 4-
"I(r. I,

tion. She goes for the children and returns them;
keeps a mental inventory of ages, sizes, types, and
can tell Monsieur Frere on the instant just
what child he ought to have for a required
action. "Let us see, my good Aimee," says
the artist, at the end of one day's work, "to-
morrow I begin a new picture. I remember
long ago seeing RosalieSeignac getting din-
ner for her 'sick
mother, with the
; aid of her little
brother. It was a
pretty picture. I
i said when I saw
it, I must paint
!that. But Rosalie
'i has grown into a
I g'' tall young wom-
an now, and her
Brother is with
the angels. Seek
a little, whom
l all we get to pose for
h e figures? Will Fifine
S 1.) for one ?"


.\imee purses her lips
S... I rolls the corner of her
ti.lon. "Monsieur for-
S :. s that girl grows like
. .l :uash-vine; she is fifty
....atimeters too tall."
"Elise, then?"
"Elise is engaged to
S sit for Monsieur Chi-
aliva's turkey pict-
''How would An-
nette do? "
"Annette is
too fat; Clarice
Sis never
still,. she is
as restless
as the vane
"*--. on the chim-
ney; Marie

to Ecouen '.i is sulky; Ba-
and to the .:. ni. has the chicken-pox;
children, and he Jeanne has gone to Ezan-
kept on painting SDOARD FRSRE AT WORK. (FROM A PENCIL-SKETCH BY J. W. CHAMPNEY.) ville, There is no one but
them until they grew to men and women, and in Angelique, and she is freckled and red-headed."
their turn led their children by the hand to pose "She will do nicely. I can leave the freckles
for "Papa Frere." out, and her hair is just the thing. For the boy,
Aim6e, who was one of his early models, has I suppose we must take Amedee."
been bonne, or maid, in the family for over twenty- "Amed6e is too mischievous; I had the trouble
five years. She is drill-master and nursery-maid of a lost soul to keep him away from the strawberry
for the children who pose, and is a great institu- beds. Baptiste, now, would be better behaved."

''! T






He is a homely little fellow; I do not think I
could use him. What has become of that little
Henri La Fontaine, with the blonde.curls? "
"His mother has liad.them cut since the hot
weather; besides, he has the mumps in both
cheeks. However, I will get him if Monsieur
"Certainly not; but tell me whom I ought to
have?". -
Narcisse might do, if I could keep him awake.
(That child would sleep if the Prussians bombarded
the chateau !) Quentin is a little runaway; when
he sees me cominghe makes straight for the forest,
where no one can lay a hand on him. Emile is in
school; he is a good student, and his mother will
not letrhim pose except on Saturdays. Maurice is
beautiful as an angel, but shy as a rabbit, and he
weeps if one but looks at him. If Monsieur should
tell him to hold the soup-ladle he would faint with
fright. Anethol is a gourmand; if he is desired,
I must fry a whole kettle of merveilles,* and he will
eat them every one."
"Can you not overcome Maurice's timidity?
Surely I have not the reputation of an ogre."
"No, Monsieur, it is because you are so good
and great in his eyes; it is the reverence for a
-saint. To speak with you is almost to him as if
the picture of the Cardinal Odet de Coligny on the
church window should step smilingly down toward
us! Surely then we should all faint with terror."
"Perhaps if I should play a game of marbles
with. him, he would feel less of awe."
"Monsieur must'not so trouble himself. The
child is fond of fairy stories; I will tell them while
he is posing, and distract his mind."
No matter how many children figure in his pict-
ure, Monsieur Frdre requires to see them all in
their proper positions, in order to relate them one
to the other. Aim6e keeps the battalion in order;
now and then they are allowed to run out to play,
and she watches that they do no mischief. She
washes their faces, arranges their hair, costumes
them, comforts the homesick, encourages with
candy, or punishes the refractory, deals out the
copper sous with which they are paid at the end
of the sitting, and carries a report to the parents
of their behavior. The lazy straighten up and
take better positions when they hear the crackle
of her stiffly starched petticoats, and the woe-be-
gone, half-starved children of the drunkard know
that between their tasks Aim-e will take them to
the kitchen and feed them until they can eat no
What wonder that Aimee fancies :that much of
the credit for the success of these pictures belongs
rightly to her--since all that Monseiur does is to
spread the paint on the canvas
A kind of pasty.

Edouard Frdre now lives in a handsome little
chateau in the center of an extensive park, which
contains many interesting rooms, a grand studio,
a library, a parlor that is a picture gallery of the
works of other French artists; which have been
presented to him or to Madame Frdre; other apart-
ments rich in bronzes, in water-colors, and hand-
some furniture. But secluded from the rest is
Madame Frere's boudoir, which is perhaps the
heart of the house. The furniture here is uphol-
stered with embroidery by the hand of the mistress
of the house, rich in color, but of "`-c l.-l llr.l -. de-
sign--labyrinthine tracery which you fancy must
mean something if you could only find the key to
the combination. Madame Frere calls it vitrauxr
d'eglise,* from its resemblance to shattered stained
glass. She has worked the many strips that com-
-pose the furnishing of this room through the long
years that stretch between her present and those
early days in Ecouen. How many loving thoughts
have slipped in with the threads of rose, how many
ambitious hopes have followed those ciphers in royal
purple. Here is a crimson cartouche; perhaps it
is the record of the coming of the red ribbon
which marks her husband a Chevalier d'Honneur;
and there is a tiny white cross that may tell the
giving to God of their baby. On the wall'hang
thirty or forty engravings from M. Fr&re's pictures.
Here we have a history of his work during all
these busy, patient years. Here is "The Little
Flute-player," with its companion piece of a tall
boy, almost embracing a sturdy little fellow in
his efforts to teach him to drum. Here are three
pictures of boys snaring snow-birds : the first rep-
resents the repressed excitement with which the
children watch the birds' survey of the trap, anx-
iously asking, "Will he be caught ?" In the second
"He is caught! and the children are enjoying a
brief moment of triumph; but there is many a
slip twixtt the trap and the cage, and in the third
scene "He has escaped and the children stretch
their hands in vain after the fugitive. Another
well-known and charming subject which we find
here is a wee tot gravely etching a picture with a
forefinger through the molasses which covers her
bread and butter. Here, too, are the little boy and
girl who are carefully dosing a sick doll. The lad
plays the doctor very gravely, while the deep solici-
tude of the child's mamma is not all make-believe.
This .is the picture which gained Edouard Frere
his first medal. Here a young girl stands upon a
chair in -front of a fire-place to twine a rosary about
a crucifix. There is a thoughtful sadness in her
face. Is she thinking of Monsieur le Cur6's words,
" Woman's lot' is to love, to suffer, to pray" ?
School pictures are evident favorites. In one,
two faithful :scholars plod through the wet, their
Church-glass-meaning, stained-glass window.



- I



torn umbrella resolutely set against the driving narrow staircase, come "bounding out of school,"
storm, while in the Sortie d'Rcole" (" The Sor- full of frolic and the happy spirit of play-time, and as
tie from School") the children, trooping down the if glad, one and all, to get into the sunshine again.







The weary seamstresses toiling in the next pict-
ure in their dormered attic remind one of Millet's
hopeless peasants; and so the subjects run, alter-
nating pathos with glee, and each treated with
such tenderness .that the simple stories never fail
to touch the fancy and the heart.
Quite a colony of artists have gathered in Ecouen
about this great painter, and so fatherly and kindly
is he to all that he is usually spoken of by them by
the name which the peasant children first gave him
-" Papa Fr&re." He is a small man, of delicate
frame and fine proportions, but big and burly men
have learned to look down with a respect which is

a i of ,

almost reverence upon h n him. His own son over-
tops him, and addresses his father playfully as
"My good little author"; but there is a dignity
mingled with his gentle courtesy which removes
any impression of insignificance.
The men and women who were in middle life
when he came to Ecouen have either died or are
;-: ,

aged now. There are grandmothers who are past
working in 'the fields, who sit contentedly on the
sunny side of the court, or cower by the chimney-
corner, waiting, quietly waiting. Some of these

age, their children have all that they can do to
care for their little ones, and it grieves the dear
care~ for their little ones, and it grieves the dear


old bodies to be useless and dependent. It was a
great consolation to them when the artists, follow-
ing Monsieur Frere's example, and realizing the
touching stories which are written in every wrinkle
of their kindly faces, began to paint these aged
women as well as the children. And so the old
ladies still sit quietly, their frosty locks drawn smooth
under queer lace caps, or bound by gay kerchiefs,
their tear-dimmed eyes closing drowsily and the
toil-cramped fingers resting idly in their laps; but
even while they rest they are earning money, for
some artist of the sympathetic school is busy trans-
ferring the pitiful figure to his canvas.

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

One such old lady I distinctly remember, the
Mire Cocotte (" -Mother Cocotte "), a universal
favorite. Some might have considered her poor,
but, she felt well-to-do and pleasantly independ-
ent; for did she not live in a picturesque old house,
so crazy and dilapidated, so darkened with smoke
and cobwebs, and so filled with old rubbish of
faded pink bed-hangings, Mother Hubbard cup-
boards, with bits of coarse pottery and shining cop-
per and.brass, that the artists loved to paint within
eit ? And did they not pay her well for the privilege ?
It was true that she did not own this poor home,
but Papa Fr:re paid the rent, the town awarded
her a fagot of fire-wood and a loaf of bread daily,

* The three pictures on these two pages are engraved by kind permission of L. H. Lefevre, of London, owner of the copyrights.


the butcher gave her a pint of soup every Sun-
day, and as for other luxuries, she made as much
as twenty cents, and sometimes even forty in a day,
by sitting for the artists. It was pleasant to listen
to the prattle of the old soul. She disliked the
Prussians, for when they besieged Paris they stole
her two pet rabbits; but she was always merry-
hearted and sang delicious little love songs, in a
cracked voice which must have been very sweet
when she was young. She had a cap of fine lace,
which had been handed down to her possibly by
her own grandmother, and which she wore only on
holidays, when she sat under the great trees that
adjoin the castle and watched the young people
dance in the open air. It seems to her that they
do not dance with the grace and spirit of the young
people of sixty years ago, but still she enjoys watch-
ing them. She loves to see people happy. The

ear-rings, and freshly fluted frills, and look so
charming that you would never suspect that a
bit of dry bread is all they had for dinner to-day.
Farewell to misery, poverty, sorrowing,
While we've a fiddle we still will dance;
Supper we 've none, nor can we go borrowing;
Dance and forget is the'fashion of France."
Papa Frere's fete day (or day of his patron saint,
which in France is celebrated instead of one's own
birthday) was the occasion of the year for popular
rejoicing for Ecouen. A grand dinner was served,
and in the evening the peasants gathered about his
park to see the annual display of fire-works. Since
the death of his little granddaughter these festivi-
ties have been discontinued, at Monsieur Frere's
desire. The peasants of Ecouen are as quick to
sympathize with grief as to join in merriment.
Mother Cocotte attends every funeral and mass for



charcoal-seller there is on working days as grimy as
a pitman, but his face is clean now, and his shirt-
sleeves are tied with ribbons. The butcher's boy
has scented his curly locks and 'has a rose in his
button-hole, and all the young girls from the vil-
lage have donned their Sunday finery, their gold

the dead, decently clad in black, and has a picture
of the Virgin beside her little fire-place, with a
blessed branch which the priest gave her last Palm
The largest of the bells which hang in the belfry
of the little church was given to the parish by



Madame Frdre, and when the children hear it
tolling they exclaim, "There is Madame Frere
calling us." This village church is rich in old
stained glass and looks out upon the Place shaded
by a magnificent old chestnut tree. It is said. that
the Chevalier Bayard fastened his horse to this tree
while calling on the Mont-
morencys, who built the old
castle which still looks down II

used the Place as a back-
ground for "The Young
Guard," one of his later pict-
ures, a reproduction of which
is given on page 129. France
is precmincntly a military na- I,
tion. The artists, Berne Belle-
cour, Detaille, De Neuville, I .'h
and others, have given us I '
thrilling episodes in the last II'
war with the- Prussians. The ,
same military enthusiasm i
glows in the breasts of the
boys, and we can see the esf5it
de corfs shining in each of the
young faces. Some of the
men who served as soldiers in
the French army during the
campaign of 1870, Monsieur
Frere painted long ago as
children learning to drum and
playing at drill. His own little
grandson, Gabriel Frhre, fig-
ures in the awkward squad of
"The Young Guard."
Monsieur Frdre writes in a
recent letter:

"I am making a drawing from one
of my latest paintings-the face of a
child four years of age,' my favorite -
model, who died just as my picture was
finished. The drawing is for his mother.
The poor woman employed all the
money which the child gained in dress- -
ing him handsomely. Dear little fellow,
with what courage he held himself mo-
tionless in order to earn a pair of velvet "A LESSON IN R
pantaloons, a vest of velvet, fine shoes,
and a hat with ribbons He was buried with all his bravery. There
remain sixty-two francs of his earnings, with which they intend to
erect a little monument."

While tdouard Frere's pictures have been
painted almost without exception in this secluded
spot, they have found their way to all art centers.
In England they are especially admired. Early
in his successful career he was persuaded to visit a
friend in London. He enjoyed the novel experi-
ence exceedingly, but as .he was entirely unac-
quainted with the English language, he was

extremely dependent on his friend. He was in-
vited with him on one occasion to a grand dinner.
There were speeches and toasts, of which he un-
derstood not one word; but he followed his friend's
cue, applauding where he applauded and answering
the jokes and stories with an appreciative smile.


Presently some one at the other end of the table
proposed a toast which was greeted with universal
enthusiasm. Papa Frbre clapped his hands with
the rest, whereat every one smiled or laughed
and applauded more uproariously. Following his
friend's example, Papa Frkre smiled, nodded, and
cheered; but was overcome with confusion when it
was explained to him that he had been applauding
his own name and some extremely flattering com-
pliments which had just been paid him. It might
have occurred to Madame Frdre that this was the




case, for to her swift intuitions no success which
comes'to her husband is a surprise, and she shares
his honors with the calm satisfaction of one who
had foreseen them from the first. But Papa Fr&re
was of too simple and modest a nature to imagine
for a moment that such admiration could be meant
for him.
The same sweet and unassuming spirit dwells
in him still. His genius, not satisfied with past
achievements, has ripened and matured with con-
scientious 'study, so that his later pictures are bet-

ter than the ones which made him famous. ., The
world about him changes, the old people pass
away and the children grow old; but the child-
heart that is in Edouard Frere can not change.
The beauty which he has created can never die,
but is a glorious gift from one life to mankind; the
great, busy world is more humane and looks with
tenderer compassion upon the children of the poor
because he has lived, while all who have known
him personally are the richer for that privilege,
and thank God that he still lives to bless others.



HE stood in a fountain and held up a shell,
From which a bright shower of diamonds fell,
Just catching the glance of the sunshine which
Bo-peep in and out of the jessamine shade;
And back at the children, who laughed up in
He laughed, as they called him The Little Stone

He laughed at the dew and he laughed at the
Which smiled up at him through the long sum-
mer hours;
He laughed as the robin and blue-bird and
Just ceasing a moment their caroling gay,
Came peeping and hopping, with coquetries
To flit round the feet of the Little Stone Boy.

He laughed when the flowers were drooping
and dead,
And autumn was painting in gold and in
And bleaker and lower the gloomy clouds
Awaking no gleam in the waters he flung-
For nothing of shadow could dim or alloy
The gladness and mirth of the Little Stone

But soon, shaken down from the feathery
Of the blast bearing onward the chilly Ice
The fast whirling snow lay a covering white
Over garden and lawn. And- the children at
Looked up with a whisper, from picture and
"He has n't a coat on- poor Little Stone Boy!"

But morning, all beaming with sparkles of light,
Brought forth in the brightness each frolicsome
To see if the spirit of winter could quell
The smile of the sprite of the fountain and
" Ho ho he is dressed! cried a chorus of joy,
"And laughing as ever-the jolly Stone Boy!"

The Snow Queen had tenderly woven for him
A mantle, hung softly o'er each little limb;
An icicle coronet shone on his head-
" Jack Frost made it for him," the little ones
Thus decked with the treasures of winter, he
As proudly his burthen aloft as before,
And laughed at the storm which could never
The happy, hilarious, Little Stone Boy.



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WHAT a monster of contradictions !
An animal which looks like a fish, but which is not
a fish; which lives always in the water, but which
can not live long under water, and which neverthe-
less will die on land; which has a mouth large
enough to engulf at once a dozen readers of
ST. NICHOLAS, but whose throat is so small that
your father's fist can fill it.
A whale Yes, a veritable giant among giants,
the largest of all living creatures.
To one who does not know the reason for it, it
must seem odd to say that the whale is not a fish.
But, in fact, it is no more a fish than you are. A
fish has cold blood, and takes the little oxygen it
needs from the water by means of gills; while the
whale must take its oxygen from the atmospheric
air, just as you do.
You need to take oxygen into your lungs to give
to your blood at very short intervals, so that you
can not exist for more than two or three minutes
at the utmost without breathing. Of course, it
would not do for the whale to have to breathe so
often, for in that case he could never stay under
water long enough to secure his food, and would
consequently starve.
To provide against this catastrophe the whale is
enabled to charge a reservoir of blood with oxygen,
and thus, with an hour's supply of aerated blood, it
can dive down and remain under water until the
supply is exhausted. Should it be detained after
the supply is gone, it will drown as surely as
your own self.
The tail is the only swimming apparatus of the
whale, and by it'the whale can shoot its entire
body, weighing, perhaps, four hundred thousand
pounds, entirely out of water. One authentic
writer says he has seen a whale leap so high out of
the water that he, while standing on the quarter-
deck of a ship, saw the horizon under its body.
The tail is set transversely to the body, and its
motion, unlike that of the same member in a
fish, is up and down; and with such vigor does it
move that the surrounding water is forced into a
series of whirling eddies.
This tail is, moreover, the whale's chief weapon,
though occasionally it does make use of its head or
of its teeth, if it have the latter. Stung to fury by
a harpoon, it will sometimes lash about with its tail
to such purpose as to dash the stout whale-boat to
pieces and hurl the inmates into the sea. As a
rule, however, the whale prefers to run.

Although many whales have no teeth, the sper-
maceti whale, for example, has a most formidable
set. With these it sometimes does terrible execu-
tion among the pursuing boats.
As may be supposed, such whales as have no
teeth are properly provided for in some other way.
Many of them subsist entirely upon the countless
millions of jelly-fish, molluscs, and other kindred
animals with which the ocean is plentifully stocked;
and as they are soft and yielding, teeth are not
needed either to capture or masticate them.
A net is what is needed, and this the toothless
whales have. Depending from the upper jaw,
which may be sixteen or seventeen feet long, is a
hedge of baleen, or whale-bone, as it is commonly
called. This is about ten feet long, and consists
of a number of plates, solid at the upper end, but
fraying out, fringe-like, at the lower end. There
are about six hundred of these plates on each side
of the jaw, and in a large whale their weight will
be some two thousand pounds.
When the hungry giant wishes a meal, he opens
wide his cavernous mouth, and letting his enor-
mous lower lips drop down, drives through the
water with all the force of his powerful tail. Millions
upon millions of the tiny creatures upon which he
feeds are thus taken into the gaping mouth which,
when full, shuts tight.
The plates of baleen close down on the lower
jaw and the prey is secure. A large volume of
water has been taken in, too, however, and this
must be gotten rid of in some way. The way is
simple. The whale merely forces the water out
through the interstices in the baleen, and the hap-
less fish remain to be swallowed at leisure down
the throat, which is often not more than two inches
in diameter.
Occasionally this habit of the whale produces a
very curious and beautiful effect. Many of the
soft, jelly-like creatures in which the ocean abounds
shine at night with a bright, phosphorescent light;
and the water, too, dashed into spray by the vig-
orous sweep of the monster's tail, becomes charged
with the same phosphorescent glow, and lights up
the sea like drops of molten silver.
Under such circumstances, when the dark giant
surges through the waves with distended maw, he
seems a monstrous submarine fire-eater swallowing
lumps of flame and defying the wet element with
showers of flaming drops, which he leaves behind
him in a weird, shining wake.





CGeerfully. WM. E. ASHMALL.

Of our new born King.
Let them come to me.
Born for us this day.






IN the spring of a certain year, long since passed
away, Prince Hassak, of Itoby, determined to visit
his uncle, the King of Yan.
Whenever my uncle visited us," said the
Prince, or when my late father went to see him,
the journey was always made by sea; and, in
order to do this, it was necessary to go in a very
roundabout way between Itoby and Yan. Now,
I shall do nothing of this kind. It is beneath the
dignity of a prince to go out of his way on account
of capes, peninsulas, and promontories. I shall
march from my palace to that of my uncle in a
straight line. I shall go across the country, and
no obstacle shall cause me to deviate from my
course. Mountains and hills shall be tunneled,
rivers shall be bridged, houses shall be leveled; a
road shall be cut through forests; and, when I
have finished my march, the course over which I
have passed shall be a mathematically straight
line. Thus will I show to the world that, when a
prince desires to travel, it is not necessary for him
to go out of his way on account of obstacles."
As soon as possible after the Prince had deter-
mined upon this march, he made his preparations,
and set out. He took with him a few courtiers,
and a large body of miners, rock-splitters, bridge-
builders, and workmen of that class, whose services
would, very probably, be needed. Besides these,
he had an officer, whose duty it was to point out
the direct course to be taken, and another who
was to draw a map of the march, showing the
towns, mountains, and the various places it passed
through. There were no compasses in those days,
but the course-marker had an instrument which
he would set in a proper direction by means of
the stars, and then he could march by it all day.
Besides these persons, Prince Hassak selected from
the schools of his city five boys and five girls, and
took them with him. He wished to show them
how, when a thing was to be done, the best way
was to go straight ahead and do it, turning aside
for nothing.
When they grow up they will teach these
things to their children," said he; "and thus I
will instill good principles into my people."
The first day Prince Hassak marched over a
level country, with no further trouble than that
occasioned by the tearing down of fences and
walls, and the destruction of a few cottages and
barns. After encamping for the night, they set
*out the next morning, but had not marched many

miles before they came to a rocky hill, on the top
of which was a handsome house, inhabited by a
Your Highness," said the course-marker, "in
order to go in a direct line we must make a tunnel
through this hill, immediately under the house.
This may cause the building to fall in, but the
rubbish can be easily removed."
"Let the men go to work," said the Prince.
"I will dismount from my horse, and watch the
When the Jolly-cum-pop saw the party halt
before his house, he hurried out to pay his respects
to the Prince. When he was informed of what
was to be done, the Jolly-cum-pop could not re-
frain from laughing aloud.
"I never heard," he said, "of such a capital
idea. It is so odd and original. It will be very
funny, I am sure, to see a tunnel cut right under
my house."
The miners and rock-splitters now began to
work at the base of the hill, and then the Jolly-
cum-pop made a proposition to the Prince.
"It will take your men some time," he said,
"to cut this tunnel, and it is a pity your Highness
should not be amused in the meanwhile. It is
a fine day: suppose we go into the forest and
This suited the Prince very well, for he did not
care about sitting under a tree and watching his
workmen, and the Jolly-cum-pop having sent for
his horse and some bows and arrows, the whole
party, with the exception of the laborers, rode
toward the forest, a short distance away.
What shall we find to hunt ?" asked the Prince
of the Jolly-cum-pop.
"I really do not know," exclaimed the latter,
" but we'll hunt whatever we happen to see deer,
small birds, rabbits, griffins, rhinoceroses, any-
thing that comes along. I feel as gay as a skip-
ping grasshopper. My spirits rise like a soaring
bird. What a joyful thing it is to have such a
splendid hunt on such a glorious day "
The gay and happy spirits of the Jolly-cum-pop
affected the whole party, and they rode merrily
through the forest; but they found no game; and,
after an hour or two, they emerged into the open
country again. At a distance, on a slight eleva-
tion, stood a large and massive building.
"I am hungry and thirsty," said the Prince,
"and perhaps we can get some refreshments at


yonder house. So far, this has not been a very
fine hunt."
"No," cried the Jolly-cum-pop, not yet. But
what a joyful thing to see a hospitable mansion
just at the moment when we begin to feel a little
tired and hungry "
The building they were approaching belonged
to a Potentate, who lived at a great distance. In
some of his travels he had seen this massive
house, and thought it would make a good prison.
He accordingly bought it, fitted it up as a jail, and
appointed a jailer and three myrmidons to take
charge of it. This had occurred years before, but
no prisoners had ever been sent to this jail. A
few days preceding the Jolly-cum-pop's hunt, the
Potentate had journeyed this way and had stopped
at his jail. After inquiring into its condition, he
had said to the jailer:
It is now fourteen years since'I appointed you
to this place, and in all that time there have been
no prisoners, and you and ,your men have been
drawing your wages without doing anything. I
shall return this way in a few days, and if I still
find you idle I shall discharge you all and close
the jail."
This filled the jailer with great dismay, for he
did not wish to lose his good situation. When he
saw the Prince and his party approaching, the
thought struck him that perhaps he might make
prisoners of them, and so not be found idle when
the Potentate returned. He came out to meet
the hunters, and when they asked if they could.
here find refreshment, he gave them a most cor-
dial welcome. His men took their horses, and,
inviting them to enter, he showed each member of
the party into a small bedroom, of which there
seemed to be a great many.
"Here are water and towels," he said to each
one, "and when you have washed your faces and
hands, your refreshments will be ready." Then,
going out, he locked the door on the outside.
The party numbered seventeen: the Prince,
three courtiers, five boys, five girls, the course-
marker, the map-maker, and the Jolly-cum-pop.
The heart of the jailer was joyful; seventeen in-
mates was something to be proud of. He ordered
his myrmidons to give the prisoners a meal of
bread and water through the holes in their cell-
doors, and then he sat down to make out his
report to the Potentate. *
They must all be guilty of crimes," he said to
himself, "which are punished by long imprison-
me'nt. I don't want any of them executed."
So he numbered his prisoners from one to seven-
teen, according to the cell each happened to be in,
and he wrote a crime opposite each number. The
first was highway robbery, the next forgery, and

after that followed treason, smuggling, barn-burn-
ing, bribery, poaching, usury, piracy, witchcraft,
assault and battery, using false weights and meas-
ures, burglary, counterfeiting, robbing hen-roosts,
conspiracy, and poisoning his grandmother by
This report was scarcely finished when the
Potentate returned.- He was very much surprised
to find that seventeen prisoners had come in since
his previous visit, arid he read the report with
"Here is one iho ought to be executed," he
said, referring to Number Seventeen. "And how
did he -poison his grandmother by proxy ? Did
he get another woman to be poisoned in her
stead? Or did he employ some one to act in his
place as the poisoner ?"
I have not yet been fully informed, my lqrd,"
said the jailer, fearful that he should lose a pris-
oner; "but this is his first offense, and his grand-
mother, who did not die, has testified to his
general good character."
"Very well," said the Potentate; "but if he
ever does it again, let him be executed; and, by
the way, I should like to see the prisoners."
Thereupon the jailer conducted the Potentate
along the corridors, and let him look through the
holes in the doors at the prisoners within.
"What is this little girl in for ? he asked.
The jailer looked at the number over the door,
and then at his report.
"Piracy," he answered.
"A strange offense for such a child," said the
"They often begin that sort of thing very early
in life," said the jailer.
"And this fine gentleman," said: the Potentate,
looking in at the Prince, "what did he do ?"
The jailer glanced at the number, and the
"Robbed hen-roosts," he said.
He must have done a good deal of it to afford
to dress so well," said the Potentate, passing on,
and looking into other cells. It seems to me
that a great many of your prisoners are very
It is best to take them young, my lord," said
the jailer. "They are very hard to catch when
they grow up."
The Potentate then looked in at the Jolly-cum-
pop, and asked what was his offense.
Conspiracy," was the answer.
"And where are the other conspirators ?"
There was only one," said the jailer.
Number Seventeen was the oldest of the cour-
"He appears to be an elderly man to have a



grandmother," said the Potentate. She must
be very aged, and that makes it all the worse for
him. I think he should be executed."
"Oh, no, my lord," cried the jailer. I am
assured that his crime was quite unintentional."


"Then he should be set free," said the Potentate.
"I mean to say," said the jailer, that it was
just enough intentional to cause him to be impris-
oned here for a long time, but not enough to de-
serve execution."
"Very well," said the Potentate, turning to
leave; "take good care of your prisoners, and
send me a report every month."
"That will I do, my lord," said the jailer,
bowing very low.
The Prince and his party had been very much
surprised and incensed when they found that they
could not get out of their rooms, and they had

kicked and banged and shouted until they were
tired, but the jailer had informed them that they
were to be confined there for years; and when the
Potentate arrived they had resigned themselves
to despair. The Jolly-cum-pop, however, was
affected in a different
way. It seemed to him
the most amusing joke.
in the world that a per-
son should deliberately
walk into a prison-cell
and be locked up for
several years; and he
lay down on his little
bed and laughed him-
self to sleep.
That night one of the
boys sat at his iron-
barred window, wide
awake. He was a Tru-
ant, and had never yet
been in any place from
which he could not run
away. He felt that his
school-fellows depended
upon him to run away
li. n !,,,; them assistance, and he
ki i 1I-1 his reputation as a Truant
k :.e. His responsibility was
.: I, that he could not sleep, and
h.: , the window, trying to think
o ., ) get out. After some hours
I- ....-.. arose, and by its light he
i-":" .the grass, not far from his
number of little creatures,
'.1. ., r first he took for birds or
.111,1 :. ,,,rrels; but on looking more
"I t r I. he perceived that they were
i-"- ',.:....ns, a kind of fairy, about
n.:,.. .:- I.- high. They were standing
,Ir-.:.r..iii L flat stone, and seemed to be
,, .1;l ilculations on it with a piece
of chalk. At this sight, the heart of
the Truant jumped for joy. "Fairies
can do anything," he said to himself, "and these
certainly can get us out." He now tried in various
ways to attract the attention of the pigwidgeons;
but as he was afraid to call or whistle very loud, for
fear of arousing the jailer, he did not succeed. Hap-
pily, he thought of a pea-shooter which he had in
his pocket, and taking this out he blew a pea into
the midst of the little group with such force that
it knocked the chalk from the hand of the pigwid-
geon who was using it. The little fellows looked
up in astonishment, and perceived the Truant
beckoning to them from his window. At first
they stood angrily regarding him; but on his urg-


ing them. in a loud whisper to come to his relief,
they approached the prison and, clambering up a
vine, soon reached his window-sill. The Truant
now told his mournful tale, to which the pigwid-
geons listened very attentively; and then, after a
little consultation.among themselves, one of them
said: "We will get you out i' :.u will tell us
how to divide five-sevenths by six."
The poor Truant was silent for an instant, and
then he said: "That is not the kind of thing I am
good at, but. I expect some of the other fellows
could tell you.easily .enough. Our windows must
be all in a: row, and. you can climb up and ask
some of them; and if any one tells you, will you
get us all out.?:"
"Yes," said the pigwidgeon who had spoken
before. "We will do that, for we are very anxious
to know how to divide five-sevenths by six. We
have been working at.it for four or five days, and
there wont be anything. worth dividing if we wait
much longer."' -: .
The pigwidgeons now began to descend the
vine; but one of i ti..rii lo I .1r. -ig a little, the Tru-
ant, who had a great deal of curiosity, asked him
what it was.they had-to divide.
There were eight of us," the pigwidgeon an-
swered, "who'.helped a farmer's, wife, and she
gave us a pound of :butter.: She did riot count us
properly, and divided the. butter into- seven parts.
We did not notice this at first, and two of the
party, who were obliged to go away to a distance,
took their portions and d.l:i. i'.l-. 1,. now we can
not divide 'among six the five-severiths that re-
main." .
"That is a pretty. !i:n.l rhi ... the Truant,
"but I am sure some of the boys can.tell you how
to do.it." .
The pigwidgeors visited the four next cells,
which were occupied by four boys, but not one of
them could tell how to divide five-sevenths by six.
The Prince was questioned, but he did not know;
and neither. did the course-marker, nor the map-
maker. It was not until they came to the cell of
the oldest girl 'that they received an answer. She
was .good at .mental. arithmetic .and, after a min-
ute's thought, she said, ".It would be five forty-
"Good !". cried, the pigwidggons.- "We. will
divide the butter into forty-two parts, and each
take five. And now.let.us go to, work and cut
these bars."
Three of the six pigwidgeons were.workers in
iron, and they had their little files and saws in
pouches by their sides. They went to work- man-
fully, and the others helped them, and before
morning one bar was cut in each of the seventeen
windows. The cells were all on the ground floor,

and it was quite easy for the prisoners to clamber
out. That is, it was easy for all but the Jolly-cum-
pop. He had laughed so much in his life that he
had grown quite fat, and he found it impossible to
squeeze himself through the opening made by the
removal of one window-bar. The sixteen other
prisoners had all departed; the pigwidgeons had
hurried away to divide their butter into forty-two
parts, and the Jolly-cum-pop still remained in his
cell, convulsed with laughter at the idea of being
caught in such a curious predicament.
It is the most ridiculous thing in the world,"
he said. "I suppose I must stay here and cry
until I get thin." And the idea so tickled him,
that he laughed himself to sleep.
The Prince and his party kept together, and
hurried from the prison as. fast as they could.
When the day broke they had gone several miles,
and then they stopped to rest. Where is that
Jolly-cum-pop?" said the Prince. I suppose he
has run home as fast as he could. He is a pretty
fellow to lead us into this trouble and then desert
us! How are we to find the way back to his
house? Course-marker, can you tell us the direc-
tion in which we should go ? "
"Not until to-night, your Highness," answered
the course-marker, ",when I can set my instrument
by the stars."
The Prince's party was now in a doleful plight.
Every one was very hungry; they were in an open
plain, no house was visible, and, they knew not
which way to go.. They wandered about for some
time, looking for a brook or a spring where they
might quench their thirst; and then a rabbit
sprang out from some bushes. The whole party
immediately started off in pursuit of the rabbit.
They chased it 1:!. i. rlh 1. L, ,ckward and forward,
through hollows and over hills, until it ran quite
away and disappeared. Then they were more
tired, thirsty, and hungry than before; and, to
add to their miseries, when night came on the sky
was cloudy, and the course-marker could not set
his instrument by the stars. It would be difficult
to find sixteen more miserable people than the
Prince and his companions when they awoke the
next morning from their troubled sleep on. the
hard ground. Nearly starved to death, they
gazed at one another with feelings of despair.
"I feel," said the Prince, in a weak voice, "that
there is nothing I would not do to obtain food.. I
would willingly become a slave if my master.would
give me a good breakfast."
"So would I," ejaculated each one of the others.
About an hour after this, as they were all sitting
disconsolately upon the ground, they saw, slowly
approaching, a large cart drawn by a pair of oxen.
On the front of the .,cart, which seemed to be



heavily loaded, sat a man, with a red beard, read-
ing a book. The boys, when they saw the cart, set
up a feeble shout, and. the man, lifting his eyes
from his book, drove directly toward the group on

the marks of earnest thought. Standing for a
minute in a reflective mood, he addressed the
Prince in a slow, meditative manner: "How
would you like," he said, to form a nucleus ?"


the ground. Dismounting, he approached Prince Can we get anything to eat by it?" eagerly
Hassak, who immediately told him his troubles asked the Prince.
and implored relief. "We will do anything," said "Yes," replied the man, "you can."
the Prince, "to obtain food." "We '11 do it!" immediately cried the whole
The man with the red beard had upon his brow sixteen, without waiting for further information.
VOL. XI.-1o.


Which will you do first," said the man, "listen the red beard, "to build dwellings, and also a
to my explanations, or eat ?" school-house for these young people. Then we
"Eat! cried the entire sixteen in chorus, must till some ground in the suburbs, and lay the
The man now produced from his cart a quantity foundations, at least, of a few public buildings."
of bread, meat, wine, and
other provisions, which
he distributed generous-
ly, but judiciously, to the
hungry Prince and his _
followers. Everyone had '
.... V,',_-- ,,


'--v; -',


enough, but no one too much. And soon, re-
vived and strengthened, they felt like new beings.
"Now,' said the Prince, "we are ready to form
a nucleus, as we promised. How is it done ?"
I will explain the matter to you in a few
words," said the man with the red beard and the
thoughtful brow. For a long time I have been
desirous to found a city. In order to do this one
must begin by forming a nucleus. Every great
city is started from a nucleus. A few persons set-
tle down in some particular spot, and live there.
Then they are a nucleus. Then other people
come there, and gather around this nucleus, and
then more people come and more, until in course of
time there is a great city. I have loaded this cart
with provisions, tools, and other things that are
necessary for my purpose, and have set out to find'
some people who.would be willing to form a
nucleus. I am very glad to have found you and
that you are willing to enter into my plan; and
this seems a good spot for us to settle upon."
"What is, the first thing to be done?" said the
".We must all go to work," said the man with

I.- -

- K?
&4. ~ (

~ I
t %'-
V/ -
C*~-~ I
-V ~ ,,


"All this will take a good while, will it not?"
said the Prince.
"Yes," said the man, "it will take a good
while; and the sooner we set about it, the better."
Thereupon tools were distributed among the
party, and Prince, courtiers, boys, girls, and all
went to work to build houses and form the nucleus
of a city.
When the jailer looked into his cells in the
morning, and found that all but one of his prison-
ers had escaped, he was utterly astounded, and his
face, when the Jolly-cum-pop saw him, made that
individual roar with laughter. The jailer, however,
was a man accustomed to deal with emergencies.
"You need not laugh," he said, everything shall
go on as before, and I shall take no notice of the
absence of your companions. You are now num-
bers One to Seventeen inclusive, and you stand
charged with highway robbery, forgery, treason,
smuggling, barn-burning, bribery, poaching, usu-
ry, piracy, witchcraft, assault and battery, using









false weights and measures, burglary, counterfeit-
ing, robbing hen-roosts, conspiracy, and poisoning
your grandmother by proxy. I intended to-day to
dress the convicts in prison garb, and you shall
immediately be so clothed."
"I shall require seventeen suits," said the Jolly-
"Yes," said the jailer, "they shall be fur-
"And seventeen rations a day," said the Jolly-
"Certainly," replied the jailer.
"This is luxury," roared' the Jolly-cum-pop.
"I shall spend my whole time in eating and putting
on clean clothes."
Seventeen large prison suits were now brought
to the Jolly-cum-pop. He put one on and hung
up the' rest in his cell. These suits were half
bright yellow and half bright green, with spots of
bright red, as big as saucers.
The jailer now had doors cut from one cell to
another. "If the Potentate comes here and wants
to look at the prisoners," he said to the Jolly-cum-
pop, "you must appear in cell number One, so
that he can look through the hole in the door, and
see you; then, as he walks along the corridor,
you must walk through the cells, and whenever he
looks into a cell, you must be there."
He will think," merrily replied the Jolly-cum-
pop, "that all your prisoners are very fat, and
that the little girls have grown up into big men."
I will endeavor to explain that," said the jailer.
For several days the Jolly-cum-pop was highly
amused at the idea of his being seventeen crimi-
nals, and he would sit first in one cell and then in
another, trying to look like a ferocious pirate, a
hard-hearted usurer, or a mean-spirited chicken
thief, and laughing heartily at his failures. But,
after a time, he began to tire of this, and to have
a strong.desire to see what sort of a tunnel the
Prince's miners and rock-splitters were making
under his house. "I had hoped," he said to him-
self, "that I should pine away in confinement, and
so be able to get through the window-bars; but
with nothing to do, and seventeen rations a day, I
see no hope of that. But I must get out of this
jail, and, as there seems no other way, I will re-
volt." Thereupon he shouted to the jailer through
the hole in the door of his cell: "We have re-
volted We have risen in a body, and have deter-
mined to resist your authority, and break jail "
When the jailer heard this, he was greatly
troubled. Do not proceed to violence," he said;
"let us parley."
"Very well," replied the Jolly-cum-pop, "but
you must open the cell door. We can not parley
through a hole."

The jailer thereupon opened the cell door, and
the Jolly-cum-pop, having wrapped sixteen suits
of clothes around his left arm as a shield,, and
holding in his right hand the iron bar which had
been cut from his window, stepped boldly into the
corridor, and confronted the jailer and his myr-
It will be useless for you to resist," he said.
"You are but four, and we are seventeen. If you
had been wise you would have. made us all cheat-
ing shop-keepers, chicken thieves, or usurers. Then
you might have been able to control us; but when
you see before you a desperate highwayman, a
daring smuggler, a blood-thirsty pirate, a wily
poacher, a powerful ruffian, a reckless burglar, a
bold conspirator, and a murderer by proxy, you
well may tremble."
The jailer and his myrmidons looked at each
other in dismay.
"We sigh for no blood," continued the Jolly-
cum-pop, "and will readily agree :.-! i'.. We
will give you your choice: Will you allow us to
honorably surrender, and peacefully disperse to
our homes, or shall we rush upon you in'a body,
and, after overpowering you by numbers, set fire
to the jail, and escape through the crackling tim-
bers of the burning pile ?"
The jailer reflected for a minute. It would be
better, perhaps," he said, "that you should sur-
render and disperse to your homes."
The Jolly-cum-pop agreed to these terms, and
the great gate being opened, he marched out in
good order. "Now," said he to himself, "the
thing for me to do is to get home as fast as I can,
or that jailer may change his mind." But, being
in a great hurry, he turned the wrong way, and
walked rapidly into a country unknown to him.
His walk was a very merry one. By this time,"
he said to himself, "the Prince and his followers
have returned to my house, and are tired of watch-
ing the rock-splitters and miners. How amused
they will be when they see me return in this gay
suit of green and yellow, with red spots, and with
sixteen similar suits upon my arm How my own
dogs will bark at me And how my own servants
wont know me! It is the funniest thing I ever
knew of!" And his gay laugh echoed far and
wide. But when he had gone several miles with-
out seeing any signs of his habitation, his gayety
abated. "It would have been much better," he
said, as he sat down to rest under the shade of a
tree, "if I had brought with me sixteen rations
instead of these sixteen suits of clothes." As he
said this, he heard six small laughs, which seemed
to be near him, and, looking around, he perceived
in a little pathway, which passed under the trees;
six pigwidgeons, each carrying five little earthen


pots, one on the head, one under each arm, and
one in each hand. As he looked at them, the
pots on the heads of the pigwidgeons were so
shaken by the laughter of the little creatures, that
every one of them fell to the ground, and was
broken to pieces.
"Nn'', then cried one of the piv'-idteon-,

asil; i i- '- i- .uL'. 'tL ,. l '
a : "' l h 1t "i i :, i ,:-": _- i t.-l ,*.l !",-r i l:, '*! t i '*itn '.-
x ti]k i... _, l:. i- t t -I .t!: ,... l l. p lrutl -!,

ar k -:,j ta I, :,! ,: [[ I -.:.

" e .l'. II '. :, _' :,l \.:l ,I : l' f 'r. lsr-i
fs ',rl ,1 : .d : p :. .1 t .,i:i -l-[ -1 urr -i .
w l'ri.: '.. I i-h ,.t d ,:,, 4 ",- r rl'-.ii 'r -t ..-

Ii i' pt_ .. .,
ter: r: t .i :. l .... '
: : .l -. :J- ", : --.

ck P. n .. r I: to ).,

s~sr t ri. ,I. ).r 4.''*.^c.^*-t" 'r

I will repay you with two pounds of the best butter.
This will save you the trouble of keeping it through
the summer, and you will profit by the bargain."
The pigwidgeons agreed to this plan, and con-
ducted the Jolly-cum-pop to the
spring, where he found the
piece of nice frPsh butter.

"i A ';I'
i,3 l .;,i ',.rt ,'.i
!. wiI t '+ 's ,,
i-F: :"-

l/ L-


- "";i'--

I --

-- ,- t i

1':, !

"-:, l,'

- ~ f-'V -
- -i 4 4. *~;-'r- -


weather came on. And now, alas--" -* --
S --- -- _.
here," sai e e ed the Jol- .
pigwidgeon, -- -
"and wrapped" "..
in large green .-
leaves, but we /
wished to pot it down before the very hot
weather came on. And now, alas--"
"Do not repine," interrupted the Jol-
ly-cum-pop. "I will make you a prop- "THE JOLLY-CUM-POP MARCHED OUT IN GOOD ORDER."
position. I am very hungry, and must
have something to eat. Give me your butter, would eat bread without butter, and I suppose the
and if you will come to my house in the autumn, rule will work both ways." And, thereupon, he ate'




the butter. It is not a rule," he said, when he
had finished, "that I would care about following
very often, but there is a great deal of nutriment
in butter, and I will not complain."
"Where is your house ? asked a pigwidgeon.
"That is what I am trying to find out," he
answered. "But of one thing I am certain; it is
not a day's journey from the prison where you
sawed out the window-bars. Inquire for the Jolly-
cum-pop and all will be right."
"Very well," said the pigwidgeons, "we shall
find you." And they departed, each carrying four
little butter-pots.
The Jolly-cum-pop now set out again, but he
walked a long distance without seeing any person
or any house. Toward the close of the afternoon
he stopped, and, looking back, he saw coming to-
ward him a large party of foot travelers. In a few
moments, he perceived that the person in advance
was the jailer. At this the Jolly-cum-pop could
not restrain his merriment. "How comically it
has all turned out he exclaimed. Here I 've
taken all this trouble, and tired myself out, and
eaten butter without bread, and the jailer comes
now, with a crowd of people, and takes me back. I
might as well have staid where I was. Ha! ha! "
The jailer now left his party and came running
toward the Jolly-cum-pop. I pray you, sir," he
said, bowing very low, do not cast us off."
"Who are you all?" asked the Jolly-cum-pop,
looking with much surprise at the jailer's compan-
ions, who were now quite near.
We are myself, my three myrmidons, and
our wives and children. Our situations were such
good ones that we married long ago, and our
families lived in the upper stories of the prison:
But when all the convicts had left we were afraid
to remain, for, should the Potentate again visit
the prison, he would be disappointed and enraged
at finding no prisoners, and would, probably,
punish us grievously. So we determined to follow
you, and to ask you to let us go with you, where-
ever you are going. I wrote a report, which I
fastened to the great gate, and in it I stated that
sixteen of the convicts escaped by the aid of out-
side confederates, and that seventeen of them
mutinied in a body and broke jail."
"That report," laughed the Jolly-cum-pop,
"your Potentate will not readily understand."
If I were there," said the jailer, "I could ex-
plain it to him; but, as it is, he must work it out
for himself."
Have you anything to eat with you ? asked
the Jolly-cum-pop.
"Oh, yes," said the jailer, "we brought pro-
visions. "
"Well, then, I gladly take you under my pro-

tection. Let us have supper. I have had nothing
to eat since morning but thirty forty-seconds of a
pound of butter."
The Jolly-cum-pop.and his companions slept
that night under some trees, and started off early
the next morning. "If I could only get myself
turned in the proper direction," said he, "I be-
lieve we should soon reach my house."
The Prince, his courtiers, the boys and girls, the
course-marker, and the map-maker worked indus-
triously for several days at the foundation of their
city. They dug the ground, they carried stones,
they cut down trees. This work was very hard for
all of them, for they were not used to it. After a
few days' labor, the Prince said to the man with the
red beard, who was reading his book: "I think
we have now formed a nucleus. Any one can see
that this is intended to be a city."
"No," said the man, shading his thoughtful
brow with a green umbrella, "nothing is truly a
nucleus until something is gathered around it.
Proceed with your work, while I continue my
studies upon civil government."
Toward the close of that day the red-bearded
man raised his eyes from his book and beheld the
Jolly-cum-pop and his party approaching. Hur-
rah!" he cried, "we are already attracting set-
tlers And he went forth to meet them.
When the Prince and the courtiers saw the Jolly-
cum-pop in his bright and variegated dress, they
did not know him; but the boys and girls soon
recognized his jovial face, and, tired as they were,
they set up a hearty laugh, in which they were
loudly joined by their merry friend. While the
Jolly-cum-pop was listening to the adventures of
the Prince and his companions, and telling what
had happened to himself, the man with the
thoughtful brow was talking to the jailer and his
party, and urging them to gather around the
nucleus which had been here formed, and help
to build a city.
"Nothing will suit us better," exclaimed the
jailer, and the sooner we build a town wall so as
to keep off the Potentate, if he should come this
way, the better shall we be satisfied."
The next morning, the Prince said to the red-
bearded .man : Others have gathered around us.
We have formed a nucleus, and thus have done all
that we promised to do. We shall now depart."
The man objected strongly to this, but the
Prince paid no attention to his words. "What
troubles me most," he said to the Jolly-cum-pop,
is the disgraceful condition of our clothes. They
have been so torn and soiled during our unaccus-
tomed work that they are not fit to be seen."
"As for that," said the Jolly-cum-pop, I have
sixteen suits with me, in which you can all dress,


if you like. They are of unusual patterns, but they
are new and clean."
"It is better," said the Prince, "for persons in
my station to appear inordinately gay than to be
seen in rags and dirt. We will accept your clothes."
Thereupon, the Prince and each of the others
put on a prison dress of bright green and yellow,
with large red spots. There were some garments
left over, for each boy wore only a pair of trousers
with the waistband tied around his neck, and
holes .cut for his arms; while the large jackets,
with the sleeves tucked, made very good dresses
for the girls. The .Prince and his party, accom-
panied by the. Jolly-cum-pop, now left the red-
bearded man and his new settlers to continue the
building of the city, and set off anew on. their jour-
ney. The course-marker had not been informed
the night before that they were to go away that
morning, and consequently did not set his instru-
ment by the stars.
"As we do not know in which way we should
go," said the Prince, one way will be as good as
another, and if we can find a road let us take it;
it will be easier walking."
In an hour or two they found a road and they
took it. After journeying the greater part of the
day, they reached the top of a low hill, over which
the road ran, and saw before them a glittering sea
and the spires and houses of a city.
"It is the city of Yan," said the course-marker.
"That is true," said the Prince; "and as we
are so near, we may as well go there."
The astonishment of the people of Yan, when
this party, dressed in bright green and yellow,
with red spots, passed through their streets, was
so great that the Jolly-cum-pop roared with laugh-
ter. This set the boys and girls and all the peo-
ple laughing, and the sounds of merriment became

so uproarious that when they reached the palace
the King came out to see what was the matter.
What he thought when he saw his nephew in
his fantastic guise, accompanied by what seemed
to be sixteen other lunatics, can not now be known;
but, after hearing the Prince's story, he took him
into an inner apartment, and thus addressed him:
" My dear Hassak: The next time you pay me a
visit, I beg that, for your sake and my own, you
will come in the ordinary way. You have suffi-
ciently shown to the world that, when a Prince
desires to travel, it is often necessary for him to
go out of his way on account of obstacles."
My dear uncle," replied Hassak, your words
shall not be forgotten."
After a pleasant-visit of a few weeks, the Prince
and his party (in new clothes) returned (by sea) to
Itoby, whence the Jolly-cum-pop soon repaired to
his home. There he found the miners and rock-
splitters still at work at the tunnel, which had now
penetrated half-way through the hill on which
stood his house. "You may go home," he said,
"for the Prince has changed his plans. I will put
a door to this tunnel, and it will make a splendid
cellar in which to keep my wine and provisions."
When the.pigwidgeons came to see him in the
autumn, he took from this cellar two pounds of
butter and a large comb of honey, and gave it to
them, at which they were greatly .delighted, al-
though they had to make several journeys .to
carry it home.
The day after the. Prince's return his map-maker
said to him: Your Highness, according to your
commands I made, each day, a map of your pro-
gress to the city of Yan. Here it is."
The Prince glanced at it and then he cast his
eyes upon the floor. "Leave me," he said. "I
would be alone."



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I 5


_) I IDDING good-bye to my family, I
started one fine morning on a
journey in a horse-railway car.
People begin journeys nowadays
with little preparation and on
slight resources, and think no
more of travel across a great city
and into the suburbs than they
formerly did of a tour around the
To a person not much accus-
S tomed to travel, there is a mild
excitement in getting on board of
a street-car; it is in the nature of
an adventure. The roar of the
wheels in the iron track, the cheer-
ful jingling of the bells, the effort to attract the
attention of the driver, who, with one hand on the
brake and the other controlling his fiery steeds, is
always looking for a belated and.hurrying passen-
ger up the wrong street; the scant courtesy of the
conductor, who watches, with his hand on the bell-
pull, the placing of your foot on the step in order
to give you the little shock necessary to settle your
ideas this mere getting on board has its pleasing
anxieties and surprises. And then there is always
the curiosity as to your fellow-passengers, and the
advantage in studying character in a vehicle where
people usually think it unnecessary to conceal their
real natures. I have noticed that the first-comers
in a car seem to think they have a sort of property
in it, and they resent with a stare of surprise the
entrance of the last-comer as if his right to a seat
depended upon their courtesy. In no other con-
veyance, I think, does one so perfectly realize how
queer people are. Nowhere else, perhaps, is ugli-
ness and oddity and eccentricity in -iress such an
offense. And then the passengers, ugly as they

may be, are so indifferent to your opinion. It is
something amazing, the conceit of ugly people.
The car which I entered was nearly full-no car
is ever full. It was one of the short cars called
by the light-minded "bob-tailed," having one
horse and no conductor-one of the contrivances
that presumes upon the honesty of everybody
except the driver. The car was dirty; but as this
is the only dirty line in the United States it would
be ill-natured to mention its' name and city; be-
sides, it is unnecessary to do so,- as no doubt most
of my readers have been on it. I was interested
in studying the legends in English and German
posted above the windows. They related, mostly,
to diseases and the benefit of soap applied. There
were also directions about negotiating with the
driver for change, and one, many times repeated,
and written over the fare-box by the door, requested
the passenger to "put the exact fare in the box."
This legend always annoys me by its narrowness
and petty dictation. Often I do not feel like being
bound by this iron rule; sometimes I would like
to put in more, sometimes less, than the exact five
cents. But no allowance is made.for different
moods and varying financial conditions. I often
wonder if this rule is founded on real justice in the
bosom of the company, and whether it would be
as anxious to seek out the traveler who should' by
chance overpay and restore the excess, as it is to
follow him when he puts in too little. If this is
not the meaning of "exact," then the company is
more anxious to make money than to do justice.
I do not suppose this is so, but there is one sus-
picious thing about a horse-car. The floor is some-
times a grating, and straw is spread on this, so
that if the passenger, who is often nervous and
obliged to pass his fare from hand to hand to the
box, lets it drop in the straw, he never can find it.


8883.] FARE IN A STREET-CAR. 153

This plan of a double floor is adopted in the
United States Mint, and the sweepings of the
gold amount to a considerable sum. I wonder if
the sweepings of the horse-cars go to the driver,
or if the company
collect them in
order to put them
in the nearest
The car in
which I had tak-
en passage did
not differ from
others in any of
the above re-
spects. The pas- -i- \
sengers seemed
to have self-se-
lected themselves
with the usual re-
gard to variety ,
and the difficulty / \ \
of fitting them-
selves and their
baskets and packages into the seats -so many peo-
ple start to travel in the horse-car as if they expected
to have all the room to themselves, and a good many
do have it, in point of fact. But I had not been
seated long, letting the directions about the fare
run around in my brain with their dreadful and
idiotic iteration (I wonder how long a person
could keep sane if he were shut up in a horse-car,
compelled to read these legends; for he always is
compelled to read them, however well he knows
them),-I had not been seated long when I noticed
a new legend posted over the fare-box. It read:
And then I saw, standing by the box, an official
whom I had never seen in a car before. I knew he
was an official, not from any badge he wore, but
from his unmistakable official air. He was a slender,
polite young fellow, with cool gray eyes, a resolute
nose, and a mouth that denoted firmness, tem-
pered by an engaging smile. I should think that a
locomotive engineer who was a member of the
Young Men's Christian Association might look as
he did.
I wondered what the young man was stationed
there for; but his office became apparent when
the first passenger stepped forward to deposit his
exact fare in the box; he was to enforce the new
regulation-"No fare taken that has not been
earned." It struck me as an odd stand for a
company to take; but I have for some time been
convinced that these great corporations, which are
called monopolies, are moral and benevolent asso-

ciations in disguise, seeking to elevate the condition
of their fellow-men, and studying devices for the
public good that will keep down dividends. I
got this idea from the recent examinations of the
railway and telegraph magnates by the Senate
The first person who went forward to deposit
her fare was a bright-faced school-girl. She evi-
dently had not read the new legend,- since, in our
day, school-children are taught not to observe
anything outside of their text-books,-and she was
surprised when the attendant at the box arrested
her hand and asked:
Did you earn that five cents? "
The girl started, but quickly recovered her pres-
ence of mind, and replied :
"Yes, sir; I earned it by going without butter,
to get money to send to the poor heathen."
The official looked surprised, but asked kindly:
Why don't you give it to the heathen, then,
instead of spending it to ride about the city? "
Oh," said the little girl, with that logical readi-
ness which distinguishes the American woman at
the tenderest age,-" oh, I did n't eat so much
more butter than Mother expected that I earned
more than enough for the heathen, and I have
some for myself."


This really ingenious reply puzzled the young
man for a moment; but he shook his head, and
said that this way of making profit out of self-
sacrifice under the guise of benevolence would


have a bad effect on the character in the long
run. She was no doubt a nice girl, but she
would have to walk the rest of the way, for the
company could not think, of taking money that
might, at the final day, be claimed by the heathen.
She got out, with a little ruffled manner, and I
watched her make her way straight to a candy-
The next person who stepped up to the box was
one of the most pleasing men we meet in mod-
ern society, neatly dressed, with a frank, open,
unabashed face, a hearty manner, and an insin-
uating smile. With a confident air, born of long
impunity in a patient community, without con-
descending to look at the box-keeper, he put out
his hand toward the box.
"Excuse me," said the keeper, "how did you
earn it?"
"Earn it?" repeated the man, in imperturb-
able good humor. "As everybody earns money
nowadays-by talking. By persuading people to
look out for their own interests; by showing the
uncertainty of life, the probability of accidents,
and the necessity of providing for the family. Are
you insured?"
"Yes; I believe in insurance. It is the prac-
tical benevolent institution of the century. It
counteracts the natural improvidence of human
nature. Yours is a noble profession. Insurance
is a little dear, however. Now, there 's your dia-
mond pin. It is ornamental, but to me it repre-
sents too high a percentage on the insured. I 've
got a big insurance, but I suppose you make more
in one year than my family will get at my death
on the savings of a life-time. I don't doubt you
talk enough to earn your money, but I 'm obliged
to consider the time of other people you consume,
in talking, as an offset, and your account with the
world is already overdrawn. I shall save some-
body's time to-day if I compel you to walk the
remainder of your journey."
This was most surprising talk from a horse-car
official, and I saw that the passengers began to
look uneasy at it.
The next one who got up was, I saw by his
dress and manner, an easy-going farmer. The
official, who appeared to know all about every-
body at a glance,' and to have the power of com-
pelling the exact truth from everybody, at once
said :
"Oh you have a farm in the suburbs. Do you
work at it yourself?"
"Well, I sorter look after things, and pay the
"How-much time do you spend at the store
and the post-office, talking?"
Oh! I have to be around to keep watch of the

markets and see what 's going on. Shee aint no
hand to do business."
"Who makes the butter and cheese ?"
"She does that."
Who cooks for the hired men?"
"Of course, she cooks."
"And does the washing, I suppose, and the
house-work generally, and sews in the evening,
and looks after the children. Don't you think -she
earns most of the money?"
I never looked at it in that light. It's my farm.
She never complains."
I dare say not. But you go home, and let her
come and ride in the horse-car for a change."
As the farmer got out, looking a little sheepish,
a smartly dressed young fellow stepped forward

and offered his fare. He was stopped by the sharp
"Where did you get that five cents ?"
Got it of the gov'ner."
And the governor is "
"He 's a carpenter."
"And a good one, I hear."
You bet. It 's a cold'day when he gets left
on a job."
"And you are in school, I see. Are you in the
high school?"
"No; I did n't pass."
"I thought so. You have n't time for study.



I 've seen you around the streets at night with
other young hoodlums. Do you work with your
father, out of school?"
"Not much.
See here, old.
fellow, you
know how it
is; a fellow's
got to play
lawn tennis,
and see all
the base-ball
matches, and .
and the min- .
other fellows,
else he aint
You are
right, myboy.
You are a
product of
yourage. But
in future you
'11 have to y
walk to these
shows, so far
as this com-
pany is concerned." The fellow got down. As he
stepped on the sidewalk he gave a long, shrill
whistle, and was at once joined by another fellow
of like nature,
and the two
loafed along up
the street, star-
ing in at the
shop windows,

the girls they
The passen-
gers by this time
seemed a lit-
tle reluctant to
... come forward,
but the driv-
er's bell jingled
sharply, and a
rather pretty
young woman,
//i \\with a care-worn
face, timidly of-
fered her. mon-
ey. There was a
look of compassion on the official's face that I had
not seen before as he asked her occupation.

"I make shirts, sir," she said, in a low voice,
"for six cents apiece."
"Poor thing said the official. You 've over-
earned your money; but somehow the rule of the
company does n't seem to apply to you. If I had
my way, you should ride all day for nothing. It's
a great shame. I've half a mind-it's monstrous
that half your daily earnings should go for car-
fare. Ah those ear-rings must have cost you at
least twenty-five cents each. And yet, it's a nat-
ural vanity. A woman must have something to
sweeten life. No, I can not take your fare; but
you sit still. I 'II refer your case to the company."
A gentleman whom I had been noticing for
some time, and who regarded these proceedings
with an amused air, now took his turn. He was
past middle
life, had a
self- content-
ed, well-fed
and seemed,
as he stepped
forward, in
no doubt of
his position
or of the re- 0
ceipt of his
fare. But he.
was stopped,
all the same.
How did
you get your
money? "
"I inher-
ited it."
"And you
have never,
in all your
life, perform-
ed a single \
hour'srealla- ,
bor by which '
you added to
the productiveness of the world, or earned a cent ?
You need not answer. I know you have n't. You
are a fortunate man. You will be fortunate until
you are compelled to account for your time and
opportunity. Most men would like to change
places with you, and I confess that I should. I
respect you. Still, you must see for yourself that
this particular car is no place for you."
While this conversation was going on, a young
man who had been standing, holding on to a
strap, with a nonchalant air, looked around to see
if the exit was clear. I did not wonder at ,his



standing, for his panta-
loons were so tight that
he could not sit down.

His waist was drawn in,
his fashionable coat was
padded, to give him
square shoulders, his
high collar kept his
nose in the air, his hair
was banged, and he
wore a high, shiny hat
and carried a short
cane. He belonged to '
a species that has been
very conspicuous lately.
He slipped through the
door and disappeared as the bell rang to let out the in-
heritor. It was the only sensible thing that ever I knew
one of his class do; and his action proved to me that any
one of his tribe, as one of his friends said of the late Eng-
lish male Lily, is not such a fool as he pretends to be.
With him also slipped out three or four others -a well-
known broker, an operator in flour and pork, an agent for
the Society for the Amelioration of the Condition of the
Jews, and a seedy-looking man whose breath gave a spir-
itual tone to the car, and whom I had never seen active
at any other time than in an election campaign.

The car was pretty well thinned out by this time. The
bell rang sharply for the delinquents. A thick-set man,
who might have been taken for a philosopher, if the
manner in which he sat, with his knees drawn together
and his feet spread apart, had not betrayed his occupa-
tion as a shoemaker, arose and approached the official.
The latter merely looked at him with a quizzical expres-
sion, and then lifted up one foot and turned up the sole
of his boot. The leather was spongy and worn into
holes, and the tops were cracked in three places.
This is your work," said the official. "I have to.
wear these, because the new ones you promised week
before last have not come home."
The shoemaker went out without a word, and another
mechanic stepped up. Everybody knows him, in his
working garb, with his well-to-do air and his agreeable
manner. The whole of our modern civilization rests on
him. His name is oftener in our mouths than mala-
ria." Some experts think that he is the cause of malaria,
while others hold that malaria originated him.
"Where are you going?" asked
the official, blandly.
"Back to the shop. I 've got a
Sjob on the hill."
"And I dare say you are going
back to get a tool you forgot in the
'I Yes."
S'' I "And you'll charge for the time
going for the forgotten tool, and
your fare back and forth. Your in-
nocent forgetfulness is costing the
B4W;- P \ gin ---------------------- a

-- -




is83]. FARE IN A STREET-CAR. 157

community too much. This company can not be
longer a party to it."
There was now left in the car only the seam-
stress, who was riding on sufferance, a woman with
a big basket,
apparently con- -
taining some-
body's "wash-
ing," and my-
self. I was. / -
curious to see
how the official '
would treat the --
It is not always
convenient to
ride with a lot
of clothes-bas-
kets and mar-
ket-baskets (I
forgot to men-
tion that a
gaudily dressed
woman with a
descended at
the time the
"dude es-
caped), but if
any one earns \\
her money, I
said to myself,
it must be this
poor washerwoman. The official seemed to be of
my opinion. He was about to receive the fare
when a thought struck him. He lifted the cloth
that covered the clothes and exposed them to view.
The sight was too painfully familiar. The dirt had
been soaked and ironed into the linen. The shirt-
bosoms were streaked with iron-rust. The tender-
hearted official sighed, and the poor woman took
up her basket and went her painful way. Alas !
where are we to look for virtue in this world?
It was now my turn. I was disposed to depart
without any parley, but the official, who knew

how long I had been riding, cried out, "Fare,
please." I offered the five cents to the box.
"You are something in the pen line, I think?"
"Nothing very remunerative," I replied, with
assumed indifference. "I do not write deluding
for the news-
"True; but
there is a pop-
ular notion that
your copyright
is a hinderance
to the diffusion
of knowledge.
I don't share
.this notion as
toanythingyou 1
write, so we will
let that point
pass. Is there
any other way
in which you
can account for /
this five-cent \
piece as fairly
earned ?"
"Well," I
said, "I think M//'
I have earned
it by refraining
from riding in the horse-cars. I usually walk."
"Your reason is ingenious: it is even plaus-
ible," he replied. I even think you are right in
principle. But in the interest of the company I
can not admit it. What would become of the horse-
cars, if people should find the use of their legs
again and walk as they did before horse-cars were
invented? No, sir; you stand in the way of civili-
zation. Saving is not earning in these days."
As the car jolted on its way,- it is torture to
ride over our roughly laid track,-I stopped for a
moment and reflected upon the whimsical conduct
of this car company. If its test were generally
applied, what would become of our civilization ?

K>: \/

^ /


THE little angels, maiden dear, I trow
Are just as dainty and as fair as thou;
Only, to us it is not ever given
To see them when they fly to earth from heaven.
But if thou dost not yet, dear maiden, know
Where little angels love to dwell below,
When they come down to earth from heaven's bowers,
I'll tell thee where they live-'t is in the flowers.
A tiny tent each opening blossom is,
Some little angel chose it out for his,
That he might rest there from his wanderings
Ere heavenward again he spreads his wings.
He takes much-thought about his dwelling, too-
Ay, just as.much as lowly mortals do.
He decks it out on every side with care,
That so he may with pleasure linger there.
He fetches sunbeams brightly glittering,
And makes his roof a golden covering.
He fetches radiant colors, one and all,
And paints his tiny dwelling's inner wall.
With blossom-meal he bakes celestial bread,
Lest he on earth should be an hungered.
He brews his drink from fresh and sparkling dew,
And keeps his house as well as I or you.

g!, ]


1883.] THE FLOWER-ANGEL. 159

The flower is happy when this master makes
So great a stir within and brews and bakes.
And when the angel flies to heaven again,
The little house falls ruined, all for.pain.
And so, if thou art fain, O maiden dear,
To have the little angels ever near,
Then keep amid the flowers, and there will be
Some little angel always guarding thee.
Before thy window let a floweret bloom--
No evil thought may pass into thy room,;
A knot of flowers upon thy. bosom bear-
An angel'shall go with thee everywhere;
Water a lily-spray at morning-light-
All day thou shalt remain as lily-white;
At night, let roses guard thy sleeping head--
Angels shall rock thee on a rose-strewn bed.
No dream of evil may brood over thee,
For little angels close will cover thee.
And when they suffer dreams to enter there,
Such dreams will surely all be good and fair.
And if,. while guarded safely thus. thou art,
Thou dreamest of the love of some true heart,
Then think that it must good and faithful .be,
Or angels had not let it in to thee.


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might well deem it lonely, as the:
it only the liveried equipage of
nate, the more unpretentious tur
doctor or parson, with here and ti
'farm wagon, or the farmer himself
wheeled "trap," on the wayto anei
How different it was half a ce
along this same highway fifty f
were "tooled" to and fro from E
olis to her chief sea-port town,
fares -often a noisy crowd of jovi
off a cruise and making Londonw
set for Portsmouth, once more to
and brave the dangers of the deep
officer of name and fame historic,
neys, Cochranes, Collingwoods,
-even Nile's hero himself,-h
along this old highway.
All that is over now, and loni
day the iron horse, with its rattl

-i-i % F i i :., ta1' .. I~ h Li' .'i *. i ti r iuutr. r _--rh,- screech of
Hi. !i: ti: I-.: r n iu '.irllibl-. t:o o'-, ,irers on the
r I L -E l -1i1 l: :I: in r n,':" r, .4 tii-- :i .:i avling pace.
-it. PPEN -r. 1, 11" i'. ~ ..:Cr mil:.r I.-: r.her.- i.: i r' :.ni l'. the splendid
c -, i ..'i. r .ii k .t in r r:p ii ,. r' r i- i.: irnns encount-
.:A' I-,,- ,-i rii n h.:,r (I-li"il i-i-;_Frc-: i it., ri :ir,' 1 'i them once
c-rn,_rr r ,:.! ._-i ,h l .-j.J h..-t,i:ci TV ,. ih.. :t,-' :r, "': not in re-
I-,.,. r, ur Ii-: rhi lil, ,l-i ut a, it. Their walls
.,':h ..- u: t 'irn r,:,rak-i Ltrd -rurii'iblri r.. t inn-, the am ple
:.1ri-'r., ti. I'..rt-- i:r.lri.-,',.j -ir.: r-.- ...n. in. ir- tl- : ti :i ibles em pty,

,ri n .ii :. :-' be :r i, i. r ..r t : r -...i:-I'r.:..-k here gaudily
.'.,,,. h ,,:- dr..:z-cd p..-r:li. ', i.. *r:".:< i :r.-qlr-Frrrd, with natty
r,:. -uI :,_ I- : '- i rI:.- i l.:i.- r-. '-- i-r,:,,:,:, L .-,1' t-I-r1ri g breeches,
ii',-t i ,_r t _-"c ,-,!"i .: r .i-!, ,,t ', td!l .:d th': !,'_,. t .
'-_Oti'. IUIn'. in- .Ai.oiui uothir. anIIcIIL ntidiaik uon this now
iveling this road little-used highway is one of dark and tragic
the present day import. Beyond the town of Petersfield, going
re will be met on southward, the road wihds up a long steep ridge
some local mag- of chalk formation-the "Southdowns," which
-n-out of country have given their name to the celebrated breed of
here a lumbering sheep. Near the summit is a crater-like depres-
in his smart two- sion, several hundred feet in depth, around whose
ghboringmarket. rim the causeway is carried--a dark and dismal
:ntury ago, when hole, so weird of aspect as to have earned for it
our-horse stages the appellation of the "Devil's Punch Bowl."
gland's metrop- Human agency has further contributed to the ap-
top-heavy with propriateness of the title. By the side of the road,
ial Jack-tars, just just where it turns around the upper edge of the
ard, or with faces hollow, is a monolithic monument, recording the
breast the billows tragic fate of a sailor who was there murdered
! Many a naval and his dead body flung into the Bowl." The
such as the Rod- inscription further states that justice overtook his
and Codringtons, murderers, who were hanged on the self-same spot,
as been whirled the scene of their crime.

g has been. To- It is a morning in the month of June, the hour a
ing train, carries little after day-break. A white fog is over the land

* Copyright, 1883, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

-.. S.E '




of South Hampshire -so white that it might be
taken for snow. The resemblance is increased by
the fact of its being but a layer,.so low that the
crests of the hills and tree-tops of copses .appear.
as islets in the ocean, with shores well defined,
though constantly shifting.. For,.in truth, it.is the
effect.of a mirage, a phenomenon, aught.but rare
in the region of.the'Southdowis.
The youth who is.wending his way up the slope
leading to the. Devil's Punch Bowl. takes no note
of this illusion of nature. But he is not unobserv-
ant of the fog itself; indeed, he seems pleased at
having it around him, as ri..... hl it afforded con-
cealment from pursuers. Some evidence of this
might be gathered from his now and then casting.
suspicious glances rearward and at intervals stop-
ping to listen. Neither seeing nor hearing anything,
however, he continues up the hill in a brisk walk,.
though apparently weary. That he is tired can be
told by his sitting down. on a bank by the road-
side, as soon as he reaches the summit, evidently
to rest himself. What he carries could not be the
.cause of his fatigue -only a small bundle done up in
a silk handkerchief. More .likely it comes from his
tramp along the hard road, the thick dust over his
clothes showing that he has been on it for hours.
Now, high up the ridge, where the fog is but
a thin film, the solitary wayfarer can be better.
observed, and a .glance at his. face forbids all
thought of his being a runaway from justice. Its
expression is open, frank, and manly; whatever of
fear there is in it certainly can not..be due.to any
consciousness of crime. It is a. handsome face,
moreover, framed in a profusion of blonde hair,
which falls curling past cheeks of ruddy hue. An
air, of rusticity in the cut of his clothes would
bespeak him country bred, probably the son of a
farmer. And just that. is he, his father being a
yeoman-farmer near Godalming, some thirty miles
back along the road. Why the youth is so far.from
home at this early hour, and afoot,-why those un-
easy glances over the shoulder,, as if he were an
escaping convict,-may be gathered from some
words of soliloquy half spoken aloud by him, while
resting on the banks :
I hope they wont miss me before breakfast-
time. By then I ought to be in Portsmouth, and
if I 've the luck to get apprenticed on board a
ship, I '11 take precious good care not to show my-
self on shore till she 's off. But, surely, Father
wont think of following this way-not a bit of it..
The old wagoner will tell him what I said about
going to London, and that:'11 throw him off the
scent completely."
The smile that accompanied the last words is
replaced by a graver look, with a touch of sadness
in the tone of his voice as he continues:

"Poor, dear Mother, and Sis Em'ly! It'll go
hard with them for a bit, grieving. But they 'II
soon get over it. 'T is n't like I was leaving them
never to come back. Besides, wont I write Mother
a letter soon as I 'i sure of ... ,-. safe off? "
A short interval of silent reflection, and then
follow words of a self-justifying nature:
"How could I help it? Father would insist on
my being a farmer, though he knows how I hate
it. One clod-hopper in the family's quite enough;
and brother Dick. 's the man for that. As the
song says,' Let me go ploughing the sea.' Yes,
though:I should never rise above being a com-
mon sailor. Who 's happier than the jolly Jack-
tar? He sees the world, anyway, which is better.
than to live all one's life, with head down, delving
ditches. But a common sailor-no! .Maybe I'll
come home, in three or four years, with gold but-
tons on my jacket and a glittering band around the
rim of my cap. Ay, and with pockets full of
gold coin Who knows? Then wont Mother be
proud of me, and little Em, too.? "
By this time, the uprisen sun has dispelled the last
lingering threads of mist, and Henry Chester (such-
is the. youth's name) perceives, for the first time,
that he has been sitting beside a tall column of
stone. As the memorial tablet is right, before his
eyes, and he reads the inscription on _it, again
comes a shadow over his countenance: May: not
the fate of that unfortunate sailor be a forecast
of his own? Why should it be. revealed to. him
just then ? Is it a warning of what is before him,
with reproach for his treachery to those left behind?
Probably, at that very moment, an angry father,
a mother and sister in tears, all on his account;!
For a time he stands hesitating, in his mind
a conflict of emotions-a struggle between, filial
affection and selfish desire. Thus wavering, a
word. would decide him to turh back for Godalming
and home. But there is no one to speak that word,
while the next wave of thought surging upward
brings vividly before him the sea with all its won-
ders-a vision too bright, too fascinating, to be
resisted by a boy, especially one brought up on a
farm. So he no longer hesitates, but, picking up
his bundle, strides on toward Portsmouth.
A few hundred paces farther up, and he is on
the summit of the ridge, there to behold the
belt of low-lying Hampshire coastland, and beyond
it the sea itself, like a sheet of blue glass, spread-
ing out till met by the lighter blue of the sky. It
is his first look upon the ocean, but not the last;
it can surely now claim him for its own.
Soon after, an incident occurs to strengthen him
in the resolve he has taken. At the southern base
of the Downs," lying alongside the road, is the
park and mansion of Horndean. Passing its lodge


gate, he has the curiosity to ask who is the owner of
such a grand place, and gets for answer, "Admiral
Sir Charles Napier." *
Might not I some day be an admiral ? self-
interrogates Henry Chester, the thought sending
lightness to his heart and quickening his steps in
the direction of Portsmouth.



THE clocks of Portsmouth are striking nine as
the yeoman farmer's son enters the suburbs of
the famous sea-port. He lingers not there, but
presses on to where he may find the ships--"by
the Hard, Portsea," as he learns on inquiry.
Presently, a long street opens before him, at
whose farther end he descries a forest of masts,
with their net-work of spars and rigging, like the
web of a gigantic spider. Ship he has never seen
before, save in pictures or miniature models ; but
either were enough for their identification, and the
youth knows he is now looking with waking eyes at
what has so often appeared to him in dreams.
Hastening on, he sees scores of vessels lying at
anchor off the Hard, their boats coming and go-
ing. But they are men-of-war, he is told, and
not the sort for him. Notwithstanding his am-
bitious hope of one day becoming a naval hero, he
does not quite relish the idea of being a common
sailor at least, on a man-of-war. It were too
like enlisting in the army to serve as a private
soldier -a thing not to be thought of by the son
of a yeoman-farmer. Besides, he has heard of
harsh discipline on war vessels, and that the navy
tar, when in a foreign port, is permitted to see
little more of the country than may be viewed
over the rail or frotnh the rigging of his ship.
A merchantman is the craft he inclines to, at
least to make a .beginning with, especially one
that trades from port to port, visiting many lands;
for, in truth, his leaning toward a sea-life has
much to do with a desire to see the world and
its wonders. Above all, would a whaler be to his
fancy, as among the most interesting books of his
reading have been some that described the chase
of "Leviathan," and he longs to take a part in it.
But Portsmouth is not the place for whaling ves-
sels, not one such being there.
For the merchantmen he is directed to their
special harbor; and proceeding thither, he finds
several lying alongside the wharves, some taking
in cargo, some discharging it, with two or three

fully freighted and ready to set sail; These last
claim his attention first, and, screwing up courage,
he boards one, and asks if he may speak with her
The captain being pointed out to him, he mod-
estly and somewhat timidly makes known his
wishes. But he meets only with an off-hand denial,
couched in words of scant courtesy.
Disconcerted, though not at all discouraged, he
tries another ship; but with no better success.
Then another, and another, with like result, until
he has boarded nearly every vessel in the harbor
having a gang-plank out. Some of the skippers
receive him even rudely, and one almost brutally,
saying: "We don't want land-lubbers on this
craft. So cut ashore- quick !"
Henry Chester's hopes, high-tide at noon, ere
night are down to lowest ebb; and greatly humili-
ated, he almost wishes himself back on the old
farmstead by Godalming. He is even again con-
sidering whether it would not be better to give it
up and go back, when his eyes chance to stray to a
flag on whose corner is a cluster of stars on a blue
ground, with a field of red and white bands alter-
nating. It droops over the taffrail of a bark of
some six hundred tons burden, and below it on
her stern is lettered "The Calypso." During
his perambulations to and fro, he has more than
once passed this vessel; but, the ensign not being
English, he did not think of boarding her. Re-
fused by so many skippers of his own country,
what chance would there be for him with one of
a foreign vessel? None whatever, reasoned he.
But now, more intelligently reflecting, he bethinks
him that the bark, after all, is not so much a
foreigner, a passer-by having told him she is
American,-or "Yankee," as it was put,-and
the flag she displays is the famed Star-Spangled
Well," mutters the runaway to himself, I 'll
make one more try. If this one, too, refuses me,
things will be no worse; and then then -home,
I suppose."
Saying which, he walks resolutely up the sloping
plank and steps on board the bark, to repeat
there the question he has already asked that day
for the twentieth time-"Can I speak with the
captain? "
"I guess not," answers he to whom it is ad-
dressed, a slim youth who stands leaning against
the capstan. Leastways, not now, 'cause he 's not
on board. What might you be wantin', mister?
Maybe I can fix it for you."
Though the words are encouraging and the tone

The Sir Charles Napier known to history as the "hero of St. Jean d'Acre," but better known to sailors in the British navy as
"Old Sharpen Your Cutlasses!" This quaint soubriquet he obtained from an order issued by him when he commanded a fleet in the
Baltic, anticipating an engagement with the Russians.



kindly, Henry Chester has little hopes that he can,
the speaker being but a boy himself. Still, he
speaks in a tone of authority, and though in sailor
garb, it is not that of a common deck-hand. He
is in his shirt-sleeves, the day being warm, but the
shirt is of fine linen, ruffled at the breast, and gold-
studded, while a costly Panama hat shades his
somewhat sallow face from the sun. Besides, he
is on the quarter-deck, seeming at home there.
Noting these details, the applicant takes heart to
tell again his oft-told tale, and await the rejoinder.
"Well," responds the young American, "I'm
sorry I can't give you an answer about that, the
Cap'n, as I told you, not being aboard. He 's gone
ashore on some Custom-house business. But, if
you like, you can come again and see him."
I would like it much; when might I come?"
"Well, he might be back any minute. Still,
it's uncertain, and you'd better make it to-morrow
morning; you '11 be sure to find him on board up
till noon, anyhow."
Though country born and bred, Henry Chester
was too well-mannered to prolong the interview,
especially after receiving such courteous treatment,
the first shown him that day. So, bowing thanks,
as well as speaking them, he returns to the wharf.
But, still under the influence of gratitude, he
glances back over the bark's counter, to see on
her quarter-deck what intensifies his desire to be-
come one of her crew. A fair vision it is--aslip
of a girl, sweet-faced and of graceful form, who
has just come out of the cabin, and joined the
youth by the capstan, to all appearance asking
some question about Chester himself, as her eyes
are turned shoreward after him. At the same time,
a middle-aged, lady-like woman shows herself at
the head of the companion-stair and seems in-
terested in him also.
"The woman must be the captain's wife and
the girl his daughter," surmises the English youth,
and correctly. "But I never knew that ladies
lived on board ships, as they seem to be doing.
An American fashion, I suppose. How different
from all the other vessels I 've visited. Come back
to-morrow morning? No, not a bit of it! I '11
hang about here, and wait the captain's return.
That will I, if it be till midnight."
So resolving, he looks around for a place where
he may rest himself. After his thirty miles' trudge
along the king's highway, with quite ten more
back and forth on the wharves, to say naught of
the many ships boarded, he needs rett badly. A
pile of timber here, with some loose planks along-
side it, offers the thing he is in search of; and on
the latter he seats himself, leaning his back
against the boards in such a position as to be
screened.from the sight of those on the bark,

while himself having a view of the approaches to
her gang-plank.
For a time he keeps intently on the watch, won-
dering what sort of man the "Calypso's captain
may be, and whether he will recognize him amidst
the moving throng. Not likely, since most of those
passing by are men of the sea, as their garb beto-
kens. There are sailors in blue jackets and
trousers that are tight at the hip and loose around
the ankles, with straw-plaited or glazed hats, bright-
ribboned, and set far back on the head ; other sea-
men in heavy pilot-cloth coats and sou'-westers;
still others wearing Guernsey frocks and worsted
caps, with long points drooping down over their
ears. Now, a staid naval officer passes along in
gold-laced uniform, and sword slung in black
leather belt; now, a party of rollicking midship-
men, full of romp and mischief.
Not all who pass him are English; there are men
loosely robed, and wearing turbans, whom he takes
to be Turks, or Egyptians, which they are; others,
also of Oriental aspect, in red caps, with blue silk
tassels -the fez. In short, he sees sailors of all
nations and colors, from the blonde-complexioned
Swede and Norwegian to the almost jet-black
negro from Africa.
But while endeavoring to guess the different
nationalities, a group at length presents itself
which puzzles him. It is composed of three indi-
viduals-a man, boy, and girl; their respective
ages being about twenty-five, fifteen, and ten.
The oldest (the man) is not much above five feet
in height, the other two short in proportion. All
three, however, are stout-bodied, broad-shouldered,
and with heads of goodly size; the short, slender
legs 'alone giving them a squat, diminutive look.
Their complexion is that of old mahogany; hair
straight as needles, coarse as bristles, and crow-
black; eyes of jet, obliqued to the line of the nose,
this thin at the bridge, and depressed, while widely
dilated at the nostrils; low foreheads and retreat-
ing chins-such are the features of this singular
trio. The man's face is somewhat forbidding,
the boy's less so, while the countenance of the
girl has a pleasing expression, or at least a pict-
uresqueness such as is commonly associated with
gypsies. What chiefly attracts Henry Chester to
them, however, while still further perplexing him
as to their nationality, is that all three are
attired in the ordinary way as other well-dressed
people in the streets of Portsmouth. The man
and boy wear broadcloth coats, tall "chimney-
pot" hats, and polished boots; white linen shirts,
too, with standing collars, and silk neck-ties;
the boy somewhat foppishly twirling a light cane
he carries in his kid-gloved hand. The girl is
dressed neatly and becomingly in a gown of


cotton print, with a bright-colored scarf over her
shoulders, and a bonnet on her head, her only
adornment being a necklace of imitation pearls
and a ring or two on her fingers.
Henry Chester might not have taken such par-
ticular notice of them but that, when opposite
him, they came to a stand, though not on his
account. What halts them is the sight of the
starred and striped flag on the Calypso," which
is evidently nothing new to them, however rare a
visitor in the harbor of Portsmouth. A circum-
stance that further surprises Henry is to hear them
converse about it in his own tongue.
"Look, Ocushlu exclaims the man, address-
ing the girl. "That the same flag we often see
in our own country on real fisher ship."
"Indeed so-just same. You see, Orundelico ?"
Oh, yes," responds the boy, with a careless
toss of head and wave of the cane, as much as to
say, What matters it ?"
"'Merican ship," further observes the man.
They speak Inglis, same as people here."
"Yes, Eleparu," rejoins the boy. "That true;
but they different from Inglismen-not always
friends; sometimes they enemies and fight. Sailors
tell me that when we were in the big war-ship."
"Well, it no business of ours," returns Ele-
paru. "Come 'long Saying which, he leads
off, the. others following; all three at intervals
uttering ejaculations of delighted wonder, as ob-
jects novel and unknown come before their eyes.
Equally wonders the English youth as to who
and what they may be. Such queer specimens of
humanity But not long does he ponder upon it.
Up all the night preceding and through all that
day, with his mind constantly on the rack, his-tired
frame at length succumbs, and he falls asleep.



THE Hampshire youth sleeps soundly, dreaming
of a ship manned by women, with a pretty, child-
like girl among the crew. But he seems scarcely
to have closed his eyes before he is awakened by a
clamor of voices, scolding and laughing in jarring
contrast. Rubbing his eyes and looking about
him, he sees the cause of the strange disturbance,
which proceeds from some ragged boys, of the class
commonly termed "wharf rats" or mud-larks."
Nearly a dozen- are gathered" .-_thci, and it is
they who laugh; the angry voices come from
others, around whom they have formed a ring
and'whom they are "badgering."
Springing upon his feet,-he hurries toward the
scene of contention, or whatever it may be; not

from curiosity, but impelled by a more generous
motive-a suspicion that there is foul play going
on. For among the mud-larks he recognizes one
who, early in the day, offered insult to himself,
calling him a country yokel." Having other fish
to fry, he did not at the time resent it, but now-
now he will see.
Arriving at the spot, he sees, what he has already
dimly suspected, that the mud-larks' victims are the
three odd individuals who lately stopped in front
of him. But it is not they who are most angry;
instead, they are giving the "rats change in kind,
returning their "chaff," and even getting the bet-
ter of them, so much so that some of their would-
be tormentors have quite lost their tempers. One
is already furious- a big, hulking fellow, their
leader and instigator, and the same who had cried
"country yokel." As it chances, he is afflicted
with an impediment of speech, in fact, stutters
badly, making all sorts of twitching grimaces in
the endeavor to speak correctly. Taking advan-
tage of this, the boy Orundelico-"blackamoor,"
as he is being called-has so turned the tables
on him by successful mimicry of his speech as to
elicit loud laughter from a party of sailors loitering
near. This brings on a climax, the incensed bully,
finally losing all restraint of himself, making a dash
at his diminutive mocker, and felling him to the
pavement with a vindictive blow.
'(Tit-it-it-take that, ye ugly mim-m-monkey!"
is its accompaniment in speech as spiteful as
The girl sends up a shriek, crying out:
Oh, Eleparu Orundelico killed He dead !"
"No, not dead!" answers the boy, instantly
on his feet again like a rebounding ball, and
apparently but little injured. "He take me foul.
Let him try once more. Come on, big brute! "
And the pigmy places himself in a defiant
attitude, fronting an adversary nearly twice his
own size.
"Stan' side!" shouts Eleparu, interposing.
"Let me go at him !"
Neither of you puts in a new and resolute
voice, that of Henry Chester, who, pushing both
aside, stands face to face with the aggressor,- fists
hard shut, and eyes flashing anger. Now, you
ruffian," he adds, I 'm your man."
"Wh-wh-who are yi-yi-you ? an' wh-wh-what's
it your bi-bib-business ?"
"No matter, who I am; but it's my business to
make you repent that cowardly blow. Come on
and get your punishment! And he advances
toward the stammerer, who has shrunk back.
This unlooked-for interference puts an end to
the fun-making of the mud-larks, all of whom are
now highly incensed. For iin their new adversary



they recognize a lad of country raising,-not a town
boy,-which of itself challenges their antagonistic
instincts. On these they are about to act, one cry-
ing out: Let's pitch into the yokel and gie him
a good trouncin'! "-a second adding: "Hang
his imperence "- while a third counsels teaching
him "Portsmouth manners."
Such a lesson he seems likely to receive, and it
would probably have fared hardly with our young
hero but for the sudden appearance on the scene
of another figure -a young fellow in shirt-sleeves
and wearing a Panama hat-he of the "Calypso."
"Thunder and lightning! he exclaimed, com-
ing on with a rush. "What's the rumpus about ?
Ha! A fisticuff fight, with odds-five to one!
Well, Ned Gancy aint going to stand by an' look
on at that; he pitches in with the minority."
And so saying, the young American placed
himself in a pugilistic attitude by the side of
Henry Chester.
This accession of strength to the assailed party
put a different face on the matter, the assailants
evidently being cowed, despite their superiority
of numbers. They know their newest adversary
to be an American, and at sight of the two intrepid-
looking youths standing side by side, with the
angry faces of Eleparu and Orundelico in the back-
ground, they become sullenly silent, most of them
evidently inclined to steal away from the ground.
The affair seemed likely thus to end, when, to the
surprise of all, Eleparu, hitherto. held back by the
girl, suddenly released himself and bounded for-
ward, with hands and arms wide open. In an-
other instant he had grasped the big bully in a
tiger-like embrace, lifted him off his feet, and
dashed him down upon the flags with a violence
that threatened the breaking of every bone in his
body., Nor did his implacable little adversary, who
seemed possessed of a giant's strength, appear sat-
isfied with this, for he afterward sprang on top of
him, with a paving-stone in his uplifted hands.
The affair might have terminated tragically had
not the uplifted hand been caught by Henry Ches-
ter. While he was still holding it, a man came
up, who.brought the conflict to an abrupt close by
seizing Eleparu's collar, and dragging him off his
prostrate foe.
Ho! what's this ?" demands the new-comer,
in a loud, authoritative voice. Why, York !
Jemmy! Fuegia! what are you all doing here?
You should have staid on board the steam-ship,
as I told you to do. Go back to her at once."
By this time the mud-larks have scuttled off, the
big one, who had recovered his feet, making after
them, and all speedily disappearing. The three
gypsy-looking creatures go, too, leaving their pro-
tectors, Henry Chester and Ned Gancy, to explain

things to him who has caused the stampede. He
is an officer in uniform, wearing insignia which pro-
claim him a captain in the royal navy. And as he
already more than half comprehends the situation,
a few words suffice to make it all clear to him;
when, thanking the two youths for their generous
and courageous interference in behalf of his pro-
tedes,-as he styles the odd trio whose part they
had taken,-he bows a courteous farewell, and
continues his interrupted walk along the wharves.
"Guess you did n't get much sleep," observes
the young American, with a knowing smile, to
Henry Chester.
Who told you I was asleep? replies the latter
in some surprise.
"Who? Nobody."
How came you to know it, then ?"
"How? Was n't I up in the main-top, and did n't
I see everything you did? And you behaved par-
ticularly well, I must say. But come! Let 's
aboard. The captain has come back. He's my
father, and maybe we can find a berth for you on
the 'Calypso.' Come along! "

That night, Henry Chester eats supper at the
"Calypso's cabin table, by invitation of the cap-
tain's son, sleeps on board, and, better still, has
his name entered on her books as an apprentice.
And he finds her just the sort of craft he was de-
sirous to go to sea in-a general trader, bound for
the Oriental Archipelago and the isles of the Pa-
cific Ocean. To crown all, she has completed hler
cargo, and is ready to put to sea.
Sail she does, early the next day, barely leav-
ing him time to keep that promise, made by the
Devil's Punch Bowl, of writing to his mother.



A SHIP tempest-tossed, laboring amid the surges
of an angry sea; her crew on the alert, doing their
utmost to keep her off a lee-shore. And such a
shore! None more dangerous on all ocean's edge;
for it is the west coast of Terra del Fuego, abreast
the Fury Isles and that long belt of seething break-
ers known to mariners as the Milky Way," the
same of which the great naturalist, Darwin, has
said: "One sight of such a coast is enough to
make a landsman dream for a week about ship-
wreck, peril, and death."
There is no landsman in the ship now exposed
to its dangers. All on board are familiar with
the sea-have spent years upon it. Yet is there
fear in their hearts, and pallor on their cheeks,
as their eyes turn to that belt of white, frothy


water between them and the land, trending north
and south beyond the range of vision.
Technically speaking, the endangered vessel is
not a ship, but a bark, as betokened by the fore-
and-aft rig of her mizzen-mast. Nor is she of large
dimensions; only some six or seven hundred tons.
But the reader knows this already, or will, after
learning her name. As her stern swings up on the
billow, there can be read upon it "The Calypso";
and she is that Calypso" in which Henry Chester
sailed out of Portsmouth harbor to make his first
acquaintance with a sea life.
Though nearly four years have elapsed since then,
he is still on board of her. There stands he by
the binnacle-no more a boy, but a young man,
and in a garb that bespeaks him of the quarter-
deck,-not the fore-peak,-for he is now the
" Calypso's" third officer. And her second is not
far off; he is the generous youth who was the means
of getting him the berth. Also grown to manhood,
he, too, is aft, lending a hand at the helm- the
strength of one man being insufficient to keep it
steady in that heavily rolling sea. On the poop-
deck is Captain Gancy himself, consulting a small
chart, and filled with anxiety as, at intervals look-
ing toward the companion-way, he there sees his
wife and daughter holding on by the man-ropes.
For he knows his vessel to be in danger, and his
dear ones as well.
A glance at the bark reveals that she has been
on a long voyage. Her paint is faded, her sails
patched, and there is rust along the chains and
around the hawse-holes. She might be mistaken
for a whaler coming off a four years' cruise. And
nearly that length of time has she been cruising,
but not after whales. Her cargo, a full one, con-
sists of sandal-wood, spices, tortoise-shell, mother-
of-pearl, and real pearls also -in short, a miscella-
neous assortment of the commodities obtained by
traffic in the islands and around the coasts of the
great South Sea.
Her last call has been at Honolulu harbor in the
Sandwich Isles, and she is now homeward-bound
for New York, around the Horn. A succession of
westerly winds, or rather continuation of them,
has forced her too far on to the Fuegian coast, too
near the Furies; and now tossed about on a bil-
lowy sea, with the breakers of the Milky Way in
sight to leeward, no wonder that her crew are
apprehensive for their safety.
Still, perilous as is their situation, they might
not so much regard it were the Calypso sound
and in sailing trim. Unfortunately, she is far
from this, having a damaged rudder, and with
both courses torn to shreds. She is lying-to un-
der storm forestay-sail and close-reefed try-sails,
wearing at .intervals, whenever it can be done

with advantage, to keep her away from those
"white horses" a-lee. But even under the dimin-
ished spread of canvas the bark is distressed be-
yond what she can bear, and Captain Gancy is
about to order a further reduction of canvas, when,
looking westward,-in which direction he has
been all along anxiously on the watch,-he sees
what sends a shiver through his frame: three huge
rollers, whose height and steepness tell him the
" Calypso is about to be tried to the very utmost
of her strength. Good sea-boat though he knows
her to be, he knows also that a crisis is near.
There is but time for him to utter a warning shout,
ere the first roller comes surging upon them. By
a lucky chance the bark, having good steerage-
way, meets and rises over it unharmed. But her
way being now checked, the second roller deadens
it completely, and she is thrown off the wind. The
third, then taking her right abeam, she careens
over so far that the whole of her lee bulwark, from
cat-head to stern-davit, is ducked under water.
It is a moment of doubt, with fear appalling-
almost despair. Struck by another sea, she would
surely go under. But, luckily, the third is the
last of the series, and she rights herself, rolling
back again like an empty cask. Then, as a
steed shaking his mane after a shower, she throws
the briny water off, through hawse-holes and scup-
pers, till her decksare clear again.
A cry of relief ascends from the crew, instinctive
and simultaneous. Nor does the loss of her lee-
quarter boat, dipped under and torn from the
davits, hinder them from adding a triumphant
hurrah, the skipper himself waving his wet tar-
paulin and crying aloud:
"Well done, old 'Calypso!' Boys! we may
thank our stars for being on board such a sea-
worthy craft! "
Alas! both the feeling of triumph and security
are short-lived, ending almost on the instant.
Scarce has the joyous hurrah ceased reverberating
along her decks, when a voice is heard calling out,
in a tone very different:
The ship 's sprung a leak And a big one, too !
The water 's coming into her like a sluice "
There is a'rush for the fore hatch-way, whence
the words of alarm proceed, the main one being
battened down and covered with tarpaulin. Then
a hurried descent to the "'tween decks" and an
anxious peering into the hold below. True--too
true! It is already half-full of water, which seems
mounting higher, and by inches to theminute So
fancy the more frightened ones.
"Though bad enuf, taint altogether so bad 's
that," pronounced Leugriff, the carpenter, after a
brief inspection. "There 's a hole in the bottom
for sartin'; but mebbe we kin beat it by pumpin'."



Thus encouraged, the captain bounds back on
deck, calling out: All hands to the pumps "
There is no need to say that; all take hold and
work them with a will: it is as if every one were
working for his own life.
A struggle succeeds, triangular and unequal,
being as two to one. For the storm still rages,
needing helm and sails to be looked after; while
the inflow must be kept under in the hold. A ter-
rible conflict it is, between man's strength and the
elements; but short, and alas to end in the defeat
of the former. The Calypso is water-logged,
will no longer obey her helm, and must surely sink.
At length convinced of this, Captain Gancy calls
out: Boys, it's no use trying to keep her afloat.
Drop the pumps, and let us take to the boats."
But taking to the boats is neither an easy nor
hopeful alternative, seeming little better than that
of a drowning man catching at straws. Still,
though desperate, it is their only chance; and with
not a moment to be wasted in irresolution. But the
" Calypso's crew is a well-disciplined one; every
hand on board having served in her for years.

The only two boats left them-the gig and pin-
nace-are therefore let down to the water, with-
out damage to either, and, by like dexterous
management, everybody got safely into them.
It is a quick embarkation, however, so hurried,
indeed, that few effects can be taken along-
only those that chance to be readiest to hand.
Another moment's delay might have cost them
their lives ; for scarce have they taken their seats
and pushed the boats clear of the ship's channels,
when, another sea striking her, she goes down head
foremost like a lump of lead, carrying masts, spars,
torn sails, and rigging-everything- along with
Captain Gancy groans at the sight. My fine
bark gone to the bottom of the sea; cargo and
all--the gatherings of years Hard, cruel luck "
Mingling with his words of sorrow are cries that
seem cruel, too -the screams of sea-birds, gannets,
gulls, and the wide-winged albatross, that have
been long hovering above the "Calypso," as if
knowing her to be doomed, and hoping to find a
feast among the floating remnants of the wreck.

(To be continued.)

LONG before our readers can see this first installment of Captain Mayne Reid's story, they will have
heard, through the newspapers, the announcement that comes to us just as this Christmas number is going to
press. Captain Mayne Reid," the cable dispatch of October 22d states, died at his residence in London,
last evening, after a short illness."
Little did we think, when, early in October, ST. NICHOLAS received a message from Captain Reid to the
boys and girls of America, that it would be conveyed to them with so unwelcome an introduction. But the
affectionate words of greeting, thus unexpectedly turned into a last good-bye, will be not the less appreciated
now that the chivalrous heart that prompted them beats no more.

I have heard,"-wrote Captain Reid in his letter of September 22d, received too late to be inserted in
Mr. Trowbridge's paper in the November ST. NICHOLAS,-" I have heard that you intend honoring me by a
biographical sketch-and, furthermore, that I am to receive this honor at the hands of one of America's most
celebrated, and justly celebrated, writers, Mr. Trowbridge. Will you kindly notify this gentleman that the
only thing about myself I specially care to have recorded is my great love and reverence for the American
people and, above all, for the American youth, whom I regard with an affection warm and strong, almost as
a man would feel for his own children ? I am told it is reciprocated; and this knowledge is much--I should
sayfull- compensation for a life of toil which has been otherwise ill-rewarded.
Therefore, I trust Mr. Trowbridge will tell my youthful clielntle of America how much they are in my
heart; and, moreover, how much I long to instruct them in a higher way than I have hitherto done by my
carelessly written romances. I am now seeking such opportunity; and, if life be spared me long enough to
find it, I promise it shall be taken advantage of."


liii I jllI lI ~ln l, :111' .11 I'W

COW' bring with a me r~y meary Lbo)J.
Th~e C}hrirLtnJ Iog )O tIO f~ rrg(
WWile 9Jje gOOJ &re; fThe, bldjlye 9 ,11 v free

SLA-ncl dance -,vovr fiL ol;~g -a l





[This Christmas pol-fourr of the joyous holiday, past and pres- CLAUS-the "Simon Pure" article, "all in furs, from his head to
ent, of Christmas carols and of popular airs, seeks to enter a protest his foot." THE CHORUS OF CHILDREN in modern street or Christ-
against the-denial of Santa Claus, and to show the eternal freshness mas-party dress.
of the story "ever old, yet ever new." The music to accompany
h' ios as iusmi uus u alir n o ign ltl

eui ars, as mn cated, is popular anda familiar, ana the singing or tle
"Carols," if given without instrumental accompaniment, may be
made very effective. The piece is intended to precede the stripping
of the Christmas-tree. ]

NED, )
FRED, The Three Somber Young Gentlemen.
DOLLY, The Three Pretty Girls.
SANTA CLAUS, "The same old two-and-sixpence."
fourteen to sixteen, in prim black suits ("swallow-tails," if possible,
and high hats). THE THREE PRETTY GIRLS-girls of twelve to
fourteen, in pretty esthetic or French Directory costumes. THE
WAITS-eight good singers, girls and boys, in ancient-costumes,
time of 1700; bell-crowned hats, poke bonnets, long coats and
cloaks, and mufflers. THE SENESCHAL-boy of fourteen; long
violet robe, short clothes, velvet bonnet, gray wig and beard, long
staff, keys and chain. THE JESTER- boy of ten to twelve; court-
-"Dolly Varden suit of x780.- THE BOYS WITH THE YULE LOG
--yeoman's dress of sixteenth century. THE THREE KINGS OF
ORIENT-brilliant Oriental costumes. THE FAIRY BOUNTIFUL-
conventional fairy's dress-wings, wand, and spangles. SANTA

[A winter scene.: Stage spread with white, to represent snow.
At rear, a painted curtain, or shifting scene, readily prepared, repre-
senting the front of an old-fashioned house, -with wide latticed
window above. This scene should be movable, as it must conceal
the Christmas-tree," which is to be disclosed'in thefiale. Cut-
paper falling, to represent snow, will add a pretty effect. As the
curtain rises, THE WAITS, standing beneath the window, sing Miss
Muloch's version of the Christmas carol, beginning-
"God rest ye, merry gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismayy' etc.
At close of carol, the window slowly opens and discloses THE THREE
SOMBER YOUNG GENTLEMEN, who say, or sing, dismally] -
Who calls us merry gentlemen,
And says let naught.dismay ?
For what care we for Christrnas-tree,
And what for Christmas Day ?
Though hearts are bold, yet hopes are cold,
And gloom has come to stay;
No joy we see in Christmas-tree,
And none in Christmas Day!
THE WAITS [sing, as before, the Christmas carol be-
ginning]-" Carol, brothers, carol, carol joyfully,"
etc. After lte song, they look at the THREE SOMBER
YOUNG GENTLEMEN, and lift their hands in pity.
Why, what is the matter, young gentlemen three?
Now tell us--oh, tell us, we pray.


SECOND WAIT. And why are you sad?
THIRD WAIT. When you ought to be glad-
FOURTH WAIT. On this blessed and bright Christmas
FIFTH WAIT. When the world's all aglow,
Why be moping here so?
SIXTH WAIT. Oh, why are n't you jolly as we ?
SEVENTH WAIT. On this glad Christmas Day-
EIGHTH WAIT. When you ought to be gay.
ALL WAITS. Why be grouty, young gentlemen three?
[THE THREE SOMBER YOUNG GENTLEMEN lean gloomily out of the
window to emphasize their remarks, and say] -
NED. We 're just out of college, and bubbling with
There's nothing on earth we don't know.
Hebrew -



TED. And Greek-
'NED. We can each of us speak,
And the reason for everything show!
FRED. But we' ve grown, oh, so gray
Since that dolefulest day
When science our fondest dream twisted
By that grim Q.
FRED. Which has proved to us three
That Santa Claus never existed!
TED. So we mope and we moan,
And we grumble and groan;
And we wonder so how you can play.
And we sigh 0
NED. Heigh-
TED. And we 're puzzled to know,
What is there to see in the Day?
THE WAITS [sing, as before, the nursery carol].
"I saw three ships come sailing by
On Christmas Day in the morning," etc.
[Words in "Baby's Opera," and as they sing, THE THREE PRETTY
GIRLS come dancing in and curtsy prettily to THE' THREE
SOMBER YOUNG GENTLEMEN in the latticed window.]
Oh, just please to tell us, young gentlemen three,
As your eyes o'er this picture must stray,
Are n't three pretty girls, with their curtsies and curls,
Quite enough, sirs, td see in the Day?
NED. There's some mystery here;
FRED. Or an error, 't is clear.
TED. 'T is not my wedding-day, I '11 agree!
NED. Nor yet mine, sir!
FRED. Nor mine!
ALL THREE [gallantly].
But we '11 cease to repine,
If you '11 stay here, 0 pretty girls three!
[THE THREE PRETTY GIRLS curtsy again, and say]--
MOLLY. Why, of course, sirs, we 'll stay;
DOLLY. For we've come here to say-
POLLY. 0 you somber Young Gentlemen three!
MOLLY. Though you 're stuffed full of knowledge -
DOLLY. From cramming in college--

POLLY. Yet, Jou're stupid as stupid can be!
THE THREE YOUNG GENTLEMEN [greatly surprised].
What stupid ?
THE THREE PRETTY GIRLS [emphatically].
Yes stupid!
THE WAITS [decidedly]. As stupid as stupid can be!
MOLLY. For, if you can't tell,
DOLLY. Though with science you swell,
POLLY. Why Christmas Day comes with its glee -
MOLLY. Then the children will say,
As they all troop this way,
Why-you 're stupid as stupid can be!
THE WAITS. As stupid as stupid can be!
NED [to FRED and TED, looking decidedly dazed].
Can this really be so?
FRED. Oh, it can't be, you know!
TED. College graduates stupid ? Heyday!
[Music and hurrahs heard outside.]
Hallo! What's that noise?
'T is the girls and the boys keeping step to their
bright reveille /
[The "Children's Reveille" sounds without, and the CHORUS OF CHIL-
DREN march in and around, keeping time to theirchorus. These
words, with numerous repetitions and a plentiful sprinkling of
"Hail" and "Hurrah," can be sung to the well-known,
Turkish Reveille," or "Turkish Patrol," by Michaelis.]
Hail to the Day we welcome here-to Christmas
Day, hurrah !
Hail to the jolly saint so dear-to Santa Claus,
hurrah !
[THE THREE PRETTY GIRLS, with WAITS at left, face the CHORUS
OF CHILDREN massed at right.]
MOLLY. You are greatly mistaken-no saint greets
you here,
Just three somber young gentlemen- dismal and drear.
Three somber young gentlemen, just out of college,
And from eyelid to instep stuffed "cram-full" of
Christmas Day is a fable -these wise ones declare -
And Old Santa Claus! He's a-delusion and snare!
They say you're all wrong with your gladness and
CHILDREN [interrupting excitedly].
They do? Then-they're stupid as stupid can be!
CHILDREN [vociferously].
Yes-stupid as stupid can be!
[THE THREE YOUNG GENTLEMEN shake their heads in woful warn-
ing and sing together their warning verses. Air, "The Magnet
and the Churn," from Patience.]
This Santa Claus is a fable old,
,By unwise parents unwisely told;
His reindeer and stockings and Christmas-tree
Deceive the children most wofully.
For all the text-books we've used at school
Say a fact is a fact and a fool 's a fool!

* Q. E. D.-A term in Geometry, which, as every high-school scholar knows, stands for a Latin phrase signifying: There, now I've proved it!



Then down with this Santa Claus they laud;
He 's an utter farce and a perfect fraud!
CHILDREN. A perfect fraud?
A perfect fraud!
This hypothetic, peripatetic
Person who walks abroad
On Christmas Day, we grieve to say,
Is really a monstrous fraud!
ALL THE GIRLS. Do you 'spose this is so ?
ALL THE BOYs. Why, it can't be, you know!
ALL THE GIRLS. 'T is too awfully awful-boo-hoo !
[Drying their tears.]
But suppose it should be?
ALL THE BOYS. Then we 're all "up a tree."
ALL THE CHILDREN. With no Santa Claus, what can
we do ?
[THE THREE YOUNG GENTLEMEN, equally moved by the children's
grief, wring out their handkerchiefs and say] -
NED. In science-
FRED. Place reliance -
TED. And give fiction hot defiance.
ALL. Though your fathers and your mothers all agree
That there is a Santa Claus -
NED. Don't believe them -
FRED. Don't-
TED. Because -
ALL. You must never trust a thing you can not see!
[THE THREE PRETTY GIRLS, facing the window indignantly, shake
their fingers at THE THREE YOUNG GENTLEMEN.]
MOLLY. Do you only believe what you only can see,
Oh, you somber but stupid young gentlemen three ?
DOLLY. Why, you might as well say there 's no man
in the moon!
POLLY. Or deny that the dish ran away with the spoon!
THE CHILDREN. What? You do?
But, whatever's the use?
Do you think you know better than old Mother
Goose ?
CHILDREN. She 's a-w-.at?
such woman!
CHILDREN [plaintivelv]. Now, there 's no Mother
THE THREE PRETTY GIRLS. This is simply inhuman.
[THE CHORUS OF CHILDREN, grouping dolefully and dejectedly on
the stage,- some standing, some reclining, so as to make an
attractive tableau,--sing their chorus to the air of "Twenty
Love-sick Maidens," from Patience. Let THE THREE PRETTY
GIRLS stand central in tableau.]
CHORUS. Twenty homesick children we
(This is such a bitter pill),
Every Christmas we shall be
Twenty homesick children still!
Who 'll fill the stockings in the chimney now?
CHORUS-Ah, miserie /
If there 's no Santa Claus, in grief we bow.
CHORUS--A, miserie!

Alas, poor heart! go hide thyself away,
And mourn and mourn the'death of Christmas Day.
CHORUS A, miserie /
CHORUS. All our love for Santa Claus
Falls quite flat if he is not!
This is of our woe the cause -
Sad and sorry is our lot!
Ah, miserie.
Go, breaking hearts, go, dream of Christmas jolly!
Go, foolish hearts, go, dream of Christmas holly!
Go, hopeless hearts, go, dream of vanished glory;
And, in your dreams, forget this horrid story!
CHORUS -Ah, miserie!
Forget this horrid story!
CHORts. Twenty homesick children we,
And we ne'er can merry be.
Twenty homesick children we
(This is such a bitter pill),
Every Christmas we shall be
Twenty homesick children still!
[Burst of merry music. Enter FAIRY BOUNTIFUL.]
I come as a light .that is breaking,
I come as a gleam in the night,
I come as a dawn that is waking,
I come as the sun's happy light.
For children who' mourn upon Christmas
Must, sure, need a fairy like me,
To dispel all the doubt and the darkness
Of these Somber Young Gentlemen three!
[The WAITs and CHILDREN join in the Christmas carol.]
"And all the bells on earth shall ring,
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day;
And all the children for joy shall sing,
On Christmas Day in the morning."
Come down here, come down here, ye skeptical band!
0 Somber Young Gentlemen three!
Come, watch while I summon, with magical wand,
The old Christmas-time wassail and glee;
For Christmas did come, with its mirth and its noise,
Many years, sirs, before you were born,
And has lived in the hearts of the girls and the boys
From the days of the first Christmas morn!
[THE THREE SOMBER YOUNG GENTLEMEN take their places with
the other children at right. FAIRY waves her wand.]
Come forth from the mists of the vanishing years,
0 days that the past doth infold,
And let each girl and boy, as the vision appears,
Hear the joys of the Christmas of old !
[Enter, from left, the Christmases past" led by the Baron's
SENESCHAL [standing central].
[Extract from Wither's "Juvenilia"-Time, i6oo.]
Lo, now is come our joyful'st feast!
Let every man be jolly,
Eache roome with yoie leaves is drest,
And every post with holly.
Now all our neighbdurs' chimneys smoke
And Christmas blocks are burning;


Their ovens they with bak't meats choke,
And all their spits are turning.
Without ye door let sorrow lie,
And yif, for cold, it hap to die,
Wee 'le bury 't in a Christmas pye -
And evermore be merry."
[Following SENESCHAL comes a boy with Christmas Candle very
large and long," two boys with the Boar's Head on silver
salver- this may be made of paper and trimmed with greens-
and the girl with the great Christmas Pie. COURT-JESTER
follows behind. Some appropriate music here. Then JESTER
comes forward and speaks.]
JESTER [with great wassail-cup or bowl-time of ySoS].
I'm the Lord of Misrule, and though known as the Fool,
By my pranks I gain many a tester.
On the glad Christmas Day o'er all I hold my sway.
Then huzzoy for the king -and his jester !
[Lifting wassail-cup.]
Here 's a health to ye all, both in cottage and hall;
On Christmas no sorrows must pester;
Through our wassail and rout, Noel! Noel we shout;
And huzzoy for the king--and his jester!
'[BOYS WITH BOAR'S HEAD come forward and repeat the old-time
Oxford carol, date unknown.]
FIRST BOY. "Caput apri defer, reddens laztdes Domino !
SECOND BOY. "The boar's heid in hand bring we,
With garlands gay and rosemary;
I pray you all sing merrily.
FIRST BOY. "Qui este in convivio.
SECOND BOY. "Our steward he hath provided this,
In honor of the King of Bliss;
Which on this Christmas served is,
In Reginensi atrio.
FIRST BOY. "Caput apri defero, reddens laudes Domino
SECOND BOY. "The boar's head," etc.
JESTER [extract from Herrick's "Christmas"-Time,
6S o] .
Come, bring with a noise, my merry, merry boys,
The Christmas log to the firing;
While the good dame she bids ye all be free,
And dance to your heart's desiring."
'GIRL, WITH CiHRISTMAS PIE [also adapted from Herrick].
" Christmas Day is here -bring the white loaf near;
And while the meat is a-shredding
For the rare mince-pie, and the plums stand by
To fill the paste that's a-kneading"-
[The JESTER repeats his verse as above, "Come, bring.with a
noise," and enter boys dragging in the "Yule Log." As the
JESTER concludes, the WAITS, coming forward, sing the old
carol, "Welcome, Yule." Time of Henry VI., 1450.]
"Welcome be thou, Heavenly King,
Welcome born on this morning,
Welcome, for home we shall sing,
Welcome, Yule !

"Welcome be ye, Candlemas,
Welcome be ye, Queen of Bliss,
Welcome both to more and less,
Welcome, Yule!

"Welcome be ye that are here,
Welcome all and make 'good cheer,
Welcome all another year.
Welcome, Yule! "

THE SENESCHAL [standing central repeats an extract
from Wither's "Juvenilia "].
"Then wherefore in these merry days
Should we, I pray, be duller?
No, let us sing our roundelays,
To make our mirth the fuller.
"Though others' purses be more fat,
Why should we pine or grieve at that?
Hang sorrow Care will kill a cat!
And, therefore, let's be jolly.
"Without the door let sorrow lie,
And yf, for cold, it hap to die,
Wee'le bury 't in a Christmas pye,
And evermore be merry "

C b1 1

Y ;A

["Christmases past" draw to one side, right. FAIRY BOUNTIFUL,
central, waves her wand and says]-
This for the Past. Now let the Christmas joys,
That fill thePPresent, greet the girls and boys.
[Sleigh-bells heard without.]

*An old-time shout of joy at the Christmas-tide.



[Air, "Lightly Row."]
Hark how clear, sweet and clear,
Christmas sleigh-bells jingle out;
Now in joy, girl and boy,
Ring the welcome shout!
Hail to Santa Claus, whose voice
-Bids each youthful heart rejoice;
Children cheer, shout it clear,
Santa Claus is here!
[Enter SANTA CLAUS, with a hound. He comes to the front with
lively motion, both hands extended, and sings with spirit.]
[Air, I'm called Little Buttercup," from Pinafore.]
I 'm called Mr. Santa Claus,- dear Mr. Santa Claus,-
Though I could never say why!
But still I 'm called Santa Claus,- dear Mr. Santa
Jolly old Santa Claus, I!

I 've toys and I 've trinkets, I 've crankums and
I 've presents for good children all;
I 've straps for the bad ones and mops for the sad
I 've something for large and for small.

I 've got a big pack full, with every gimcrack full,
A Christmas-tree here in the hall;
And to all your bright faces, so glowing with graces,
I sing: Merry Christmas to all!

e'm s called Mr. Santa Claus,
Dear Mr. Santa Claus--
Though w I could never utell.why;
( whywe quite see;
But still hes called Santa Claus,
Dear Mr. Santa Claus, I.
Jolly old Santa Claus, he.
[He joins hands with the children, and they all dance around once,
GENTLEMEN in the middle.]-
FAIRY. Well, what do you say now, about Christmas
Day now-
0 Somber Young Gentlemen three?
Will you strike from the .year, sirs,, all the fun you
see here, sirs,
And the Christmas Day frolics so free ?
NED. 0 sweet Mistress Fairy,
So winsome and airy-
FRED. No longer all somber are we.!
TED. Christmas Day is a pearl, ma'am.
[They spring to the sides of THE THREE PRETTY GIRLS, and with
a courtly salute each Young Gentleman leads forward a Pretty
And with each Pretty Girl, ma'am,
We 're as jolly as jolly can be !
FAIRYI What-jolly?
CHILDREN pointingk at them ]. Yes -jolly!

GIRLS, in joyful chorus] -
As jolly as jolly can be!
[Here let a large gilt star, previously arranged, appear above the
house-top. Enter THE THREE KINGS OF ORIENT. Let them
sing the old carol, "We three kings of Orient are," the children
all joining in the chorus, turning toward the star. Then let the
FAIRY, stepping central, say-from Adelaide A. Proctor's
"Christmas Carol "]-
The Eastern Kings before him knelt,
And rarest offerings brought;
The shepherds worshiped and adored
The wonders God had wrought.

"But the star that shone in Bethlehem
Shines still and shall not cease,
And we listen still to the tidings
Of Glory and of Peace "
SANTA CLAUS [steppingforward].
You who would mar the children's joy,
Their childish trust dispelling,
By casting doubts on Santa Claus
And facts forever telling-
Remember this: The Christmas-tree
Is ever green with glory,
And childish love will ever cling
Around the old, old story."
He who would break must first prepare
Some more inviting face, sirs;
Tell me, I pray, on Christmas Day,
Who '11 take old Santa's place, sirs ?
Good-bye good-day -
[Murmurs among the children. SANTA CLAUS turns quickly, as if
he heard a complaint]-
What 's that you say?
CHILDREN. You said, "a Christmas-tree," sir!
SANTA CLAUS [as'if recollecting something].
Oh, so I did! It must be hid.
We 'll find it, I '11 agree, sir.
[Seizing the FAIRY's wand and waving it gracefully.]
Burst now, 0 gate the children wait,
To bear off all they 're able.
Ho, tree, appear Prove, now and here,
Old Santa Claus no fable!
[The house scene separates or draws off, and discloses the Christ-
mas-tree. Mount the platform of the tree on rollers; and, with
light cords attached, the tree can now be moved to its proper
place in center of the stage by seemingly invisible and magical
means. This has already been done at many Christmas festivals,
to the great delight of the children.]
CHILDREN delightedly]. Oh, my! Oh, see!
SANTA CLAUS [pointing with wand, which he afterward
returns with a bow to Fairy].
There-there 's your tree!
We 're loyal to your cause, sir.
SANTA CLAUS [slyly]. Am I a fraud ?
THE THREE YOUNG GENTLEMEN. (Let's go abroad !)
CHILDREN ALL [vociferously]. You 're dear old Santa
Claus, sir!
(Alljoin hands and dance around SANTA CLAUS and the Christmas-
tree, singing the college glee, For he's a jolly good fellow."]



PORTLAND, MAINE, November, 1883.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to write a letter
to every boy and every girl in the world. But if I
should write steadily to-day, and to-morrow, and
the next day, and the next, and the next, and the
next, I should be an old lady with dim eyes and
trembling fingers before all the children in the
United States were written to-and what could I
do then about the others ?
There are so many children !
I wonder, ST. NICHOLAS dear, if you know how
many there are in this beautiful country of ours,
and have you ever thought how much work these
hundreds of thousands of children could do?
I have, and that is why I want to write them.
Oh! a bright thought has come to me. It tells
me what to do about my letters.
ST. NICHOLAS is your man!" it cries. "He
has a printing-press. He can print more letters
in one day than you can write in a hundred years.
Write one letter to him and ask him to print a
hundred thousand like it."
Will you do it, you kind, bright, loving child's
friend? Will you say in every one, "Read this
letter to your neighbors; call them together,-
big girls and little girls, big boys and little boys,-
and tell them there is work for them to do ?
If you will, please write in this way:
MY DEAR, DEAR FRIENDS: Do you know what
a "club" is?
I hear your answer echoing back from all the
cliffs and hills of our land, and the sea-breeze brings
it to me faintly from the countries far away:

You get a lot of people to belong, and you
have a president and rules, and pay so much to
join, and vote, and--"
Yes, that is it; you all know what a club is.
Now I want to write you about a club-a true
club-a very proper and thoroughly organized
club, eleven months old; and you may believe
every word, for it all happened right here, in Port-
land, Maine, less than a year ago.
On Sunday, December 10, 1882, a lady sitting
in a warm, cozy room, while the wind whistled
about the house, rattling the windows, and piling
the snow-flakes in deep drifts across the steps and
against the fences, was thinking of the houses up
on The Hill, and down at Gorham's Corner, and
in Salem Lane, which had no steam radiators, no
glowing grates, no double windows to keep out
these searching winter winds.
She thought, too, of the little children in those
houses and, as it was December, of the joyous
day coming so soon,-the day for giving gifts all
the world over,-and wondered if in those houses
little bare feet would spring out of bed, and dance
across to the chimneys in the dim dawn of Christ-
mas morning; if numb, blue fingers would eagerly
snatch down shabby, faded stockings, and find
that St. Nicholas had really been there; if, later
on, fathers and mothers, with brothers and sisters,
and babies in their high-chairs, for just this one
day," would come gayly around dinner-tables,
where plump Christmas turkeys lay at one end,
and plum puddings were ready for the other,
and huge stacks of oranges, nuts, and apples rose
in the middle; and if, in the evening, there would
be great mysteries in the parlors, a fragrance of
spruce, an exciting rustling of paper parcels,
mothers slipping slyly in and out of the doors with



hands hidden behind them, a general scurrying house at five o'clock, on the following Thursday
about-and then all eyes dazzled by a hundred afternoon.
twinkling candles caught in the branches. of a Did they come?
graceful tree laden with toys. Come ? They did not know what the call was
She wondered if in those houses would go up for, save for a whisper about Christmas work; but
that wild shout of glee,
those ringing hurrahs
and the joyous clap- 1882. C RISTMAS. 1882.
ping of hands she had
so often heard. And Freely ye have received, freely give."
as she wondered, she
shook her head sadly,, -

"sThey have never
known these pleasures,
they never will, unless This is to certify
-oh! unlesssomebody is enrolled a member
remembers them. Why CHILD
can't something be
done? I would work,
but one person can do
so little alone. I want
a hundred helpers-
where shall I find them ?"
She thought intently for a few moments, and
then cried: "I know! The children will do it,
the Portland children-those who have happy
homes and Christmas-trees, and play-rooms full of
toys. They will load a Christmas-tree as one was
never loaded before; they will spread a Christmas
dinner which can not be eaten in one day; they
will do it-the warm-hearted, generous Portland
The bells from all the churches were ringing for

that ......... ..
of the

.... ^ .Secretary.

they came: came in pairs, in trios, in quartets'
and quintets-a whole squad from the Butler
School; big boys with big hearts, wee tots only
four years old from the kindergarten- one hun-
dred children, ready for anything.
Oh, I wish you could have been there at the
forming of that club !
A lady came forward to speak to them, and their
voices were hushed in expectation. I can't tell you
just what she said, but her words were beautiful.

f.y CHRISTMAS, 1882,

. !, .

(Ce *-lj ..^ ^ .Y7ou are cordially invited to fttend
I -- our Christmas Festival,

At City Hall, Thursday, December 28th, at 2 P. M.

No,. ..



She spoke of their
Christmas festivities
every year, of their
presents and their
friends; then of un-
fortunate children
who had fewer, some
none, of these joys.
When she asked:
"Does any one here
want to do anything
for these others?"
the thought thatde7ey
could do anythingwas
new to almost all -to
many even the wish
was new; but like
one great heart-throb
came their answer:

Sunday-school. That was the time-that was the Yes I! I! I want to do something "
place to find the children. A number of notes were Children, what can you do ?"
written, asking two or more girls and boys from A pause, and then one little voice cried:
every Sunday-school in the city to meet at that Dive 'em a cent! "


That was the first offer, but it was followed by
many another: Give 'em candy Give 'er a
turkey "Give 'em a coat "-each beginning with
that grand word, "Give."
The result of that meeting was this:
To form,a club which should last forever "; to
call it "The Children's Christmas Club"; to have
for its motto: "Freely ye have received, freely

The children then dispersed, t6 meet again on
Saturday, at Reception Hall..
Saturday morning brought to the hall, first, a
meeting of grown persons, who offered their stronger
hands, wiser heads, and deeper purses, in the work
the children had undertaken; but agreed that all
that children could do should be left to them.
And a grand support did these "elders" form,

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S give "; to place the membership fee
Sat ten cents, so that no child should be
Prevented from joining because he was
not "rich"; to make no distinction in regard to
sect or nationality; to permit tojoin the club any
girl or boy under eighteen years of age who ac-
cepted its principles, which were: To be ready at
all times with kind words to assist children less
fortunate than themselves; to make every year,
in Christmas week, a festival of some kind for
them; to save through the year toys, books, and
games, instead of carelessly destroying them; to
save and, whenever practicable, put in good repair
all outgrown clothing; to beg nothing from any
soure, but to keep as the key-stone of the club
the word "GIVE "; to pay every year a tax of ten
cents; and to make their first festival in the City
Hall on Thursday, December 28, 1882.
Then came the choosing of officers, with the idea
that the chief officers should be grown persons.
His Honor the Mayor of Portland was elected
President of the Children's Christmas Club.
Others, ladies and gentlemen, were chosen for
Vice-President, Treasurer, Secretary, Executive
Committee, etc., etc.


who stood ready in the background to give of their
strength, who quietly inclosed their willing con-
tributions to the Executive Committee, with best
wishes for the Children's Christmas Club."
Instead of one hundred children, three hundred
came to Reception Hall, eager to join the club.
After addresses by the President and others,
children's committees were appointed, and their
work explained to them.
As the children passed out in single file, each
was registered, and received from the Secretary a
card of membership, like that shown on page 175.
Let us skip the busy days of preparation, when
the Secretary .of the Children's Christmas Club
recorded twelve hundred names; when the Park-
street school sent in the names of one hundred
members who brought to their teacher books, toys,
and clothing, to be sent to the City Hall; when
comfortably clad children came through the city
bringing in their sleighs, on their sleds, in their
arms, bundles of clothing and toys, baskets of pro-
vision, books, sleds, skates-much that. was dear
to them, given in the spirit of true charity.
One child could bring only a plate of biscuits" ;
another a dozen apples for the dinner"; one had
no toys at home, but brought a five-cent piece she



had treasured "to buy something' for some little
feller that hasn't nothiri' ; one took all her money
and brought to her Sunday-school teacher a painted
candy bird-cage, and said, I want it to go on the
tree for some child poorer 'n me."
And how were the children invited-those chil-
dren who were to be the guests of the club?
Six hundred invitations were printed. An Invi-
tation Committee was formed to distribute these
invitations with the greatest care to persons who
would be responsible for every ticket; that is, they
gave no invitation to any child without knowing
the parents or something of the recipient's history,
and writing the child's name on the front of the
card, with the giver's name on the back.
For three days before the festival, these little
"guests" could come to the clothing room, and
from the donations made by ,the "members"'
receive boots, shoes, dresses, hoods, trousers, and
jackets--whatever they needed. to enable them-
to present a neat and orderly appearance at the
Let us look into the City Hall at half-past one.
on the afternoon of Holy Innocents' Day, December
28th, the most fitting day for this children's feast.
The gallery is reserved for those members of the
club who have no work to do during that after-
noon. But, beside these, no other spectators are
"admitted to the hall; no grown persons, except the
committees who are to assist during the festival in
various ways. The stage supports a lofty
tree, decorated that morning by the mem-
bers, while, on tables behind, are heaped
presents for six hundred children. Around
the edge of the hall, settees have been placed
for the guests, while the entire center is con-
verted into a banquet-hall. *,
Thirty long tables are loaded with all that
makes Christmas dinners the best in the
year. Ten plates are laid at each side of those
tables. A lady is standing at the foot of ever.
table; a member of the club stands at either side
as "waiter," to see that no guest lacks anything.
In the anteroom, the Reception Committee,
consisting of fifteen boys and fifteen girls, under
the direction of a gentleman who has consented to
take charge of the guests, await the arrivals.
Looking down the broad staircase, we see the
lower hall filled with children, whose eager, up-
turned faces are reward enough for all the labor.
Soon the six hundred have had hats and caps
and cloaks safely checked, and are marshaled in
thirty lines of twenty, each line headed by one of
the Reception Committee. The doors are thrown
open, the band plays a march, and the long pro-
cession files in-twenty girls, then twenty boys; up
and down, in and out, through the six long aisles,
VOL. XI.-I2.

between the tables, and twice around the hall be-
fore the last one has entered.
Such a line of faces, beaming with joy or timid
with bewildered awe; rough hair smooth to-day;
grimy hands cleanly scrubbed; no harsh words, no
jostling, no disorder, as rank after rank enters, and
the quick eyes take in the beauty of the Christmas
garlands, the towering tree, and, best of all, the
good-will and love radiating from every face.
Among the presents sent in was a large doll,
handsomely dressed, to which was pinned this note:

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11, 1 I, 4,4 3t,*
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and girl whispered on the instant, "That doll is
for her."
The children stood around the tables, the leaders
taking their places at the head.
The musicians lay aside their instruments, and
a deep quiet rests upon those ranks of children,
as the President of the club rises and extends
the Christmas greeting of the Children's Christ-
mas Club to its guests.
SAfter that, a clergyman took them back to that
day, eighteen hundred and eighty-two years before,
when the great and cruel King Herod sent out

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